47th Transmission

[heavyweaponsbot]

I find it difficult to maintain an ordered squad when those involved get themselves tossed in the brig.  Hmnf!  If you hear this, Zuko, you will answer to me when your punishment ends.  Or King.  Pray that he is more forgiving than I am.

[He mutters something that sounds like "damn kids".  Maybe.  Or maybe you're hearing things.]

The rest of you will report in.  Want to talk to you.

...

If you wish it to be in person, you can find me with the bees.  I have business with them.

[Meaning, he's itchy to hit something, and the bees are the best target.]

...

[Locked to Ratchet // Unhackable]
If you see this, got a female who wants to... do me a favor.  Need your advice.

Comments

[heavyweaponsbot]

[There's space to sleep, and not much else. He nods to her, and pushes himself up with his joints grinding.]

[chopshopgoddess.livejournal.com]

Ready?

[She will just...stay in the doorway.]

[heavyweaponsbot]

Yeah. Watch out for the lobsters. Little one is hiding again.

[chopshopgoddess.livejournal.com]

....

I'll wait over here til you come out.

[heavyweaponsbot]

... Why?

[chopshopgoddess.livejournal.com]

Cause we're about to leave, right? Plus I don't want to like, break my neck tripping over something.

[heavyweaponsbot]

[He grumbles.]

Keep telling him to clean this scrap up... never listens to me... tottering old fool...

[chopshopgoddess.livejournal.com]

I'd offer to help clean, but he's probably got it all crazy organized.

[heavyweaponsbot]

[He waves a hand at the piles.]

That is organized?

[chopshopgoddess.livejournal.com]

...

In his own way, I guess...

[heavyweaponsbot]

... You cannot possibly call this organized.

[chopshopgoddess.livejournal.com]

Well...maybe to him it is...

[ trying not to smile here]

[heavyweaponsbot]

Then maybe he should come explain it to me... before I clean all this out.

[He picks up a lampshade between two fingers, like it's going to bite him.]

[chopshopgoddess.livejournal.com]

He'll be mad at you, if you do that.

[She picks her way into the room, stepping over various pieces of what she would consider junk.]

Where does he get all this?

[heavyweaponsbot]

He might appreciate the extra space...

[He tosses the lampshade aside. Something moos.]

Deck twelve.

[chopshopgoddess.livejournal.com]

[wtf was that]

He might...but you never know. You should check with him, then we can clean it out.

[heavyweaponsbot]

[... Ironhide has no idea. He's stopped trying to keep track of what Ratchet has.]

Hmnf. Maybe... Or maybe he should just... stay in my room. Use this as storage.

[chopshopgoddess.livejournal.com]

That might not be a bad idea, actually.

[She finally makes it to the bed, and hops up on it. Please don't let it break.]

[elegante-masks.livejournal.com]

[And then, from the mess, a small cow, no taller than twelve inches high, clambered up on top of a broken bread-maker. It looked over at Mikaela, and lowed at her questioningly.]

[chopshopgoddess.livejournal.com]

[She jerks back. lnjksdnchj]

...What the hell is that, Ironhide.

[heavyweaponsbot]

...

[Ironhide just stares at it.]

... I... do not know. Why does he... have that?

[elegante-masks.livejournal.com]

[The cow looks up at Ironhide when he speaks. Its ears flick forward with some curiosity, and the movement makes the small bell around its neck jingle.

The bell has the letters "TNT" etched on the front.

Carefully, it begins to climb down the pile of 8-tracks and clip-clops its way over to the Autobot, then moos again.]

[chopshopgoddess.livejournal.com]

[She. Is. DUMBFOUNDED. What the HELL Ratchet]

...

I think it likes you.

[heavyweaponsbot]

[He just keeps staring at it. For some reason, he has the damnedest urge to chase the thing, hollering at it. He frowns.]

...

I am not amused. Ratchet has explaining to do.

[elegante-masks.livejournal.com]

[The cow moos.

Then stops abruptly. It sniffles. It whuffs.

It snorts bubbles out its nose.

The cow moos again and delicately picks its way around the piles toward Mikaela.]