3rd Transmission - Action

[heavyweaponsbot]

[Hello Vertiline. And how are you this fine morning? Hopefully you're not doing anything that requires your being behind the forge.

But if you are, you'll probably notice a massive black robot loading a lot of oddly glowing cubes into his arms. Along with a small collection of nails and such, pilfered from the forge itself.

His armor is battered, and pitted with holes -- the largest being on his chest. This accomplished, he proceeds to stalk back off toward his pod, the cubes carried very carefully. Every motion makes his joints creak. Once he arrives at the pod, he unceremoniously dumps the cubes inside, before stepping back out again.

Ironhide, at the end of this errand, can be found hunkered down in front of his pod, drinking out of one of the cubes, and thoughtfully watching the sunrise. Occasionally, he chews on one of the nails.

Approach?]

Comments

[infernaldork.livejournal.com]

[Eliot remembers somewhere between his thoroughly suave 'um' and now that staring is rude. Being rude is definitely against the rules. But being very large, talking robot would also be against the rules.

There is brief irony; Louis would probably call it bending the rules more than breaking. The thought relaxes him enough to scratch the back of his bowl-haircut head and shrug.]

Sorry.

[For staring.

Hey that voice. Eliot recognises sounds better than anything and looks up at Ironhide.]

Weren't you the guy stepping on the mice?

[And given his size, he can believe it.]

[heavyweaponsbot]

[Ironhide grunts in acknowledgment of the apology, but doesn't otherwise say anything about it. He has an entire vocabulary of monosyllabic sounds.]

I was, yeah.

[Absently, he glances down at one massive foot. The metal looks as if it's been... chewed on. And then he shrugs, going back to his cube.]

They were persistent.

[infernaldork.livejournal.com]

[Eliot does not know what Ironhide is supposed to look like by default, but he does look a little worn. Accident or design?

OH and he remembers something!]

Mothballs can be used to keep them away, too.

[And, yup. He realises how dorky that sounds.

Head down, staring at the nommed-on portions.]

I don't suppose band-aids would help?

[heavyweaponsbot]

... What?

[First of all, what's a mothball? Second of all... what? He stares at the boy, trying to... figure out just what he heard.]

Band-aids...?

[infernaldork.livejournal.com]

[Hell and the 106 rules, he can't say anything right around this guy. Cue Eliot scuffing his heels absent-mindedly on the ground.]

Mothballs keep mice away. I thought about maybe spreading them around, in case they come back.

[Awkward moment.

But he nods to Ironhide's foot.]

Band-aids protects small injuries like that.

[Eliot. Robot.]

Or you could use a wrench?

[He cringes. That sounds like a really poorly worded threat - the LAST thing he wanted to do here.]

[heavyweaponsbot]

[Another look.]

Do you really think balls could have kept that infestation away?

[He is skeptical. At the suggestion, he just snorts, scowling.]

A wrench fixes nothing. Just bashes helms in.

[infernaldork.livejournal.com]

[Eliot is taking the looks strangely in stride. They intimidate him a bit, but no worse than Audrey. And you know what they say: Once you stare down the eldest fate -- well, he's never managed that. And he does not think anyone has, so there is no actual saying and-- he's just going to reply now.]

It worked in Oakwood.

[They'd had an infestation, years before Eliot received Lady Dawn and learned that he could control rodents with music. He remembered laying down the mothballs in storage and how it had taken weeks to get the smell off him because of Rule 89 (in short, no nice-smelling soap).]

We could put some near granaries?

[Maybe not the best idea ever, because Eliot has not found any mothballs, but trying to help wins points, right?

Now, what the look did not overtly do, the words are managing. His shoulders hunch up a bit and he shrugs.]

Well, what would make it better?

[heavyweaponsbot]

[A snort. Frankly, Ironhide is convinced the boy is off in his own, weird, little world. That would explain the lack of "making any sense".]

Do what you want, boy.

[He examines the chipped and chewed metal disdainfully. Organic creatures should not be able to damage his armor in the slightest.]

My medic would be able to 'make it better'.

[infernaldork.livejournal.com]

[Some boys are lost in outer space, but Eliot? He is lost in Hell - and unlike what you might expect, it's a pleasant daydream of sorts.

That screeches to a halt. Robots have medics?]

Is your 'medic' here?

[Honest curiosity here. Derp.]

[heavyweaponsbot]

[And the confused look abruptly turns into a glare. An angry rumble starts up in his chest.]

No.

[This is a touchy subject.]

[infernaldork.livejournal.com]

[Eliot jerks back, hands jammed into his pockets in his awkward version of a surrender gesture. His eyes went wide first, but now they are flickering between the ground and Ironhide - part nerves, part teen fail.]

I didn't know that.

[It's like he's trying to be petulant about it, but he recants with a quieter:]

Sorry to hear that. My sister's not here either.

[heavyweaponsbot]

[It takes Ironhide a moment to get himself back under control. He's not... used to being on his own. Out in the field, he'd either be paired with Ratchet, and, recently, his student -- Sideswipe. He's close to both of them, and now...]

Hmnf.

Just need to get home. They will be there.