Ep0.5 - "Neutral Turf" - Open
Jan 20, 2012 20:53:20 GMT -5
Post by bumblebee on Jan 20, 2012 20:53:20 GMT -5
For fragging once – finally, Primus dammit all – Bumblebee was not the one bringing strange bots onto base with him and everyone could kindly stop accusing him of ‘adopting every sad looking Con, cuss, and kitty cat’ he came across on patrol. Steeljaw didn’t even count because fraggin’ Blaster found him first anyway, not that anyone was listening when Ratchet chewed him out for bringing ‘jungle-rotted contaminates’ into the base to ‘infest’ everything. (What he meant were the ants, not Steeljaw, thankfully.) But this time he was totally scott-free, Optimus himself had cleared this groundbridge and Bulk had been the one to program the coordinates. Bee was just the Bot babysitting.
…
Well, okay considering the age gap here that was a poor choice of words, but he was to keep an open optic on Cleaver while Ironhide processed energon for the matronly femme. Jack was sitting on the railings up in to catwalks, sneakers hooked into a lower rung, and providing running commentary while Bumblebee ran a few of Cleaver’s ID checks. She was not an Autobot so there would be no real solid data on her, but so long as she didn’t flag up in the Con-cooperative database then there would be no problem.
“Hey, Bee. You’re off your game.” Jack was using his ‘smart-ass voice’. June Darby called it that and Bee was now keen to its usage. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be adopting all the transformers.”
Bee chirp-whirred.
“Sorry. Didn’t get that.”
The scout-flicked an insolent door wing at him, like a perturbed cat flicking an ear (“Aww, Bee, I was kidding!”) and tuned him out. ‘You’re cleared,’ said Bee, his Basic dotted with friendly glyphs for conversation. He beamed up at Cleaver, EMF bright and eager. ‘Sorry for all the security/hassle/trouble. There’s just a lot of Cons/hostiles planet-side.'
…
Well, okay considering the age gap here that was a poor choice of words, but he was to keep an open optic on Cleaver while Ironhide processed energon for the matronly femme. Jack was sitting on the railings up in to catwalks, sneakers hooked into a lower rung, and providing running commentary while Bumblebee ran a few of Cleaver’s ID checks. She was not an Autobot so there would be no real solid data on her, but so long as she didn’t flag up in the Con-cooperative database then there would be no problem.
“Hey, Bee. You’re off your game.” Jack was using his ‘smart-ass voice’. June Darby called it that and Bee was now keen to its usage. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be adopting all the transformers.”
Bee chirp-whirred.
“Sorry. Didn’t get that.”
The scout-flicked an insolent door wing at him, like a perturbed cat flicking an ear (“Aww, Bee, I was kidding!”) and tuned him out. ‘You’re cleared,’ said Bee, his Basic dotted with friendly glyphs for conversation. He beamed up at Cleaver, EMF bright and eager. ‘Sorry for all the security/hassle/trouble. There’s just a lot of Cons/hostiles planet-side.'