Ep. 1 - "Join me for Another Drunk" - (Open)
Feb 16, 2014 23:15:58 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Feb 16, 2014 23:15:58 GMT -5
OOC: Assuming that Jets got in thanks to Cat. Haven’t finished that thread but I’m sure they’ll eventually hit an impasse and someone will out-stubborn the other and the beans will be spilled. Anyone in for friendly (or grumpy) bar fun is invited to the party.
IC:
High grade.
Jetfire stood at the bar, letting the smell of it burn the dust off his olfactory sensors. It had been so long. The time he’d been in stasis seemed to pass him in a mere klik, but the time between his last sip of high grade felt longer than his mere existence. He felt like he’d been rubbing the temples of his helm since he’d awakened.
It was strong stuff, he could practically feel the heat of the acid coming from the sides of the cube. He was slightly wary of it. He’d only had a small, thin cube of high grade in his subspace when he’d originally left Cybertron on his deep space mission. There was still a little left, but it was so ancient it was starting to wear a thin hole from the flask. He’d kept it for later examination but decided he’d been through enough medical care this week to try something as stupid as that.
It had been a long time since his last indulgence, for sure. Still, he wasn’t exactly a light weight, and these cycles had been enough to turn his processors inside out and upside down. It was difficult enough to deal with the reality of the destruction of his planet. And now he also had to deal with the fact that a human being had shown him to this place at all.
Pit take him, he was going to drink. The fumes were delightfully acidic and his capacity for meditating to soothe his processors was getting weaker by the cycle. He was going to go mad, and he’d found the medicine.
He grunted, suppressing a manic smile, and took a hearty swig. His head craned back as he tilted the contents of the cube into his pipes, the high-grade slipping venomously and gloriously down into his tubes.
He slammed the container down, his head bouncing on his neckstruts. The error codes whizzed around in his vision, and the smile he was hiding curled into reality.
IC:
High grade.
Jetfire stood at the bar, letting the smell of it burn the dust off his olfactory sensors. It had been so long. The time he’d been in stasis seemed to pass him in a mere klik, but the time between his last sip of high grade felt longer than his mere existence. He felt like he’d been rubbing the temples of his helm since he’d awakened.
It was strong stuff, he could practically feel the heat of the acid coming from the sides of the cube. He was slightly wary of it. He’d only had a small, thin cube of high grade in his subspace when he’d originally left Cybertron on his deep space mission. There was still a little left, but it was so ancient it was starting to wear a thin hole from the flask. He’d kept it for later examination but decided he’d been through enough medical care this week to try something as stupid as that.
It had been a long time since his last indulgence, for sure. Still, he wasn’t exactly a light weight, and these cycles had been enough to turn his processors inside out and upside down. It was difficult enough to deal with the reality of the destruction of his planet. And now he also had to deal with the fact that a human being had shown him to this place at all.
Pit take him, he was going to drink. The fumes were delightfully acidic and his capacity for meditating to soothe his processors was getting weaker by the cycle. He was going to go mad, and he’d found the medicine.
He grunted, suppressing a manic smile, and took a hearty swig. His head craned back as he tilted the contents of the cube into his pipes, the high-grade slipping venomously and gloriously down into his tubes.
He slammed the container down, his head bouncing on his neckstruts. The error codes whizzed around in his vision, and the smile he was hiding curled into reality.