We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
"Yeah. You along with Sniper. I keep my optics on a lot of things around here, but I don't mind teaching my methods and madness to others," said Blaster, "I'll probably be getting you doing something that doesn't involve thumbs most likely."
With a goofy grin, he held up his thumbs and wiggled them.
Steeljaw usually had a fairly solid lock on his own field, which was a good thing as otherwise he was certain the levels of sheer disdain would have been radiating off of him in visual spectrums.
Had the mech really just... yes, yes he had. Steeljaw kept his audio arrays upright by sheer force of will and if his optics dimmed noticeably - well, he was a recovering patient in medbay who had been drugged up for most of the last week. A few power fluctuations were to be expected.
"Of course," he didn't - quite - drawl. He did, however, extend a full set of claws from each forepaw, spreading them to catch the light. "I'm sure we wouldn't want me slipping and... shredding anything. Parts are so hard to replace nowadays, after all."
He gave himself a small shake, resisted the urge to pointedly twist his head and polish his own shoulder, and retracted his claws. At least, he consoled himself dryly, the mech admitted he was mad. Though the offer to teach said insanity was questionable at best, as Steeljaw was rather certain he didn't need any other virus or viral infestations any time soon.
Uplink was pinging him mercilessly in the back of his processor with pop-up glyphs about behavior and gratitude and manners. Or rather, he thought with an exasperated vent, his own processor was pinging him as the urge to shred things on purpose set off reminder routines he had hard coded to keep some of his more impulsive urges in check.
Sonnet of Epic Loathing #17, he decided abruptly. Glitched Autobots by the designation of Blaster. He let the beginnings of the first stanza start to unfurl in his processor, glyphs slotting in and out of place as a portion of his thought threads turned over the aesthetic value of each placement and word choice, and by the time he was three glyphs into it the urge to shred things - such as the faceplates of anyone callous enough to mock another mech's lack of appendages - had mercifully subsided.
it even let him plaster his own smile in place as bipedal frames understood it - audios up, jaw dropped, not too many teeth displayed - and stretch harmlessly claw-sheathed paws out as he squirmed slightly, arching his back to display the welds. "Speaking of the lack of, well, yes, thumbs - I don't suppose I could trouble you? This itches so much I'm starting to think Ratchet missed a few of those organic Pit spawned harbingers of Unicron."
"Oh look, I didn't mean any harm by it. I'm just pulling your pedes a little," said Blaster.
Looking over Steeljaw's welds, Blaster scoweled slightly.
"Yeah, no... I don't think it's the best for me to pick at fresh welds like that. Honestly, I've done many things to annoy the old Doc Bot. I don't think this should be one of them," said Blaster.
Sense of humor is highly questionable, Steeljaw mentally tallied under Blaster's file in his processor. Either has an aversion to touch, an aversion to touching quadrupeds, or has NO IDEA how to properly give skritches.
He briefly considered if it really was a fear of the medic, then discarded it. Ratchet was a bit overbearing, true, but he was a good mech and an excellent medic and far from being scared of him Steeljaw rather liked him. Oh, he was chafing at the slow recovery, but he appreciated the care the medic was putting into it, especially for an unknown Neutral who wasn't even his faction.
Then again, given Ratchet's perpetual surprise whenever Steeljaw didn't argue or disobey, there might be very different dynamics among the Autobots in regards to their medic.
Maybe it wasn't Blaster who was crazy. Maybe it was just Autobots in general. Steeljaw was a little afraid of what that might say about him as well, as he was stuck with them for the time being.
Or maybe he was just tired of being nice, and honestly, if the mech kept dishing it out he ought to be able to take a bit of it as well.
"So when you say 'insanity'," Steeljaw noted, deadpan, "that would be the sort of insanity that makes you annoy your base medic in the hopes that he'll... what? Flush out your systems?"
Blaster gave Steeljaw an odd look as he crossed his arms.
"Ha ha. Very funny. I'll admit to being crazy. It's my thing. It keeps me from being a little dry. You should try it some time. It might make you a little more exciting," said Blaster.
"I think," Steeljaw shot back smoothly, "that you all are just about as much excitement as I can take." He flicked his tail tip, amused. "Doctor's orders, you know. Wouldn't want to annoy the medic, after all, right? Might be... less than healthy."
He rolled onto his side, stretching gingerly. "In all seriousness," he added, "I would be very surprised if any of us that are left are actually clinically 'sane'. It seems less than likely."
The symbiote was right. This was a war and it had dragged on for what Blaster would think of as being almost an eternity. It just didn't seem to have an end in sight. The sad fact was that Steeljaw was probably more closer to the truth. In his time, Blaster has seen some bots entirely lose it. That was never pretty to look at. He was lucky he wasn't at the end of his rope yet.
And yet that brought back that memory of Shadow and Ironhide in the desert. That scene he had witnessed from two bots he considered friends.
"Yeah. I'd be really surprised that any of us still walked out of this with our sanity intact," said Blaster, "It reminds you of where you really are, you know?"
Steeljaw twitched one audio array thoughtfully. It was a more serious answer than he had expected from the host - almost somber, and without the abrasive tinge that seemed to substitute for 'humor' in Blaster's lexicon so far as Steeljaw could tell.
He had, very nearly, already written the host off - someone he would be obligated to work with, perhaps, but having no other point. The shift in temperament from the other mech gave him pause, however, and made his reply less reflexively biting in return. "More difficult than going insane is knowing that's where you're going, and watching others get there before you."
A real smile tugged Steeljaw's audios forward, flicking warm amusement through his field. "I promise," he agreed. "In fact, I solemnly swear that I shall actively look for ways to not go insane." He paused, tail tip twitching a laughing sort of wave. "Or at least, no moreso than I am already."
He twisted, rolling half onto his back, squirming just a bit to ease some of the itch across his spinal links. "And are you one of the smart ones, Blaster? Did you stare back at the abyss and tell it whatfore?"
Steeljaw settled his head back down on his paws, audios flicking. "I think," he drawled, "that you have turned to insanity to keep yourself sane." Or that you don't even know yourself, and you certainly have no reason to tell ME. Fair enough. He arched a smile, letting it bleed into his field where Blaster would feel it properly. "All the best of us do."
Venting, he let an itching twitch work its way down his spinal backstrut, plates rippling. "I believe the good medic intends to keep me here until Unicron's return, or until the first layer of welds heal, whichever comes first. I don't suppose you have anything that needs doing that I could do from the medbay? I have a perfectly working com and network system. It was only my aft that I broke."
"Then I'll go with that answer for now," said Blaster, "sounds fun."
He watched the backplates on Steejaw ripple.
"Prime should give you a Purple Spark for that. Aft damaged in the line of duty. Wouldn't be the first one won that way," said Blaster, "Anyways, I'll start you off on something simple. How do you feel about defragging some things for me?"
"I'm fairly certain falling out of organic trees with no enemies in sight doesn't count as 'in the line of duty,'" Steeljaw admitted. "But in regards to defragging - I would simply LOVE to," he added honestly. The gnawing lack of anything useful to do as the minutes clicked over into hours and then into days, all on Autobot charity, made his plates crawl with itch more than the healing welds did. He perked his audios forward, tail looping. "By all means, give me your poor, your fragged up and scattered, your scrambled and disorganized files."
He stretched his forepaws towards Blaster, flexing his gripping digits in a grabby sort of way. "Any files," he continued, slightly more serious. "Really. I will happily do inventory right now. I will catalog old shift reports and cross reference monitor files. ANYTHING."
He prepared a databurst for Steeljaw and sent it to him. It was a list of things that needed defragging.
"It's pretty standard stuff. It's not exciting but it's better than waiting for the green light from Ratchet. You're going to be patched in with limited access to the local network to do this. I don't expect anything to go wrong. Like I said, standard stuff. But given what things are like on this planet, weirder things have happened. Anyways, this should keep you preoccupied for a bit," said Blaster.