[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Leading the Way [Closed]
Aug 19, 2022 19:58:46 GMT -5
Post by Carbine on Aug 19, 2022 19:58:46 GMT -5
Carbine could hear Bumblebee shifting positions, and while he could barely get a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye, he did not turn his helm to see exactly what was happening. Enough was grasped to know that the other mech was squatting down to get on level with him further, and while it was something he could appreciate if they were only acquaintances, it was unneeded.
In Garrus, if someone stood above another like that, it could invite trouble if they were malicious. Given what Carbine was before entering that rancid place, it pretty much was asking for a shin to get well acquainted with his teeth. While those in Omega would not partake of such power plays... he hoped... it still offered a sense of security even if he would never utter as much.
Bumblebee was trusted however. Or, as much as Carbine COULD trust someone. If the yellow mech had chosen to remain upright it would not have brought on such a sense of unease. Because of this, the slight flick of his gaze to peer out of the corner of his vision, would then return straight down towards the ground, eyes closing as he kept his mouth open, some residual lines hanging off the tip of his braced jaw.
"Saw s-snow when ́I ar̨rived he͢r̶e."
That crash would stick to him for a while. While he was a hover car at the time, able to be his true self from what he was back on Cybertron, it did very little when it came to a freefall. Such systems needed either the magnetic push against metal planes on their home planet, or the impacting force of the thruster systems striking the ground in order to supply lift. With neither at his disposal, his systems could do absolutely nothing but twist his frame in his plummet, frantic thrashes a futile endeavor that could have been his last moments with the living.
Carbine made it to the ground in one piece. Mostly. Thundercloud saved him in such regards, though he was sure the deep Russian snow that was hit at an angle down the slope played at least a miniscule amount of aid as well. Not much. They were still large metal begins, but it couldn’t have hurt, and as such it almost brought with it a faint sense of complacency.
Or maybe he just wanted that cold air in the now.
"Can seę ho͡w͟ it'd be a bother to you whe͝el͟eḑ type."
There would be no way Bumblebee could have driven in such an environment. The snow too deep, creating a pitfall that would offer no traction to even try to plow through it by force. Other types perhaps, but not Bumblebee. Possibly not even himself in his original form if his systems wouldn't grasp that upper layer, but that was neither here nor there and he doubted he would ever have the opportunity to put it to the test.
Bolo meanwhile remained lying where he had slid down, his back legs crooked up to sit with his heels flush on the ground, while his forelegs were splayed out as if hugging the earth itself, his primary mass resting on his sternum paneling. His tongue was still hanging from the side of his mouth, unable to drape straight forward due to his lower jaw prong. The canine ended up mirroring his Carrier in a way in the process, makeshift saliva stringing. Unlike Carbine however, Bolo turned his helm to look at Bumblebee head on, his slender ears flicking once towards the black and white mech, before angling up at the Scout once again.
He seemed to be curious about what he was doing, watching the way he moved while listening to the words that were being dropped out. Bolo could be rather intelligent for an animal. Able to understand commands and know that he could comply when the right individual asked them, yet higher mental functions were beyond his capability. The majority of the mech's words were simply a buzzing trilled noise to him, a version of muttered muffles like what he heard when normal speaking individuals talked.
Some words were grasped though.
Out, here, walk, ready, go, back
Bolo couldn’t put them together right...
"I need ͞a̢ mi̵nu̴te more..."
Carbine's frame did sound like it was stabilizing at least. The roared heave of his fans were slower then. Not much, he was still coming down off the high, but it was no longer a screaming frantic rush to just get some sort of cooling.
"What y-you got ͝i̕n miǹd?..."
He was curious, but Carbine didn't overtly ask yet, helm crooking down further to rest his jaw on his collar plating, fingers still woven behind his neck.
In Garrus, if someone stood above another like that, it could invite trouble if they were malicious. Given what Carbine was before entering that rancid place, it pretty much was asking for a shin to get well acquainted with his teeth. While those in Omega would not partake of such power plays... he hoped... it still offered a sense of security even if he would never utter as much.
Bumblebee was trusted however. Or, as much as Carbine COULD trust someone. If the yellow mech had chosen to remain upright it would not have brought on such a sense of unease. Because of this, the slight flick of his gaze to peer out of the corner of his vision, would then return straight down towards the ground, eyes closing as he kept his mouth open, some residual lines hanging off the tip of his braced jaw.
"Saw s-snow when ́I ar̨rived he͢r̶e."
That crash would stick to him for a while. While he was a hover car at the time, able to be his true self from what he was back on Cybertron, it did very little when it came to a freefall. Such systems needed either the magnetic push against metal planes on their home planet, or the impacting force of the thruster systems striking the ground in order to supply lift. With neither at his disposal, his systems could do absolutely nothing but twist his frame in his plummet, frantic thrashes a futile endeavor that could have been his last moments with the living.
Carbine made it to the ground in one piece. Mostly. Thundercloud saved him in such regards, though he was sure the deep Russian snow that was hit at an angle down the slope played at least a miniscule amount of aid as well. Not much. They were still large metal begins, but it couldn’t have hurt, and as such it almost brought with it a faint sense of complacency.
Or maybe he just wanted that cold air in the now.
"Can seę ho͡w͟ it'd be a bother to you whe͝el͟eḑ type."
There would be no way Bumblebee could have driven in such an environment. The snow too deep, creating a pitfall that would offer no traction to even try to plow through it by force. Other types perhaps, but not Bumblebee. Possibly not even himself in his original form if his systems wouldn't grasp that upper layer, but that was neither here nor there and he doubted he would ever have the opportunity to put it to the test.
Bolo meanwhile remained lying where he had slid down, his back legs crooked up to sit with his heels flush on the ground, while his forelegs were splayed out as if hugging the earth itself, his primary mass resting on his sternum paneling. His tongue was still hanging from the side of his mouth, unable to drape straight forward due to his lower jaw prong. The canine ended up mirroring his Carrier in a way in the process, makeshift saliva stringing. Unlike Carbine however, Bolo turned his helm to look at Bumblebee head on, his slender ears flicking once towards the black and white mech, before angling up at the Scout once again.
He seemed to be curious about what he was doing, watching the way he moved while listening to the words that were being dropped out. Bolo could be rather intelligent for an animal. Able to understand commands and know that he could comply when the right individual asked them, yet higher mental functions were beyond his capability. The majority of the mech's words were simply a buzzing trilled noise to him, a version of muttered muffles like what he heard when normal speaking individuals talked.
Some words were grasped though.
Out, here, walk, ready, go, back
Bolo couldn’t put them together right...
"I need ͞a̢ mi̵nu̴te more..."
Carbine's frame did sound like it was stabilizing at least. The roared heave of his fans were slower then. Not much, he was still coming down off the high, but it was no longer a screaming frantic rush to just get some sort of cooling.
"What y-you got ͝i̕n miǹd?..."
He was curious, but Carbine didn't overtly ask yet, helm crooking down further to rest his jaw on his collar plating, fingers still woven behind his neck.