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.
Jazz throttled his laughter down to giggles and snorts, pushing himself up to press his forehelm to Bluestreak's tiny back, to kiss a tiny servo as it reached back for him. Good, he sent. Approval/love/joy.
He pushed back up to sit with his back against the couch, just to the side of Optimus' legs. He tilted his head back to look at the Prime. "Now, aren't you glad you decided to come by?" He thumped a hand against Optimus' shin plating. "Got to see a sparkling landmark and everything." Jazz grinned. "Can't wait until Blue's old enough to be mortified when we tell the story of how his first word was cursing out the Prime."
Jazz leaned back against the couch, watching Ironhide and Blue attempting to talk to each other. Over a private, short-range comm line, he sent, ::So...data to look at? Hand it over. I'll take a look while you rest.::
Oh ou was so happy! Ou'd managed to speak and everyone was so happy about it. Giggling along with Jazz eve as the little grey bitlet is scooped up and tucked in safe within Ironhide's arms. Holding tight and pressing hir face against as his praise and pride came through loud and clear. Ou was beifly concerned for Jazz's fit but Ironhide and Prahm weren't worried so he must be fine
Ou could hardly wait to get a hang of all the words ou wanted to say. Who? What? When? Were? Most importantly Why. But there was one more word ou wanted to say right now. It still wasn't easy to get it out but it was important. Wiggling a bit so ou could watch Ironhide as ou struggled for a bit before getting the second word out.
<<Out of turn, but I just had to. Ignore him and continue on with proper order....>>
Jazz's vents hitched in an obvious bid to stifle yet more laughter. He muted his vocalizer, snurfled through a few ventilations, and shook silently for a few kliks, but didn't say anything to distract their adorably accented sparkling and 'Hide from having their Moment.
All he could think was Well, at least he's not picking up MY accent!
Optimus leaned forward slightly to pass the data pad to the saboteur, mindful of Ironhide quite possibly blowing a neural circuit in joy over Bluestreak’s newly activated vocalization subroutines. Prauxian sparklings can in all kinds of developmental models, but Ironhide’s adopted stray hadn’t even had the basics of speech online when found, suggesting either an interruption in the new-spark's activation process or an alternative method of development – perhaps unusual, but not unheard of in the pre-war era. In the war now, sparkling frames were a thing of the past. To bring so small and helpless a spark into the world unprepared to fight and ready to run… it wasn’t an option any more. Bluestreak was part of the last generation that could afford such a luxury as innocence.
The new-sparked of this generation would inherit the history of violence that brought them into the world, their function: soldier. And Optimus didn’t pretend to himself that a part of him didn’t, occasionally, when he had time for it, grieve for that when he looked at Bluestreak. One more piece of Cybertron lost to the war.
“Rotorstorm and his aerialists came back from a bombing run and reports that the military units in Tarn are on the move again, mobilizing. He estimates their air forces will be ready approximately two orns ahead of their ground infantry, as usual. Our air division is already moving on that, but our ground forces are the focus right now. We have some time to ready, but we need to make some decisions about troop placement now, so they can dig in.” Every word out of the Prime was declining slightly, the glyphs and honorifics in his words getting fuzzy around the parameters. He ex-vented, sitting back heavily in his seat finally, not bothering to appear as though he were not tired. Jazz and Hide knew well enough anyway. “I have a suggested dispersal pattern for groundbridge deployment. What would your suggestion be?”
Last Edit: May 20, 2012 19:22:19 GMT -5 by Deleted
Ironhide's vents hitched up and forgot how to restart, forgot the conversation going on around him, forgot the Prime, forgot everything except his own name chirped on his sparkling's voice and something beyond definition unfurling inside his spark as he curled around that tiny, precious frame.
"Right here," he rumbled softly, nuzzling against the small helm, field pulsing love and joy on every frequency. "That's meh, sparklet. Ah'm right here. Always will be."
He could have continued in that vein for breems, sparkling cupped in his hands, curled over and around hir, rocking gently as his systems hummed a counterpoint rhythm to the quiet stream of praise and reassurance. The pings of other systems against his own kept him from sinking entirely into himself and the wonder that was his sparkling, however, prompting him to eventually cycle back to awareness of the room and inhabitants around him.
Prime. Oh, yes. Of course.
Ironhide had completely lost track of the conversation, but that didn't really matter. Not then. Troop placements and activities took a very pale second place next to sparkling landmark achievements. Uncurling, Ironhide pushed to his pedes and over to the sofa, depositing a handful of sparkling onto the Prime's obligingly wide chestplates.
"Here, tell hir yer proud of ou," he directed. "Should hear it from yeh too. Deserves some reinforcement."
Last Edit: May 22, 2012 19:33:56 GMT -5 by Deleted
The Prime was giving his Weapon Specialist a look that said if the mech had not already lost all façade of being a hardcase, tough as nails, machine of war, then he would have lost significant points to that effort after coo-cooing the new spark in his hands.
It was still a feat of some impressive mental gymnastics for Optimus to accept that the pile of fraternal jelly and cuddles that was Ironhide was the same mech who’d dragged him wrecked, bleeding primary fluids, and half dead through hundreds of battles gone bad. How many times had they looked grim into the abyss of their own deaths and come away from it? Ironhide sitting here, cradling a sparkling, throwing all his growly attitude out of the window for Bluestreak... it probably said more about Optimus than Ironhide, that he was having trouble accepting it.
At having Bluestreak foisted on him, Prime then gave Ironhide a look that suggested a long boring monitor duty might be in his future. Nevertheless, he agreeably lifted a hand to the small mechanoid’s fragile back, contact EMF pulsing gentle and approvingly from every line of his impossibly tall framework. Jazz was clearly grinning while he looked over the data and Optimus supposed he’d just have to accept this was the price of getting the mech’s military opinion.
“Very good, Bluestreak. Your cohort approves of your new, if questionable, lexicon.”
Last Edit: May 22, 2012 22:13:25 GMT -5 by Deleted
Okay, ou was talked out for now. Not that that would last but ou had said the words ou wanted to and now was for snuggling Ironhide apparently. Chirping and cooing softly as he spoke. Pleased with the affection and obvious praise.
All good things come to an end though and Prahm was here so that meant talking. Ou was surprised however when ou was placed upon the chest of the larger mech. Optics wide and curious as ou chirped not in complaint but mild surprise. But the gentle finger on hir back was soothing and ou had had a big day. Yawning wide optics dimming and shuttering as ou buried hirself into the plates of the Prahms chest for a nap.
Ironhide and Jazz were close Prahm was warm and comfortable. Ou was safe warm and loved. All was right in hir world.
Jazz eyed the configuration going on the couch and smiled internally.
Outwardly, he frowned, visor glinting at Ironhide conspiratorially. He continued comming Prime. ::Hmmm...this could...hmmmm.... Can you give me this for oh...a decaklik or two? Let me check up on a few things.... " He actually did want to check in with a few other spec ops agents, though he imagined that they'd see the same thing he did: a suspicious reshuffling of command among the amassing Decepticon units. He had a suspicion that this was a feint, but checking could only help his analysis.
Giving Prime an excuse to SIT for a few decakliks could only help HIM, too.
Just to encourage that, Jazz shifted, coincidentally crowding his back against Optimus' shins.
Ironhide caught Jazz's sidelong glance, nothing so blatant as words or a comm needed in cohort synced so close and obviously contemplating the same directive. Keeping his smile in check - or at least reserved for the sight of Bluestreak curled up into recharge, which was a very different smile from the sort of smile that preceded any plotting - he nodded, passing a hand gently over the sparkling's tiny frame. "Here, keep an optic on hir for a klik, Prahm."
Sliding off the edge of the sofa, he settled on the floor beside Jazz, adding his own mass to the saboteur's in a neat, unobtrusive pin and made a show of reaching for the data pad. "Lemme see, glitchscrap."
And now he was stuck. Optimus was beginning to see the structure of their schemes now that his pedes were effectively pinned to the foot of the couch and Bluestreak curled against the paneling of his chest, snoozing. The Prime gave the back of his subordinates’’ heads a look that suggested they would not only get monitor duty for orns but be assigned to combiner duty. Combiner duty being mostly comprised of keeping the combiner teams from murdering each other or destroying everything around them for sheer rambunctiousness. He doubted, however, that the pair of them was paying him any mind at his point.
Optimus ex-vented slightly, glancing down the tiny body attached pretty firmly now to his chest armor and the fact that he still had not gotten his plates fixed since the last Decepticon attack had hammered half a ton of shrapnel into their defenses, a good chuck of which had found its way into his exo-plating. Ratchet had pried it all out, but cosmetics hadn’t seemed important at time. Blue had a handhold in one of the dents. It seemed a strange dichotomy – one fragile thing amid so many un-fragile beings.
“You can look over that data,” said Optimus, though not very hopefully, “while I make the rounds to the other CO’s. I have a few other things I need to take care of…”
"Hmm?" Jazz said. "Oh, well...y'COULD, I guess, but...it really won't take THAT long, I don't think?" He sent out a request for info to Turnabout.
Then he looked up at Prime. Not, incidentally, moving his weight from Optimus' legs. "I mean, feel free, but I'll warn you, Blue's a light sleeper, 'specially when he's just dozed off. You wake him up now, he's gonna fuss. Just fair warning!"
All of which was true, though fussing likely would be minimal. Jazz figured that Blue would not have minded his fussiness being exaggerated in the name of being included in Operation: Sleeping Prime.
Friendly, accommodating interrogator versus blunt, solid wall interrogator. It was a dynamic that worked on recruits who were doing things they ought not to do, and sometimes on 'Cons (depending on whether said 'Cons knew Jazz from before or not).
It also, oddly enough, worked on officers that needed working around and on Primes that needed other mecha to tell them what they needed for their own good. Which is why Ironhide didn't spare the roughness in his growl when he slanted a look up at the sparkling curled on his leader's chassis.
"Don't yeh dare wake that bitlet up, Prahm. We'll be breem puttin' hir back down."
Hir awareness of Operation: Sleeping Prime or lack there of non-withstanding Bluestreak had just managed to slip into a peaceful, if light nap and ou wasn't about to let hirself be awakened. Making a sound that was something between a coo and an yawn ou stretched upon Optimus' chest before curling up tighter and holding on tightly to the big red mechs plates. Grip stronger than one would think such a little sparkling could have.
Optimus didn’t groan and he didn’t glare but he did resign himself to not getting back to what he’d been doing previously and quietly pinged himself off-duty to the other CO’s still on-duty. Oddly enough, the ceiling didn’t immediately cave in the way he’d imagined it would nor did Megatron’s whole gang of Combaticons come smashing through the nearest wall. After nearly being stomped on by Bruticus more than two dozen times during their defense campaign thus far, Optimus had developed more than a slight Combaticon specific dislike. Not that he ever discussed it.
Bluestreak was dozing quietly, sleepy frequencies radiating infectiously through the Prime’s plating while Ironhide and Jazz studiously ignored him and went about inspecting that data pad he’d handed to them. Because he knew them and knew them well, the reassurance that the work would get done and thusly taken care of was a relief and had a deeply relaxing effect on Optimus. He could feel his overrides collapsing, the ones he’d initiated against persistent system pings suggesting recharge. Sensing inactivity, they were cycling up worse than ever. Optimus ex-vented heavily, optics closing.
“I have no intention," said the Prime, tone perfectly exhausted, "of moving until I have both your opinion on that field report. Do not worry, Ironhide.”
Jazz leaned back against Optimus' legs, smiling secretly at Ironhide. The optics were closed. Victory was theirs.
He settled back to wait as Switchboard combed his databases for the answer Jazz sought. Jazz switched to a private comm, shoulder nudging Ironhide's. ::So. Bets on how long it'll take before he's in recharge?::