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.
Miko yelling was never good. No never. Ratchet went to see what was going on and as he came closer the yelling became clear. Seemed Miko yelling could lead to good news. Who would have guessed. Ratchet almost smiled. He would need to check Cleaver to make sure she and the sparkling were doing well and healthy.
"Going to go crazy?" Shadow hooked an arm around Bluestreak, tugging hir down so she could see Jazz. "You mean this ," she gestured with her free hand at Ironhide, who hadn't reacted to the comment (in fact, she couldn't swear he actually remembered they were there), "doesn't qualify already?"
He was buried up to his vents in cohort, the shared joy tumbling back and forth between them in waves, and Ironhide could not think of anything better, never mind the part about it all being on the rec room floor. (Or the watching humans, or Prime, who Ironhide could now manage to focus on enough to tell that the larger mech still looked dumbstruck and at that exact moment it was one of the funnier things Ironhide could remember seeing.) None of it mattered, because he had every on-base cohort member piled on or around him somewhere, and Cleaver was having a SPARKLING.
That almost derailed him into incoherency again, but he made an effort to keep words and vocalizer under control.
He freed one hand from underneath Bluestreak in order to reach up and flick Jazz's helm for good measure. "'ey! Ah remember. 'SHARE', right?"
It had looked to be a perfectly uneventful monitor shift, if the most interesting thing to happen was Ironhide requesting a bridge back from the Neutral DMZ (as though everyone didn't know why he was spending his downshift there) and coming back looking like the third rotation in a two cycle pass. Good for him, but it that was the extent of the excitement then Bulkhead was looking at a yawn worthy duty shift.
And then the texts, tag marked from Miko's cellphone, started coming in.
OMG PDA 2MI!!!
Bulkhead had long ago downloaded a reference of all of the most commonly used texting chat abbreviations in sheer self defense, because Miko could not be bothered to spell out anything if she didn't have to. He was still trying to figure out WHO the 'public display of affection' might apply to (hadn't she been in the rec room? Jack was there, and June Darby... and Optimus, oh Primus...) when the next flurry of texts arrived.
BB!!!1!!
OMG IH BB!!!!1!11!
...What? Bulkhead was trying to even decipher that - what in the Pit? - when Miko finally had to resort to at least some full words.
ZOMG IH NOCKED UP CL!!!!
Bulkhead ran a quick search, came up with a comedy movie and then backtracked to the generalized meaning of the local slang... and came up with a lot of nothing. WHAT?
JK? he sent back.
A pause, and then-
PICS!!1!!!1! and an attachment. For once, Bulkhead was almost afraid to open it because PIT NO, he didn't want to see... well, Cleaver wasn't on base, so it wasn't THAT sort of PDA, but STILL...
Habit was habit, though, and Bulkhead had a massive collection of meme gifs and lolcat captions because of Miko. The photo, when he opened it, was an insane tangled mass of metal on what looked like the rec room floor and it took him a moment of decipher Ironhide, Jazz, and Primus, was that Shadow?
There were two more waiting for him after that one, and now Bluestreak had joined the pile on the floor and the most you could really see of Ironhide was one leg and an arm under the pile of the rest of the big mech's cohort. The third photo...
....oh Primus, he had NEVER seen that sort of look on Optimus' face before. That was worth a million lolcat captions. Laughing, Bulkhead save all three photos to memory, because THIS was going to need to be shared with whoever came on to relieve him and probably anyone else who passed through the control room and hadn't been there to see it. Another thought occurred and he shot a text back to Miko.
This child will be born into war. thought June. Just like Bluestreak, like Bee, children of a violent generation. How very human
“Congratulations, Ironhide,” said June, watching her son attempt to assimilate the idea of robot reproduction and fail, “That’s wonderful news.” Apparently. She was relieved that everyone’s reaction – with the exception of Optimus – was pretty much spot on for humans: joy, excitement, doofy smiles and teasing and nerves. Just like any other family and pack of friends getting good news and it help reinforce that part of her brain that said ‘they are like us, really, they are’. The only one not flipping their brain modules about the news was Optimus who’d gone quiet and anxious looking (in so much that he expressed anything) and June eyed him sidelong before speaking out into the mess of puppy-piling Autobots. Good lord, so much like a family…
Behind her Miko was texting furiously.
“Not,” said June a bit loudly, “to break up the celebration but…” He glanced toward Ratchet, then Prime, then Hide. “Physically how taxing is this gonna be on Cleaver?” If what Optimus just said was true, and her rudimentary understanding of self-generation correct, then they were looking at a possible logistical issue here. Her pre-natal and maternal sensibilities were clicking on one by one. “I heard about the DMZ and the new base for Cleaver and her group, but does this mean we need to think about… sending someone out there to help her? Should Ironhide be there or… some of the Autobots to help out or…?”
“That is entirely reliant upon the wishes of the generator,” said Optimus.
Because Ironhide was correct. Cleaver was the senior in both experience, years, and medical know how and likely had generated before. June seemed to be operating on the not incorrect assumption that self-generating would be taxing on the carrier, but if she was assuming that it was anything to extent that an organic gestation process would be like, then she was mistaken. But that was more for Ratchet to explain than him. Cleaver would not be physically hampered in any way save energon consumption. It would be more difficult, after the internal generation process was complete… when there was a proto-form to look after in a world not evolved to receive such a thing.
Though, to be frank, Cybertron by the end of the war had been no place for a sparkling either. Optimus’ gaze strayed to Bluestreak, all bright optics and excitement and thought of Bumblebee, sparked to fight, programmed to build the Autobot war machine. He thought of the full-frame crèches taxed to their capacity, drone factories, the toxic demand their war had made on the planet until there was nothing, no life, no energy, no anything left to give. He looked at Ironhide.
“We will make any necessary accommodations for you and Cleaver as you need.” And then, after a moment, still uncertain of his own spark, far too late he knew, Optimus said, “Congratulations, old friend.”
((OOC: might let Op fade into background here unless directly spoken to. Let the fluff party roll on.))
Last Edit: Mar 28, 2012 16:38:31 GMT -5 by Deleted
It was a dilution effect, was what it was. By sharing the overwhelming emotions around to the rest of the cohort, it made what was left to Ironhide a little easier to contain inside his own plates and processor without bursting apart at the welds. He managed to raise his head enough to peer over Bluestreak's helm and around Jazz, meeting the Prime's optics with a grin that was still wider than his faceplates were comfortable accommodating. "Ah appreciate it, Prahm. She already told meh Ah ain't allowed t' fuss - shut it, glitchscrap-" the last was to Jazz, who had burst into snickers, "or probably be underfoot all th' time, but Ah appreciate it all th' same."
Letting his head thump back, he grinned up into the faces of his cohort, hugging as much of them as he could reach, and tried it one more time, just to wonder in awe at the shape of the sounds in his own vocalizer. "We're havin' a sparkling."
Staying still was an impossible task at the moment. Wiggling in with Shadow and Jazz bumping Ironhide affectionately careful to keep doorwings from smacking anyone and laughing. Holding tight to who ever was in reach just to feel grounded, make sure ou wasn't dreaming or about to float away.
"Don't kid yourself 'Hide I've seen vid's of Chromia and Jazz trying to convince you to let me leave your room!"
Though with any luck their growing cohort and Cleavers no non-sense personality would help mellow him out...Ou wasn't holding out for that. Jazz's plan to just drug him was probably the best plan.
"We are! Ironhide when I asked when I was getting a younger sibling I didn't think I'd get one so soon!"
Ratchet watched the joy of the others and the confusion of the humans with a light and heavy spark. It was so wonderful to see a time of pure joy. A new life was being made. So different from what he knew, the lost of life and joy and the battle field.
It would be hard and the sparkling would know war but the knowledge of love and joy would never be missed from the sparkling’s life either.
Jazz just snuggled into Ironhide's arms and said nothing. His field said it all to everyone who really mattered.
He had his worries, of course. It was a PIt of a time to have a youngling. And when it REALLY hit Ironhide, they were all going to have a RABIDLY nesting frontliner on their hands, but...well, it wasn't like it was their choice. They were cohort. Whatever Cleaver decided, it was their place to support and protect. He'd been taught that by Ironhide himself.
Jazz sent a low-priority message to Cleaver over the Neutrals' frequency: Hey there, boss. So, if you're really NOT sparked, you might want to say? Because 'Hide's practically chirping incomprehensible over here, and we're all under the impression that some congratulations are in order. He marked it for delayed-delivery-ok so that he wouldn't distract her from whatever she was doing, and returned to chortling at Ironhide's insistence that he was NOT THAT BAD, slaggit....
::Doesn't sound like he's recovered much from when I told him,:: came the near-immediate reponse, dry but thick with affection and no little amusement.
Cleaver had been working through a cube of energon whilst calibrating the medbay berths when the comm. signal had come through, having finally come out of recharge with some energy to move. 'Chirping' to describe Ironhide didn't gel in her processor, though when she thought back to his wide-opticed protective/possessive/reverent/disbelieving state... ::Tell me straight: what exactly have I unleashed here with him?::
June Darby observed the festivities with a very slight frown, which did not escape the notice of her son. Miko was furiously texting still, but Jack moved to lean forward slightly and study her face, then wave his hand by her head. “Heeeey, mom, you okay?”
“Hmm? What? Oh yes, of course, just trying to imagine… You’ve seen Bluestreak’s sparkling holos, right?”
Jack snorted. “No, mom, I forgot to ask Prime’s weapon specialist for baby pics of the team sharp shooter. Sorry.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “Right. Well… it sounds weirder when you say it like that.”
“It’s always been weird. How I say it has nothing to do with it. Look, can you please try to explain some of this junk in human terms? All the giant robots are bouncing around and being terrifyingly cheerful and I don’t, don’t want to ask Ratchet. Seriously.”
June sighed. “Are you asking me where giant robot babies come from, Jack?”
“…yes.”
“I need some tea. I’ll be right back.”
((Fading June out of this scene too. Think she’s said what needs saying. :3 ))
Meanwhile, Jazz's laughter came across in his reply to Cleaver as a glyphmash of intense amusement and helpless fondness with a liberal underlining of oh Primus you have NO idea.
Jazz tucked an arm around an excited Bluestreak and just leaned on Ironhide, audial tucked in against that rumbling purr of pure happiness.
::He'll be a better guardian than you'll EVER want. He just has issues with knowing when to stop. They set Bluestreak in his hands and Chromia and I spent a vorn trying to get Blue OUT of them. It was decacycles until 'Hide let cohort even touch the kid and orns before Blue realized that he could go anywhere NOT tucked under or attached to 'Hide's plates. We had to convince 'Hide to let us hold Blue, let us feed Blue, let Blue crawl around on the oh so dangerous FLOOR of our quarters. Then it was the same thing with each new person, each new place, each new thing. He was always honestly scared that Blue would get hurt, and his guardian protocols just went into overdrive over it.::
Surrounded by happy cohort and warm from everyone pressed around, Jazz fought off the frame-instinct that told him it was obviously time to recharge. He roused himself, smiling and headbumping Ironhide affectionately. ::I honestly have NO idea how he went from not wanting Blue let out of his sight to letting him go into battle. You'll have to ask Blue. He and Chromia must've worked wonders on the big lug while I was gone.::
He grinned. ::Oh, and here. Visual aid.:: He shot along a hastily edited vid of all of them and the deliriously happy speechlessness Ironhide was easing down out of.
Cleaver had barely accepted the file transfer when her vision fritzed, one hand automatically going to her helm to run a micro-scan through her fingertips. :: Sorry Jazz - having some feedback issues. Nothing serious - just a calibration's needed for the sparklet. Gonna leave you lot to it and get the vids later.:: A pause, then, ::Don't tell Ironhide. I... really don't want to get him started already when I have all that to look forward to...::