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 had laid on the legend that was Ironhide's paranoid over-protectiveness so thick that it was amusing around the nugget of irritating truth. The way Ratchet described it, EM as hard and serious as strut-welding without neural suppressants, made it sound less like humour and more like a nightmare.
"Reckon I can handle him," Cleaver began, though her tone was honest enough that her doubt in that being the case came across. She could shout down gladiators and frontliners, and was a senior-medic-class expert in using calculated physical force to ensure cooperation. Ironhide On Sparklings, however, sounded to be a new tier of challenge.
And she wasn't sure how much she'd be able to admonish Ironhide for acting out of protectiveness and love.
Cleaver harrumped to herself. She could and would shout at the big gruff specialist if he tried to bubblewrap the floor and wrap every Cybertronian on Earth in cotton wool.
Still.
Cleaver raised a hand, optics narrowing. "These are the most... extreme examples from his history, though. Right?"
<<OOC: Can continue or call this a fade-out fin ^_^ >>
Last Edit: Oct 11, 2012 17:06:13 GMT -5 by Deleted
Ratchet's field spoke the volumes of prickling sarcasm that his faceplates, set firmly into a dry expression of disbelief, did not. "I will admit that threatening a med tech with a gun when the mech was only passing within two arm lengths from him may be the most extreme example I can think of off the spur of the moment." He cast his optics upwards, considering for a moment as he searched through memory archives. "That, and practically needing to pry Blue out from under his plates - after sedating him - when it was time for Blue's first frame upgrade." He shook his head ruefully. "That was my own fault - I made the mistake of explaining what was involved in a frame upgrade to Ironhide before hand. He would have been much happier and easier to deal with if he hadn't had a clear picture."
Refocusing on Cleaver, he shrugged slightly. "It's not ALL bad," he allowed. "He's very tractable with a sparkling, and an exemplary caretaker." The medic's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Only time I've ever seen the mech volunteer for monitor duty."
Cleaver's field warmed at the image, easily imagining the large, battle-scarred mech hunkered down in front of a screen, hands fluttering over a sparkling equally as enthralled as himself in the other. The warmth was short-lived, however, as her processor latched onto and grated against the rough inevitability she'd not yet discussed with Ironhide.
"Thanks for the warning 'bout frame upgrades. Prickly thing to watch even if you are fully in the know about what's going on, why and how," she replied evenly, rotors jerking in a fidget from the central mount between her shoulders.
Her mouth slanted in a hard line, optics flicking down towards her own chassis before snapping back up and level with Ratchet's gaze. As if the awkward glance hadn't happened. "This one's likely gonna be upgraded soon as possible. Just, safer that way. Only so long I can hide a sparkling, and the Decepticon's can never catch wave of it."
Ratchet's answering expression pulled his mouth down at the corners, optics narrowing. "Sensible," he agreed. "Necessary."
He shook his head. "And I'll offer you a list of the best ways to get a sedative drop on a frontliner, the best ports and welds to do it through based on Ironhide's last scans, and wish you all the luck of Primus." He smiled, wryly, inclining his helm to her slightly with a pulse of amused but genuine respect. "Better you than me."
Letting the amusement drop, he reached out to briefly press her shoulder. "All joking aside, I'll help however I can." The amused flavor of his field crept back, just a bit, glinting through his optics. "Even if it means waylaying the big lug on our side while you take care of things here. Whatever you need, just say the word."
Last Edit: Jan 25, 2013 11:44:30 GMT -5 by Deleted