Ep. 1 - Rivers in Egypt - Closed
Jun 10, 2013 18:42:26 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jun 10, 2013 18:42:26 GMT -5
"Oh frag, Ironhide." Shot didn't so much slump as he did... faceplant, paint-smeared servos rising to clutch weakly at his helm. Whatever else could be said about the poor glitchwit caught in Blue's orbit, he wasn't exactly the type of mech even notoriously-absentminded Shot could easily forget. He'd managed to mentally categorize the burly frontliner as 'of no particular concern' all the same- and whatever that said about Shot's mental state, it wasn't complimentary. "Why'd you have to bring Big Red and Shootey into all this? You *trying* to distract me or is that just a fun side-effect?"
Cleaver's tune- alright, technically not hers, but 'Cleaver's sparkling's tune just didn't roll off the glossa- still trilled in the background, all cheerful arpeggios and stacatto drumbeat gone wrong. That transition had been slagging him off for a month and change; occupied desk or no, there was no time like the present to fix this particular affront to the musical community. Grumbling, Shot dragged a blank sheet of paper over, covering it with staves and complex chords at a rate that would've left human composers green with envy. Somewhere in that tangle of notes he might find a solution- or at least a distraction from his current distraction. At this point he'd take what he could get.
"Should have it sorted out in a week or so, if I can get my act together," He added dubiously, pillowing his chin on his free servo. When exactly had his desk gotten so plate-splittingly hard? "Took longer to just... start the slagging thing than it will to finish it. Went through- what, five attempts before this one stuck? S'like pulling off plates, I swear. Feels about as good, too."
There'd been benefits to scrapping the lot and starting over again, though, one of which picked up where that marching tune left off. The song he'd mentally labeled 'not Cat's'- a lie of epic proportions- was as harsh and driving as Cleaver's had been soothing, all hard edges and wildly-warping time signatures.
"Aaaand once I'm finished with the sparkling's I can think about working on yours."
Cleaver's tune- alright, technically not hers, but 'Cleaver's sparkling's tune just didn't roll off the glossa- still trilled in the background, all cheerful arpeggios and stacatto drumbeat gone wrong. That transition had been slagging him off for a month and change; occupied desk or no, there was no time like the present to fix this particular affront to the musical community. Grumbling, Shot dragged a blank sheet of paper over, covering it with staves and complex chords at a rate that would've left human composers green with envy. Somewhere in that tangle of notes he might find a solution- or at least a distraction from his current distraction. At this point he'd take what he could get.
"Should have it sorted out in a week or so, if I can get my act together," He added dubiously, pillowing his chin on his free servo. When exactly had his desk gotten so plate-splittingly hard? "Took longer to just... start the slagging thing than it will to finish it. Went through- what, five attempts before this one stuck? S'like pulling off plates, I swear. Feels about as good, too."
There'd been benefits to scrapping the lot and starting over again, though, one of which picked up where that marching tune left off. The song he'd mentally labeled 'not Cat's'- a lie of epic proportions- was as harsh and driving as Cleaver's had been soothing, all hard edges and wildly-warping time signatures.
"Aaaand once I'm finished with the sparkling's I can think about working on yours."