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.
"Got enough t'spare aid," Layby replied, eying the contorting Seeker. Faintly he wondered if Deuce would just collapse without warning at any given second.
Usually a mech went past bingo fuel and they got slow; careful with how they used up those fumes lest they go into stasis lock alone in the company of someone they'd known for less than five minutes. Cleaver was right: star-baked and throttled-tired.
Layby maneuvered himself behind Haven's guest and laid a friendly hand on his shoulder, a welcoming gesture that also served to steer him. "In you come."
The temperature just inside the lip of the mine was markedly cooler than outside, and already Layby could detect the faint heat-pops from Deuce's plating as his cooling systems received a boost. The entry tunnel curved around into the Atrium proper, and Layby dropped his hand once they were inside.
"Standard DMZ rules apply. You packin' anything I should know about, kid?"
Last Edit: Aug 16, 2014 10:56:05 GMT -5 by Deleted
Deuce sighed in relief as the cooler air of the mine swept over him. It was a soothing balm to systems that had been running hot every since hitting the continent. Plating popped, shifted, opening passages for greater airflow through his overheated frame.
The cavernous gloom of the Atrium gave him pause, however. He walked upright, his wings held stiffly downwards. His orange optics cut back and forth, his gaze darting over the rock walls. He jumped again when Layby's hand left his shoulder.
"Packing anything?" he said distractedly "Er- you mean heat? Oh, uh, yeah, uh, hang on a tick -"
A concealed holster at his hip snapped open, revealing the handle of a compact pistol. Deuce withdrew the weapon and twirled it once before clasping it by the barrel. It was a showy gesture, but he nonetheless handled the gun deftly and was diligent in checking that not only was the safety on, but that the muzzle was not pointed at either of them.
"Just this," he said. He offered it to Layby, handle-first. "You need me to check this in? No worries if you do."
"Glad to hear it," Layby replied, taking the well-worn handle of the pistol in his own large hand. He checked it himself with a thumb flick, then moved to brush a hand over the bare-rock wall of the Atrium's rear wall.
The rock facade of the weapons safe was purely decorative, and Layby made no effort to disguise how thumping it at one edge made the panel slide to one side. What was revealed was a standard storage locker that had been welded, wired and thoroughly affixed into the wall. Layby placed the flat of his palm against the reader and initiated a series of micro transformations, then turned his hand and the screen it had locked to. The heavy door opened outwards to reveal a space large enough to hold an ion cannon without touching the sides.
He placed the pistol inside to one side of his own mini arsenal (he was optimistic about DMZs - not stupid), then locked and closed the safe.
Turn back to Deuce, he pointed one blunt finger at the Seeker's chassis. "Right: fuel. Got some flight grade under the bar. We'll get a cube into you now, 'fore Cleaver gets here and starts cleaning you up." A rueful smile, optics bright with mirth. "Bet she was well impressed to have you smoking on ahead half-baked like that. Solid as that alt. of hers is, quick it ain't."
"Yeah, I hear that," he said. He smiled, almost wistfully. "A good friend of mine is a helobot. She travels slow, but holy hell, she can take a shot better than I can. She's a medic too. I almost mistook Cleaver for her when we first bumped heads. I think it's the no-nonsense air of practical sensibility. Must be a medic thing."
His distraction vanished as he leaned over to curiously examine the inside of the safe before it sealed shut. He whistled appreciatively at the weaponry contained within. Deuce wasn't a tremendous gun enthusiast, but he was rather keen on any piece of equipment that could be employed in the task of safeguarding his well-being - and if Layby's collection meant anything, it was that the mech was prepared to guard the Neutral base through force, if necessary. Good to know.
Deuce settled back, his hands behind his back. Then his brain caught up to his audials.
"Wait a minute!" His wings shot up as he spooked. He gawked at Layby, his optics wide and arms akimbo. "Did I hear that right? You have A BAR HERE? An actual bar? With actual fuel slash hooch?!"
Layby leaned back on his pedes a little as the Seeker flared out like a startled butterfly. Then he shook his head a little, grinning to himself and beckoning Deuce follow with a wave. "'s'like folk are more impressed by there being a bona fide bar here than there being a DMZ..."
Not that his inner-barkeep wasn't immensely gratified by all the enthusiasm.
Unfortunately, he only got two steps towards showing their visitor his pride and joy before a medic's unmistakable bark stopped him in his tracks.
Last Edit: Aug 16, 2014 10:53:19 GMT -5 by Deleted
Cleaver's tone was like a whipcrack, underscored with screaming vents from flying too-damn-fast in too-fragging-hot heat whilst being too-fragging-old-for-this-slag. The air around her frame was shimmering with heat, her rotors ticking and twitching down her back.
Layby held his hands up in surrender, which slid her focus onto Deuce. Like a gun barrel.
"You, you throttled little speed freak, into that Medbay now," she uttered, pointing with one solid blade towards said Medbay. "You can have your fun after I've scraped two hemispheres worth of scrag from your systems."
Then Cleaver stalked off, confident that Deuce would follow.
Lowering his hands, Layby quirked a brow at the Seeker and offered a smile. "Welcome to Haven."
Last Edit: Feb 26, 2014 17:27:20 GMT -5 by Deleted
Deuce had stood down Decepticon warriors and Autobot spec op agents. He had hunted criminals and politicians alike. He had charged across the front lines of wars that spanned galaxies. He had reported from dying stars, from shattered moons, from planets torn into vapour by the fires of holocaust and apocalypse, by quantum insanity. He had been taken hostage by more juntas than he cared to remember. He had seen attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion, watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. Wait, no. That was Roy Batty. And last week he had killed a spider that was this big.
He had stood in the face of it all and not backed down. He threw his arms wide to the universe and silently accepted its worst. But like hell he was going to stand face to face with a medic with a voice like that and tell her he was going to the bar. Holy shit, no. Deuce knew better.
Deuce held up his hands like a cornered gunslinger.
"Yes ma'am," he said humbly. As he lowered his wings and trudged after Cleaver he flashed a sly wink to Layby from the corner of his optic and grinned and said, "Thanks, brother. I'll guess I'll take you up on the full tour later. Starting with the-"
He tossed his head back and made a little drinking motion with one hand.
Last Edit: Feb 26, 2014 16:07:11 GMT -5 by Deleted