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 knew how to be quiet and stay out of sight if he wanted to; he wasn't foolish. At this point Autobots knew of his location and he wasn't picking up on the signals of enemy combatants, so it was alls clear to him. For the time being he was just trying to get a feel for this strange environment while hoping that not all of the planet was like this. If he wanted to be clogged and rusted out, he would have stayed on that scrapheap in the middle of the system.
And, in spite of the sand and dust and irritation to his gears, it was nice to just rotate the tires for a change. He would have been more favorable towards solid ground, but this would do fine for the time being.
Hearing that the femme was inbound, Jazz pinged the direction she was traveling and caught her disappearance through his view finder. Alright, so apparently the fun part was over and it was time for the one-on-one investigation. He was probably going to need his clearance codes and all of that so he pulled it up. Skidding his tires a bit, the metal jerked as his frame went rolling forward. With sand kicking up around him, he came out of the somersault just as his arms were folding out to his sides and the tires flipped to his shoulders. He stood, once more bi-pedaled, and passed a strong gust of air through his vents to clear out the sand that had gotten caught.
:: Don't go crashin' and disappear on me now. I got a feelin' I wouldn't be much help to ya if ya did.::
There was a satisfied grunt on the other end of Nova's commline.
"Very good, Nova," said Ratchet. "Comm me if you need any assistance, medical or ground bridge or otherwise. I'll maintain a listening watch on this frequency in the meantime."
The comm clicked off again. There was a lingering sense that somewhere on the other end of it the Autobot medic was monitoring the situation from his position in the control room, a silent but felt presence.
Every Flier ever forged or crafted had a list, of sorts in their memory banks. Quite simply, it was a list of surfaces ranked by ease of landing. By sheer virtue of her travels, Nova's list was decidedly longer then others, and thus allowed her to anticipate the degree of difficulty landing in this sandy desert was going to be.
And she hadn't been too far off. The slight collapse of the dune face had been a bit unexpected, to be sure, but at least she managed to remain on her pedes.::Don't worry your precious fender over me crashing out here, sweetspark. I've landed harder in places much worse.:: The soft crushhiss of someone walking on sand slowly became clearer to his audials as the femme made her way to the new arrival.
Her blue-grey helm crested the dune ridge first, her sea-green optics bright. "Hope you've got your ident codes ready." She said when she finally saw him. And boy did he look like something a scraplet had started to chew on but quickly disliked the taste of. The scan was going to be interesting.
Last Edit: Jul 10, 2015 20:15:21 GMT -5 by Deleted
:: Sweetspark? My my, keep talkin' like that and I may think ya got a charm for me without even settin' your optics on my frame. ::
Then when he spotted her approaching his location he could only chuckle at her. It wasn't how SHE looked, but rather how she was looking at HIM.
"Ya ain't gotta give me THAT kinda look. I've honestly been through much worse. Once I hit a washrack I'll be good as new!" Jazz casually brushed his shoulders off, at least as much as he could since the sand just rolled off somewhere else once it was stirred up. A lot of it found its way to lower regions that made him a bit more uncomfortable once he realized it was settling in there. Sand in the pants was going to be a term he would probably use to describe this situation in the future.
"Codes all ready and waitin' for ya. Who ya got receivin'em?"