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 smiled benignly, automatically flicking out a glyph for "unintended" to Sunstreaker. Old, well-worn cant between them, for "I didn't mean it that way". He'd spent a long time learning the maze that was Interacting With Sunstreaker Without Getting Your Face Ripped Off, and he was fairly sure he'd managed to situate himself in Sunstreaker's mind as someone who wouldn't always try to insult him. Still, markers on the highway helped.
Jazz figured he had to be doing well, even after all this time. After all, Sunny had only threatened damage, not gutting.
Jazz did a fast defrag, increasing his temporary memory allotment and firing up his scanning protocols before giving the Karma a full-body scan. He sent it to his analytical processors again and watched idly as they added in the extra detail, turning rough probabilities into hard coordinates and schematics. He was pleased with what came out the other end. He was no Sunstreaker, but he liked looking good, and this looked good. He fussed a bit with the algorithms, splitting plating here, adjusting an angle there, until he came up with a few designs he liked best.
::Opinions?:: he asked, shuttling some captures of the designs over to Sunstreaker. Because really, as much slag as they gave him about it, Sunstreaker was the expert, and Jazz wasn't sure about some of the plating placements.
Meanwhile, he sauntered over to Sideswipe, grinning. "Don't look too slovenly to me."
“‘Slovenly’,” said Sideswipe, blue optics still on the fractal swarm rushing across the ripple of EMF between his fingers, “is Sunstreaker to normal speak for ‘drop dead gorgeous’.” He clicked critically at Jazz, flashing high-complexity glyphs at him that were pure Iacon lingual snooty and nothing a Kaon drop-caster should have been so fluent in. “Primus, Jazzman, pick up on your Psycho-Twin Lingo. You’re clearly vorns out of date. Get with it our we’ll swap to code-talk and then you’ll be well and truly fragged. Speaking of…”
Sideswipe chirp-whistled at his brother, tonal harmonics turned upside down, but highly amused. ‘Stop threatening to take optics, dude. It’s rude and stuff.’
The red Roadster deactivated the toy and the mass of it snapped back into a cube and dropped neatly into his hand where he palmed it and subspaced with a grin at Jazz. The Twins, in their eons of being linked in the head and spark, tended to devolve into psychic-shorthand in terms of data swap and file-sharing, but they did it aloud as well – speaking in a mix of Basic, High and Mid-Caste linguistic signifiers and Kaon slang, none of which remained the same for any extended period. They always understood one another though, to networked not to.
“You wanna hit the roads to test your new alt once Streaker’s done fussing over seam split angles?”
Post by sunstreaker on Feb 12, 2012 15:03:36 GMT -5
A bemused little smile decorated Sunstreaker’s face over Jazz’s reassurances, forcibly reminding the former frontliner why exactly he enjoyed the bot’s company. There was a real spark beneath the glib attitude and Jazz actually paid attention to the world. There was nothing dull or drone-like there, not like there had been with the majority of Cybertronians. An elegant hand wave and a ping back of “we’re copacetic” was for the saboteur, littered with glyphs for “just tired” and “friend”. The backswing of the motion was for Sideswipe, following through to connect with the red and black mech’s shoulder in a playful smack. “Piss off. Was just threatening to put a thumb in one, it’s all good,” came the trilled response colored with a few shades less amusement but the good humor was still there.
He let the other two mechs degenerate into whatever passed for conversation between them while poring over the images Jazz had sent over. The mech had good taste, which was the penultimate thing when it came to being truly stylish. Without a basis of natural good taste to work from one was utterly hopeless. Tweaking a couple of angles just a few degrees on one particular design, he pinged it right back to the now Karma. ::That one. Clean, elegant, with just a hint of raciness in the angles.::
Resurfacing from the concentrated headspace he went to when working Sunstreaker caught the last thing his brother said and it made the Lamborghini’s struts positively ache with the need to move. “We’ll show you the countryside. The back roads around here are full of switchbacks and long open stretches. Best part: they’re usually empty so we can go as fast as we want.” Unabashed eagerness colored the words, clearly telegraphing what Sunny thought of this idea.
Jazz grinned at the suggestion of racing (because yeah, it might START OUT as a drive, but they all knew it was going to TURN INTO racing). "Drive sounds great. It's been a long time since I've been on an organic planet. This one looks like it's got its beautiful bits. Let me stretch my struts and show me somethin' pretty and I'll be a happy mech."
Sunstreaker's pingback made Jazz grin. ::Yeah, I liked that one, too. Ooh, I see what you did there. Nice.::
He stood back, finding himself a nice open stretch of floor. "'kay. Pardon me, mechs, while I slip into somethin' more comfortable."
His glyphs were wry. As any mech who'd ever gone through it knew that reformatting was anything but "comfortable".
Jazz's processor blinked READY at him, the new format coming in at 99.83% of current materials. Awesome. He wouldn't even have to nab any mass from anywhere. Match made in heaven, Jazz thought. Let's do this thing, lovely.
Reformatting always felt like his plating was crawling off. His nanites halted and HUMMED then swarmed, pushing him apart and putting him back together again as his mass transformed around protoform and spark. Plating disintegrated to create new seams, reforming otherwhere to join new plates, shuffling everything about on his undermesh and even remodeling that in places. Under it all struts broke and reformed, joints shifted and expanded/contracted, his entire protoform ITCHING as his mass shifted and slid around it.
He fell unresisting into the alt form transformation, plates settling into seamless curves and his chromonanites busily reconfiguring to a uniform dark platinum. The joins felt tight, odd, but Jazz expected nothing different. The reformatting program keyed as complete, and he unfolded back up into root mode, slowly, feeling every new seam, angle, and shift in weight.
When everything stopped moving, Jazz held his arms out, shifting from foot to foot to test the subtle differences in balance. His kibble was different, of course, and carried in a different configuration. He'd get used to it, though. He always did.
The last frission of reformat discharging into the deck plating, Jazz grinned at the twins. "Oh yeah. I need to try this out. Who wants to put me through my paces?"
Last Edit: Feb 12, 2012 21:05:49 GMT -5 by Deleted
“Woo, there’s a fancy root mode if I ever saw one,” sang Sideswipe, hopping to his pedes and grinning so wide the span of his mouth took up far more than its usual territory on his face. He flashed a quick scan across the saboteur’s new armor plating. He placed a mock thoughtful servo to his chin, setting the crook of his thumb and pointer finger against the line of his jaw and circling the smaller mechanism like a Towering in a tech boutique, scoping the lines of a prospect design. “Not bad. Not bad. You’ll get points for those lines, mech, like the cut on the splits but until I see a transformation it’s all prospective.”
Sideswipe dropped his hands to his hips, leaning on the back-pede and arching a look his brother’s way – a long, sideways smile. “I think we can put you through aaall the paces you want, Jazz.” He jerked his head toward the entrance to the main deck and groundbridge control room, blue optics flashing with lazy anticipation. “Let’s go.”
fin.
Last Edit: Feb 13, 2012 21:39:44 GMT -5 by Deleted