[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Arrival of the Whirlybird (Open)
Jan 19, 2018 16:35:27 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jan 19, 2018 16:35:27 GMT -5
"Mutual survival? Is dat da excuse?" Whirl tilted his helm down so that his optic fell partially into a shadowy glare, "Oh, COME ON! Since when did anything in the last four million years depend on the mutual survival of Autobots and Decepticons?!"
He didn't give them long enough to answer his question. To be honest, there really was no appropriate answer. It didn't help that his wrists were hurting just thinking about it.
"YEEEEEAAAARGH!" Whirl ripped a 2x4 piece of rebar out of the remains of the heavily damaged drop-pod, and swung it around for a moment, looking for something to hit, "I BLAME DA DROP-POD!" he slammed it down against the ship, hard enough to leave another dent, "TAKE DAT, YOU UGLY PIECE 'A SCRAP!!!"
He stood there for a few seconds, shaking in frustration, and his claw tightened on the 2x4, first bending it, then severing it. What was the point in having him here if he wasn't going to kill things?
Cool your rotors... What, do you want to go back to prison?
"I like Sparklings," he admitted after a few seconds, and sighed.
It wasn't like he could stay here, after all. Besides, whatever people thought, he didn't want to be alone. And regarding the ID codes, it wasn't as if there were many people who would want to pretend to be Whirl.
Okay, they're Decepticons. Give it a week, two tops, and we'll be right back at war. In the meantime, you get the opportunity to be right about whoever these MECH jerks are...
Whirl groaned at the thought of waiting. He had less patience than a sack of weasels.1
"Hmm. Spark?" Whirl rapped on his torso, "Check! T-Cog?" he knocked on his cockpit, "Check! Shoomer?" he patted the gun on his back, "Check! Arms and legs!" he jumped up and down a couple of times, "Check! Brain?" he tapped his helm, "Yeah, you can come too, if ya like. Yep, da gang's all rarin' ta go. Dose pods are disposable; da prison won't be pickin' it up so ya might as well bring it- whaddaya mean, you could use da salvage?" he asked Bluestreak, his optic cycling suspiciously.
He didn't give them long enough to answer his question. To be honest, there really was no appropriate answer. It didn't help that his wrists were hurting just thinking about it.
"YEEEEEAAAARGH!" Whirl ripped a 2x4 piece of rebar out of the remains of the heavily damaged drop-pod, and swung it around for a moment, looking for something to hit, "I BLAME DA DROP-POD!" he slammed it down against the ship, hard enough to leave another dent, "TAKE DAT, YOU UGLY PIECE 'A SCRAP!!!"
He stood there for a few seconds, shaking in frustration, and his claw tightened on the 2x4, first bending it, then severing it. What was the point in having him here if he wasn't going to kill things?
Cool your rotors... What, do you want to go back to prison?
"I like Sparklings," he admitted after a few seconds, and sighed.
It wasn't like he could stay here, after all. Besides, whatever people thought, he didn't want to be alone. And regarding the ID codes, it wasn't as if there were many people who would want to pretend to be Whirl.
Okay, they're Decepticons. Give it a week, two tops, and we'll be right back at war. In the meantime, you get the opportunity to be right about whoever these MECH jerks are...
Whirl groaned at the thought of waiting. He had less patience than a sack of weasels.1
"Hmm. Spark?" Whirl rapped on his torso, "Check! T-Cog?" he knocked on his cockpit, "Check! Shoomer?" he patted the gun on his back, "Check! Arms and legs!" he jumped up and down a couple of times, "Check! Brain?" he tapped his helm, "Yeah, you can come too, if ya like. Yep, da gang's all rarin' ta go. Dose pods are disposable; da prison won't be pickin' it up so ya might as well bring it- whaddaya mean, you could use da salvage?" he asked Bluestreak, his optic cycling suspiciously.