[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Door(k)s [Sparkplug and Panhead]

[Deleted]

Episode 2.5 | Week 2 | Day 1 | Morning

​‘Twas the nightmare of Blackridge, as all through the base,
Doorways were barren, nought to slam in a face,
Just one hung a carpet to thwart inadvertent glare,
For the sake of privacy of all those in there;

Panhead was rolling with songs in her head,
Humming about monsters hiding under the bed,
She liked screaming guitars, hard rock and trap,
Vibrant vocals and none of that mumble crap; ​​

Through the hallways there arose such a chatter,
Loitering Vehicons straining their processor matter,
Despite her small frame there was no room to pass,
Her way they blocked, what a bunch of dumbaft;

With a mission in mind and a desire to kick,
This was no time to frolic she had to act quick,
Less rapid than snails onward they came,
Panhead gestured at them and called them fake names;

"Now, STEPHEN! now, GERALD! now, MICHAEL and KATE!
On, LUCY! on KARREN! on, DONNA and JAKE!
Get back to work and out of this hall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As the swarf from the lathe fled from the air jets,
Or drunkards with high-grade fled all their regrets,
The vehicons dispersed, and out of Pan's way,
Having felt but a breeze of the biker's ire this day;

Pan sighed with relief at the minuscule test,
then our little red femme continued her quest,
A task most profound and importance to all,
To put doors in doorways for shortest and tall;

She was following instruction from one Pyrotech,
To offer her help to another femme, not a mech,
Pan searched down the halls, in cupboards and rooms,
And the wheels on her feet helped her go zoom;

For Sparkplug Panhead looked, she even asked for direction,
To locate the mistress of weapon confection,
And then one chassis stood out gleaming in white,
Forest green accents stood bold in the light;

Panhead hummed a few words as she considered their work,
And tilted her helm in respect with the smoothest of jerks,
And all just because she was looking forward to fun,
And just like that came up hand made finger guns;

Doors were to be built and friends were to be made,
Hell with some luck, rocking concerts they'd raid,
With a bemused grin Panhead had one thing to say,
"Merry Christmas carols at this time of year no fragging way!"

[Sparkplug]

Lost in her own thoughts, Sparkplug didn't notice the disruption down the hall at first. It wasn't like the base was quiet at the best of times, and as ever-more survivors of the Nemesis wreck streamed in, it was a little slice of cacophony. Still, on some level she vaguely noticed that vehicons were streaming around her like a rock in a river as they made their way down and out of the corridor. It was only when the last got out of the way that she caught sight of a distinctly diminutive figure that had been hidden by the crowd.

Long-accustomed to being the smallest mecha around – roughly Arcee's height, if more solidly built - the sight of the slender little Junkion was a distinct recalibration of Sparkplug's expectations. With a small, curious frown, her green optics tracked over the other femme's chassis. Which is when the other mecha greeted her.

"Merry Christmas carols at this time of year no fragging way!"

Sparkplug blinked, with a snap of spiral-iris shutters. Her first thought was that she'd heard wrongly, but as she replayed the sound to herself, it seemed clear enough. Then she began to wonder if her syntactic processor had glitched. Or maybe this femme's vocoder was fritzed.

"Uh… hello? I'm Sparkplug. You okay there?"

Whether or not the little red femme's vocoder was in proper working order, her chassis sure was interesting. Taking a couple of steps to the side, Sparkplug examined her from different angles, humming thoughtfully. "Oooh. Magnetic attachment? Interesting choice! Skinny little wheels you've got there, too. Scout optimisation?"