Ep 0.5 - Shameless - Closed
Apr 4, 2012 12:25:02 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Apr 4, 2012 12:25:02 GMT -5
It was an affliction. Downforce knew that. A glitch, some errant factory error numerical string, a misplaced glyph structure, somewhere deep in his core coding. Somewhere in his most basic makeup something was supposed to solve for geddra and solved for araeph instead and it wasn't critical, thank the first Primes, wasn't the sort of thing that locked him up and had him drooling coolant like some poor slaggers, but it was there and it made him ITCH with a quiet, passive glitch of an obsession.
It was an affliction and he knew it, but sometimes that wasn't such a bad thing. Take the current air of the Nemesis, for instance - the darker than usual shadows, the hushed comm channels, and clustered bunches of Eradicons that crept around the corridors like frightened sparklings. It was dismal. It was depressing. It was dank and dark and positively dull and other alliterations of the same, and Downforce hated all of it. So when it became too oppressive, the answer was obvious - he was glitched and everyone knew that a mech's glitch occasionally just needed to be tended to and no mech could really be held responsible for what he did while glitched. That was, after all, the entire definition of a glitch.
Downforce was glitched, and he knew it, and he reveled in it.
Of course, the off hand of a glorious day spent indulging his own personal glitch was that several days later he was still limping from the misalignment of his backstruts and whatever had shaken loose in his undercarriage, to say nothing of the aching grind of hydraulic pressure pads that had given up the ghost somewhere around hour two of glitching out. Autorepair could do a lot of things, but it wasn't going to untorque his struts or replace his hydraulic pads any time soon, and the limping was starting to scare the poor Eradicons, who seemed to expect him to keel over gray and cold any klik now. With a heavy sigh, Downforce had concluded that there was nothing else for it but to pay a visit to his very most favorite part of the Nemesis.
He entered the repair bay hands first, because the hands were carrying a brand new container of the finest premium wax and chamois cloths that the human automotive industry could supply, a token offering of his greatest devotion, and the rest of him only followed when nothing immediately took his hands off at the wrists. "Knock Out? Sweetspark, are you busy?"
It was an affliction and he knew it, but sometimes that wasn't such a bad thing. Take the current air of the Nemesis, for instance - the darker than usual shadows, the hushed comm channels, and clustered bunches of Eradicons that crept around the corridors like frightened sparklings. It was dismal. It was depressing. It was dank and dark and positively dull and other alliterations of the same, and Downforce hated all of it. So when it became too oppressive, the answer was obvious - he was glitched and everyone knew that a mech's glitch occasionally just needed to be tended to and no mech could really be held responsible for what he did while glitched. That was, after all, the entire definition of a glitch.
Downforce was glitched, and he knew it, and he reveled in it.
Of course, the off hand of a glorious day spent indulging his own personal glitch was that several days later he was still limping from the misalignment of his backstruts and whatever had shaken loose in his undercarriage, to say nothing of the aching grind of hydraulic pressure pads that had given up the ghost somewhere around hour two of glitching out. Autorepair could do a lot of things, but it wasn't going to untorque his struts or replace his hydraulic pads any time soon, and the limping was starting to scare the poor Eradicons, who seemed to expect him to keel over gray and cold any klik now. With a heavy sigh, Downforce had concluded that there was nothing else for it but to pay a visit to his very most favorite part of the Nemesis.
He entered the repair bay hands first, because the hands were carrying a brand new container of the finest premium wax and chamois cloths that the human automotive industry could supply, a token offering of his greatest devotion, and the rest of him only followed when nothing immediately took his hands off at the wrists. "Knock Out? Sweetspark, are you busy?"