Ep 1 - Would you? Could you? - Closed
Sept 16, 2012 21:23:48 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 16, 2012 21:23:48 GMT -5
Ironhide watched from across the wide atrium as Optimus walked - slow, heavy, every step deliberate if a discerning optic knew what to look for and Ironhide had long ago catalogued the look of physical pain versus every other sort on his Prime's frame - towards the corridor that lead deeper into the mine. The taller mech paused there, one hand briefly touching the rock carved wall, then ducked into the opening, the light glinting off blue and red as he turned down one of the smaller passageways.
Ironhide let an intake he had been holding tight in his systems slowly vent free, hands unclenching from his sides. He had been waiting - was, still, combat protocols hot and close to the surface, aggro systems humming beneath his mesh. Waiting with sour acid in his lines until he had seen the Prime emerge from the mine depths, uninjured, though Optimus' bearing said that whatever words had been exchanged were possibly just as bad as the clash of energon blades, albeit less life threatening. He'd kept waiting with narrowed optics and tightened hydraulics as the Prime paused to speak to Gasket - looking, Ironhide surmised, for something in the elder mech. Calm, perhaps, or the sort of rough hewn advice a much younger Orion Pax had once turned to his Guardian for.
It had been a long time since then, time and distance, a wedge that Ironhide had felt ever since he had arrived. It sat between them, awkward and ungainly, all the vorn they had spent apart since the launch of the Ark and the subsequent dispersal, vorn with who knew what in both of their histories that neither of them would broach as a topic outside of starkly dry reports. It made their conversations stilted and what contact they had was mired in duty and necessity more than what had once been a sort of friendship.
For all that Ironhide wasn't sure he really knew their last Prime any more, he did know a young archivist turned warrior and it was the shadow of that mech that he could see hesitating beneath the weight of command now. It dragged at Optimus' steps and sagged beneath the weight on those broad shoulders. Squaring his own, Ironhide started after the other, his own steps falling into a sharper rhythm of watchful readiness that was just waiting, expectant, for something to happen.
Optimus was leant up against the wall of the smaller offshoot tunnel, face turned away, entire frame stilled for a moment in those endless trains of recursive multi-threaded thought that Ironhide had never been able to follow. Ironhide brought himself up short at the head of the tunnel, his own systems hissing a counterpoint of sound against the silence. "Well?" he asked, bluntly. "What th' slag'd he have t' say?"
Ironhide let an intake he had been holding tight in his systems slowly vent free, hands unclenching from his sides. He had been waiting - was, still, combat protocols hot and close to the surface, aggro systems humming beneath his mesh. Waiting with sour acid in his lines until he had seen the Prime emerge from the mine depths, uninjured, though Optimus' bearing said that whatever words had been exchanged were possibly just as bad as the clash of energon blades, albeit less life threatening. He'd kept waiting with narrowed optics and tightened hydraulics as the Prime paused to speak to Gasket - looking, Ironhide surmised, for something in the elder mech. Calm, perhaps, or the sort of rough hewn advice a much younger Orion Pax had once turned to his Guardian for.
It had been a long time since then, time and distance, a wedge that Ironhide had felt ever since he had arrived. It sat between them, awkward and ungainly, all the vorn they had spent apart since the launch of the Ark and the subsequent dispersal, vorn with who knew what in both of their histories that neither of them would broach as a topic outside of starkly dry reports. It made their conversations stilted and what contact they had was mired in duty and necessity more than what had once been a sort of friendship.
For all that Ironhide wasn't sure he really knew their last Prime any more, he did know a young archivist turned warrior and it was the shadow of that mech that he could see hesitating beneath the weight of command now. It dragged at Optimus' steps and sagged beneath the weight on those broad shoulders. Squaring his own, Ironhide started after the other, his own steps falling into a sharper rhythm of watchful readiness that was just waiting, expectant, for something to happen.
Optimus was leant up against the wall of the smaller offshoot tunnel, face turned away, entire frame stilled for a moment in those endless trains of recursive multi-threaded thought that Ironhide had never been able to follow. Ironhide brought himself up short at the head of the tunnel, his own systems hissing a counterpoint of sound against the silence. "Well?" he asked, bluntly. "What th' slag'd he have t' say?"