Ep1.5 – “Brightplate” – Closed
Nov 17, 2012 2:57:19 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Nov 17, 2012 2:57:19 GMT -5
“Know what takes a while? Flying. On half fuel ‘round th’ fuckin’ planet Earth.”
Sideswipe’s voice, originating from the entrance to medical, was preceded immediately by a pair of overly-excited jets. They hit the room like twin twisters, immediately knocked several things over, scrambling about the room, bleeding skitzy EMF and just utterly thrilled about every little thing. Sideswipe, for his part, didn’t spare a look for them; he was too busy closing the space between him and Cleaver. His face in that moment was, perhaps, the most indistinguishable it had ever been from his brother’s.
The madic had clearly been taking stock of the med-bay when he interrupted, stood facing the onslaught of his EM field – ragged, raw with brutal frequency – and for some reason she just looked nothing like what he remembered; surely the medic from his memory was a corrupted file. It didn’t match what he now saw. Hate was in his fuel lines like electricity as he stopped just within reach of the medic, whose face he couldn’t read through his own code-compile urge to let battle algorithms initialize.
“Don’t mind th’ fuckin’ Twisters here, I picked ‘em up in Hawaii an’ I promised ‘em a place ta lay low. Anyway, remember when ya told me I don’t get ta call you ‘Towers’ like that’s somethin' a brightplate glass-spire self-gen’s got any say in?”
Sideswipe did not smile. There was no mocking lilt. He looked at Cleaver like he was going to take her face apart.
“That was literally the biggest crock I’ve heard in ages.” His Kaonese was inflected brutal, hate-coded, Pit-slang. “You ain’t just Towers, oh no. I aint seen a femme so pure high-caste full of herself since I helped bomb Translucetica to slag metal. Yur built brightplate down ta yur struts so let’s be Kaon clear for two seconds: You pull a stunt like that again, you take a Con over me or any Neut here, put your glitch-frakking know-it-all classist slag before me again…I’ll tell you what I’m gonna tell you now.”
English again: “Go fuck yourself.” Blue optics burned briefly brighter. “Any questions?”
((OOC: Twisters coming and going, can tag in randomly. Otherwise, mainly Cleaver/Sides thread. Cat and Moonie are invited to overhear the screaming, naturally.))
Sideswipe’s voice, originating from the entrance to medical, was preceded immediately by a pair of overly-excited jets. They hit the room like twin twisters, immediately knocked several things over, scrambling about the room, bleeding skitzy EMF and just utterly thrilled about every little thing. Sideswipe, for his part, didn’t spare a look for them; he was too busy closing the space between him and Cleaver. His face in that moment was, perhaps, the most indistinguishable it had ever been from his brother’s.
The madic had clearly been taking stock of the med-bay when he interrupted, stood facing the onslaught of his EM field – ragged, raw with brutal frequency – and for some reason she just looked nothing like what he remembered; surely the medic from his memory was a corrupted file. It didn’t match what he now saw. Hate was in his fuel lines like electricity as he stopped just within reach of the medic, whose face he couldn’t read through his own code-compile urge to let battle algorithms initialize.
“Don’t mind th’ fuckin’ Twisters here, I picked ‘em up in Hawaii an’ I promised ‘em a place ta lay low. Anyway, remember when ya told me I don’t get ta call you ‘Towers’ like that’s somethin' a brightplate glass-spire self-gen’s got any say in?”
Sideswipe did not smile. There was no mocking lilt. He looked at Cleaver like he was going to take her face apart.
“That was literally the biggest crock I’ve heard in ages.” His Kaonese was inflected brutal, hate-coded, Pit-slang. “You ain’t just Towers, oh no. I aint seen a femme so pure high-caste full of herself since I helped bomb Translucetica to slag metal. Yur built brightplate down ta yur struts so let’s be Kaon clear for two seconds: You pull a stunt like that again, you take a Con over me or any Neut here, put your glitch-frakking know-it-all classist slag before me again…I’ll tell you what I’m gonna tell you now.”
English again: “Go fuck yourself.” Blue optics burned briefly brighter. “Any questions?”
((OOC: Twisters coming and going, can tag in randomly. Otherwise, mainly Cleaver/Sides thread. Cat and Moonie are invited to overhear the screaming, naturally.))