We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
“I think… that Verdie wins… half the bet?” said Sola, grimacing through her visor. She glanced at the surly medic. “All the bet, just kidding.”
There was a small litany of groans – both from the femmes having lost their bets and from bots who felt for the floored Prime and his, likely, dislocated rotorcuff. The crowd dispersed rapidly, winnings shuffled with professional quickness amongst those who bet against the librarian Prime who, in the live feed, was holding his shoulder and appeared to be getting a bit of a talking to. Sola suspected that when Elita was done with him, Ironhide would have a go at the new-spark commander too.
That felt weird to think: of the Prime as young.
This war had been on for eons, literally, now. Sola had been an Autobot, been a Wrecker (was still, in some part of her, way down where she didn’t look, a Wrecker) and left to become a Forge of the Order. Prime had been leading the Autobots for a long time, since before she’d cared about factions like Autobots and Decepticons as anything but the regional problems of other city states. That too was strange to think of – the time before the war.
“Think the One will fix him herself or leave that to your tender mercies?”
Hot Rod dropped her face in her hands, even her glyphs drooping with dismay. The match was over, and with it, every credit she had and all of her free time for a while. She should have known better than to bet against the One, really. No single person could beat her in combat. Not even the Prime.
But... he had been doing better, hadn't he? He learned how to hold his EMF in. Hot Rod couldn't do that yet. Every time Optimus Prime fought with Elita he learned something and became a better fighter. Soon he'd be every bit as good as she was. Being here to witness that, even a small piece of it - that made it worth everything.
Smiling to herself, Hot Rod handed over her shanix.
“Buck up, kid.” Sola gave Hot Rod a companionable smack on the shoulder. “Won’t be the last time you have a chance to lose money betting on the Librarian. Help me get these ammo crates to storage and I’ll let you keep your spare shanix.” She looked over her shoulder at Ironhide. “I’ll meet you at engineering. I still have that ion array I want to show you – there’s something about the variable sub-sets that’s throwing off the alignment and I’ve been staring at the glitchfrakking thing too godsdamned long to see anything new. Fresh optics – I want yours on it. Gimme ten.”
The helo-bot inspected the live feed once more. The Prime was on his feet, talking to Elita, possibly he was arguing with her about how to best re-locate his shoulder but in the end Elita simply caught his wrist, his collar-faring, and in a single deft twist-shove re-connected the commander’s arm to its proper housings. It didn’t look like it felt very good, but the Prime kind of give Elita this ‘That-Wasn’t-Entirely-Necessary’ look while she just looked a bit pleased with herself.
“Let’s move.” She closed down the live feed, the holo-projection snapping off just as Optimus tested the functionality of his arm by elbowing the One slightly. “By the way, I can take Ironhide up on that washrack thing if you really want…” If this earned her an elbow of her own, that was perfectly fine. This was as close to peaceable as war ever got – black market vid files, badly aligned guns, and dislocated rotorcuffs.
It was good day.
Fin?
Last Edit: May 26, 2013 14:37:55 GMT -5 by Deleted