Flashback - Leap of Faith - Closed
May 4, 2013 18:37:22 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on May 4, 2013 18:37:22 GMT -5
Jazz's glyphs may have brooked no argument, but that was hardly going to dissuade Red Alert from protesting anyway. Being as notoriously stubborn as he was, he refused to let the matter drop simply because Jazz had issued an (admittedly quite reasonable) ultimatum---one which Red Alert really had no choice but to follow, really. That didn't mean he had to like it, though, and he was going to let Jazz know it.
He clenched his fingers a bit more tightly than was absolutely necessary around the other mech's arm to emphasize the vehemency of his protest, though, honestly, his crackling em-field was accomplishing that quite nicely already.
::So our survival comes down to your ability to successfully string a blind mech through what is, for all intents and purposes, a labyrinth:: The skepticism in his glyphs was practically tangible.
Granted, they really didn't have many other options to take, but that didn't mean Red Alert had to be any less disapproving of the one he was stuck with. And he was stuck with it---he could and likely would complain endlessly about it, but his protests didn't really matter in the long run. He relied on Jazz to direct him, so the other mech had the final say on where he went. This was as frustrating as it was worrisome. Though he tried not to let it show too openly, the thought that Jazz might deliberately and literally lead him astray was a constant in the front of his mind.
At the very least, that vidclip of Fusion screaming for the diggers to make access to the security consoles helped push that thought into the back of his mind a little. ::A femme after my own spark:: he commented dryly.
The golden commander used volume like he used biting sarcasm, and, like him, she didn't care to spare anyone's feelings or waste time with tact while getting her point across.
Red Alert couldn't help but like her too.
He did not, however, like her field unexpectedly invading his own. Even though her field was laced with concern and nothing even remotely resembling hostility, its sudden presence had startled him---though, honestly, in his current state that wasn't a very difficult thing to do. He didn't jump or flinch, but he did tense slightly, and the plating on his right arm flared out briefly in reflex, readying themselves to shift into his ion rifle at any given moment. He made a point of flattening said plaiting as soon as he realized the second presence beside him wasn't hostile, to show that his aborted weapon-preparation was just an instinctive reaction, and not an active decision on his part to wave his gun at anyone who got near him.
::Get a medic to fix my optics and audials, and you can still keep that promise::
He could buff out his own scratches and pop out his own dents (well, maybe not the one in his helm...), but the delicate, internal work necessary to restore his sight and hearing was beyond his capabilities.
::That is, assuming we get out of this alive::
((ooc: Fusion is fantastic and I'd love for her to run around with them for a bit~ Would you like to puppet her back and forth, or just play her yourself?))
He clenched his fingers a bit more tightly than was absolutely necessary around the other mech's arm to emphasize the vehemency of his protest, though, honestly, his crackling em-field was accomplishing that quite nicely already.
::So our survival comes down to your ability to successfully string a blind mech through what is, for all intents and purposes, a labyrinth:: The skepticism in his glyphs was practically tangible.
Granted, they really didn't have many other options to take, but that didn't mean Red Alert had to be any less disapproving of the one he was stuck with. And he was stuck with it---he could and likely would complain endlessly about it, but his protests didn't really matter in the long run. He relied on Jazz to direct him, so the other mech had the final say on where he went. This was as frustrating as it was worrisome. Though he tried not to let it show too openly, the thought that Jazz might deliberately and literally lead him astray was a constant in the front of his mind.
At the very least, that vidclip of Fusion screaming for the diggers to make access to the security consoles helped push that thought into the back of his mind a little. ::A femme after my own spark:: he commented dryly.
The golden commander used volume like he used biting sarcasm, and, like him, she didn't care to spare anyone's feelings or waste time with tact while getting her point across.
Red Alert couldn't help but like her too.
He did not, however, like her field unexpectedly invading his own. Even though her field was laced with concern and nothing even remotely resembling hostility, its sudden presence had startled him---though, honestly, in his current state that wasn't a very difficult thing to do. He didn't jump or flinch, but he did tense slightly, and the plating on his right arm flared out briefly in reflex, readying themselves to shift into his ion rifle at any given moment. He made a point of flattening said plaiting as soon as he realized the second presence beside him wasn't hostile, to show that his aborted weapon-preparation was just an instinctive reaction, and not an active decision on his part to wave his gun at anyone who got near him.
::Get a medic to fix my optics and audials, and you can still keep that promise::
He could buff out his own scratches and pop out his own dents (well, maybe not the one in his helm...), but the delicate, internal work necessary to restore his sight and hearing was beyond his capabilities.
::That is, assuming we get out of this alive::
((ooc: Fusion is fantastic and I'd love for her to run around with them for a bit~ Would you like to puppet her back and forth, or just play her yourself?))