The Things a Bot Does for Fashion [OPEN]

[dontasktrix]

WHO: Slipstream and OPEN
WHERE: In and between Nexus Temple and Junkpile
WHEN Nowish; some time after Slipstream talks to Teddie.
WHAT: Searching for specific items in order to trade to Teddie, so he will construct the spectacles to make her look smartaccessory Slipstream might just want to have. Possibly also discussion of who might be able to repair sonic cleaning devices.
WARNINGS: Nothing right now.
NOTE: Slipstream is mod-authorized to find (apart from the usual no-permission-needed stuff) 1) Powell Brand Sound Wave toy, without organic-hypnotizing function; 2) sonic cleaning device(s) in parts or "rough condition". She'll also be looking for typical salvage in form of metal and glass to be used to make the glasses/spectacles.


Slipstream kinda wanted those glasses. Oh, she'd done her best to make her interest look casual to Teddie, when he demonstrated his curious ability to make optic-wear appear, but they did seem a useful accessory for a bot to have. Not that she wanted pointless junk, like certain bots. No, she hadn't inherited greed, exactly. She just had the idea that a pair of spectacles made a bot look more scientific. The bots she knew on Earth hadn't worn any, but it seemed a popular mod among humans. Plus, she seemed to have some vague data, transferred from her maker, that indicated there were Decepticon scientists who had optical mods. And, Decepticon science wasn't anything to sneer at; they'd developed cloning, among other things.

Slipstream left her quarters in the temple of Nexus Prime, where she still stayed, despite the bunker-like atmosphere that didn't offer many views of the sky. If humans could hide their aircraft in secret underground hangars, or inside sea vessels, she could manage. If Starscream could deal with close quarters on a warship, between jaunts into space, Slipstream could certainly tolerate rock-hewn chambers. She'd rather suffer with fewer points of egress than she'd like, than be seen as inferior to Starscream!

Outside, there were plenty of views of the sky, and even the occasional, spectacular meteor impact. She walked most of the way, carrying some tiny bear-scaled crates in one hand, then hovering where a crater interrupted the shortest path between temple and junkpile.

Some piles dwarfed even her warrior's stature. Though the items fallen through the Lambda and collected in these stacks weren't necessarily junk, the haphazard piles of discreet, heterogeneous, materials certainly made the area look like scrap awaiting the smelting pit.

Slipstream didn't like this area of the Haven. It reminded her too much of coming online here that first time, and how the small bits of debris had jammed her thruster. Loss of flight ability was never a good thing! Besides, remembering her own arrival made her remember Starscream would have ended his life in a trash heap, if not for that relatively small fragment of the AllSpark that got stuck in his head, and probably by chance. If not for that, she wouldn't have existed. A lowly start for a being seemingly created to rule the skies.

Without conscious command, Slipstream automatically put a hand over her cockpit canopy. As quickly, she realized her action and lowered her arm to her side. She had a mission before her.

There seemed no efficient way to search the piles, not if she wanted the search to also be timely. She hoped she might eventually convince some acolyte to assist, or perhaps find some small human to search the stacks, where Slipstream's own weight would be more likely to cause collapse. Until an opportunity presented itself, the best strategy seemed to start in one spot and search outward from there.

Comments

[furryfarkinfiend]

Rocket was, frankly, already tired of being in this place. It was boring and there were too many robots--fark did he hate robots--so he'd been spending the majority of his time just snooping around and scooping out the entire place. Everyone seemed friendly enough, for the most part, and he'd been good--even if he'd never admit to that one farkin' ass that had told him to keep his guns down--and not gone around toting his laser pistols like a madman.

But he was a quick draw and was watching everyone. Closely.

The junkpile had become one of his favorite places to go, the guardian hoping that he'd find something he could use to maybe fix his passport or just something else useful in general. So far he'd really just found a whole lot of crap and nothing that really seemed useful to him in the least.

Figures really.

Scaling one of the larger piles, Rocket turned a piece of junk over in his paws, sneering at it before tossing it aside as his tail twitched, the raccoon freezing as his ears pitched forward. A second later he spotted one of the giant robots, red eyes narrowing as his ears fell back against his head. He eased back down the opposite side of the pile from her, moving around the side to peer around at her discreetly--

Only to slip as some of the junk shifted, sending the raccoon falling down the side of the pile in an ungraceful heap.

"Farkin' piece of crap stupid thing!" he snapped, rubbing his head as his tail lashed angrily.

[notyourblueangel]

When he didn't have anything else to do - which, frankly, was far too often for his tastes - Thundercracker wandered the Junkpile. Sometimes he found something. Sometimes he found something useful, or just something with which he could amuse himself for a few hours. He'd found various books and videos - Cybertronian, human of every language and culture he'd ever heard of, and some of origins he'd still not yet identified. Sometimes it was people he found, like when he met Four. That experience made him mindful now any time he went to the Junkyard, watching his steps and being careful about any piles of detritus he disturbed - for Four's sake or any other unfortunate who might get caught out here. Most would be able to call out and he'd know they were there.

Four couldn't.

Hm, that could be a problem. He wondered if he shouldn't find the tiny stitchpunk a . . . whistle or something, something small enough that the little creature could carry it with him and not be encumbered too much.

With that thought, the Seeker crouched down, carefully picking through a section of debris that looked promising - lots of apparently Earthen garbage. It wouldn't do, for instance, to hope to find a human whistle in a heap of Cybertronian parts.

As intent as he was on his search, the Seeker was a soldier first and foremost, and far too long a war veteran. Especially out in the open like this, he was careful to keep at least half his attention on his surroundings, so when he heard someone approaching suddenly, he was only a little surprised. At least he managed not to bring an arm rifle to bear (habit and long experience - he had no intention of breaking that, but he could learn to curb it) as he looked up to see who it was.

The femme. Searching his data banks for their last conversation, he realized he still didn't know her name. Not wanting to give away that bit of ignorance, he shifted to face her a little more, still crouched, and offered a nod of greeting.