Info does not come cheap

[dirge]

WHO: Dirge and Tarn
WHERE: Prima's sector.
WHEN: Right the heck now
WHAT: Dirge brings Tarn some stuff in exchange for info about sparkeaters
WARNINGS: Its Dirge and Tarn. So. Who knows?

Following the coordinates Tarn had sent him was relatively simple. Bringing the items he had requested- not so much. A lot of the little things could fit in his cockpit but the bigger stuff wouldn't and it needed to be stored somewhere while he was in jet mode. Thankfully, Dirge had found himself a giant roll of duct tape earlier and he'd ended up employing large quantities of it to bind the rest of his cargo to various spots on his body.

That is why the jet's silhouette as he lands at the meeting spot is suspiciously both spiky and lumpy. And also why when he transforms, he has several pain causing implements haphazardly stuck all over his plating.

Comments

[songofmypeople]

...

Tarn may be many things including a possibly violent sociopath, but he's still softly-spoken and polite. As such, he doesn't remark on all the miscellany so quaintly taped to Dirge.

After all, some of Tarn's best friends were a blender and a crock pot; he knew better than to judge on appearances. It's what was on the inside that mattered~! Namely the spark and tcog, but hey, if you got the job done, who was he to complain about how it looked?

"Glad you could make it. Let's see what you have for me."

[dirge]

Dirge is totally serious about the situation, cutting instruments of pain away from his body with carefully placed swipes of his talons.

"Rusty chain-saw, couple of meat-hooks, a box of ninja stars, two power drills, a huge trident, a sledgehammer, a crowbar, a steel drum of acid, and a sock with a brick in it."

He places them each in a pile at Tarn's feet as he names them, obviously grumpy about having to give them up but proud of the little hoard he's amassed.

"Oh, and this." The clone pulls a small square thing from his cockpit, holding it up for Tarn to see. "It's what humans call a 'CD'. Apparently there's something on it that makes them cry and beg for mercy."

The CD is labeled 'Jingle Cats'. It boasts 12 Christmas songs sung entirely by felines.

[songofmypeople]

If Tarn had eyebrows he'd raise them. But seeing as he probably doesn't, and seeing as his voice is about as expressionless as his mask right now, it would be hard to attribute much of any emotion to him at all. "This certainly is an assorted collection, I'll give you that," he says, as he picks up the trident and turns it around in his hands.

That leaves the chain saw, power drill, sledgehammer, crowbar and unlabelled drum of acid in his size, while the rest (sock with brick, ninja stars, and meat-hooks) are all Barbie-accessory-sized to him.

Putting the trident down, Tarn bends to pick up the tiny huma-sized 'weapons.' Poking the meat-hooks with his pinky and then (very gently snagging the sock of brick) Tarn asks doubtfully, "and this is supposed to be useful in some capacity?" The brick was about as threatening as a marble... a really small marble.

The 'CD' was pretty though, in a shiny, circular way. "Jingle Cats," he repeated, and some primordial appreciation of fear caused him to wince. He didn't know what a 'feline' was, but he could already tell they were terrible.

Relieving Dirge of his last, and most dastardly weapon of torture, Tarn balanced it on a fingertip curiously. "How does it work?" Also, what exactly is a CD?

[dirge]

Dirge grinned at Tarn's assessment, happy that the mech with a decepticon symbol for a face had noticed his ability to find items vastly different from one another.

"You said anything painful. You didn't say toward whom," he replied with a shrug when questioned about the tiny implements of torture.

He watched Tarn take the CD, sad to part with it most of all because it was just so shiny and round and it probably tasted really good. The information he was getting out of this deal better be worth it.

"Easy. You put it in a tiny Soundwave and terrible sounds come out."