Convoy/Dead End

Pepsi Convoy:	wanders in! and sits! somewhere unobtrusive but with maximum paint-shine effect!
vortex inquisitr:	scorpy: roll roll roll!
Dead End:	walks into the room, faceplates the normal neutral, but his usually flawless armor has marks of recent repairs, his paintjob at on his chest completely ruined, and claw marks on his shoulder.
vortex inquisitr:	rolling about, mostly nervous Meep meep....DX
Pepsi Convoy:	is generally oblivious, shiny, and utterly absorbed in something going on inside his processors
Pepsi Convoy:	....though he does focus long enough to cast that nice sportscar a bemused look - he's seen the other... once. he thinks. but his coat was... a lot better before. hummm.
Dead End:	not wasting any time, he heads straight for the bar, grabbing a couple of cubes, subspacing one of the, taking a long sip from the other, before backtracking to the door, showing off the claw marks on his other* shoulder*
Pepsi Convoy:	he usually doesn't get involved in other people's affairs, but... 'tis the season, maybe? so he pushes himself out of his seat and takes to following the other, long strides making short work of the distance between them
Dead End:	oblivious to the other as he walks out of the door, but it's inevitable that he notices the truck, and when he does, he gives him a quirk of an optic brow and an almost polite: Yes?
Pepsi Convoy:	....yes? humm. what was* he doing, actually?* Forgive me for following you, but... My curiosity's gotten the best of me. What happened to your paint job? Your finish?
Pepsi Convoy:	says this like he's asking someone about the burns on their face
Dead End:	Curiosity killed the cat, let's see how Convoy fares. Dead End eyes him for a moment before answering, face still in that passive expression. I was attacked.
Pepsi Convoy:	blinks Attacked? By whom? his face twitches into something mildly* related to annoyance, but distantly - the idea of someone being unclassy enough to go for paint-scratching is kind of not his thing*
Dead End:	Megatron. Dryly spoken, that word. He wasn't really as much attacked as he was the victim of instant spark-relocation, or an attempt to do so.
Pepsi Convoy:	optics widen a bit, briefly Humm. That's... unfortunate. At least you're... up and about? bright side of life?
Dead End:	Indeed! A thin trickle of energon is making its way down his neck, coming from a tear in one of the fuel lines, disappearing into a small crevasse. Yes.
Pepsi Convoy:	spots the energon, but the other's probably got it taken care of. OH! Pardon my manners. I'm Pepsi Convoy. I don't believe we've met - if we have, then excuse me for forgetting.
Dead End:	Stare turns blank for a couple of seconds. I am Dead End. I do not believe we have met before. At least not in this form, he might have met him as Menasor, but he doesn't remember.
Pepsi Convoy:	smiles brightly It's a pleasure to meet you, Dead End! introductions aside, he crosses his arms behind his back, looking down at the other easily You have gotten those all checked out, I hope?
Dead End:	What was it with this... apparition? He couldn't see any mark claiming him as either Autobot or Decepticon. "Those"? lifts an optic brow
Pepsi Convoy:	brings a hand forward to indicate the claw marks and all the problems in his paintjob Those. Your paint job is... pardon me for saying, fairly ruined. You should consider having someone look at it. An expert, I daresay.
Dead End:	Peers over his shoulder at where Convoy is gesturing. Damn that Barricade. As soon as I have the time. First I want to wash away this.
Dead End:	tilts head slightly to the side, showing off where the energon has made a pink gloss on his otherwise black metal.
Pepsi Convoy:	blinks and looks the other over again, frowning ...You don't use the polish available in the public washracks, do you?
Dead End:	Snorts Of course not. has his own brand, but it's not that far from being empty, seeing as he seems to have a gift for getting slagged just when he's freshly polished.
Pepsi Convoy:	smiles again, nodding Good, I was afraid for a moment that you actually tolerated... coughs lightly to edge around that particular criticism Though... Hmmm.
Pepsi Convoy:	Are you comfortable in the public washracks? idly - let it never be said that Convoy means anything by his statements other than the obvious
Dead End:	faint amusement at the almost-slur on cheap brands of polish They serve their purpose.
Pepsi Convoy:	lightly, amused That wasn't precisely what I was asking, but - I'm starting to see more and more people who honestly care for their coats getting rather brutalized, and it's slightly annoying, to be honest.
Dead End:	is still being in default mode, i.e. neutral And why do you find it annoying?
Pepsi Convoy:	honestly, still lightly Because so few people around take their appearance seriously around the base. It's rather a shame, that the nice paintjobs are getting the most superficial damage. sigh
Dead End:	it truly is a hassle to get a new one every time your leader decides you aren't doing it right, no doubt I see.
Dead End:	And what do you do about it? a hint of curiosity, there
Pepsi Convoy:	simply I stay out of trouble.
Pepsi Convoy:	adds And out of most public territory. It's rather dull here, in any case, so there's really little point in attending public communities.
Dead End:	And trouble never finds you? that's Dead End's problem, really
Pepsi Convoy:	brightly I haven't had an issue yet. I wander the halls a bit, smile at passersby, use private washracks. It's almost as though trouble tries to avoid me! laughs jovially
Dead End:	smiles, but it's more blank/passive than anything else - the other was a big mech after all Private washracks? wonders if Convoy means the human-built carwashes, and frowns
Pepsi Convoy:	Mm. still smiling brightly I found a little thing, in an abandoned hall. It took a bit of fixing, but I've found a private washrack to be less stressful than the public ones everyone is so keen on using.
Dead End:	is considerably less cheerful I see...
Pepsi Convoy:	frowns now, noticing the other's expression Is something bothering you, Dead End?
Dead End:	gestures to where his paintjob is the most ruined. It ought to be answer enough
Pepsi Convoy:	still frowning, he shakes his head a bit
Pepsi Convoy:	Well. I'm unfortunately not much for touchups and repainting, but if you'd like, I have a variety of polishes, soaps and such in the washrack - they could at least make you feel less... dour about your paintjob, at the least?
Dead End:	is almost scrutinizing the truck, nodding once Very well.
Pepsi Convoy:	there's that smile again! Gosh, his dentals sure are white Wonderful! -and he turns down a random hallway, nice and sharp I usually have trouble with directions, but this place has become easy to find...
Dead End:	follows the other's lead, making note of where they are going. He's sure he wants to use it again some time, Primus knows he's got no problems getting slagged
Pepsi Convoy:	is leading Dead End through a kind of twisty-turny route, humming aimlessly all the while - new friend, showing off the washrack (he is SO proud of it, after all)... all in all, a good night! It's right up here. You'd be the second person to see it, really, so feel free to tell me how you like it. stops outside a door - well, more like a part of the wall, really - and punches in a set of numbers into the keypad - which looks a bit like it's been beaten up. Somebody probably got mad when they couldn't get in the first time they used it.
Dead End:	doesn't quite know where he should place this mech, is he good, bad, a fence-sitter, what? He doesn't falter behind though, if it's the meaning he's supposed to get slagged by this Pepsi Convoy it'll happen no matter what he does about it. Might as well get a free wash out of it, not to mention coordinates to the private washroom. Very well. stock phrases for the win, they never fail
Pepsi Convoy:	wastes no time in getting the door open, stepping inside the dark room and flipping on the lights easily. It's more like a storage closet than anything - a really big one - but it's been outfitted to serve as a private washroom. There are spouts against the far wall, along with one in the ceiling, and a shelving unit up against one wall, filled with lots of shiny carwash-related things!
Dead End:	steps in and glances around with interest, this wasn't half-bad. He eyes the shelf with the carwashy bottles, they having caught his attention, and looks approving as he spots several brands that he personally uses. He looks back at Convoy, still unsure how to treat him. Not that it shows. Impressive. not really
Pepsi Convoy:	isn't really paying attention to the tone of the words - he might not even quite realize there is a tone - and instead goes right over to the shelves, the door sliding shut the moment Dead End enters I like to think so. A step up from public washracks, at the very least! starts looking through the shelving unit, which has polishes and waxes and soaps and sponges, all arranged by brand, use, size - you name it, it's probably organized by it. It's a little OCD, really
Dead End:	quick look back as he hears the door close, more acknowledging than scared or distressed. He watches Convoy, trying to figure out where his allegiance lie, if he has one at all. Yes, it is. He finds the mech to be frustratingly difficult to read, but he can't pinpoint exactly why
Pepsi Convoy:	looks over his shoulder at Dead End, then steps aside of the shelves, waving a hand at it Feel free to take what you want - I have a rather steady supply of these things. The washrack is open, too, as you can see. laughs a bit
Dead End:	half-smile, half-smirk - real smiles just doesn't come naturally to this mech. He moves closer to the shelf and, after a moment, picks off one of the more expensive ones, a satisfied look crossing his face.
Pepsi Convoy:	lightly A good choice. pauses, looking over the room briefly before deciding that the other's pretty much as brutalized as Tracks was, and just because he doesn't know the other very well doesn't mean he shouldn't be nice! If you'd like, I'd be glad to help you. there's no inflection in his voice - he could be talking about the weather, for all anyone knows
Dead End:	Damn that tone. It's impossible to know what the other mech is thinking, and at a loss how to adapt himself, he falls back on his usual replies As you wish.
Pepsi Convoy:	brightly It's really up to you, my friend. I'm not against helping you - you look a bit worn, and not just paint-wise - but if you'd rather your privacy, I'm quite all right with leaving.
Dead End:	his usual mannerisms is falling short, and it throws him off-balance It would be nice with some help, I cannot reach some of the spots myself. he's a master of regaining posture, though, and answers without missing a beat
Pepsi Convoy:	nods once, reaching for a bottle of expensive car soap and a sponge, turning and moving to the faucets We should probably wash you off before we touch the polish - the last thing we need to do is scratch the rest of your paint. looks over his shoulder at the other If that's all right?
Dead End:	It would be preferable. he's well-versed in the world of wash-and-polishing, and strangely protective of the finish that is left
Pepsi Convoy:	nods again, and deftly twists the faucets on so that the water's warm right away, pouring down from the ceiling and wall spouts in a steady stream. He turns and smiles brightly at the Stunticon from under the water, motioning with a hand for the other to come closer
Dead End:	steps forwards and into'n'under the spray, quickly getting soaked, energon washing away from his neck and internal components. He gives Convoy a look, unsure how the other wants to do this. Should he stand with his back or front to the truck? Not really in the mood to ponder on it right now, he decides to ask. Which side would you prefer to wash first?
Pepsi Convoy:	thinks for a moment, before smiling The front, I would think. It's generally easier. he takes to lathering up the sponge with soap, letting the other stand however he wants. Convoy's good at improvising
Dead End:	Very well. he stands face to face with Convoy, he isn't too keen on having his back turned to this mech. Not when he has no clue what he might be planning
Pepsi Convoy:	still smiling, he steps forward a bit and keeps a fairly safe, non-invasive step or so away, reaching out with the sponge and starting on Dead End's shoulder, between the wheel and neck, sweeping the sponge in easy circles
Dead End:	still a bit wary - any mech smiling that much had something on their mind, in his experience. He's still relaxed despite his alertness, not opposed to the wash in any way
Pepsi Convoy:	is oblivious to the other being wary at all - he's more interested in getting the other clean. He applies some pressure as he works along Dead End's shoulder and to the wheel, going over the treads a bit before starting on the wheel itself
Dead End:	isn't letting up his suspiciousness at all, but he leans ever-so-slightly into the touch, noting the little tingles registering in his processor
Pepsi Convoy:	he gets the sponge down into the wheel-well, going slow and easy because Dead End is kind of quiet, but not in an overly-disturbing way. He hums a bit, idly, and once he finishes with the wheel itself, he starts working on the other's shoulder again, this time paying special attention to the scrapes in his paint
Dead End:	doesn't make any sounds either, choosing to enjoy the pleasantness of the wash in silence, turning his head slightly to watch what Convoy is doing with those scrapes.
Pepsi Convoy:	sweeps the sponge over the scrapes a few times in the hope that they might at least look nicer, before giving up and starting on the clawmarks, going over the marks slowly, kind of looking at them. They're nothing particularly flattering, but still - a spot is a spot, and Convoy likes to be thourough
Dead End:	gaze shift between Convoy and the clawmarks he can just barely see, wondering if that look that bad. He remains quiet, however, the bigger mech will do what he sees fit in due time, so far he hasn't shown any signs of beginnerness when it comes to washing
Pepsi Convoy:	they aren't that bad - it's just Convoy being thorough. He moves on soon enough, bringing the sponge up along Dead End's neck; he adds a bit more pressure where the energon had been only a short while before - you know, just in case that stuff stains
Dead End:	tilts his head to the side to make it easier, optics fixed on Convoy's face now, rather than his swamp-holding hand. He winces as more pressure is applied to the torn fuel line, apparently Barricade's dentals had hurt him more than he had intended.
Pepsi Convoy:	at the wince, he immediately lightens his touch, frowning and meeting Dead End's optics Forgive me. Let me know if I press too hard.
Dead End:	...very well. he doesn't try to explain why his neck is sore, or why he was leaking from it. His features school themselves into a neutral look, albeit it's not that hard to see that it's guarded
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy's getting a little bemused by the other's silent treatment, but he chalks it up to personality quirks and keeps moving, working along the back of Dead End's neck before shifting the sponge to his other hand, starting on the opposite side of the neck, going over fuel lines and such lightly, in case there's more damage he hasn't noticed
Dead End:	Hey, he's a Stunticon, he's nothing but personality quirks. He tilts his head this way and that way, all to make the job easier, optics dimming a notch as a pleasantness makes itself acquainted with his sensory grid
Pepsi Convoy:	at least he's being helpful enough to go with the flow of things, Convoy decides, bringing the sponge down to start working on the wheel on this new shoulder. You can't be that bad if you help someone helping you, after all
Dead End:	Dead End knows the difficult spots, and how to make them less so, he's washed himself and his fellow gestalt-mates enough times to have experience on the matter. He shifts, side-stepping so that Convoy can reach the wheel-well easier
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy gives him a grateful smile as he gets into the wheel-well, working to get any grime or dust or who knows what out of it - he knows wheels can get kind of messy if you don't scrub them utterly clean, after all
Dead End:	a quiet almost-grunt as it is properly cleaned, it's near impossible to do a thorough job of it on his own. He's relaxed, body moving whenever Convoy scrubs hard enough. Sensations he appreciates flows into his processors, making him even more placid
Pepsi Convoy:	once he feels the wheel-well is suitably taken care of, he moves on, reapplying soap and starting on the other's chestplate, taking the smooth curves of protruding metal under the sponge and applying what he hopes is the right amount of pressure, going a bit lighter than he probably would if the other didn't look properly beaten up
Dead End:	leans lightly against Convoy's hand, savoring the simple touches. His optics dim even more as he relaxes completely, still silent sans the soft noise his intakes make as they draw in air
Pepsi Convoy:	the sponge moves from the more open, smooth plates to the seams between them, sliding into the dips and grooves in an attempt to get the other utterly clean - the silence doesn't seem awkward, either, which is slightly bemusing, but Convoy doesn't think about that for very long
Dead End:	doesn't mind the silence, he prefers it. Thus, he makes no attempt to shatter it, the sponge leaving sensors craving more of the same, and his initial suspiciousness fades in the favor of the rather gentle washdown
Pepsi Convoy:	shifts a bit, tilting the angle of the sponge to get into one of the wider transformation seams in Dead End's chestplate, one almost under his arm. He's watching himself to make sure he doesn't hurt the other or get soap where it might not be wanted, and adds more pressure, as the seam is one he has a feeling isn't the easiest to reach
Dead End:	Indeed, that one isn't easy to reach at all. He twitches, that seam is full of sensory equipment, now busy streaming data about the stimulation they're receiving to his processor. He lets out a quiet grunt, shifting again to move himself a bit closer to the other mech.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy puts his other hand on Dead End's shoulder, since the other seemed to almost sway to him, going over the seam and then along the lower ones directly connected, giving them all the same slow, slightly heavy treatment
Dead End:	sensory grid is definitely alive with data now, engine giving off a purr of content. Never one for consequences, he steps closer to Convoy, moving his hands to rest on the other's hip joints, fingers automatically finding a seam and digging into it.
Pepsi Convoy:	jerks a bit at that, stopping his movements for a moment to look at the hands at his hips, and then he blinks and goes back to cleaning out various seams, alternating pressure depending on where, precisely, they're located in relation to various paint-scratches and ruined finish
Dead End:	is watching the other, picking up on any signals being sent, frowning faintly when he sees none. In response he digs his fingers deeper into the cracks, tugging lightly on whatever wiring he can get a hold of
Pepsi Convoy:	now he grunts slightly, not really expecting that - nor the accompanying sensors purring a bit at the action. He looks down at Dead End in mild bemusement, sliding the sponge across the front of his chassis and taking it up in his other hand and repeating all the same gestures to the other side's seams, only occasionally taking his optics off of the other - purely curious
Dead End:	Dead End had been starting to wonder if this mech was just plain dumb, but perhaps not. His engine gives a satisfied rumble, and he forces his hands further in, grabbing a cable and squeezing it while twisting a handful of wires with his other hand
Pepsi Convoy:	Not quite dumb, just... dense. Still, hands at his cables are pretty obviously getting his attention - his hand tenses, forcing the sponge in deeper than he had had it before, and he hunches over the other slightly, fingers spasming against Dead End's shoulder. Gotta give him credit, though, he simply takes it in a stride and keeps working the sponge through chest-seams
Dead End:	groans as the sponge makes his sensors flare to life, and he grips Convoy's internals more tightly, flicking his wrists to wring them, albeit more gently than the word would let you think. Tilting his head up, he looks into the other mech's optics, wanting to see more of those reactions this blank mech could give
Pepsi Convoy:	He looks back at Dead End, more bemused than anything, and drops the sponge lower on the other's chassis, working on the seams along his abdomen, paying them a bit more attention than the actual armor itself - which would be strange for Convoy, if he weren't too busy focusing himself on the hands in his wiring. The twisting earns another grunt, and his hand clenches a bit more against Dead End's shoulder
Dead End:	Confident by the noises Convoy makes, he shoves one hand deeper, the other he slides out, only to push it into another seam higher up on Convoy's chest, fist clenching around several wires and some cables, tugging at them. He shivers as the sponge does wonderful things to his tactile exoskeletal sensors, every byte of data pleasantly welcome in his processors
Pepsi Convoy:	Not really paying attention to Dead End's actions, Convoy forces himself to pay more attention to the wide plates of armor, going over the damaged places with a softer touch than the unmarred bits. Error warnings flash across his optics and he spends some time concentrating on them, not really comprehending what they're trying to tell him, before waving them away mentally
Dead End:	There is something off about this mech. He gives Convoy's innards a sharp twist, maybe the mech's internal sensors was off, or malfunctioning. Who knew, maybe there was a glitch in the truck's processors that made it difficult. He's determined though, a rare state of mind for Dead End outside of the battlefield, he will* get this Prime-lookalike to respond to him*
Pepsi Convoy:	Oh, no, Convoy feels the other's hands on wires; it's just not Convoy's style. He makes a slightly pained noise as wires are twisted, losing track of his progress for a moment
Dead End:	Engine growls softly as he tries to piece together what Convoy wants - how he likes it. He twists again, albeit in a less forceful manner, watching the mech intently for clues
Pepsi Convoy:	Go ahead and try, but Convoy's trying hard to keep focusing on washing the other instead of the hands under his armor - a more coherent mech would have been at the very least worried over hands in his wiring, but Convoy... isn't normal.
Dead End:	Dead End has noticed! He's getting a bit annoyed now, if this is a game he's not appreciating it. He steps closer, leaning up and starting to nip at Convoy's neck, rubbing cables between dentals. Convoy is a tall mech, but he can just reach it if he stands on the tips of his feet.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy's head twitches to the side - barely - as dentals start working on the cables on his neck; but the thing he's most focused on right now is that there's not enough distance for him to be washing the other's chassis comfortably - so he shrugs a bit and pulls his hands away, reaching around to start scrubbing against Dead End's upper back
Dead End:	What was* it with this mech! Was it a special kind of sadism or something? He grinds a fuel line between his dental plates, digging his hands further into Convoy's armor, aiming for the general direction of his spark chamber. Dead End is getting frustrated with the unreadableness of the truck, and he needs something to work with.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy drops his shoulder slightly, pretty much instinctually lessening the height difference so that Dead End isn't straining on his feet - the sponge dips into a seam and presses down, sliding the material sharply along the opening... don't ask him what he's trying to do, anyways, because he hasn't the faintest beyond cleaning the other
Dead End:	Apparently neck-biting is the way to go, or at least better than anything else he has come up with, sans actually harming the bigger mech. He continues the dental work, his fingers snapping on fine wiring inside him, in their search for the other's spark. He presses himself closer to Convoy, softly groaning from the wet-and-spongy touches. His engine revs, and one of his hands find a rather thick fuel line, curling tightly around it.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy moves the hand on Dead End's shoulder to his hip, mostly because his elbow doesn't appreciate being bent at an odd angle, and his fingers slip into a seam - more or less out of instinct, curling a bit as his neck is summarily abused. His hand with the sponge doesn't stop, though - the speed increases very slightly but otherwise, he's continuing with even strokes, going over plating and digging deeply into seams
Dead End:	There, finally, he can feel the hard-to-miss signs of a spark nearby, and he spreads his fingers out on the surface, giving it a squeeze, the other hand still on that fuel line, pinching and stroking. He's reached the end of his checklist of things That Mechs Like When Interfacing, and so far he hasn't really gotten any results - not as big as he usually gets, at least.
Pepsi Convoy:	The hand on Dead End's hip clamps down tightly, and a low hum picks up as his intakes suddenly come to life; he pauses for a moment, processors taking up new subroutines he usually doesn't run - and then the sponge slides down to the other's waist, slipping into a seam and flattening to make room for a few fingertips that accompany it
Dead End:	OK, now* Dead End is getting more than a little frustrated. He's never met a mech as infuriatingly blank as the other, himself included. This is the least response mech he has ever met, and he cannot understand why. Irritated - he takes a certain amount of pride in his adaptation to others - he catches some wiring stemming from the spark chamber, tugging on them hard, reaching the end of his list of tricks and tips.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy is trying very, very hard to focus on his task* right now, thanks!*
Dead End:	Dead End growls, both his vocalizer and engine, more aggressive than turned on. Can't this fragging mech just react already!* He yanks at whatever his hands are currently holding, frustration overshadowing the pleasure he felt earlier.*
Pepsi Convoy:	More sub-routines come online, and Convoy's engine rumbles, optics dimming slightly - the sponge keeps working in steady circles, while his hand at Dead End's hip work under a seam, sliding against wires lightly as he shifts, bringing Dead End a bit closer
Dead End:	...is his efforts finally paying off? Or is it just a cruel trick? Nevertheless, he's not going to stop this, only half-gently sliding his hand out from Convoy's side to dig it between the armor plates covering his chest, prying for the spark chamber from the other side as well. Well there, his hands cups it, scraping all ten fingertips against the metal, twitching slightly as tiny flares of energy from the truck's spark makes their way into his circuitry
Pepsi Convoy:	His engine grows a bit louder and Convoy twitches, stroking wiring under his fingertips as his fans start whirring. He makes a noise - a rather noncommittal noise, all things considered - and brings the sponge up to Dead End's neck, using it more to stimulate wiring there than to actually clean* anything*
Dead End:	His frustrations fade more as he gets more and more reactions, seeing as Convoy is as damn hard to interpret this is relatively a lot of response. He tilts his head, granting the truck more surface to stimulate, sensory grid again starting to register that certain pleasant feeling. He squeezes the protective shell between his hands, his little finger curling around a wire and tugging on it, before starting to rub his palms against the material securing Convoy's spark.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy groans quietly, pressing himself up against Dead End's hands, and slips more of his hand under armor, grasping at wires. The sponge is only a secondary part at the moment, as his fingers are now starting to stroke the other's neck, pressing in between thicker lines
Dead End:	He lets out a groan of his own, engine a thrumming, purring thing. Sensors fallen idle wakes up, not hesitating to stream data into his processors once more. He digs his fingers into the casing, dragging them along the surface, occasionally snagging on wires coming out from it.
Pepsi Convoy:	His shoulders hunch as he bends down more, hands working against wiring at a pace almost similar to how he was earlier washing Dead End - but his engine hadn't been growling then, and his optics, dim and slightly narrowed, weren't locked on Dead End in the same way as they are now. His spark, however, is remaining relatively calm - it sends out energy, but not in a way an overloading mech's would
Dead End:	He picks up the biting of neck-cables, previously abandoned by growing frustrations. He duly notes the lack of uprising from the spark inbetween his hands, not as annoyed now as he would've been earlier. Bliss is slowly making its way through his systems, and he tugs at the casing itself, rubbing it with both fingers and palms.
Pepsi Convoy:	His head tilts so that his neck is more open, not looking away from Dead End as the smaller robot brings his dentals back into play. His hand at the other's side shifts, pulling around and now dragging up along the seam he had paid special attention to earlier - the one just out of personal reach - sliding against wires as he goes
Dead End:	He pushes himself against Convoy's hand, the one on his back, inside that seam only other mechs could touch. He drags his dental plates down the cable he's working on, tilting his head as he goes for another one. To the spark casing, he's rubbing, squeezing, clenching and tugging - almost yanking - groaning softly as his systems starts to falter beneath the steadily increasing rate of incoming data.
Pepsi Convoy:	He makes another noise, spark flaring just slightly - almost like it's accommodating Dead End's hands - and scrapes his fingers against the other's neck, sponge all but forgotten
Dead End:	he intensifies his touches, he needs* the other to react more, even Motormaster is easier to read and adapt to than this mech*
Pepsi Convoy:	His spark flares again, and his fingers dig into Dead End's back, taking wires up and pulling on them lightly, engine rumbling and intakes speeding slightly more than he would be used to
Dead End:	he grunts with approval, finally* they're getting somewhere. He tugs again at the casing, gripping it tightly between his fingers. Pushing back into the other's touch, the Stunticon's motor giving off a deep hum, biting down hard on the cable between his dentals.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy groans again, body shifting to bring his neck into fuller contact with the bite - his optics dim further and he drops the sponge, broad hand reaching to completely wrap around the back of Dead End's neck, massaging and pulling at wiring
Dead End:	Growly moan, a loud rev from his engine shattering the relative silence. He's starting to feel a bit weak-kneed, but hasn't any problems to stay standing up yet. Not letting up any pressure on the line, he grinds it between the plates in his mouth, rough enough to make it tear.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy pays no attention to the sounds, growling slightly at the feeling of the line tearing, and brings his hand down the seam, wrapping around a group of wires and pulling on them sharply
Dead End:	gasps with combined pain and pleasure, gripping Convoy's spark chamber almost hard enough to dent the metal. A high-pitched thrum is coming from his chassis, processors starting to slow down with all the data coming in.
Pepsi Convoy:	He reaches up further, as far in as he can be, and drags his hand down through wiring. His chassis hums with the vibrations from his own engine, and he twists against Dead End's hands
Dead End:	isn't quite sure whether to lean against the touch or against Convoy's chest, and ends up shaking where he stands instead, another grunted moan escaping him. His hands are twitching, clenching and unclenching around the protective shell
Pepsi Convoy:	The spark flares a bit again, and Convoy keeps going, pulling at wires all the way down the seam, then sliding back up and doing it over again, over and over - he adds pressure and brings Dead End forward, noticing the shaking and assuming his legs aren't all that sturdy
Dead End:	he is indeed losing the ability to stand on his own, and he puts most of his upper body weight against Convoy, senses fully alight and making him very good indeed. Precision control centers for his motor functions are half shutting down, and his hands gets rougher, more careless
Pepsi Convoy:	Growls again, pulling the other against him while continuing to stroke the wiring - his hand at the back of Dead End's neck clamps down at the other's near-manhandling of his spark, but otherwise, he's keeping a smooth, steady pace everywhere
Dead End:	intakes are making a keening whine, sucking in air by the gallons. He's moaning loudly at this point, crushing himself against the bigger mech, tugging him closer by pulling on his spark
Pepsi Convoy:	Shifts closer, bending even more so that he can bring his head down and, optics dimmed nearly to offline, he slides his dentals over a thick wire in Dead End's neck
Dead End:	drops his head back and to the side, exposing his throat and neck, engine giving off a loud thrum. Dead End's optics are starting to darken a notch or two or three, his focus needed somewhere else than visual feed. His systems are dancing along the edge of how much input they can take, on the verge of shutting down and/or rebooting
Pepsi Convoy:	Optics still dim, his dentals work over newly exposed wiring, scraping along them while his hand pulls and twists wiring in the other's back, pushing Dead End up against him
Dead End:	intakes are loud as they speed up, as is his engine. He grips the spark casing tightly, keeping it to hold himself up, or at least attempt to, audios shutting down along with his optics, almost grinding himself against Convoy's chassis
Pepsi Convoy:	He takes it all in a stride, bringing his hand away from Dead End's neck and reaching down, sliding fingertips along a chestplate seam before digging in, pulling at wires as he bites down in almost a mimicry of what Dead End had done to him earlier. He's making low sounds, but his spark is only reacting slightly to being manhandled
Dead End:	misses the sounds, but he just barely notes the lack of reaction from the other spark, it should have been flaring between his hands by now, and as he gasps he grows annoyed, why didn't this mech react appropriately? Motor is rattling inside him as he conjures coherency and give the spark casing a violent pull, wrenching it to one side
Pepsi Convoy:	The spark flares a bit, almost annoyed - as if wondering what all this brutal handling is for - and he digs his hand into the other's chest more, scraping fingertips against more hidden wires, the hand at Dead End's back fisting around a bundle of wiring and jerking on them
Dead End:	A groan, it's almost drowned by the static following it, and he jolts as things short-circuit, unable to take the heat, or the pure pressure of information being fed to him. Hands spasms around the metal, catching and severing several wires as his motor functions quickly begin to fail
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy's engine rumbles in mixed annoyance and pleasure, and he hums a bit, dentals sliding from the side of Dead End's neck to the front, biting and nipping at a fuel line - he jerks a bit as wires snap but keeps his own pace steady, speeding up just slightly and tightening his grip - his optics are dim and he's almost smiling
Dead End:	jolts, scraping his paint against Convoy's, infuriated with this fragger's utter lack of normality, did he need a sledgehammer to pound his spark before it came to life? It's the last thought he can formulate before his processors goes haywire, warnings popping up and beeping, diagnostics overriding his systems and shutting them down, his OS going into a reboot with a shriek of fury and bliss from the red mech - cut off as his vocalizer is offlined.
Pepsi Convoy:	Pauses all movements, pulling his dentals away as the other starts rebooting. He pulls his own hands out of Dead End's seams before reaching up and gently prying the other's hands out of his own chassis, optics brightening as he looks at the other bemusedly, keeping an arm around the other's back to hold him up
Dead End:	First thing the Porsche does when all systems are back up is give the truck a good old fashioned stare. The second is to get himself standing on his legs only, pulling away from the taller mech.
Pepsi Convoy:	The stare isn't even noticed - Convoy chuckles a little, doing his best to look dutifully embarrassed - as much as Convoy can ...Forgive me - it seems I dozed off for a moment or so.
Dead End:	His face turns utterly blank as he hears that remark. Every thought process grinds to a halt, as he continues to look at Convoy. His usual filter between thoughts and vocalizer has gone up with a flash, and blandly he asks: Beg pardon?
Pepsi Convoy:	He blinks, looking confused ...I did, didn't I? Humm. I suppose I didn't get a full night's rest... He scratches his chin, looking at the sponge on the ground thoughtfully I'm sorry I did. I was supposed to be helping you...
Dead End:	He finally loses it What is wrong with you?! jabs a finger roughly into Convoy's chest plate
Pepsi Convoy:	...Yeeeah, he's confused now Pardon?
Dead End:	You are obviously defective. Why have you not gotten yourself fixed? voice doesn't rise in volume, but it's a lot more agitated than what is normal for Dead End
Pepsi Convoy:	Still confused, he looks at Dead End with a raised optic ridge I'm not quite sure I'm following you. I probably need more rest, before I can make coherent sense, I suppose. chuckles a bit, almost sheepish (if Convoy could be sheepish)
Dead End:	growling You need a lot more than just rest.
Pepsi Convoy:	frowns - not exactly sure what he did, but... I - suppose I did something to offend you while I was dozing? I'm sorry, if that's the case.
Dead End:	Congratulations, Convoy, you might be the first mech in history to make Dead End speechless.
Pepsi Convoy:	...Thanks?
Pepsi Convoy:	Great to be here?
Dead End:	gradually, he succeeds in regaining more and more of his posture and normal way of thinking, but the intensity that he is eyeing the truck with never lessens. Will you finish what you started? expression is a very carefully schooled passive
Pepsi Convoy:	blinks again If you want me to? huh. Weird guy. First he's growling and yelling at you, and then he wants to keep associating with you? Well, whatever.
Dead End:	is interested in this mech now, curious as to what can make him tick - so to speak It is what you brought me here for, is it not?
Pepsi Convoy:	laughs a bit, still a little confused, but reaches down to grab the sponge off the ground To be honest, I was simply going to let you use the washrack, but you seemed... frowns a bit A little stressed. Really, it seems to come with getting your paint scuffed - Tracks was hardly any better than you, I think. In either case, if you want me to help you still, I'd be glad to.
Dead End:	Stressed? as far as Dead End could remember, he had kept his neutral expression in place without fail since he left his quarters - maybe he was losing it? Although the truck had made a point, he hadn't been particularily happy with his ruined finish
Pepsi Convoy:	A bit. Tense, I suppose? You didn't seem particularly on edge, but a bit aloof, standoffish - which, when you're generally good looking, means you're not having the best of times. nods a bit I assumed it was because your paintjob got ruined - was that, er, incorrect?
Dead End:	when was he not* standoffish? His engine gave a pleased rumble at the compliment.* It was a factor, yes.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy doesn't know him, really, so he's just working off his own assumptions here. I thought as much. Though, this place does tend to give one... more than just a few problems to worry about. smiles and holds up the sponge If you would still like my help, I'd be happy to assist.
Dead End:	he didn't have too many problems occupying his mind, mostly immediate concerns I might as well take advantage of your offer. besides, prolonged exposure to this mech might give him some clues to what Convoy was
Pepsi Convoy:	holds out his hand with the sponge in an inviting gesture Wonderful. I apologize again, for whatever I may have done - I hope you don't hold it against me.
Dead End:	one slow nod I will not. eyes Convoy, not making any move
Pepsi Convoy:	well, jeeze. What's he supposed to do? Actually starting to feel slightly awkward (a pretty big feat considering who we're talking about), he slides forward on his feet, lessening the distance between them I really am sorry. Because if Dead End is uncomfortable, Convoy doesn't want to make him even more so!
Dead End:	a quiet grunt is the response, and he stands still just like he did in the beginning, albeit a bit more underlying tensions this time around.
Pepsi Convoy:	picks up (vaguely) where he left off, redoing the other's back for the most part, since he doesn't even remember doing it in the first place, but he kind of feels awkward doing it - like the other isn't planning on trusting him. That's not something Convoy is used to - not being trusted
Dead End:	is indeed wary of Convoy on a whole other level now, standing almost stiffly, a forced relaxedness, as he is washed down, always keeping his optics on the other mech
Pepsi Convoy:	...sighs and pauses, barely even starting at this point, and looks down at Dead End mildly This would be less tedious for you if you could relax. isn't quite annoyed,* but some vague version of the emotion* I don't know what I did, but I suspect I won't be doing it again.
Dead End:	puts more effort behind it, and he does relax more, albeit it's the kind of placidness that can take a 180 back into the land of tense ...Very well.
Pepsi Convoy:	nods, and starts again, going over armor with the sponge, still a little confused, but hey. ....You know, maybe he should just focus on cleaning the other again.
Dead End:	doesn't offer any other words, though he shifts his weight onto one of his legs, hands hanging down from his side. If nothing else, he'd get a freshly polished armor when this was done, and perhaps some good markers on the tall mech as well
Pepsi Convoy:	works a bit more quickly than before, mostly just confused now. He finishes with the soap and sponge soon enough, stepping back from Dead End and reaching over to turn off the water That should work... You'll need to dry a bit, but then we can apply the polish...
Dead End:	remains silent, occasionally voicing a soft grunt of approval or shifting his weigh around. He nods at Convoy's words. Air dry?
Pepsi Convoy:	smiles and goes to the shelf, putting things away Unfortunately, this particular washrack doesn't have any drying capabilities. If it did, I wouldn't spend so much time in here... laughs a bit
Dead End:	actually smiles, though it's more out of politeness than any real humor invested. You come here often, then?
Pepsi Convoy:	nods Mm. I prefer here over the public washracks... or, for that matter, the halls. chuckles Getting lost is only entertaining for so long.
Dead End:	quirks an optic ridge at that You get lost often?
Pepsi Convoy:	Only occasionally... Well. Yes, I suppose so. I'm not precisely used to this kind of place - but it's getting harder to wander off, now that I've been fairly everywhere. Getting lost has become a habit of mine. brightly Though, I prefer to think of it as wandering.
Dead End:	wonders why the other doesn't just fix his malfunctioning systems instead of constantly getting lost, but everyone has their little ways, he supposed What place are you used to, then? muses out loud, voice neutral in tone
Pepsi Convoy:	...Now there's* an interesting question* ...I can't quite be sure. bemused I woke up in a destroyed building. It was a bit disconcerting, to be frank.
Dead End:	How cannot you not be sure? a quiet curiosity in his voice now
Pepsi Convoy:	I simply don't remember. shrugs I woke up, found this place, and came here. I had a few... detours to make, but none of them proved very enlightening.
Dead End:	I see. he takes this in, mulling it over - one question in particular nags at him How long ago did you wake up?
Pepsi Convoy:	...I believe it was... Mid-October? Perhaps earlier, though I don't quite remember much before then.
Dead End:	I understand. and he did, now. Convoy was just a sparkling, he hadn't picked up on the cold and gruesome habits of life just yet
Pepsi Convoy:	brightly You do? That's rather more than me, I must admit. You would think I'd at the very least remember why the building was destroyed... Still. I suppose I can't complain; it could be worse... falls quiet, musing to himself as he looks over the shelves - can anyone say OCD habits?
Dead End:	looks faintly thoughtful Perhaps you ruined it yourself. gives Convoy a scrutinizing look
Pepsi Convoy:	isn't even noticing any looks the other might be giving him at the moment; trying to recall events from earlier than a week ago isn't exactly easy for him I don't see why I would, though I'm certain it's possible. chuckles a bit I'm not one for idly destroying property or getting into fights if I can help it.
Dead End:	he considers that for a moment. Convoy didn't strike him as a particularly violent mech, but then again the truck was somewhat... special It is impossible to know if you do not remember the events yourself.
Pepsi Convoy:	...pauses for a moment, frowning, then quickly takes up his smile again I suppose so. Oh, well. I'll have to keep trying, I suppose. looks at Dead End ...This may be out of line to ask, but... Do you ever get the feeling that others simply aren't telling you everything, in order to keep you on a... waves a hand A leash, if you will.
Dead End:	mulls that over, wondering if he should answer or not. He figures it doesn't really matter, it's not really a secret a secret how the Stunticons are treated I am kept on a leash by other means. optics narrow, albeit not in a threatening way Do you think others are hiding something from you?
Pepsi Convoy:	I'm fairly certain they are, yes. idly, turning to fully face Dead End now, he crosses his arms I'm a bit at a loss as to what to do about it, but I'm sure a venue of opportunities will open if I'm patient.
Dead End:	notes the change in posture with some interest You can shed some light on the matter by asking them directly. Then you will discover whether they are withholding information. Dead End isn't normally one for advices, but this mech has captured his attention
Pepsi Convoy:	The direct approach... frowns, as if trying to think of how to word it ...Didn't go as according to plan as I had hoped it would. Then again, if everyone were as open as I want them to be, life would hardly be... interesting. Or difficult, I suppose, but they seem to come hand in hand. chuckling
Dead End:	nods, optics intently watching the other mech So it would seem.
Pepsi Convoy:	blinks, shaking his head slightly and smiling almost apologetically Forgive me, I didn't mean to start rambling on about things that most likely don't interest you. If you feel dry enough, we can move on to the polish you picked out?
Dead End:	Very well. Yes, I am dry enough. still looks kind of thoughtful, but it's more subtle than before How was it, waking up?
Pepsi Convoy:	smiles and swipes a cloth off of the shelf that he had been examining before, coming up and applying polish to the fabric Much the same as it is every day, I would suppose. A bit more confusing, but then again, waking up in general can be a fairly disorienting process.
Dead End:	makes a low hmm-ing noise, he was first activated so long ago the even has been overwritten by other, more important data It can. watches the other prepare for the polishing, features one of passive interest
Pepsi Convoy:	I supposed it'd be a bit easier... trails off, looking almost impassive, before smiling and starting on Dead End's arm, planning on polishing as much of the other as there is paint
Dead End:	Yes? gives the mech an expectant look
Pepsi Convoy:	...It's nothing. continues working, humming a bit Simply... Things are slowly becoming more complicated than I prefer them. I prefer my life... simple.
Dead End:	he understood that, he enjoyed things less complicated as well. However, he doesn't believe the truck when he says that it was nothing And it is not?
Pepsi Convoy:	Not always. simply, continuing to polish the parts that are painted
Dead End:	It is inevitable. finds the feeling of the rag sweeping over him pleasing, as it sends little packets of data to his sensory grid
Pepsi Convoy:	I suppose not. Though, it would be more relaxing if I had nothing more to worry about than polish and decal upkeep. chuckles, moving from arm to the main body of his chassis
Dead End:	moves a bit to help Convoy with the polishing, reducing the input from his external sensors Alas.
Pepsi Convoy:	appreciates the help, really! At least now he knows Dead End isn't mad at him, right?
Dead End:	Dead End doesn't really do mad that often, so don't flatter yourself, Convoy How badly damaged is the finish on my back?
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy never flatters himself! He moves a bit to get a bit of a better look, frowning It could be worse, I suppose, but I would invest in getting it all redone, in either case.
Dead End:	vents a shallow sigh, good paintjobs were a hassle to find and get It is not like I enjoy looking like this. I will get it done as soon as I find the free time.
Pepsi Convoy:	nods I understand. If I were at all good at fixing ruined paintjobs, I would be glad to help you. Unfortunately, I doubt I'd make you look much better than you do now. laughs a bit, going over the other's back, since he's here
Dead End:	offers something akin to a smile to Convoy, but doesn't respond verbally
Pepsi Convoy:	his smile widens a bit, pleased at the reaction, still working over the other's chassis - Dead End is looking shinier with every swipe!
Dead End:	watches the progress, face back to the usual neutral, but with an almost approving glint to his optics
Pepsi Convoy:	keeps a steady pace, going over damned near every bit of paint on Dead End, before finally finishing, stepping back a bit with a placating smile I really am sorry I can't do more for you than this, Dead End.
Dead End:	looks himself over, Convoy had done a decent job No need to be sorry, Pepsi Convoy. You were not the mech ripping it apart.
Pepsi Convoy:	frowns a bit at that I prefer not to do any "ripping" at all, to be honest. moves, going to put the cloth on a different shelf than before 73774.
Dead End:	a light nod at that, before a puzzled expression takes over, genuinely surprised Beg pardon?
Pepsi Convoy:	blinks, looking over at Dead End 73774. It's the code for the door.
Dead End:	blinks, he probably looks a bit confused Oh.
Pepsi Convoy:	smiles It wouldn't be polite to show you around, just to lock it up again. There's only three people who know it's here - you and myself included - so it should be dramatically less crowded than the public washracks. Plus, it has brand names. laughs a bit
Dead End:	nods, not really understanding why Convoy is doing this, but he chalks it up as another one of the truck's unique traits Thank you.
Pepsi Convoy:	It's not a problem, Dead End. But... Ah, if you'd excuse me - I think I should lie down and attempt to get some rest. looking mildly worried I don't like the idea of me dozing off anywhere particularly pleasing.
Dead End:	he's amused by this - trust a sparkling to not know what had happened, and he smirks Do as you wish.
Pepsi Convoy:	smiles, already going for the door Feel free to use this place whenever you want, my friend.
Dead End:	nods, feeling a bit weird by being called friend by this rather... extraordinary mech Rest well.
Pepsi Convoy:	Hopefully. he looks back once he reaches the door, opening it easily enough If not - well, I'm sure I'll keep myself entertained. and goes through the door!
Dead End:	again that not-quite-smile, but it looks more thoughtful than last time, and Dead End being Dead End he starts walking towards the door as well, long and easy strides quickly closing the distance. He looks down the hall after Convoy, and spotting his back he starts walking after him, more curious than determined.