| Monday, December 17, 2007 |
| 10:24 AM |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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.* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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!* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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. |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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? |
| deadende: | It would be preferable. *he's well-versed in the world of wash-and-polishing, and strangely protective of the finish that is left* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | 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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *they aren't that bad - it's just Convoy being thourough. 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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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. |
| deadende: | ...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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| 2:14 PM |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *sensory grid is definately 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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| Tuesday, December 18, 2007 |
| 7:23 AM |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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 diffifult. 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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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.* |
| deadende: | *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 a tall mech, but he can just reach it if he stands on the tips of his feet.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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. * |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *OK, now Dead End is getting more than a little frustrated. He's never met a mech as unfuriatingly 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 adaption 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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *Convoy is trying very, very hard to focus on his task right now, thanks!* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *...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 agains the metal, twitching slightly as tiny flares of energy from the truck's spark makes their way into his circuitry* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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 noncommital 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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *He makes another noise, spark flaring just slightly - almost like it's accomodating Dead End's hands - and scrapes his fingers against the other's neck, sponge all but forgotten* |
| deadende: | *he intensifies his touches, he needs the other to react more, even Motormaster is easier to read and adapt to than this mech* |
| 2:51 PM |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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 centres for his motor functions are half shutting down, and his hands gets rougher, more careless* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| Thursday, December 20, 2007 |
| 2:12 PM |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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 mimickry of what Dead End had done to him earlier. He's making low sounds, but his spark is only reacting slightly to being manhandled* |
| deadende: | *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 appropiately? Motor is rattling inside him as he conjures coherency and give the spark casing a violent pull, wrenching it to one side* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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. |
| deadende: | *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? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *He blinks, looking confuseed* ...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... |
| deadende: | *He finally loses it* What is wrong with you?! *jabs a finger roughly into Convoy's chest plate* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *...Yeeeah, he's confused now* Pardon? |
| deadende: | 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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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)* |
| deadende: | *growling* You need a lot more than just rest. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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. |
| deadende: | *Congratulations, Convoy, you might be the first mech in history to make Dead End speechless.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *...Thanks?* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *Great to be here?* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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.* |
| deadende: | *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? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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. |
| deadende: | 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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | 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? |
| deadende: | *when was he not standoffish? His engine gave a pleased rumble at the compliment.* It was a factor, yes. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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. |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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. |
| deadende: | *one slow nod* I will not. *eyes Convoy, not making any move* |
| 9:57 PM |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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!* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ...*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. |
| deadende: | *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. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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.* |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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... |
| deadende: | *remains silent, occasionally voicing a soft grunt of approval or shifting his weigh around. He nods at Convoy's words.* Air dry? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *actually smiles, though it's more out of politeness than any real humor invested.* You come here often, then? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *nods* Mm. I prefer here over the public washracks... or, for that matter, the halls. *chuckles* Getting lost is only entertaining for so long. |
| deadende: | *quirks an optic ridge at that* You get lost often? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | 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. |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ...*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. |
| deadende: | How cannot you not be sure? *a quiet curiosity in his voice now* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | 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. |
| deadende: | I see. *he takes this in, mulling it over - one question in particular nags at him* How long ago did you wake up? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ...I believe it was... Mid-October? Perhaps earlier, though I don't quite remember much before then. |
| deadende: | 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* |
| Saturday, December 22, 2007 |
| 3:48 PM |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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?* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | (( http://www.geocities.com/devilishkurumi/deadende.html  ) |
| deadende: | *looks faintly thoughtful* Perhaps you ruined it yourself. *gives Convoy a scrutinizing look* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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. |
| deadende: | *he considers that for a moment. Convoy didn't strike him as a particularily violent mech, but then again the truck was somewhat... special* It is impossible to know if you do not remember the events yourself. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ...*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. |
| deadende: | *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? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | 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. |
| deadende: | *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 witholding information. *Dead End isn't normally one for advices, but this mech has captured his attention* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | 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* |
| deadende: | *nods, optics intently watching the other mech* So it would seem. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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? |
| deadende: | Very well. Yes, I am dry enough. *still looks kind of thougtful, but it's more subtle than before* How was it, waking up? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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. |
| deadende: | *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* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | 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* |
| deadende: | Yes? *gives the mech an expectant look* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ...It's nothing. *continues working, humming a bit* Simply... Things are slowly becoming more complicated than I prefer them. I prefer my life... simple. |
| deadende: | *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? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | Not always. *simply, continuing to polish the parts that are painted* |
| deadende: | It is unevitable. *finds the feeling of the rag sweeping over him pleasing, as it sends little packets of data to his sensory grid* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | 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* |
| deadende: | *moves a bit to help Convoy with the polishing, reducing the input from his external sensors* Alas. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *appreciates the help, really! At least now he knows Dead End isn't mad at him, right?* |
| deadende: | *Dead End doesn't really do mad that often, so don't flatter yourself, Convoy* How badly damaged is the finish on my back? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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. |
| deadende: | *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. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *offers something akin to a smile to Convoy, but doesn't respond verbally* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *his smile widens a bit, pleased at the reaction, still working over the other's chassis - Dead End is looking shinier with every swipe!* |
| deadende: | *watches the progress, face back to the usual neutral, but with an almost approving glint to his optics* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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. |
| deadende: | *looks himself over, Convoy had done a decent job* No need to be sorry, Pepsi Convoy. You were not the mech ripping it apart. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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. |
| deadende: | *a light nod at that, before a puzzled expression takes over, genuinly surprised* Beg pardon? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *blinks, looking over at Dead End* 73774. It's the code for the door. |
| deadende: | *blinks, he probably looks a bit confused* Oh. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *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* |
| deadende: | *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. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | 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. |
| deadende: | *he's amused by this - trust a sparkling to not know what had happened, and he smirks* Do as you wish. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *smiles, already going for the door* Feel free to use this place whenever you want, my friend. |
| deadende: | *nods, feeling a bit weird by being called friend by this rather... extraordinary mech* Rest well. |
| 7:52 PM |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | 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!* |
| deadende: | *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.* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *now that he's out of the washracks, he's back to a default mode of not paying attention to anything - even his whereabouts. As such, he looks more like he's wandering, than heading directly back to his room* |
| deadende: | *trails after, expression the ever-neutral, idly wondering where Convoy is headed* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *after a few wrong turns (that turn more into aimless wanderings, once he realizes he's gotten all turned around), he finally stops at a door, imputting a code and opening the door with a satisfied smile - probably just glad he found it in under 20 minutes, this time* |
| deadende: | *Convoy wasn't joking about getting lost, and with a growing amusement Dead End keeps following the mech until he stops in front of what the Stunticon assumes is his quarters* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *even someone as oblivious as Convoy can't help but realize he's got company, finally turning around to blink at Dead End in confusion* Dead End? I'm sorry, I didn't notice - did you need something? *says it in a tone that isn't any different from normal - he's not trying to say "go away" in any sense - that's just not Convoy's style* |
| deadende: | No. *he doesn't know why he started shadowing the truck, and he notes it down to think about later. He steps closer, his face softening some as he approaches the bigger mech* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *blinks again, smiling faintly in mild bemusement* Entertainment, then? *waves his hand at the open door, leading into a smaller-than-most room* Pardon me for being rude. Would you like to come in? |
| deadende: | *regards Convoy in silence before nodding* That would be nice. *blandly* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *well, all right then - heads in himself, stepping aside so that there's actually enough room for the other to pass by him, still wearing that curious smile* |
| deadende: | *moves even closer and then past Convoy, wondering how the mech fit in this rather small room, even his own quarters was considerably bigger than this. He flicks a glance at the truck, why didn't he request a bigger room?* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *it's tall enough for him to not have to hunch over and big enough so that he can spread his arms out - that's all he needs* I'm not much for company, I'm afraid - rather a bit distracted most of the time. *pauses, then adds* Is there anything on your mind, my friend? |
| deadende: | *he doesn't have much trouble believing the truck when he says he's distracted. It must be strange having such a short attention span, he muses. And again with the "friend."* Why do you insist on calling me that? *turns to face Convoy* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *blinks* Call you what? |
| deadende: | *he's not one to beat around the bush when he wants to know something* "Friend." |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *blinks again, then his smile turns less confused and more relaxed* I won't insist, if you don't want me to call you a friend. It's simply... *waves a hand, at a loss as to what he should say, moving to lean against a wall - not like that's moving very far* Would you rather me not? |
| deadende: | I want to know why. *he's not giving in until he gets a straight answer* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *lightly* Because you seem to be a decent person who understands the value of a nice, polished finish, and I generally assume people who continue to associate me after five minutes time to be my friends. |
| deadende: | *well, he hadn't expected that reason. Convoy had to be a lonely mech if that last part was any indication* I see. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *nods, because that basically settles that part of the matter as far as he's concerned, repeating his question again with that casual smile still on his face* Would you rather me not? |
| deadende: | *he's at a loss at that one. He reverts back to his trusted stockphrases, twisting it to fit* Do as you wish. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *quirks an optic ridge, still smiling* You prefer accomodating others, don't you? It's a good quality to have, sometimes. *his tone switches just very slightly on "sometimes," but it's less likely that he even noticed him doing it* |
| deadende: | *Dead End picks it up, though, he's not that unfamiliar with subtleties* It is easier, in the long run. *he isn't quite sure why he's opening up to Convoy, he's not usually one for personal small talk* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *Convoy's just naturally friendly? He chuckles a bit* I'm afraid I'm much the same, with going along to other's wishes, so feel free to take more control over our conversation. I'm rather easily distracted. |
| deadende: | *And Dead End is naturally unfriendly. Apparently opposites do attract, in some way* Have you always been like that? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | Distracted? *muses for a moment, then shrugs* I suppose so. You'll have to note that I don't remember anything prior to a few months ago. |
| deadende: | I recall. *he has a good memory for things. Mechs tend to have that* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *most mechs, at least. Convoy's... special, remember?* ...I must confess, though - I'm a little confused as to why you followed me. *Looks the other over, trying to spot maybe an area he didn't cover with polish? Maybe that's why...* |
| deadende: | *he's a bit confused about that himself. He offers a shrug* I thought you might want company. *never mind that being company is what Dead End does worst* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *he brightens a bit more at that, waving a hand to - well, there's not much, a berth and a chair that looks like it's been dragged from the common room, and pretty much nothing else (other than a few dozen factory-cases of Pepsi piled up in a corner)* If you can, feel free to find a place to sit. I'd offer you some Pepsi but... I don't think most people around here can really stomach it. *sounds slightly deflated by that* |
| deadende: | *looks between the two options for sitting, not really wanting to use either* We were made for processing energon. *quite logical, of course mechs shouldn't corrupt their systems with this..."pepsi"* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *nods, not even slightly discouraged by the fact that the other isn't sitting* So I continuously hear. *now would be a good time to mention he doesn't actually drink his energon* |
| deadende: | *he would be surprised if he knew Convoy didn't drink - didn't need? - energon* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *looks to the cases in mild annoyance* If I could clear them out, I might have a bit more space in here, but I prefer to have them nearby. |
| deadende: | *each mech to his own, he supposes* I see. You are fond of this 'pepsi'? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | Mm... *frowns, contemplating the question, before shrugging and looking back to Dead End* I am. Rather a bit more than most things. *settles against the wall fully* It does what it does, and it does it without a hitch. Unlike some things, it doesn't change. *again with that tone on "some"* |
| deadende: | *is more and more fascinated by Convoy. He wasn't really like any mech he had encountered before* Unlike your life? *direct, yes* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | Ahh. My life stays relatively static. It's the people around me changing that causes... problems. *appreciates a bit of directness - he isn't exactly a subtle guy, here* |
| deadende: | *mulls the answer over* And you are unhappy by this. *statement, that* How do they change? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ...They place leashes on you. I'm rather a curious person - I like to know what might be going on, especially if it involves me. It's nothing particularly important, but when people attempt to force me down roads I do not want to go down? I don't personally enjoy it. *looks rather mild about the whole thing* |
| deadende: | *he knows all about leashes - both figuratively and physically* Noone likes to be forced. *he knows all about that too* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | They really don't. It's unfortunate when other people assume that they can lead you to do things you'd rather not. It creates... Unneeded complications. |
| deadende: | That is the nature of life, alas. You cannot make your own choices when it has already been made for you. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *smiles lightly* Assuming they have more choice in the matter than you do, yes. I prefer to believe... that nothing is quite certain. |
| deadende: | Why is that? *curious tone* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | Because if everything were certain, then I wouldn't be nearly as curious about things I'm not allowed to be curious about. *idly* Nor would I get annoyed over such an idea. |
| deadende: | Then you are annoyed by it as well? Hm. *gets a slightly absent look* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | It's one of the very few things that doesn't sit right with me. |
| deadende: | Really. *thoughtful* |
| Tuesday, December 25, 2007 |
| 3:08 PM |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | (( http://www.geocities.com/devilishkurumi/deadende.html <--Log  )) |
| deadende: | [[ ! ]] |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ((lemme know when you're good to go and I'll continue~)) |
| deadende: | [[ Go for it~ ]] |
| deadende: | [[ ... who's turn was it? XD; ]] |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ((mine, sorry, rereading a bit XD)) |
| deadende: | [[ 8D OK! ]] |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | I... *trails off, optics dimming slightly before coming back as bright as ever; he gives Dead End a bright smile* I don't mind it, though. Things will fix themselves, eventually, if you keep working on it. |
| deadende: | *keeps watching Convoy, what the mech was saying was everything the Porsche didn't* And what if you tire of it? *really, the truck was a bit too cheerful for his own good* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *idly* Ignore it until it goes away? I'm not sure; I haven't quite gotten to the point of exasperation yet. *at all. ever.* |
| deadende: | *Convoy was extraordinary in his own little ways, Dead End decided* Avoid the trouble like it it is avoiding you. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *nods, still smiling, though not quite as wide* Eventually, it moves on to things that will actually give it the satisfaction of a reaction. |
| deadende: | *light smirk, he was all too familiar about that, being the master passive or something to that effect* It does. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *he looks at the other after a moment, slightly curious expression on his face* You seem rather interested by my responses. I don't mind it, but... I admit, it confuses me a bit. Most lose interest by now. *doesn't sound particularly phased by that* |
| deadende: | *isn't too sure why he finds Convoy so fascinating, it must be something about his...innocence? Freshness?* I find you intriguing. *more directness, neutral sort of voice* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | Intriguing? *a little amused at that* There's not very much to me, I'm afraid. |
| deadende: | It may be the simplest of things that finally captures a mech's interest. *almost blandly, but not quite* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *not exactly used to compliments - or, at least, a roundabout compliment like the one Dead End has given him - so he's not sure what to say. So, he settles for simplicity.* I'm glad. |
| deadende: | For what? *doesn't see what the other can possibly have to be glad about. Then again, this IS Convoy, seemingly made up of cheerfulness and pepsi* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | That I interest you. *shrugs slightly, shifting against the wall slightly* It's not often that people are honestly interested by me beyond my finish. |
| deadende: | It will fade or rust so I see little reason for me to become interested in it. *and he doesn't, really* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *mildly* It won't, if I continue to keep care of it. Still, it's nice to know. *tilts his head slightly - he's starting to realize that he told Dead End more of himself than the other way around, which is the natural progression of things* |
| deadende: | *Convoy had just missed his point completely, but most mechs tended to do so. Poor slagheaps* What do you do, besides offering waxes? *brutal change of topic, here we come!* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *blinks, then laughs a bit* I don't do much of anything, to be honest. I don't usually "offer waxes," either. I just... wander. *get lost, more accurately, but there's not much of a difference between the two* |
| deadende: | You wander? *the mech couldn't just spend hours and hours wandering, could he?* Where do you wander to? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | When I first arrived here, most of the time I was just exploring the base - but now that I've gotten a little more accustomed to the area, I tend to go out on the highway. *smiles* A long, leisurely drive does wonders for you. And when there are good people surrounding you on the road, it can be wonderful. |
| deadende: | *mmm, yes, he knew the wonder of the highway, and the enjoyment one could get from ruining other cars and speeding away from the human law enforcement. He smirks as he remembers the last trip he did, with Wildrider* Yes, the highway can be quite fulfilling. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *Convoy more or less just drives around and uses his truck radio to talk to other truckers, so he wouldn't know the thrill of racing down the freeway causing havoc* Generally, that's all I do. I sometimes go into the common room, but it's usually either deserted or in the middle of a fight, lately. |
| deadende: | *drive, wander and common rooming? Sounds boring, but there isn't much to do on this planet either way* Yes, the interfactional tensions seems to have increased. But that is not one of my concerns, the war either will or will not end, regardless of what we want. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | It would make things easier for everyone if the fighting stopped. *scoffs* Paintjobs wouldn't be ruined, and it would be far more entertaining. I found the common room games a bit more fun than the constant brawls. *laughs a bit* Then again, my opinions are hardly of importance. |
| deadende: | Perhaps. I am sure there would always be something to destroy a mech's finish. *thoughtfully* Why are they not? Are you not as much of a mech as any other Cybertronian on this base? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | I... *frowns a bit, bemused* I assumed that the decisions were made by the... Autobots and Decepticons. Not those without factions. |
| deadende: | *that answered what faction the truck belonged in, at least* There is the third faction. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | Third faction? *his frown deepens a bit more* I had just gotten used to the concept of factions in general. Oh well, I suppose I'll simply have to do more research. Not that there's much available, beyond the journals... In either case, my opinions have probably been echoed by those with more pull. *smiles* They'll do what is best, I assume. |
| deadende: | *tilts head fractionally* You have just gotten used to factions? Elaborate. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ...I understood the concept of factions, as a term, but the two factions located here... *waves a hand to indicate the base as a whole* I needed to study them. I still don't understand the finer differences and points of the two, but I at least understand the seperation between them. |
| deadende: | *quirks an optic brow at that* You do not understand. *finds this a bit difficult to believe* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | I understand that there was a war, and either side of the battle had their reasonings for continuing to fight... But no, I suppose I really don't. *lightly* |
| deadende: | *a frown grows on his face* What is there not to understand? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | The point of war, I suppose. *mild* I find I prefer peaceful negotiations to physical violence, when it can be achieved. |
| deadende: | I see. *faceplates settles back into their default, passive state* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | Still... *his optics dim again, slightly* I suppose there wasn't much choice. Sometimes, these things happen. |
| deadende: | There is not anything one can do to prevent it, or so I feel. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ...Maybe not. I'm not sure. *his facial expression returns to the normal smile* Then again, I can't remember anything from beyond a few months ago. I doubt I'm the most knowledgable mind on this particular subject. |
| deadende: | It is always useful to have an outside look on things. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ...Then what is your opinion on the matter? Other than its inevitability. |
| deadende: | I think it is pointless, as it does not matter what we do. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *chuckles* If it were all pointless, we wouldn't all have the urge to affect our surroundings as much as we do. Then again, I may be wrong. *looks at the other curiously* But, wouldn't you rather try to change things for the better? |
| deadende: | *doesn't bother to point out that personally Dead End doesn't have the urge to affect anything* Why should I? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *shrugs slightly* The desire to have a happy life? Boredom? |
| deadende: | I have other outlets should I be bothered by boredom. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | I suppose, if I had other outlets myself, I probably wouldn't notice things like this so much. *idly* But... You really have no mind to change things? |
| deadende: | No. *no hestitation* It is not up to me how things proceed, so I would rather not waste energy on trying to attempt something so futile. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | I suppose I can understand that. *chuckles again* To each their own, I suppose? |
| deadende: | I suppose. *light shrug* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ...*falls silent, processors starting to switch track - he's kind of surprised that he was able to focus on a conversation for that long. Still, other things are nagging at him, like...* Forgive me if this is out of line, or you simply don't want to talk about it, but... I'm curious. What did I do to upset you, in the washrack? |
| deadende: | *the frown from earlier returns* You were unresponsive. *figures the mech at least deserves to know his opinion* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ...I thought I had gotten a full night's rest. I must've been mistaken... *looks down, thinking about it for a moment, before looking back up* I apologize again. *laughs, looking slightly embarrassed* I suppose I should be grateful I woke up before I fell over or something. |
| deadende: | *optics narrow in thought - was this mech really that clueless? Granted, he was a sparkling, but still... * I do not think it had anything with you getting enough rest. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *pauses at that - generally, any discrepencies in his actions or attitudes can be written off with a good night's rest. He hasn't even seen a medic since his initial check-in, and he's not even sure what the medic's name was.* I don't see what else it could be. |
| deadende: | *Convoy truly was fascinating. He gets up and walks over to where the bigger mech is standing, just a couple of feet away from him as he looks up into the other's optics* You do not know? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *looks down at the other, quirking an optic ridge* Know what, precisely? |
| deadende: | *puts his hands on Convoy's hips, but doesn't make any attempt to trace any seams* You do not. Overload? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *keeps watching Dead End - and you know, this is another one of those words he really just doesn't know* I'm afraid that, if that term has a definition other than what is provided on the internet, I don't know what you're talking about. |
| deadende: | *quirks an optic brow, marvellous creature indeed* What did the internet have to say about it? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ..."To load to excess; an excessive load; an electrical load that exceeds the available electrical power; to fill to excess so that function is impaired." As well as the reccomendation of a pop song. *sounding a bit more curious than before* |
| deadende: | *nods to that, it sounded like something the internet would say* So what do you think it is? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | An excess of information unto the point of impairment. *which is really just a rehashing of the definitions into one sentence, but that's what it means, right? At least, as far as Convoy can tell.* |
| deadende: | *nods again, the mech was right, in that aspect of things* Do you know what it involves, between mechs? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *if you're expecting anything beyond a blank stare... you're sorely mistaken.* Isn't it what I just said? |
| deadende: | *mental sigh, this wasn't really what Dead End had had in mind when he had agreed to that free wax* Astonishing. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *hey, no one made Dead End follow Convoy!* ...What's so astonishing? |
| deadende: | You. *simplicity ftw, especially when it comes to Convoy* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *laughs a bit* I really don't know where you're getting these opinions of me. There's nothing particularly astonishing or interesting about me. |
| deadende: | No. You are... truly one of a kind. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *it's not often that people make Convoy vaguely bashful about himself, but Dead End's certainly doing a good job of it.* I must make a note to keep doing whatever it is I'm doing, if it's something that garners praise like this from you. |
| deadende: | Praise? *at this, the sports car really does tilt his head* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | Astonishing, interesting? Generally, words like those are considered praise. Compliments. *bemused* They are, generally, are they not? |
| deadende: | They could be used with alternative interpretations in mind, but perhaps they are complimental as well. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *...right. So they're compliments!* Assuming that you meant them in their proper usage, thank you. |
| deadende: | *lifts chin slightly, looking directly into Convoy's optics* You are welcome. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *his processors drop back to the previous topic, and Convoy frowns in confusion* What were you talking about, just before? "Overload?" |
| deadende: | It is just as you yourself said. *slight smirk* Excess data. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | Ah. *nods a little, then blinks* Is that what happened to me, then? And why wouldn't rest solve such a problem? |
| deadende: | It has nothing to do with rest. And you did not. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ...Then what does it have to do with anything? *sighs* Forgive me, I'm not very good at understanding things right away. |
| deadende: | *Dead End has noticed that* You drove me into overload. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *frowns* And that's... bad. |
| deadende: | Have you taken other mechs into that washrack of yours? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *blinks* Yes - Tracks. What does that have to do with anything? |
| deadende: | Did he act strangely, by any chance? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | Not... particularly? A little stressed, but that was fairly the point of the wash in the first place. *his processesors are also trying to rewind back to that particular day, but it was an awfully long time ago, in Convoy standards.* |
| deadende: | He did not... do anything resembling what I did? |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ...What did you do? *and now he's starting to get a little worried, since there's quite a gap in his memories of the shower, and he doesn't quite remember anything except for Dead End getting annoyed at him over something he did while passed out...* |
| deadende: | I overloaded. From the sensory input. *gives the mech a slightly incredulous look* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | ....And again, that's bad, correct? *completely confused* |
| deadende: | It may be both. *thick-headed mech, Convoy was* |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *not thick, just oblivious!* Then... should I be apologizing? ....I'm sorry, Dead End. I'm just... *sounding slightly embarrassed, really* Not very good at understanding these kinds of things... |
| deadende: | *Dead End has painfully noted that, yes* You are simply too... new, Pepsi Convoy. You have not yet experienced all that comes with being a mechanical being, should we say. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | New... *frowns, mulling over that. He doesn't... feel new. Just... very forgetful.* Perhaps so... Forgive me, then, Dead End. *chuckles* I must come off as quite naive. |
| deadende: | Yes, to a certain extent. You are, however-- *grip on the mech's hip tighten* --unique. |
| PepsiConvoyRocks: | *looks briefly down at Dead End's hands, then back at the mech himself* I imagine uniqueness can only get you so far around here, considering the company we keep. |