ready for nothing [open]

[chickscream]

Who: Slipstream, her confusion, and YOU!
Where: A ruined, empty street or sky.
When: RIGHT NOW
What: Intro/bafflement post
Warnings: A snarky angry seeker lady who hates her dad


A.

Slipstream was already ready to go home.

Oh, sure, Detroit wasn't that great, and she'd spent a lot of time dodging under the radar and swinging across the lake to Canada (where the Autobots never set their feet, for some reason), but it was all the home she had ever known in her own right, besides her brief stint on Earth's moon.

Her memories of other homes weren't her own, and she ignored them as best as she could, ignored the echoing deja-vu of these streets. It looked like... a place Starscream had known, once, but torn apart and ravaged, like in the wake of a battle; it looked like no place she had ever been, and the stars were arrayed in shapes unknown to her optics.

Pressed back against a wall and with her optics narrowed, Slipstream was just about ready to jump out of her plating and shoot the first thing that surprised her.

B.

Taking to the skies, Slipstream circled tightly in jet mode, taking in the view.

She hadn't even realized how much she liked greenery until there was none, how lively organics were until she was in a place of metal and gears.

Unsettled, she braked and switched back to her more customary form, hovering and looking over the city. It spread further than Detroit ever did, pocked with craters and destruction-- a wholly inhospitable-looking place, in her opinion, and probably no fun to get back home from.

"Sparks, this place is awful," she tells the air, and swoops down over the city looking for more signs of life-- familiar or otherwise, she doesn't care, as long as it's not Starscream himself-- beyond whoever greeted her first. If someone wanted to hail her down to the ground, she'd go, no matter who; and if someone wants to come up and bother her, she'll probably not shoot them.

Comments

B.

[loyaltyandhonor]

With so few fliers on the planet, it was noteworthy to see anyone in the sky. Hearing the sound of a jet engine overhead Dreadwing had stopped his current task to watch them. He could recognize the build as a seeker but from down here had no way of telling which one. At this point he wouldn't be terribly opposed to any of them so long as they weren't Starscream.

He transformed and took to the air, keeping a good distance. He just needed to get close enough to confirm it wasn't Starscream, all these seekers looked so alike it was nearly impossible to tell from the ground. He'd been tailing them a short while before they stopped and transformed mid-air. Dreadwing pulled up quickly, circling from a higher vantage point. Definitely not Starscream, in which case it was probably worth while to attempt a conversation.

He descended again, coming up alongside her, still a little offput by the fact she was flying in robot mode.
"Am I correct in assuming you have only just arrived on this planet?"

[phase6kindofbot]

Craters weren't exactly a new feature in this city, but a fresh, smoking one was a bit unusual.

Also, there was a green and white mech in the middle of it who might or might not be dead, so there's that. He mostly looked like he was sleeping.

A.

[loyaute]

There are a few things that give Arcee some amount of pleasure in the world that she can indulge in - beating up Decepticons is something she knows how to do, and do well. And in the uncertainty of being torn between Prowl and Optimus with her only solid footing being the badge on her chest, she's itching for a fight. So she'd followed the other bot - silent and above on the rooftops - until the Decepticon had stopped.

Someone who isn't Arcee would be concerned about the sheer size of the 'con. Taller than Optimus? Most likely. Well, she's dealt with bigger idiots. It's a matter of personal pride that Arcee attempts to move her position on the roof to somewhere on the wall above and to the side of Slipstream with as little sound as possible - fingers digging into the metal to give herself a foothold. Her foot gorges a part of the wall to ease the stress on her joints - but it's hard to disguise the squeal of metal.

Still.

"You look lost," she says, smile turning up into something sharp as her free hand tightens around the hilt of one of her swords. She hasn't ignited it, but Arcee would be lying to herself if she wasn't relishing the idea of a decent fight.