robothell | (no subject)

Entry tags:

sixshot | phase6kindofbot

(no subject)

Who: Sixshot and YOU.
Where: Somewhere in the city!
When: Some… time.
What: Talk to doggy! Pet the doggy! Annoy the living heck out of the doggy!
Warnings: Standard potential violence warning because Phase Sixer.

Sixshot never stayed in one place for too long. There were places he would visit often, like the Decepticon base and the Autobot clinic, but he never lingered for longer than a day.

Sometimes he dug; there were various Sixer-sized holes around the barren city now. His olfactory sensors helped with homing in on various useful equipment and he left them where either Spinister, Tarn or First Aid would find them.

More often than not, he wandered. There were massive spaces underground, caverns left by destroyed metros, the dead roots of collapsed skyscrapers. Unstable death traps to most other mechs, but quiet places for one who could withstand half a world falling upon him.

There was a hole over this particular section of what appeared to have once been an underground mall. The sound of running water echoed through the darkness and Sixshot could see the sparkling spray as he got closer to the shaft of light.

A waterfall? A very small one, but it certainly looked like a waterfall.

Sixshot slows to a stop under the collapsed ceiling. The water disappeared into a pile of rubble for the most part and plants were scattered here and there and up around the edges of the hole.

Stepping up onto the pile, the Sixer sticks his massive head out of the hole in the ground. Where does this pop up into?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There's a gaudily coloured tank atop a nearby building with Sixshot in his sights. Rampage's aim shifts slightly until he fixes cleanly on his target: Sixshot's oversized rear. He's distantly aware that there's somebody with the six-changer, a small prickle of presence against his spark, but First Aid is well-hidden from his view by the bulk of Sixshot's wolf form, so he doesn't pay it any mind.

Rampage is bored. And when Rampage is bored, he thinks, and when he thinks his thoughts turn inward and travel down dark paths that inevitably lead to a deep rage focused on life, the universe, and everything. And when he rages, he tends to murder. And he's really trying not to murder.

So instead of getting bored, he's decided to engage in what is rapidly becoming his favorite pastime: annoying Sixshot.

And by 'annoy', he currently means 'shoot a missile at his butt'. It's not an especially powerful missile, he just wants to annoy the 'Con, not demolish the building beneath his feet, but it is still destined to collide with Sixshot's rear end at high velocity.

Rampage laughs as he fires off the missile and watches it speed towards Sixshot. There's a peace sign emblazoned on its nose.

Edited 2015-04-11 00:45 (UTC)

First Aid's arm around his neck startles Sixshot- and then the warm press of his face has the big mech freezing in his spot.

"I. Uh. Well," he resets his vocalizer a few times, trying to find a way to shrug it off without seeming too... well. Callous? This was all a bit more touchiness than he was used to.

Fortunately, he was distracted from the dilemma by the whiff of sea food in the air and the distant sound of something rocket propelled being launched off.

Sixshot immediately flattens First Aid down with one paw, surging up to shield the smaller mech- just as the missile slams into the side of his rump with a deafening explosion.

First Aid's spark does little flutters at Sixshot's stammering; the phase sixer's bashfulness just made him so happy. He didn't expect him to really understand, since he never quite understood his other friendly gestures, but the affection made him happy at least.

He doesn't even have time to see the paw before it comes down heavily on him, smacking him down roughly onto his front, his vocalizer spitting out static instead of a cry. That rocks him; it was the first time Sixshot had ever hit him and he doesn't even have the time to comprehend what had happened before the explosion.

His audio rings painfully and he clamps his one hand on his head while he squints his visor, trying to blink through the dizzying sound in his head. First Aid realizes suddenly Sixshot had been hit and he forces himself to move, reaching for the paw.

"Six! Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm not hurt," Sixshot growls, gently lifting his claw off of First Aid's back and rising from his crouch, pieces of shrapnel rattling as they slide off his armor and hit the rooftop.

He looks the little medic over as the smoke streams around them, dark and thick. Then, seeing no obvious injuries, the wolf mech turns to peer in the direction the missile had come from, battle computer calculating the trajectory.

"Someone is about to be though."

The Sixer flips into tank mode, turret swinging around. That's pretty much the only warning Rampage is going to get before his 'buddy' tries to shoot him clean off the top of the building.

It's not hard to target Rampage; he's cheerfully waving at Sixshot from his vantage point, having transformed to robot mode to better see the 'Con's reaction.

His only response to Sixshot transforming before he promptly learns to fly is a soft, "Hm."

Luckily a taller building breaks his fall before he can be flung too far away, his momentum lessened enough by passing through it that he comes to a stop embedded in the base of the structure behind it.

There's silence for several minutes as the dust settles and Rampage's body reknits itself, and then echoing laughter bubbles up from the rubble to Sixshot and First Aid.

"No!" First Aid cries out, struggling to get to his feet as soon as he sees Sixshot change. Without his other arm to steady him he loses his balance, lurching on his feet so he careens into Sixshot's tank form. He doesn't move quickly enough, never could, and the shot is fired off before he can even try and convince the Phase Sixer against retaliation.

The medic's spark pounds in his chest, shock flooding his mind as his visor widens in horror. First Aid is frozen only for a moment, looking at the cloud of dust floating in the air from the impact, his hand clamped over his mask. He's halfway down the ramp to the roof before he realizes he was running, venting hard as he practically sprinting towards the wreckage. The laughter is the only thing that makes him stumble, but he doesn't stop until he reaches the debris. He climbs it, hoping to Primus he isn't putting more weight on the mech.

"What's your name?" he calls struggling to pull bits of rubble away with one hand. "I've got you. You're going to be okay!"

It didn't occur to Sixshot that First Aid would've been perturbed by his retaliation. Watching the smaller mech sprint down the ramp, the six-former stays where he is, stunned into silence for a long moment.

When he finally does manage to regather his composure, he transforms back into canine mode and strides after First Aid at a decidedly more sedate pace, head lowered with something like guilt. Or Annoyance.

Both, really.

More and more the latter now that he can hear Rampage's laughter drifting up from under the debris pile actually. It's very hard to keep feeling guilty with that afthead going on.

"That's Rampage," he announces when he gets there, standing awkwardly behind First Aid as the medic digs. As an afterthought and some vague attempt at trying to comfort, the Sixer adds, "He's not going to die. You don't need to dig him out."

Rampage sits up effortlessly as he feels somebody trying to dig him out, rubble cascading off him like it was nothing. There's not a scratch left on him, and he stares down at the small Autobot trying to assist him with significant bafflement.

"...who are you?" he asks. It takes him a moment to recognize the emotion radiating off First Aid. Is that... concern? For who?? Him?

As Sixshot approaches he shoots him a look that screams 'what is happening help explain this', his horns all pressed flat back along his head.

"That's not the point," First Aid snaps back at Sixshot, his tone annoyed. It would roll off him later.

As soon as Rampage sits up, the medic decends upon him. Personal space was a complete non-issue; First Aid climbs up Rampage's larger frame, takinh the opportunity to flash a light in his optics when he looks his way. He nods, satisfied with what he sees.

"I'm First Aid," he offers after a moment, almost a second thought. He slides down a moment later and presses his audio to Rampage's chest.

"Vent, please." First Aid's visor dims as he listens, concentrating on the sound of the mech's internal mechanisms and searching for any irregularity.

First Aid snapping at him startles Sixshot into another few seconds of silence before he cycles out a quiet ex-vent in acceptance. He trundles a bit of a distance away and lies back down, watching the proceedings with a more typical air of apathetic observation.

Rampage's expression of bewilderment sparks a brief flicker of amusement, before it fades back into nothingness. Look, Sixshot doesn't know why First Aid is helping an annoying circuit chewer like you either, and considering the scorch marks on his rump, he's not particularly inclined to ask on Rampage's behalf. The crab could field that on his own, especially since he's not the one with First Aid's ire directed currently at him.

"Er-" Rampage's arms lift awkwardly away from his body as the little 'Bot straight-up scales him. "I- what-?"

Suddenly it clicks in that he's being examined. A medical examination. All his horns flare wide and when he vents it's out of something bordering panic rather than because First Aid asked so politely.

Grabbing at the back of First Aid's armor, he tries to tug the medic away to dangle him in the air.

"What are you doing?!" he demands.

This is probably one of those times in which picking up on discomfort and other social cues would come in handy, otherwise he might have caught onto Rampage's growing anxiety with the situation. First Aid didn't even really get the opportunity to really listen to that vent; he's easily plucked from his spot, flailing him arm as his feet leave solid ground.

"Ah!" His noise is more from surprise than anything, his feet kicking a few times as they try and find the ground and missing. He stills after he gets his composure, dangling in the mech's grip.

"I was checking to see if you're okay! With the impact you could have died! Or if not death, then popping a few tubes, loose gears, broken axles, brain trama--" he could go on, but it's not going to.

"Please put me down."

"Please put him down gently," Sixshot adds eying Rampage's hold on the smaller mech somewhat warily. As far as he knew, First Aid was about as durable as the average Decepticon foot soldier. He didn't particularly want to see Rampage accidentally hurting the delicate little mech somehow.

To First Aid himself, he quietly explains, "He has super healing. I shot a hole clean through his chest and he just put himself back together and walked it off."

"I don't die," Rampage growls, adding to what Sixshot says. But he obeys and puts First Aid down with all the care of somebody handling a particularly volatile bomb.

Then he heaves himself out of the roughly Rampage-shaped hole in the rubble and moves around so that Sixshot is basically between him and the medic.

He really doesn't like medical examinations.

The explanation at first makes First Aid confused, silent while he attempts to comprehend the concept, then a bit overwhelmed. The realm of super mechs that Sixshot and Rampage lived in was beyond his grasp as a medic. When it finally starts to settle in, the wave of embarrassment washes over him, and he returns to Sixshot on wobbly legs as the rush of concern fueled energy leaves him.

He curls his arm back around Sixshot's neck and buries his face against him as he takes a few steadying vents, then leans to look at Rampage, his visor dim.

"I'm sorry. Does it hurt?"

Sixshot turns his head, following Rampage's move to put the Sixer between himself and the First Aid with some amusement. Really? Rampage was being put off his game by this little fellow?

Attention focused elsewhere as it was, the arm around his neck comes as a bit of a surprise- but Sixshot doesn't question it beyond a quizzical head tilt down to peer at First Aid. He suspects he's not been forgiven, but he's not about to refuse the small mech some support. Apparently the subject of true immortality was heavier than he'd thought.

Shifting slightly to make more room for the ambulance, he curls his front paws in a protective circle around First Aid and lets his power plant purr a deep, comforting note.

Medics are creepy, okay! Especially when he can't just murder them.

Rampage's optics widen as First Aid huddles close to Sixshot, an acid flare shooting through him as the Decepticon bundles the Autobot up comfortingly. He's only been jealous once before and it was over someone much more special than Sixshot and it turned out extremely badly, so he stuffs the feeling into the black pit he keeps all his other unfortunate emotions in and tries to convince himself that he never liked Sixshot that much anyway.

And yet there's still a distinct air of sulkiness about him. He considers snubbing First Aid and ignoring the question, but conversation is actually a decent distraction, so after a moment he gives the medic a sidelong glare and asks, "Does what hurt?"

Really, who thought that a Phase Sixer could be so comforting? The rumble of Sixshot's power plant vibrates softly against First Aid's plating, putting him at ease. His own engine, small in comparison, gives an answering rumble and for a moment he almost forgets he was annoyed with him.

"The injuries. You heal, but does it hurt?"

He gives Sixshot's neck a pat, then pulls away and climbs over his paws, rounding around him so he can get closer to Rampage while he talks to him. It gives him an opportunity to fuss over Sixshot's rump, checking the scorch marks for any sign of exposed wiring or bent plating.

It'd better have hurt considering the crab had shot a flipping missile at them. Sixshot has better sense than to voice the thought out loud, however. Or at least, he tones it down to a displeased grumble as First Aid checks him over.

The hyper dense armor doesn't bear anything worse than a scorch mark, of course. There wasn't much that could put a dent in the Phase Sixer's armor.

Unfortunately, grumbly as he was, he doesn't really notice Rampage's jealous sulking.

Geez, Sixshot, you think that like anything actually hurts you!

Rampage's horns bristle as First Aid comes closer again and continues to be touchy-feely with Sixshot, but he doesn't do anything other than cross his arms and settle huffily against a wall.

"I always hurt," he says helpfully, deciding he doesn't need to look directly at First Aid and Sixshot and glaring out across the city instead.

First Aid rubs at the scorch marks to uncover the metal below, knowing that it was probably uncomfortable, but he wanted to make sure. Once satisfied, his hand rests passively on the mech's butt, but he looks rather crestfallen at Rampage's response.

"That's horrible."

He's not sure what else to say, since the situation has turned rather awkward. Rampage obviously didn't want his help and he had snapped at Sixshot earlier, when Rampage had been the one to start it.

"Avoiding injury might help alleviate chronic pain." He wanted to ask if Decepticons did this, but with Sixshot there, it might be somewhat rude. It suddenly dawns on him that he totally forgot about the candies. He's not even sure if they made it through the blast. He turns to Sixshot, nudging his hip.

"Slag, I left your present. Did the box get crushed?"

Rampage's reply has Sixshot quietly rolling his optics in the background. At least it was a distraction from the mild stinging sensation of First Aid scrubbing through the carbonized paint layer.

"Yes, Rampage," he agrees with the medic, tone saccharine sweet and accompanied with a rather toothy grin. "Why don't you try avoiding injury? You know, by not shooting at me as a method of greeting."

At the mention of the candy box, he pauses, and then stands up, announcing, "I'll go see."

"That's not what I-" Rampage starts, staring at First Aid. He cuts himself off with a growl. "Stop being concerned for me!"

Seriously, it's creeping him out. Medics are supposed to be concerned for him, just concerned with figuring out how he works. Sixshot just gets a silent glare, his horns flaring up. Oh sure, choosing the other guy's side, he sees how it is!

Despite his words to First Aid, he feels worse when the conversation ceases to be about him. Presents? Boxes?

Finally he snaps peevishly at Sixshot, "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean to interrupt your date."

"Yeah, okay. Because it's that easy. I'll just shut my emotions off and stop worrying about people." First Aid huffs. "Immortal or-- or whatever, you still have nerve sensors, right?"

It was quickly becoming very obvious that Rampage was not only violent, but very immature. First Aid isn't sure how he feels about being left by himself with the large, sulking mech, but his only expression of his unease was to turn his head and look at Sixshot as he gets up.

"Thank you."

Rampage's irritated jab catches him off guard, and First Aid feels far more flustered by it than he expected. His visor widens and he clutches his hand to his fist at his chest to keep himself from floundering.

"It wasn't a date!"

Sixshot is just being friendly. Frankly, he's surprised he hasn't gotten bored of him yet.

Sixshot stops before he could take another step. The look he turns on Rampage is decidedly unimpressed. The look he then turns on First Aid is a bit more contemplative.

"He's cute," he says after a moment of deliberation. "But no, this isn't a date. We did not agree to anything like that. Still, I don't like being shot at, date otherwise."

And on that note, he walks off to fetch the candy box.