robothell | ROOOOOBOT PROOOOM

[OPTION 1]
What the hell is Prom even? He's never heard of it, but it seems like there's a party. And parties are always good. Sideswipe would never turn down a party in a million years. You know, if he was a million years old.

Which he wasn't.

In fact, he's peering into the apparently spiked punch, trying to determine what exactly he's looking at. Can he drink it? Is it for the humans? What's all this about, exactly?

Someone should clearly explain. And interrupt.

[OPTION 2]
Well.

Somehow, this idiot got his hands on something alcoholic. Because he has somehow managed to flop his way onto the dance floor, and, despite the cobbled-together music, is grooving like a maniac. He always did like music, and this is no exception. Severely intoxicated, or just tipsy and excited, who knows?

He might just grab the nearest bot and spin them off in a ridiculous dance.

Be careful.

[OPTION 1]
This planet really couldn't get much worse. It's pretty bad. Not only are there two versions of Shockwave here, but apparently he's missed an entire war and... well. Suffice it to say the big guy isn't having a good time lately. So he'd left his sulk seat, and ventured out into the land of Being Social, in hopes of shaking off the funk he'd fallen into.

So far? No dice.

Instead of being entertained, he's more or less slunk onto the wall, arms folded over that broad chest, watching the going's on with a more or less tired look. Man... this would be a lot better if there were a bar.

Or no guilt to deal with. That'd be great.

[OPTION 2]
Okay, so, whatever alcoholic beverages were in this place? They've either been confiscated or consumed by the huge bot, and there's a pleasant buzz in all his systems. He's got still another drink in his hand, and his expression has turned from sour to jovial like that.

Now he's making rounds between people, looking for familiar faces, occasionally offering a dance or two... just generally being a lot more upbeat. Amazing what drinking to the point of forgetting your guilt can do.

The last time he was at a party, he got shot. And woke up on a desolate, decrepit Cybertron infested with bugs. Alone. Confused. And then Alpha Trion happened...

So, needless to say, Ironhide isn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of attending another party. But he shows up, all the same. Someone has to keep an eye on Prime, Ratchet, Hot R--Rodimus, the others. If he doesn't, who will? It's hard to fall out of the bodyguard in his nature. Too hard.

And who knows? Maybe it'll come in handy somehow. Some way.

Ironhide isn't exactly partying, so much as he is weaving his way through party-goers. His expression is neutral, and there's the occasional smile for those he knows. But he's determined to stay distant. Vigilant.

No dying, this time.

Grimlock had no idea what a prom meant, but where there's Sidesqipe a Grimlock won't be far behind. After all, they were buddies, right?

And only after a short while, not only did they get briefly separated but he ran into a completely different side of Sideswipe tonight.

Before he could do any critical thinking, Grimlock found everything go fast around him, ultimately landing in the bot's arms.

"Hey! You pickin' a fight with me?!" obviously Grimlock has not done the one on one dance.

"No way!"

He's just laughing, holding onto Grimlock's arms and trying, in vain, to lead the bigger bot in a silly little dance. It's mostly twisting, swinging arms. Something uncomplicated and disorderly.

Mostly fun.

"It's dancing, Grim! C'mon!"

Mayday spends most of the party glued to Pipes's side. He finds social occasions with lots of people a bit overwhelming and he's pretty sure that he's going to nerd to hole up in his ship for a week and intensely groom his deer collection to recover from this. But he had to come because Pipes invited him and gosh this was basically like a second date and he's definitely never had one if those before!

Occasionally, though, Pipes wants to dance with other people, and when that happens Mayday retreats to the bleachers with a cup of punch. He even sits on the bleachers after carefully wiping a space clean for himself.

He sits and sips and jitters because he hasn't realized yet that the punch is spiked, and he's starting to worry that the increasing fuzziness in his processors is Type B Neural Decay.

Edited 2015-05-11 23:49 (UTC)

Grimlock has some concerns, Sideswipe. Mostly that he feels like he's getting swung around for no reason.

“This is dancing? No way, I've seen better dancing.”

A party!

It has been hundreds of years since Knock Out has been to a proper party, but the sounds of revelry drew him in like an Insecticon to chaos, and here, here! Here are more bots-- more real bots, not those throwaway Vehicons and Insecticons, who all had the same faces and sculpts and completely boring and/or offensive personalities-- than he'd seen in one place for decades and decades.

Never mind that he isn't waxed to glowing, and never mind that his rotary buffer is somewhere on some other Cybertron; he is still going to be the most gorgeous person here, and he holds his head high and smiling and mingles. He loves parties. After all, what better way to score allies and intelligence and kisses than a party where everyone else is drinking the punch?

Knock Out isn't any kind of wallflower, but he's not above chatting them up, and he sidles up to the handsomely serious looking fellow holding the walls up, a smile on his face as he looks the other bot over.

Handsome, but not so handsome that Knock Down has to punch him down a few notches, with a nice solid build. Just his type! And perhaps valuable in other ways; Knock Out is open to any possibility.

"Why the glum face?" he asks, friendly and interested, installing himself beside the guy. "Did you get stood up by your date?"

"Huh?"

Being a bot as big as he is, Roller is, at the very least, used to looking down for people speaking to him. Not to mention, he'd been aware of someone shifting their way into his personal space a little while ago. This... must be one of those alternate universe things. Because he doesn't recognize anything about that build.

"Nah," he answers, once it's clear this is a stranger, and not someone he should know, but doesn't. "Never had one. Just making sure I don't step on anyone's feet."

Option 1

Optimus has staked out a spot near the dance floor, but so far hasn't really engaged in any prom activities aside from getting himself a glass of punch. He hasn't been avoiding talking to anyone, necessarily, but he's not much of a party goer and knows hardly anyone here.

So he's standing off to the side with his drink, watching the rest of the party and looking quite a bit more relaxed than he has his whole time planetside so far.

Option 2

After a while the party is starting to get a little more crazy as it becomes evident that the punch was spiked. Optimus is even starting to feel a little buzzed, and has since left the drinking to the more enthusiastic bots. But he's getting swept into the mood, smiling and laughing at some of the escapades happening.

He's currently chilling on the bleachers, sitting in the most comfortable position he could find considering bleachers are kind of terrible for that.

"Prime, is it?"

Shockwave peeled himself off the wall like a shadow with a sudden emergence of sentience, silent and unnoticed until he spoke up. This event, and he would be the first to admit, was an excuse to satiate a few curiosities. Chief among them was this fresh faced Autobot; young enough that Shockwave could almost smell the new paint yet who called himself Optimus Prime. Shockwave had been observing him nearly as much as his more ~~aged~~ experienced counterpart.

This was definitely not a very good idea. It wasn't a terrible idea yet, but it was definitely not one of his better ideas. It wasn't even really his idea necessarily, but it wasn't the kind of idea a model Phase Six super solider was supposed to let themselves indulge in.

You know, ignoring all those time Black Shadow and Overlord disregarded the whole 'model Phase Six super soldier' thing and partied with the lower ranks anyways.

Sixshot has crammed himself into the darkest corner of the forum that he could find, curled up in wolf mode. He's mass shifted down to the smallest sized he could go and is generally trying to avoid detection.

Edited 2015-05-11 23:22 (UTC)

"Oh, reaaaally?" No, Knock Out, take that smirk down a few notches! There, that's less predatory.

Still, Knock Out seems very pleased that he got out-- in the first few seconds of conversation!-- the fact that the handsome fellow next to him was apparently available. Smiling up at him, he offered, "My name's Knock Out. Can you tell me if these parties happen often? I've only been here a few days-- and this is more Cybertronians in one place than I've seen in aaaaaages-- it'd be nice if these are common."

Cyclonus nods at Ironhide as he passes by, an ex-bodyguard recognizing the bearing of another. He's playing his usual role at a party: lurking near the outskirts and drinking. He's not entirely sure why he's here, other than to try and guard against possible trouble.

It might be because if Tailgate was here his friend would have insisted on his presence.

He doubts Ironhide will think much of him being here - after all, even some of his fellow crewmates on the Lost Light still don't trust him - but he's another protective eye on the party all the same.

Pipes could not be happier. Having a prom was one thing, being one of the prom monarchs was another! He never thought he was that popular.

Regardless, he doesn't make a big show of entering with Mayday, just decides instead to mill around, autograph anything anyone wants (no-one will want that) and say hi to people he hasn't met already.

If you're a wallflower, he'll be targeting you especially. Socialise, you giant shitbabies.

Sentinel isn't interested in the gathering or anyone present. He may have finally admitted to himself he's starting to get kinda lonely and is sick of sleeping in a dumpster, but he still really hates everyone here. Especially you, Megatron.

He might have gone on the off chance one of his henchmen might have shown up. He might have gone because there's ample supply of booze. Either way, he grabbed the biggest glass he could find and several refills and decided to sit at the bottom of one of the bleachers. On the floor. Because it started creaking under his fat ass.

Wonderful.

Mayday hovers around Pipes like a particularly wobbly moon around its planet, doing his best to go unnoticed by everybody while not being forgotten by his date and left behind. He is simultaneously stressed-the-heck-out and beside himself with glee because Pipes asked him to prom.

He even shined himself up to a mirror-like gleam instead of just cleaning himself sterile!

Slipstream was late to the party, having not been informed about the party, but she's grinning pretty widely as she strolls in (towering over a good chunk of the other promgoers), and her wings are adorned with makeshift and rather ugly bumper stickers over her Decepticon insignias.

They read "Honk If You Hate Starscream", though, and she considers that beautiful enough to be worth putting on her wings.

She heads straight for the punch, downs a couple glasses (it's not oil, dammit, but it sets a pleasant running through her sensors), and proceeds to hassle people from the outskirts, jeering and mocking people for their dancing, their faces, and for getting offended by her hassling.

But if anyone reads her wings and honks for her, they'll be treated to a great big grin and thumbs up, and she might well strike up a conversation on the topic of How Terrible Starscream Is.

"Optimus!"

Slipstream is hard to miss in this crowd, her teal wings poking up like a shark's fin, and when she spots Optimus they head straight towards him, with only a little weaving back and forth; as she gets closer, Optimus can probably see the "Honk If You Hate Starscream" stickers over her insignias.

She is apparently one of the bots he left the drinking to, and, also, maybe forming her own faction.

"Can you believe," she demands of him, then takes several steps up the bleachers to sit next to him, "can you believe that there's no oil at this party? I don't think anyone here drinks oil. Allspark, I miss oil. I see you're not offline yet!" She cackles, without leaving him space to answer, and pats him on the shoulder. "That's good! You're all right."

Optimus should be so proud of being rated "all right" by someone he's fought against twice as often as he's talked to her.

Sixshot doesn't have a horn to honk, nor any real desire to engage socially, really. He does quietly chuff when Slipstream passes by though.

It was nice to see someone share that sentiment.

"Are you -- You're kidding! You've gotta be kidding!"

Meanwhile, he's still swinging around like a moron with the dinobot, grinning like an idiot. Yeah, he's a bit tipsy here. But he's having fun, at least.

"Yeah, really."

That's an interesting amount of emphasis placed on that word. He quirks an 'eyebrow' at it, looking down at the bot. Okay then. Maybe he's intoxicated. Wouldn't be the first time.

"First one I've seen around here. Sorry. It's pretty quiet if you don't count people trying to kill each other."

"... Hey."

Who is that? Someone he should know? They didn't say hello. Or greet him by name. Maybe that meant thy didn't know who he was. Regardless, he offers up an awkward little wave to the purple bot.

"Some... party, right?"

Wow, Ironhide. What a smooth talker you are.

Grimlock eventually gives into it, swaying awkwardly from side to side. But eventually he has enough of it.

“Yeaaaaaah, let me show you how you how a dinobot does it.”

The dinobot takes Sideswipe by one arm once he starts doing a shimmy-step on the floor, his hips jangling to his own internal rhythm.

ROOOOOBOT PROOOOM

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