robothell | (no subject)

Entry tags:

sixshot | phase6kindofbot

(no subject)

Who: Sixshot, Tarn and anyone.
Where: Some place!
When: The day after prom!
What: Sixshot trying to deal with the devastating aftermath of the spectacularly disastrous prom party.
Warnings: Awkward teenage super robot drama. Also discussions of sex?

For Tarn

Unfortunately for Sixshot's new found sense of shame, the six-former's sense of obligation was still stronger. It took a bit more motivation than usual to drag himself out of humiliated hiding, but he manages it and arrives a prim ten minutes early to the agreed meeting point.

And then he just sits.

And tries not to think too hard about the upcoming talk, quietly grateful that his canine face wasn't too expressive.

If Tarn tries to kill him today...

Honestly, Tarn wasn't going to kill him today because, frankly, Sixshot wasn't going to let him. He was not going to die being known for what happened last night, so help him Primus.

Open

The giant murderous space dog is attempting a new strategy: being small.

And hiding.

After shoving most of his mass into subspace, Sixshot was quickly being enlightened to the fact that the dead city actually had a surprising amount of hiding places. He'd never though about it before: Phase Sixers didn't hide after all. Ambush tactics were for the weaker.

On the other hand, Phase Sixers also were never trained to deal with social situations gone so awry that they would actually want to hide. Sixshot certainly never was, anyways.

He quietly curses Megatron's short-sightedness because, clearly, this was all his creator's fault, and shuffles deeper into the hole.

To most outsiders, he was barely more than a white nose sticking out of a wall.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The trouble with being a spark-possessing individual with a friend who can sense sparks is that there's no way to truly hide.

Rampage slams down in front of Sixshot in a crouch, stirring up a large cloud of dust and rust, having leaped off the top of a building above.

"You feel miserable!" he crows, clearly in a smashing good mood himself.

"I am going. To shoot you."

Despite the threat, Sixshot lights up an optic, cycling air to blow the settling dust off his his frame. He peers up at his friend, radiating muted embarrassment and a lot of irritation.

"You're unusually cheerful."

And also smelling heavily of First Aid and- hm, overloads.

"I don't want to know why and I don't care," the Sixer adds before Rampage could start.

Rampage laughs raucously at the threat, clearly not in the least bit worried or offended. Honestly, he's in a good enough mood that Sixshot could probably vaporize his head and he wouldn't even care about the burn of regrowing it.

"You're welcome to try, friend!"

He doesn't know why Sixshot is feeling so awkward and he doesn't really care, lost in his own uncharacteristically pleasant mood.

He flops heavily against the wall next to Sixshot's hole, staring up at the sky with wide optics, and proceeds to completely ignore what Sixshot just said.

"I had sex," he says, sounding rather incredulous.

"Oh my god," Sixshot mutters despairingly, coverings his snout with his claws and uttering the most deeply unhappy groan he could muster.

Yes, he knows you had sex. He knows you had a lot of a sex and he knows you had a lot of sex with First Aid. The scent was practically rolling off of Rampage with how dense and fresh it was, every single atomic detail filtering through Sixshot's olfactory systems like a smelly film reel.

"Congratulations and spare me the details."

Rampage gives a long contented sigh and continues to ignore Sixshot in favour of daydreaming happily about the previous night.

"It wasn't what I expected," he says, horns drooping dreamily. He looks rather smitten. And happy. Genuinely happy, not the dark amusement he usually has. "It was really... nice."

He's overcome with the sudden urge to hug Sixshot and share his pleasant mood with the closest thing he has to a living best friend at the moment. Except Sixshot is in a hole. What's up with that anyway?

His horns quirk back up and he raises a brow. "...Why are you cowering in a hole?"

"Sex is generally supposed to be nice." After a moment though, Sixshot amends, "Unless it's with someone you hate, then it's complicated." He doesn't entirely understand it himself, but it was a pretty common trope in a lot of Decepticon erotica for some reason.

"And I am not cowering," the Sixer scoffs. "I'm just enjoying some privacy." You know, while occupying a hole in a wall.

(He was totally cowering.)

"People say that about a lot of things, but they're actually boring," Rampage says. Sex, though, man. That lived up to the hype. He just gives Sixshot a weird look at the idea of someone interfacing with someone they hate. That doesn't sound real.

"Well, get out of there," he demands with a huff. Come on, Sixshot he needs to be happy and schmoopy all over you. And inadvertently make you smell like sex with First Aid.

"Nnnnnoooooo. No? How about no." Sixshot shuffled deeper into the hole. "No thank you."

Rampage shift in front of the hole and glares into it. "Stop moping and come out or I'm going to drag you out."

Come get a crab hug, Sixshot, it'll make you feel aaaall better!

"I am happy in my hole, Rampage." What? "And if you try, I am going to bite you and then neither of us will be very happy."

Neverrrrrrrrrrr

"You're coming out," Rampage says. Seriously, Sixshot, getting bit isn't going to ruin this mood!

Bracing his feet, he reaches in to grab onto Sixshot's doggy cheeks and start dragging him out.

"Rampage, I swear-" Then the crab is grabbing his cheeks and Sixshot makes the most undignified growling noises of all time as Rampage starts pulling him out.

There's a slow screeeeeeeeee of claws against concrete and metal as the Sixer stubbornly tries to resist.

Bit by bit, Rampage backs away from the hole, extracting Sixshot from the wall like a particularly stubborn bullet from a wound. It helps that Sixshot is shrunk down, it gives him a much better grip.

He laughs loudly, "Out!"

"WHY are you even dragging me out?" Sixshot whines, a pile of rubble steadily building in front of his claws as Rampage pulls. "What is the point of this? This is completely unnecessary!"

"Because you need some tender loving care," Rampage says as he drags Sixshot out far enough to wrap an arm around to neck... and proceeds to give him a noogie that would probably rub a hole through an average mech's plating.

YOWLING. SO MUCH UNHAPPY YOWLING.

"RELEASE ME," Sixshot howls once he manages to get over the sheer rudeness of this, trying to shove Rampage's hideous face away with his paws.

Rampage's only response is to laugh raucously, shifting into his usual tone of sounding utterly mad. Apparently that's just how his laugh sounds regardless of his mood. He plans to noogie Sixshot until the top of his head is utterly bare of paint, never mind that the metal of his face creaks dangerously under the pressure of Sixshot's paws, his head tilting back at an awkward angle.

"No mercy for the miserable!"

That was about the point where Sixshot finally gets infuriated enough to actually pull all of his mass back through subspace. Suddenly, the armful of a dog become the more typical Cybertronian-building sized dog.

Grip broken as Sixshot's neck is rather suddenly much larger, Rampage lets out a shot 'whuf' of air as he's very rapidly covered by Sixshot's full bulk. He gives the large dog a hard shove. Don't think he can't push you around if he wants just because you're stupidly large, Sixshot!

"Well, that wasn't polite," he says casually.

"Oh, like pulling my out of my hole was polite." Cue Sixshot pointedly shifting more of his weight onto Rampage's frame, a deep, distinctly ticked-off growl rumbling through his frame.

"Hmph!" Rampage doesn't even bother to struggle, he just wriggles his arms out so he can cross his arms behind his head. "What's got you in such a foul mood, anyway?"

"Nothing that's any of your business."

Although if Rampage didn't know, that meant at First Aid hadn't told him at least.

It was a relief, but also confusing: he'd have thought First Aid would have happily given the crab-mech the details of last night's party. He'd certainly seemed mad enough.

Rampage would totally clutch at his chest if Sixshot wasn't sitting on him. "You wound me! I thought we were friends."

Yeah, First Aid was kind of busy working off his anger with Rampage in ways other than talking last night.

That sure was some very enthusiastic anger working outness. Something, Sixshot really wishes his nose wasn't so sensitive.

"I'm not sharing any sordid details with you, friend or otherwise," he puffs, wings flicking petulantly.

So enthusiastic! Just... wow. Who knew the little guy had it in him.

Huffing in vague annoyance - he's too cheerful right now and doesn't care nearly enough what Sixshot was angsting about to actually be annoyed - Rampage continues to lounge under the giant dog.

Staring at Sixshot for a moment, he asks, "...Want to have sex?"