robothell | (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

Rampage just laughs, clearly still enjoying Sixshot's consternation. He offers a little shrug. "I thought it might cheer you up. It cheered me up. But it seems you're far too busy being miserable to enjoy yourself."

His horns droop slightly as Sixshot starts going over the apparent rules of sex. Frowning a bit, he thinks out loud, "First Aid isn't in my age range. And he was drunk."

Did he do something wrong? It certainly hadn't felt wrong. It was one of the few times he'd felt right about himself and his mutant spark.

Just like that, his cheerful edge evaporates and he shoves at Sixshot until he can squeeze out from under him.

"I am not done," Sixshot growls, reaching out to flatten Rampage down with one massive paw.

"If First Aid was happy when he woke up, that's fine," he continues. "But try and avoid situations like that because if your partner was so drunk they weren't in their right mind when they consented then you're going to be woken up with a gun shot through your head."

"Also, the age range thing is just so you avoid getting manipulated by older mechs." It was something Sixshot had been given a Talk about when an ex-elite had goaded him into, well, Things when he was younger. "It stops being really relevant after you hit half a century. I don't think First Aid was manipulating you, but be wary of others."

Rampage squawks as Sixshot shoves him back to the ground, the dog earning himself a Most Offended Petulant Teen Glare (TM). His face relaxes into more of a vague pout as Sixshot continues talking.

"It's not like I'm planning to interface with a wide array of people," he says with a slight huff. "I don't like most people."

He doesn't notice that implies he likes Sixshot. Whoops.

Sixshot nooootiiiceeeessss~

Fortunately for Rampage's dignity however, he has the grace to not mention it.

"You're going to live for millions of years," the wolf mech reasons. "You don't know that for sure and it's better to know earlier."

IT'S NOT LIKE HE LIKES YOU OR ANYTHING, DUMMY. He just hangs around with you a lot because you're fun to bother, gosh.

Rampage gives a loud snort, trying to cross his arms but foiled by the large paw on his chest. "I can tell when people have bad intentions, you know."

It comes part and parcel with having an empathic spark. Ain't no-one can lie to the crab.

"Wait, what?"

Well, that was a revelation. Sixshot stares at Rampage for a long moment before reiterating the question.

"What do you mean, exactly?"

"Well, as long as they have a spark," Rampage adds, looking contemplative.

He stares back at Sixshot for awhile before realizing that Sixshot doesn't know.

"My spark," he says slowly. "It senses other sparks, and what they're feeling. You didn't know?"

"You never said a single word to me about this stuff, you tangerine pile of bolts," Sixshot grumbles.

"... It does explain a lot though," he adds begrudgingly after a moment.

"I didn't?" Rampage says, sounding surprised, and thinks back to all the times he's hung out with Sixshot. Huh, maybe he hadn't!

He gives a little shrug. "I don't exactly keep it a secret."

He's general very open about his gross mutant spark and it's weird mutant powers. Because people need to know that he's a gross science mutant.

"Not keeping it a secret isn't telling people, you know that, right?" Cue so much grumbling noises. SO much.

At least it was nothing new: most of ranked Decepticons had to deal with Soundwave after all and Soundwave was a lot more invasive than casual empathic readings.

"I'll just keep track of everything I have and haven't said about myself to every person I meet, then," Rampage replies dryly.

He tries crossing his arms again only to give Sixshot's paw a flat look. "Are you going to let me up or do I need to make you?"

Sixshot pretends to think it over for a moment.

"Mmm. Hmmmm." Yes, very thoughtful this one is.

After that little show though, he turns a toothy and extremely smug smile at Rampage.

"Make me."

Rampage gives an extremely longsuffering sigh despite the amusement blooming in him, rougher than his earlier euphoria.

Squirming and heaving at Sixshot's massive paw, he gets himself into position then lets his faceplate snap open, briefly revealing row upon row of his own vicious, pointy teeth, before he buries them in Sixshot's foot.

Phase Sixers may have frames infused with nigh indestructible magic metal, but that outer armor is still armor, tough as it may be.