robothell | (no subject)

Who: sentinel and proteus
Where: wherever the water hole is
When: post the fuckening
What: pissbaby collusion
Warnings: sentinel and proteus

Sentinel coughs and groans as his optics slowly come back online. He wasn't entirely sure when exactly he'd fallen asleep but evidently it had been after something impressively eventful; he'd passed out half in a road, half on the pavement and one foot stuck in a rusted, empty robo-newspaper dispenser. He has a pounding headache, and he can't remember if it's from drinking a positively inordinate amount of high grade the night before or the small crater under his head. Did someone stomp on his face? Like, maybe a Metrotitan? This isn't befitting of a Prime, but Sentinel isn't even close to conscious enough to care.

Stumbling to his feet, he looks around and fortunately, has spent enough days and nights wandering around that he recognises the area. Close to the city limits and more importantly: the crater. Sentinel is fairly certain he'd like to go and have a complete tantrum and punch some boulders again, but alas, his splintered knuckles disagree. Instead, he opts to skid down to the bottom and grab some energon crystals. For what? He's not sure. It just makes him feel better having something incredibly explosive in his hands.

He makes it about five steps in to the crater before his scanner pings. That's new - more often than not Sentinel is alone here. Who exactly it is surprises him further. Why the hell is Proteus here? Sentinel had honestly thought he was dead. A pity the signature is living; he could really have used those jet engines for something.

Oh well. Time to ruin a certain senator's day.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I can dream," he sighs. Just because he's in this state, doesn't mean he wants to be.

He takes the rag and wipes it across his upper arm... almost immediately caking it in grim, rendering it useless. The part he wiped is maybe one shade lighter. Sentinel exvents heavily enough to vibrate the water around him slightly.

"...Do you have another one?"

A++ Sentinel good job

Sentinel you giant piece of shit. He can't even call you a gold turd anymore because you're already TURD COLORED.

"Rinse yourself in the lake first, you imbecile."

He snatches the cloth out of his hand and starts to wash it clean in the water.

Rolling his optics dramatically, Sentinel hauls himself up. Shut up, asshole goes unspoken. He's already close to his 100 word a day limit.

He clomps maybe two or three wide steps away, then drops down again, water coming up to his chest. Luckily, he manages to hide the shiver and the regret of sitting in freezing water.

"Sorry," he says, sarcasm almost palpable. "Must've been hit on the head one too many times."

Edited 2015-09-04 08:19 (UTC)

"No you're not," he snaps back, his jets humming to life as he hovers over the water. Like hell he was getting back in there after Sentinel contaminated it with his filth.

Slowly, impatiently, accentuating each word like he was talking to a child: "All the way in."

He wrings the cloth free of water, waiting for Sentinel to rinse himself properly.

A very, very faint grin crosses his face for a moment. He'd missed antagonising Proteus.

"I do not wish to flood my systems, Proteus. I have enough problems as it is." he grumbles. Honestly, he's probably pushing it already by submerging his fucked up stomach. Thanks, Megatron.

But, he huffs, and starts rubbing off his arms and legs. Black muck still billowing out.

"What have you been doing?" he asks, after a moment. "I don't believe I'm the only one whose head so many mechs here want on a pike." Why is he the one who took all the damage? He's glad Proteus hasn't been broken in half by someone but goddamn.

"Keeping a low profile," he chuckles slightly at his own incoming joke,"Or a high one, if we want to be literal."

When the thick outer layer of filth sloughs off Sentinel's armor, he levitates closer, the jets smoothly lifting him to the former Prime's helm. Proteus gently begins to clean off his face, quite familiar with the grooves and ridges of his head.

"My validity as a Senator wasn't going to mean much to the barbarians here. It was obvious enough they were on the verge of slaughtering each other, though. So the best solution was to just step back and watch. No one would miss the energon or supplies I co opted to stay out of their way."

Sentinel doesn't react to the joke. Partly because he thinks it was goddamn awful and not worth acknowledging, half because he just doesn't really laugh.

All he does is dim his optics and hum lightly when Proteus gets to work on his face. He doesn't even want to know how bad it is and... he really hopes Proteus doesn't notice the fist indentation either.

A groan escapes him. "If only I could fly..." and also not pick fights with .1%er miners but u know u know

The fist indentation was really the least of Sentinel's woes, and Proteus has enough of a sense to not bring it up. His poor hired muscle really got wrecked in a few months, didn't he?

Proteus just keeps at it instead, rinsing the cloth in water once Sentinel's face was a shimmering red and gold again.

"Well, I suppose you could always climb if you were that eager to follow."

He hovers to the ex-Prime's back armor, beginning to clean off the obscene shoulder cannons strapped to it.

That makes him snort a little.

"I don't miss you quite that much."

That being said, he does actually want to know where Proteus lives. For... reasons. He'll ask later, right now he shifts some armour plates around the cannons so Proteus can get in easier.