shitposting rave 5: discount rejects from every genre

Not if you're in deep space and representing the damn cause since before the court thing it isn't.
I'm not taking the badge of, I don't need Megatron's approval, he may have written it but he can't take it away from us.
[From somewhere a blacklight happens, aimed at Nichrome's back. UV-painted letters in Decepticon lettering appear on her plating, reading the words "YOU ARE BEING DECEIVED"]

 

That makes it even worse somehow. I'm pretty sure any attempts at behavior correction from anyone I'm not literally taking to berth at least semi-regularly or respect as a fellow commander is far too late to be anythign but in vain.

 

Huh. Sorry, then. Must be getting twitchy myself pulling all these dang scuffles apart.

You and me both, cap, even if... "representing the Cause" ain't so much what I've been doing this last while. Might have to steal that idea of yours if I can get hold of something that won't scrape off easy-- real nice, thematically.

 

I THINK YOU'D PROBABLY RUPTURE SOMETHING ATTEMPTING TO REACH MY STANDARD OF "YELLING," WHICH IS NATUALLY SOMEWHERE BETWEEN "TEN THOUSAND JET ENGINES ROARING DIRECTLY INTO YOUR SPONGECLOTS" AND "THE VILE AND UNHOLY SCREECHINGS OF THE HORRORTERRORS PERFORMING A CONCERT FOR YOU PERSONALLY"

 

"Oh no, I'm heartbroken." Ford sighs dramatically and grins at her. "To think that you don't respect me--!"

"No need to be sorry," Ford says a little more gently. "We've all been through some kind of hell, I suspect. Some perhaps more literal than others. But."

 

[Grinning:] That can be arranged.

 

-snrk-

 

Mm. Fair enough.

[He shrugs, expression lightening.] What kinda example do I set for 'Stream if I start rasslin' with random organics, though?

 

[he throws his hands up in the air]

WHY NOT! I'M READY TO EXPERIENCE TERRIBLE VOLUME CONTROL ON A LEVEL NOT EVEN I CAN COMPREHEND. MAYBE IF I'M LUCKY, IT WILL LIQUEFY MY THINKPAN AND SPRAY IT OUT MY FACIAL ORIFICES AS IF I WERE A CAN OF EASY PASTEURIZED PROCESS CHEESE FOOD. SCRAPE SOME OFF THE WALL AND ONTO A CRACKER, IT CAN BE A NEW AND EXOTIC DELICACY

 

A good one.

 

[He preens-- wings not quite the right angle to be flirting, but definitely still "yes, look at me, aren't I excellent?" He impressed the flockleader!!]

 

I wanted it engraved at first, but my artist isn't too comfortable with the idea of scarification. It was his idea to do this instead, he is pretty much a genius when it comes to paintjobs. Still like the idea of engravings, but this is great.

Respect you as a fellow commander. I'm sorry, but I can't see you commanding your way out of a soaked cellulose based enveloping material. I know your type you are decent on your own or in a lab but you are no commanding officer type.

 

...I'm pretty sure you're missing context here. Because no. He's actually asked me to help him stop fighting people over every little perceived threat.

 

Put him in a headlock and then he can't fight.

 

I suppose that would have been a solution.

 

[For an instant, vague images of two other jetformers appear around Ignis: one blue and chrome to his left, one black and purple at the head of the wedge, both faceless and indistinct in the way of faded memories.

Even as they vanish again, Ignis launches himself into the air; his engines scream as he transforms and spirals up, but the sound doesn't fade as he gets farther away.]

 

Eh, engravings would be too visible-- not much point while we're still wearing these. [He taps his badge.] Only showing up under certain wavelengths suits the phrase better-- and besides, don't you know UV paint is functionless to good little soldiers and medics? [He winks.]

Or I could help him learn coping methods and provide a more healthy model of socialization so that if something happens to the rest of us, Mortilus forbid, he can still function as an individual without us to lean on.

 

What's a coping mechanism?

-She projects this with a confused look on her face, biting down on an urge to grin.-

 

[his brain doesn't spray out of his face, but he does clamp his hands over his ears]

I MEAN, IT'S NOT TEN THOUSAND BUT YOU HAVE *THOROUGHLY* MADE YOUR POINT AND THEN BEATEN IT INTO THE GROUND UNTIL IT STOPPED TWITCHING

[he is yelling now, as if he can't really hear himself properly--it's somehow louder than his normal voice]

 

To what?