shitposting rave 5: discount rejects from every genre

Ford glances back at him. "Thanks, but...unless you're speaking for all the Transformers, I'm really not sure how you set it off?"

 

[Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.]

Have you ever thought about getting a therapist? I feel like this is one of those situations where 'therapy' becomes relevant. I've been told it's supposed to help or... something.

Oh, definitely the superior flavor. Bitter's pretty close, but I'm not a huge fan of sweet or sour. Spicy-- well, take it or leave it, it's pretty situational. Savory shit though, that's the ticket right there.

 

I was the one who first asked if Unicron was capable of eating names. And if we wait for an apology from the Unmaker, we may as well settle in for absorption of his current incarnation!

 

"I'm okay. I think. Mostly." Lissa smiles. "Just fucking exhausted, now. That takes a lot out of me. I used to wonder how PTSD could make me so tired but it does take you back in time faster than light, right? Anyhow...kitling, how long has it been since I saw you? You've gotten so big!"

 

[She makes a sound that might have been a chuckle before it got turned through the meat grinder] They don't, unless they want something. It's stupid trying to get involved. It's suicide. [And Jetski's supposed to be safe and GET things not... not this. How's she supposed to do things when her fleet is so far away and nobody gets her? It'S intensely lonely even when she's hugging Stentato and suddenly she misses Obrizon and that just makes her spark all over again because that's worse.]

 

The king of steak and potatoes right here.

 

-Stentato just hugs. This... is awkward.-

 

[Hugs are good at least and while it takes a while for her to calm down and stop sparking again, it does happen eventually] Sorry.

 

Among other things. Not sushi though. Don't have the patience, can't get the rolls right, and doing the rice is a fucking pain in my ass. Might as well just sear it all and go from there, you know?

 

I make good sushi *sounds a big smug*

 

"I would love to get her a therapist," Stan says, "and I could probably even get her one that would blow off the false identity, the murder and arson, et cetera." He shrugs. "But I'm not sure where I would find one that could deal with the interdimensional shenanigans or the cloning or the fact that she says a god made her original. Also, I figure she might be okay if we do take those bastards down."

He pulls a cigar out of his pocket, and glances around. "Oh well. I'll ask her vet about it." He waggles the cigar." I'm told you can decide this won't bother you. Now'd be the time to make the decision. And I guess I should ask if anyone else wants one."

 

Are you okay now?

 

[good. He isn't sure how he would deal with this all otherwise.]

I believe that worry is quite unfounded by now, but sure.
[He shrugs. It's usually Galvatron who come to him somehow, not the other way around after all.]

 

No, but I'm better? [Not sparking anymore, but she'd certainly not feeling good or safe or anything]

 

You've bested me in one arena of cooking, and you're never gonna let me live it down, are you? [He sounds fond instead of annoyed.]

I mean, you could do what I did-- find a card off some shmuck you got hired to knock off, break in right before the guy leaves, and then just fucking ask him if he's down to talk with you. My guy's great, brings brandy and everything, never misses a session. He's been making noises about transferring me but we've got a connection, I think. Not enough of a connection that I've given him a name, but it's a pretty substantial connection. He's got cute kids.

[He eyes the cigar a little disdainfully.] It's not a cigarette at least, but you know that shit makes you useless in the long run, right?

 

I, uh. Have something to confess.

 

Stan shrugs and lights up. "I've probably been doing this longer than you've been alive, and I ain't useless yet." He grins. "If tobacco's what kills me, after everything I've been and done, I'll have probably lived a lot longer than anyone ever thought I would."

 

... ok? [Oh no. She's not looking forward to whatever confession that is now]

 

"You've already lived a lot longer than anyone thought you would," Ford says, laughing. "And so have I. Believe it or not, we're twins."

 

Hey, just remember when you're three miles out at sea and swimming to shore with thirty pounds of guns on your back and your tar-encrusted lungs are giving out: told you so.