randomplaces | Armada 'verse. Team headquarters in Cyber City. Morale building exercise

Ironhide appears in the room where he and his sister have been taking their recharge since they arrived here, and looks around carefully to make sure that he's reached the right place this time. He'd intended a quick trip to the Nexus, just to see if he couldn't catch some word of Bumblebee. But instead he'd wound up in another, smaller nexus lined with lockers and littered with human clothing. One of the rooms of this place had been stacked to the ceiling with energon.

There was blue energon there. There was green.

Ironhide's arms are full, and he walks carefully as he goes to the empty common room and arranges his armload neatly on the table before vanishing and reappearing with more. This also arranged to his liking, he grabs a cube of the green and walks out the front door to trade for the last thing that every perfect drinking party needs. It takes a little while to find a mech who has what he wants, but if he still had emotions Ironhide would be very pleased as he returns to the laden table with packets of various-coloured minerals in one hand. He hasn't had this much energon additives since before he'd first left his native Cybertron. And the person he'd traded them from seemed to think they were paint pigments!

Rumbling, he settles down and mixes careful doses of several different powders into a cube of blue, then sips appreciatively as he waits for some of his new teammates to show up.

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"I've done that." Ironhide regards the gleaming finish left by the foam, then takes another deep pull at his cube.

Well, that just makes it better - to judge by Waterlog's guffaws, that is. Stormcloud backs away from the offending energon, his horrified attention swinging to Ironhide. "You could've told me that, you half-clocked freak!"

Seems there are some things even this crew don't like contemplating... although without knowing that the people Waterlog just referred tended to use flamethrowers on their enemies, it mightn't be clear what the issue is.

"That's from oak trees on Earth." Ironhide regards the Minicons impassively as he points to the packet of carbon.

Waterlog's laughter quietens as he strains to think back. "They be the timbers those scurvy humans used to build their scows-"

"Ah, stow it," Stormcloud snaps at him. "Now I know you're laying shadows."

"'Twas Oceanglide said it."

"Give me a break. No-one on this planet carries bits of old human ships." Stormcloud snorts and turns back to Ironhide. "And sure, there's some slagging tools round here dumb enough to believe that's really from Earth. I'm not one of them."

"Several of these minerals aren't native to Cybertron." Ironhide shrugs impassively. "And if that carbon's not from Earth it's still from oak. I recognize the scent. Mech carbon has a different tang when it's dry."

"Yeah, sure, and I bet you've been to Earth too, huh?" The boat-con folds his arms, brown armour gleaming with the motion (which just shows he needs to get out more). He might well buy that the carbon's from an offworld source, maybe picked up on whatever dead-end colony this Autobot hails from. It's just that particular name that stretches it too far.

Ironhide just shrugs, then reaches past him for pretty green crystal powder.

Stormcloud holds his ground, though that means he gets nudged slightly as the bigger mech reaches past.

"He asked you a question, matey," Waterlog says in a loud murmur, drawing another slug from his cube. There's a definite drop in the remaining volume now, and from the pirate's tone he's at a warm and pleasant stage in which he doesn't much care who he attempts to menace.

Stormcloud settles his weight as he stares up at Ironhide. "What colony are you supposed to be from, again?"

Armada 'verse. Team headquarters in Cyber City. Morale building exercise

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