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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There's a pause, and then the scramble and thumping as Nightscream picks himself up and heads for the source.

Stormcloud stops guzzling his drink long enough to snigger and observe, "Sail ho."

"Well, lookee what's crawled in through the scuppers," Waterlog laughs as Nightscream appears in the doorway. The black Minicon gestures in response, looking between the three bots there and the pile(s) of energon.

And silently wondering what scuppers are.

"Do you want that gag out?" Ironhide doesn't look at Nightscream.

Nightscream's head snaps towards him, but he shrugs with exaggerated nonchalance. Last thing he wants is to look desperate in front of this crowd. Especially considering the way Stormcloud is smirking at him.

"Good energon tastes better without duct tape fumes." The old Autobot gets up and heads for the hallway, motioning for the black Minicon to follow him.

And taking the additives with him.

Nightscream manages to summon a faint, interested whine by revving his engine. He hops back to make way for the Bulk - nothing to do with courtesy, of course, just necessity.

Stormcloud's gaze follows them, the boat-con smirking at the perceived retreat. Waterlog, on the other hand, straightens up with slanted optics flashing in affront. "And where d'ye think ye be taking that fine booty, me bucko?"

"Where you can't add to it." Ironhide slaps it up into the corner of wall and ceiling, then turns into the first open room and pulls out a pair of tweezers.

Waterlog gives the package a fairly plaintive look, and raises his missile arm, speculating about the angle until Stormcloud spots what he's at and lunges over to slap it down. The aggravated shove the inebriated hovercraft-bot gives him in return sets off a minor exchange of blows - minor as in both Minicons keep their feet... just about.

Nightscream follows Ironhide with remarkable obedience, though he gives a disgusted rattle at the sight of the tweezers.

"My fingers won't fit." Ironhide goes to one knee, ignoring the sounds of altercation from the common room. "Let me see."

Nightscream takes a few steps closer and tilts his head back, cocking it slightly to the side. He's listening intently to the noises from the other room, oh yes.

"Don't worry about it. If they're fighting they aren't drinking while we're away from the table." The old Autobot's fingers are surprisingly gentle as he removes the proper panel, and then pulls out the gag. "I'll make you something to get rid of this glue."

Nightscream's vocaliser fritzes and crackles as he resets it, reaching up to rub at the side of his neck. "I'm not scared," is the first thing he feels the urge to assert. Loudly.

The clangs of the fight slow and are joined by raucous laughter from both Sea-cons, punctuated by a couple more clangs that draw Nightscream's attention. "What's going on here, anyway? You starting a party without the rest of us?"

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

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