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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The drink stings slightly on the way down, and even just in the drinking stage, before it reaches his tank, it has a very apparent kick.

Ironhide carefully moves everything that he would not want purged on out of range, then settles down to finish what he has and to have a little break.

Stormcloud gives every indication that he likes it, but even in his condition he knows he'll pay slag for drinking the stuff later on. Assuming it doesn't implode his tank when it hits the other stuff in there...

Armorhide eyes him for a second, then decides if the worst happens, Oceanglide probably knows how to repair the lug. "Been back on Cybertron long?" he asks Ironhide, deciding he might as well strike up a conversation with the least talkative member of the crew. He likes talking to most people.

"Since shortly before I showed up at the first base." Ironhide mentally counts down from ten as he glances at Stormcloud without using his optics.

"How're you liking the old planet so far?" the blue and silver Minicon asks amiably.

Around the count of seven, the boat-former starts and squints suspiciously at the cube. There's an ominous fizzing sensation in his fuel tank, and with a name like Stormcloud, he should know to take notice...

"It brings back memories." Ironhide continues the count as he offers Armorhide a top up on his singer. He can hear something from Stormcloud now....

Armorhide pushes his cube forward for the refill. "It's a double-edged gift," he says, understanding.

Four, and Nightscream's got wind that something's brewing. "Feeling all right over there, mate?" he smirks, lurking at the corner of a cube big enough to duck behind.

"Kinda... bored." Stormcloud growls and charges his way unsteadily. "I'll fix that."

Three...

"It would probably be harder if I could feel anything," says the old Autobot in a low voice. "Even with the ~~different reality~~ amount of time I've been gone and the beating he took during the war, there are still familiar things here."

He refills carefully, then has a sip from the cube he was pouring from as he cocks an optic toward Stormcloud and continues the count sotto voc.

Armorhide pulls it back, nodding, and takes another sip. "Fantastic stuff," he says, smiling for a second before he follows the Bulk's gaze.

Two. Stormcloud stops in his tracks only halfway to Nightscream, still hovering in front of the shark's nose. His visor brightens from yellow to off-white as he has a brief premonition of what's going to happen among his internals any-

One.

He takes off like a speedboat with a engine full of rocket fuel, streaking for the nearest safe corner. This isn't going to be pretty.

Ironhide watches him go, then turns back to Armorhide. "Thank you."

Nightscream's hot on the fleeing boat's aft, but Stormcloud doesn't get far. He bounces off the closest wall just before his fuel tank goes critical with a panicked-sounding squeal.

His fuel ports lock down, keeping the reflux in. The Sea-con doesn't actually void his tanks.

From the look on Stormcloud's face, he really wishes he had.

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

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