Post by Airwatcher on May 11, 2020 21:19:46 GMT
( @ultramagnustfp )
Though the day was bright and the toy-story clouds promised good fortune a grass green two-wheeler kept to the darkest alleyways he could manage. Uncharacteristically he walked slowly and carefully, occasionally retracing his steps as if going no where in particular as he walked deeper and deeper into the lower layers of Iacon. Confound it, why’d I take the job right by the Autobot HQ? Airwatcher asked himself for the tenth time. And knowing I just thought this makes me wonder if I should rethink my career life choices… He never bothered breaking a stride or stroking his chin.
Credits were credits, and if he planned on restoring his ship again, and having certain liberties during retirement he’d have to grind a little. he finally passed into an alleyway his rendezvous coordinates provided him. Today was one of many he didn’t wear his rusting Autobot insignia.
As he rounded the corner several mechs and femmes locked their helms upon him. They were young and their leader somewhat middle aged. Of course, their chassis were too well polished, and their paint jobs boasted the most artistic and intricate patterns. Gems were encrusted into their armor. Airwatcher felt a pang of envy at their appearances, but it all quickly faded once the conversation began:
“You got that Synth-en?” The leader stepped forth. Her armor was coated in purple with orange and markings of pearl silver. Naturally, her family had afforded her an expensive frame and she’d likely scanned an alternate form to match. Airwatcher shrugged,
“Now hold on a sec. You all are clearly some rich kids. No offense, but I haven’t known you all to be the most subtle. Where you guys followed?”
“Were you?” the question was shot back with indignant to bare.
“Hey now. I’ve held my job consistently, and I was the only one bold enough to accept the commission for this ‘message’. Don’t take my question like I’m degrading your status. Everyone knows you’re at the top of the food chain.”
Though the day was bright and the toy-story clouds promised good fortune a grass green two-wheeler kept to the darkest alleyways he could manage. Uncharacteristically he walked slowly and carefully, occasionally retracing his steps as if going no where in particular as he walked deeper and deeper into the lower layers of Iacon. Confound it, why’d I take the job right by the Autobot HQ? Airwatcher asked himself for the tenth time. And knowing I just thought this makes me wonder if I should rethink my career life choices… He never bothered breaking a stride or stroking his chin.
Credits were credits, and if he planned on restoring his ship again, and having certain liberties during retirement he’d have to grind a little. he finally passed into an alleyway his rendezvous coordinates provided him. Today was one of many he didn’t wear his rusting Autobot insignia.
As he rounded the corner several mechs and femmes locked their helms upon him. They were young and their leader somewhat middle aged. Of course, their chassis were too well polished, and their paint jobs boasted the most artistic and intricate patterns. Gems were encrusted into their armor. Airwatcher felt a pang of envy at their appearances, but it all quickly faded once the conversation began:
“You got that Synth-en?” The leader stepped forth. Her armor was coated in purple with orange and markings of pearl silver. Naturally, her family had afforded her an expensive frame and she’d likely scanned an alternate form to match. Airwatcher shrugged,
“Now hold on a sec. You all are clearly some rich kids. No offense, but I haven’t known you all to be the most subtle. Where you guys followed?”
“Were you?” the question was shot back with indignant to bare.
“Hey now. I’ve held my job consistently, and I was the only one bold enough to accept the commission for this ‘message’. Don’t take my question like I’m degrading your status. Everyone knows you’re at the top of the food chain.”