shatterverse | (no subject)

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There's more than a few things Jetstorm hates, but today just seems to be full of them. The ladybug, flying through underground tunnels, ramming into things-in this case, said ladybug's web-and organic goop. He really hates that organic goop.

Fortunately for Jetstorm, it's his lucky day (relatively speaking), since before he can hit the goop, there's a flash of white light.

----

The one advantage technorganic goop does have, Jetstorm decides, is that it'd be a lot softer to land on than the rock-hard dirt and grass (grass? Ew.) he just hit. His attention immediately goes to clawing his way out of the webbing, however, and he does that first, then pries the odd disc-shaped contraption Blackarachnia stuck on him not too long ago. Jetstorm peers at it for a moment, chucks it into the grass.

Still sprawled out on the ground and trying to get his bearings, the Vehicon glances around. In this direction...dirt! In that direction...dirt! And a turkey vulture, which doesn't scan as a Transformer, but that looks decidely cranky. It stares at Jetstorm, blinking its beady eyes.

Jetstorm peers right back, then blasts it. (What? It was looking at him funny.)

He then goes back looking around, trying to make sense of things, and finally settling on one phrase that he thinks sums his thoughts up: "What the frag is going on?"

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Pity he didn't look in the third direction.

There are... calling them fruit trees would be too generous, as Lucy has just discovered, much to her dismay.

On the other hand: robot!

Sniffsniff. Smiiiiile.

"Hello," she says, quite cheerfully. ROBOT. Lucy is fond of those.

Alas, Texas is not full of really good fruit trees-at least, this particular part isn't. (What it's stocked up on is cedar.)

Jetstorm peers up-and remembers that hey, the ground is not his friend! Better to get off his aft and back up into the air where he belongs, so he can peer in a menacing fashion at Lucy.

"Say what?"

It's not that he misunderstood what she said; really. It's just that he's a pissed off, confused alien robot, and his favorite phrase is the first thing that springs to mind when confronted with...weird, squishy things.

"Hello," she repeats, rolling her eyes.

It's not a difficult statement, really, Jetstorm.

On the other hand, the abstract current of his scent just reached her, and now she's brightening considerably. "You know Thrust!"

Beam. Friendly robot. (Well, to Thrust, anyways.)

That causes some optic squinting and even more glaring. "...Thrust. Pink motorcycle, quiet type, attracts glitched femmes like a magnet?"

He pauses again, steepling his claws and tapping them together a bit. "And how would you know anything like that anyway, squishy? Because either my sensors are failing me, or I'm detecting a hundred-percent mobile meat."

...ever been snarled at petulantly by a five-foot-tall, twenty-year-old girl who has to work at it to weigh in at much more than a hundred and fifteen pounds?

No?

Now you have. And the only reason she didn't turn to the other self to do it was because the other self can't talk.

"Yes."

Demonstratively, she sniffs the air again.

"You smell like his friend."

Blink. Blink. What the slag was that? Snarling from the cat, Optimus Primal, or even his boss, Jetstorm can understand. They have nasty, pointy teeth. Having an itty-bitty squishy biped snarl at him is more confusing than anything.

On the plus side, it keeps him from making more cracks about her squishiness.

"...If you think can smell friendship, I'm going to take the wild guess that your sensors are just a little glitched."

That wouldn't be the first time someone has told Lucy that, though perhaps never with quite that metaphor.

She just looks at him.

C'mon, Jetstorm. How else would she have known?

Through sheer crazy? Jetstorm is familiar with the crazy; it's the crazy that almost got him turned into the Cybertronian equivalent of the goddamn Batman just now.

Jetstorm peers right back, blinking. "...Annnyway. So. Thrust. Pink, motorcycle, zips around on one wheel?"

Nod!

Smile.

Jetstorm briefly wonders why it is that he always finds himself with the quiet ones. Then he's distracted by a whole new train of thought.

Time to play 'hey, does my radio still work?'

"Jeeeeetstorm to Thrust, come in Thrust! Anybody home?"

Then it's wait time, peering back at Lucy. "...So where is our unicyclic compadre, anyway?"

She points.

"Kansas."

Small smile.

"Kansas?" he repeats dubiously. "Little more detail here?"

Shrug.

"It's safe there."

As opposed to everywhere else, where it isn't.

Remember, like, the day before yesterday when it was stated that Thrust doesn't yelp?

Apparently the day before yesterday was wrong, because the surprised "'Storm!" that comes in loud and clear (if still a little distant, look, he's going as fast as he can, honest) is pretty easily described as a deep, gravelly yelp.

He hadn't signalled. He hadn't been sure who he'd find.

Jetstorm is supposed to be dead, what the frag?

Oh hey wait he's got road to watch, not crashing would be good. "I'm closin' in on your coordinates now. Estimated distance--" and it's given in hics, with a heading mixed in. He's still a ways off.

It's Jetstorm. Or someone who sounds like Jetstorm, who has Jetstorm's comm frequency. Primus. It's Jetstorm.

Thrust is probably out of Kansas by now.

The yelp over the radio is a good sign; the coordinates are even better. Jetstorm darts higher up automatically for a better view. "Keep watching the skies!" he radios back cheerfully.

"Sorry, squishie," Jetstorm says as he glances back down at Lucy. "But I've got some flying to do. Jetstorm-afterburn!" With that, he does more than a few flips while things slide in and out of place, and soon it's a jet that's rocketing off instead of a robot.

Care to show said jet up, Lucy?

Lucy cares to grin.

And shift up to another shape, a blacker, leaner, glossier shape, covered in scales with snapping white teeth and shining dark claws.

And launch herself into the air, chasing after him with a hiss of laughter.

She's slower on the climb, and frankly not all that likely to overtake a jet even under ideal circumstances.

But she's giving it her best, and Lucy's best is quite a thing to see.

Really, there's only one response to having a dragon on his tail, as all of Jetstorm's previous encounters with dragons have been bad.

"What the FRAG?!"

Why? Why does he have to find another meat-transformer that turns into a dragon?

While pondering this problem, Jetstorm puts on speed, hoping to put some distance inbetween himself and Lucy, just in case she happens to spit flaming death.

She's more interested in the ascent than in chasing after him.

After all, it's simple as anything to head north. North is home. North is, incidentally, where she pointed to when she said 'Kansas'.

And north is where-- once she's gained enough height-- she can see a smudge zipping along in the distance that might or might not be Thrust.

On the plus side, the dragon isn't eating him. Another plus-Thrust is somewhere down there, and two sets of weaponry are better than one when fleeing giant flying reptiles.

Jetstorm banks to turn, then does a barrel roll-ever the showoff-as he drops down, heading towards the said smudge.

There aren't a lot of hot-pink smudges with proper Cybertronian energy signatures with their scanners running full-bore zipping along, no matter where you go.

So it's pretty likely that one's Thrust.

Thrust is moving at his absolute top speed, pushing forward hard enough that he'd be going faster if he possibly could. He does start to slow-- a bit-- when he notices Jetstorm heading in. Because it's Jetstorm. It has to be Jetstorm, that's Jetstorm's energy signature, that's Jetstorm showing off like an idiot.

Jetstorm is supposed to be dead.

Thrust doesn't care so much right now.

Jetstorm's not the only one showing off like an idiot.

Lucy's currently forty feet too far to the left to meet up with Thrust properly.

With a flick of her wings and a quick, smoothly executed barrel roll... she isn't anymore.

And she dives, one of her long slow teasing swoops, judging exactly the point where the two 'cons are likely to meet and heading for a flyover.

For one brief moment in the headlong rush of it, she overtakes Jetstorm, flicking her tail tauntingly as she sweeps past beneath him.

While a squishy taunting him would normally be considered a wonderful excuse to start blasting, Jetstorm ignores Lucy's taunting for the moment. He's got more important things on his mind-like finding out what in the Pit's going on from Thrust.

He continues descending at a rapid pace, suddenly flipping around to go from jet to robot as he gets closer and closer to the ground.

Closer to the ground. How close?

When Jetstorm's close enough, Thrust transforms, too, but only to launch himself into the air (it's not really a proper jump, but it involves compressing his shocks and extending them again and at this speed, really, it gives him a good bit of height) and tackling Jetstorm, arms wrapped around the jetformer's waist, hard.

The last time he did that, the two of them crashed through a window.

Lucy, on the other hand, lands delicately and shifts down, scales retreating from her skin in a reverse flood.

"I found your friend," she tells a mid-glomp Thrust, quite unnecessarily.

Jetstorm doesn't land delicately-he lands with a metallic, crashing THUD and a "GAH!"

Thrust being happy to see him, that's not new. Being hugged by Thrust, now that's something different.

Jetstorm props himself up, peering at Thrust. "Miss me?"