[ He could be doing better things in his life than this. Chasing rogue Decepticons. Returning to the Lost Light with Ratchet. Having the first trip through a genuine washrack in don't ask how long.
Instead? Drift is in full foot-powered flight, pelting down the narrow, booth-lined 'street' as safely as a 17 foot robot carrying more swords than hands possibly can. The swordmech is dodging marketplace shoppers, low hanging merchandise and other obstructions with an absurd level of grace--emphasis on the absurd--with an 80% success rate. (sorry, sorry, he'll pay for that later!)
Now what type of horrors would send a metal creature of this size and obvious athletic ability--not to mention the swords--running in full retreat? The high pitched screeching from behind him might be a clue, a swarm of small figures trailing closely behind, jostling each other to get at him, arms outstretched and tiny hands grasping.
Drift glances back over his shoulder, dentae gritted, as the cries from behind grow closer. It's a dangerous prospect though, as he's certain to run smack into something--or someone--as the swarm of kedan children begin to close the distance, their peels of laughter and screeching child-like voices resolving into one word: ] BUUNNNNYYYY!!
[ No really. ] --the frag did I do to deserve this!?!
[7]
[ Things today aren't feeling right. Exploring was never bad...until one started feeling like The Explored instead of the other way around. The cool, prickly feeling still crawls like so many clawed feet over Drift's white plating as he sits in what he hopes to be meditation, trying to shake whatever this is seeping into his aura, turning the invisible hues darker no matter his mood. The spectralist can't find his grounding, and that sheer fact increases his agitation, the grip on the sword lain across his lap moving from reverent gentleness to vice-like.
Drift presumes he's chosen an out-of-the way place to take this moment to himself, but in reality? He's far more likely to be disturbed than he thinks. Leaving his other two short swords just out of reach might have seemed like a noble choice for the safety of any passersby given his mood---but given his day? That's likely to prove to be folly as well. ]
[WILDCARD]
(( Inspired by something else? I love improving surprises, hit me with whatever you got! ))
Drift | Transformers IDW | brackets or prose welcome
[ He could be doing better things in his life than this. Chasing rogue Decepticons. Returning to the Lost Light with Ratchet. Having the first trip through a genuine washrack in don't ask how long.
Instead? Drift is in full foot-powered flight, pelting down the narrow, booth-lined 'street' as safely as a 17 foot robot carrying more swords than hands possibly can. The swordmech is dodging marketplace shoppers, low hanging merchandise and other obstructions with an absurd level of grace--emphasis on the absurd--with an 80% success rate. (sorry, sorry, he'll pay for that later!)
Now what type of horrors would send a metal creature of this size and obvious athletic ability--not to mention the swords--running in full retreat? The high pitched screeching from behind him might be a clue, a swarm of small figures trailing closely behind, jostling each other to get at him, arms outstretched and tiny hands grasping.
Drift glances back over his shoulder, dentae gritted, as the cries from behind grow closer. It's a dangerous prospect though, as he's certain to run smack into something--or someone--as the swarm of kedan children begin to close the distance, their peels of laughter and screeching child-like voices resolving into one word: ] BUUNNNNYYYY!!
[ No really. ] --the frag did I do to deserve this!?!
[7]
[ Things today aren't feeling right. Exploring was never bad...until one started feeling like The Explored instead of the other way around. The cool, prickly feeling still crawls like so many clawed feet over Drift's white plating as he sits in what he hopes to be meditation, trying to shake whatever this is seeping into his aura, turning the invisible hues darker no matter his mood. The spectralist can't find his grounding, and that sheer fact increases his agitation, the grip on the sword lain across his lap moving from reverent gentleness to vice-like.
Drift presumes he's chosen an out-of-the way place to take this moment to himself, but in reality? He's far more likely to be disturbed than he thinks. Leaving his other two short swords just out of reach might have seemed like a noble choice for the safety of any passersby given his mood---but given his day? That's likely to prove to be folly as well. ]
[WILDCARD]
(( Inspired by something else? I love improving surprises, hit me with whatever you got! ))