He would hear somebody knocking at the door.
Scorchlock rose an eyebrow, he was fiddling with his ion blaster. “It’s open.” He calls out.
Redstocker entered in.
“Hi!”
Scorchlock glanced at Redstocker. “What do you need?” He asked, straight to the point.
“Five minutes of your time.”
Scorchlock sighed, he placed the ion blaster to the side of his bed. He then started counting inside his head. “Speak your mind.” He said.
He gave him the paper invitation to his fighting club lessons. The fact that it was written on paper would seem pretty weird.
“This is an excuse for that one joke I made on you.”
Sprocket, in his distraction, nearly steps on Pixel by accident, setting his foot down on the floor no more than a hair’s length away from the minicon.
Clip smirks.
“Thanks,” she replies.
Red looks down at the wound in his chest.
“And I just got this waxed…” he quietly laments.
The lift climbs down the bridge tower, and when it opens, Flyby transforms to jet mode and begins to fly to Little Iacon.
With a nod, the DJ accepts the money and turns his attention to other patrons.
Scorchlock would be able to notice that his quarters, too, had a glass orb containing a hologram of a flickering spark, much like every other room on the ship.
“Get used to that,” Lockdown advises her.
“The ‘New Decepticon Order’ does a lot of waiting,” he growls. He was a bot of action, not one for mining resources or labwork, which made the intermissions between Salvation’s departures and the spy’s reports very boring for him.
“So what’s up?”
Scorchlock seemed to be utterly confused. “I don’t recall you making a joke on me.” He said genuinely. “And what is this paper, anyway?” He asked.
“You know… That joke when I was senile. With your friend. The one that made you kick me or something. The one that put you in front of the police.”
“You will have to be a bit more percises with that.” Scorchlock said. “My memory isn’t helping me right now.”
“When I said that you and your friend are lovers.”
“If there is one thing I detest more than standing around, it’s small talk,” Lockdown warns Wildsong.
“…I see you’ve acquired a new look for yourself,” he observes after a pause.
“Oh yeah. What do you think?”
Scorchlock nods. “I see…” He said he could vaguely recall that. “Thanks, I suppose. But about this paper, what is it?” He asked.
“Since last time I was myself the level of the soldiers changed a lot. Back then the random soldier was willing to sacrifice his life in a grotesque way for the cause. Nowadays, from what I’ve seen, the are poor betas that are forcefully dragged on the battlefield. I am trying to bring together a lot of soldiers with potential and try to train them in the old way. We come together and just fight, jus train and just show each other what we’ve got and that we can be even more than we are. What do you think?”
Scorchlock smirks. “I’m a Wrecker.” He said, pounding his chest with his fist. “It takes a special brand of Bot to be a Wrecker. Not just anyone has what it takes, Redstocker.” He looked him, his bright blue optics, stared into his.
“Oh yeah, I also applied once to be a Wrecker, but I changed my mind before I could get the results.”
“I wouldn’t believe you, even if it were true.” Scorchlock said. “If you changed your mind, then it wasn’t your thing. Easy as that. And as for your fighting groupies, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I don’t need training. I’ve proved my metal, time and time again.”