This was a rabid bunny attack.
Jan. 10th, 2010 02:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceJust playing with something here. It's TF-ish, but... strange.
He leant back in his chair, dropped his head against the headrest and groaned. Loathe as he was to admit it, the end was inevitable. He’d seen it coming for a while now, and it was unlikely that things would improve enough for them to get through this latest rough patch.
A window on his screen blinked, and he focused his attention on it. Huh. Looks like even the big man himself could see which way the wind was blowing.
= Message Log =
OP: Looks like this is it.
Jazz: Yeah. I’ll be sorry to see this go. It’s been a big part of my life ever since I signed up.
OP: I’ve enjoyed having you with us. I don’t think we could have held out this long without your assistance. Especially after… I don’t understand though, I knew I was leaving it in good hands.
Jazz: And you did. It helped that you came back, but we never really recovered after you left. We lost a lot of good people, and more started leaving after your replacement made a couple of rookie mistakes. He did his best, but he’s still a newbie to this sorta gig, and a lotta folks were unhappy you put what they thought was a ‘n00b’ in the Prime spot. *shrug*
OP: I didn’t hear _them_ offering to help. Our secondary team were already doing all they could. ‘N00b’ or not, he was the only one with both the time _and_ the readiness to commit it.
Jazz: Heh. Still, riding herd on a bunch of glitches like us is a tough job. He’s taken a lot of heat, but I’ve spoken to him, made sure he knows it wasn’t his fault.
OP: Thank you. I’ll contact him in private as well. I suppose I always knew this wasn’t going to last. The set up wasn’t too conducive for longevity. A planning error on my part. I can’t help but wish, though.
Jazz: I know the feeling. So, gonna turn out the lights on Gen-1 and put away the key?
OP: Yes. I think we’ve wrapped up what we can.
Jazz: Well. Bye then, bossbot. Keep in touch, y’hear?
OP: I will. Goodbye, Jazz.
The window went dark as the person on the other end logged off, and he turned away from the computer to look out his window. The sun was setting over the tops of the buildings. He sighed and stood up.
Time to get to work.
= = =
= Message Log =
OP: Are we all on?
Jazz: Looks like. Rollcall! :D
Prowl: Here.
Jazz: Okay people, drop the minesweeper and solitaire and pay attention!
Ratchet: Online and waiting. You realise that if they’re playing games at the same time, they probably won’t see that comment?
Ironhide: I’m here. Let’s get on with it already.
Jazz: Worth a shot. I could send a nudge ‘round.
Ironhide: Don’t. S’fragging annoying.
OP: We’re all here that can be here anyway, so there’s no need. Megatron’s time zone isn’t convenient for him.
Jazz: Ooh, right. He’s at work, isn’t he? Well then, what’s the reason for the meeting, bossbot?
OP: This is… hard for me to say. I’m… planning on writing myself out. Maybe even permanently. RL reasons.
Jazz: You can’t be serious.
Ratchet: Hey, RL > online stuff. You know that.
Jazz: So take a hiatus! Don’t mean you gotta _leave_.
OP: I need to step away from this for a while. I’ve got something going on now that I don’t want to mess up. And… I’m sorry, but I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back. The site will still be up, I just can’t run it any more.
Jazz: Hey, I understand. S’just a bit of a shock, y’know?
Prowl: Coincidentally, this leads into a topic I’ve been meaning to bring up.
Ratchet: Hm? What?
Prowl: I can’t stay on either. As a moderator or as a player.
Ironhide: Finally gonna quit pretending to be a cop car and start riding in one, huh. ;P
Prowl: Yes. I’ve been accepted into law enforcement training, and I foresee an immense diminishing of my time.
Jazz: Hey, congrats man. But frag, losing the bossbot and his No. 2 at the same time? That’s gonna be rough on us.
Ratchet: … You’re gonna hate me then.
Jazz: Not you too!
Ratchet: Post-grad med school. Going to stop pretending to be an ambulance and start riding in one.
Ironhide: Oi. Come up with your own snappy quips. >:[
Ratchet: *smirk*
OP: Children…
Ratchet: Yes boss.
Ironhide: Playing nice now.
Jazz: Ai… Okay, so Ratch’ and Prowl and OP are leaving. Have we got people to fill in?
OP: The secondary mods are willing to take up more duties. Granted, they thought they’d only be covering for me, but Magnus and Red Alert can take over site management for Prowl, and Elita, Shockwave and Soundwave have shown that they can keep the players in line.
Ironhide: What about the rest of it?
OP: Could either of you…?
Ironhide: Whoa up. I’m not cut out for leading. Too much of a temper.
Jazz: I guess I can step in for a while. Blaster’s been asking about trying out for mod duty too. But you guys know what my schedule is like. I’ve had a good stretch so far, but if I’m slagged, I’m slagged.
OP: I was afraid of that. Well, I guess that means I have to take applicants.
Jazz: I don’t envy you that.
OP: *shrug* Cest la vie.
Ratchet: So, how are we going to get OP out of the plot?
Ironhide: If we’re looking at something permanent, we could kill him.
Jazz: Not _that_ permanent! D:
Prowl: No, it works. We can come up with a plausible reason for his resurrection should he return.
Ratchet: I suppose we can use the same plot device for our own departures then.
Prowl: Yes. It would be better to remove us all at once, instead of individually. We could work it in as a plot twist.
Ironhide: The site’s been getting into a rut lately. A shake up would be good.
OP: Offing three of the top good guys should give the ‘Cons the upper hand, if played correctly. I say we go for it. I’ll contact Megatron and we’ll work something out.
Jazz: He’s not going to be happy about this either, you know.
OP: *sigh* I know.
= = =
= Message Log =
Ironhide: Hey Jazz. You online?
Jazz: You’ve got ten before I gotta run, what’s up?
Ironhide: I feel like such a slagger for doing this, but can we take me out of the game?
Jazz: 0_0 What? Why?
Ironhide: Prowl and Ratch’ got me thinking. I’ve been sitting on my aft, doing nothing special, but they’re going places, moving on, doing good and all that slag, you know? I know I’m not smart like they are, so… I enlisted.
Jazz: Damn, man.
Ironhide: Look, I’m sorry, okay?
Jazz: Nah, it’s alright. You gotta do what you gotta do. And you’ll do well. You’ve got the yelling at recruits down pat. ;P
Ironhide: Hah. They’ll probably be better than some of the glitches we get here.
Jazz: That’s putting it lightly. Have you told anyone else?
Ironhide: You’re the first.
Jazz: You got anything plotted for your departure?
Ironhide: We can retcon in my ‘death’ with Prowl and Ratchet’s. I haven’t been all that active recently, and anything I’ve started since then can be pushed to before it and tied up quickly.
Jazz: Got it. You’ve been thinking this over.
Ironhide: Like I said. I had some time to think.
Jazz: Well. Take care, Ironhide. Don’t get blown up out there.
Ironhide: Heh. Don’t worry, I plan on staying alive for a long while to come.
= = =
How long had it been since the site had closed? A year? Two? He still sent OP messages, and the man often replied when he could, but the others seemed to have fallen off the face of the Earth. Sighing, he hurried down the streets to the club, pushing through its doors and hustling to the back to get ready for the first set of the evening. Maybe he’d get his big break tonight.
Yeah, right. Shaking his head at his little fantasy, he walked out, grabbed the mic someone threw to him, leapt onto the stage and stopped. A group who’d had (more than) a few too many had gotten annoyed at being denied entry to the establishment, and had subsequently managed to force their way inside to start causing a ruckus.
Then he had to duck as one of the group picked up a chair and threw it in the direction of the stage (for such an inebriated person, he sure had a good arm). The man didn’t appreciate that he’d made him miss, and leapt over the rows of tables to try and personally air his grievances. Where was the bouncer? Oh. On the floor, knocked out by a lucky swing of an arm.
Cursing his luck, he bobbed and weaved and generally only really succeeded in pissing his opponent off more. Punching the man did no good, the other was running on pure rage now and oh frag was that a knife? Keeping his eyes on the blade sent him straight into a haymaker, tumbling him back and onto the ground.
He curled up tight instinctively, and when all he heard was shouting, he uncurled warily, scrambled to his feet and observed that the drunk man was held securely in a headlock by a calm looking, burly man. Behind them, it looked like security had finally managed to pin the rest of the brawlers and were taking them away. Heaving a sigh of relief, he approached the strongly-built chap to thank him, then swore under his breath when he spotted the blood. The man shrugged.
“I’ve had worse.”
“What the frag do you do?”
“Army. This is nothing. I’ve got stories that would make your stomach turn.”
“Look, even if this is just ‘another day at work, ho hum’ for you, we have to get you treated.”
A waitress, setting the upturned tables to rights piped up. “They’re taking those who need it to the hospital a few blocks away.”
“Thanks.” He nodded to her, then turned back to the Army man. “You heard the lady, let’s get going.”
= = =
The waiting room was chaotic. In addition to the fracas at the club, apparently there’d been a rather serious pile up involving a bus and some other vehicle. The staff were trying to maintain some semblance of calm, but were failing badly. Then, a voice bellowed over the chaos, cussing at those who needed to be cussed at, barking at those who just needed a kick in the right direction, and generally getting the order needed by picking up the crowd by the scruffs of their necks and shaking it out of them.
“Wow.”
“I agree. He’s very effective.”
Both he and Army Guy jumped, startled by the sudden appearance of a police officer by their side. The cop showed them his badge, then pulled out a notepad.
“I’m taking the statements of the individuals involved in the fight at your place of work. If you would be so kind.”
They gave their statements, and just then, the doctor attached to the bellowing came storming up to them.
“Right. Your turn. What’s your issue- oh for crying out loud! Didn’t you hear the call for serious wounds about five minutes ago?”
“This ain’t serious, doc. In the Army, I-”
“Excuse me? Who’s the medical intern here? If that gaping chasm were any higher, it’d have cut through an artery and you’d be at best passed out on the floor before anyone here had the brains to slap a tourniquet on you.”
“But it isn’t, it didn’t and I’m just fine.”
“For the love of- May the good Lord save me from thick headed stubborn cusses like you. And why are you grinning?!”
He shook his head at the glaring man.
“Sorry doc. You just remind me of someone I haven’t heard from in a while.”
Medical Intern huffed, lifting Army Guy’s arm to better examine his injury. The policeman spoke then.
“Could you describe the wound, doctor? I’ll need the information for the case, and I might as well get it from an expert instead of second hand.”
Temper somewhat mollified by the cop’s statement, the doctor rattled off a string of words that the officer scribbled down. Task done, the policeman folded his notebook and glanced at their still busy surroundings, then sighed, running a hand though his hair tiredly. Army guy froze, as did the doctor, and when he looked to see what had caused the pause, he stopped as well. The cop looked at them, puzzled, and he found his voice to ask.
“Your watch. That symbol?”
The officer dropped his hand, covering the timepiece with the other.
“Something I used to be part of. I had it made out of sentimentality when I found out the group had closed. You know it?”
He nodded, replying quietly. “I do. You’d left before it shut down, I take it.”
“I did. I was starting my training as an officer of the law and could no longer spend such time as my role at the site required.”
He blinked at the cop’s answer.
Then he blinked again when Army Guy said “… Prowl?”
“How did you…” The police officer stared at the large man, then at the medical intern when he started to laugh. Getting himself back under control, the man jabbed a thumb at his own chest, smirking.
“Ratchet. Good to meet you in person. And since soldier boy managed to deduce your alias and is a stubborn lunkhead out to expend all my patience, I’m guessing he’s Ironhide.”
Army Guy- Ironhide threw his head back and laughed. “Frag. What are the odds?”
Ratchet was still smirking, and Prowl had a hand over his mouth, hiding a smile of his own. The cop looked in his direction, spotting his own wide grin, and softly murmured.
“Hm. You’re too happy to have been just an ordinary player.”
“Guilty as charged. Jazz, at your service.”
= = =
= Message Log =
Jazz: Hey, we’re starting up again. Some things are different though. OP’s hoping the changes will help us survive longer this time.
Prowl: He has contacted me about it. Thank you for putting us in touch again.
Jazz: No problem. Why’d you all just stop talking to us anyway?
Prowl: At first I was truly very busy. Then, it felt strange to simply resume contact after seemingly ignoring everyone for so long.
Jazz: Aw, you know we wouldn’t have minded. Anyway, what did you tell the bossbot?
Prowl: I don’t think I can play a character role or mod just yet. Site management and maintenance shouldn’t be a problem though.
Jazz: Prowl, Autobot, Decepticon, player, moderator or site admin, as long as you’re there in some way, shape or form, I’m good. :D
= = =
= Message Log =
Jazz: Ah, frag.
Prowl: Problem?
Jazz: You could say that. I got an offer for a deal. If it pans out, I’m not going to have the time to be online much in the near future. Not forever, just a while. But still…
Prowl: You should take it, Jazz.
Jazz: You're not mad?
Prowl: It would be hypocritical of me to be unsupportive.
Jazz: … Thanks Prowl. So. Same old trick?
Prowl: It worked before.
Jazz: Hm… Gotta be a good one though. I mean, yours was a real whammy, I’ve got to make sure I do it right. Maybe get myself torn into two pieces. What do you think?
Prowl: I think you’re a drama queen, that’s what I think.
Jazz: Oh, you just wish you’d thought of it yourself. :P
Prowl: Hmm… OP? Jazz has to tell you something.
Jazz: 0_0!!! Oi!
Prowl: :P back at you, Jazz.
He leant back in his chair, dropped his head against the headrest and groaned. Loathe as he was to admit it, the end was inevitable. He’d seen it coming for a while now, and it was unlikely that things would improve enough for them to get through this latest rough patch.
A window on his screen blinked, and he focused his attention on it. Huh. Looks like even the big man himself could see which way the wind was blowing.
= Message Log =
OP: Looks like this is it.
Jazz: Yeah. I’ll be sorry to see this go. It’s been a big part of my life ever since I signed up.
OP: I’ve enjoyed having you with us. I don’t think we could have held out this long without your assistance. Especially after… I don’t understand though, I knew I was leaving it in good hands.
Jazz: And you did. It helped that you came back, but we never really recovered after you left. We lost a lot of good people, and more started leaving after your replacement made a couple of rookie mistakes. He did his best, but he’s still a newbie to this sorta gig, and a lotta folks were unhappy you put what they thought was a ‘n00b’ in the Prime spot. *shrug*
OP: I didn’t hear _them_ offering to help. Our secondary team were already doing all they could. ‘N00b’ or not, he was the only one with both the time _and_ the readiness to commit it.
Jazz: Heh. Still, riding herd on a bunch of glitches like us is a tough job. He’s taken a lot of heat, but I’ve spoken to him, made sure he knows it wasn’t his fault.
OP: Thank you. I’ll contact him in private as well. I suppose I always knew this wasn’t going to last. The set up wasn’t too conducive for longevity. A planning error on my part. I can’t help but wish, though.
Jazz: I know the feeling. So, gonna turn out the lights on Gen-1 and put away the key?
OP: Yes. I think we’ve wrapped up what we can.
Jazz: Well. Bye then, bossbot. Keep in touch, y’hear?
OP: I will. Goodbye, Jazz.
The window went dark as the person on the other end logged off, and he turned away from the computer to look out his window. The sun was setting over the tops of the buildings. He sighed and stood up.
Time to get to work.
= = =
= Message Log =
OP: Are we all on?
Jazz: Looks like. Rollcall! :D
Prowl: Here.
Jazz: Okay people, drop the minesweeper and solitaire and pay attention!
Ratchet: Online and waiting. You realise that if they’re playing games at the same time, they probably won’t see that comment?
Ironhide: I’m here. Let’s get on with it already.
Jazz: Worth a shot. I could send a nudge ‘round.
Ironhide: Don’t. S’fragging annoying.
OP: We’re all here that can be here anyway, so there’s no need. Megatron’s time zone isn’t convenient for him.
Jazz: Ooh, right. He’s at work, isn’t he? Well then, what’s the reason for the meeting, bossbot?
OP: This is… hard for me to say. I’m… planning on writing myself out. Maybe even permanently. RL reasons.
Jazz: You can’t be serious.
Ratchet: Hey, RL > online stuff. You know that.
Jazz: So take a hiatus! Don’t mean you gotta _leave_.
OP: I need to step away from this for a while. I’ve got something going on now that I don’t want to mess up. And… I’m sorry, but I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back. The site will still be up, I just can’t run it any more.
Jazz: Hey, I understand. S’just a bit of a shock, y’know?
Prowl: Coincidentally, this leads into a topic I’ve been meaning to bring up.
Ratchet: Hm? What?
Prowl: I can’t stay on either. As a moderator or as a player.
Ironhide: Finally gonna quit pretending to be a cop car and start riding in one, huh. ;P
Prowl: Yes. I’ve been accepted into law enforcement training, and I foresee an immense diminishing of my time.
Jazz: Hey, congrats man. But frag, losing the bossbot and his No. 2 at the same time? That’s gonna be rough on us.
Ratchet: … You’re gonna hate me then.
Jazz: Not you too!
Ratchet: Post-grad med school. Going to stop pretending to be an ambulance and start riding in one.
Ironhide: Oi. Come up with your own snappy quips. >:[
Ratchet: *smirk*
OP: Children…
Ratchet: Yes boss.
Ironhide: Playing nice now.
Jazz: Ai… Okay, so Ratch’ and Prowl and OP are leaving. Have we got people to fill in?
OP: The secondary mods are willing to take up more duties. Granted, they thought they’d only be covering for me, but Magnus and Red Alert can take over site management for Prowl, and Elita, Shockwave and Soundwave have shown that they can keep the players in line.
Ironhide: What about the rest of it?
OP: Could either of you…?
Ironhide: Whoa up. I’m not cut out for leading. Too much of a temper.
Jazz: I guess I can step in for a while. Blaster’s been asking about trying out for mod duty too. But you guys know what my schedule is like. I’ve had a good stretch so far, but if I’m slagged, I’m slagged.
OP: I was afraid of that. Well, I guess that means I have to take applicants.
Jazz: I don’t envy you that.
OP: *shrug* Cest la vie.
Ratchet: So, how are we going to get OP out of the plot?
Ironhide: If we’re looking at something permanent, we could kill him.
Jazz: Not _that_ permanent! D:
Prowl: No, it works. We can come up with a plausible reason for his resurrection should he return.
Ratchet: I suppose we can use the same plot device for our own departures then.
Prowl: Yes. It would be better to remove us all at once, instead of individually. We could work it in as a plot twist.
Ironhide: The site’s been getting into a rut lately. A shake up would be good.
OP: Offing three of the top good guys should give the ‘Cons the upper hand, if played correctly. I say we go for it. I’ll contact Megatron and we’ll work something out.
Jazz: He’s not going to be happy about this either, you know.
OP: *sigh* I know.
= = =
= Message Log =
Ironhide: Hey Jazz. You online?
Jazz: You’ve got ten before I gotta run, what’s up?
Ironhide: I feel like such a slagger for doing this, but can we take me out of the game?
Jazz: 0_0 What? Why?
Ironhide: Prowl and Ratch’ got me thinking. I’ve been sitting on my aft, doing nothing special, but they’re going places, moving on, doing good and all that slag, you know? I know I’m not smart like they are, so… I enlisted.
Jazz: Damn, man.
Ironhide: Look, I’m sorry, okay?
Jazz: Nah, it’s alright. You gotta do what you gotta do. And you’ll do well. You’ve got the yelling at recruits down pat. ;P
Ironhide: Hah. They’ll probably be better than some of the glitches we get here.
Jazz: That’s putting it lightly. Have you told anyone else?
Ironhide: You’re the first.
Jazz: You got anything plotted for your departure?
Ironhide: We can retcon in my ‘death’ with Prowl and Ratchet’s. I haven’t been all that active recently, and anything I’ve started since then can be pushed to before it and tied up quickly.
Jazz: Got it. You’ve been thinking this over.
Ironhide: Like I said. I had some time to think.
Jazz: Well. Take care, Ironhide. Don’t get blown up out there.
Ironhide: Heh. Don’t worry, I plan on staying alive for a long while to come.
= = =
How long had it been since the site had closed? A year? Two? He still sent OP messages, and the man often replied when he could, but the others seemed to have fallen off the face of the Earth. Sighing, he hurried down the streets to the club, pushing through its doors and hustling to the back to get ready for the first set of the evening. Maybe he’d get his big break tonight.
Yeah, right. Shaking his head at his little fantasy, he walked out, grabbed the mic someone threw to him, leapt onto the stage and stopped. A group who’d had (more than) a few too many had gotten annoyed at being denied entry to the establishment, and had subsequently managed to force their way inside to start causing a ruckus.
Then he had to duck as one of the group picked up a chair and threw it in the direction of the stage (for such an inebriated person, he sure had a good arm). The man didn’t appreciate that he’d made him miss, and leapt over the rows of tables to try and personally air his grievances. Where was the bouncer? Oh. On the floor, knocked out by a lucky swing of an arm.
Cursing his luck, he bobbed and weaved and generally only really succeeded in pissing his opponent off more. Punching the man did no good, the other was running on pure rage now and oh frag was that a knife? Keeping his eyes on the blade sent him straight into a haymaker, tumbling him back and onto the ground.
He curled up tight instinctively, and when all he heard was shouting, he uncurled warily, scrambled to his feet and observed that the drunk man was held securely in a headlock by a calm looking, burly man. Behind them, it looked like security had finally managed to pin the rest of the brawlers and were taking them away. Heaving a sigh of relief, he approached the strongly-built chap to thank him, then swore under his breath when he spotted the blood. The man shrugged.
“I’ve had worse.”
“What the frag do you do?”
“Army. This is nothing. I’ve got stories that would make your stomach turn.”
“Look, even if this is just ‘another day at work, ho hum’ for you, we have to get you treated.”
A waitress, setting the upturned tables to rights piped up. “They’re taking those who need it to the hospital a few blocks away.”
“Thanks.” He nodded to her, then turned back to the Army man. “You heard the lady, let’s get going.”
= = =
The waiting room was chaotic. In addition to the fracas at the club, apparently there’d been a rather serious pile up involving a bus and some other vehicle. The staff were trying to maintain some semblance of calm, but were failing badly. Then, a voice bellowed over the chaos, cussing at those who needed to be cussed at, barking at those who just needed a kick in the right direction, and generally getting the order needed by picking up the crowd by the scruffs of their necks and shaking it out of them.
“Wow.”
“I agree. He’s very effective.”
Both he and Army Guy jumped, startled by the sudden appearance of a police officer by their side. The cop showed them his badge, then pulled out a notepad.
“I’m taking the statements of the individuals involved in the fight at your place of work. If you would be so kind.”
They gave their statements, and just then, the doctor attached to the bellowing came storming up to them.
“Right. Your turn. What’s your issue- oh for crying out loud! Didn’t you hear the call for serious wounds about five minutes ago?”
“This ain’t serious, doc. In the Army, I-”
“Excuse me? Who’s the medical intern here? If that gaping chasm were any higher, it’d have cut through an artery and you’d be at best passed out on the floor before anyone here had the brains to slap a tourniquet on you.”
“But it isn’t, it didn’t and I’m just fine.”
“For the love of- May the good Lord save me from thick headed stubborn cusses like you. And why are you grinning?!”
He shook his head at the glaring man.
“Sorry doc. You just remind me of someone I haven’t heard from in a while.”
Medical Intern huffed, lifting Army Guy’s arm to better examine his injury. The policeman spoke then.
“Could you describe the wound, doctor? I’ll need the information for the case, and I might as well get it from an expert instead of second hand.”
Temper somewhat mollified by the cop’s statement, the doctor rattled off a string of words that the officer scribbled down. Task done, the policeman folded his notebook and glanced at their still busy surroundings, then sighed, running a hand though his hair tiredly. Army guy froze, as did the doctor, and when he looked to see what had caused the pause, he stopped as well. The cop looked at them, puzzled, and he found his voice to ask.
“Your watch. That symbol?”
The officer dropped his hand, covering the timepiece with the other.
“Something I used to be part of. I had it made out of sentimentality when I found out the group had closed. You know it?”
He nodded, replying quietly. “I do. You’d left before it shut down, I take it.”
“I did. I was starting my training as an officer of the law and could no longer spend such time as my role at the site required.”
He blinked at the cop’s answer.
Then he blinked again when Army Guy said “… Prowl?”
“How did you…” The police officer stared at the large man, then at the medical intern when he started to laugh. Getting himself back under control, the man jabbed a thumb at his own chest, smirking.
“Ratchet. Good to meet you in person. And since soldier boy managed to deduce your alias and is a stubborn lunkhead out to expend all my patience, I’m guessing he’s Ironhide.”
Army Guy- Ironhide threw his head back and laughed. “Frag. What are the odds?”
Ratchet was still smirking, and Prowl had a hand over his mouth, hiding a smile of his own. The cop looked in his direction, spotting his own wide grin, and softly murmured.
“Hm. You’re too happy to have been just an ordinary player.”
“Guilty as charged. Jazz, at your service.”
= = =
= Message Log =
Jazz: Hey, we’re starting up again. Some things are different though. OP’s hoping the changes will help us survive longer this time.
Prowl: He has contacted me about it. Thank you for putting us in touch again.
Jazz: No problem. Why’d you all just stop talking to us anyway?
Prowl: At first I was truly very busy. Then, it felt strange to simply resume contact after seemingly ignoring everyone for so long.
Jazz: Aw, you know we wouldn’t have minded. Anyway, what did you tell the bossbot?
Prowl: I don’t think I can play a character role or mod just yet. Site management and maintenance shouldn’t be a problem though.
Jazz: Prowl, Autobot, Decepticon, player, moderator or site admin, as long as you’re there in some way, shape or form, I’m good. :D
= = =
= Message Log =
Jazz: Ah, frag.
Prowl: Problem?
Jazz: You could say that. I got an offer for a deal. If it pans out, I’m not going to have the time to be online much in the near future. Not forever, just a while. But still…
Prowl: You should take it, Jazz.
Jazz: You're not mad?
Prowl: It would be hypocritical of me to be unsupportive.
Jazz: … Thanks Prowl. So. Same old trick?
Prowl: It worked before.
Jazz: Hm… Gotta be a good one though. I mean, yours was a real whammy, I’ve got to make sure I do it right. Maybe get myself torn into two pieces. What do you think?
Prowl: I think you’re a drama queen, that’s what I think.
Jazz: Oh, you just wish you’d thought of it yourself. :P
Prowl: Hmm… OP? Jazz has to tell you something.
Jazz: 0_0!!! Oi!
Prowl: :P back at you, Jazz.
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(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-10 09:53 am (UTC)