nexus_sages | (no subject)

Until he joined the crew of the Lost Light, Pipes had only ever been on Cybertron and space stations. And so, he joined up to see the universe, and have adventures, and make friends. He was very eager, very enthusiastic, very excited to be on his way.

Unfortunately, most people don't really like being around someone who's very eager, very enthusiastic, and very excited. Most people find that very annoying. So the making friends thing didn't really pan out all that well.

And as for adventures...mostly, he got hurt. He got shot and sick and hurt. Which...are sort like adventures. Maybe? At least he got to see some of the universe. He also got to see a lot of the medibay.

Then he saw the bottom of Overlord's foot. A few times, actually.

And then? Then, well. Then he died.

And that's where we come in...

A small mech wanders into the Nexus...well, he's small by Cybertronian standards. To the average humanoid, sixteen feet is possibly not that small. It's funny how that works, isn't it?

He looks around, optics bewildered behind their visor shield. "Um," he says after a moment, fingers twisting together with soft metallic whirs. "Um, is this the Afterspark? Cos...this is not at all what I was picturing."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Pipes has always enjoyed stories. He sits on the ground, pulling his knees up, and listens intently.

Broxton, in the realm of Oklaholma-OK, in the States United? He certainly can't imagine! His optics widen accordingly and he makes an awed little sound.

"So what happened? I bet they weren't so noble. Were they noble?"

"Well, they were a mixed bag," Loki admits with a shrug, "and cautious for the ways of the Aesir were strange to them. But it's because of all this that one night an Aesir lady named Kelda was walking the quiet streets of Broxton."

"Now, I should take a moment to explain that Kelda was avidly sought by the eligible of Asgard, for she was as beautiful as she was formidable, lovely and terrible as the winter wind. But those swains pined in vain, for there was no set of honeyed words that could sway her, no gift to catch her eye, no act of bravado that could hold her interest." He mimes a disinterested huff, then gets back to the story. "Some said her heart was as cold as her icy magic, but envy is a terrible thing and mustn't be heeded."

"But on this night, on this walk, Kelda encountered something quite different from the swaggering, braggering heroes of Asgard--a plain and simple man of Earth: Bill, Born of Bills! Where Asgardian men would have puffed themselves up, the better to shine in her eyes, Bill offered humility and genial respect. Where the men of Asgard were warriors proud, Bill was a simple cook in a local cafe." He pauses. "Hmm. Cafe might be too sophisticated a term for Broxton, but I'm not sure calling the place a greasy spoon would make sense to you. Anyway."

"Bill was a man like Kelda had never seen, and where her heart was ice to the men of Asgard, here she was intrigued. She left him with the suggestion that, as she had walked in Broxton, he might in turn enjoy a visit to Asgard--and waited to see what he would make of the idea."

(no subject)

(I don't mind one bit!)

(Oh, never mind, they're not coming.)