No Iacon???

That... was not at all what he was expecting- though what he was expecting was beyond anyone's guess at that point. He'd second guessed himself the moment he reached to restrain the mech, but by then it was too late. The saw blades that whirred to life and seemlessly cut through plating caused him to immediately release his grip and stammer back. The hauty showboater who had seemed so unassuming was actually quiet terrifying, and far more sinister than he appeared.

"NNNNNGGGG!"

Reeling in shock and riding a wave of adrenaline, he managed to dislodge the saws from his struts. Warm, thick, sticky fuel that lay beneath eeked from his body.

"Mother fragger" he growled as he squared up to deal at least one solid blow to Trepan's face. It was the most he could do, considering his frame simply wanted to fold from the trauma. He wouldn't allow himself to collapse until fist met plating.

Well! That worked so much better than the first time he'd been grabbed by a phase sixer. This actually got him free!

With Terminus reeling backwards, Trepan was throwing himself forwards to get as much distance away from himself and his attacker as possible, and not caring for how much damage he created in the process. Saw blades spinning the opposite way to ensure any cabling was thoroughly severed and to pull themselves out of the vintage metal of older model struts, and Trepan is twisting to regard his opponent.

He keeps the saws out, as they make great deterrents for being grabbed while your energon drips down his elbows, but he is far from calm and collected. His vents are sharp and rapid, fighting a physical and mental battle on two fronts, as he rapidly clocks Terminus for future threats.

"Really? You are going to cuss me out after we could have just walked to where they are keeping D-16 and you picked violence?"

Miners wouldn't have built in weaponry in the sense of guns, or they would riot daily. No, at best, he'd have pile drivers and drills for transformation seams, neither of which Trepan wanted to get close to.

No, he's going to back up from that raised fist, test the damage he'd done to hips and legs. He's likely running on adrenaline, the true state of his damage not realised by his HUD. If Terminus lunges at him like this, with Trepan's smaller stature and functioning leggies, momentum is going to bring the miner down harder than wasting energy physically. If he can get behind him, get a saw in his inner knee, he can sever cabling completely. Ensure Terminus does not get back up again. A threat that can't follow you, is no threat at all.

Spite & Dine

It had taken him a bit to find a good dining place, one that had a rooftop view, but had an indoor option. he didn't exactly need his frame to start whistling because the wind blew too hard. When he found a good place, a fancy restaurant with a 360 view of the city below them, he made the reservation and sent it to the medic. 

Normally he tried to avoid all medics, no matter what specified field they went into, but he could make an exception for Trepan. 

After a solid wash with solvent, wax, and polish (and a small box of magnesium and mercury sweets) he was ready. Ghost had decided to wear some of the makeup Overlord had... gifted him, using it to highlight some parts of his frame. If he was going somewhere fancy with a pretty mech he needed to at least look the part. 

And, in case the place didn't serve anything vintage, he had found some old Vosian high-grade (though he hadn't been able to find one that had mercury). So, with his frame now all shiny and done up, perfect for a fancy night out. He hoped he remembered enough of the manners he needed to not stick out like a sore thumb any more than he already would.

Ghostspire stepped into the main lobby of the restaurant, slowly scanning around for his companion for the night.  

@mnemoiisms

For such a special occasion, Trepan really had gone all out in making himself the envy of patrons and others; All his paint sanded back and bearing three new coats. Buffed, polished, and sporting a layer of clear resin to keep his colours vibrant. He was some gilded finery away from strutting through old high Vossian towers like he owned them.

And, topped off with a subtle little swipe of scented alloy oil on the inside curve of some of his plates for something different.

Nothing like using company funds for private transport to a dinner date. He was not ruining his finish on the public trams!

Servo's clasped at his back as he slowly ascends the steps into the establishment, keen optics slowly roaming surrounds and furnishings to inspect Ghostspire's chosen location, having not looked up anything about the establishment aside it existed as he wanted this to be somewhat fun in terms of a surprise. Treat it as a very odd blind date. Especially, given he really hadn't looked much up about Ghostspire to begin with. Gold visor, that was really all he remembered from the quick pull of information.

Perhaps he was simply the first to arrive.

@mnemoiisms liked to ponder the orb!

@mnemoiisms replied to your post “Why frag Tarn, Terminus, Ghostspire or Trepan when...”:

​

He's never been so disrespected in his life. Cue him clutching his pearls. Someone doesn't want to frag him?

WOW.

He’s simply never looked at Vos as a romantic partner before. Clutch your pearls all you like

So you say, but Trepan knows you far too well.

Perfect for grazing through the mask, but one rust stick mysteriously becomes three or four. Your self restraint isn’t all that resilient against your sweet and crispy adversary.

That might also be why Trepan has brought a rather big batch with him, to sneak a couple between Tarn’s absent plucks.

The companionship through silence is nice, nestled snugly against toast vent grills. He likes these moments.

{ @mnemoiisms }

Always assumed you were a doctor with your therapy, happy to be corrected.

I think Mango Weis bar is the perfect description for you in terms of food likeness.

"You think I'm pretty?"

"Well you're certainly easy on the optics, but your haughtiness precedes you. Pity really."

Terminus mused aloud until he was jarred by the announcement that his protégé had been found. Not. Good. He cared not about lavish goodies or culinary indulgences, not when it pertained to the concealment of his charge.

Mother fragger

Obviously their mission had been successful even with the absence of their supposed ring master. Panic filled his optics as he scrambled to craft an alterior plan. They wouldn't just proceed without Trepan, would they? His proverbial plan had backfired upon him, and badly. Certainly trouble beseeched him regardless of what his next move was, so there was only one option on the table. Brute force. Terminus gave a cursory scan of the mech's frame, looking for visible signs of weaponry. He didn't see any. As such, he quite possibly made the stupidest decision by hastily grabbing the mech and wrapping a burly arm across his frame.

"I guess now they're going to have to come looking for you."

Despite his somewhat distant gaze as Trepan skims the new messages of his HUD feed, responding back that there would be no need for surveillance once the miner was restrained aside security outside the door, Trepan was not as unassuming as Terminus's quick scan would entail. Switch blades do not look dangerous until the pointy end is revealed.

His vision goes blue for a moment as he is grappled, locking up in reflex at the sudden breach of proximity.

Cruel blue servos snare him, dent him, squeeze into delicate civilian alloy, where no amount of screaming or pleading stops the pain. Only time brought reprieve, learning to be still and silent, to deny a reaction, deflected Overlord's attention.

But, these were not ununtrium plates of armour holding him close. They were grey, grimy, and occasionally bearing a worn strip of reflective high vis tape, but Cybertronian. They belonged to the miner, Terminus. The mech, who was very much not invincible by his previous captors standards. A mech, who was not militant, but leaned on size for a threat rather than talent or tactic. A mech who could be hurt.

"That is a shame. I was hoping my visit today could be carried out peacefully from start to finish"

A faint click clack of the transformation seams is the only microsecond of warning Terminus gets before a surgical saw is jammed hard into each junction of where thigh met hip and revved.

Fuel lines split. Delicate cabling tangled around the teeth of his saw and severed as they are pulled taut against the miniature blades. Something screams as pelvic and femoral struts are gouged as Trepan pushes down on his blades, be it Terminus's own vox or just metal grinding metal, he has no intention of going missing today.

Frag around and Find out: surgeon edition.

"Clowns are humorous, I'm sure your face elicits lots of laughs."

"Says the worlds worst Care Bear impersonator with your dumb aft helm shape"

“Well, you sure know how to ruin the mood. It’s a good thing your audience for these lines is just sitting in dark caves. You’d start a brawl in actual society”

"That's where you're wrong Trepan. Plebians don't understand our type of humor."

"Only because it is a stretch to call it humour"

“Well, you sure know how to ruin the mood. It’s a good thing your audience for these lines is just sitting in dark caves. You’d start a brawl in actual society”

Terminus halted in his tracks, his thin lips pursing into a grin. "Oh pretty boy... that's where you're wrong. You see, their etymology is different.

The word stupid comes from the Latin word stupere - “to be amazed or stunned, to be astounded”.

The word idiot comes from the Greek idios - “layman, ignorant person”.

Ergo, a stupid person is a person whose thought process is hindered in response to some internal or external event, for example by the “wow effect”. This state is usually recoverable.

On the other hand, an idiot is somebody who’s thought process is blocked by his Ego/Superiority. The flow of thought is not only blocked, but incapable of change. Due to his behavior, he is ignored by other people, and is unable of changing himself due to his own ignorance. It is very difficult to recover from this state for given individual.

Be that as it may, it was an attempt at levity on my part. Apparently you missed that."

And if you think I'm incapable of proofreading... you should see the rough drafts.

Terminus sighed, teetering on the edge of being convinced. He just... was there yet.

"If I take you to him... I refuse to leave his side."

There was so much ammunition in Terminus's snark.

The fact that clearly he still had a few more bytes of sass that could be knocked out of his head with falling or dislodged rubble.

The fact that he knew, both, the origin history of idiot and stupid.

A perfect world? This mech would be at a lectern in well lit classroom, a bunch of linguistic inspired scholars packing available seating, rapt by their attention and educating.

"You think I am pretty~?" Trepan croons, lips pulling back into a smug little smile at having not been insulted quite yet.

Caught you out now, bucko!

"I never said you would be. You are the one who has been a-" Oh. HUD ping.

Trepan's just going to skim that update.

"-disregard. Your field trip only means we missed the window of a nice chat over literal energon, catering pastries, and other boo hoo rich mech goodies. He's been found"