reedmans

[reedmans]

It is gone. 

He has been a good drone, using the secret paths he found between realities where the universe has been cracking like overstressed metal, slipping between Here and There, retrieving all the Transformium he could salvage and carry. Useful. 

Useful no longer. The paths are broken. Home is gone. His nest is gone. 

No choice now, but to forge ahead in this New Where, and try to make a place for himself. 

[reedmans]

The Jack is here now. He knows this one. The Jack has hands enough to help where his own sharp-edged appendages have limited application. All he has been able to do is be present, and hum a counterpoint to Barricade’s awful crooning. 

[reedmans]

A tiny bit of consciousness lets him know that the drone is there. A drone he knows.

"g̷g̴g̷g̷g̸o̶o̸o̸d̴.̸.̸.̸b̶o̷y̷.̶.̷.̵ ̷r̷e̶e̷d̷m̴a̶n̷.̶.̴.̵..."

He is a good boy! Not-Master Soundwave should be very pleased.

He taps a forelimb gently on the debris, taptaptapping out a message in lieu of the words he cannot speak. 'Location sent rescue coming.'

[reedmans]

It's the Saleen, allright. Still in the destroyed cockpit of the freight crane, unable to move more than a little. There are clawmarks in the rubble that serve as testimony to the fear-ridden attempts to get out.

He is badly wounded, low on energon, but damned if he isn't still clinging to life with a cockroach's worth of determination.

The crane structure may have saved the Barricade's life, kept him from being squished like so many other Reedman passed on his way down. But now he sets to calling all his units in, reforming his Whole self to delicately tap at the structure of the crane, alerting the Saleen that he is here, as well as testing for structural integrity.

Mumbling as he does so, commentary only he can understand about this mess.

[reedmans]

He is a long way down, and buried under tons of rubble, but come find him Reedman. The former Elite can't make another signal effort like that again. But he is here. Waiting. Hoping. Clinging to life.

With a lead to work off of, he can search much faster, though he must be careful of the layers and layers of destruction down here. He has lost a few microcon units to things shifting and falling, squished like the delicate pieces they are. But he is determined, and it is not too, too much longer when he finds the mech.

At first there's one microcon gently feeling its way along the ruined metal, looking for life signs, mindful to not get itself smushed by pained or panicked flailing. But quickly more arrive, little red specks of light in the darkness.

[reedmans]

He heard that. Signal, not intended for him, but he was not Master’s drone for nothing. He does not know the contents of the message, but the source, that has a familiar flavor. He turns the whole of himself to converge on the Source.

[reedmans]

He is looking. He is Many, every microcon unit equipped with optical sensors, and chemoreceptors, and many little legs for navigating debris in any location. But the site is vast... But he is determined! He will not fail this time. He can be useful here.

A single unit catches a signature of interest, and a portion turn their attention to more thoroughly investigating this area of debris. He knows that time is critical. He will not be rewarded if he finds a dead Barricade, rather than a live one. Soundwave does not want this dead metal, unlike his other salvage missions.

There are marbles, tinkling down into the depths of the sink hole, scattered widely to cover the most ground possible. Each one a part of the whole, a whole which knows this mech he has been sent to find. He remembers this one. The shape/scent/sound is different than that of the other bodies scattered here and there. He is looking for you, Barricade.

He is unaware. But if he were, Barricade would dare to hope. No one, no one, was better at infiltration than Reedman. But the sinkhole is titanic, and even for so many singles of one whole, there is alot of ground to cover.

But if anyone can find him, it's Reedman. Keep looking.

[reedmans]

He has been contacted. He has done this sort of mission before, find and signal, rather than find and retrieve. New Soundwave (Not Master, but maybe of he is good enough?) has asked him to do this. Nor for the Decepticons, but for him. 

He will do the best job ever!

[reedmans]

He is observing the attempt to tape the pinecone to the wall, head tilting from side to side as he puzzles over this technique. It does not look to be very successful, but laughter means joy, so the pinecone is doing as it is intended. 

But he was supposed to make the gift? That crucial detail is missing from his research into the gift ritual surrounding creation days! The little drone makes a sad noise, crest falling. 

He offers the shiniest glitter covered pinecone for the Smokescreen's special day.

Oh, this? This is art, Reeds! I know just what I'm doing with this!

/He is, in fact, trying to tape it to the wall. It isn't working, but he does try, laughing in the process./

But seriously, I love this, this glitter porcupine thing, how did you make it?

[reedmans]

He chirrubbles, and bobs slightly on his slender legs. He did not know it would not be compatible with his systems, it was his first time encountering the stuff. Now he knows, and he can avoid it in the future.

He makes a burbly sound, crest held low. He doesn’t have a discrete fuel tank, but if he did, he imagines it would be roiling. 

[reedmans]

"reed are you okay" the decepticon femme medic asked kneeling down "its me trauma lil buddy"

The little gestalt looks up at Trauma, wiggling his smaller forelimbs half-heartedly. He ate something he should not have.

[reedmans]

He makes a burbly sound, crest held low. He doesn’t have a discrete fuel tank, but if he did, he imagines it would be roiling. 

[reedmans]

He does not feel so good today. The pink energon was a mistake, it is not processing easily. Urgh.

[reedmans]

Excellent! He burbles some happy nonsense, setting the lighter down so he can collect those googly eyes with both sets of forelimbs. These are getting stuck all over himself right now. 

@reedmans

He would like to trade for those googly eyes. He is willing to offer this shiny lighter with no fluid left in it, or the other shoelace to match the one Judas already has.

  “Oh hell yea, I’ll take the lighter,” he says, sliding the googly eyes over.

[reedmans]

He would like to trade for those googly eyes. He is willing to offer this shiny lighter with no fluid left in it, or the other shoelace to match the one Judas already has.

Empty your pockets!

"Let's see, we got some pennies. Couple of leftover googly eyes from decorating album covers. Mood ring that's been green-blue forever. And, uh, a shoelace. Just one."

[reedmans]

He’s found a working analog clock.

The way humans divide their time is nonsensical of course, but he likes the repetitive tick-tick-tick the device makes as the little bars circle about the clock’s numbers. It reminds him of being nestled safely on Master, listening to the click of his internal systems. 

It is a fine addition to his Important Stuff collection, and looks quite nice under the five dollar bill.

[reedmans]

That... was not what he expected. Reedman is not sure what he expected, but it was not that. 

He is probably responsible for anyone zombie Jack eats. Oops.

He will offer Jack a dollar store grade zombie mask. Grr, argh?

Hand my muse a costume or mask, and they will be transformed into that thing for an entire thread.

As far as threats to tiny, metal aliens go? A squishy, mostly dead human is really low on that scale.

However, because this human is mostly dead (undead, really) and hungry for brains, any decision-making processes have been stopped completely. And that's why you have a zombie attempting to bash open your plating with its rotting teeth and a rock, alternating. It's not working. But as soon as this zombie figures out that there isn't any organic brains in there, it should get tired and shuffle off to go infect some other helpless organic being.