“Oh, dear.”
Tap tap. Tap. Rung tests the crystalline structure encasing the door handle (and much of the door itself) with a few light touches, setting his hands on his hips in thoughtful defeat when the surface doesn’t react. There are certainly some other things he could try, including putting a modicum of force into his gentle taps, but he has a feeling that that won’t do much good, either. From what he’s heard from others around the city, even the full strength of a small Cybertronian will not be enough to cause a crack in the “ice” currently locking him out of his shop.
He casts a look around for inspiration-- the plants inside still need care, after all, crystal-weather or no-- and is surprised to see a familiar shape nearby.
“Besty?” Their last interaction involved a forceful and charming request that Rung donate to Besty’s “blood collection,” and the mech politely keeps himself from laughing at the thought.
“It’s nice to see you again,” he says instead, and means it. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about getting around these barriers, have you? I seem to have gotten myself locked out. ...but-- oh! I hope your theater’s made it through alright?”
@forsakenpumpkin !
