@motherplane
He takes one look at Sunset's End and turns around immediately.
No. He just escaped from the dry, dusty nightmare that was Jasper, Nevada. He's not looking to go back, thank you. But the streets of... whatever they call it, Old Yesteryear, are a gridlock of organics, not-quite-human beings milling around sightseeing, and he's got even less patience for that.
It's a bit of a drive to the outskirts of the city, near one of the locomotive stations by the bridge that leads out into who-knows-where. But it's quieter, emptier, enough for Ratchet to sit and take stock.
They didn't take his T-cog away, he deduces quickly. Small miracle, that.
He's sitting in a parking lot - not brooding, he wouldn't call it that, but certainly taking stock in a particularly displeased sort of way - when his sensors clock the presence of a human poking around. Irritating, but it wouldn't be quite so irritating if she was just snooping about the parking lot. But no, the organic doing a full circle of his alt-mode not once, but twice before leaning down to thoroughly inspect his grill.
For Primus' sake. Not a moments peace around here. In no mood to confront the human, he instead honks loudly and fires off the sirens for all of half a second. Go on. Get.













