#reedmans

[codenamejudas]

@reedmans

He shall endeavour to find his way into your bathroom venting system to rattle ominously.

  It’s a bathroom that he’s borrowing in a way, but very familiar with. Familiar enough that he knows that rattling is not normal. He doesn’t exactly jump, instead freezing before shuffling quickly down the stairs, “Ihop, your bathroom’s got ghosts!”

[silent-stalker]

@reedmans // from here

On the floor of his quarters, nested among thick blankets and tracking his last deployer through their bond, Soundwave almost finds the fast reply endearing. Even if this one isn’t one of his own, at least someone cares enough to keep him company. His spark aches for a moment, thoughts of those that can’t or won’t stay with him, before he quickly dismisses them.

:: Reedman: will not have to worry about transportation. Soundwave: only needs your coordinates; can bring you here with a groundbridge. ::

[rxng]

It seems like his bootleg console works! Time to see if his attempts to contact others will prove productive. [Greeting. Query: Designation]

    His communication mod, set aside as he worked on a model, pings.

A bit unusual, that. He has tones assigned to everyone, to ready himself for an emergency, but the chime uttered is the default one. An unknown number, then. How strange. He hopes everything is alright.

    :: Ah, hello? This is Rung of the Pious Pools, Psychologist of the Lost Light. Is something amiss? ::

[codenamejudas]

@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.

[silent-stalker]

@reedmans // from here

Reedman? It’s - not a name Soundwave can remember, nor does it exist within his database upon a quick glance. An oddity of the multiverse, no doubt. Worse, it sounds like this mech was more or less alone, or in a bad situation; he was sure, that if he was a Decepticon and his master was dead, then the Autbots must have won the war. That didn’t bode well for the survivors.

Thin digits twitched as he leaned over his work console, ignoring the startled glance his sudden movement received. He needed to know more before anything could be done.

:: Designation: Soundwave; third in command of the Decepticon army. War: still ongoing. Megatron: alive and still leader. Query: what is the reason for your contact; supplies; rescue? ::

Not that they had much to spare in resources....

[starscreamapillar]

There is a ping to the Seeker, a set of location coordinates, sent three times to impart insistence. He cannot speak to one not his Master, but he can try to make it clear, Target Located.

THERE.

He wants to dive into the hole, and start tearing the rubble asunder, no regard for any other mech or corpse in his way, to retrieve Barricade. But he knows, he knows that he does not have the necessary training to do so without causing another collapse with his weight, and something something, maybe getting other survivors killed is poor form. He will also almost certainly end up arrested if he does this.

With an irate hiss he turns to find the lead of the rescue efforts and demand they go to these coordinates NOW, he's got confirmation that there's at least one mech still alive there.

[ask-smokescreen]

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?

[codenamejudas]

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."