2017-07-26 Brief Room-Meet

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2017-07-26 Brief Room-Meet
Date 2017/07/26
Location Moonlight and Beehemoth's Habsuite
Participants Beehemoth, Moonlight
Summary A pair of roomies meet for the first time and get off on the wrong foot. And then one of them falls asleep before things can be fixed.

While the habsuites are all shared, one can be reassured that each contains a workstation, a nice big monitor screen, space for bots in their alt modes, and recharge slabs for both individuals. They might have to fight over who gets the slab by the window, however.

Another day on the brilliant ship, the home to Decepticons, Autobots and everything between. How long had they even been stuck here? The days flowed together one after another, and after a while it had all just seemed like one flowing wall of boredom with interspersed hellish activity.

It's late in the day cycle when Beehemoth comes back to the habsuite for the first time since Moonlight had been powered back on. A rare sight to even see him return. The doors swing open seemingly on their own the miniscule bot rolling his way into the suite in vehicle form still.

Driving up to the charging station he flips back out into bot mode still only 5 feet tall. A quick landing sends him right on the charging dock as he lets out a heafty sigh, his voice the sort that should belong to a bot 50 times his size. "Nother day of nothing." As he shoves his hands back behind his head.

At first it looks like the doors are starting to malfunction, as Moonlight sees no one triggering them to open. Then, looking way down, she finally sees him. Wow, this one is small. Like 'organics' small. Up till then, she'd been looking out the window, though not really seeing what was there. "So, I'm guessing you're my roomie, eh?" she asks, even though the answer is nearly self-evident. I mean, who goes into a room that isn't theirs and just helps themself to a charging bed anyhow?

"By the source we've got a regular prime on our hands here!" The bot calls out in a big boisterous voice that rumbles the very corridor the kind of deep shout one would again expect from a much larger drill instructor bot. "As it so happens sweetcakes you're right on the money, I'll be your roomie for the duration of this little vaycation getaway."

He pauses for a moment looking back over towards the other bot looking them up and down for a moment. "Or at least until one of us gets blown straight to the scrapyard!" He shakes his head from one side to the other. "I swear to the one, this crew is the least spaceworthy bunch I've seen this side of the war."

How does such a big voice come from such a tiny mech? Moonlight is frankly amazed and just stares at him a moment longer than would be polite. "Well, that's a rather cheerful assessment," she says with a bit of a grin. "Pretty sure it won't be be, though you can never tell. I'm not primarily what you'd call a fighter." She shrugs her shoulders easily, back-blades chiming together faintly. "Name's Moonlight, though I'm sure you sussed that out from the directory," she says, jerking a finger in that direction. "Just seems more civil to say it anyhow."

"My, my a comedian too?" Beehemoth starts tilting his head slightly to one side from his recharging bed. "Well bless my spark, you're just a pallet-jack of all trades aren't you?" Spoken with confidence and boom as he lifts himself slightly up to give that single finger a bit of a shake. "Beehemoth's the name, and I've spent more time training pukes like you how to kill then half of Cybertron's been alive."

"Actually, I would like to think I am," says the femme, while shaking 'hands'. Does Moonlight mean a comedian, or a Jack of All Trades? Who knows? Listening to his introduction, she doesn't seem terribly offended by being called a 'puke'. "I'm going to take a stab in the dark and guess you're a native Cybertronian?" she asks. "I'm a colonial girl myself," she adds, pointing to herself with her thumb. "Never been in the war; I've spent most of the time trading among the stars." So different, yet here they are, sharing a room. That's space-ship life for you.

"I could tell you were no vet just from the moment I walked in that door." Beehemoth states plainly. "Got colony written all over you." He shakes his head from one side to the other before laying back down on the recharging bed. "Swear, if it wasn't for bots like me the whole crew would have gone native."

"Native to what?" Moonlight asks. "I mean, a ship is almost always on the move, so what would they attach themselves to?" Finally she plunks herself on her own bed... (which one is by the window?) "And I refused to feel any shame for not being part of a war," she adds lightly, not to sound confrontational, but just to state her own view. "Plus, I'd much rather people see me for what I am, than think I'm something I'm not."

Laying fully back on his charging bed, taking up much less of the space then one would expect for the standard ships design on the things Beehemoth looks over towards the trader. "Now you listen, and you listen good, because I'm only going to say this once sunshine."

From his window seat he looks up towards the ceiling focusing not on the ceiling itself but something thousands of miles beyond the roof of this simple spacecraft. "I sent millions of my boys into that war to fight and die, went in myself, and I will not have some cake-eater talking down on the Autobots, and Deceptions who gave everything to fight for what they believed in."

The femme rolls onto her side, her expression growing thoughtful, her smile fading. "How much worse would it be if someone thought I was comparable to being one of them? One of the fighters? No, that wouldn't be respectful. I'm just saying that I wouldn't try to pass myself off as something I wasn't." To her, it's as simple as that. "I don't think any of us chose where, or when, we were made. We just have to deal with whatever comes our way."

Rolling back over to his side, Beehemoth shuts down his eyes. A calm whirrling down of his motors as he lays for a rest. Either he's a really good faker, or he's just gone to sleep in the middle of the conversation. Neither option is particularly polite of the organic sized robot.

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