kismet_loop_logs | (no subject)

Who: Dirge and whoever is brave enough to get near him while he's eating.
When: After Dirge talked to Sam about tomatoes and murder.
Where: A restaurant.
What: Dirge is hungry and super unnerved. Sounds like a great time to bug him!
Warnings: Dirge. Always warn for Dirge.

Dirge's meeting with the Sam human had left him feeling a bad combination of irritated, worried, and very very hungry. Fortunately, he could at least fix that last one by heading to a restaurant and goring himself on free food. The jet's digestive system was a little different than most other cybertronian's. On account of an experiment headed by a rogue Shockwave in far away Axiom Nexus, Dirge was gifted with a tank that could process nearly anything. Organic matter, metals, energon-- if he could fit down his throat he could digest it. Eventually. Not to say that his systems always appreciated it. Especially the tougher materials...

The clone was particularly delighted to find that the restaurant served organic food as well as energon. To the confusion of the cybertronian staff, he proceeded to order from both menus, indicating at least five different dishes to start with. If anyone were to venture in later they'd find him hard at work consuming whatever was on a vast number of plates in front of him, with empty ones stacked up on the side and occasionally muttering something about 'witches' or 'ghosts'.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Dirge swallows hard- wow, that corrugated steel does /not/ go down smooth sometimes- and looks up to see who's making comments on his meal. Oh, it was the mech with the headlights- he'd seen him often enough on the network.

"It is, isn't it? I suppose you're here to tell me to stop whatever I'm doing?" the jet snorts.

He shrugs at that and shakes his head - he can't say he blames the young jet for that. It does seem to have been the majority of their interactions so far, warranted as they've been.

"Nah. You're not hurtin' anyone, an' you're not tryin' ta claim what isn't yours. Food here's for anyone who needs it. You only take the share ya need right now an' not all of it, then you're fine. Me, I'm just here for a drink." He looks again at the various items on the table, admittedly impressed. "You can really process all this?"

"Doesn't claiming something make it mine?" Dirge asks, munching on something organic that is long and rubbery like pale wires. What he needs and what he wants is also not something very distinctive in Dirge's head. Its more likely he'll stop ordering food when he physically can't hold anymore.

"Oh, yes. My digestive system is very unique. In fact, I think it is the only one of its kind."

Wheeljack studies the jet for a moment. Greedy or arrogant as his tone might have been, there was also something . . . innocent about it, as with everything so far from the young Seeker. More and more the old engineer's sure that the jet's not willfully difficult so much as . . . underdeveloped? There might be a glitch in his core processing.

"That I wouldn't doubt," he murmured in a wry tone at the last comment, then looked around the table. "Ya know, on second thought, I guess I am feelin' kinda hollow. Since this is already here . . . I'll claim this. Oooh, an' those too, those look good." He'll reach for some random items on the table, fully expecting to be stopped.

Does he actually want any of it? Okay, the energon goodies do look good, but he can order his own. Right now, he's hoping to make a point and hopefully teach the young jet something.

Dirge's wings rise in alarm as the other bot reaches for his food, a loud chugging growl grinding from his engine. He slams a claw down on whatever plate Wheeljack was about to pilfer, his expression ferociously possessive.

"No! This is my food. I ordered it! You can't eat it!" the jet snarls.

Wheeljack stops, meeting the jet's optics with feigned surprise and earnest. "Why not? Doesn't claimin' somethin' make it mine?"

Yes, he's deliberately using Dirge's own comment, word for word.

Dirge looks stunned, optics shuttering slowly. He withdraws his hand, brow furrowing as he tries to puzzle this one out.

"I...guess it doesn't," he concedes eventually. "Perhaps it is the strength to keep something that renders it in one's possession then."

Wheeljack shifts back, satisfied. "People try that sometimes, but that's not really it either. If I wanted those chips, an' I'm stronger than you, I could take 'em away . . . but is that fair? They're really yours, not mine, even though I successfully took 'em away, right?"

"Fair? What does fair have to do with it?" Dirge is staring at Wheeljack now as if he were something utterly alien to him. The depth of his confusion is evident in the fact that he's stopped eating to address this.