designedtoparty | 012 ∞ VIDEO // ACTION

[Nathan is standing with his arms outstretched, his right arm with five ravens perched on it, and four crows on his left. His left shoulder is occupied by a blue and gold macaw. Despite being covered in a fair amount of bird poo (his navy hoodie may not have been his best choice today), he looks pretty pleased.]

Hey, Captain Birdseye. Say cunt.

[The macaw, Captain Birdseye, just whistles at him, much to Nathan's disappointment.]

No, cunt. C'mon, man. Say it with me. Cunt!

[This time he gets a screech and a click. Which still doesn't impress him. He frowns, starting to get a bit irritated.]

Cunt.

[Click. Nathan glares at him, sulkily.] Fine. Don't say it. [Side eye, then he mutters under his breath.] Twat.

[Screeeeeeeeeeeech.] Wanker. [Click, click, click. And then he's cleaning his feathers.]

What the fuck?! Where'd you get wanker from? I gave up on teaching you that one ages ago.

[Birdseye ignores him in favour of cleaning. Nathan pouts, arms drooping a little.] How long is this going to last for? My arms hurt.

[If you want action, Nathan is around the city, charging at random people with his bird flock.]

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[Lockdown, in car mode, can't help but stop and look at the human try and get his birds to do tricks. It amuses him.]

[Which is all well and good until Nathan gets bored of training and decides that flashy looking car is a good place to try and wipe off some of the shit on his sleeves.]

Get any of that slag on my paint job, meatbag, and you'll get a first hand experience at bein' road kill.

[Which, luckily, shocks Nathan enough that he jumps and stumbles a good foot backwards, making sure he keeps his distance.]

Wait, did you just talk? What the fuck?!

Edited 2011-04-29 20:35 (UTC)

[Chuckle.] That never gets old. You bet your spearkplugs I can talk.

Oh. Cool.

I guess I'll just wipe my sleeves somewhere else, then.

You do that, wanker. [He might not know what that word means, but it's obviously a curse word, so good enough for him.]

[Nathan settles for the ground, but he glowers at being called wanker again.]

You know, I think I preferred meatbag.

Ain't we touchy? [Takes a moment to swat away a pigeon that almost lands on his hood using a robotic arm that extends out his window.]

Yeah, well. I wasn't exactly planning on being called a wanker by two new species when I woke up this morning. That, and it's kind of difficult to have a smoke when you've got a shitload of birds attached to your arms.

You'll forgive me if I'm not exactly feeling sunshine and rainbows.

[All he heard was "blah, blah, meatbag problems".]

I was bein' sardonic.

Is that like being sarcastic?

Yep.

Oh. I didn't realise cars were capable.

I ain't just a car, y'know. Also an alien.

You don't look very alien.

You really think so, huh? [Shifts to robot mode and sits on his knees.] How 'bout now?

Well, now you look like that old TV ad with the dancing car.

[Glowers] Don't push it, meatbag.

Oh, come on. I liked that advert.

I'd do the dance for you if I didn't have my arms full of feathers. And if I could actually remember it.

I don't dance anyway.

Well, except for that one time I met this cute little jet and we went to that dance club before making some beautiful music of our own at her place.

A jet? Oh, nice.

Way to join the Mile High Club.

[Mile high club? Ah, just roll with it.]

What can I say? Jets are fun. Not that I'm picky 'bout vehicle modes.

I didn't think cars could even do the dirty.

How's that work? You just, like, ram one exhaust pipe inside another?

They can if they're Cybertronian, like me.

[Gets a weirded out look on his face.] What? No, no. What kinda masochists would even try that?

(no subject)

designedtoparty - 2011-04-30 21:17 (UTC) - Expand