128/Art Endeavors

**Hot Rod has posed:**
It is an ordinary day in the life the rebellious cadet, and like usual, Hot Rod is up to no good. At least, most Autobots would see it that way.

 Standing just outside the Decagon next to a broad wall spanning the courtyard not too far from Wheeljack's lair of pyrogenic tendencies, the former Nyonian renegade is holding a canister of cy-gars in one hand. There's one in his mouth (the one he's currently smoking), and one in his opposing hand not holding the canister. And what might the devious thumb and forefinger of that infamous flameo be up to?

 Well, graffiti, of the black, ash-y burned into the wall sort. He's using the cy-gar to illustrate a detailed panorama of the events that occurred at Nyon not so long ago. He ignores the disdainful stares of any passerbys, focusing wholly on branding his artwork onto the wall of the Decagon.

**Wheeljack has posed:**
So focused on his 'art' Hot Rod might not notice when someone actually stops to look at what he's doing.

"So, is this to scale, or just an abstract definition of the view?" Wheeljack rubs what would be his chin with thumb and forefinger, elbow resting in the palm of the other hand as he does so. "Can't say smoked ash is your typical medium for art, either."

**Hot Rod has posed:**
Hot Rod jumps a little, startled by Wheeljack's presence. "Ah--!" he drops the cy-gar. "Slag...could have warned me or something," he mutters and leans over to pick it up.

 He rubs his helm. "Uh... well, I don't really know. All I know is that I don't do likenesses. Of anything." He continues drawing. "Yeah? Well, I like it. Only thing is they run out pretty quick." He lights another cy-gar and begins to smoke it.

**Wheeljack has posed:**
"Reminds me of the time Grapple nagged me about not being 'artistic' enough. So I tried sculpting." After a beat pause Wheeljack uuuhs, and rubs the back of his head with a hand. "Granted, there wasn't anything left to sculpt after the charges went off. Or much of the studio. Seriously, if he wanted me to try it with welding he should of said so in the first place!"

**Hot Rod has posed:**
Hot Rod stops what he's doing and grins, optics lighting up. "Cool!" he says enthusiastically. "I mean, how big was the explosion anyway? Did anything else get wrecked?"

 He tosses the cy-gar he been using aside, as it has run and out and picks the other one from his mouth up. "Y'know, sometimes I wish I had something better. Like, that didn't run out all the time. Something I could use over and over again." He glances over at Wheeljack. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could get something like that, do you?" he asks the inventor, his optics full of innocence.

**Wheeljack has posed:**
Wheeljack starts to tick off his digits, but after a thought just waves that notion off. "It would be easier to ask what -didn't- get wrecked. Trust me." Then resumes folding his arms afterwards. "Well there's always paint... granted, getting paint around is pretty obvious."

**Hot Rod has posed:**
Rod laughs. He seems amused and pleased by Wheeljack's company. "No," he snickers, "paint is boring, I know where to get that, you bag of bolts." He chuckles. "I'm talking about something like a cy-gar, except it doesn't run out. I mean, you seem like the kind of person who might know where to get something like that."

**Wheeljack has posed:**
Wheeljack stoops down to pick up one the remains of spent cy-gar. "You're not going to get something that doesn't 'run out'. Because everything is going to require some sort of source material. Or fuel. If we had bottomless means of providing fuel we wouldn't be at war. Maybe." Turns the stub over in his fingers as he stands back up. "What you would need is just something that doesn't run out as quickly."

**Hot Rod has posed:**
He nods eagerly. "Yeah, yeah, that's it!" He pauses drawing for a moment, rubbing his helm bashfully. "Hey, uh, you're pretty knowledgable, I guess. What's your name and what do you do around here anyway?" Hot Rod asks, glancing around briefly.

**Wheeljack has posed:**
Wheeljack pauses in regarding the cy-gar stuff, optics flickering a few times. A bit of a surprise at someone not knowing him. Considering he's got quite the, shall we say, reputation. Right. "Oh, you must be new around here." Flicks the spent stub off his fingers. "Name's Wheeljack. I'm an engineer, and inventory. I'm a professional problem solver... Usually by strapping bombs or guns to it. And if that donesn't work, strapping more guns to the guns. Can't go wrong with more gun."

**Hot Rod has posed:**
Hot Rod's optics suddenly widen and he motions for Jack to follow him behind the Decagon, out of sight and sound. Why he doesn't just tight beam him well, no one ever really know.

 "So you're like a weapons specialist, right?" he leans closer. "You know anything about.. Autobots digging up Omega Destructor slag out of the ruins in Nyon? I mean, they were messing the hell around. I saw them. And when I went back there later, the weapon from the Destructor's arm was missing."

**Wheeljack has posed:**
"That is one part of my job, yeah. Like this baby I built myself." Wheeljack raps the side of the launcher on his shoulder. Fortunately it doesn't actually fire off. He's not -that- careless. Usually. But then he... would raise eyebrows if he actually had them. "A Destructor? No one told me about any Destructors. I wonder why." Probably because they didn't want you blowing up the rest of it, Wheeljack.

**Hot Rod has posed:**
Hot Rod leans closer. "Yeah, they were fishing around. That slag is messed up. No one should be reusing that frag. That stuff is what got Nyon in trouble in the first place." He looks around. "Do you think.. they'd tell you if you asked? I mean, you must be the demolitions expert around here. I'm sure they'd let you in on all the dirt if you asked."

**Wheeljack has posed:**
Wheeljack shrugs his shoulders, which also makes those pointless seeming 'wings' on his back twitch a bit with the gesture as well. "You'd think if they wanted my professional opinion they would of asked. Maybe they were just stripping it down so no one else -could- use it." Pause. Then hmms softly as he rubs his chin. "Then again, why be so quiet about it..."

**Hot Rod has posed:**
"Exactly!!" Rod says vigorously and not-so-quietly. "See what I'm saying? It doesn't make sense." A paused. "Where do you think they'd keep stuff like that?" he asks Wheeljack.

**Wheeljack has posed:**
Wheeljack ehs? "Not anywhere that you can get into without some pretty high level clearance, I imagine."

**Hot Rod has posed:**
Hot Rod looks bummed. He pauses, then glances over at Wheeljack. "We should find out. Or, you should. I mean, I bet they'd let you, since you're sciency and stuff. Don't you want to know?" he whispers urgently to the inventor. "If the Autobots actually /did/ plan to reuse that dangerous weaponry??"

**Wheeljack has posed:**
Wheeljack pinchs two digits to the sides of... would be the bridge of his nose if he didn't have his entire lower face covered by the grated mouthguard. "I'm a specialist, not an officer. Even if I did know where to go look, I'm not getting in anywhere if I'm not on the clearance lists."

**Hot Rod has posed:**
"Aw, damn," Hot Rod shucks, snapping his fingers and swinging his hand in a downward scooping motion. "Oh well, maybe you can try to get on it sometime. I wanna see it. Don't you?"

 He emerges from behind the wall they'd been standing behind. "Sooo, where do you make all your bombs? A lab or something..?"

**Wheeljack has posed:**
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask, if I can find someone that wouldn't get all weirded out by it." Best Wheeljack can do at the moment, shrugging a little on the side before ambling after Hot Rod. "I've got my own workshop, yeah.... For some reason most of the other technicians don't want to work too close to me. Who knows." Yeah, wonder why.

**Hot Rod has posed:**
Hot Rod shrugs, seeming satisfied for the time being. "Hey, I'm not afraid!" he says, "I kinda want to see it," he says cheerfully with a grin, falling behind Wheeljack as they go into his pyro den. "Surprised you didn't know who I was," he comments offhandedly, "but you can call me Hot Rod." Pft, what a name, right?

**Wheeljack has posed:**
Wheeljack chuckles a bit, his luminators flashing to make up for his lack of a mouth to smile with. "Typically I don't see a lot of recruits until they're either sent in for upgrades, or repairs." Turns his head a bit to peer at the other mech. ".. Hopefully not because you turn into a rod. That would be, like, I don't know. A decepticon spy thinking a lamppost is a good idea."

**Hot Rod has posed:**
Hot Rod is taken aback. Very much. He leans back giving Wheeljack an incredulous look. "Uh, /what/? Hell no! That would be like, extremely lame. I mean, who turns into a damn rod? No one.."

 As if to prove that his alt form isn't a stick, he transforms and revs his engines before swerving in a donut inside Wheeljack's lab. Yeah, it isn't a good idea and there's not enough space, he knocks several things over. "Uh.. Oops."

**Wheeljack has posed:**
"Whoa!" Wheeljack jumps to grab the stack that's about to fall over. Well, he grabs the box on top. Everything else still falls around his feet. Fortunately none of that was explosive. Just a bunch of tools and spare parts. "That is a much more suitable mode, yeah."

**Hot Rod has posed:**
"Pretty cool, yeah?" Hot Rod protoforms, grinning. "You should see when I make the other cadets eat my dust," he brags.

 Then he finds a welding contraption sitting on a berth nearby. "Cool... what's this?" he says to no one in particular. He startles when he switches it on and the flame jets out. "Awesome..." He starts engraving 'Hot Rod was here' on the berth.

**Prowl has posed:**
As a stack of spare tools and parts clatters to the floor and Hot Rod starts doodling with a welder who should walk in but Prowl. He looks up from a datapad he was scrolling through with a disapproving glare. "Wheeljack." he states, glancing at the engineer. "Are you aware that this cadet is vandalizing your equipment?"

**Wheeljack has posed:**
Wheeljack just sorta pushes through with his feet to set the container on a shelf. Then glances over as Prowl wanders in. What are the odds of that? "Eh, I scribble notes on them all the time when a datapad is out of reach. Y'know, when you can't actually let go with both hands at the same time or it'll fail catastrophically." Wheeljack gesticulates a few times as if trying to demonstration, before finally just waving it off. "He could be vandalizing worse things." Which he did... well, shoot.

**Hot Rod has posed:**
As soon as Prowl comes in, Hot Rod puts the welding pen behind his back, his gaze shifting nervously. But when Wheeljack waves it off, his happy demeanor resumes. "See," he retorts, "he says it's fine." He continues doodling on the berth, finding the pen quite to his liking.

 "Hey, 'Jack, do you keep your explosives around here too..?"

**Prowl has posed:**
Prowl shakes his head, but since it's Wheeljack's space, he doesn't press the issue. "Hot Rod, I see you have made a mess on one of the walls in the courtyard. You will return the wall to its former state by the end of the megacycle. There are paint containers in the utility closet near the barracks. Now, get going--I need to speak with Wheeljack in private."

**Wheeljack has posed:**
"I think we already covered explosives aren't very good for art endeavors." And he's totally unsurprised that Prowl already knows what Hot Rod did. Prowl's getting to be as bad as Red Alert. Admittable it also means he's getting really good at his job. I mean bad in that way of being obsessed. Actually Wheeljack's not entirely sure where he was trying to go with that simile.

**Hot Rod has posed:**
"Hey, who said anything about art endeavors?" Hot Rod says, spread eagling his arms in an innocent fashion. "I just said I wanted to see them. What's the harm in that."

 The Prowl rains on his parade and he mutters some obscenities quietly, folding his arms grumpily. He glances sadly at the welding pen, wanting very badly to take it with him, but it's Wheeljack's. He gives Wheeljack a pouty look before reaching to set it on a berth nearby.

**Wheeljack has posed:**
Wheeljack 'helps' by giving Hot Rod a shove towards the door before he can properly set the welding rod down. "Go on, you better go before Prowl gets -mad-." This is just neutrally annoyed. Besides, he's got a dozen of those things.

**Hot Rod has posed:**
Hot Rod's optics light up like a kid in a candy shop. He grins broadly, no longer sad that he's being shooed out of Wheeljack's lab. He subspaces the welding pen and salutes the inventor. "Yes sir!" he says, and skips out, happy as waiter at the end of his shift on a Friday. "You're the best," he adds as he practically skips out of the room.

 But he doesn't exactly leave. He stays out of sight, but lurks somewhere where he can still hear their conversation.

**Prowl has posed:**
Once Hot Rod is out of the room, Prowl closes the door behind him. But it doesn't seal completely--perhaps it had been damaged in one of Wheeljack's...accidents recently and he hadn't gotten around to completely fixing it.

    "Right then. I need you to assist in some salvage operations on Luna-2, as soon as we sort out the Sonic Canyons situation. Keep it under wraps, we've got enough questions being thrown at us as it is."

**Wheeljack has posed:**
What, you think Wheeljack has time to fix mere doors? Shame on you. "Eh?" The inventor grunts as he pauses partway into picking stuff up. "Wasn't aware there was even anything left up there to be salvaged. No ones gone to the moons for... well, that no one -knows-." Pause. "Granted, if you know there's something there, then someone's been going... which just emphasizes the 'knows' part." Great, he's rambling again.

**Hot Rod has posed:**
Hot Rod leans in a little bit to hear their conversation better. "Salvage on Luna 2? Dammit, what is Prowl up to these days?!" he grumbles. "Frag." He makes a note to himself to come back to Wheeljack's lab later and ask the inventor if he could somehow stowaway with him to Luna 2.

 Now isn't the time, though. So he simply hurries off, curious yet irritated.

**Prowl has posed:**
"Not true," Prowl shakes his head. "There are some operations up there, though admittedly since Thymesis ran dry it hasn't been much. Besides, the salvage is sourced from Nyon, not the moon itself."

**Wheeljack has posed:**
And this is one of those times the lack of facial features is a good thing, because the \*ding\* between what Prowl just mentioned and what Hot Rod had mentioned doesn't show. And instead he waggles a finger at Prowl. "Oh now that is sneaky, hiding stuff on the moon. Who's going to think of looking for it up there?" Maybe the kid wasn't just trying to sound impressive after all.

**Prowl has posed:**
That's right, Wheeljack. Who is going to look for it up there? Especially since it's difficult to get a shuttle into space these days with the mass exodus. Most people are on a waiting list for stellar cycles on end. Prowl quirks a brow ridge at the engineer. "Was that a compliment or a criticism?" he asks, halfway sounding as if he already knows the answer to it. "I'm sure you understand how desperate times have gotten. We need to take advantage of every chance we have to stop the Decepticons and establish some semblance of an ordered society before it's too late to save any of it."

**Wheeljack has posed:**
"Both?" Wheeljack replies without missing a beat. "I mean, it took you this long to tell me, that's kinda worth critisizing. Anyways!" It doesn't take long for Wheeljack to bounce back to his usual chipperness. "I'm presuming since this is you there's already a specific time and shuttle set up to avoid that hassle of waiting lists and what not."

**Prowl has posed:**
"Of course. I've already sent you all the necessary information." Prowl nods. "Well the recovered units were not ready for transport until recently." he explains. "Therefore your services were not neeeded until now. I didn't want to burden you with an additional item that did not require your attention yet. I know you already have a long list of work needing to be done as it is."

**Wheeljack has posed:**
"Okay, that does make sense. I take back the critisizing part." Is Prowl actually being considerate, or is that just the most practical way to go about the matter. With him, Wheeljack can't really tell. "I'll look over the info and have my stuff ready for the, ah, visit." Yeah, easiest way to put it

**Prowl has posed:**
Being considerate sometimes -is- the most practical way to go about matters. Overwhelming people with too many things to think about at once can hinder their efficiency, which is something Prowl knows he can't afford. "Good." the tactician nods. "That will be all, if you don't have any further questions."

**Wheeljack has posed:**
Wheeljack says, "If I ask all the questions now there won't be anything left to discover with the work!"

**Prowl has posed:**
"I doubt I would be able to provide you with an answer to any question that must be answered through discovery." Prowl states, before turning to leave. "Oh, and if anyone asks--you're assisting with some contract work by a munitions firm on Luna-2 and the details are classified."

**Wheeljack has posed:**
Wheeljack scratchs the side of his helm. "There's still such a thing as independant munition firms?" Then after a pause there's the unseen smirk in his voice. "Or is that part classified too?" Sorry that's the best stupid joke he could come up with on such short notice.

**Prowl has posed:**
"Hn. Yes, but no." Prowl replies. Not exactly the clearest of answers, but he doesn't want to say much more about it right now. "You'll find out what I mean by that when you get there, I'm sure."

    The door slides open once more. "Thank you, Wheeljack."