Because you know how Whirl can't resist tentacles.

[whirlybird_of_prey]

[Locked FROM Skids.]

[Whirl is in his quarters, which you might at first think is an armory. Pretty damn close. Thankfully, Megatronus doesn't make him clean his room or keep pins in his grenades or other annoying things. ]

[Behold Whirl arming up. He likes options, okay? ]

So.  Hear we got us some undead problems.

['Scuse him while he racks a shotgun.]

You see Skids, you let me know.  Or the usual: slavering, tentacles, undead sounds like GRARGGFSF, that sorta thing. 

[Because Skids is a pal, and Whirl will gladly shoot him in the head.  For, uh, for the greater good?]

[Locked to Skids]

Hey, Mr. Conveniently Lost Memory.  Just a little trivia.  

I hear I have a positively scrumptious spark.

Ding ding ding, that's the dinnerbell.

Comments

[Text]

[whirlybird_of_prey]

[Whirl will just text back a kissy face.]

:3

[Text]

[skidaddle]

Too late.

[There is the sound of skittering outside your window. Or, lacking a window--outside the door.]

[It is hard to text what happens next so action]

[whirlybird_of_prey]

[It is unwise, undead abomination, to startle Whirl when he's fully armed. It's like running up behind a kid who's gorged on Halloween candy and tickling them.

[Only with like...50% less chance of vomit. ]

Too late for you, maybe.

[But it's never too late for some High Explosive rounds, ripping through his window at the sound.]

[Action is better than text!]

[skidaddle]

[Skids can no longer communicate, but there might be a much, much too gaping mouth roaring in anger at being shot at!

Thankfully, as he's been completely unsuccessful at digesting any sparks, there's no worry about bigger explosions.

Less thankfully, the smaller explosions actually cause pain, and the roar turns to a high-pitched, otherworldly shriek. He's going to be leaping in the window, now, blurring a little at the edges from the speed.]

[action so badaft it needs a techno soundtrack]

[whirlybird_of_prey]

[Fast fragger, isn't he? Well, killing the undead--which sounds grammatically impossible but Whirl's never let grammar stop him--wasn't gonna be easy. That was what made it fun.]

Come get some tastiness.

[Tasty rounds from this here energon pistol, that is. Pew pew pew?]

[action was that part of his preparation?]

[skidaddle]

[The rounds interrupt the spark-eater mid-leap, his tentacles still flying forward even as the law of action-reaction propels him backwards. The effect is almost amusing--him, plastered against the wall he just came in from, a single claw reaching for Whirl.]

...

[Then, he falls into a heap on the floor, and remains still. Perhaps the other will come closer to inspect.]

[action of course: he's an ex-Wrecker. Soundtrack is vital]

[whirlybird_of_prey]

[It's a trap. It's so obviously a trap that even with one fraggin' optic, Whirl can see the trappiness of it.

[But Skids didn't count on Whirl's deathwish. And Whirl's deathwish's wish that when he goes out, he doesn't go out alone.]

[Or wait. Maybe Skids did count on that.

[Whirl's never been good at this strategy/counterstrategy scrap.]

[What he is good at is ludicrously long not very witty prose meta shooting things. So he'll step closer, because, you know, chest guns.]

Aww, gonna go down that easy, huh? Always thought you were a wuss.

[Not really, but, you know, all's fair in undead slaying.]

[action][Gotta die with a good song playing!]

[skidaddle]

[It isn't as close as Skids wants him to come, but it is close enough--too close for the temptation of that nearby spark to let him lie still any longer.

With--eerily--no noise this time, Skids is just up, claws reaching out to grab out at Whirl's chest--or chest guns, as it were.]

Need....your spark...

[When he hisses--the translator catches it.]