VIDEO;

[inferiordude]

[Leaning back, slumped in a chair is Soundwave. He's holding his keytar close, slowly strumming bits of music into it. Yet, none of it is its usual cheer, the upbeat determination that he usually plays.

As he presses the keys, playing the morose tune, the holograms from his keytar form a display of crystal plants attempting to emerge from the floor by his feet. But they gray out, crumble, and turn to ash. Something trying to live, but expiring quickly.]

It doesn't matter. Does it.

I'm just gonna sit here, and listen. All that noise in my head, comin' in. Every beat, every rhythm. In and out. I can't stop that. Each one, new and different. So. Much. Sound.

...

Don't come lookin' for me. I have enough noise.


[ooc: Your character may or may not be inspired... to feel massive discomfort from Soundwave's current music.]

Comments

[audio]

[namesnotprowl]

[Barricade, at least, has a high tolerance for discomfort. Not that he's entirely sure why Soundwave is talking like that, and it surely doesn't make sense to him. It's concerning, if nothing else.]

What's up?

[Because he likes to keep his worrying casual, every once in a while.]

[audio]

[inferiordude]

There's always something. You know that. You should, out of everyone.

No matter how calm it gets, there's just another crisis.

[audio]

[namesnotprowl]

You usually ain't one to focus on the crisis or the something coming down the pipes, Soundwave.

[Point in fact that's usually his thing.]

What's gotten you into this mood?