| abstract
| - Summary: Hot Spot returns home to discover someone has stolen his group name. Hot Spot enters the Protectobot Command Center carrying some sacks of groceries, whistling a jaunty tune. Raindance is floating around with a little party hat on his head, tasering the various vending machines around the area. A banner hangs from his back saying "PROTECTOBOTS RULE" Grand Slam is trundling around the place like... well, like a small purple tank, making "beep beep" noises and occasionally bumping into things. He too has a party hat on, which raises the question; How did either of them put them on? Hot Spot frowns despite his implicit lack of a mouth. One problem at a time, he decides, so he carefully puts all the groceries away in an orderly fashion, and then walks over to Raindance and stands in his path. "Er, hello." Raindance rises slightly in the air, the flashing lights of his canopy level with Hot Spot's face. "Yeeees?" he emits. "Are you here for the party in /our/ base?" Broadcast sneaks in and looks around, "Ahoy! Raindance, is this your base? It looks amazing!" Grand Slam rolls up to Hot Spot, smacking into his shins a couple of times in the manner of a not-particularly intelligent drone, before making another "beep beep" noise and setting off on another path, his shiny gunbarells swivelling this way and that. "Hello Broadcast, yes, this is our base. Be sure to wipe your feet." "/Your/ base-- ow! Quit it!" Hot Spot moves a step back to try and avoid Grand Slam. "This is the /Protectobots'/ base, Raindance. First Aid built it for reasons I'm still not entirely sure about, considering it's across the continent from Autobot City. But you can't just arbitrarily decide somewhere is your base -- that's not how being a homeowner works. If you'd like, I can help you set up a reasonable bank loan to obtain your own property." Broadcast does a small little dance as he wipes his feet. "Heh, this place is amazing!" He takes a seat, "So, who knows about this being your base?" He waves to Hot Spot, "That was really nice of you to surrender this base. Really, I appreciate that you are so generous!" "Yeah, the Protectobot base" Raindance emits. "And /we're/ the Protectobots. Grand Slam and I decided we needed a cool group name, and we decided upon Protectobots. And what do you know, there's a Protectobot base!" Grand Slam pauses, giving the impression that he's staring at Broadcast's feet. /Feet/. They don't know how lucky they are, having feet, and legs to keep them above the muck, the mire.. not having to roll through the shattered carcass of your best friend and feel their armor crunching underfoot, and.. oh right, party. "Like Raindance says, it turns out there was this unused base going, and since we're the Protectobots, we decided that it would be perfect for our needs. It needs more ramps though." "There appears to be a misunderstanding here," Hot Spot says. "My team is called the Protectobots, and has been for quite some time. Look, over on the wall over there, it's a picture of our Fifth Annual Protectobot Sack Race." In the picture, the Protectobots are having a sack race, with 'PROTECTOBOTS #1' written on the gigantic sacks. Blades is scowling but competing nonetheless. "I'm afraid you guys will have to come up with a new name." "Yeah, this is a very biped friendly base" Raindance emits. "Still, a bit of redecorating..." As Hot Spot speaks, Raindance fires off a missile at the photograph, exploding it into several million fragments. "Huh? Where?" the floating triangle emits. "And LOOK Hot Spot, look at this see, is this not proof!" He turns, angling himself so that Hot Spot can see 'pRoTeCtOboT' scrawled in pen across his side. "I don't see where it says that on you..." Hot Spot flips open his arm panel, revealing a USMC-like 'PROTECTOBOTS' tattoo on his inner wiring. Broadcast nods sagely, "The Protectobots is a suiting name for you, Grandslam and Raindance." He then looks over at Hot Spot, "But they can be a tribute band... But just little more interesting." He grins and sighs, "Alright, enjoy your new base kids." He bows and starts to head out. "Oh, please, Hot Spot... That is a fake!" He grins and vanishes. "Hot Spot" Raindance bleeps. "Its not /nice/ to copy people. Stop trying to stamp on us. You're just jealous, you can never join our Protectobot club that way!" Grand Slam backs up, once more accidently running into Hot Spot, this time colliding with the back of his legs. Damn legs. "Give him a chance, Raindance - he didn't know there was a lengthy application process. I bet he doesn't even know about the charter." "You two should feel lucky that you're not pulling this trick on Blades," Hot Spot chastises, closing his arm panel and going to get a broom with which to sweep up the exploded picture. "We can discuss lack of respect for others' property later, but right now, respect for intellectual property is the topic at hand. I filed a trademark on the name 'Protectobots' some years ago, to prevent Junkion bootleggers from profiting from my group's name. You two are in violation of that trademark, and if it continues, well, I don't want to, but I might just have to contact my attorney, Leonard J. Crabs." "Oh Hot Spot, you can be a Protectorobot or something. I'm sure there's a ton of other names you could use that your /friends/ didn't think of first." Raindance takes in all of Hot Spot's words. "Look Hot Spot, you don't even know the Protectobot charter. How can you be a Protectobot. You're quite technological, you can be a Technobot. See, I solved all your problems!" Beep beep beep goes the small magenta tank as it bumps insistantly against Hot Spot. "You do a lot of radio work, radios use aerials... you could be an Aerialbot" Grand Slam emits. "That way everyone will be happy, and no-one has to scramble about trying to justify why they want to steal our name." Hot Spot sighs, and reaches for the Protectobot base's outsize 80s-style cordless phone. He lets Grand Slam bump into him, just kind of passively accepting it like a wife who knows their husband won't take 'no' for an answer in bed. "Hello? Hi, Becky. Is Mr. Crabs in? It's Hot Spot. No -- no, I'm not an esc-- No. 'Hot Spot.' Leader of the Protectobots. Yes. Hello. Leonard? Hi, Leonard. I'm afraid I might need to file suit..." As Hot Spot goes for the phone, Raindance does what any other normal, law abiding mech would do. "WHOOPS!" he says, as he FLIES straight into Hot Spot, intending on pushing the mech down the stairs that stand nearby! Hot Spot evades your grasp attack. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP goes Grand Slam as Raindance LOSES CONTROL and attempts to smash into Hot Spot. "Look out, Raindance!" he broadcasts, surging forward heroically towards the back of Hot Spot's knees. "I'll save you! Try to land on my guns!" Grand Slam succeeds in grasping Hot Spot, throwing him off-balance. Hot Spot stumbles out of the way at the last second. "Whoa! Careful, Raindance! Indoor velocity, remember! What? No, no, Leonard, I was talking to someone else. Yes. There's another group using the 'Protectobots' name, and I want you to file a cease and desist..." Unfortunately, though, as he stumbles, he's hit by Grand Slam, and he tumbles to the ground, dropping the phone. "Hey! Be careful, guys!" he says, a little annoyed, as he gets up and dusts himself off, reaching for the phone. Raindance tumbles to the ground as he manages to miss the stationary object that is Hot Spot, curling and curving as he goes for the phone. With his little nose laser. "Its okay Hot Spot, I will pick up your phone with my lasers!" Pew pew pew Raindance succeeds in grasping Hot Spot, throwing him off-balance. "Oops! Sorry!" Grand Slam says, hurridly turning on the spot and backing away, inadvertantly crushing under-tread whatever's left of the phone after Raindance picked it up via the magic of lasers. "You moved!" Hot Spot stares down at the wreckage of the phone, then at the two bleeping cassette-vehicles. He's silent for a long moment, and then sighs. "It's okay. Mistakes happen. Luckily, it's the weekend, so I can use my internal Boost Mobile circuitry without racking up my minutes." His forearm emits dialing noises. "Wait wait wait!" Raindance emits loudly. "Using a mobile? Whats that doing to your carbon footprint, Hot Spot. And won't the microwaves give little kids cancer? I bet you are glad you have the PROTECTOBOTS here to help!" "Not having cancer is the right of all sentient beings" Grand Slam agrees. "Now, since this is our party, how about some music?" The tank leaps up in a frightening manner, compressing and folding until it's a tiny magenta cassette tape which falls neatly into a nearby stereo system. Soon, what sounds like two water buffalo mating during a car crash blares at top volume through the Protectobot base, making speech difficult to say the least. "GOOD ISN'T IT" he shouts over the music. "IT'S VLANTHARGIAN DEATH POP" "I've been specially refit--" Hot Spot winces as the death pop starts playing. "I'VE BEEN SPECIALLY REFITTED TO-- I'M SORRY, CAN YOU TURN THAT /DOWN/ A BIT?" Raindance starts to bob up and down to the music. "Yeah yeah! Hey Hot Spot, don't shout, shouting is rude, you will go to silicon hell for that!" The small triangle floats to a corner of the room, where there is a little bowl of energon cubes marked 'Hot Spot's'. "Hey guys, nibbles on me!" Red Cassette says, "WHAT? YOU'VE KNITTED A WHAT?" "WHAT?" Hot Spot yells back to Grand Slam. "HEY! RAINDANCE, THOSE ARE MY SPECIALLY CONCOCTED MACRONUCLEONIC ENERGON CUBES, I'M ON A VERY STRICT DIET!" "YEAH I LOVE MACRA!" Raindance emits loudly back. "BUT NO I DON'T WANT TO 'DO IT'" "WHAT?" Hot Spot yells back. WRAP MY FACE WRAP MY FACE WRAP MY FACE WRAP MY FACE goes the music, now onto something that sounds like it was mixed by two retards who had no idea what they were doing. "WE NEED SOME LIGHTING IN HERE" the tape yells, attempting to be heard over the top of his own music. "SOME STROBES OR SOMETHING I DON'T KNOW." Raindance starts to twirl around the base, shooting coloured last blasts into the walls and windows and various Protectobot trophies, as some sort of wierd, deadly triangular disco ball Turntail offers a sudden deep laugh as he shouts from the entrance, "LOOKS LIKE FUN." before dropping to his knees, a wrist-laser rotating from his wrist as he fires a series of low-powered laser beams across Raindance's coloured blasts. Hot Spot's shelf of Autobot commendation trophies collapses, and he dives to catch them all. The Prowl Memorial Award for Promotion of Tolerance konks on his Protectobot head. Red Cassette chooses that moment to suddenly cut the music, an audible CLUNK coming from the sound system as the tape sets itself to play in the opposite direction. "No Grand Slam, do not play yourself backwards, that is when the voices of the Devil and John Lennon come out, remember!" Raindance emits, turning to his little cassette buddy. "And look, another party member!" he bleeps at Turntail. "Welcome to my base!" Turntail raises to his feet as he curls his liplness mouth into a smile, "Be glad only I turned up, can almost hear that music from Autobot City." With this, a chuckle, "So glad not everyone is chasing their own shadows these days!" "Wipe your feet!" comes a voice from the stereo, just before music begins to play at a slightly more reasonable volume. "We are the Protectobots and this is our base. And this is Hot Spot, who I think is now an Aerialbot." "Yeah!" Raindance emits. "I am Raindance and I am a Protectobot too. But I think Hot Spot is like, a Constructicon, isn't he? He has a ladder, I think it fits well..." Turntail offers a quick grin, bowing his head politely before narrowing an optic on Hot Spot's position beneath his stack of trophies, "Constructicon? Looks more like a rug.." He looks over to the others, offering a smile, "Name's Turntail. And I don't have a title.. Just trying to find a damned thing to do." "Nice to meet you, Turntail" says the red tape via the stereo speakers. "Help yourself to any energon you find in our base. The party is on us! And sometimes on other people, because none of the Protectobots have hands." "Yeah. And help yourself to any like, furnature or valubles too, we don't need them!" Raindance bleeps, nosing his form towards a sealed jar full of cash marked 'Orphans Fund'. "Uh, can you do me a favour and just open that jar for me that I somehow sealed up too tight" Turntail lets slide a deep chuckle, his chassis giving a little shake as he speaks, "Furniture and valuables I'm fine for.." A grin, "And I doubt we're in need of energon enough to raid the swear jar just yet, my lad." Red Cassette ejects himself from the stereo, which is now tuned to a top-40 station from some eastern European country. "It is for a good cause, we need to give it to orphans" the tank emits as it touches down on the floor. "Don't you see the label? Orphans. Orphans of this war.. this war that's been going on for longer than I can remember. How many of my friends have I seen die in front of me? How many innocent lives?" Grand Slam continues his rambling monologe as he bumps repeatedly into the table, making small 'beep beep' noises as he does so. "Yes, and we are also orphans" Raindance says sadly. "I never knew my parents, just some guy with a screwdriver, forced into this torrid world. But one day Mr Turntail... hey, would you like to become a Protectobot too?" Turntail raises a hand dismissively, "I wouldn't know where to begin my friend, not one of these bots with built in fire hoses y'know.." A grin, "My hose is purely for recreation, don't you know." "...war.. war never changes. Worst of all was seeing those just-off-the assemblyline mechs, their optics bright, not knowing what... eh? A recreational hose? I don't know about that. Bad enough you have feet." Grand Slam backs away from the table and rolls over to Turntail, essaying an exploratory bump into his shins. Raindance moves up and down, scanning Turntail. "Eh, we can do something about those, Grand Slam. The arms too. Do you know the Protectobot Charter, Turntail?" Hot Spot finishes cleaning up the various messes Raindance has made. "Turntail, if you need something to do, please escort Raindance and Grand Slam back to Autobot City. I pride myself on being a good host, but frankly their lack of respect is grating. They couldn't be more disrespectful to my home if they started speaking in some sort of strange monotone phoenetically representable by all lowercase letters and a lack of punctuation, and started submitting performance reviews of superior officers with bad words in them." Turntail swivels his leg back away from the small tank, tempting himself for a kick but holding back, his gaze looking down to him as he speaks again, this time dropping the carefree attitude he held previously, "I've seen plenty of things in my time, my lad, I am hardly one of these helpless drones filling our ranks." He glances up to Hot Spot, nodding slowly, "You are the Protectobot Officer I take it? Well if you think they require an escort.." "Well Hot Spot, please treat me with some respect" Raindance bleeps back. "Your ever so slightly negative attitude really upsets me, it is a form of abuse. Perhaps if you want use of the Protectobot name, we can come to some financial arrangement..." "Raindance" Grand Slam says quite sternly. "Has it come to this? Have we become mercenaries? Willing to sell our name and services to the highest bidder?" Hot Spot puts his hand on his hips and looks disapprovingly at Raindance. It is the ultimate weapon in his arsenal -- despite largely not having a face, he is able to convey such potent and distilled disappointment in people that even Blades can be cowed by it. After a moment of this, he turns to Turntail. "I'm the Protectobot Commander, yes. /And/ the rightful holder of the trademark to the name. And these two are well-meaning but ultimately misguided robots who need the proper supervision and nurturing to keep them from developing into hooligans." Raindance bobs back at Hot Spot. Having no limbs, he also has little way of reacting to Hot Spot's penance stare. "I do not like the word mercinaries, more like, 'mechs of leisure'. But if there is anyone whose legs you need breaking..." Grand Slam backs away from Turntail, perhaps sensing that a kick might be on the way. "Hot Spot, I am insulted. We invite you into our base, offer you every courtesy, and then you imply we are no better than Decepticon punks. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave." "Yeah Hot Spot!" Raindance bleeps. "The door is right behind you, and is tall enough for you to fit through. See how kind and concerned we are! We don't make you have a special Hot-Spot flap like we have at Autobot City!" Turntail offers a quick smirk as he folds his strong blue arms across his chest, realising the humour of it all as he decides to watch for th emoment. Hot Spot rubs his metal forehead, having a cpuache or something. "Guys, I'm indulging this as much as I'm capable, but April Fools Day was... a while ago, and note the operative word as 'Day', not 'Month.' I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming this is some sort of covert Intelligence operation, but I'm going to get in touch with Blaster, and if I don't like what I hear, you will be disciplined, and you /will/ be sued for trademark infringement." "Good luck with that!" Raindance emits, an ener-cig now sticking out of his nosecone funnel, as he hovers above a chair marked 'Hot Spot'. "Go cry to Blaster that you couldn't steal /our/ base and /our/ cool team name. We'll see you in court!" Beep beep beep goes the small tank as he begins to trundle around the room. "I think you're just trying to keep us down. Treating us like second class citizens just because we don't have any fancy /eyes/, or /teeth/, or /fingers/. Huh! Everyone without limbs to the back of the space bus!" Hot Spot notes, "I don't have teeth either." Hot Spot lifts his faceplate to reveal nothing underneath in the way of an actual face, just eyes and a nose set above open circuitry and a voicebox. First Aid walks out of the Living Quarters, with a note-pad in hand till he walks into-- what apparently something very odd happening in there base. Though he just sees Hot Spot's back side really, "..Sir? May I ask what is happening here?" "OoooOOoh, look at me!" Raindance mocks. "My name is Hot Spot, and I have a /head/. Well, because of that, you can't be a Protectobot Hot Spot, application /denied/!" Hot Spot closes his face back up and looks over to First Aid with a shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine." Turntail holds his arms against his chestplate, his metallic jaw visibly clenching with a grind of servos, his optics kept on Hot Spot, reading him for reactions before looking over the duo, "See, I'm not going to pretend I know what on Cybertron you two are up to.. but if this is how I appear when I'm bored, I need to get myself a hobby or two. Perhaps you should the same?" "This party is ruined" Grand Slam says, rolling agitatedly around the room, only occasionally bumping into things. "And it was going so well! Perhaps you should be the Spoilerbots, or the Nofunbots." "Yeah!" Raindance adds. "It was great until you came in, your limbs all flailing about, your optics looking about for new ways in which to stop fun. Perhaps in the future we will let you back into our base. You too First Aid. One day you may earn the name Protectobot." First Aid canted his head to the side, "I am-- not sure I follow." He says softly. "Raindance, Grand Slam.. just what are you two going on about. This base was original constructed for a back-up facuility in case something went wrong, along with being open to the public in case of an emergancy was to rise-- a protectobot doesn't close off its doors to anyone, nor to there comrads in need." Raindance regards Hot Spot as icily as a triangle can. "In that case Hot Spot, we will see you in court. /TV COURT/" Hot Spot folds his titanic arms. "Very well," he says. "I hope you two have a good lawyer." First Aid would sweat drop at Raindance's remark and sighs softly. He just takes his data-pad and heads for the medical facility.. he sometimes really questions his 'brothers' at arms and there odd methods-- This is why he is just the doctor. Grand Slam sighs. "Alright. Fine. If you're going to be so childish and stubborn about this...." The tank backs up, his chrome gunbarrels tracking smoothly. "Here's what we'll do." A beam of light arcs out from one of Grand Slam's guns, hissing as it inscribes a line down the center of the room, neatly dividing the Protectobot base in two, door and all. "Over HERE is our side, the Protectobot side. Over THERE is your side. The.. let's say, the Protectobot B-Team Reserve Side. Happy now?" As Grand Slam draws the line with his laser, Raindance starts to push the tv over to their side of the room. "Yeah, that's fair, until the courts throw you out. What happened to sharing, eh? And get building those ramps too!" Turntail swivels away from Grand Slam at the door as he steps away into Hot Spot's side of the room, his articulated finger scratching under the place of his chin thoughtfully, "You know, perhaps we should counter that threat of the big bad Quintesson with a nice healthydose of you, uh, real Protectobots." "You mean Guiltor?" Hot Spot asks, turning to face Turntail and pointedly turning his back on the two tapes. "Perhaps. Most of my unit aren't active combat troops, generally speaking, but if Defensor were part of a coordinated assault, he might have the strength needed to keep Guiltor down." Turntail pushes back the metal of his cheek as he offers a smirk, his optics shining with a knowing twinkle, "Perhaps, though I think maybe annoying him into submission with these two could be even more effective."
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)