mnemoiisms

[mnemoiisms]

Small Shitpost 😂

feat. Overlord + Trepan

#The Maestro: ( Trepan ) #Patient File: ( Overlord )

[mnemoiisms]

“I hate the term ‘an eye for an eye’. If you take my eye, let it be known that I’ll take both your eyes and your dominant arm”

submitted by anonymous

#out of mnemo

[mnemoiisms]

"I mean, given his increased frustration and the amount of warrants he arrives with as he only has a 24 hour window to comb through our files, means he hasn't found scrap. So, I am quite confident in everything so far but the moment he smiles, I will call. I wouldn't put it past him to try and plant something, but given everything is on our servers, I am noting time stamps of any and all changes to files to catch him out"

"But, if need be, I will give you a ring. Nothing wrong with having a defence lawyer on hand"

Ah! A fellow connoisseur of the trade? If only from the consumer side? No matter! Don't mind Trepan emptying his subspace for various of heat resistant silicone moulds pile on the table; We got trays for various thickness of rust stick biscuits. We have jubes, half domes, full domes, measuring sheets, little novelty moulds shaped like cars and jets and boats and bikes. And that isn't even glancing at the little container of different piping tips and baking syringes.

He could make hard candies, he could make jellies, he could make strips, twists, sticks, rolls.

Ghostly's best blind date by far.

"Bit of both. Depends on what I am making but nine times in ten they are completely customisable in flavours. I don't have quite enough time on my hands to put my skills out there as a proper business, it is mostly a fun time waster on slow weeks and days off" Seems, since we are going through our subspace, there is a new box set closer to Ghost's side of the table.

Obviously, we can't just buy the old world packaging anymore, but you could get varying containers and stationary kits that are the right shape for ... Jelly jets!?

"A personal favourite. Mercury centers"

"I could always look everything over for you. Make sure that thing's are up to date and spelled correctly." He paused for a moment before giving the mech a wink, one side of the visor dimming slightly. "For free, just for you. I don't tend to give my services freely, so consider it a trial."

It might do well to drum up more business on that side, rather then to someone who was already to deep in trouble to do anything. While he wouldn't consider leaving bounty hunting anytime soon, it would be nice to have an excuse to dress up fancy every now and then.

Polish just didn't hold up well in a fire fight.

He seemed to perk up at the mechs mention of baking, and perk up more at the seeming possibility of Golden Age treats.

"Primus it's been forever since I've had a golden age treat of any kind. I would be more than happy to pay you for some." Upset tank be fragged if it meant getting his servos on some of those treats.

It would be even better if he knew any Vosian-based sweets. Trepan may just find himself a very loyal customer at that.

"Do you do sweets from specific City-States or simply what recipes you can find?"

#ghostlyvisage

[mnemoiisms]

"Guilty as charged" Trepan beams at Ghost calling out the little guys could absolutely inhale fuel if needed. Not his fault lacking an engine, he loved the kick of thermite heating him up from the inside out. He felt that burn from antenna to pede, and it made him feel like a little dragon. Mm. Spicy, yes!

You can always blame tomorrow morning's Bad Tank Time on 'rich people fuel coma'.

"... Shame you can't just shoot my trouble with the law. Everything about my business is legit, all of my licenses and permits and certificates and OH&S certified training. Nope, picking it apart for the tiniest typo to inundate me with breach notices and a potential warrant" Trepan grumbled. Would have loved to just have Prowl sent a cease and desist clause in the form of a bullet that misses...

But, he can say he is quite surprised. he wouldn't have expected someone like Ghost to be a public defender. Should he hire him? Give Prowl some new frown lines welded between his brows?

"Baking" The Mnemosurgeon smiled, sitting up nice and straight with pride. "The war kind of hit the confectionary industry hard, and after being unable to find many of my Golden Era and pre war sweets no matter how far out I checked space ports, I kind of decided Frag It and make my own. Of course, I make them for friends, too, as a little treat"

"I do know a Tarn. More specifically a Vos, but he is certainly an interesting conversationalist. He also has decent taste in energon, though I could probably do without his.. collection of works from Megatron." Killing mechs and eating there corpses were one thing. Hanging them up on your wall because they had writing on them was another story all together.

Then Ghostspire snorted a laugh, vents raspy and harsh as he did.

"I've seen mechs smaller than you pack away far more than there frame should be able to. I think we'll be fine with six courses." Ghost could power through this one, he made sure to fill enough of his tanks with mechblood that he wouldn't immediately feel like purging. Wouldn't be doing well the next day, but he could manage. He usually did to seem at least semi-normal.

"I do consultations for those in trouble with the law. I am formally trained as a defense lawyer, and try to at least keep my skills up in case I need them." Or he needed to get his ward out of jail. And his medic out of jail as well.

Practicing medicine the way she did without a medical license was a very dangerous thing.

"What about you, dear Doctor? What sort of hobbies do a mech of your talents indulge in?"

#ghostlyvisage

[mnemoiisms]

Given their current value and rarity, sadly his little 'claws' would be off the table no matter how the night went. They were meant for punching through weaker alloy of the face, nape and underjaw of the helm, not anything sexy. He hadn't exactly had queues of people wanting the literal description of a mind frag yet.

"You'd get along with Tarn. Well, a Tarn given the thinness between veils of late. Although you are far more nonchalant about your scars" But, if they found scars 'hot' and they held an appreciation for powering through a wound, hopefully fusion cannon blasts didn't make him spontaneously overload. It was one thing to have some damaged derma on your face. It was another to have a completely disfigured chassis components despite how pristine his armour gave illusion to.

"Six whole meals?" Trepan laughed, folding his arms to lean back far more comfortably, gazing down at himself with a playful pout of lips. "But I am so small" Like that has ever stopped him ploughing two thermite burritos like he'd never been fuelled in his life. He would absolutely peck away at whatever came out as no doubt Ghost would eat the lions share of a plate anyway sporting both a larger frame and an engine to require a heavier fuel consumption.

"That all depends on the minibar"

If you mentioned hot tub, you'd sell him instantly. Primus knows the last time he just stopped long enough to submerge in hot oil and drown out all his aches.

"So, you mentioned bounties. Bounty hunter by trade. Any other odd jobs you take up? Hobbies? Past times?"

An amused rumbled as talons twitch at the sharpness from the medics own little claws. He'd keep that in mind for later, it would be fun to see how sensitive they were.

"Scars are hot, what can I say. Been a Bounty Hunter long enough to gain a decent appreciation for them." Claws splayed out and helm tilted down as he grinned, sharp fangs showing themselves. He leaned back a little more comfortably, ignoring the way the chair dug into his back.

"I hope you don't mind the sampler course. Six meals, a little bit of everything they have to offer along with there finest wine. Only the best after what you went through with that barbarian." He'd been sure to drop a lot of shinax to ensure that it would be good.

"And, should you enjoy my company enough, I do have a hotel room at a very nice hotel with a similar view." It was probably the most expensive room they had, with a kitchenette, hot tub, and grand bedroom with it.

"If you enjoy my company enough."

#ghostlyvisage

[mnemoiisms]

Trepan had no such issues on supplies. You could get anything you needed with the right amount contacts and given that his industry was in reconstruction, frame changes and .... 'therapy', it wasn't all that hard for him to also just make what they were short on. War build walks in, wants to downgrade to something more suited to the civilian lifestyle? That was a lot of extra bits to strip, sanitise and even smelt for new uses.

But don't mind the little flinch as talons cage over his digits, the sharp tips maybe not even so much as creating a line in his top wax coat, but the sharpness was still felt. So ... What of smooth little medic hands was also sharp against Ghost's palm as the servos withdraw?? You leave sensitive medic hands alone, Sir.

"I have no problems with that. It is just very fiddly to get to and I don't want to lose any pins trying to remove armour to do so. You clearly like your war wounds" Trepan bubbled in a laugh, tapping his cheek to gesture at the wonderful present from their mutual friend.

"So! What have you planned for us tonight? A share platter? Four courses? Digit food?" Don't mind servos lacing under his chin with a coy little smirk. "Lovers plate~?"

The claws were far more useful in a fight than for daily work. Wickedly sharp and could very easily pierce through most things. Not exactly practical if you weren't used to it. Small, almost invisible seems indicated they could probably be transformed back, but lack of any scrape marks showed they probably hadn't in awhile.

"I appreciate the offer, and I'll take it into consideration." After clearing it with his own medic. She had done what she could, but supplies were short, and there was no shortage of mechs she had to look over. Plus she knew his.. specifications better, and she would know if it would work for him in the long run.

Claws gently curled around Trepans digits and slowly dragged along them, barely scratching a thing but showing how sharp they were. Very well taken care of, and always ready to be used in a pinch.

Gold optics followed the tube behind the visor, giving a churrup noise as he saw what he could.

"Probably not, but later, if you would be interested in joining me, I would be interested in seeing it." Scars told stories, especially ones that looked like potentially deadly wounds. "Only if your interested in showing."

#ghostlyvisage

[mnemoiisms]

Send my muse “👀 + a question” and they’ll have to answer with 100% honesty.

No deleting questions, either!

[mnemoiisms]

just a self-indulgent Tarn drawing with sharp teeth and… sticky stuff

#cruel-singer #happy sinday #hot diggity damn #patient file: ( tarn )

[mnemoiisms]

Ah, thank you. Don't mind him curl a palm under some digits to better inspect the talons, cautiously tapping a finger tip to the point and running through his daily interactions, weighing the pros and cons of claws. He assumed they could type just fine, but there would be a different way so as not to damage either surface. Fascinating!

"What a piece of scrap" You pay for a service, you pay for a service. And you shrug off any and all lip you receive in the process.

But, he doesn't flinch away in disgust or fright at the reveal of the wound, perhaps a wince, however it is hard to tell if that is sympathetic or irritated. It didn't seem like a new wound, given the state of healing at the center points.

"Indeed. We do specialise in cerebrosurgery at my clinic, that is the study and reconstruction of helms at my clinic. Given its state, you are rather partial to it, but we could certainly fill in the bottom so that any important circuitry isn't in danger in the long run. You have a lot of wiring that aids in the function of your senses around there. He might have given you a hole in the head, but there is no reason to give him the satisfaction of going blind, or losing smell and taste cause something shorts out something" Trepan offered. Properly clean, sanitise, and allow a coat of waterproofing within the wound. Would get humid under the mask all day.

"I am afraid my wound is far less pretty, and not something I feel patrons would be able to ignore" He hummed, tapping one of the tubes curling around from his back and feeding up under his spark window.

He let the mech examine the claw tips, not at all bothered as he offered the claw a little closer for inspection.

"He hired me to kill someone. Didn't like the things I had to say when I went to turn in the bounty and put a pickaxe in my face. We've been chasing each other ever since." He lifted his other servo and took off the battlemask portion of his little set up, subspacing it and tilting his helm to show the hole in his face.

"Wonderful gift from our acquaintance, hmm?" Could he have had it patched up at any point? Sure, but Ghost like to remember his scars sometimes. And who was he to deny a gift from Terminus?

#ghostlyvisage

[mnemoiisms]

Don't mind a little fork flipped and reaching out, the handle sliding under one of said claws to lift it and inspect the curved talon curiously. Well, that is certainly different to what he was used to. Most of the clawed servos on his friends, were more the final joint of the digit ended in a point. These were more actual talons.

"Well, I didn't quite slap him. But I certainly severed a bunch of fuel lines and cabling in his legs when he grabbed me" Trepan smiled, "All that bluster and bravado. Snuffed out as he whimpers and limps away with his servos out in surrender"

"So, how do you know our delightful mutual acquaintance?"

"Only for a few." Ghostspire purred, helm dipping as they got settled into their seats. Servos folded neatly on the table as he leaned back slightly.

"i'm glad you approve, it was difficult to find." Most good places were hard to find, and even harder to get a reservation at. But he had managed, and had the credits to get into it.

He wouldn't remove the mask until later, until he had to, at least. Ghost got as comfortable as he could, one servo slightly stretching on the table and showing razor sharp claws.

"Mech wouldn't know what was good for him even if it slapped him in the face." He snorted, shaking his helm and rolling his optics.

"Always trying to do things bigger than him, things he can't possibly do on his own."

#ghostlyvisage

[mnemoiisms]

"What a gentlemech" Trepan chuckled at the offered elbow, reaching up to entwine his slender arm and allowing himself to be escorted deeper into the gorgeous establishment for their table.

And, my oh my, seems someone had some very good taste in picking blind date locations, long after he'd had his chair scooted closer to the table. No matter where you looked, it was skyline and horizon, shuttles and aerials darting overhead like little stars on a trajectory.

"You have spectacular taste here" The little surgeon hums with a lazy wave of his digits at the current trimmings of five star dining, lacing them back under his chin to regard the mech across from him. Interesting choice of a mask and visor. Are they nervous?

"I was stopping by Messatine to stop someone making a very big mistake, and he decided to throw his weight around"

He chuckled, offering his arm to the smaller mech and leading him up a grand flight of stairs. 

"It took me a bit to find a good one," He admitted, helm dipping in greeting to some mechs they passed. "But I found a good one with a good view. I do hope it is up to your standard, Trepan." He pushed aside a curtain to reveal a grand dining room within a massive glass dome. It offered a full view of the city with the comfort of not having to deal with the wind or cold. 

He let Trepan look for a moment before guiding him along to a table closer to the windows. 

"I made sure to reserve a special seat for us. One with a good view and far enough away from mechs that we could have a decent conversation without prying audials." He pulled out a chair for him, waiting for the mech to sit before taking a seat himself. This angle would also allow him to take off his mask and visor if he needed to without showing the whole room the hole in his face. 

"If I may, how did you meet the barbarian Terminus? Unfortunately, I fail to see how a mech of your talents would be in the same room as that... heathen."

#ghostlyvisage

[mnemoiisms]

Kink: The Voice™

Send in Kinks and My muse will rate them.

Definitely not | No | Not Really | Its Okay | Kinda | Yes | Fuck yes | There goes my panels |

#cruel-singer

[mnemoiisms]

Send in Kinks and My muse will rate them.

Definitely not | No | Not Really | Its Okay | Kinda | Yes | Fuck yes |There goes my pants |

Bonus: Giving | Receiving | Both

[mnemoiisms]

Send me a fantasy/dirty scenario and I’ll rate it

Definitely not | No thanks | Meh, maybe | Sure | Yes please | Give it to me now

#happy sinday #nsfw prompts

[mnemoiisms]

And he just happened to be on a date with the sharpest mind backstabbing prissy sauntering around Cybertron.

But, it certainly was a very nice venue! The marble flooring was polished to a mirror sheen, the decor for waiting patrons luxurious, and the architecture alone was enough to make fuel curious pedestrians back out of the building. Even the staff were buffed, polished and of tasteful colour schemes. Nothing vibrant or garish.

Which is why Trepan is blinking in surprise at a sudden presence beside him and a mech bowing like it was some Vossian rooftop gala. To address him by name. Seems we found our somewhat blind date.

"A pleasure indeed" Trepan beams, optics flitting over the mech before him who's little digital snoop hadn't quite shown the oddness of their frame. They looked like they should be a flight frame ... But the lack of any visible wings or thrusters suggested they must be some other sort of alt mode. He is going to assume vehicular given you don't find any monoformers or inanimate alt modes in this day or age.

"Lead the way. I am curious how good a view you managed to snag for us on this most innocent of outings"

It was quite the place, reminiscent of old Vossian restaurants from before the war. Plush seats for waiting were scattered around, the colors warm and inviting. Soft music played unobtrusively, and the murmur of conversation floated about. 

And Ghostspire remembered exactly why he hated coming to establishments like these. They were filled with backstabbing prisses that cared little about others. But he wasn't here for them, he was here for Trepan. 

A gold visor scanned the crowd before finding his target. Unlike the doctor, Ghost had done enough research to be able to find the mech in a crowd. He made his way over, looking down at him before giving a bow befitting of a Vossian high noble. 

"Trepan, yes? A pleasure to make your acquaintance. You can call me Ghostspire." And he did stand out, black plating shining and little 'stars' glowing the brightest they probably had in a long time. He was tall, and very lanky, built like a seeker without the wings. Though, he looked like he was of little threat, relaxed and fitting right in with the way he stood. 

"Shall we find our table?"

#ghostlyvisage

[mnemoiisms]

Oh, no, no, Terminus. Trepan had no intentions of raising the alarm. That might get you hauled off to wherever naughty miners get dumped for a few days to behave again. And miners sitting in dark little time out cells made it very hard for mnemosurgeons to enact revenge for poorly sought out threats.

But, his talk with D-16 went rather well. Playing of off 'Making our guest comfortable' was lost on brutes as he arrives into the room with energon pastries and sweets, things the befuddled little miner eventually leaves with, with warnings to keep his writings under better wraps as it is gathering the wrong sort of attention, and the next enforcer might not be such a big fan of said works. He will check his datapads for timelines to see how that goes, later. If nothing drastically changes ... Well, we tried.

And lick his wounds Trepan certainly did not allow.

For all Terminus's skulking and limping and holing up in dark cavern holes, he left a vibrant cyan and somewhat phosphorescent liquid behind with every step, be it a smear on walls, a drip, or a partial pede print.

Made it quite easy for security to close in on him. Not like Terminus could run, either. He might know some field medic tips for life in the dark, but he certainly had no hope of fixing those legs without medic intervention.

Which is why Terminus finds himself under the barrel of a trio of volt guns, something that Trepan will be quite envious not to have fired off as he imagines such screams or shouts would have been quite pleasing.

Shame all he gets is the source dragged into D-16's emptied operating theatre, where Terminus would find himself wrangled and roughed up and restrained much like his protégé before him.

Seems there will be a miner undergoing a procedure today after all.

"Hello again, Terminus. Fancy seeing you here!"

A heavy servo braced his frame as he leaned on the cavern wall, thickly swallowing as energon continued to weep from the lacerations. He growled lowly before heading to the morgue. He had very little precious time to usurp the necessary parts for a rudimentary fix. With what little energy he could muster, he swiftly lumbered to the parts room undetected and hastily grabbed an arm's full of supplies. Would it be a perfect fix? No. But would it stop the bleed-out? Quite possibly.

He heard the encroaching shuffling of pedesteps - announcing that the window of opportunity for escape was shrinking. Hastily, he made a retreat from the morgue and sauntered deep within the confines of the tunnels. He knew that insufferable shiny mech was going to raise the alarm, and so set to work quickly. Diligently.

Dropping his supplies on the floor of an abandoned shaft, the mech sat his heavy frame down and set to work. A soldering iron quickly albeit painfully singed the leaking wounds shut, as he ran an antiseptic cloth across them to make sure things were properly sealed. He hissed, paying close attention to the areas not properly prepared. Those stupid saw blades had obviously done a number on him. It was a cursory patch job, but the intended goal was accomplished. Now it was time to await his capture. Certainly Trepan wouldn't allow him to just cower away to lick his wounds. No, he was damn near certain he'd have to face him again.

Super duper.

#concedoxnulli

[mnemoiisms]

'I am fine' Tarn sooths, as if the steering column didn't bear indents the perfect shape of Tarn's digits curled around the wheel where he'd just stared past the window as his frame seemed to clench up.

'I am fine'

The sudden outward snap of the stressed EM field was like a physical slap, brushing across Trepan's own and forcing it flush against him for a moment.

You were not fine.

Carmine optics, so usually so bright and full of mischief were dim, flighty, like something cornered and wary. The steering betrayed signs of building anxiety. The faint whine of a fan belt working hard likely unnoticed by Tarn's current thought occupation.

Last thing he needed by a phase sixer with the ability to talk someone to death, was an anxiety meltdown. What would a sob do to him? A scream of rage, or fear? Even just an apprehensive whine? Really did not want to stick around and find out.

Scuttling out of his chair, going right to the back of the ship where he'd seen a maintenance tarp given how this ship had been recently repainted, and that is the first thing grabbed and thrown at Tarn's shoulders. He needs to limit sensory, and right now, enveloping Tarn's upper half and the chair in something that isn't a strange environment or an empty starfield one could go mad staring into the void of is the best he can think of.

Tank in distreads

Finally safe and out of danger’s reach, fighting subroutines were slowly powering down and cyber adrenaline, dissipating. And as the combat high vanished, the reality of the situation started to dawn on Tarn.

He had just barely escaped a destiny worse than death.

He had been about to become a puppet - a willing slave to a mech that would have used him to his own selfish goals. Maybe even turned against his own teammates if he managed to run into them.

“… Are you alright, Tarn?” The soft voice and the gentle touch to his forearm brought Tarn back to the present, making him realise the tension that had been building up in his joints.

“I’m fine.” Currently without any means to hide what was currently going through his mind, Tarn looked away, trying to distract himself with the imagery of Smite’s ship imploding, destroying everyone and everything involved in his capture, mecha and technology alike. Technology specifically engineered to neutralise phase sixers like him -an stasis device that had subdued him without even giving him a chance to put up a fight.

His teammates left alone to wonder what had happened to his commander until the day they met up again as enemies, not remembering them or any of their adventures together. Killing them…

Tarn’s EM field betrayed a pulse of distress before he could reign it in.

A servo released the ship’s steering to reach and rub his faceplates.

“… I’m fine.” He repeated, mostly to convince himself, voice cracking.

He had to be fine even if he wasn’t. He had to be the leader. He had to be invincible. He had to be infallible. He had to be the rock everyone else could hold on to when things weren’t easy.

“I’m fine.”

#cruel-singer