Objections brushed aside, concerns dismissed, his growing embarrassment subtly mocked; Optimus Prime was quickly getting the impression that his new-found rank carried little weight with the Council, or even with their lackeys. If this was how they mowed over him during planning for a simple event, he feared what they could really do during an official, convened vote or debate.
His own, personal bodyguard - old and boisterous though he was, was loyal, and the red mech slapped him on the back with a heavy hand, as encouraging as he could be, even if it scuffed his new finish.
"Aw, don't fret about it, Prahm. These functions are borin' as pit. Might as well have someone nice t' look at while you're stuck there. -Shoo you! He's had enough!" Ironhide waved a massive hand at the little servant mech that crept up while he talked, buffing out the scuff before the guard could scare him off. Optimus sighed. Ironhide meant well, but he simply didn't get it.
"That is hardly the point..."
"If it makes ya feel better, remember, you're givin' some little pleasure bot a job for the night-" Optimus' sputter and sudden, heated ventilation cut him off, and Ironhide barked with laughter.
"Not like that! Primus, you're a prude - good ta see the high class afts haven't gotten to ya completely yet. Naw, you're the one always goin' on about helpin' the lower classes, Prahm. Some bot is gettin' paid tonight 'cause of you, whether ya' do anythin' or not."
Optimus cringed, but couldn't object to that idea at all.
"Very well then. ...Are you sure you're not under the council's pay, Ironhide? Your words were far more effective than their own."
"Like slag I am!" Ironhide's indignant laugh soothed his mood only slightly, and he reluctantly continued with his preparations for the gala.
no subject
They didn't care.
Objections brushed aside, concerns dismissed, his growing embarrassment subtly mocked; Optimus Prime was quickly getting the impression that his new-found rank carried little weight with the Council, or even with their lackeys. If this was how they mowed over him during planning for a simple event, he feared what they could really do during an official, convened vote or debate.
His own, personal bodyguard - old and boisterous though he was, was loyal, and the red mech slapped him on the back with a heavy hand, as encouraging as he could be, even if it scuffed his new finish.
"Aw, don't fret about it, Prahm. These functions are borin' as pit. Might as well have someone nice t' look at while you're stuck there. -Shoo you! He's had enough!" Ironhide waved a massive hand at the little servant mech that crept up while he talked, buffing out the scuff before the guard could scare him off. Optimus sighed. Ironhide meant well, but he simply didn't get it.
"That is hardly the point..."
"If it makes ya feel better, remember, you're givin' some little pleasure bot a job for the night-" Optimus' sputter and sudden, heated ventilation cut him off, and Ironhide barked with laughter.
"Not like that! Primus, you're a prude - good ta see the high class afts haven't gotten to ya completely yet. Naw, you're the one always goin' on about helpin' the lower classes, Prahm. Some bot is gettin' paid tonight 'cause of you, whether ya' do anythin' or not."
Optimus cringed, but couldn't object to that idea at all.
"Very well then. ...Are you sure you're not under the council's pay, Ironhide? Your words were far more effective than their own."
"Like slag I am!" Ironhide's indignant laugh soothed his mood only slightly, and he reluctantly continued with his preparations for the gala.