galaxyshuttle

[galaxyshuttle]

He really doesn't like that facial damage. That is a recipe for rusting or corrosion. But, would this mech a. Allow a stranger to apply something that would aid in repairs, and leave it on for a few hours to actually work.

b. Decline, but take the nanite gel and do it himself later.

Probably not.

"Not really. Staying alive, mostly? If I let him go with you, and your face started popping up on the Missing holovid screens around the spaceport, I would have to live with that. Knowing that, by proxy, you are MIA because of my negligence" Deepspace rumbles, looking over at the little guy.... Well, they had asked for a cost. Maybe he could do it this way.

"Actually-" He hums, delving into his subspace, and placing the little (by his standards) tin down on the table beside Ghospire's elbow. The packaging is a little worse for wear, but it clearly isn't open from the faded branding tape up and over the screw top lid.

"Shuttle tier nanite gel. It's for healing the damage we get coast through asteroid belts, blaster fire, and the burns of solar flares or entering orbit. Should help out with your faceplates if you aren't partial to the damage. Otherwise, great in a pinch if you don't have a medic or med kit in hand. Payment? Find a use for that"

"I'll be fine." He sighed, rubbing his face and wiping the energon off of it. He takes a moment to vent, absently rubbing at the hole in his face as he thought. He'd have to open the box's now, dig through them to find trackers or what have you. Tear his ship apart to find any as well...

He shakes himself, armor rattling against each other as he sighs and leans back, thinking.

"Got a cost for the impromptu saving?" Would rather it not come back and bite him in the aft.

[galaxyshuttle]

He does, where possible, yes.

After eons of bad, survivors deserve a little bit of something nice.

|| GalaxyShuttle || 🗣

"Does he do this to others? The picking up people, giving them rubs and just... carrying them around?"

"... Is it some secret desire for him to be held?"

@galaxyshuttle

[galaxyshuttle]

"Good to know" Deepspace hums, optics roving the crowd gathered around their various tables or bar counter, and no one seems to be studying them all that hard. Guess Wing's had truly cut his losses and left. For now.

A little wince at the dribble of energon at that sip, and while he might not have anything for the wings, he does have some nanite gel that a hearty blob on their faceplate would do wonders. His stuff was made for the burns of solar flares, the bombardment of passing around or through asteroid fields, and the scorch of entering or exiting the atmosphere. That hole would be good as new!

"Yeah. I can heat or cool my frame, helps with different atmospheres of planets or space hubs. When you were panicking and your frame was trying to cool itself, I helped a little there cause I didn't want you to crash hard. I can hold and heat that cloth you've got if you need a temperature for ... Everything about today"

"I appreciated it." His voice is mumbled and staticky as he finishes shifting. He doesn't move from the little recovery cloth, just holds his helm and clicks softly.

"Bars aren't his scene, not these ones anyway." Taking another moment to vent before he shifts and looks his savior over with a critical optic. Shifting and slowly grabbing the coolant, sickle sharp claws wrapping around it and sighing softly. He holds it close for a moment, considering before taking a long drink of it, some of it slipping out of the still very open hole in his face.

Taking a moment to vent and shake himself out, rubbing his face and tilting his helm back.

"...Warm up?" It sounded more like a question than an answer.

[galaxyshuttle]

Arms coming to rest on the table, leaning in so he could talk softly as he knew shuttles were not exactly quiet, and he is very carefully using a claw to hook around the cube, and bring it right up against a servo so should they want anything, its accessible. It even has a little straw in it.

"I thought about bringing you back to the ship for a proper once over, but I don't imagine anyone likes waking up on strange ships with encounters like that. Bar is at least populated and has witnesses if he tried to start scrap" Deepspace murmurs, studying the little fellow, optics landing on the 'wings' and flicking through various levels of magnification. What did he have on servo to help with that? What could he make for that?

"You need to warm up, or cool down?" The shuttle asked, ready to reach out and gently keep them propped upright if they start to tilt anywhere but towards the 'recovery cloth'.

Skyfall glared, wings flared out before he rocketed off. He was no match against the shuttle, not like this.

The other remained limp in his grasp, plating rattling softly at the cold.

Golden visor was slow to flicker on, things blurry around the edges and voice box spitting some static. His helm tilted and pushed into the cloth before things evened out. Wing joined trembled and twitched, grinding and trembling before stilling.

"Fraggin.. pit slagging..." Mumbling and spitting out some other words before he finally shifted his helm to look around. He'd been in this bar a few times, helm dizzy as he slowly sat up. The soft mesh was weird under his servos, and weird that the cleaning cloth was so big.

Visor flickered a few times before he spit out more static and took it and his blast mask off. Golden optics cycle a few before finally settling on him.

"Thank fragging... Thanks."

[galaxyshuttle]

"Good" Deepspace rumbles, setting the mech down on the nearest level surface to take off and frag off and he is moving to a crouch to examine the little thing slumped across his pede.

Oh, yeah. Definitely a seeker at one point from the two holes in their armour where wings would be, but wounds having long since healed over. Still, can't imagine that those kind of injuries allowed one to get in their for maintenance, let alone trust anyone to do so if company was anything like the airborne ex.

Servos moving to carefully scoop and support the little seeker on their chassis in his palms, redirecting nitrogen down his lines to chill the plates in contact, and Deepspace is rising with his little limp quarry.

Right ... Logically, he'd just head back to the landing platforms, get them a berth to settle in at till they wake up, and send them on their way. However, given the ex, probably not a good place to wake up in a strange environment all alone.

Cleaning cloth bunched and folded on the edge of the table, little limbs carefully moved to fold under it, with a helm resting on top, and hopefully the populated interior of an oil house was a kinder spot to online than alone. He'd gotten a table at the back for less foot traffic and rowdiness, and a glass of chilled midgrade out of arm knocking range as the first thing seen when optics process their surroundings.

Hey, he's stirring. His helm is lifting.

"You're all good. Your friend isn't around"

The much smaller seeker struggled against his hand, spitting out angry static and only stilling at the squeeze. He glared at the mech, wings hiked high in anger and trembling. Jaw worked as he growled slightly, before giving a slow nod. He obviously wasn't wining this argument, and he wanted to make sure that next time he could get Ghost alone and on his ship...

And that meant leaving now to get another opportunity.

"Fine." He spit out, angry at being stopped, though there wasn't much he could do alone.

Ghostspire, meanwhile, had slumped against the offered pede.

Systems were slow to restart, frame plummeting in temperature before slowly raising back up. Systems slowly resetting and booting up, though he wasn't online quiet yet. Systems slow to boot up where he was slumped against Deepspaces pede. Vents steadying and evening out as other systems slowly cycled on.

[galaxyshuttle]

"And that is his choice to do so. That does not mean you come find him. You acknowledge, and you move on" Deepspace rumbled, watching this little gnat hover and snark. He'd never been a fan of bullies, both when he was a newspark and now. He wasn't perfect himself, he took odd jobs that involved a hit or two, but he didn't take delight in it. This one seemed to laser focused on Not Wings that he couldn't even tell his presence was unwanted. What was their relationship? Family? Exes? Work buddies? Either way, Skyfall was an issue.

Pede shifting at the clip of static, angling his foot so at least if they slumped backwards or forwards, it wasn't a faceplant to the unforgiving floor. Better ankle armour to lean against and slide down, or a pede arch to flop over.

He just wasn't expecting Skyfall to try and lunge.

To be fair, Skyfall probably isn't expecting to get snatched out of mid air either. Palm against his back, a wing sticking between two digits, talons curled over his shoulders and sides like a safety harness, and Deepspace is bringing him up to helm height. Of course, with a warning squeeze.

"I am going to let you go now. You are going to take off, and you are going to frag off. If you go near him, I will hold your wings in my first and I will use you like a knuckle buster as I punch that building. Your choice. Are we clear?" If they agree, big black claws will open, allowing the seeker to use his palm as a platform to get out of here. If they start shit ... Well, can always throw him like a verbal baseball.

"He wont pick up my coms! Besides, its NONE of your fragging concern!" Skyfall snarled, neck craining up and wings trembling with rage. Servos in tight fists and glare switching between Deepspace and Ghostspire.

The blast of cold made a burst of static bleat from his vox, armor rattling as he gave a harsh vent. Skyfall was still shouting, agruing with a mech who could easily punt him, he was still feeling the panic that made him want to purge or cry, the hot/cold feeling of his systems struggling to stablize and cycle through-

Frame seized as another burst of static left him, frame rattling as he fell into a heap of plating.

Skyfall made a noise, trying to dart around Deepspaces leg to try and get to Ghostspire first.

"Lookit what you did!"

[galaxyshuttle]

Hm, no you don't.

At the attempt to hover closer to No Wings, Deepspace was coming to rest on the initial extended pede, ensuring that this one would have to bonk into or orbit the great shin if he wanted to get close to the mech clearly having issues at ground level. Nitrogen flooding his fuel lines, directed down to his thruster at the closest leg, and Deepspace was pushing cold air down to the grounded seeker. Panic attacks usually made you feel like you were burning up, hopefully the cool air would keep them from a system crash.

"Perhaps it isn't. But, he has expressed both vocally and physically that he has no intention to go with you. You are both irate, emotive, and clearly have history. So, you two can work this out via comms, like grown mecha, and give each other space to get level heads." The shuttle rumbled, primary arms folding under his chassis and secondary limbs resting on hips.

Don't mistake his size for being slow, Skyfall. Eons in the vacuum of space means he lacks the wear and tear gravity has on a frame that size. He can and will yoink you out of mid air if his rather 'polite' hints are ignored. You are the perfect baseball size for a home run...

Neither one of them had noticed the much larger mech, and in full honesty Ghost had considered starting to scale the 'building' to get away from Skyfall, give himself some room to vent before they continued to argue-

Both of them jumped, Skyfall going so far as to activate his thrusters and rocket up a little. Wings flared up and wide, glaring at the much, much bigger mech that dared interfer-

While Ghostspire leaned back and put a servo over his chassis, willing his spark to calm before his frame forced a shut down. He just needed to...

He needed to vent, and Skyfall shifting to slowly hover closer, glaring up at the mech.

"What the frag!? Its none of your business!" Ghostspire gave a heavy vent, leaning back and closing his optics. Skyfall was not helping his own case, and listening to him shout was not helping at all.

"Skyfall shut the frag up and leave."

"Shut it, we still need to talk."

[galaxyshuttle]

Optics scanning through his HUD, mentally checking off the contents of his cargo hold against that of the various delivery orders on the right, and Deepspace is minimising the display at the raised voices by his ankle.

One of them is a little worse for wear, clearly an aerial but having sustained some heavy damage to lack the wings given the almost carbon copy mech yelling and grabbing at them.

Hm, possible break up gone wrong? The winged one seems pretty bent out of shape about whatever they'd previously been, especially since they seemed to ignore No Wings had donned a new name.

"Hey buddy. Pretty sure they don't really want to go with you. No means no"

Pede sliding forwards, armour around his calf and ankle flaring to blast warm air down in a subtle 'move aside', and he finds shock is pretty good at seperating warring parties.

He knew it was a bad idea to ignore and block Skyfalls com number. It was hard enough avoid him, but he couldn't stay in his ship forever. Eventually he had to come out of his ship, and do some shopping. As high alert as he was, he did pick a space port that was a touch nicer. 

The fresh air was nice, and they had everything he needed. Spare parts, some stuff to repair his ship, some extra energon… 

The open air market was nice, mechs, organics and everything in between mingled and worked around each other. Brings shouted from stalls, trying to sell their wares. And Ghost did look at some of them, humming and murmuring out deals. 

Turning to make his way back to his ship-

And snarling as his arm was grabbed and he was yanked to a stop. Skyfall glared down at him, visor glowing bright red as a snarl on his face. Ghostspire worked his jaw, visor off and mask in place. 

“Why the frag are you ignoring my calls?” Skyfall snarled at him, squeezing his arm and yanking him close. 

“Let. Go. Skyfall.” He snarled back, plating rattling before pressing close against his frame. “I said we aren't trine mates. We aren't amicas. We aren't anything.” He snarled starting to yank his arm out. 

“Oh that's bullslag Starfall. You know it.” Skyfall hissed, and Ghost snarled, yanking his arm out of the grip.

“It's Ghostspire. Get it right if your going to bother to seek me out.” He snarled claws flexing and hissing slowly. “All of this is your fragging fault and you know it. Frag off.” 

“You and I are going back to my ship. We are talking. And you are getting over yourself.” Skyfall snarled, grabbing Ghosts arm again and squeezing harder.

“Fucking make me.” And ohh that looks on Skyfalls face shot fear right through his spark. Bad idea…

[galaxyshuttle]

🐝  *  ―  𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑷𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

send 🚢 or ( 'SHIP' ) if you ever considered shipping our characters romantically and want me to fill out the following form for our muses. bold all that definitely applies, italicize what could potentially apply. feel free to add more if you think certain options are missing or you just want to add more.

do i ship our characters together?: yes | no | not yet but maybe soon

would i like to ship with you?: yes | maybe, i'm willing to try | no

type of relationship i could see: childhood or high school sweethearts | exes | engaged | married | long-term relationship | crushes | unrequited love | fling | long distance | online relationship | just dating | new relationship | toxic lovers | friends with benefits

tropes i'd enjoy writing for them: friends to lovers | enemies to lovers | exes to lovers | fake relationship / dating | forbidden love | grumpy and sunshine | star-crossed lovers | surprise pregnancy | second chance | soulmates | amnesia / mistaken identity | forced proximity | secret relationship | slow burn relationship

would i rather plot first or jump right in and see where it goes?: develop their relationship first | jump right in | something in between ( what specifically? )

what now?: let's plot something | send me shippy memes | i'll send you shippy memes | write me a random starter | i'll write you a random starter

anything else i want you to know about me / my character / my shipping habits: ( put whatever you want here )

[galaxyshuttle]

"..." Well. At least most of the crates made it back up onto the platform. Better a single item docked from your paycheck, than a whole order.

But, while she is practically squished flat to grab onto the flooring, convince herself this isn't some flash of her life before she drifts into the void of death forever, and Deepspace is chuckling softly.

"Make it up to me? Nah. If I let you tumble over, I gotta go collect your new order and add it to my run. Plus, phew, the paperwork alone if you went for a spacewalk means tips are out." He teased, offering a servo out to her to help her up. Before noting the barking orders at his heel.

That was neither the dock master, nor security nattering. Just a fellow 'Dockie' like them. A dock worker who is blasted onto his aft with bigger concerns of picking up his spilled cargo as Deepspace tilts his pede back onto his heel and blasts them with his thruster.

"Having a conversation, mate. Go around"

Oh, right, servo held back out to get her off the ground.

"Apologies. Deepspace. Dock work is kinda where the misfits and not all that social mechs end up, so we lose our manners sometimes on the clock"

She steadied herself against a soft vent, leaning forward as he guided her back onto the spaceport, optics squeezed closed. Talons scraped across her plating, barely leaving a mark; her armor was heavily plated and thick, ideal for withstanding grabs without being torn or crushed beneath his servos. She shifted, tossing a crate over the railing, then seized his arm in return.

Once safe, she sank to her knees, setting the crates aside and hunching over, her servos splayed across the filthy port floor. "U-Uh huh…" She released a shaky vent, loosening her grip on his arm and patting it reassuringly. "T-Thank you…" She nodded, opening her optics slowly and easing herself back into a seated position. It took a moment to gather herself before she shot back with wide, white optics.

"I'm so sorry! I-" She began apologizing, wavering as she had to tilt her helm back to look up at him properly. Oh. Oh. She flushed a bright pink, stammering, struggling to voice her earlier thoughts. It wasn't often she met someone her size, or even bigger, taking a moment to process everything.

"I-I...can make it up to you-" She finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze flickered nervously, then settled on his face, searching for a reaction. "I-I'm Atlas. I am so sorry, I didn't mean-" She swallowed thickly, quickly tugging the crates out of the way as someone yelled at her. "S-Sorry..."

[galaxyshuttle]

She could plunge over the edge into space. Deepspace wasn't the only shuttle out here, and you'd be surprised how often he got pinged to go grab something or someone who went over the edge. You think they'd put some better railings or means of keeping people on the station.

"It's alright. You aren't going to go over"

Pede slowly sliding backwards to act as his new anchor point, leaning to shift his center of gravity, and he's starting to pull, feeding her leg against his side so he can pin it under his other arms while still reaching out to get a new grip on armour overlaps or protrusions, and once he's got a good hold on knee plates, he can go for the arms.

"You are doing great. Nice slow vents, iiiin and out"

Talons hooking under her secondary arms, mindful of the death grip on her cargo, and he is carefully leveraging her forwards until she is back over the platform, and he can slowly let go of the leg pinned at his hip for her to regain her balance with. He's going to keep his claws curled under her arm though. Means if she wobbles, or buckles, he can at least spin her so she plants in the middle of the loading arm rather than backwards, again.

"..."

She was still so clenched, and tensed up. The poor crates suffering the worst of the fright from the gouges of digits finding purchase.

"You can online your optics, by the way. You're on the platform"

Oh, frag. Oh frag.

Her entire frame wobbled, optics fixed forward, refusing to acknowledge her precarious position. Instead, she tightened her grip on her cargo, shaky optics glancing down briefly in hopes of spotting her savior before squeezing them shut.

She could thank them properly later; right now, there were more pressing concerns. Like not losing her breakfast or plunging into space.

"Uh… Uh huh," she stammered, blunt digits clamping onto the box. "I'm… I'm secure…!" Her voice cracked, her frame frozen as if the slightest movement might send her over the edge, uncertain of how firmly he held her pede. She vented softly, shifting her one pede on the ground to ensure it was firmly planted.

"Are… Are you going to count down o-or…?"

[galaxyshuttle]

What can he say? He knows how to treat a little pillow tank right~

@symphonicdemise

Not bad. Not bad at all.

[galaxyshuttle]

@symphonicdemise

Not bad. Not bad at all.

[galaxyshuttle]

Deepspace, meanwhile, had no issues planting his pedes. He'd worked out pretty early on that if he redirected the output of his systems cooling at his pedes, he blasted a continuous onslaught of hot air as his leg came down, giving pesky organics and smaller frames an incentive to stop gawking and move.

Good day for some haulin'! He's gone for the 90's, easier to grab a couple loads in the same direction, and scoop a few more on the next lap back. Good way to crunch deliveries.

Right, this one is for 98C, we got 98F, and 91A, meaning we can pop out by the 80's and see if there is anything at the warehouse heading up or down the 'pa-

CLUNK.

Thrusters blasting to counterbalance the solid impact into his side, wondering if some muppet on their L's was flying sire's private ship again given how solid a clunk that was, and his servo is shooting down and out at the pede flailing past his field of view of a crate and ... Planting himself at realising he is really the only thing stopping this mecha pitching backwards over the guard rail which really does frag all for anyone on the larger side of frames.

Well, at least on the paperwork side of things ... She hasn't dropped anything. Either good reflexes, or poor fight - flight response. But, technically, we've had a collision. And no Dock Manager likes paperwork. So, if nothing goes wrong, no report needed.

"Ma'am? I'm gonna slowly pull you upright, need you to get a better grip of the crates, or ditch the load, as gravity is gonna grab ya when you aren't leaning as far back"

Starter for @galaxyshuttle.

The cargo loading area of the spaceport buzzed with organized chaos, where colossal freighters and transport vessels loomed like mountains against the backdrop of distant stars. Massive loading docks extended like mechanical arms, facilitating the transfer of crates, containers, and parcels from the bustling spaceport to the waiting ships.

Hovering drones zipped overhead, scanning cargo before emitting a reassuring buzz of approval. Atlas acknowledged them with a grateful smile, securing two large containers in her massive servos. She shouldered one and cradled the other under her arm, her white optics tracking the drone as it darted to its next task before she started toward her destination.

"Dock 96B…96B…96B…" she muttered, maneuvering carefully around smaller beings beneath her pedes while scanning for the correct port. "Oh, sorry-" she hissed softly, narrowly avoiding a mishap with another shipment, certain she heard curses in an unfamiliar language as she pivoted around them and pressed onward.

"96B, 96B, 9-" Her concentration broke as she collided with what felt like a pole- a not uncommon occurrence for her, embarrassingly enough. Her optics widened in surprise as she struggled to maintain her balance and steady her cargo. "Ah-!" She exclaimed, stumbling backward over a guardrail and crashing to the ground, crates held aloft.

[galaxyshuttle]

"I am partial to the more bitter stuff. I like that rare buzz in your jaw hinge of receptors wincing"

But, he'd keep his pace slow, and ensure the smaller mech didn't feel cornered or corralled. This was a venture of peace! No fun if his drinking buddy was waiting for the trap to be sprunt.

With Tarn combing the menu, he's happy to just pull up his Recent Orders and just get an old classic brough over. Can't go wrong with the ol' shuttle grade energon with a hearty dash of cobalt.

"Glad you like it!" Deepspace beamed at Tarn seeming to settle in to the larger frame bench, the lack of mask leaving him much easier to read. "I figured, even with the war over, best not to go anywhere too ritzy. Besides, no fun if everyone else gets to see how dark your scar goes when you blush. You know that, right? On the landing pad, your face went all shades of magenta, but your scar seemed to go a very dark grey. Kinda cute. Ah! Haha" Deepspace trailed off at a little drone coming to hover over their table, dropping off what seemed to be a literal drum of ... Hot energon.

Okay, made sense there wouldn't be glasswear for someone Deepspace's size, but still, guess we just hold a drum like a soda can.

"I like all sorts of additives to be truthful. I just happen to have a bit of a sweet tooth." He chuckled softly, appreciative that the other slowed his pace.

Tarn frowned a little, flustered a little by the larger mech chuckling. That deep voice rumbled in his chassis in a way he'd never experienced before. He commited the turns they took to memory before arriving at the hangar. He glanced around, getting a few dirty glances from a few organics before they returned to their business.

He waited until the table was deployed before sitting with the other at the newly opened table. His optics scanned the menu for a moment.

"Chilled, lead acetate additive." He said as he relaxed a little. "This is an interesting "little" establishment. I can't say I've ever been somewhere like this." He was used to more "formal" places. "Thank you for inviting me here."

[galaxyshuttle]

While he mostly specialised in construction, or transportation given his size, he occasionally dabbled in bounties for a side hustle. And there was no point being large, lumbering and unable to keep up with nimble targets. Also, having spent most of the war in the weightless vacuum of space had done wonders for his struts and pistons and joints.

But, fear response was likely only from naughty little defectors who assumed themselves too small for Tarn & Co to bother with, and got to play frag around and find out. Deepspace was smiles and booming laughter, but he was still ready for if this was some assumed easy pickings on an old ex-con. He'd hate to mar up the other side of his face.

"Lead ... I'm partial to cobalt, but I know an oilhouse that has lead on the menu" The shuttle rumbled after some thought, noticing Tarn's far from comfortable brisk strides, and slowing his own to allow company to keep pace.

A face, that was rapidly turning an adorable shade of rose while the scar seemed to darken the opposite in the wounded grey of his derma. A very fascinating contrast, and one that gets an amused chuckle as Tarn rapidly tries to school himself and likely work out a way to slap his mask back on without questions asked.

"But that's not as fun a propaganda trip"

A few slow turns and weaves through the industrial sector, pace more than slow enough for Tarn to remember his surroundings should he wish to go, and Deepspace is having to duck his helm under the giant awning of a hangar door. Serving drones and aerials zip around overhelm, carrying various trays of fuel and foodstuffs to the multitude of tables, where all manner of races mingle over the concept of sustenance. Also, cause it probably allows whatever shiftiness is happening up the back there without enforcers snooping around.

Servo reaching up to gather a giant disk of the wall, the little ion thrusters activating once horizontal, and seems its was somewhat of a BYO table situation as Deepspace guides Tarn towards the back of the hangar by some of the rear doors, and promptly plonks onto the great bench of a seat against its wall.

"So, lead. Chilled, ambient, or warm?" He asked, tapping the little matter projector in its center, and letting Tarn browse its menu before ordering.

"I suppose neutral territory would gather all sorts of characters." He hummed, trying to hide his distain for the few organics he saw meandering to their own business and ships.

Deepspace's jovial demeanor was entertaining to say the least. He was so used to fear responses from mechs when they first see his masked visage.

"I'm partial to lead additives, gives a little sweetness to the energon." He said as he followed him off the landing pad. He stopped in his tracks however when the other spun around and crouched down in front of him. His optics went a bit wide, he was surprisingly fast for his size.

"I... Oh..." He blinked a little, his face flushing at the compliment. He glanced away for a moment before following him once more. "Well, my mask has more of a symbolic purpose rather than hiding my features." He explained, having to take twice as many strides to keep up with the others single stride.

"We'd rather have mechs joining up for the cause, rather than just a pretty face." he chuckled softly, regaining his composure for a moment.

[galaxyshuttle]

“Considering even you tower among most of the locals on a daily basic here, I think I am quite justified. We got organics, we got techno-organics, we got sentient androids, and our lot. Nice little hodgepodge” Deepspace laughed, the sound likely rattling poor Tarn to the struts at such close proximity.

But, seems Deepspace was a rather jovial fellow. Likely, a nice change of pace to Tarn’s usual interactions of screaming and begging and, well, dying.

“But of course! It’s my favourite stopover while I wait for clients, I know some spots. Partial to any kind of minerals in your energon?” He asked, starting to lead the way off the landing pad when Tarn’s mask, the whole mystery and allure of Megatron’s little murder muppets, was promptly tossed in a subspace.

Kind of scary how quickly someone that big can crouch down to Tarn’s level. Someone has some very good upkeep of their frame.

“… Well, scrap. No wonder they put a mask on you” Deepspace chuckled as he got a good look at that scarred up cheek and lip and chin, pushing up off his knee with a grunt to lead the way into the more industrial side of the spaceport.

“Handsome face like that? You’d have people lining up to join the Cons faster than you could brand em all”

Tarn chuckled softly, watching his four arms work independantly of each other. It reminded him of Helex, just for a moment he found himself distracted by his own processor. Nothing crude, just fond memories.

"A drink sounds lovely, though I don't think you could call me a "big lad" in comparison to you." He smiled behind that mask of his. He wondered briefly if this was how other mechs felt around him. He shook the thought from his helm before gesturing towards the main hub of the spaceport.

"I cannot say I've ever been to this spaceport, you'll have to lead the way." He said, reaching up and removing his mask to store in his subspace for safe keeping. The "war was over", so there was no real reason to hide his identity anymore.