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October 16, 2011

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Chromia Ironhide

(Prison Complex, Iacon)

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Chromia huffs at her lack of visitors. She has enough grace not to sneak out of the brig like the twin that put her in here, and certainly not while under Horizon's watch, but that didn't mean she had to /like/ it. Seriously, all she did was start one tiny little fight, and she was the one that got punished for it, with no good scars to show for it. Looking longingly at her shiny new anti-aircraft rifle that has been confiscated just out of her reach, she looks up at the sound of someone entering. "Oh, thank Primus someone from security got down here. Been festerin' in this cell for solars. Aint easy."

Ambling past the cells, the bulky Ironhide stops in front of Chromia and eyes her suspiciously. With a smirk, Ironhide looks down at a glowy, official-looking clipboard in his hand, "Well, ya'll should be used to festerin'. Cause that's what ya get when you act all crazy. Musta had a screw loose," he says in a grumpy way, "Ya gotta know when tah stop being a moron," he advises helpfully.

Indeed, Chromia certainly doesn't act rationally or even think before she does something, and this time is no exception. Flipping Ironhide an obscene gesture, she throws a piece of debris from the floor of her cell at him with a snarled, "Frag ya! What'd ya' know?" She'd wipe that self-satisfied smirk from his face...if only these slagging bars weren't in the way!

Ironhide frowns disapprovingly at Chromia and raises his hand to caution her, "Hey, good advice," he reminds her, "I remember..." he begins, stoking his chin like a storyteller, "Good ole Tailbite told me tah stop bein a hothead. Ha! Now he's one to talk. Hmmf," he remembers grumpily, "Why don't ya just say sorry and I'll go dig up the key. What'ya say?"

Chromia crosses her hands over her chest and glowers at the mech before her. "Not apologizin' ta' any of those troublmakin' twins! And ya' have no room ta' lecture me. You're not that much older than I am. Ya' try dealin' with them. I won that fight fair an' square, and Sunstreaker ain't gonna' accept no apology 'bout that."

Smirking a bit, Ironhide shakes his head, "Suit yerself, hothead," he comments. "Bein stubborn like that ain't gonna make ya a lot of pals, Chromia," he adds, "But guess yah have to make it up someway, bud. Clean and scrub much?" he asks knowingly.

Chromia's mouth snaps shut for a few kliks before she recovers and her expression darkens. "/Excuse me/?"

Ironhide puts a hand on his hip and eyes Chromia all the more, "Well yah ain't gettin' out with good behavior, I think we can be sure of that," he comments, "But tell yah what. I'll be a pal and get yah a bucket. Tell em you're gonna do a chore or two. Maybe that'll get yah off. How's that sound?" he asks helpfully.

Chromia huffs. "Ya' take that up with Horizon. Mech has it out for me since I destroyed his office." Ouch. She really wasn't winning herself any brownie points here. She pauses for a moment, sucking up her pride before setting her features in a stern line. "Fine. I want ta' get outta' here /and/ have my rifle back."

Ironhide rubs his chin contemplatively, "Well, ya'll just calm down and I'll go see bout that with ole Horizon," he advises, "Nice of me, ain't it?" he hrmmffs grumpily.

"All or nothin', Ironhide. Ya' want me off your watch, my rifle comes with me." She sends another longing glance its way. She sticks a hand through the bars. "Now give me those cleanin' supplies."

Ironhide slaps an electro-scrubber into Chromia's hand, "No guarantees. Here ya go. Make it shine and yah can start on the floor over here tomorrow. By then, should have an answer for yah. Got it?" he tells her, more than asking, "Remember, calm self. We're freein' a calm Chromia."

Chromia grumbles something under her breath as she takes the electro-scrubber, turning it on and working on the floor of her cell on hands and knees. "We'll see." She does, however, shoot him one last glare before focusing at the thick layer of grime on the floor.

Ironhide gives a nod of satisfaction now that he's shown Chromia the light, "Calm, Chromia," he reminds her. He taps something into the glowy clipboard and turns to leave.

"An' stop callin' me that!" She calls after him. "A calm Chromia equals a /dead/ Chromia."

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