[Blackout's been spending a lot of time in Central and South America since becoming himself again, as far from the American military as he can be and still remain on the continents. Currently, he's in Mexico, hanging out in the mountains, killing time (and trying to avoid killing locals).

In his transform, he waits at the coordinates he'd given Vanessa, rotors turning idly.]

Scorponok.

New orders: maintain cover. Preserve yourself. No risks.



...I'm not coming.

Scorponok, maintain current coordinates. Preparations to depart are nearly complete.

[The video comes on and for a moment there's nothing to see but moving shadows. A chest, an outstretched arm--it becomes clear as he sits back in the seat that Blackout had been adjusting the camera, which is a grainy, low-quality number.

The image may be bad, but it's not so bad that it obscures the fact that he looks...a little bit worse for wear. A black eye, a split lip. That smudge under his nose is very likely dried blood, haphazardly wiped away. His voice is a growl when he speaks.]

Have I mentioned recently how much I hate this body?


((ETA: Video continues in the comments. :3))

[Ring ring ring there's a call coming through on your cell phone, Bumblebee. Guess who kept that number you gave him~?]

True to his word, as Blackout was with surprising frequency for a Decepticon, he stayed in one spot while he waited for the worldhopper to bring Vanessa Buckingham to him. He'd managed to stumble his way into the nearest human habitation since finding himself organic once again this morning--which had been the reason he'd looked so drawn, talking to her--and it wasn't as if he could get very far even if he'd decided to try and flee the small town.

So he remained, having found a (relatively) comfortable seat on a (relatively) secluded bench in a little park in the center of town. He fiddled with his stolen phone while he waited.

So drunk virus got me thinking, and today I sat down and wrote an essay...on how I think Cybertronians get drunk.

Chalk this up to "Nella is a huge nerd who thinks about her characters way too much", rofl~ It's. Kind of TL;DR.

ANYWAY, FOR THE INTERESTED, A LINK: "Wow, that was tingly!" On high-grade energon and intoxication in Transformers.

Enjoy? :D?

Occasionally, I wish the fleshlings of this planet were a little more durable.

I'd feel like I actually accomplished something in annihilating them.

It won't stop.


((CaramellDansen is stuck in his head. Literally.))

Finally.

[Blackout had no idea where Bonecrusher had taken him--somewhere away from that fragging hospital, certainly. He assumed they'd headed south; it was warm enough that he wasn't uncomfortable in the clothes he'd scavenged to replace the hospital gown, though he'd only managed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

Of course, if this worked, he wouldn't need to worry about clothes again, and Primus was he looking forward to that. Bonecrusher had parked them in...some kind of outpost, he wasn't sure what this place was, save that there were a lot of vehicles here that looked like Optimus Prime's transform, a bunch of humans speaking a language he couldn't translate in this form, and that Bonecrusher had kicked him out so he could recharge while Blackout waited for Freyja to arrive.

That's what he was doing currently, leaning against the outpost's main building with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Waiting.]

[Blackout's third day hospitalized starts well. He's been let out of the restraints, he's feeling stronger and more clear-headed, and that damned cough has even eased some, though it continues to pester him.

Unfortunately, being able to think straight also means that he's bored out of his squishy little processor. He knows if he makes a run for it, they'll just strap him down again, and even if he gets out of the hospital it'll be less than difficult for the local Autobot presence to track him down again. So that leaves sitting there and recuperating like a good little squishy as his only feasible choice, so...that's what he does.

Fragging fantastic.]


((Okay, this post marks the beginning of a plot I'm doing with Mikaela as much as anything else, so BE WARNED that there will be some graphic content related to HUMAN physical injury included in this RL. Thank you and goodnight. <3))

[Tranquility Regional Medical Center is a fairly typical hospital, if a little on the small side. Mikaela wasn't able--or didn't care--to finagle a private room for Blackout, so he's been installed in one with two other beds. His bed is the last in the room; a rolling screen offers some visual privacy, though it won't do much to muffle conversation. He's privileged enough to have a window, though it's partially obscured by half-lowered venetian blinds.

His first full day in the hospital he spends under sedation and in full medical restraints, thanks to an attempt to take a swing at the resident setting up the IV dock for fluids. Anyone who tried to visit him that day would have been allowed, but wouldn't have had much to do. He was unconscious most of the day.

Blackout's spends most of his second day bound to the bed, drifting in and out of consciousness, half awake and maybe just a little delirious at the best of times. There's something a little bit vulnerable about him--he isn't really thinking straight, and he hasn't really regained his strength at all. His processor/vocalizer filter is on the fritz, though as his strength improves over the course of the day, so does his cognition.]


((Open RL for characters who may want to visit human!Blackout while he's in the hospital~! Feel free to say your character came on the first day when he was all passed out and left again, if you're so inclined; he'll also be there tomorrow, but as there will be Plot happening then, I'd rather he didn't get visitors so no innocent bystanders get caught in it~.))

[Blackout's holed himself up in a wind-worn rock formation, curling in the relative shelter when night falls, or to get out of the wind. He'd be there now, as well, if it weren't for the fear that the rocks would scatter or impede the signal from his PDA.

So he's out, instead, sitting on the ground, slumped against one of the rocks. The handheld perches on the rock over his head, on and--hopefully--transmitting some kind of signal that can be used to triangulate his position.]

...What point could there possibly be putting so many sensors in an outlet port? It seems illogical.


( TL;DR OOC notes behind the cut~ )

Not mine. Not my lord Megatron, an alternate.

Still no word.

And their Allspark still exists.