((This journal was for use on tfblogs, which has now closed. So I’m taking the blog free-floating to use for Nexus Frostbite and TFBlogs Frostbite.

Two lawyers, one account? Oy is putting it mildly.

That said, Nexus Frostbite will be getting the majority of the spotlight here and ultimately be the sole owner of the journal (as things stand right now and possibly might change in the future). Why’s that? One thing is confusion factor between who’s who and to prevent them from bleeding into each other, despite their wildly different histories. Another thing, despite my wanting TFBlogs Frostbite to survive The End Of The World™, is that I want her to come to terms with what happened, and then bow out gracefully, settling in a new reality where perhaps she can make a fresh start and leave some of her baggage behind. That is not to say she’ll never pop up again, but that’s how I think the transition should go.

Again, that’s the plan. We know how plans can be derailed.

So that said, all previously journal entries belong to TFBlogs Frostbite and should be considered character history for her. All entries after the post 'OOC: Journal semi-reboot' will be marked at the bottom with tiny tags [TFBlogs Frostbite] and [Nexus Frostbite] for clarification about which characters are in the entry.

The two Frostbites can be physically told apart as well. Nexus Frostbite has been LOLed into a MiG 1.44 jet (and is going to stay that way to help tell them apart) and TFBlogs Frostbite is still the WS6 2000 Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am with mods.))

O thou who dries't the mourner's tear
How dark this world would be
If pierced by sin and sorrow here
We could not fly to thee – Thomas Moore, Irish Poet



This was not the Nexus, wherever it was.

The place was, however, bloody hot. Molten hot. The metal of the structures here faintly glowed from the heat, and the bubbling pools dotted here and there were vivid colors, no doubt from bacteria living in the waters. Steam geysers erupted occasionally and the light drenching everything in red hues was bright, painfully so.

It suited Frostbite just fine, this belched out hell. For an environment that would blow out most of the cooling systems in her (former) universe’s Autobots, the field the cryogenic generator housed within her was emitting was keeping her core temperature at a comfortable range. It was taxing though on her energy reserves, and sooner or later she would have to rest and refuel.

It was also annoying in a visual sense. Whenever her vision slid into the infrared, her far too sensitive sight immediately went into overload and she was blinded. This particular feature could really be a hindrance… the thermal signature of explosions and weapons fire could send her reeling and the only combat advantage it gave her was the ability to pinpoint vital areas on a mech with surgical precision before a strike. It only helped with tracking if the subject had been nearby recently. It was obvious. All in all, it was a pain, and she had been honest when she had told the bear such. The other Frostbite did not have problems with it, which made her think that there were things still broken within her that First Aid hadn’t managed to fix. Her education on how to function and move when one or more of her senses were getting painfully blocked was becoming quite thorough though.

But all in all, it reverberated with her. Sat well with the part that was raging away ever since the universe had collapsed in a burst of white noise and darkness, as she leapt from rooftop to rooftop, stalked across metal beams and cables strung over chasms, and threaded her way through the wreckage littered on the open ground. Metal scraped as the ‘toes’ of one foot dragged across the plating beneath her. Frostbite whuffed air out through the vents set in her helm and stared up at the sky.

Someone was talking about him again. Frostbite just knew. She snorted, turning her attention back to finding what she was looking for. Someone was talking, and they weren’t saying anything good most likely. What proof was there that their universe had come apart specifically from his actions anyway? There had a lot of people mucking about with stuff; from Skids and Mainframe and the deliberate attempt to change time, to Ratchet’s work with advanced tech… and yet, he was the one fingered.

There were times she figured some higher power… enough of that.

Game today was signal chasing. A somewhat familiar signal – fragmented, distorted. Perhaps by the environment? It was hostile out here…

Mudpots plopped below her. No telling yet if the signal was Autobot, Decepticon or even anything that could have existed in her own reality. It bounced around… it really was familiar though… but there was no physical trace of anyone’s movements. Strange… the Cybertronian sized buildings were intact and amazingly well maintained despite the lack of evidence of mechs or other lifeforms. Someone seemed to be around. Frostbite supposed they might be seeking shelter in the buildings to avoid being fried by the elements.

But then… where were the doors on the buildings, then? The windows?

Metal scraped.

Frostbite frowned. Her foot had not moved. The large Autobot’s fingers gently curled around the handles of the fusion blasters she had openly magnetized to her hips.

She barely cleared the rooftop in time.

Please see stickied post.

The Screwup Fairy can`t take a hint and leave this place alone, huh? [/rhetorical] That thing must be getting more flyer miles than Skyfire, slag.

So... the real question is this. Who's dental plates do I have to punch in for this?

And more importantly...

How much high grade am I going to have to go through this time?

Slaggit. I might be better off switching to beer.

Enhanced senses from what I had... are fine and dandy most of the time.

BUT...

Being able to see into the infrared part of the electromagnetic spectrum with the precision I can and all the other sensors that detect thermal energy and presents me with a picture with how the world is in terms of temperature and heat... gets somewhat strange at times. It's great (somewhat) in battle; if I get close enough and am focusing I can see the patterns of heat coming off internals through armor and know roughly where to strike to hit a vital area. It's GREAT when it comes to pranks; it allows me to tell me when someone's lying (body temperature changes when someone lies, who knew? Something to add to my arsenal when reading and analyzing body language and tone) and if I'm fast enough, I can track the prankster by the residual heat trail left behind. Gooood stuff.

But still, things get weird at times.

Like when I'm happily using the normal visual or some other part the electromagnetic spectrum to take a looksie and thermal data leeks in and colours the world screwy real. Or in battle... explosions suck in more ways than their boom factor.

And then there's times it gets outright bizarre.

Like when a pretty femme leans down and whispers sweet nothings in a mech's audio, and the poor guy's face practically _screams_ his internals are doing more flips and flops and general acrobatics than an entire Cirque de Soleil perfomance. Now it's one thing to see that expression, hell, downright HILARIOUS at times, BUT to actually see indications of that mech's internals going through their routines...

As I said... these senses are fine and dandy only _some_ of the time.

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will post the answers to the questions (and the questions themselves) on your blog or journal.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5.When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions. And thus the endless cycle of the meme goes on and on and on and on...

( My answers to Genatria )

It's that fragging time of year again.

*cue violent swearing*

If I wasn't busy enough, now I have to deal with all the tax returns as well. And to boot, the online filing system is down as well, which means I have to do this the old fashioned way.

ARGH!

Okay, Wheeljack, you’ve been the one breaking into my office and leaving me gifts. Took me awhile, but I found your touchmark on the flask and cups.

Thank you. ♥

… but why?

Well colour me intrigued. Somebody’s been breaking into the ol’ office as of late.

And nothing’s gone missing. Save my wrapping paper, and I have a good lead on who made off with that.

Puzzling thing is… I’ve actually gained a few items. I dunno about you, but that’s really not what happens in your typical B&E, now does it?

I am now in possession of one fine looking engraved metal and crystal formal flask and cup set. … And I think whoever my ‘burglar’ is, really intended the set for me. Why else would the engravings be snowflakes then? It’s really quite gorgeous.

I’m touched. Who would do this for me?

Sounds like I’m gonna have to track down a prowler then. And give whoever my proper thanks.

Well, Christmas shopping’s nearly done. All praise the powers of online purchasing! Of course, everything decided to arrive at once (except for Red’s gift… which I had to go get a U-Haul trailer and personally haul back to the Ark) so I’ve got stuff piled to the rafters. Except I have no gift wrapping paper. I have letter-sized paper, legal-sized paper, carbon paper, packaging paper for the post office, parchment paper, origami paper… even some anodized titanium that kinda acts as paper kicking around the office.

But no wrapping paper. >_______< Not even a bow or ribbon in sight.

Which is strange, because I slagging stockpiled the stuff this year on my own dime.

*GRUMBLE* People, if you want wrapping paper, just ask! Now I have to make another run to the store… sheesh.

*Returning to engineering, Frostbite neatly put the excess materials from her repair job neatly on a free work bench, optics sweeping the room (though the toolkit she kept safely in subspace for the time being – it might be useful later).*

*They were going outside, per orders… just taking a little and very necessary detour. After all… Latchimus Prime had said to arms, and arms were exactly what they were here for.*

*After all, when hunting giant, mythical space monsters, it’s best to walk softly… and carry big fragging guns ™*

(( OOC: Jumping from here, invoking a small GHOP and landing up here))

*After leaving Maccadams and stopping over in Enginneering and gathering the newly spun power lines from the autofab running in there, Frostbite found herself helping Wheeljack lie the cords along the edge of the corridor walls. The process itself was very straightforward; they had started at the main generators and left one end of wire to be connected (nothing was running live at this point – a hook-up to the main generators was the last on the to do list). Then they had laid down clamps and fixed them to the side to guide the wires to their intended destination – Medical - and to keep them out of everyone’s way. It was not unlike running telephone wires along the baseboard. The wires themselves were insulated in some black rubbery substance that formed the outer casing of the cord, so should anyone touch one while they were running, they wouldn’t end up as burnt and crispy as a marshmallow that’s been held over a campfire flame too long.*

*So they had worked their way up to Medical – den of the bear himself. And they were ready to bring the new lines inside and hook them up to the variety of equipment inside.*

*turning to face her ‘partner in crime’* I’m ready on this end. How ‘bout you?

*What she didn’t say was, ‘Are you ready to face Ratchet?’ She would wager that an encounter between the two was already weighing heavily on the engineer’s mind.*

((Since this got bumped off the flist, continuing here))

*Meanwhile in ANOTHER part of the bar*

[Random Con 1] *totally tanked* I’m _telling_ you; humans, they’re useless! Hic! XD

[Random Con 2] *also tanked* No! No! You got it all wrong! You can get special powers from the human girls. All you have to do is have them KISS you!

[Random Con 1] *scratches head* KISS? HIC! Ain’t that some band?

[Random Con 3] *far more sober and very disturbed at where the conversation was going* O_____________________O;;;;; Okaaaaaaaaaaaaay… no more high grade for you. BOTH of you. And seriously, put that tongue… er… thing away, Legion. Seriously. It puts Gene Simmons’ to shame.

[Random Con 3] Legion? *poke poke* Legion? Are you listening?

[Legion] I’m a Pretty, Pretty Little Princess! *falls over unconscious*

[Random Con 1] BWAHAHAHAHA! He fall down! HIC! XD *falls over too*

[Random Con 3] =________________@;; Can’t take them anywhere… *sigh*

*************************************************************************************************

oO( The only thing you’ll get from THIS human is the KISS of DEATH… X[ )

*Absently listening to the conversation on the other side of the bar and waiting for Wheeljack to reply to her, she downed the rest of her cup of Special Reserve Blue and poured herself another, doors flicking up as the comm. came through, faint and static filled. She wondered absently where exactly this bar was. It sounded like it was coming from far away…*

[Jazz:Scomm:Autobot Freq.] Attention all Autobots... This is Jazz blastin' atcha. Jus' got word that the commander of the Maximals forces is on his way here, possibly with some back-up. ID is "Primal." Allow them to approach the Ark an' I'll make sure at least one of the Maximals already here is up front to meet 'n' greet. [/Scomm]

*sighing* You know, what they say about houseguests and fish is true. Having them around the first little while is fine… then things in general start to really stink.

*Grumbling to herself all the while as she led the way to Maccadams, Frostbite kept glancing over her shoulder to make sure Wheeljack was keeping up. A throb of pain from the migraine that hadn’t disappeared caused her to wrinkle her brow and deepen her frown.*

oO( Feels like the world’s exploding, ‘n my head’s the nuke. Oy, and the fragging thing is that the world practically IS exploding – and part of it probably is my fault. If it ain’t one thing, it’s another – things keep piling up so fast it’s hard to keep track – and almost everything I’ve done and said has turned sour.

*sigh*

I’d pray for the courage to fix what I can, the serenity to accept what I can’t, and the wisdom to tell in between – but I know nobody’s probably listening t’me.

I’m a lawyer… it’s my job to defend, especially those people don’t get heard or listened to. I’m really no good at fixing things.

… gotta try to help, though. Maybe the first step here is to listen.

I haven’t done enough of that lately. Has any of us?)Oo

What can I get you, ‘Jack?

[Internal log]

So here I am in the security bunker, seated at the monitor station, watching this latest drama with the Autobots unfold. It seems they lost the Matrix when I was away, there was some giant disaster involving Omega Supreme to the point where they weren’t sure if he was batting for the home team, so to speak. There’s some big bad out there named Seether, if the talk in the halls is of any accuracy, who’s supposedly going to need Primus or something knocking on his door to squash. We’ve got Tracks’ sister (what’shername… so many arrivals… hard to keep track >.<) taking on the Matrix, sporting this strange new blue faction symbol. I highly doubt she’s wearing it as a fashion statement. We have what seems to be a small group of Decepticons talking peace… or at least ceasefire. Of course, these are Decepticons, and who knows what their pals are plotting. We have reality warping and time twisting, and new problems dropping every second.

And let’s not forget the Maximals. Who at some point in time were crawling over the stasis locked forms of the crew in the past. Which means they’re from our past. BUT… that tech of theirs looks mighty advanced, and they ARE Cybertronians. So not from the past; there’s no Maximals on Cybertron so far. The future? That then means time travel…. And things just got even more complicated.

If I’m right and following this logic chain correctly… they’re the Autobots’ descendants.

Dear God in heaven.

So here I am... watching history unfold. Watching and listening as problems and events unfurl around me like flowers.

And finally I have time to think.

So many storm fronts moving in. When they converge…

It isn’t a question of if all hell will break loose. But when. [/Internal Log]