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Sixshot looked down at the mess of tentacles and strange tubes spread out at his feet. “What’s that?”
“Tribute!” Blot bounced. “I got it on Taraxus Five, it was all ‘Autobots, save me!’ and I was all ‘Hahahahahaha! No!’ and I caught it for you. You like it?”
“Uh…” Sixshot didn’t like it, and he certainly didn’t want to have to touch it, especially not after Blot had carried it all the way back from Taraxus Five. But the Terrocon base was empty save for the two of them, and any sulking he caused he would have to deal with. He made a show of examining the organic. “It is… acceptable,” he conceded. As space debris, he thought.
“Yessss!” Blot bounced some more, causing several of his joints to start oozing.
Oh scrap no, five astroseconds to olfactory meltdown. Sixshot closed off his vents, and wondered how quickly he could leave without hurting Blot’s rather primitive feelings, or encouraging the disgusting little freak to follow him. Again.
“What you gonna do with it?” Blot prompted. He gave the organic a shake. It wasn’t dead, Sixshot was pretty sure about that, but it was certainly clever enough to pretend. Probably wished it was though, with Blot’s fluids dribbling all over it.
“I’ll think of something,” Sixshot said. But Blot’s face fell, and Sixshot experienced one of those odd surges of emotion; sympathy, he thought, or pity, something like that. “I need to train,” he said. “You can think about it for me.”
Blot perked up again. “Sure thing!” he grinned. He gathered up the organic; with any luck he’d get distracted and forget about it. “You, uh… You sure you like it?” he said, his optics wide and his expression so full of hope.
Adept as he was at breaking things, Sixshot couldn’t bring himself to smash that hope. “Yes,” he lied. “Of course I do.”