[Who knows why this is happening. It doesn't even really make sense. Maybe there was a report of Soundwave making Decepticon fish. Yeah, that sounds good.]

[Either way, whatever the reason, there is an Autobot standing ankle-deep in an African river. He appears to be idly examining something captured in his hands. He grins, suddenly, and turns to face the bank.]


I think I found something that wants to meet you!

[You know what's on TV right now? A cooking show. About making pies. Yes, that's right. Pies. Fruit, cream, key lime... it's just a general pie show.

And, not to be outdone by some silly show, someone has gone up to his elbows in flour and an amalgamation of ingredients that was probably intended to be pie crust. Hey, he's doing his best. This cooking thing is new.

... As is that smear of chocolate across his cheekbone. Where did that even come from?]

[Well. Since once again, it seems the local weather machines are on the fritz, the city is covered in heavy, heavy snow. There's no getting to work, supply stores... nothing.

And, of course, in a contrived bit of plot coincidence, this weather dispute coincides with another sort of body-swap. Of course, this time, certain parties were prepared for it. Somewhere along the line, someone equipped the library with a fireplace. And a human couch. Complete with blankets and whatnot.

Ironhide is attempting to make use of this fireplace, cursing, sweating, and generally doing a terrible job of it. At least until, in an explosive moment, the fire bursts to life, and he falls backward onto his ass.

He practically beams.]


Hah! I... have made fire.

[This is Air Raid's place. Why is it Air Raid's place? Who knows? Possibly because a certain red car moved in and refuses to get his speedy backside out again.

Of course, sharing space, however temporary it is -- what with the evacuation and all -- comes with potentially dubious benefits. He really doesn't think anyone's around right now. Which may or may not be true. He hopes it's true, anyway.

Why?

Because said red car is currently dancing in the living room. To his internal radio. Either that or he's putting himself through a workout. But from the way he's... shaking... things, it's much more likely he's trying to break it down.

Without getting caught.]

[Nondescript Autobot quarters? Check. People-sized? Check. Nondescript furnishings and decor...

Not so much a check. There are Christmas colors everywhere. Lights, wreaths, stockings, and everything else in between. It's like Santa's village exploded all over the place. Snow is outside, and someone managed to coax a fire to life in the fireplace. Victory! There's even mistletoe.

The tree, though, it's looking a little sad. Covered in silver tinsel and what have you. Someone is struggling to get the lights up. On a ladder that may or may not have seen better days.]

Damn you... stay up!

[This isn't exactly the place you'd expect to find robots. There's nothing but snow and fields for miles. Maybe a few clusters of scrawny, bent over trees here and there, hunched under the weight of the snow. Deep snow, too. Several feet deep - enough to where certain fleets of robots are likely stuck where they are until one of them can plow a path through it...

... In the meantime...

No one's around. There's a gap in the satellite coverage. Which makes this the perfect opportunity for certain 'Bots to start sneaking up on their companions... with a handful of snow.]

[Again, this is the nondescript Autobot living quarters. And, here, within this sanctuary, there is suddenly a large, fancy television set. Or whatever the high-tech version is.

The weapons master is futzing with it, trying to put what looks like a futuristic DVD thing into it.

It appears to be defeating him soundly.]

[And once again, we find ourselves in the nondescript Autobot quarters. It's evening, and it's cold. The temperature has, unfortunately, not dissuaded a certain leggy 'Bot from investigating what appears to be a spontaneously appearing balcony. He has a blanket draped around him, and is staring up at a spray of ... shooting stars. Beautiful! Fabulous!]

... I wonder how many of those are actual meteors, and how many are just space trash.

[Moment ruined.]

[ Maybe this is a bar, or maybe this is a certain apartment, but either way, someone's been drinking. Someone's been drinking a lot, since there's a jet trying to build towers out of empty engergon cubes. He can get about four or five in a stack before he knocks it over. ]

Wassis. S'not... s'not level. Floor's all slanted. I can't even... build. Everythin's... fallin' over.

I gotta do it again.

[Once again, we look in on the nondescript living quarters of various giant alien robots. It's your typical afternoon, albeit a gray, rainy one.

The 'Bot in question is spending his afternoon sprawled lazily on a couch, dozing comfortably. There is a can of wax on the floor next to him, but he doesn't seem inclined to pick it up just yet. He's far too relaxed right now.

Can't let that happen, can we?]