I…don’t plan to.
It’s a drink. A drink that makes you do stupid things.
No no no. It’s like paint. For your hair.
Well, she’s awful small… *taps chin*
I try to but we all know the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Do you mean the hairdye scent, the alcohol scent, or the cat scent?
The fluffy that goes meow? That’s my cat. She’s friendly. Mostly.
What part of Monsteropolis do you live in? What kind of residence do you live in?
Well, it uh, depends on whether or not you consider Skull Fortress a part of Monsteropolis or not… *shifty eyes*
Quick Man blinked and looked up from the floor. Yep, that was definitely Metal Man’s voice… and face. And snark, even. He let out a chuckle.
“Yeah, I’m okay. And I would’ve liked to be the Hot Rod or maybe Silver Bolt of the family but I guess it’s not really my day to be either today. Hah. But you can fire me and take back your job as Stepper, Metty.”
Transformers fans. Quick Man sat up, checking his bandaged right leg. He moved it a bit. Good. It didn’t get damaged more from the fall or floor slide.
“So you just got back today? Everybody missed you. Including Charizard.”
"Good, I’d have hated to think about what would have happened if you were bad off." For a moment, Metal seemed almost too deathly serious to be the smart-alecky teenager that just snarked not too long ago. "Oh come on, I’m clearly the Hotrod of the family. I’unno, maybe someone among the second numbers is Silverbolt or something. And Crash is probably like a younger Devastar." Of course, Metal would never grow out of cartoons like this. Then again, he wouldn’t grow up period. Eternal teenager and all that.
"Yeah, I got back. Seemed real quiet when I got back too. I was almost worried everyone pulled a me and just ran like hell." There was a flicker of a sad smile for a moment, then he grinned. "Glad I was missed. I should probably see Char one of these days."
And bring that dragon a treat, he thought to himself. It was the least he could do for the mecha dragon.
The wars may have made several bots bitter. Are you still mad at King/Wily/Light? Why? Conversely, are you mad at Mega Man for defeating you?
"Well of course I’m bitter at the old fu—I mean old fart that calls himself our father." Metal gritted his teeth. "Never cared about us anyway. If I wanted to feel unwanted, I’d join mainstream society in my full armor." Ears were fully cocked back, and red eyes were narrowed. Hints of steam could be seen pouring behind the mask, through the vents on Metal’s back, and through the vents at his feet.
He would take off his helmet, then run his hand through first the silver poof of bangs, then the red streak of hair, then through his main blond hair. ”Hate him. I’m going to damn well do everything I can to rebel against him. Tired of being his pawn, being cast aside, being replaced as he saw fit.” No, it wasn’t teenage rebellion. It was all the anger of a son who had been broken by his father and was only finally getting himself back.
"As for Mega Man…"
His voice grew dark for a moment. ”Once upon a time, I would have killed him simply for existing. I would have just sliced him and diced him because he was there. I hated him for making me feel weak, for making me feel useless.”
His voice would then take on a different tone. ”But then I realized…I was the one letting myself feel that way. I’d taken my loss too hard. Thought myself a broken piece of junk. He wasn’t getting in my face and telling me these things. The Blue Bomber wasn’t doing any of that.”
His eyes would then open wide. ”Now…I’m not sure how I feel about him. Maybe I’d feel better if he didn’t have that damn dog all the time.”
Yeah, I need scrap-tons of help, actually. *Metal gives a sheepish look, accentuated by the cocking of his ears*
How do you sleep? What do you sleep on? (Bed, futon, upside down…details!)
Well, for a while it used to be a hammock but, yanno. Sawblades and hammocks don’t work out very well. So now it’s one of those twin-sized beds with a wooden mattress rather than one of those soft, squishy mattress. Then again I hate hard mattresses so it kind of sucks.
Why can’t I have soft beds?
It had been rather quiet without Metal Man around. Maybe… too quiet. Even if they have plenty of troublemakers in the family, it can get lonely even with one missing. Quick Man sure misses his little brother. And obviously, he’s not the only one. After he had read the letter to the Mecha Dragon, the poor pet had been a sobbing, whining mess. Anyway, Quick Man was walking down the hall on crutches when he thought he heard a familiar voice echoing. Wait. Can it be…? Without thinking, he dropped his crutches and started running fast, ignoring the pain and not realizing that a part of the floor had just been waxed and… whoever started it hadn’t finished it yet. And he didn’t watch his step so he slipped and fell, sliding across and yelling the whole way.
Well, he stopped near Metal Man’s door.
A clattering of crutches caused Metal Man’s ears to perk up. Huh, what had happened?! He jumped up from the bed, hearing a familiar voice.
"Quick! Be careful! I’ve told you a thous—" He paused and let his voice catch in his throat. "Quick, are you okay?" He knelt close, giving a faint sigh and shaking his head. "Bro, don’t tell me you’re becoming the Stepper of the family. That’s supposed to be my job." He chuckled in a joking tone, trying to be of a little comfort to Quick after Number 12’s accident.
Aah! Yes, I got back from Osaka, and I had a lot of fun there.
I kinda got into a few street races—actually managed to win quite a few of them in a souped-up Nissan Skyline R-34 that I…kind of repainted to look like Stepper. Oh! And I visited the old factory where I was stationed. Place really fell into disrepair without me, sadly…ah, and I did go on a shopping spree—a lot of food and stuff mostly.
…!!! I’m sorry! I…aaaaaaaaaaaugh! I’ve been unpacking and…well…chuffing down chocolates.