@gravescratch
Specter had known something was alive in the rubble, but the sheer bulk of it had hindered his readings. At least until the bot had pulled itself out.
Bruin debates for a moment on pretending to ignore it and maintaining the element of surprise, but shuffles that aside quickly. Spotter and the wolves are off on long distance recon, alert to what’s happening but unconcerned as Bruin is.
A silent command is given, and Specter, in all his shadowy glory, whips around to face the mound of rubble hiding the unknown entity. Neck coiled back, tail arched, and legs planted, his biolights flickering out. He is more than eager to hunt, even if it’s only a turbofox.
::Steady Specs, no jumping the gun::
《I know the game, quit worrying》
Definitely intrigued but still a bit cautious, Gravescratch hauls himself up onto the top of the rubble, making himself clearly visible as a sign that this isn’t an ambush. Six long antennae perk up and quiver, another clear “hello I am curious and not attacking you” gesture, and his primary optic brightens like a searchlight as he slowly begins to slink down off of the rubble heap.
Not directly towards them, though. He doesn’t know what the response to a direct approach might be, so he slinks off to the side instead, still with his antennae perked in an effort to not make it look like he’s circling around the odd pair to get behind them.
When he’s on level ground, he lifts himself up onto two legs, tilts his helm slightly, and very carefully approaches the two, all seven optics flicking back and forth between them. Hm. This looks like a reasonable place to be speaking from without having to shout, too, so…
“Hello there. Pardon me for my curiosity, and my bluntness, but… may I inquire as to what you are?” he thrums, speaking in a surprisingly deep voice that apparently does not require him opening his mouth to speak clearly.
Oooh thats not what they were expecting. If Bruin is honest, this bot reminds him rather distinctly of some of the early designs for Specter’s frame. A coincidence certainly, but it still makes him wary because there are only so many reasons a frame would be shaped like that.
They both turn to follow his path as he approaches, but make no hostile movements. Once he stands up however, that has Specter crouching and tail twitching, 4 optics watching unblinkingly.
Bruin still stands calmly, slightly leaning on the walking staff he carries. He does scoff quietly when they speak.
“I could ask you the same thing if I didn’t already have a few guesses mech. But do ya want the long version or the short?” Bruin answers with a deep rumble befitting of his frame.
Gravescratch slinks a bit closer, slowly dropping onto all fours in an effort to loom a bit less, though that’s mostly for the little weird thing’s benefit. He actually likes looming over tall mechs who are usually the tallest in the room, they make funny expressions and sometimes act submissive enough that it startles them. But looming over this whatever-it-is seems like probably a good way to get himself bitten, stabbed, or otherwise punctured and quite possibly envenomated, so he tries to be relatively short without looking like he’s crouching or slinking. Which is difficult, because everything he does looks like slinking.
“Long, if you don’t mind… I have the time.” he shrugs, then slowly lowers his helm, reaches out with one servo, and offers it to Specter, trying to be friendly without getting too close. “I am guessing you are either a symbiote whose host has some rather peculiar tastes, or you were designed by someone who decided that, no, you did not need to not terrify people. The latter is my explanation- hence the Functionalist aspects. Please ignore those, I absolutely do not subscribe to the idea that anyone is better or worse than another because of how, where, or with what they were born.” he scoffs, still careful to keep his posture as unthreatening as possible. Even if he is leaning down a bit to sniff at whatever this is. Symbiotes are usually easy enough to pick out by scent, they smell very strange and just a little bit nice. It’s difficult to get a good whiff without leaning in alarmingly close, though.
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