“I have a spark,” Bob assures him.
"Ironclad sheaths his sword and walks calmly over to Asphalt.
“Oh? How can a hollowed out bot like you even possibly carry such then?” Asphalt replied sneering ebfore he flicked his optics back, glancing at Ironclad and Fury.
The Knights and outlaws were silent.
“So, Ironclad, so trustworthy of this new bot you’d even leave her ‘ungaurded’, gun still in hand after shooting me?” Asphalt called out.
“This is why I said I can’t trust you, stained one.”
“I won’t let her shoot you. Or vice versa.”
“He’s acting shifty.” She hissed.
“And so are you, liar.” Asphalt replied, glaring at Bob still as he continued to glance back at the once approaching Ironclad.
“I am aware.”
“We don’t know what that thing is.” She replied, referring to the prong weapon.
“So, are you coming to stop the oh-so dangerous bot, who has yet to fire a shot despite his own injuries, and has only held out weapons in justified defense, or are you going to chicken out like the false-knight you’re showing yourself to be.” Asphalt hissed at Ironclad.
OOC: It doesn’t look a thing like a drill, no meta!
“I’m trying to put an end to this senseless conflict.”
OOC: It’s not meta, your character is certified crazy, and is known for having weird outlandish weapons.
“Well then, come and stop me, stained knight. I am here for the taking.” he said, his hand, and weapon held loosely at his sides as he continued to keep an eye on Bob, angling his head just enough to glare coldly at Ironclad.
OOC: Still doesn’t look a thing like a drill, it looks more like a vacuum cleaner with four spikes than that.
“Put the weapon away and stand down,” Ironclad says again.
“Oh? And how should I know that the minute I do you won’t shoot me once I can’t defend myself? Why don’t you take the risk, honourless one. Come and take me, weapon wielded and ready to use if the need be.” Asphalt replied.
“Why, I already know you hold no trust in me, even despite my lack of these so called attacks that designated me such a threat as this.”
“Asphalt, I’m not going to hurt you,” Ironclad assures him. “Not if you stand down and come with me to sick bay.”
“And yet I can tell you still see me as a threat despite how I have yet to attack anyone, while the one you defend has.” Asphalt said, sighing before turning around and marching towards Ironclad with his arms crossed behind his back.
“And that is why I can not properly trust you.” He said as he neared, leaning forward and tapping at Ironclad’s chest with his still transformed left arm, looking up into his optics with a deadened stare as he spoke.
“What is that?” He asks in reference to the weapon.
“Can I shoot him?” She asked.