Work Text:
“Wait, stop!” Sunstreaker stepped up to the painter who was carefully brushing words onto the wall of the new “Ancient Cybertron” exhibit hall.
The Human looked back at him in annoyance. “What?”
“You’re spelling Iacon wrong. I know it’s not on purpose, but the glyph is the kind that really matters where you put the accent. Can I?” He reached out for the brush, hoping the Human would just let him fix the error rather than try to talk them though it himself.
“Sure, fine. Show me where it’s getting screwed up.” The Human handed over the brush and leaned back so that Sunstreaker could access the wall.
“Thanks.” He carefully painted over the surface where they had been about to make a horrible, if funny, mistake. “It’s here, in this down stroke. It goes down, then curls. That angle you were making would have been, uh. The Cybertronian equivalent of a dick joke.”
The painter blushed and started laughing. “Oh no! I’d have gotten fired for sure for that one!”
“Maybe just written up. It’s an easy mistake to make, especially when you’re trying to copy my brother’s handwriting.”
“Oh, I was definitely copying his handwriting.” The Human reached down and picked up a pad of paper and lifted it up so that Sunstreaker could see it.
Sunstreaker slapped his forehead when he looked the glyphs over. Sideswipe had hidden three other lewd jokes in the text, and Mirage hadn’t caught it when he approved it. “I’ll kill him for you myself. Let me fix a couple of these before you get back to work.”
“Sure, no problem.” The Human dropped her brush into a cup of solvent and shimmied down her ladder. “I’m gonna go take a break while you’re doing that, if you don’t mind.”
“Fine by me,” Sunstreaker replied. He’d be at least ten minutes fixing this mess anyway.