We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
{{Soundwave's quarters - downtime before the breakout}}
The refuel was done. The most critical ship repairs were holding. And Ratbat had reached the end of his energy. More than that, he was feeling the strain of separation from his carrier.
Long study had shown him how to avoid that strain - the exact amount of contact, down to the klik, that would keep him at peak performance. He didn't actually need much contact. But he needed some, particularly when he was injured and exhausted.
When they were apart, Ratbat's relationship with his carrier was slightly awkward. He knew what was permitted and forbidden, the limits to his independence long since discovered and negotiated. He hadn't wanted this, but when it came down to it, he would obey.
When they were together, though, none of that mattered. The code tweaks that had snared him once upon a time allowed him to relax, recharge, and stop worrying. About anything.
He cleared a slot in his schedule and set his reminders before tracking down his carrier with single-minded urgency. The warm draw of Soundwave's presence was enough to fuzz Ratbat's mind even before they linked... and so he flitted into Soundwave's quarters and pretty much flopped on the mech's head, peering at docked Laserbeak in disappointment.
Though it was the size fitting for one of his rank, Soundwave, didn't often spend time in his quarters, at least not the same sort of time the majority of the crew spent in their own assigned spaces. The berthing area and small receiving space had been converted to a workshop of sorts, with most of the room's amenities replaced with strange machinery, shelves and an assortment of indeterminate clutter over everything. Even the attached washracks had been half converted into a store room for odds and ends. It was a mere reminiscent of the workshop he'd maintained in Kaon, but it functioned for his purposes. His increasing duties as Chief Communication's Officer and Head of Intelligence didn't leave him much time for tinkering these days anyway. What little down time he allowed himself he generally utilized for self maintenance and the maintenance of his cassettes. Something for which both he and his cassettes were over due.
He sat on the edge of a crate, the content of which had never been put away, body twisted awkwardly to the side as he concentrated on the messy wound on his side. Slender fingers picked at the bits of ruined plating still stuck in smear of ruined biometal a mixture from his frame, internals and protoform. It was messy, and still throbbed with hurt, but Soundwave worked past the pain to clear the wound to a point he could attempt further self-repairs. KO could have done the job, he knew this, but as far as Soundwave was concerned the medic wouldn't touch him so long as he was conscious and could do the repairs himself--and he was still certain he could.
The specialist felt the pull of his flying cassette long before Ratbat finally made contact with him. He'd been expecting the mech for a while now; their mico-bond had been requiring attention for quite some time, though with all that had been going on on the ship, there honestly hadn't been time until now. He didn't look up from his side when Ratbat landed upon his helm and allowed the mech to shuffle as he pleased for the moment. He knew what the little mech wanted--the space on his chest where Laserbeak currently resided --but the little flightframe, though stressed, didn't require immediate attention and needed other maintenance first. Soundwave also wasn't finished with his own maintenance. And so, other than a welcoming pulse of his spark and EMF, Soundwave calmly ignored Ratbat and continued to clean his wound for the moment.
Ratbat, after a few attempts to draw attention, gave up and dropped to the floor with a rattle and started to shift form. There was a somewhat alarming internal grinding - something or several somethings were out of alignment - but finally he entered his small mech form and took a seat on the floor in front of the crate, waiting with poised and singleminded attentiveness.
His transformation was complicated, leaving no large areas of plating that remained the same between forms. Gray scraped metal and areas showing color from the paint transfers he'd received could be seen in small patches across his body.
"Can I... help?" he asked, seeing that Soundwave was having a bit of difficulty cleaning his wound.
Last Edit: Aug 28, 2012 19:25:10 GMT -5 by Deleted
Soundwave paused momentarily as Ratbat transformed, the sound grating from the cassettes internals causing the spy-mech's plating to flare a bit in agitation. The idea of his things falling into disrepair rubbed him the wrong direction, not that Ratbat was in any danger of doing so, but the sound was a reminder that the little cassette's frame REALLY needed more attention than Soundwave tended to give him. It was both their faults really, but Soundwave placed most of the blame on his ambivalent cassette; He monitored his cassette's health and attended to them when they needed it, but if they didn't want more from him than was strictly necessary, that was their prerogative. He was their master, not their nanny.
Soundwave's talons stilled over his injury at Ratbat's question. Though the wound was in an awkward position, his arms were sufficiently long enough to reach it. He didn't strictly NEED the help, but......the proposal wasn't disagreeable to him. In fact, the proximity of their sparks to one another and the general intimacy of touch would most likely be a beneficial to their neglected bond.
The lanky mech flared his EMF in consent, moved his hands and shifted positions, revealing the injury fully for his cassette.
Ratbat's rose up to a crouch, delicate clawed hands reaching out to the wound. His scanners activated, whispering over the affected area and showing details of energon flow and circulation. Not needing to speak, he settled into the work.
A few pieces of shrapnel were retrieved with sharp, precise movements, optics adjusting to better show him the scope of the work. The oozing chaos of the wound was disorderly, and Ratbat absentmindedly reached into a nearby med kit for microclamps. He matched up the remnants of split lines, clamped them, and labeled the clamps neatly without consciously thinking about it, finally slowing the ooze to a few microcapillary drops here and there.
It was still a mess, of course, and he lowered his face to the wound, long glossa reaching out. The tiny fangs at the tip sank in and began to siphon the remaining liquids into his analysis rig. As he waited for the distillation process to complete, he closed his eyes, exploring the wound with the glossa and its chemical sensors. Identifying more shrapnel, he removed it, then opened one of the clamps and flicked his glossa to it to test the composition of energon there.
"The balance of your energon is off from your injury," he said, looking up warmly as he re-clamped the line. "An eighth of a cube of high-grade would go a long way towards diluting the contaminants."
Knock Out passed his own door with a more-than-longing glance, continuing on through the officers' wing.
He'd been running on no recharge since this whole clusterfrag had started. He'd saved more sparks than he'd ever get proper credit for, patched more frames than he wanted to think about, and had finally, blessedly, been able to send all but three mechs back to their quarters. Those three were currently offline, medical nanites and medberths doing their work. He was tired, dirty (again), and in desperate need of a defrag, an oil bath, and every grade of energon he could think of. Not in that order.
Unfortunately, there was one more thing to do. Really, it had needed to be done at least a cycle ago, but Knock Out had been all but chained to medbay, and it was not the sort of thing that one wanted discussed, even over comms, in a crowded room.
Knock Out paused in front of Soundwave's door. This was rather a life-altering and risky conversation to instigate, after all. It deserved a bit of a pause.
Soundwave remained utterly still as Ratbat probed the injury with his mouth parts. Though a touch painful, the slender mech wasn't the least bit bothered by the rather unusual and intrusive method of exploration; this was hardly the first time his cassette had examined one of his wound and on a spark deep level, the touch was actually quite pleasing. It was good to have his cassette so close after so long their fields meshing and spark frequencies slowly reharmonizing. He didn't even bother acknowledging the cassette's analysis, content to let the little mech work as he would, slowly relaxing into Ratbat's presence.
He'd just begun drifting into a pleased stupor when entrance ping bliped across his awareness. He lazily returned the request with a single query glyph and a minute stretch of one leg, shifting into an easier position for his cassette. He was in no hurry to be interrupted.
Knock Out rolled his optics. It was just like Soundwave to want him to justify himself. Especially since there was an unofficial rule about duty vs. personal time. But still.... Knock Out had hoped that this entire conversation wouldn't be as painful as he feared it would be.
And that he wouldn't be left standing outside Soundwave's door for it like some spurned...ugh, no, delete that thread.
...ugh.
He'd pinged his ID already, not that Soundwave didn't probably know where the smallest glitchmouse on the ship was hiding. ::I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but I need to speak with you in the metal. I have...:: Fire and slag it. ::I have important information about Lord Megatron's...condition.::
That he might already know, Knock Out was well-aware, but such things were better to be known for sure.
Curious, but still not completely willing to call it quits with his cassette, Soundwave replied with a simple but consenting glyph. He wasn't sure whatever information the Medic had to offer was actually "important"-- or something he didn't already know, for that matter-- but any word concerning his Master was at least worth hearing. It wasn't carelessness that'd kept Megatron and the Decepticon's intelligence on the cutting edge.
The specialist pinged the door open for the Medic but made no attempt to move from where he was stretched out. He mealy tilted his head, one hand still casually cupping Ratbat's helm, as he observed the Medic's approach.
Ratbat's head rose from the wound, and the long glossa with its fanged and blue-stained end drew out as well, retracting into his mouth slowly. He turned his head to study the figure in the door carefully, remaining crouched in his rarely-seen mech form.
Small yellow optics and energon sensors scanned over Knock Out. Without a word, the cassette rose to his feet, walking across the room with an unconscious and blatantly high-caste grace. He did not immediately intercept Knock Out, instead scaling a pile of miscellany and crates near the door to reach a shelf above it.
Unlike the rest of the room, the contents of the shelf were ferociously organized and neatly labeled. Picking his way over on foot to balance on an adjoining pile, Ratbat retrieved a series of small energon cubes of varying grades and began a process of decanting them into a larger container according to some internal logic apparent only to him. Another, more intricate flicker of sensors judged Knock Out's fuel status in greater depth, and Ratbat made a single tiny adjustment. Soundwave had asked him to help, so he would certainly help receive his unacceptably underfueled guest.
Carefully dropping down to the floor with the container so as not to jar it, Ratbat approached Knock Out respectfully and presented it, holding it up to the larger mech's waist level and glyphing at him. Several of the glyphs Ratbat wanted were outside the Decepticon standard glyph set, but he was using mental hand-calligraphy in any case. He knew the right forms and stroke order, even if younger generations were broadly ignorant.
What he produced was elegantly calligraphed and definitely in formal greeting territory, but shifted so far in ritualized, archaic, and high-caste directions that it was hard to make any sense of it. "Hospitality" was probably in there.
For a moment, Knock Out was not sure what he was seeing.
And then he was and he wished that he wasn't.
Watching Ratbat (prissy, way-more-Towerling-than-thou-and-by-the-way-NO-to-that-last-dozen-requisitions-chief-medical-officer-Knock-Out Ratbat) kneeling and LICKING at Soundwave's wound was bad enough. Soundwave's hand cupped proprietarily around Ratbat's helm was worse. Ratbat being in his bipedal form made it EVEN WORSE, and said Ratbat being utterly polite and subservient and OFFERING HIM ENERGON (Ratbat! Offering energon!) was just...Knock Out could almost FEEL his processor fritzing.
"Thank...you?" Knock Out answered as he slowly took the energon (so concentrated it was a deep sapphire) from Ratbat's hands. He half-expected the cassette to snatch it back, but Ratbat merely seemed satisfied, though whether it was because of the acceptance or the formal Tower glyphs that Knock Out had used, the medic was not sure.
Soundwave was still lying on the berth. Primus.
Knock Out shut off his optics in self-defense, his words low and steady and just a touch rushed. "Sir, I wanted to disclose a few things to you, merely to make certain that you are aware of them. I will be brief as you are obviously...busy."
Knock Out held up a finger without onlining his optics. "First, Lord Megatron is not dead, as his aligned is currently sitting in the brig waiting to be executed at Starscream's leisure. I assume that you will wish to prevent said execution, as it would have a deleterious effect on Lord Megatron's health."
Another finger. "Second, separation from said bondmate and...other issues...might be contributing to our Lord's recent erratic behavior. I've been performing supervised defragmentation and maintenance, but this is only a stopgap measure. The entirety of Lord Megatron's matrix is strained enough that I've been taking regular memory core backups, for Primus' sake. The cause needs to be addressed. As I know that you are his staunchest supporter, I assume that you wish to aid his recovery. As his medic, I suggest that Lord Megatron be re-introduced to Barricade as soon as possible and perhaps locked in a room with him for several days to stabilize the alignment."
A third finger. "...and that is all. Thank you for your attention."
Knock Out onlined his optics only enough so he could swallow down the energon Ratbat had handed him. Waste not, want not. Then he turned on his heel and left the communications officer and his cassette to...whatever it was they were doing.
Halfway down the hall the concentrated energon hit him hard enough to make him stumble into the wall, his lines suddenly full of liquid fire and his power levels pegging from quarter-full to full in the space of five nanokliks.
Frag my life, Knock Out thought, staggering determinedly toward his door.
If anyone disturbed him in the next half-cycle, he was going to eviscerate them.
<<Let me know if there's anything that I forgot to mention in here! I'm pretty sure that the most important part was reminding Soundwave that KO has a memory backup.>>
As Knock Out spoke, Ratbat brushed past him to scale the piles of stuff in the room again. This time he retrieved a small cube containing an eighth standard volume high-grade from the shelf before lightly dropping back down to the crate Soundwave was sitting on.
He presented the small cube to Soundwave solemnly but with insistence, reaching his free hand up to touch-caress one of the shoulder junctions between his carrier and Laserbeak. Even standing on the crate his optic level didn't come anywhere close to Soundwave's faceplate. He didn't make any further moves, but his desire to dock was very clear.
Soundwave might not have been the most....socially graceful mech around, but he spent enough time secretly observing other mechs to know exactly what the medic thought of the situation he found inside the quarters. Frankly, Soundwave could be bothered to give a flying frag. He'd never cared what other's thought of him and as far as Soundwave was concerned, any mental trauma the medic suffered was the mech's own fault for seeking him out during his...personal time.
From his half reclined position on the crate he listened to the medic give his listed report, and though he made no move to acknowledge anything Knockout said, his helm angled towards the other mech attentively. Most of what the medic told him he already knew: Ravage had already reported back his Megatron's location and had no intention of allowing Commander Starscream to execute his Master's aligned. The mention of back up memories though......
He pondered this briefly while following his cassettes movements with several sets of scanners. The existence of backup memories was wonderful news. Having to sift thought and restore Barricade's mind had been a frustrating affair and that'd been a fairly organized and planed. His Master's mind, on the other hand, was the result of messy trauma, something only a medic would be able to address.
He nodded once to acknowledge what Knockout had told him then promptly ignored the medic's scurry to GTFO as the beginnings of a plan involving a hacked medical computer and his master's idiot aligned stirred in his mind. He was pretty sure it would work, but it'd need to have the perfect timing. He look the cube Ratbat offered him automatically and at the little mech's touch, disengaged Laserbeak so that the other flyer could finally dock with him. He would need all his cassettes at their peek; restoring Lord's memories and the subsequent fallout his reinstatement would produce would require all of their energy.
((That can be the end if you want. or you can end it. I don't care. ^^))