Ep 1 - "Catalysis" (Open) - Finis
Nov 16, 2013 1:14:07 GMT -5
Post by Ravage on Nov 16, 2013 1:14:07 GMT -5
The rough hewn rock and curving walls at Haven were exactly as Ravage remembered them.
It seemed that those here had chosen to work on other more essential parts of the underground complex. Which was fine, it made complete sense to him in a tactical way. He'd lived in places on Cybertron that had grand doors and gorgeous scrollwork. Where windows were broad, allowing a sweeping view of the cities stretched around them in the distance, ambient light pollution overwhelming the stars.
He also remembered how they fell. Those places were all design and no substance. A lack of heavy doors or complicated locks. They were never meant to be strongholds. It was beautiful, yes, but it was the sort of fragile beauty that reminded him of the situation in general. Beautiful and stately on the outside, and easily shattered within by the dissent and fear those in charge had ignored over and over until the situation lashed out in fear and fury and took every support beam with it.
Would that happen here, on this world? It did every day among the humans. Most of his fellow Decepticons had no clue to their politics. Ravage did. It fascinated him, because of the echoes of places long gone. Every world seemed to do this; every one he'd ever seen in his time.
Ravage's ears twitched. The tip of his tail idly flicked behind him as he padded out of the green glow of the groundbridge.
He paused, setting himself just so, and lifted his head to draw the air in past his olfactory sensors. It was interesting who came and went on a regular basis. Autobots. Decepticons.
What was also interesting to the cat-mech was the lack of active weaponry scents. It was as it was decreed. Stand down in this place. His own missiles were back at the base, his tail laser offlined for the duration of the visit. Of course, there was the matter of his teeth and his claws, but he had no plans to use them. No more than any mech with any sense would have used his fists here. The DMZ was an interesting theory, another pattern that he recognized and could...
The thoughts felt like they were settling into his framework. Ravage shook his head slightly, and pushed them aside for the here and now. He was here for a reason. Information. Concerns.
The medic would no doubt send someone up to meet him. It was protocol he appreciated. Just a check to make sure everything was as it was supposed to be. Ravage settled his haunches down into a sit. The sleek black mech tucked his tail around his forepaws, and waited patiently for someone's arrival.
It seemed that those here had chosen to work on other more essential parts of the underground complex. Which was fine, it made complete sense to him in a tactical way. He'd lived in places on Cybertron that had grand doors and gorgeous scrollwork. Where windows were broad, allowing a sweeping view of the cities stretched around them in the distance, ambient light pollution overwhelming the stars.
He also remembered how they fell. Those places were all design and no substance. A lack of heavy doors or complicated locks. They were never meant to be strongholds. It was beautiful, yes, but it was the sort of fragile beauty that reminded him of the situation in general. Beautiful and stately on the outside, and easily shattered within by the dissent and fear those in charge had ignored over and over until the situation lashed out in fear and fury and took every support beam with it.
Would that happen here, on this world? It did every day among the humans. Most of his fellow Decepticons had no clue to their politics. Ravage did. It fascinated him, because of the echoes of places long gone. Every world seemed to do this; every one he'd ever seen in his time.
Ravage's ears twitched. The tip of his tail idly flicked behind him as he padded out of the green glow of the groundbridge.
He paused, setting himself just so, and lifted his head to draw the air in past his olfactory sensors. It was interesting who came and went on a regular basis. Autobots. Decepticons.
What was also interesting to the cat-mech was the lack of active weaponry scents. It was as it was decreed. Stand down in this place. His own missiles were back at the base, his tail laser offlined for the duration of the visit. Of course, there was the matter of his teeth and his claws, but he had no plans to use them. No more than any mech with any sense would have used his fists here. The DMZ was an interesting theory, another pattern that he recognized and could...
The thoughts felt like they were settling into his framework. Ravage shook his head slightly, and pushed them aside for the here and now. He was here for a reason. Information. Concerns.
The medic would no doubt send someone up to meet him. It was protocol he appreciated. Just a check to make sure everything was as it was supposed to be. Ravage settled his haunches down into a sit. The sleek black mech tucked his tail around his forepaws, and waited patiently for someone's arrival.