Ep 1 - I'm Feeling Alive (Megatron/Roulette-Closed)
Mar 5, 2014 23:48:59 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Mar 5, 2014 23:48:59 GMT -5
((OOC: Set some time after Online, Off the Grid))
The air was thin on top of the Nemesis and cold. Night was chasing the ship through the hazy atmosphere but for now, dawn still held sway. If Roulette had a mind for it, she would have appreciated the beauty of the sunset. Every warm hue of the spectrum painted hard angles and attempted to soften the menace of the ship. But the femme was glaring down at her hands as if they'd betrayed her.
Weak light played off of the black paint job on her fingers. The appendages were steady and didn't tremor. Not now. But they had shaken when she'd awoken in the medbay oh so recently. She'd clutched at the frame to hide the slight shaking, mortified someone would see. How hard it was to hide such shame...
With a grimace she tightened her fingers into a tight fist until the joints creaked. She was fine! Physically sound thanks to Knockout's skillful care. She'd readily fled the medbay as soon as she could, giving anyone who happened to watch a show of indifference. But that was the rub, wasn't it? She didn't feel indifferent. She felt...off. She felt tarnished.
Imperfect. Tampered with. Used. Oh, she felt so used and soiled.
Gritting her dental plates, she rubbed at her optic and paced forward a few steps. The phantom invasive presence still lingered even if Knockout had removed all such foreign matter. She couldn't shake the crawling sensation that another thing was inside her, watching, always watching. It was a psychosomatic reaction. This she knew. She wasn't stupid. But she couldn't get rid of it. Not yet.
Even Shockwave's glacial presence through the patch hadn't burned it away like she'd hoped. The scientist could be as cleansing as a burning scalpel but he'd failed to fix her problems. And she hated him for it. Why couldn't he fix her? He fixed everything! What was wrong with her?!
I cannot be this broken at the hands of humans! I refuse to think it!
With a snarl, she turned just as suddenly as she'd stopped and drew a pistol as she turned. Without a second passing, she fired at the target anchored to the ship fifty paces away. The slugs slammed into the target hard enough to rock it back a few inches..all but one. The last shot slipped wide and splintered the wooden support of the target. She didn't have to trek the distance to the target to see her results. They were the same as they'd been the last ten times.
Since the academy she'd been able to hit the center of a target with relative ease. She'd honed the skill, lovingly practiced and taught herself patience and precision. High marks and praise by peers and accolades alike had boosted her ego. So she knew what she was worth. She was a hell of a sharpshooter and could strip a screw from a metal plate at twenty paces with one shot.
The target's center glyph was free of any marks. The margin was peppered with shots of varying relation to one another. She was a sharpshooter without any precision.
My targeting system is slagged... With a groan of dismay she sank down to a kneeling position and touched the plating of the ship as if for support. What good was a Decepticon sharpshooter without precision?
I can't tell anyone...there's nothing for it. I'll just have to recalibrate...
She hung her head and started to scratch out calibration sequences feather light onto the metal of her thigh.
The air was thin on top of the Nemesis and cold. Night was chasing the ship through the hazy atmosphere but for now, dawn still held sway. If Roulette had a mind for it, she would have appreciated the beauty of the sunset. Every warm hue of the spectrum painted hard angles and attempted to soften the menace of the ship. But the femme was glaring down at her hands as if they'd betrayed her.
Weak light played off of the black paint job on her fingers. The appendages were steady and didn't tremor. Not now. But they had shaken when she'd awoken in the medbay oh so recently. She'd clutched at the frame to hide the slight shaking, mortified someone would see. How hard it was to hide such shame...
With a grimace she tightened her fingers into a tight fist until the joints creaked. She was fine! Physically sound thanks to Knockout's skillful care. She'd readily fled the medbay as soon as she could, giving anyone who happened to watch a show of indifference. But that was the rub, wasn't it? She didn't feel indifferent. She felt...off. She felt tarnished.
Imperfect. Tampered with. Used. Oh, she felt so used and soiled.
Gritting her dental plates, she rubbed at her optic and paced forward a few steps. The phantom invasive presence still lingered even if Knockout had removed all such foreign matter. She couldn't shake the crawling sensation that another thing was inside her, watching, always watching. It was a psychosomatic reaction. This she knew. She wasn't stupid. But she couldn't get rid of it. Not yet.
Even Shockwave's glacial presence through the patch hadn't burned it away like she'd hoped. The scientist could be as cleansing as a burning scalpel but he'd failed to fix her problems. And she hated him for it. Why couldn't he fix her? He fixed everything! What was wrong with her?!
I cannot be this broken at the hands of humans! I refuse to think it!
With a snarl, she turned just as suddenly as she'd stopped and drew a pistol as she turned. Without a second passing, she fired at the target anchored to the ship fifty paces away. The slugs slammed into the target hard enough to rock it back a few inches..all but one. The last shot slipped wide and splintered the wooden support of the target. She didn't have to trek the distance to the target to see her results. They were the same as they'd been the last ten times.
Since the academy she'd been able to hit the center of a target with relative ease. She'd honed the skill, lovingly practiced and taught herself patience and precision. High marks and praise by peers and accolades alike had boosted her ego. So she knew what she was worth. She was a hell of a sharpshooter and could strip a screw from a metal plate at twenty paces with one shot.
The target's center glyph was free of any marks. The margin was peppered with shots of varying relation to one another. She was a sharpshooter without any precision.
My targeting system is slagged... With a groan of dismay she sank down to a kneeling position and touched the plating of the ship as if for support. What good was a Decepticon sharpshooter without precision?
I can't tell anyone...there's nothing for it. I'll just have to recalibrate...
She hung her head and started to scratch out calibration sequences feather light onto the metal of her thigh.