Ep. 1 - "The Best Shifts" - [Closed]
May 31, 2014 22:17:41 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on May 31, 2014 22:17:41 GMT -5
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
The data pad’s contents flashed before his optics in a display that, were it anything else, might have been artistic. With practiced ease he spread out various files one after the other across his holo-screen, reordering and ordering again until he found the combination he wanted. This was one of the few times, one of the very precious moments in which Dusk sat completely still. Perched atop a stool with a berth as his desk he had data pads sprawled gracelessly around him, his fingers the only things moving as he re-sorted information that glowed blues and greens in the air shining light on the unusually grim expression - his mouth hanging lax and optics staring hard ahead.
“Oh, Red.” He breath, chin coming to rest in his palm as he stared straight ahead at the cycling data. They hadn’t spoken with each other much since he left the ‘Bay - there wasn’t any need to. He had everything laid out before him, the trees and all their fractures spread out while ever since he had been trying to find some way or something he could do that hadn’t been done already. What could be done…? Not enough. Not enough, and the thought of that made his back struts clench and unclench in a neat row, but no matter how many hours he spent staring he refused to believe that he’d seen everything.
It wasn’t unexpected. Not uncommon. Rather, it was the opposite and as much as he wanted everything to be okay he couldn’t stop seeing that look in Red Alert’s optics. That fearful look when he first took Dusk in, like he was afraid to know what was inside Dusk’s processor. How he’d changed. Because he had… they all would have. But not his Red. Not his Bright Eyes. He felt fractals creeping up the facade of denial he didn’t know he had in the shape of the tiny facets of Red’s optics. It was fine. They were fine. He wanted to go to Red and tell him they were all fine, but Primus fraggit to the Pit he couldn’t!
SNAP! CRACK! Two data pads clattered across the floor, a suddenly half-risen Dusk poised with his arm outstretched… he rose the rest of the way slowly, hands coming around his helm with an exvent. He’d let himself relax into this front liner mentality, the easy long waves of Legion and the way they both handled themselves — what he thought was his coping was… hiding. And now what he remembered coming so naturally to him, so well, wasn’t coming at all. He was here, and Red was elsewhere, and there was nothing he had said or done that offered him comfort.
He could always comfort, he could make everything alright, but this time…
He supposed it’s because it really wasn’t alright at all.
::Dusk, got an incoming mech escorted by Air Raid. Just landed, sending ident codes now.::
Steeljaw’s voice cut through him like a laser, leaving him blinking owlishly at the data pads he had thrown across the room. His limbs were tense, so tense, and he.. he was hunched over under some heavy burden. Or against some outward force. A new mech. A new landing. It didn’t send him spinning in his chair as it might have not long ago, but it tugged at his curiosity enough to open the package freshly pinged and…
“…Moonshot?”
His processor conjured an image of a young femme - watching her grow from the poor thing on his berth into the face he remembered, with that little smile she wore. Despite himself, his tanks dropped… though surely, if something had happened, reinforcements would have been called - he would have been summoned to the field. She was fine. Fine.
Whether for precaution to receive her here… or to prove to himself wrong, he wasn’t sure. But he found himself standing in Control and waiting, his fingers tapping out a steady beat on his hips as he did so, expression uncharacteristically slack as he watched the ground bridge.
The data pad’s contents flashed before his optics in a display that, were it anything else, might have been artistic. With practiced ease he spread out various files one after the other across his holo-screen, reordering and ordering again until he found the combination he wanted. This was one of the few times, one of the very precious moments in which Dusk sat completely still. Perched atop a stool with a berth as his desk he had data pads sprawled gracelessly around him, his fingers the only things moving as he re-sorted information that glowed blues and greens in the air shining light on the unusually grim expression - his mouth hanging lax and optics staring hard ahead.
“Oh, Red.” He breath, chin coming to rest in his palm as he stared straight ahead at the cycling data. They hadn’t spoken with each other much since he left the ‘Bay - there wasn’t any need to. He had everything laid out before him, the trees and all their fractures spread out while ever since he had been trying to find some way or something he could do that hadn’t been done already. What could be done…? Not enough. Not enough, and the thought of that made his back struts clench and unclench in a neat row, but no matter how many hours he spent staring he refused to believe that he’d seen everything.
It wasn’t unexpected. Not uncommon. Rather, it was the opposite and as much as he wanted everything to be okay he couldn’t stop seeing that look in Red Alert’s optics. That fearful look when he first took Dusk in, like he was afraid to know what was inside Dusk’s processor. How he’d changed. Because he had… they all would have. But not his Red. Not his Bright Eyes. He felt fractals creeping up the facade of denial he didn’t know he had in the shape of the tiny facets of Red’s optics. It was fine. They were fine. He wanted to go to Red and tell him they were all fine, but Primus fraggit to the Pit he couldn’t!
SNAP! CRACK! Two data pads clattered across the floor, a suddenly half-risen Dusk poised with his arm outstretched… he rose the rest of the way slowly, hands coming around his helm with an exvent. He’d let himself relax into this front liner mentality, the easy long waves of Legion and the way they both handled themselves — what he thought was his coping was… hiding. And now what he remembered coming so naturally to him, so well, wasn’t coming at all. He was here, and Red was elsewhere, and there was nothing he had said or done that offered him comfort.
He could always comfort, he could make everything alright, but this time…
He supposed it’s because it really wasn’t alright at all.
::Dusk, got an incoming mech escorted by Air Raid. Just landed, sending ident codes now.::
Steeljaw’s voice cut through him like a laser, leaving him blinking owlishly at the data pads he had thrown across the room. His limbs were tense, so tense, and he.. he was hunched over under some heavy burden. Or against some outward force. A new mech. A new landing. It didn’t send him spinning in his chair as it might have not long ago, but it tugged at his curiosity enough to open the package freshly pinged and…
“…Moonshot?”
His processor conjured an image of a young femme - watching her grow from the poor thing on his berth into the face he remembered, with that little smile she wore. Despite himself, his tanks dropped… though surely, if something had happened, reinforcements would have been called - he would have been summoned to the field. She was fine. Fine.
Whether for precaution to receive her here… or to prove to himself wrong, he wasn’t sure. But he found himself standing in Control and waiting, his fingers tapping out a steady beat on his hips as he did so, expression uncharacteristically slack as he watched the ground bridge.