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.
"Well, I can't force either one of you to accept a scan or medical aid," he said. "That goes against my ethics as both an Autobot and a medic. If there is nothing for me to do here, then I'm afraid can't afford to waste further time standing in the middle of nowhere waiting to render services that are not desired."
He held still as Bolo sniffed his foot. Though the medic's expression was one of vexation, he showed no sign of impatience or fear. When he spoke his voice was even.
"However, perhaps you two will accept a warning: it is all too likely that your ship was detected by the Decepticons as it breached Earth's orbit and descended into the planet's atmosphere. There is a good chance they have a remote idea where the crash site is located and will send a patrol to investigate it. If you want to produce codes and come with us, that's fine. If you wish to face the Con's injured, then that is your prerogative as well. Even if you are Autobots I'm not going to lecture you against imprudence nor drag you anywhere you don't want to go. Wheeljack."
Ratchet glanced at the Wrecker. "I hold no authority over you. You're free to stay here if that's what you wish, or we can ground bridge you to a location of your choice. It's up to you. Fortress?"
He looked to the big tank last. "Will you escort me back to base? I have something running in the medbay I'd like to run past you."
"Sure," said Maximus, and both Autobots turned to leave.
Aaaand Patches was throwing a fit. Of course. He shouldn’t have expected any less. Carbine’s protest at being nudged forward earned him an eyeroll from Thundercloud, who was just about to tell the smaller mech to stop being a little glitch when he was unceremoniously smacked upside the head.
Now, normally he would be able to shrug off such a light blow, but considering his head had recently been banged against the ground like a basketball being dribbled down a court, it hurt quite a bit more than Carbine had likely intended it to. Hence why he let out a pained hiss, expression twisting into a snarling grimace as he offlined his optics briefly, then onlined them once more just to glare at Carbine.
To add insult to literal injury, the smaller mech went on to seize his hand and furiously sign a message, which opened and ended with a disparaging remark. Sighing roughly, Thundercloud jerked his hand away the minute Carbine was done speaking, not even bothering to reply to him in the same manner. Instead, he spoke aloud, completely defeating the purpose of Carbine attempting to communicate with him in secret.
“You think they wouldn’t’ve blown our heads off by now if they were Cons?” He growled back, throwing an arm out to gesture towards the three.
He honestly could not imagine Cons being quite so tolerant of being attacked, then insulted, then insulted more. Even if they were Cons trying to capture them alive for whatever reason - Thundercloud just couldn’t see why they would go through all the trouble of passing themselves off as Bots when they could’ve just made things easier on themselves and beaten them down and dragged them off. He sincerely doubted this was a trap.
Glancing back to the mechs in question, he turned to face Fortress Maximus and Ratchet, the movement slow, hindered by the discomfort radiating from his wounds. Even numbed by firewalls, his back stung something fierce. He figured he must’ve shaved off a few more layers than he first realized.
As the medic gave his ultimatum, Thundercloud considered their options. He didn’t really have a problem with handing over his ident codes if he absolutely needed to, but he would rather not let mecha know right out of the gate that he and Carbine had done some time. They had already made a terrible first impression as it was - he wasn’t exactly looking forward to making things worse for them by handing over a datapacket branded with a great big red glyph marking them as criminals. Their ident-codes wouldn’t reveal anything more than that, wouldn’t give anyone the story behind those glaring glyphs, or explain what it was they did to earn that mark on their records, but that wouldn’t matter. It never did. Hell, having that ambiguity was almost worse than listing their crimes outright - half the time whatever their higher ups imagined they did was far worse than the reality.
He was just about to ask if they’d be satisfied with just ID numbers, when the orange and white fragger actually started to turn away.
Now, Thundercloud could be a very reasonable person, given the right circumstances. He could react sensibly, and in an appropriate manner when he was not in situations which tried his patience or appealed too strongly to his impulsive nature. This was not one of those situations.
Instead of simply calling out to the other mech and informing him that they would yield to his request, Thundercloud chose to take the opposite route, which was infinitely more satisfying and childish in equal measure.
He took offense, his optics narrowing in annoyance as the mecha turned away from he and Carbine. Without a second thought, he reached down, grabbed a fist full of the white slag on the ground, and chucked it at the back of the medic’s helm before he had the chance to even think about what he was doing, or more importantly, why he shouldn’t be doing it.
“--Hey!” ...At some point he was going to have to investigate why he growled so much when he talked. “You want codes? You can have ‘em.”
Just don’t leave Patches out here with a busted arm, he thought grimly, mech can’t fight like this, and if the Cons do come, he wouldn’t last a damn minute.
Having shaken off the insane urge to tell off Dumb and Stupid, Wheeljack watched with twisted glee as Ratchet proceeded to take none of their slag and then some. It was always good to see the ol' doc's impressive will being used against somebody else.
At Ratchet's question, Wheeljack raised a optic ridge and glanced round at their surroundings. Stay here, in the cold, with the troublesome twosome? Not slagging likely.
But-
"Going to have a look at the crash site, see if there's anything I can recover before the Cons rocks up." He supposed there was work he could be doing right here and now. "I'll call for a bridge later."
With that, Wheeljack begun to back away from their merry little group of mishaps. Ratchet and Fort Max were heading for the still open groundbridge. The two fliers fought and jostled each other as they argued whether they were actual Autobots or not. Wheeljack snorted at them but kept a cautious optic on them as he treaded through the snow.
Then, Tall and Big bent down and hauled a heap of snow at the Doc bot's head. Wheeljack stopped immediately, battle protocols coming online. The Wrecker's optics narrowed but he waited curiously -and somewhat amusedly- for Ratchet to respond.
Indeed Carbine didn't INTEND to bring REAL harm to Thunder. He was just so accustomed to being able to smack the slag out of him and having it do just about nothing at all, that he hadn't pulled back the intensity his swat like he should have. For a brief flicker he did give a sympathetic look of apology, for all the good it did with his helm, before he had continued on to relay his thoughts via the sign language of sorts.
Carbine had kept his hand with Thunder's after this communication, expecting him to sign back, but when he didn’t? And instead pulled away to speak openly? The ex-cop's jaw dropped with an incredulous look, hardly believing he just blurted what he had aloud like that to remove the secrecy in play. It wasn't a HUGE deal... perhaps... but it was frustrating they were bickering openly.
"What g-g?-g?o?-kind are Autobot prisoners if th?ey? don’t have m-m?i?n-?mi?n?-?brains to interrogate!?"
Carbine squawked this back, while tapping the side of his helm with a fingertip, it making light clanks. In his mind? It was obvious. Cons were deceptive, tricky little weasels that could change their tactics on a dime to keep them caught off guard and confused. Why would they risk injury, as minor as it may be, to capture prisoners? When they could outsmart them because they were too stupid to ask for codes?
It seemed like it was such an easy thing to do now, such an easy fix. Thunder needed to just verify the codes of at least one of the others, and then they could go and get medical help. He could get his arm and legs fixed, and Thunder could get all the stone and damage to his back and wings removed and patched. He could possibly get his head looked at too, because in Carbines mind? Thunder must have knocked a few screws loose on impact.
That is when it all started to fall apart.
The faceless mask snapped over to peer at Ratchet when he finally translated what was said, a bit of alarm surging through his field before it tucked back flush with his frame once more. This was all truths. If this wasn't some elaborate trick? Than the real Decepticons would hone in on this crash eventually and then they would both be in a bad position. He couldn't fight, Thunder can't take on an entire squad alone, and Bolo was just support, not meant to try to truly take someone down unless he got a lucky bite on a smaller mech's head.
Carbine was about to speak up, before the medic had turned his back, and he knew... he KNEW that was bad. Before he could do anything to try to warn, or swing a hand up to halt Thunder, the snowball... or... bolder? Considering the size of the mass? Was hurled at Ratchet. The black and white mech grimaced, flinching down as he saw it launched, before he cast a sharp look at Thunder, once more it relaying a wordless 'why would you do that!?'
"Nooo-n?o?-?n?o?-no-no"
Carbine scramble-stumbled between Thunder and Ratchet after the attack had been made, throwing his hand up as if that would halt ANOTHER attack or serve as some kind of magical shield. He didn’t know why he even bothered... Either way, he obviously would have to have his back turned to one of them, so he sucked up his dislike of having someone behind him by facing it at Thunder. He wavered in place before he stood fully upright and locked his knees to steady himself, hand lowering to chest height in a passive motion. He took in a ventilation, actually taking the time to focus and collect his words.
"Look, just... humor me... O-on-o-singular of you give your codes to Thunder, so he can confirm them. If it clears as Autobot? I- WE!-"
He cast a look back at Thunder over his shoulder.
"-Will go kzzt with. I will at least be quiet."
He couldn't, and wouldn't even TRY to guarantee Thunder would be quiet. That simply wasn't going to happen in the slightest. Honestly? He wondered if even he could stay quiet, but... if it would get his partner medical aid? Then he would shut the frag up and play mute to make people comply.
"I just, I need this con?firme?d or it'll eat at me. I N?E?ED it."
As a sign of him giving in, he dropped his hand back down and made a short quiet whistle while snapping his fingers once. Bolo, who had been off to the side watching intently, bounded over through the snow to his master. While he approached, Carbine stooped down a bit, left leg sliding forward for balance. Bolo in turn ran behind him and leapt, forearms slamming down into the mech's back on either side of his spine. The forearms were essentially consumed in metal, as panels and plates started to mesh between them. The canine's frame split in half down his center, and his head and other distinguishing features vanished just a second later. A moment more? He had meshed entirely with Carbine's frame again. If one didn’t know he was a carrier? They could misinterpreted the backpack like armor as weaponry that was far more traditional and less... sentient...
This action of docking his cassette was Carbine's attempt to 'put away weaponry' and show that he wanted to comply, so long as the nagging NEED to check codes was sated. It was likely left over from when he was a cop, always having to verify IDs and show his own routinely to prove to people that yes... he was a legal cop... and yes... he had the authority and law on his side to handcuff the belligerent sonofaglitches he crossed on a day to day basis. He practically had a 'button' on his HUD just to do that because it was such commonplace. But now? It was lost to him and it was infuriating.
Thundercloud was a big mech. He made big snowballs.
The heavy clump of snow and ice walloped into the back of Ratchet's helm. It struck with a splat, hard enough to knock him forward. He stumbled and caught himself with a startled exclamation, his whip aerial wagging madly.
"Right!" Fuming, the medic rounded on the two mechs. He glared between them. "Who threw that?! Never mind, it was a stupid question. You!"
Ratchet pointed at Carbine. Melting snow dribbled down his back.
"Humor you, shall I? Fine! Here are my codes."
The data packet was sent to Thundercloud an instant later along a simple short-range Autobot frequency. Decrypted, they clearly identified the cross boxy white and red mech as Ratchet, CMO of none other than the Ark and Omega, the Autobot Earth base.
"Are we satisfied?" said Ratchet. "Now, since your burly friend with the excellent throwing arm just volunteered them, I'll have your codes next and we'll all be off. Primus up a tree."
Thundercloud did not even have the decency to look shamefaced as Ratchet whipped around to face them, marching over to the two with a rightfully torqued off expression. When he demanded to know who it was who had pelted him with snow, only to wave off the question a second later as its answer was blatantly apparent, Thundercloud actually had the audacity to laugh, the sound choked as he tried to keep it from bubbling to the surface.
He vented a little funny, the air cycling into his cooling systems hitching slightly as he fought back a smile and composed himself, before clearing his throat to put a solid stop to his amusement. For all his effort, however, he just couldn’t keep a straight face, even as he accepted the datapacket Ratchet sent his way and began to examine it.
He couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t. Somehow just glancing the mech’s way made his laughter revive itself, small, muted chuckles escaping him despite his best efforts to stay silent. He flared out an apology in his field as he shook his head, optics offlining as he bent forward and held up a hand to let everyone know he needed a minute.
He swore, then wondered out loud how hard he hit his head, before cycling in a deep vent of air and gathering up what was left of the tattered remains of his composure. He was honestly a little concerned he may have actually knocked something loose inside his head - he didn’t usually go from being annoyed to chuckling helplessly unless it was Carbine who did something he couldn’t NOT laugh at.
Ah well. He’d find out whether he broke something in his brain soon enough. Clearing his throat once more, he turned to look at Carbine and confirm what he had already known.
“--They’re legit.” He said with an affirming nod.
Then he turned to Ratchet, favoring the other mech with what barely passed for an apologetic half-smile.
“Hey, uh. Sorry, mech.” He held his hands out, his right staining the snow below blue as the gouge where his thumb once was continued to bleed.
“I know you’re already torqued off, but I figure it’s only fair to warn you you’re probably gonna be reaaal unhappy in a minute here. More than you already are.”
And with that cryptic warning, he traded his ident.codes over to the other mech, fully expecting to be sworn at, glared at, or just dismissed outright once the medic saw that ugly little mark on his record.
Ratchet hadn't disappointed, Wheeljack's gaze had darted between the three players in this little drama. His optics shone with amusement and behind his battle mask, his lip-plates had twisted into an outright smirk.
Vaguely, the thought arose that maybe he should join in. Ribbing the doc bot never got old but the idea was gone almost as quickly as it had come.
Nah, Wheeljack decided, as Thunder warned that Ratchet's mood was about to get a whole lot worse. This was already vastly entertaining without his own input. The two fliers were digging their own holes just fine by themselves and it was looking like they were going to go a loooong way down.
For a moment? Carbine thought that the Medic believed HE was the one that had thrown the snowball. The ex-cop went deer in the headlights because of this, his head snapping upright and the yellow shapes of his optics went round. He was going to be yelled at for Thunder's mistake!? For what slag for brains did!? Oh PIT NO that was not going to happen! Carbine would never take the blame for Thunder unless it was a dire situation! Or unless it made it funny... like if someone thought he somehow managed something he would have never been able to do... but this situation? Nope! And as such he started to puff up, his jaw dropping behind the riot visor that was still pulled up over his neck, like he was going to start some crap in reply.
However it seemed though his wasn't the case, as this Medic moved on quickly and Thunder had started laughing, betraying his guilt in an instant. Carbine's defensive response deflated with some relief at this, but at the same time annoyance. But laced over all of these emotions? Uncontrollable to Carbine? Was a bit of amusement that was starting to snake back into his emotions. How... how could Thunder's gravel laced growl of a suppressed laugh be so infectious to him? Why was that sound punching down his anger and replacing it so readily with a bit of mirth? Maybe because the sound was associated with some amazing slag from the past and so it was difficult to not equate it with good times.
So many jokes... so many adventures... so many faces punched in...
The data was seemingly passed over, and Carbine turned enough to barely see Thunder from the corner of his optic so he didn’t rotate his back to the others. He wanted to know what was up with the codes; he was actually eager for it, an unseen grin pulled back. But this grin? Faltered, as from what he could glance from the edge of his vision? Thunder was struggling still to hold back laughing, holding up his hand to ask for a moment. Carbine's brows furrowed, before he struggled to suppress his own laughter, whining out Thunder's name in a humor strangled plea for him to focus up.
He whined out a bit more, trying to suppress his own laughter that was only born from listening to Thunder's struggled attempts. A moment later? The codes were finally confirmed, and Carbine's stance visibly changed. His shoulders, or rather, his one good shoulder, slumped down into a far more relaxed stance, and it seemed like a huge weight was taken off his frame. Paired with this, a hissing clank occurred, as the flared rot armor on his clavicle, elbows, and sides slid back into their housing once again. Optics had fallen half lidded with some relaxation, until the medic had demanded his own codes.
Abruptly, Carbine thumbed back to Thunder, as if it was a perfectly normal thing for him to signal that they needed to get his codes from the massive jet instead of he himself handing them over. A long time ago, they had managed to limp and stumble through the steps needed to walk Carbine through his HUD in order to get his own codes, and in turn transfer them in a data packet for Thunder to store. It had been an agonizing process, stopped many steps through for banter and arguing as mistakes were made often as he had spat out data packets on laws and jurisdiction codes instead.
"Yeah going aren’t k?z?z?t? you to be able to get anything from me."
He really didn't like sharing the full extent of his disability, but this was the CMO, and he would find out eventually. He just didn't plan to share the all of it to everyone else. Once Thunder did pass his codes over? It would reveal that they had two colored marks instead of just one. There was the one red mark labeling him as an ex-convict, which would give some issues, but the other? Was a far more useful blue mark of being partly disabled. Aphasia. It would validate why he couldn't send his own codes, and why he spoke and paused occasionally in his speech. Hopefully Ratchet wouldn't think he was trying to pull something clever and give him a hard time.
He also hoped this medic had enough of some moral code or whatever to keep the details down low and not blurt them out so the two brawlers GMA and TMA knew it. Carbine eased back and looked over at the other two mechs once he thought of them, noting their stances.
Maximus loomed just behind Ratchet. Though both of his brows had shot up when the snowball had impacted he had said nothing, evidently satisfied to let the medic deal with his own woes.
Now the big mech shifted on his feet. His gaze cut back and forth between Carbine and Ratchet. There was an intense look on his face that was not there before, mingled with frustration. He said nothing however, merely waited.
Ratchet digested the codes with a frown.
"Huh," he said.
He looked up and over at the two convicts. His gaze revealed nothing of what he had learned, his expression as huffy and put upon as before.
"All right, they look good," he grumbled. "And yes, before you ask, they both check out as Autobots, Fortress. You can stop aggressively hovering now."
Maximus looked a little offended at that.
Ratchet nodded to Carbine. "I understand why your communication suite appears to be malfunctioning. Believe me when I say I've seen this sort of damage before, though I cannot promise you I can ever repair it. However, if you will allow it, I can at least deal with your recent injuries, as well as those of your friend. And rest assured that doctor-patient confidentially is something that I take very seriously, providing that it does not put the lives of other Autobots at risk."
His optics went to Thundercloud. A flicker of something passed behind them, a private, knowing glint.
"If you'll follow me through the ground bridge I'll see to it you're both set up with a place to rest and recharge in the medical bay. How permanent this arrangement becomes will be up to you. Agreed?"
Thundercloud had been braced for impact, preparing for an outburst, an angry exclamation or a derisive curse. In the past, the reactions mecha had to discovering who and what they were weren’t exactly varied; almost all were negative to some degree. Some were considerably more explosive than others, but usually, they were just treated to some grumbling and dirty looks.
Ratchet regarded them with neither.
To say Thundercloud was not at all expecting such an indifferent response would be an understatement. The medic’s words actually took him aback, his optics widening before skating down towards Carbine, as if to silently ask the other mech if they had both heard the same thing. That was a...surprisingly pleasant response. He really wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
Glancing back to Ratchet, he favored the mech with a mildly puzzled look, eyeing him up and down once more as if the mech had suddenly morphed into a completely different person. He almost felt somewhat sorry for pelting him in the back of the head with that white slag, until the medic mentioned the damage to Carbine’s communications suite--then whatever remorse he may or may not have felt vanished like a puff of smoke.
“Yeah, it ain’t exactly confidential when you go and say what the problem is out loud, but okay.” He replied dryly, throwing his hands up briefly in a mockingly placating gesture, as if Ratchet were pressuring him to concede to some sort of point.
Granted, Carbine’s speech problems were...well, really obvious, and anyone with a pair of optics and a set of audios could tell he had some sort of damage to his communications net, but that was beside the point. Thundercloud still felt obligated, as Carbine’s friend/keeper/baby-sitter/harasser to make jabs at anyone who so much as mentioned the mech’s speech difficulties.
“--And I don’t mind comin’ along, but like I said; I don’t need you pokin’ at me.” Yep, he was still sticking to his guns on the not needing medical attention thing.
“Save your needles for Patches here.” He added, patting the smaller mech on the back as he nudged him forward once more.
Apparently the show was over. The two fliers checked out and everyone was clear just whose side they were on. Wheeljack didn't see any need to stick around. He'd catch up with everyone back at the Omega base.
He ploughed on forth through thick snow back up to the crash site. The climbing was tough, the slope was at a steep angle. But Wheeljack scaled it with the nimbleness and agility he blazed through fights with.
The fire that had claimed the shuttle had eventually stopped burning during the confusion down below. Wheeljack surveyed the wreck grimly. It really didn't look like there was much to be recovered from this one beyond scrap metal and he didn't fancy staying out in the cold for too long.
Well. Time to get to work.
Last Edit: Nov 29, 2014 15:51:05 GMT -5 by Deleted
Was his hearing glitching from the punch to the head still?
Carbine blankly looked at Ratchet, before peering to meet Thunder's confused gaze. His one optic was rounded, the other? Narrowed in a sort of skeptical look of confusion, as if asking if he had heard correctly or not. When it was confirmed by Thunder seeming just as floored, he peered back at the medic a bit stunned. That was... until he had contradicted himself so blatantly it made Carbine instantly reel and make a note in his memories to not divulge anything less they blurt it out infront of whoever happened to be nearby again. But the most notable thing? More than the lack of keeping things secret? Was his mention of trying to fix it.
"N?OP?E?"
The ex-cop blurted this out instantly to cut off the Medic. There was no way he was permitting anyone to tinker in his helm again. He had already underwent multiple surgeries to try to repair it, and each time? Was hellish to recover from for very little, if any improvement. He could function how he was, he could survive like this, and unless there was some rebirth of Cybertron? Where technology returned to its peaks before the war? He wouldn't feel safe going under the blade in some makeshift war clinic.
The physical injuries? Were something else all together. He would accept that help, so long as Thunder did as well. Speaking of the brutish jet? He had pushed him forward by him via the shove against his back once more. Carbine stumbled just a fraction of a second before he let out a huffed snort of protest. He peered back at Thunder, giving him a glare paired with an additional static laden snort at the way he refused medical aid. Really? Between the two of them? Carbine may be rickety and jostled from the impact, needing his shoulder patched up, but Thunder? Was far worse off in his eyes. His back was basically totaled, and he knew he had to have hit his head something fierce to be unconscious as long as he had been.
"Yeah I don't know if you kn-k?n?o?-k?-aware this Thunder..."
Carbine started this as he took a few steps backwards, ending up slightly behind the larger mech so he could see his back.
"But your wings look like scraplets decided to chew clean surface kzzt the off... I don't even see any of your paint left. Buuuttt if you are fine looking like a trashed mess that ain't my problem."
He was playing it off like he didn't care at all, however his actions betrayed him. When he stumble walked up to pass Thunder? Instead of continuing to follow the others through the ground bridge? He instead ducked his head under the Jet's arm, offering support that was likely not needed but was being given anyway. If he refused? Carbine would argue that he himself had his balance shot and wanted to have the solid mass beside him so he didn’t topple. Really? He was just coming down off of his over clocked panic mode and wanted to reassure himself that yes, Thunder was alive and walking...
From distress and grief to combat and then conflict, he hadn't really had a chance to really absorb that Thunder was... alive... he had survived and wasn't cut off and fallen to the well. Things were back to comparative normal, just with some new team they once again had to integrate with. Carbine wasn't going to be stuck just with Bolo as some loner, no, he had his other... third?... still with him. It is because of this? He just fell quiet as per his promise to Ratchet, and walked with the much larger mech to go through the vortex.