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,” gritted Cade, suppressing a surge of nausea and rage, channeling it into pure, poisonous sarcasm. “My mouth does have a history of getting me in trouble… and that’s before the massive memory core wipe so who knows who the frag I’ve been mouthing off to in the meantime." He was babbling a bit. Frag if he could stop himself. Whatever, he went on nastily.
"It’s eerily keen of you to suppose I probably deserved it though. Since, of course, you can deserve that." Very nice. She can probably sit on you and kill you in your condition. Keep talking. It got you spark slagged last time. "I’d like to think it was more a matter of necessity though… professional pride and all.”
They couldn’t break me any other way.
Yeah but they probably broke you, didn’t they?
The infiltrator shook it off and changed gears hard. “You said that my… that the bond I have was keeping me alive. I’ve sine bond-deaths before. A spark bond does not keep the partner alive. You kill one you kill them both. Even a glitched out post-hack knows that.” So I cannot be bound, he thought furiously, because I wouldn’t choose weakness over autonomy. But as quickly as he thought that some part of himself drawled, Well, wouldn’t that depend on the quality of the partner? Primus. Barricade ex-vented, that ache in his head becoming a pervasive throbbing sear. “How is it possible that I function?”
He'd twisted her words, but the insinuation that Cleaver could ever conceive of any advocation for such an assault rankled her more than she wished to show. Stalking around the berth to face Barricade again, she told herself it was unfair to get angry at a mech in his condition. The he couldn't help his defensive remarks rooted in belittlement, scarcasm and dismissal, but that she could.
It was still an engine growl of an effort to torque her vocaliser back down from yelling at him. Or just punching him. That was sorely tempting, too.
"I don't know," she uttered tightly, transforming both arms back into their natural configurations and allowing the thick blades to hang at her sides. "Not something I've seen before. You're alligned with someone, powerful. Must be. Or you're just bound to a mecha too stubborn to die, which I reckon would suit."
Barricade glanced with disinterest at the medic’s reformat, folding his arms on the edge of berth and leaning against it, his engine humming quietly, vents cycling. His whole right side had just gone numb and his gyro-stabalizer was going out even as Cleaver spoke. Her words blurred in his audios, his harmonic identification subroutines making a mess of her intonations. Lovely. He was about to go offline.
That in mind, he took a very prompt and irritable seat against the side of the berth, dropping with a hiss of hydraulics and rage against the side of the platform and humming with frustration and pain. His neuralcircuitry throbbed and pulsed furiously, the pain in his spiking to the point of blinding him and his offlined his optics and felt the dental plates in his mouth grind and give against the pressure of his anger, his confusion, and worst of all the crush of helplessness and not knowing what had happened to him. What role was he playing right now? For whom?
He dropped his helm back against the berth. “It would suit,” he murmured, fading. “For that… I… am sorry.” He smirked. “I’m a lot of work to keep up.”
Cleaver hadn't missed the signs, coming quietly back around the berth to kneel in front of the mech just as darkness was no doubt engulfing his vision. "Well I'm a sucker for strays," she murmured in reply, sliding reconfigured hands under his arms when she was confident he was close enough to unconsciousness not to take a swipe at her. "Alright, Barricade, up we go. You're gonna go out for just a klik and then we'll start over."
A klik to him, at least, but long enough for Cleaver to root out Reflector and coax him in here. Re-arranging Barricade's form back onto the berth with a handful of in-transit scans, Cleaver rubbed a hand across her optics with a silent pray to Primus that a new tactic would have more success.