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.
Finale remained still, listening as he spoke. Her senses were still cast out, continually listening for anything that might be different or out of the ordinary. She never truly relaxed.
She turned to look at him, picking up on something he had said.
“Mindless? You truly think we are mindless? Perhaps the war has, in some regards, taken from us, but some of us found a part of ourselves that is better, stronger, than we once were.” She narrowed her optics some, though not at him. Her gaze was past him, looking out into the darkness, peering at something from her past.
“If anything I can say that I, personally, have become more mindful. I see the world how it is truly, and no longer falter through life with blinders on.”
She looked back at him, “But perhaps this is what you mean. Perhaps you do not like seeing things as they truly are.”
She watched him again as he rose, and turned back to her. Her own helm tilted faintly to the side as he seemed to look her over, and when he offered to spar, she offered him a slow, almost lazy, blink. Cat-like.
He almost whined in respond to her more than obvious rejection of the offer. It wasn't that he actually wanted to spar, not in the slightest, but observing someone else for a few moments in order to study and learn from would have been great! But alas, it did not happen and the black and white mech eased back some, allowing her to settle down. Hopefully he had not offended her with the crude offer.
Letting his servos rest comfortable on either side of the hilts, he kept a close optic on her expression. It was then that he noticed her distant gaze. It was being cast out, like a tunnel-vision or some sort, it was hard to tell. Blackframe could not quiet grasp what was currently occupying her processor, but he figured that breaking this awkward silence between them could be a start. But how to?
“Umm... ?”
He began carefully as he cleared his throat. Of course he'd heard her answer to his statement earlier, and he was rather surprised to find her still relaxed. Normally he'd have gotten any sort of answers, mostly insults or a question like 'Are you out of your mind?', 'Do you malfunction?'. But not with Finale it seemed, and this found much appreciation in his sort of book. So he carefully continued.
“I don't know what you are seeing, but I see a bunch of mindless machines following a so called 'leader' into oblivion, no offense. They call it loyalty, I call it 'being controlled by fear', false ideals and promises. Most of the Decepticons here have no personal opinion, are afraid to speak their mind, hide in the shadows and hope to satisfy their beloved 'master' so they can live for another day. I don't know... It's so different from what I am used to.”
“Or, maybe I just missed out on too much, wasn't really around after the whole... exodus thing.”
Bold, ruthless, rude.
It probably were the first thoughts that would come to anyone's mind at hearing this. But Blackframe couldn't care less. He never had been one of the silent types; obedient and lenient in regards to his own faction. Loyalty wasn't his best of traits anyway. He was honest, to the point of being so brutally honest that he was more than inclined to point out the obvious. He simply liked to speak his mind and was not afraid to ask the questions others tried to avoid. It was always curiosity what spurred him on. It accompanied him through his life and allowed him to see the world from a different angel.
“I mean, you know what the Decepticons were originally fighting for, right? And yes, in the beginning it truly was like that, but now? Sometimes I just think, they may have forgotten what our end goal is with this whole ordeal. But every time I try to remind them, or try to give them a hint, all they do is cuss me out.”
“I don't know anything about you, and I don't want to judge, but I, for my part, am loyal to myself, Cybertron and the vow I once gave, not the Decepticons or Megatron. I like to choose my commanders. I am free to do so, as well as to decide for myself who I want to be. I am not blind to my surroundings, mind you... I'm just different, I think. I see far more than I make others believe, you were just the first one to point that out. And that's totally fine.”
He simply shrugged at that, hoping that Finale could follow his train of thought so far.
“All I can say is that Megatron's preaches should be viewed as an inspiration for change, not become an obsession. But what about you? Are you satisfied with how things are currently? You don't have to answer, just.. it would be nice to, well... you know?”
Finale watched him as he spoke, helm tilted slightly to the side, taking in his every word. At times her motions seemed almost odd, as if she were more of a wind up toy than a living being. But her attention was focused fully on him now, and she didn’t interrupt. He seemed to want to talk, and that was good, because the more one talked, the more they revealed about themselves. Often, the one talking revealed a lot more about themselves than they even knew.
When he finished, she spoke, her voice as maddeningly calm as ever.
“I am aware of what we were fighting for, yes. Freedom. The right to choose our own fates. To not have to be forced into a life we despise because our frames happen to follow a certain look.
You say you think our leader....and by that I assume you speak of Megatron – for Starscream is new to the title – is leading us into oblivion, and yet here we are. While I do not personally enjoy this planet, I would not go so far as to call it oblivion.
We....each of us....chose to follow Lord Megatron for different reasons, and yet all those different reasons can be narrowed down into the same frame. We were tired of having our lives pre-lived. I was told, from the moment I was sparked, what I would do, day in and day out, until my spark faded and I died. There was to be no surprise, no joy of discovery. No changing my path and walking a fresh new trail.
Some of us joined for the promised violence. Others because it is in their nature to follow. Perhaps those are the ones you speak of, the ones who “hide in the shadows and hope to satisfy their beloved master so they can live for another day”. Do not think you understand the reasoning for each Decepticon’s decision to walk away from their path.
As for you trying to “remind” others of what we were fighting for....” she shrugged, “Why is it your place to do so? If their choices have changed, if the reasoning they have landed upon is no longer the same reasoning they began the journey with, that is not your concern. My choices are not yours to think of, as yours are not mine.
As for being loyal to oneself, that is all very fine and good, but oneself can only do so much. It is a simple truth that some are created to lead, and they will draw others to them like scraplets to spare metal. It is their very nature to attract others in. One can fight against it and leave, or allow themselves to be pulled in by the magnetism. Perhaps, in the end, it is all fate.”
She studied him in silence again for a moment, before speaking.
“As for me, I am content to have a path to walk upon of my choosing. Will that path one day break from this one, branch into another direction, and lead me away? I cannot answer that. But there is a contentment in knowing that my steps are my own, the direction I walk is one I have chosen, and that I leave footprints as I move.”
When Finale began to respond, his helm slowly moved down to look at her again, expression unreadable, flat even. Her words were consuming his processor for the moment as she elaborated her point of view. Unlike many other Decepticons, Finale did not push her boundaries too far, or even suggested unreasonable actions to take place. She just listened and responded in a calm and collected way, almost as if they were... a team? A foreign thought, all things considered, especially as the Decepticons weren't famous for their hospitality.
But maybe it was this what led him to calm down some as well. The earlier hustle of an foreign creature already shoved to the sidelines- unimportant! For now it were her words that pushed themselves into the spotlight.
Blackframe was silent for a moment, thinking, working out every tiny bit she'd said while his optics never left her face. It was apparent that his processor worked at full speed now, trying to pin-point anything important as well as connecting even the smallest of hints and phrases together... quite the task, if one considered that his own thoughts were everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
“Perhaps.”
He responded once she fell silent.
“Your arguments are... vague... but reasonable. I mean, well... maybe I'm overthinking it but, I don't know.”
A shrug on his side.
“I just don't feel the whole 'Freedom' thing anymore. I feel caged, chained up even- as if thrown to the pits just for the sake of it. Where is my promised reward? Aren't hundreds of decades of war, thousand even, not enough?”
“I get the feeling that... they keep fighting for the fighting sake. That... everything they'd promised was just a big lie. It all narrows down into the same frame- to make use of your phrasing there, no offense. It just doesn't matter what step you take, it doesn't matter how many footprints you're going to leave behind... in the end, a bigger bot just walks over them - on purpose or not - and claims what is rightfully yours.”
His expression shifted slightly, frowning now. And with a slow roll of his shoulder, to get some of the tension off, he crept a tad closer to the dark femme before slumping down once more. Well, the attempt to get her to demonstrate some of her moves surely failed, but on the other servo? There was something far more interesting what had caught his audials just earlier.
“But you got me curious. What on Cybertron is even more boring then our current life? I mean, in contrast to what you'd told me? Working in the entertainment industry sounds like fun! Though, I gonna admit, I never had a so called 'civilian life', nor participated in it. So don't get me wrong, I've seen a few things, but... how was it?”
She listened to him speak, and grew a small bit uneasy. He spoke of being tired of the war. And Primus knew, it was understandable. It had gone on for so, so long. And sometimes, all it seemed to have done is reduce their numbers to little more than dregs. If the war were to end tomorrow, if they were all to return to Cybertron to live, the elites would go right back to the class system, the manual workers being little more than dirt, anyone unable to afford freedom stuck in servitude, and the “heroic” Autobots would go back to enforcing that system.
“It....can....be hard to find one’s way when one feels they are surrounded by others who do not have a path to follow. That they are merely trudging along in the Decepticon army because it can give them an outlet for their violent urges. But that is the nature of some people. Do you truly think the “noble” Autobots do not have their share of violent lunatics? The only difference is that they have convinced themselves that nothing they do is wrong, that they got the better of the system because they were better than others.
All we can do is work with them when we must, and avoid them when we can. I find enjoyment in speaking to the more honest individuals. The Vehicons, for instance, are decent sparks. If there are those whose mindless violence bothers you, have little dealings with them.”
Finale watched as Blackframe threw himself down beside her again. He reminded of her a Turbofox at times. He seemed to have two mode; calm and full tilt. She wondered if he ever actually rested, if he were even still in recharge, or if he continued to move and jitter even then.
A faint look of displeasure moved across her face when he asked of the entertainment industry. She was never really comfortable speaking of her past – a part of her always wondered if her old master were truly dead, and if he were hunting her, even now. Despite having trained to become an assassin, despite killing in emotionless fugues and going to war, there was always that tinge of fear when she remembered looking out through the bars of her cage into the face of her master, wondering what torture he would think up this time.
“It was stupidly and disgustingly decadent, at least in the upper classes. The utter waste of resources when there were others hungry in the streets below should have seen their heads separated from their frames.”
She gave a half shrug, “Oh it was pretty, I will give you that. The lights, the colors, the music. But it was all glamour covering rot and decay. Your happiness depended on how well you could avoid seeing that decay.
I was a dancer, and an actress. My original coding of dancing helped me when I became a Decepticon and took up the sword.”
Last Edit: Sept 2, 2019 16:56:45 GMT -5 by Deleted
“That sounds like you and those you call 'noble' have a history together. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I get the feeling that maybe, well, you might have pulled the short stick before the war.”
Blackframe did not know how exactly he should phrase it, but after listening to her speak and seeing her distorted expression once he'd asked about the entertainment industry, he certainly could tell that, whatever it was Finale had been through, it wasn't pleasant.
“I am a honest mech, and I speak my mind freely. And what you'd just told me... in all honesty, if that's what you expect from the Decepticons? An Utopia, where everyone is happy, has fuel, resources and can afford whatever they need- I'm sorry to break it to you, but that will never happen.”
“It doesn't matter who would win this war, the Autobots, the Decepticons, or even the non affiliated. In the end, Cybertron will be rebuilt, receive a new structure with a new council that will establish a similar economy than before. There will be the low castes, some who have to do the dirty work, middle caste mecha with better jobs and better income, and last but not least the rich, who simply can just afford about anything they want... this will never change. But! What we can hope to achieve with our victory, is to grant each and every Cybertronian the same rights! Regardless of their social status and what not. That's what I am fighting for at least.”
Looking up ahead into the vast blackness of the night sky, Blackframe just gave another long out drawn ex-vent.
“I won't lie to you, I can't relate to anything you'd experienced... because, before the war, I was a soldier. My name's Bluff and I fulfilled my duty in Cybertrons Military. On the outside a strong and proud individual who had to keep their reputation to a certain someones expectation... but from the inside? It was full of greed and corrupted commanders who send lunatics like me onto missions to get rid of mecha who did not fit into their concept of the caste system.”
“I put my heel into other people's faces, beat them up, pushed them down and I did things, committed crimes you would not thought possible- legally. All for the better of Cybertrons future. It's protection. That was their- our reason to keep doing what we did; for Cybertron.”
Shifting his gaze back to Finale, he gave a thoughtful hum, tilting his helm to the side with a raised brow.
“Now you know what I did. What happened that you dislike entertainment so much? Is it because of money?”
A secret for a secret.
It was perhaps a futile attempt to get her to talk more about it, after all, Decepticons weren't the trustworthiest of companions to have around, yet it sparked Blackframe's curiosity. Entertainment, from what he knew, should be fun and glorious. It embodied the emotion of happiness and over all positive feelings, at least from what he'd seen so far. Why she was so vague about it, made him suspicious.
Finale listened, silent, absorbing his words like an organic absorbs water. She greedily drank them in, learning about him, about what he did before. He so freely gave his name, his occupation, everything about himself. A part of her was fascinated he was just handing this over to her. Either he didn’t care what could happen to her, or wasn’t aware just what could be done with that amount of information. Finale had no plans at the moment to do anything, and likely never would. But she collected such things. Knowledge was power, and you could store such power away to be used at a later time.
Like a battery.
She listened as he, gently, cast aside what he thought were her ideals. Utopia. What foolishness. Of course there was no Utopia waiting. Or was there?
Utopia meant different things to different people. To some it was a perfect society. To others, merely freedom.
Finally, when he finished, she spoke.
“You were useful to the machine that was society, a wheel of gears that helped it move. Perhaps you hated it....and others likely hated you. That does not mean your job was not necessary. Needed. If you take pride in such things, do so. Military is always needed.”
She looked back steadily at him as he regarded her, and when he spoke again, she couldn’t hide her amusement.
“Money? How do you mean, lack of it, or too much? There was little I could not buy, little that was out of my reach. Oh, I may have had to save up for a while to get it, but I could always get it.”
There was a pause. Finale did not speak of her past.
“The entertainment business was just that. Entertainment. It was a military in it’s own right. Rules and regulations. Enemies and allies. Conquering and capitulating. Putting on airs. One had their weapons and counter weapons, and knew how, when, and at who, to wield them. It was a coat of fine white paint over rust and decay.”
She lazily looked away, casting her gaze out over the landscape again, “I longed for something...less illusionary.”
A small shift, a subtle movement and Blackframe leaned back as he listened to her speak. His arms were placed slightly behind his back, acting as stabilizers to support the upper portion of his frame as he leaned onto them for balance. It was like leaning back into a chair that was missing its backrest. His legs on the other servo stretched out and away in a slight sprawled position, allowing him to take on a far more comfortable posture. The tips of his pedes, however, kept moving in an all too subtle way, wiggling into the air.
While Finale was adept in sitting still, unmovable even, Blackframe could not. He needed something to occupy himself with, something that kept him entertained long enough to satisfy this need; the need to move. Work, walk, exercise, run, drive... do SOMETHING in order to get rid of the metaphorical chains that kept tightening around his neck every day.
Though, Finale was probably the first individual in a long time who actually succeeded in offering Blackframe's processor something to truly think about. A deep and personal conversation, peppered with riddles and hints to allow one to form an image of another. It was an interaction that was so very rare and sparse throughout the Decepticon ranks that it nearly was non existing at all... and he actually enjoyed it.
The black and white mech did not interrupt her, nor gave any other hints of what he was truly thinking about, but he offered her a nod every now and then to try and display his interest on the topic. Plus, it wasn't about him, he'd not offered those information to her to try and push himself into the spotlight, quite the opposite... he'd hoped to receive more information about Finale this way. Which proofed to be more difficult than first anticipated.
Not that Blackframe had expected her to suddenly open up like a book, but it was worth a shot.
At least, as he listened, he now knew that money was not the case of her more than obvious rejection of entertainment. What was though? It probably would stay a mystery for a while longer it seemed.
With a sigh of defeat, his helm would turn into her direction once more. A furrowed brow was all he had to offer at the moment, a silent question asked before some words would follow at her thoughtful statement.
Finale remained looking out over the landscape. There was a faint rise and fall of one shoulder before she spoke.
“Something to belong to. Something real. Something that mattered. I was tired of drama over useless, pointless things. I was exhausted trying to deal with people behaving as if fashion meant life or death. I wanted something that meant something.”
She languidly raised an arm, tucking her palm under her chin, resting her chin in her hand as she continued to gaze.
“The elite of Cybertron. Oh how they bickered and squabbled over the most mundane things. So shiny and bright, they gleamed like galaxies in the blackness of space, and they were as unreachable and cold. Fools, all of them, clambering for attention from the flavour of the week. Arguments over what a certain poet meant when he spoke of the “voidful nothingness”. It was dreadful.”
She dropped her hand, turning towards Blackframe with the faintest hint of a bemused smile, “I suppose I must sound like a bored sparkling, wanting excitement in my life. What is they called it? “Slumming”? No, I wasn’t interested in slumming. I just wanted to destroy the illusions around my life, and when I was offered that chance, I took it.”
Finale made a grasping motion with her hand, fingers almost hooked into claws. After a second, she let her hand relax, and leaned back again, “Sparkling on the outside, decaying on the inside. “ She made an amused rumble in her chest.
Looking back to him suddenly, she spoke, “You asked if I thought the Decepticons would be a Utopia. No. Utopias do not exist. But it was real. The work, gritty and dirty and disgusting and hard was real. It is still real. I will follow the Decepticons to my death, and gladly. Better this, than....death by inner rot, no matter how beautiful.”
He responded to her statement about sounding like a sparkling.
After all, they were currently chatting over rather serious stuff, and all Finale seemed to worry about was if she sounded alright or not. It was, somewhat, funny in a way which made Blackframe smile.
Though, as she continued to explain herself, his smile slowly faded and his expression shifted to a more sadder one.
“Something to belong to... yeah, this really sounds wonderful. I hope you'll find what you're looking for, I really do. Though, if you allow; stop following others- stop giving your life for someone who doesn't care about it.”
“The Decepticons won't repay you, won't care 'if' or 'how' you die. In their mind, you are nothing more than-... a disposable tool.”
The last words were gritted out, spoken with disgust and in a light sneering tone.
“Anyway, do what you think is right, it's a personal choice after all. Nobody can say otherwise.”
It was sad to hear her opinion that way, that she preferred to give her life for a cause that seemed to be changing with every day that passed. A cause that was currently, more shine than reality.
“But can I ask you something personal? Like, really... personal, something that maybe shouldn't be talked about? Umm, you don't have to answer if you don't want to but... I'm curious; have you ever thought about... just leaving? Starting a new life somewhere else? Doing what you always wanted to do? Being who you always wanted to be? Like, having a normal life?”
Red optics would carefully watch her every move as he said this, not trusting her since she'd stated to give her life willingly for the Decepticons. But there was this small voice in his helm that told him to at least ask, given Finale seemed alright with the conversation so far.
As he spoke, Finale turned and regarded Blackframe silently. She could go so utterly still at times she resembled just a statue, faintly reflecting back the stars on a bright night. Her optics remained that hue, “Decepticon purple”, fixed on his face as he spoke.
After he stopped talking, she turned, looking back out towards the scenery. She shifted slightly, an extension of one leg, drawing in of the other, before returning to that strange immobility.
“I am a disposable tool,” she spoke simply, “I am a tool of the Decepticons, and that is what I wanted. I do not want to...” she fell silent for a moment, trying to put together words. She wasn’t even sure why she was trying to explain this to anyone...she rarely spoke of herself in this way.
“I am not interested in making a name for myself as many others are. I do not desire personal victory. Yes, I take pride in my work. I feel pride when someone has heard of me, or my name, or knows of my work, but...sometimes....anonymity is good. Not being well known. Not having eyes on you all the time.
Some are not happy in the Decepticons. Only a fool would think otherwise. To some, this war is not what they expected. They thought the struggle would be brief. They thought victory would have been ours by now."
She fell silent again for a minute, before speaking again. Now, when she spoke, there was a slightly strained edge there. She wasn’t angry, or sad, it was difficult to tell just what the emotion was...but it was there.
“There is no “normal” life for me. I was coded to serve. It is as deep inside my spark and mind as my name. I was created to serve a purpose. I merely decided I would serve a purpose of my choosing, and not anyone else’s.”
She turned again, looking back up at him, her face emotionless, her field flat and emotionless, “This is who I am. I am Finale. Nothing more, and nothing less.”
Finale's blunt answer was everything but nice to listen to! Blackframe could not understand what would encourage someone to actually throw their life away like this, how could she be so calm about it? Didn't she value her life?
At first, he'd really thought that she would share his interest in having a 'normal' life. Trying to live in a world that was so full of things to explore and... no, she was seemingly fine with being a 'disposable tool' for the Decepticons. It was... sad.
Another sigh of defeat left him as he turned his attention upwards and towards the dark sky and its flickering white dots. What could he say now? There was nothing he could say, after all, he'd just told her that it was her personal choice and that no one had the right to say otherwise.
But perhaps he could twist his former question a bit? It was worth a shot.
“Mhh, may I ask then, what would you like to do once the war is over and Cybertron is rebuild, regardless of who wins of course. Would you still seek out others, to tell you what to do next? I mean, if 'serving something' is 'coded' into you, I could picture you as a waitress, or a secretary. Or law enforcement? If you're into that of course.”
He mulled over those words, gaze drifting from one star to the next as if counting them. His still fidgeting posture and restless leg continued to shift and move throughout the few fleeting seconds that would pass.
The war wouldn't last forever, at least he hoped so, and as soon as their kind would settle into civilization again, jobs and assignments would need to be fulfilled. How exactly it would be achieved, he had no idea, but... they had to start somewhere, right? It could help a great deal to already know what one would like to do once this decision would have to be made, it could save them a lot of trouble and uncomfortable situations.
She seemed to pause for a minute, thinking about what he had asked her.
What would she do, if and when Cybertron were ever restored? Once “civilization” returned? Once war was over?
Was war ever really over? Or would the Cybertronians just find another enemy to fight, someone else to turn their aggression on? Sometimes she wondered...if they had been at war for so long, there was an entire generation who knew nothing of pre-war Cybertron....would they ever be able to just stop fighting?
Could she ever go back to performing? Dancing? Acting?
At one time it was all she knew, and she loved it. The admiration of the audience for her work, the lights, the glamour...
How quickly it had soured.
And now, could she ever see it that way again? As anything other than golden gilt painted over rot?
“First off,” she spoke, sounding slightly amused, “You are assuming the war will end. Or that there will be anything left to rule once it is. Or that if the Autobots, Primus forbid, win, that everyone who wore the Decepticon badge won’t be rounded up and destroyed.
But let us, just for the sake of conversation, pretend that the war does end, and both sides, at least those who have managed to survive all this time, are allowed to return to try and make a living.
What would I do?”
She paused again, motionless, looking out over the dark surroundings, as if searching for an answer there. As if there would be some sigil there, that would help her, would lead her to some profound statement.
Sadly, it was not there.
“I do not know. Considering where I have come....where I started...and what my skills are now....the things I have done to get here....could I be satisfied with being a waitress or a secretary?
I do not think so.
And there is no way I will ever be a police officer, nor take any part in anything insultingly called “law”. I have had my fill of them.”
The contempt in her voice is suddenly very clear and thick. After a moment, she speaks again, and it has vanished.
“That is a situation I cannot plan for until I am there. Perhaps I will find another enemy to fight. Perhaps I will find a way to make my skills needful. Perhaps I will simply choose to terminate myself rather than try to find some meaning in what has become a meaningless life.”
She turns then, and looks straight at him.
“What of you? What do you wish to do, if the war ends?”
As soon as Finale began to answer, Blackframe's expression distorted into a scowl.
The way she suddenly spoke, the way she now held herself was not finding any approval.
It was borderline pathetic! Oh, he hater her point of view, the way she indicated that there was never peace to be found, that their war would continue forever; or that they would keep looking for an enemy so they could satisfy their need to fight... How could she even want that to happen?
Blackframe could only talk for himself, and he knew that he, at least, was tired and sick of all this fighting and risking one's life... of course, a small brawl never hurt, but full out war? No, thank you.
“First off, I am not assuming anything! Nothing will last forever! We just might not witness its end, but it will at one point.”
He literally spat it out after she'd returned his question.
“My entire life I've been prepared for just one thing; war! But that doesn't mean I actually want it or like it! I want a fragging normal life! I want to have a job, a steady income, a place to call my home, people I can hang out with and have fun with... you know, just being normal. You have no idea how lucky you are to have had such things. I instead, had to put up with commanding officers who barked their orders at me, expected me to fulfill their dirty jobs. They broke me to nothing more than a mindless machine with no morals, no feelings, no life. I did everything for them just to get this tiny little praise I always craved. It was the only thing that kept me going.”
“But what I would like to do once this whole ordeal is over? Well, I would like to work in a museum. As a security guard, night shift of course. But...”
Trailing off to shift his gaze downwards and to the floor, Blackframe took a moment before he would continue, mulling over some things. He'd never expected this conversation to suddenly take a turn into the more depressive category. Finale was a honest individual, it seemed, to the point where she even stated her own termination... to be executed by her own servos, suicide. She certainly held no illusions and was set and content with how cruel life could be, probably even experienced it herself if he had to make a guess.
“... you're right. I too, will not survive this war. Even if I would, I will never fit in. It's better to accept the cold harsh brutality of reality than living with fake expectations, I guess. But terminating yourself? That's a pretty harsh statement.”
He shrugged it off, turning his attention back to her.
“But say? How come you haven't run off yet? I'm quite surprised you're still tolerating my presence. Not been assigned to anything yet?”
Finale watched as Blackframe spoke, listened to the vehemence with which he spoke. His assertions that she must have had a wonderful life, that she was lucky to have lived a normal life, that he had been forced to listen to harsh words from a harsh person, itching for approval.
She said nothing, made no motion, nor any facial feature.
But inside, oh how amused she was.
How like people to always assume someone else had things better. That they were the only ones who ever suffered, that they had had it the worst. A small part of Finale, a little, tiny part that hadn’t completely died in the dancing room of her Master, wanted to speak up, to laugh aloud, and to talk. Oh yes, what a wonderfulnormal life, to be caged like an animal when words were spoken that Master did not approve of, being able to own things, wonderful, beautiful things, but not yourself. Being forced to laugh and drink with the famous, the high class, all the while knowing you had said something that displeased Master, and that when you returned home, he would be waiting, in the dark, with his tools....
That small part of her did not speak. It rarely spoke, nowadays. She kept it tightly locked down, because sometimes, when it started to talk...oh when it started....it would not stop...
Finale slightly tilted her head, “A museum? An odd job, but then I suppose in a way, all jobs are odd. What is it about museums that pulls you? Why that, instead of, say, a factory, or a high rise?”
To his comment about her speech of terminating herself, she merely rolled her shoulders in an almost lazy shrug, “This is a harsh world. I will make my own rules if I do not find the current ones satisfactory.”
“As for why I am still here....why would I not be?”