[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Moving Out [Optimus]
Sept 20, 2019 20:11:13 GMT -5
Post by Optimus Prime on Sept 20, 2019 20:11:13 GMT -5
Optimus found it particularly interesting Windshield announced that he had almost killed two of his soldiers, when the Prime did not recall either reporting any injuries of note. In contrast, Windshield had been damaged badly, battered from his ejection from the Ark, and further tormented by his assailant to a point Ratchet had to administer some medical attention out on the field. Did this mean Windshield was cocky and making a joke? Did he believe himself capable should push truly come to shove? Or did he remember the altercation differently? It was intriguing, but the real point to take from the statement was not his potentially joking commentary, but his detachment from the new title.
Such a transition, so surreal, so odd... to be suddenly thrown on the other side of a coin, to tread upon land so shaky and unfamiliar. While both factions fought for what they believed in, there was a very pointed difference that had formed in their styles. One ruled under fear and a harsh militaristic rule, the other lead by understanding and caution with an approach akin to family. It would take time, it would be a transition, and simply acting like nothing was truly amiss would be a good way to help harbor that.
"Transitions of such magnitude seldom go without their own difficulties; however you have taken the hardest step already."
To denounce the Decepticons and seek help from the Autobots, that was a big thing. A challenge, a large leap of faith. Both sides could have rejected, and left Windshield alone and helpless in a strange land, or forced him to grovel at Megatron's peds for acceptance back. However, Windshield didn’t just denounce the other faction; he did so in front of the two highest ranked Decepticons other than the Warlord himself.
"New trials will arise, interacting with your peers, trying to be heard. While I offer safe haven, many will still question and challenge."
While the Prime preached for second chances, for they were all the same that simply got roped into different paths, many would resist. Skepticism, bitterness, reservation and suspicion.
"You must seek the strength to weather other's doubt."
Once more, no sugar coating, no attempts made to soften the blow. While one could argue actual battles against the Decepticons could be the biggest hurdle to take on, firing upon those you once called allies, the biggest hurdle would be standing up to the constant leering some may give as far as Optimus was concerned. Windshield seemed keen to mask himself behind cocky tones and amusement if his last words had anything to say on the matter. His resolve would need to be strong, and this barrier of humor thick to help.
As they found themselves at the end of the last corridor, the room before them ballooned out to a massive octagonal shape. High walls that breached up to metal rafters and weaving catwalks, a towering central column that appeared like an elevator of sorts, it was certainly the central station, which was evident enough even before one considered the control system. The terminal was large, with multiple green tinted screens that were placed side to side to monitor multiple things at once, though one appeared to be missing, an empty part of the makeshift grid where a bracket sat. Beyond this station were two hallways, one paved with stone walls, the other ringed in metal that ended with a plate of metal. While it was larger and more primitive than Decepticon models, requiring a hallway of sorts rather than a simple gateway, Windshield may be able to guess it was their Bridge.
A Cybertronian stood before the Terminal controls, tall in stature but not as much so as the Prime. Broad shouldered, long legged, clad in black and white. The individual appeared to have wheels at first glance, lower legs spouting two large rings, but upon another they did not appear road worthy, the long draping slats that hung down his back seeming to indicate a flyer of some kind. He had a hunched back in stature, plated armor cladding up his spine, but it wasn’t visible for long as the moment they entered the room the individual turned to face them more.
Settled on the gap between neck and shoulder was one of the humans, tiny, black and pink hair tied up into pigtails and colorful clothing with boots. They both seemed to watch as Optimus and the unknown entered, the Cybertronian staring rather pointedly. Yellow eyes projected on a black screen for a face, they bored down at Windshield with daggers, frame stilted and ridged, before Optimus started to approach and he took a few steps back and to the side to get out of the way without word. He would continue to stare, rotors flicking slightly.
Optimus continued into this room without falter or hesitation, the heavy thrum of his footfalls landing him before the terminal once the other Autobot moved aside. Quick flicks of a hand, rapid typing, he seemed to not even need to look down at the keys, the screens flickering to different panes before coordinates and trajectories began to populate. English words and Cybertronian glyphs intermixed on the display, while a wireframe grid of a rolling landscape flicked up on an adjacent monitor. Through all of this data, nothing told where they were currently, nothing to verify if they were in tundra or a jungle, or deep underground beneath a human city. While the dryness of the air may be a clue, it really didn't narrow it down much.
Such a transition, so surreal, so odd... to be suddenly thrown on the other side of a coin, to tread upon land so shaky and unfamiliar. While both factions fought for what they believed in, there was a very pointed difference that had formed in their styles. One ruled under fear and a harsh militaristic rule, the other lead by understanding and caution with an approach akin to family. It would take time, it would be a transition, and simply acting like nothing was truly amiss would be a good way to help harbor that.
"Transitions of such magnitude seldom go without their own difficulties; however you have taken the hardest step already."
To denounce the Decepticons and seek help from the Autobots, that was a big thing. A challenge, a large leap of faith. Both sides could have rejected, and left Windshield alone and helpless in a strange land, or forced him to grovel at Megatron's peds for acceptance back. However, Windshield didn’t just denounce the other faction; he did so in front of the two highest ranked Decepticons other than the Warlord himself.
"New trials will arise, interacting with your peers, trying to be heard. While I offer safe haven, many will still question and challenge."
While the Prime preached for second chances, for they were all the same that simply got roped into different paths, many would resist. Skepticism, bitterness, reservation and suspicion.
"You must seek the strength to weather other's doubt."
Once more, no sugar coating, no attempts made to soften the blow. While one could argue actual battles against the Decepticons could be the biggest hurdle to take on, firing upon those you once called allies, the biggest hurdle would be standing up to the constant leering some may give as far as Optimus was concerned. Windshield seemed keen to mask himself behind cocky tones and amusement if his last words had anything to say on the matter. His resolve would need to be strong, and this barrier of humor thick to help.
As they found themselves at the end of the last corridor, the room before them ballooned out to a massive octagonal shape. High walls that breached up to metal rafters and weaving catwalks, a towering central column that appeared like an elevator of sorts, it was certainly the central station, which was evident enough even before one considered the control system. The terminal was large, with multiple green tinted screens that were placed side to side to monitor multiple things at once, though one appeared to be missing, an empty part of the makeshift grid where a bracket sat. Beyond this station were two hallways, one paved with stone walls, the other ringed in metal that ended with a plate of metal. While it was larger and more primitive than Decepticon models, requiring a hallway of sorts rather than a simple gateway, Windshield may be able to guess it was their Bridge.
A Cybertronian stood before the Terminal controls, tall in stature but not as much so as the Prime. Broad shouldered, long legged, clad in black and white. The individual appeared to have wheels at first glance, lower legs spouting two large rings, but upon another they did not appear road worthy, the long draping slats that hung down his back seeming to indicate a flyer of some kind. He had a hunched back in stature, plated armor cladding up his spine, but it wasn’t visible for long as the moment they entered the room the individual turned to face them more.
Settled on the gap between neck and shoulder was one of the humans, tiny, black and pink hair tied up into pigtails and colorful clothing with boots. They both seemed to watch as Optimus and the unknown entered, the Cybertronian staring rather pointedly. Yellow eyes projected on a black screen for a face, they bored down at Windshield with daggers, frame stilted and ridged, before Optimus started to approach and he took a few steps back and to the side to get out of the way without word. He would continue to stare, rotors flicking slightly.
Optimus continued into this room without falter or hesitation, the heavy thrum of his footfalls landing him before the terminal once the other Autobot moved aside. Quick flicks of a hand, rapid typing, he seemed to not even need to look down at the keys, the screens flickering to different panes before coordinates and trajectories began to populate. English words and Cybertronian glyphs intermixed on the display, while a wireframe grid of a rolling landscape flicked up on an adjacent monitor. Through all of this data, nothing told where they were currently, nothing to verify if they were in tundra or a jungle, or deep underground beneath a human city. While the dryness of the air may be a clue, it really didn't narrow it down much.