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.
'What did Barricade do? Why did he end up like that?' 'Why'd Ref go with him?'
'What happened to the new mechs?'
'Why are they fighting?' 'Why do they hate each other?'
'What did June mean…?'
Some of the questions were new, some of them old and aged, but all unasked and unanswered. And for a long stretch she didn't move, laying there save for the little nudge to her shoulder and the small smile that came in response, half distracted but sincere. Even now with an open invitation she found herself cherry picking words, how to phrase them; felt as if she were walking on eggshells. War was war; it had to be sensitive. And there was no way to tell whether or not she might step on an emotional land mine, open doors to shit she had no experience with dealing with.
Then again, Cleaver had to be aware of that, too. Otherwise the invitation wouldn't be there… 'Right?'
"How'd it all start?" The question came out so suddenly and smoothly she almost wasn't sure whether or not she'd asked it out loud. But there it was. And now that she had started she turned over, righting herself into a sitting position facing Cleaver. "Why?"
Cleaver huffed a laugh through her vents, her smile dry and tight before she brought her cube to her mouth. She set the fuel back on the floor beside the sofa and rested her hand across the sparkling behind Cat, getting comfortable. "Straight to the big question? Alright."
She narrowed one optic to make the calibration, then projected a glittering metal world the size of a medicine ball into the air beside the sofa. "Cybertron, way back when it was alive with the lifeforce of our creator. The 'why' came about in the Golden Age, when productivity was high and life was good for the castes who could enjoy it. Down in the lower levels of the planet, in the mines and smelters, life was hard and short. A lot of mecha sparked full-frame for hard labour and to have their parts reused for the next worker to replace them. Think the Morlocks and Eloi - working for the luxury of the high caste. It was ugly, and only getting uglier."
The projection flashed out to be replaced with a static-laced promotional image. Large, still sleek at this point in history, but already bearing ember-red optics that cast blood shadows within the long angles of his helmet. "Until this mech started rallying for change. Megatronus was a gladiator, top-tier and good in the Arena. As low-caste as they came. Few folk had tried petitioning for change before him, but he had the charisma, the drive and the intelligence to really gain a following. He started out with a long, peaceful campaign, aiming for the political arena. Aiming to become a Prime and burn out the corruption of the Towerlings."
Another mech appeared alongside - an archived image rather than promotional, and though the structural changes were significant, the aura of the smaller mech was still easily identied as Optimus Prime. "Orion Pax, a Towerling archivest of all things, was helping Megatronus with his campaign. Believed in what he was doing, agreed that changes needed to be made, but wasn't on-board with the force Megatronus was prepared to exert if the Council resisted. Long story short, Orion Pax was made a Prime over Megatronus, or Megatron was he became known then. Optimus Prime was supposed to be a puppet, a means to suppress the revolt coming to a head, and Megatron didn't take kindly. Riots became battles, battle became the war, became the holocaust of our kind and the death of our planet. And now we're here."
A kind of facial shrug, mouth twitching downwards as Cleaver cocked her head at the listening human. "You'll get a different slant from Autobots and Decepticons, but that's the basic core of it." She'd lived through it, been at Megatronus's back for a long time during it, and she was confident of her facts, at least.
She set her chin lightly on her upraised knee, almost reaching out to the face of Optimus and Megatron. Staring. She wondered how much of it was still 'for the cause', millions of years later, for a planet that was… dead. Wondered what would happen if Earth split like that, what they would be like… Maybe it was the only thing left to do.
Cat found herself chewing on her lip, knowing this wouldn't be as simple as 'Megatron bad, Optimus good', and wondering where the lines were, what the lines were as a human in this war that she felt would inevitably involve their planet (more than current). 'A Neutral human, at that.' She thought… wondering if that itself was a line, being Neutral while the Autobots fought alongside humans, apparently, opted to protect them if they could.
Maybe she would have to trip over them, cross them, before she knew where any of them were; if they were even there. 'Oh well. I'll find out soon enough.'
From the hologram she raised her eyes back up to Cleaver, studied her face. Ask anything, was the invitation. "Were you with either of them, before you became a Neutralist?" She was quiet, venturing foreword with the question slowly as if feeling out whether or not that was too much too soon. She shifted her knees about as quietly as her voice, face an open book
It was a fair question, and completely inoffensive at this point. Cleaver twitched her helm in the negative, optics shuttering in the action. "I never alligned with either side. Never put on either of their insignias, and I never will. It might've been easier, I don't know, but I just can't get involved with the killing."
There was a long pause as the medic regarded the cube in her hand, studying the shape of her transformed plates resting against the smooth sides. Fuel cubes weren't made any more - every one of the innumberable cubes across the universe in personal subspaces, storage rooms and in ship and base refectories all came from their dead homeworld. The little containers were remarkably durable, and so little thought was paid to them after all this time.
Cleaver eased out a long wave of air from her vents, finally dragging her optics away from the overlooked relic of Cybertron to the living and listening organic sitting on her chassis. When she spoke, her words were frank though softened with contemplation. "I was Megatronus's medic in the Arena, same as I was for Sideswipe and Sunstreaker when they were all gladiators round about the same time. It's, why I thought I had a good chance of getting him to sanction a demilitarized zone here."
A humorless pull of her mouth, and Cleaver lifted the cube to take another sip of energon. Before she took the fuel to her lips, she added quietly: "Or at least being able to ask for one without getting completely slagged."
One side of her mouth pulled upwards at least in something that was almost a smile, maybe mimicking Cleaver's expression before it became hidden by the cube. The way she turned herself back towards the wide screen seemed to signal the end of the string of questions, for now at least satisfied enough with the answers to relax. She pulled her knees into her chest, chin resting between them, but shoulders much more relaxed than they were.
"Hey." She started, waiting until the episode completely shifted to a commercial break before turning her head on her cheek facing Cleaver. Just one more question, it seemed. "What happened to Sunny and Sides?" Aware something had gotten to them, that Cleaver had to go and stabilize them before they came here, but… well, as long as they were on heavy subjects, she might as well get the details.
It had surpised and impressed Cleaver that Cat hadn't asked that question until now, had just done and abided by what the medic had asked of her. Which was mainly to keep out of the way until Sideswipe cooled off, and then to be herself and brace for what passed as his personality when they inevitably did meet. It was both a solid indicator of maturity and of trust - trust in Cleaver to know what she was doing, and to let getting the answers wait until a better time.
"Megatron attacked them, right out of nowhere from the sounds of it. Emergency ground bridge from the Autobots got them out of there before he was done. Saved both their lives with not a lot of energon to spare. I don't reckon-"
Cleaver cut herself off at the audible chirp from her comm. system, loud enough for Cat to hear and coded on an emergency frequency. A personal one directed to her as a medic. Familiar, but in an old and distant sort of way.
She set aside the cube and held a hand out to the human to lift her away. "Sorry Cat, 'm getting a distress call from someone."
When Cat was safely deposited back on the floor, Cleaver set herself upright with a grunt and had almost risen to her pedes when she froze. Optics widened, blanched to white as her spark gave a painful little clench in her chassis, her systems skipping an operational rotation with a sound like a stripped gear.
"Oh, frag me..."
::Repeat: Megatronus to Cleaver. In urgent need of assistance. Unknown location and compromised condition. Please respond.::
Cat ran a hand through her hair, muttering a quiet "Good God" in a way that sounded almost like a prayer. Megatron, the leader of the Decepticons, the gladiator, the fucking warlord… And she was poised to listen, head in her hand, until Cleaver paused.
The chirp of Cleaver's comm. wasn't exactly an unwelcome distraction from imagining a Megatron-sized attack. That ping even giving a few quiet seconds of waiting, pleasant and almost empty. Even the distress call… though sudden, didn't seem like so much of a concern.
"No problem." She went from palm to floor easily, speaking as she went. "Need anything prepped-- woaw, hey." Voice dropped to something tense and quiet as she turned just in time to see the look on her face, her optics, and that sound she just didn't like. "What?"
The medic swore. All of it, all of it together, the way it felt mixed in and heavy in the air, how everything seemed to be stretched and pulled tight as a rubber band-- she didn't like any of it. Cat turned herself fully around to face her, somewhat calm but direct, as if ready to fetch or do whatever might come out. "Cleaver, what is it?"
Cleaver set the tip of one blade into the floor and lent her weight into it, because otherwise she was going to end up on the ground with the way her systems had just suffered the equivalent of a myocardial infarction. "I don't..." She frowned, still stunned from the communication that was repeating at her.
Repeating, not looped. Megatron was making the same request for help in real time, co-ordinates attached and underscored with old glyphs of familiarity, professional respect and a trace of genuine anxiety. He was genuinely calling to her, but the designation made no sense. Even if it were a trap, a means to abduct her and her skills for his army, or to simply kill her as he had decided to terminate the Twins, calling himself Megatronus defied all logic.
It pulled at her spark, though, beneath the fear. She had to go to get an answer.
Still frozen on her pedes by the sofa with the television droning in the backwards, Cleaver considered her options. She should alert Ironhide, because if she was going then it was dangerous, and some battle-capable muscle behind her would go a long way to ease her. When they'd last spoken, though, Ironhide had talked about a big upcoming operation that was about to take place. Confidential, but he'd be off radar for a little while. He couldn't be contacted.
Moonshot was an obvious choice, but she had visions of him panicking and immediately opening fire on the Decepticon warlord whatever his intentions were, and if a fight she was ill-able to deal with could be avoided, then she would.
Finally there was Sideswipe, who not only would shoot Megatron, but would use her as a vaulting point to latch onto his chassis to tear his spark out.
Jerking her processor back from where it had been turned wholly inwards, Cleaver looked down at Cat as if suddenly remembering she was there. As if the Base and the rest of the 'verse had briefly fallen away in the wake of that comm.. She straightened, cycled her vents with a tremor on the out, and tried for reassuring.
"I've got to go for a bit. Finish your breakfast and tidy up." Unsure what else to say to the human, and wanting to face the beast pleading for her assistance immediately, the medic silently moved towards the ground bridge console and cycled the vortex up. She could have done it remotely, but working the controls from her old ship reinstalled in the DMZ was reassuring. Coming to the threshold, Cleaver considered readying her circular saw - the best tool she had in an offensive situation, but tightened the plates in her blade to keep the would-be-weapon in check. No need to bait.
Without a look back, jaw tight with uncertainty and resolve, Cleaver stepped into the groundbridge.
((OOC: Last tag to you to close, then we'll open a new thread for Megatronus/Cleaver/Cat. ^^))
"You've gotta be kidding. Cleaver, you're serious?" Of course she was, she knew she was, and it was only out of concern for her current very significant condition that Catherine was trotting along quickly to keep up with Cleaver's strides to the console. "At least let Ironhide know something's up, Moonshot, Sides."
She had no idea what was on the other end of that comm. line, but whatever it was, it was heavy enough to give Cleaver pause, to put a look on her face like that. It gave her half a mind to try and contact Ironhide herself, because whatever it was, it would not be good. But Cat's concern fell on absent reassurances and busy work, leaving her only standing to the side as the vortex fired up.
Shitfirefuck. Glancing back and forth between Cleaver and the swirling blue, stepping behind the medic as her frame became silhouetted by the light. She ground her teeth, brow drawn down, and feeling much more brave and courageous than she should in ripped sweat pants and a half-cut t-shirt, she settled on a choice. A stupid one, she might call it, over a pint of cookie dough ice cream.
But it felt like, at least right now, the right one.
More than half the time she felt like a fish out of water next to these Cybertronians, but this time at least, she knew what she wanted, and she did not want Cleaver to go wherever she was going alone….
So she waited for the medic's form to be swallowed by the thin tendrils of greenish blue energy… and set off at a dead sprint in her wake before the vortex could close.