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.
The bad and the good, together at once. Smokescreen's fuel pump lurched at the mention of casualties. He made a mental note to look into it himself. In private. It was a difficult subject to broach, and he did not trust himself to fully maintain his professional calm if there were names on that grim list he recognised as friends.
But despite the grave news, he could not help but smile a little at the mention of a party. The good news, at least, was well worth celebrating over. The Nemesis, disabled? That was brilliant. With luck, it would stay that way. That ship was a predator, a menace. If it was down, then he would nick a glass himself.
His tires hit the sand and he fishtailed, savouring the brief sensation of controlled weightlessness as his back end drifted. "I think I'd enjoy seeing that," he joked. "Oh, for a camera. Actually, to be honest it would help me kill two birds with one stone. I'll admit, sir, part of the reason I'm here is to observe crew morale. As you can imagine, our scattered forces are harried and hurting. The loss of Cybertron has hit us pretty hard. A part of my job since the exodus has been to travel between units and take note of the psychological damage, the damage to Autobot morale as a whole. It sounds as if your team here is holding up well, if they can still find things to celebrate."
“In our case,” said Optimus, a spark of green light igniting in the, “we made a reason to celebrate.” There was no moon tonight behind the clouds, almost no light to catch off the shifting split and turn of metal. Optimus stood up straight, the change in shape coming like breathing did to other species. Matrix blue optics glowed neon in the near pitch dark.
“You are not wrong though, Smokescreen. We have all suffered an incalculable loss in the wake of Cybertron’s darkening and this atop several millennia at a war.” There was a dark sub-vocal there, hard, tempered with resignation, an unwavering chord of determination despite this. “Loss has become part of us, something every Cybertronian carries with them as surely as their spark in their chest. I do not know what comfort you might offer them, but I would be glad of any solace your presence might bring, even to those who do not come looking for such. We are glad to have you.”
Behind him, the air seemed to heat, the rush and a spark of green snapped, a single arc of inter-dimensional energy, and bloomed out. The space at the commander’s back opened up into that now familiar rift and space-time – a Cybertronian groundbridge. In the light, suddenly throwing him into relief, it was still impossible to read off the Prime’s face anything particular about the state of his own losses. He did, however, nod to the new Autobot, once, and offer him a rare smile.
“Morale, at least for tonight, should be high, however.”
The Subaru gently coasted to a halt nearby, wheels crunching over the dirt and scrub. The groundbridge opened, and for a moment all Smokescreen could do was stare at it in wonder. Spacebridge, groundbridge - it was always an impressive sight, a green nebula floating in the air. Amazing.
And then it struck him all at once that finally, it was safe to transform. A dark night, and they were alone. Not a human in sight. Smokescreen leapt from car to robot with relish, sighing as stiff joints in his legs were given the chance to flex. Standing, he was a boxy carbot, coated in road dust, his red and blue paint scruffed and scratched. His rifle was mag-clipped to his back, between his doors, along with a flat, tablet-shaped packet.
Smokescreen put his hands to the small of his back and stretched. Gears ground. Things cracked. He winced. Whole lot of dirt in his servos. Or he was getting old. Nah.
"Not so high that they've drunk all the high-grade, I hope," he said, grinning faintly. "That would be just my luck, to arrive after the party is over and the drinks are gone. But in all seriousness, sir, I'm glad to be here. If you have any quarters to spare me, I'd be more than happy to leave my door open for any Autobot in need of a friendly ear. And while I haven't lifted my gun in a while, I think I've still got some tricks up my sleeve. I'll do what I can to help keep the 'Cons severely inconvenienced."
This was the first time he’d really had a look at Smokescreen in… centuries actually. Smokescreen’s work brought him indirectly into contact with operations under the Autobot Commander, but they’d rarely interacted personally. It had been a long time since he’d laid optics on the slightly scuffy soldier grinning up at him. It was an odd piece of the past for some reason. He recalled assigning Smokescreen to psychologically vet Jazz as a possible asset after the once-Decepticon had switched his signias, and hard. Jazz now operated as a veteran member of Optimus’ team. That seemed like another life all together now.
It seemed strange that Optimus might, in fact, be better acquainted with the saboteur than with Smokescreen. That said, nothing forced mechanoids into understanding each other faster than being part of a very small team. Though, as the three Autobots entered the groundbridge to the main base, Optimus had to wonder at how much their team had grown in the span of just four months. It was heartening that somewhere out there, his broadcast was being heard, and more than that being heeded.
“What news do you from your previous outpost? This galaxy is so far outside known space that intelligence from other sectors is extremely rare. Any information you know would be most valuable, Smokescreen.”
Smokescreen could not supress a sense of wonder as he strolled into the base behind Optimus. It was a big space, cavernous and echoing, but well-lit and smartly outfitted. He saw... monitors, computers. Gantries. Old mental walls and vents, scrubbed here and there with rust. Things hummed with power, electricity. Everything functioned.
His curiosity was further stirred. He resisted the urge to prod a wall. Where was he? Was this an underground location? It felt like it. He could detect pressure against the walls, a scent of slightly stuffy, recirculated air. An old military complex, perhaps? Subterranean?
Ahh. For the moment it didn't matter. For now, it simply did his spark good to see that the Autobots had found a home here on Earth.
He breathed in deeply and hesitated. Then, folding his hands behind his head, he said, "Well, sir, information is definitely something I can provide you with, though I'm not sure how much of it can be considered of great value. If you like, I can compile everything I've observed and collected during my previous assignments into a full report and send it your way. In the meantime, I can tell you that not all of my news is good news. As you can imagine, Autobot Command is just as badly scattered as the rest of us. Communication is disorganised, units in far-flung sectors are floundering for a lack of direction, supplies, and reinforcements."
He frowned. "The command post I was last assigned to mostly focused on relations with non-aligned Cybertronians. Many Neutrals fled the planet long before we did, and as a result are much more securely entrenched across the galaxy than we are. Parts of High Command are very interested in re-establishing contact with them, in order to take advantage of their stability and knowledge. I've done a good deal of planet-hopping as a liason of sorts. Interesting work, but the Neutrals aren't always happy to see an Autobot badge."
Last Edit: Aug 27, 2012 11:36:08 GMT -5 by Deleted
None of this surprised Optimus. Refugees from the Autobot war had been numerous and near untallied in their number, hundreds of thousands fleeing beyond the corroding skies of Cybertron for safer sectors of space untouched by their perpetual conflict. Such spaces would become fewer and fewer as the eons wore on. In the final days of the war, when Megatron’s brutality had escalated beyond the rules of any Cybertronian warfare, his blockade had devastated the remaining refugees pushing off world.
Optimus remembered when the war became, not a race to save their planet, but a desperate attempt to save as many of their species as possible. The Autbots gave up their strongholds, abandoned group and shunted all their efforts to the protection and escort of all civilians, Autobot allied and Neutrals alike, through the aerial sheet of fire that their atmosphere became. They lost Iacon. They lost seven iterations of the Wreckers. Seven. Megatron sheared through their numbers at an astonishing, bridging on genocidal, rate and the Autobots saw some their worst losses of the war as their soldiers became numbers and integers in the relentless equation of war.
‘Scattered’ was way of saying ‘shattered and blown to the solar winds’ without saying it.
“Understandable,” said Optimus, never addressing how many – how many – Autbot lives had been eradicated in that final evacuation to save Neutrals and civilians. The Gideon Glue, the glass gas, the death camps, and fire bombings were implicit when he said, “The exodus took everything we had to survive. Military structure, even here, has broken down some.”
The Prime broke the brief, ugly pause there by laying a hand on Smokescreen's shoulder. “Get your report to me as soon as you’re able. I will ask for a full debrief at a later time once I’ve reviewed your initial report. For now, you should refuel and meet the team.” He glanced over Smokescreen’s shoulder to the groundbridge control. “If any of them are still conscious at this point, Airazor?”
((OOC: tag to airrazor here, but thread opening up to Autobots who want to greet the newbie. :3))
Last Edit: Aug 27, 2012 14:50:11 GMT -5 by Deleted
Airazor smiled welcome at the newcomer and paused to check in with Rhinox. "There are a few still borderline functional," she reported, "and Jazz and Rattrap are, apparently, still going strong." She left the groundbridge controls, pinging a greeting that was still more "peaceful explorer" than "military" even after all the vorn the Axalon had spent fighting.
"Welcome to the base. If you're quick, you may be able to grab some high grade before Rattrap drags the last of it to his quarters."
Borderline functional? For an instant Smokescreen gazed up at Prime, his eyes round with alarm.
Then it faded as he remembered the party. He tried not to laugh. The party! Of course. Somehow, he was not surprised that Jazz might still be drinking. And Rattrap? Anyone who could keep up with Jazz was someone that Smokescreen wanted to meet.
The mention of fuel reminded him of his own empty tanks. It took willpower not to bolt immediately, leaving nothing but a Smokescreen-shaped cloud of dust hanging in the air behind him. Not the most dignified thing to do in front of a femme. Or his commanding officer.
"I can do quick," he said. He grinned at Airazor and greeted her ping with a jaunty salute, touching his brow. "Especially for high-grade. Autobot Smokescreen - a pleasure to meet you. I hope you have a little space and fuel to spare me. I promise to waste little of either. This base is brilliant. I would love the opportunity to say hello to more of the team. At least, those still on their feet after the evening's festivities."
"If someone wants high-grade there's still a fair bit left - even Rattrap can't drink all of that without bursting a tank."
The remark came from above the heads of the little cluster of Autobots as Steeljaw emerged from the air vent, switching easily from horizontal to vertical orientation as the symbiont's mag clamps clicked onto the steel wall and he started walking down it towards the monitor banks. There was a pleased sort of flick-swish in his tail joints that wasn't normally there, audials pricked high.
Dropping onto the top of the monitors, Steeljaw sat on his haunches, tail tip curled around his pedes. "On the other hand you're out of luck if you want any energon gummies. I guarantee any that are left have found their way into someone's subspace." Including his own, but that carefully hoarded little pile of sweets wasn't going to be shared around to just anyone.
One audial flicked back, then forward again. "Smokescreen..." Steeljaw hummed softly, tail tip twitching. "I've heard of you, I think."
Last Edit: Aug 27, 2012 19:17:06 GMT -5 by Deleted
If Prime had something to add, he didn’t because he stopped what he was doing and went visibly still for a moment optics tracking sidelong, as though someone had leaned over his shoulder and asked him something. He noted Smokescreen’s brief and startled look, how easily the new Autobot took to the introductions and very well to because he could not very well concentrate in that moment because he was receiving a communique on a restricted band. An old Autobot military frequency actually and it was with a reflexive lurch of dread and awe that a very familiar voice fed into his audial. Blue optics flickered, tracked the floor a moment, the ceiling, before finally and somewhat incongruously he turned from where Smokescreen and Steeljaw were making introductions and, stunned:
“Fort Max?” A beat. “This is Optimus Prime. Signal acknowledged. What is your current galactic position?”
The rest of his conversation dropped out of audial register for the other three, carried on quietly and as an aside from their conversation.
Airazor gave Optimus a measuring glance, but she was used to working with mecha who periodically got distracted, either by comms or by the more-interesting processing threads in their own helms. Then she turned her gaze to Steeljaw, flicking amusement at him. "Did you abandon the party because the gummies ran out?"
"The gummies ran out...?" echoed Smokescreen as he grinned at the cat. That sounded as if it had a bit of a story attached to it. And just what was a gummy?
Then, realising that Optimus had turned away in order to speak privately over his comm, he hastily lowered his voice. He turned to face Steeljaw, looking over the golden cat with a good deal of curiosity. He had encountered only a scattered handful of Autobot cassettes before, some on Cybertron, others scattered among the stars. He would remember one this well-spoken, with a mane like a lion, who could gracefully walk on walls. He prided himself on having a good memory for names and faces. Still, sometimes that memory could falter.
"I have to admit that you have the better of me," he said, rubbing the back of his head with some embarrassment. "I'm sorry to say that I don't believe I know you. Is it possible that we've met before...?"
Steeljaw bared his dente at Airazor in a drop jawed grin and flicked a micro-tool tendril out of his mane, fishing out a gummy from his subspace to wave at her and then promtly popping it into his mouth. Then, with a small internal ventilation because he was not a complete glitch, he fished out two more, offering them to the femme and the new Autobot. "The movie's over," he explained to Airazor once his fangs were clear of sticky sweet. "It's dissolved into drinking games and trying to elaborate on or explain away what we caught on camera. I don't care for high grade, and I'm certainly not glitched enough to try out drinking frontliners. I'll leave that to Rattrap."
Turning his attention back to Smokescreen, Steeljaw tipped his head to the side, optics narrowing in thought. "No," he concluded after a moment. "We never met. If you are who I think then we missed each other by several local cycles at the Neutral dock on Qansani - you had already left but you were the only thing anyone was talking about." He shrugged slightly, plates rippling. "Probably for the best. The ship I was with at the time had a large number of ex-'Cons, and it's one thing to drop out as Neutral but another thing entirely to be faced with Autobot recruiting."
< just going with random places/times, here, one of the neutral areas Smokey ran by ^_^ >
“You will have to excuse me,” said Optimus, turning back to the room at large. He dropped his hand from his audial, looking visibly startled, even after a moment to process. It was evident from the expression on his face that he was A: trying to take what he said next seriously and B: whether he believed it himself, despite verified the voice print himself. “I’m receiving another incoming Autobot communique. Fortress Maximus has just made landfall on the shore of Lake Mead. He’s just broken atmo.”
He looked at Smokescreen specifically. “I apologize, but I believe I need to leave again. I assure you, we do not get inbound troops this often, but Maximus is asking for escort. Airazor, can you set these coordinates and man the bridge?”
((OOC: Feel free to puppet Optimus leaving via groundbridge. and what not. Gotta got get MORE BOTS.))
Last Edit: Aug 28, 2012 15:13:39 GMT -5 by Deleted