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.
Cleaver stepped back when Maximus closed in, blades half raised and helm craning back to meet the crimson burn of his optics in the impossibly dense shadow of his face. His hatred bit at her, hot and scathing and pulsing out of the massive Autobot as if he were, in this moment, forged from it. It was anger, old and bitter, but also blame that he glowered at her with.
She didn’t know Maximus – not his past nor his nature – and couldn’t predict him, not in the face of what had happened here with Megatron. He could have been tortured by the warlord, or had his entire cohort murdered like Shadowrunner’s had been. Or he could simply be a soldier staring down at a civilian who’d had the chance to cripple the enemy, and done the opposite.
The medic forcibly slackened her rotors to stop the tremble, and clamped the interlocking components of her blades so tight they may as well have been solid beams. She was still, though, curling back and down from the titan.
“Had a lot of mecha unable to defend themselves on my table,” she replied quietly. “Autobot, Decepticon or Neutral - never thought of any of their sparks as at my mercy.”
"Do you know how many of us would have?" said Maximus.
He threw up his hands and turned his gaze to the ceiling, as if silently praying there was something better above it. The frustration that simmered below the stony facade found a crack and fumed upwards, unchecked by the air of hard-bitten stoicism he maintained around the other Autobots. The tank treads on his back revved, spinning out smoke. Driven by rage, the big mech tramped in a circle, unable to stop himself from venting his inarticulate anger to the empty Atrium.
"A chance to finally crush the life out of that murderer's spark, to execute the greatest warlord the Decepticons will ever see, to end the war at the foot of his corpse - and it falls to a Neutral medic," he said. "A Neutral medic, of all people! What a miserable joke. Do you have any idea how many Autobots have dreamed about finding themselves in your position at that moment? What we would give up, what we would sacrifice, just to be the one to stand over Megatron with our finger on the trigger?"
Maximus rounded on her, red-eyed and glaring.
"Do you?" he spat. "What about all of the civilian victims of the Decepticons? What about his own soldiers? Do you know what some of his own Decepticons would do for the opportunity to challenge him, to tear him down and stamp him out? What they have already done? Do you have any idea what miseries he inflicted just for the chance to-"
In mid-rant, Maximus froze. His optics flickered, then widened in horror.
Last Edit: Apr 15, 2013 19:40:07 GMT -5 by Deleted
Cleaver stared back with equally wide optics, frozen midway through the half-step back she'd been taking when Maximus had rounded on her again. His tightly controlled pacing was that of a prowl, the violence in his field unshielded and flaring like a weapon in itself.
The crescendo of his bitter diatribe, the sudden stop and swell of horror through his faceplates, caught her by surprise. She'd been bracing herself for... something else. Wasn't sure what, exactly, but not this.
A heavy silence filled the Atrium with the tension of a suspension bridge, their cooling systems obscenely loud within the stone walls. Cleaver didn't break the mech's stare.
"I think," she began cautiously, "that you should leave."
Maximus looked stricken, though not by her request. Whatever made him stare down at the medic remained an internal conflict, borne out silently somewhere behind the red optics. His hands clenched and unclenched, while the tank treads over his shoulders rattled back down from whatever high gear they had been thrown into.
After a long pause the big mech finally shook himself out and drew upright.
"Yes, I- yes," he said. His military formality returned, though his motions were heavy and his manner distant as he put his feet together and stiffly saluted. "Yes. My time here is up. Thank you for your- time."
Without a further word Maximus turned away and trudged for the ground bridge. He was already pulling up coordinates for the Autobot base as he internally cursed himself. He had no one to blame but himself for that lapse, for that brief submersion to a dark place he had sworn to himself he would not return to. Himself and this place, this quiet den in the earth where evil could dwell alongside good and go unfought, a rat in a subdrain. What miseries he inflicted-