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.
Breaking off his staring, Sunstreaker leaned in, grasping hold of the right panel and pushing it open a little farther. The dent in his brother’s side warped the metal enough that it was going to take some doing to actually get to the line because the panel couldn’t swing open fully. “Now I can. You are fucking full of this shit Sideswipe.”
Anger was a burr in Sunny’s vocalizer as he pawed through his brother’s internals, shoving aside lines and cables in order to isolate the leaking one. The fucking thing was cracked over most of its length. Sunstreaker ex-vented harshly and reached for the kit, his coated fingers leaving pearlescent streaks of energon all over the case as he ripped out a roll of mesh bandaging and began to wind it carefully around the damaged line. It was a slow, painstaking process because he had to make sure to cover every micron of damage, and bind it tightly in order to stop as much of leaking as possible. He was royally pissed at his brother and consequently, wasn’t exactly gentle, every other vent cycle a stream of crass Kaon verbage detailing what Sideswipe could do with his head and his tailpipe. All of it anatomically impossible.
Last Edit: Dec 15, 2011 22:34:11 GMT -5 by sunstreaker
Verbal abuse and nasty imagery aside, Sides kept complaints to himself while Sunny worked. He bit back a few very insistent noises of discomfort as his brother literally dug around his internals. Pain that couldn’t be firewalled assailed his sensor net, every touched wire like a touched nerve sending blooms of pressure and heat through his chassis from solar plexus to pedes. Slag it hurt. Alot. His twin’s knuckles scraping a neural line was like getting punched in the interface panel. Just didn’t feel good. He fought off nausea and the instinct to snap his plates shut, curl up, and purge until the pain stopped.
“Fuck,” Sides groaned, cycling his vents unsteadily. His optics fixed on the ceiling as he leaned back, shivering. Field repairs fucking sucked - no med-bot to put you under, no medical over-ride codes, no high-end pain-inhibition programs. Nothing. Just you and the pain while someone tried to weld you into one piece again. Sides shuttered his optics, tensing up. “Sunstreaker...? You got it or what?”
Post by sunstreaker on Dec 11, 2011 0:24:26 GMT -5
The anger had bled away into intense concentration, the only part of Sunny’s body actually moving was his hands, wrapping as quickly and tightly as he could. Every twitch of Sides’ body made him want to growl and yell at the mech to hold his ass still, but having been on the business of raggedy field repairs like this himself, he knew that sometimes you just couldn’t sit still. You didn’t have to acknowledge the pain yourself, but that didn’t mean your body wouldn’t react on its own. Reflexes could be a real bitch. But at least all the neural lines were still intact and functional. He knew that’s what reactions like that meant, that everything was still functional.
“Almost,” his voice was distant with concentration. “Keep your ass still and I’ll get done faster.” The retort lacked its usual snarky edge, more like the snark was a reflex of its own. “What the fuck did this mech hit you with? A goddamn battering ram?”
“No, Sunny, he hit me with a bullet,” said Sideswipe, sarcastic through his pain.
Picking the small torch out of the kit, Sunstreaker soldered the end of the wrapping, sealing it. “There. Fucking done.” The torch clanked onto the berth as he let loose another heavy ex-vent, only then realizing just how tight and shallow the cycles had been while working. “You should have a real fucking medic look at that slag.”
“Are suggesting we run crying to the Bots?” said Sideswipe, letting his armor snap back into place, sighing with relief.
He sat up straight, running a hand across the denting hammered into his side. Great, that would take either some serious buffing or he’d have to wait three months for his auto-repairs to heal it. And while Sides would have been content to leave it at that, he doubted Sunny would be able to stand his ‘looking like shit’ for that long. Neurosis being what it was.
The red and black mech started wiping mud from his frame. “Look, if we ever went to the Bots it wouldn’t be going to the cause, we’d just be going to Ratchet. We know that mech.” He shrugged. “Figure we could depend on him if we really needed the repairs. Just pay energon for services rendered or whatever.”
Post by sunstreaker on Dec 11, 2011 0:56:56 GMT -5
“No, smart ass,” Sunny snapped back, irritated by the bullet comment and Sideswipe’s suggestion, optics flaring as they canted to the side to run over his brother’s battered frame. He snatched up a cloth to wipe off the energon and other fluids that were coating his hands, attacking the joints to wipe away every drop. This was not how Sunstreaker preferred to bloody his hands.
“You think Ratchet is really gonna just repair us and let us leave? You know how loyal he is to the Prime. He’d just rat us out, and it’s not like we’ve got a real surplus of energon going on over here.” A harsh ex-vent and cold look from under the edge of his helm. “It’s been thirty years Sides. You know exactly how I feel about this, but you need medical attention I can’t give you. On top of that, because of you we got a big fucking Con looking for us.” It sounded like Sunny was trying to convince himself to actually go through with this idea, to contact Ratchet and see if they could work out a deal. Both hands pressed flat into the tabletop as the golden mech’s gaze bore down on it. “We’re not gonna be welcome.”
Sideswipe didn’t say anything for a moment. There was energon slicked all down his armor, torso plates, leg guards, servos. It was nothing compared to the gore he’d gone through during the eons of constant civil war and nothing compared to the vorns before that of gladiator work. Still though… fighting another high Tier Three warrior-class while long-distance to Sunny had been a bit of a rude awakening after three decade to themselves. It was hardly any time at all in the scope of a Cybertronian life, but here on Earth, totally to themselves, feeling like the last bots in the universe sometimes, that time had seemed to drag wonderfully on.
As much fun as it was getting to turn on my combat tech and fry a fragger’s systems, there was a certain… quiet that neither of them had had in a long time. A quiet in which there was no waiting for the next fight to start – no new matches, no new assaults, no more line breaking, or scouting or anything. They were, for the first time, not required to fight for anyone. Not even themselves.
“I don’t need the Hatchet to put me back together,” said Sideswipe flatly. “We’ll just vanish. That Con will go join the fight and go chasing after Prime like everyone else and they won’t waste time hunting for us.” This was, perhaps, optimistic on his part, but nevertheless… Sides elbowed his brother. “If we have to, we’ll go, but we don’t have to and until we have to, we’ll do what we want.”
Post by sunstreaker on Dec 13, 2011 22:40:24 GMT -5
A little grin stretched Sunstreaker's mouth as he was elbowed, his gaze lifting to stare at the far wall. He was loathe to leave this little slice of peace they'd managed to carve out for themselves, and glad to know that Sideswipe wasn't exactly eager either. Without an ugly, artless war to fight recharge came more easily. There was no pressing need to put other mechs back in their place, or to lesson in manners. There wasn't even the worry of thugs breaking in to ransack their home. It was just the two of them, truly free for the first time in their lives.
No one to lie or to betray them. No infinite frustration with tiny minds to set back everything he tried to do right by calling him murderer, psychopath, monster,and making him not even care to try. Not that there was any disagreement with those appellations, but it sort of torqued a mech to be called a monster when that same brutality was what had saved said name-caller's aft at least once before.
The yellow mech looked sideways at his brother, grin growing wider with every successive word out of Sideswipe. Even if they were full of a certain willful blindness that Sunny would swear was exclusive to his lead helmed brother, the words were good to hear. They eased a strutdeep tension he didn't even realize he was carrying until it was gone. "We'll always do what we want. Now go hose off so I can do something about your back."
Abruptly as that tacks were changed, Sunny silently daring Sides to say anything at all about whatever he may or may not have picked up through their bond. There was still an underlying tension in the golden twin, the root of this sudden burst of violent moodiness: everything had just changed.
“Sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities, my Golden Majesty. I was only fighting for my slaggin’ life. Remember what that was like? Fighting? You know, killing bots and running around almost dying all the time, bing unappreciated and getting shot and then people bitching at you for being shot instead of being not-shot like them because they were hiding behind a fraggin’ rock during the ground assault?” A long ex-vent from the red and black mechanism. “Gooooood times.”
He hopped off the berth and grinned at his brother, beaming like he hadn’t just had his inside ripped up by Con artillery or been in extreme agony for a few minutes there. Acting like he wasn’t preoccupied with the notion of the long dead War that had defined their lives and their existence for so long that without its parameters the shock of freedom had almost been too much for either of them. Sideswipe was happy to prolong what he knew to be a transitory state. Nothing this good could last. They owed nothing to nobot and no one controlled them. They did what they wanted and focused on what they wanted. Loneliness didn’t factor into the narrow foci of their fratneral universe.
Sunstreaker was happy.
Actually.
“C’mon,” said Sidewipe, heading for the wash racks. “Help me out." The tow of them wandered deeper into the ship. "I think I have shrapnel stuck in backstrut…”