Ep1.5 - 'Lost Luggage' - Closed

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He's looking at me. Dear Primus he's looking at me. What do I do? What do you mean, what do you do?? You don't do anything! But I can't just stand here like a moron and stare at him. Why is he looking at me? Look away! Look somewhere else! Why do you gotta be so slagging tall?!

Inwardly, Roulette was having a regular marathon of passing commentary to herself. Outside her body remained calm and loose, except for the tell tale flicker of her field. It had taken far longer than she wanted to admit to not letting her internal emotions dictate her motor control.

She wasn't perfect, however. The slip up with Shockwave earlier, her targeting system coming online by reflex, had shown that she could lose control of that rigid will. But there was a telltale difference between the two situations: she knew Megatron wasn't going to hurt her here whereas the threat of MECH was all too real.

That still did nothing to distract or take away from the fact that this was Megatron standing across from her on a training floor. He owned the slagging room and not just by rank. He was completely at home on the floor and whatever confidence he was missing before, he'd gained back in triplicate. The fog of confusion couldn't touch him here for the moment and Roulette couldn't decide if that was a good thing for her or not. It was likely doing him wonders...

As he started to circle her, she slowly turned and walked backward to keep him in her line of sight. Old habits died hard and she wasn't about to give anyone her back. Not unless it was a direct order or he gained that position himself. ...Yikes, what a thought.

"I..." she had to metaphorically bite her tongue. She had enough snappy answers for that question. From far away and at the end of a tank gun. Or I wouldn't, because I enjoy living. "-within the parameters of my training, I wouldn't attack you. Not face to face. You outmatch me in every way."

That's not good enough. That's a cop out! Of course he outmatches you. He knows that. Tell him something he might not know.

"If I was going to attack you, it wouldn't be on a head on approach. I'd try and get in close quick and stay close, nearly under you and use your bulk against you. ...You know, if you weren't you."

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Roulette received a satisfied rumble in response, short and peculiarly articulate in resonance for the arguable simplicity of the sound. She was already behaving exactly as he would have wanted her to: moving, both keeping him firmly in her sights and maintaining a ready balance across her pedes. She was small and hopelessly outpowered - speed and reflexes would be essential.

Her assessment of him was sound, if rather obvious. Megatron had a protruding chassis for additional protection of his vital internals, and a long reach on his arms and claws. He would struggle to catch her if she stayed close about his feet or, worse, got on his back. The large mech would need to roll or slam back into the bulkhead to get at her on his ventral plates, but she would have precious seconds to reach a blade between his plates and hack away.

They would come to that later.

He continued walking, maintaining his distance. Keeping her focused and moving, owning that little space beneath her pedes. The floor was bare metal and unforgiving: there was no place for training mats in the Decepticons.

"What about weapons," he asked, not breaking the stare to run a critical optic across her limbs. He would discover what she was packing soon enough. "What would you do if you managed to get inside my reach?"

The former gladiator was also wondering if she would, in some naive obedience and desire to please, offer up that information. Or whether she would keep an Ace in the hole.

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Moving backwards, even at a slow pace, was hard. All of her attention wanted, no, needed to be on Megatron. But she couldn't do that without risking stumbling over her own misplaced foot. Her feet didn't have the worst shape imaginable for this task, but they weren't the best either. She didn't know what brainiac decided she needed wedged heels instead of useful flat feet, but that was what she had. It made her stance a bit more awkward and she ended but barely sliding the front of her pede wide and around to settle on the floor behind her, more a dance step to a tango really. But she was loathe to take her foot off of the floor fully in case moving very fast because a huge necessity. Given the Big M over there staring at her, she had a quavery feeling that moment was going to approach at some point.

She metaphorically hung from of his words. Not so much because she found every one of them riveting. (As commands went, they were fairly normal and probing.) She was just so used to listening to Shockwave drone on and on that it was an automatic reaction. She could have been multitasking and still recall what he was saying. Although, if he was going to launch into a winding, tedious discourse about the burn rate of Rubidium she was going to start tuning him out.

Weapons, weapons whose got the weapons. Obviously I'm a sharpshooter so that's moot. He knows about the guns. But I'll bet my weight in energon, he doesn't know how fast I can draw. We'll save that for later.

She spread her hands wide, giving a little 'who me?' gesture and kept moving. "I'm not a weapon specialist, my lord. But I imagine there have to be chinks in your armor. Close enough, any vent or seam between plates would as a week point." Unfortunately (fortunately?) she hadn't gotten close enough to him to note if there were gaps in his plating.

"I guess if I was truly desperate..." She held up a slim hand and wiggled her fingers. "I could always reach inside and start pulling on lines. But I'd rather not lose my fingers and risk getting caught. I imagine if you're truly desperate, anything can be a weapon."

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Megatron demonstrated a fraction of his approval, and his anticipation in finding out what she could do when desperate, in a smile that showed the tips of his teeth. It was not leering or predatory, and not so strong as to pull at the mass of scarring around his mouthplates and distort his features monstrously.

He would not know it, but he did not smile like this at Optimus - those grins ranged between hot loathing and smug condescension. Much as Megatron-the-warlord enjoyed the systems rush and the toxic high of Dark Energon running hot through his lines, he did not enjoy fighting the Prime. Largely because he wouldn't die, and that was a significant necessity in the warlord achieving his goals. Training was different - an opportunity to mould a warrior and keep his own abilities in-tune. Two weeks ago his expression would have remained neutral, but feeling at ease for the first time since the scalding shot to the face, the guard on his countenance was down.

"A promising theory."

His field, typically thrown wide and suffocating, had drawn in close to his plates. Typically he held it obnoxiously large in a fight for the sake of intimidation. In the Arena, at least. As he was now, he didn't know how his fighting style had evolved. Seeing what mesh-memory carried past the processor damage was going to be... enlightening.

Megatron finally stopped circling her, standing with his canon and sword arm presented to her but with neither primed. He didn't want to end the session prematurely, and (as far as his ego would permit it, at least) this was not truly a fight. Even a practice one.

This was a conversation; one that he didn't need clear and current access to his memories to speak. He needed only to see if she understood.

He dropped his shoulder. It was a gift of a gesture, and the only warning in this room he would offer. Then he was charging in to that zone under her pedes in five long, perfectly-balanced strides, aiming to backhand her spinal strut in half.

[Deleted]

He went quiet. Why did he go quiet?? Oh Primus, he's going to attack me!

Roulette was vaguely aware she should be thankful for the telltale warning stance but all she could focus on was the nearly hysterical shrieking in her head. The idea of sparring with him was entirely different than actually see him to the thing. The thing all mechs did when they were about to whip someone's aft. He was doing the thing and she wasn't familiar enough with that bravado to know how to process such a physical presence. For frag's sake, she dealt with Shockwave! He never bluffed or puffed up like a proud peacock. The scientist was more like a boring rock.

Well what did you think he was going to do?! You're in the sparring ring-MOVE NOW!!

She snapped out of her frozen indecision just as he raised his arm. She didn't have to be a SIC to know that gesture. And she was not about to be swatted like a bug! Moaning internally, she shoved herself into movement, going on sheer intuition over wasting time to think. There was no time to think. He was invading her space too quickly. Another moment and he would be on top of her.

Field flaring out in wild, poofy abandon, the femme flung herself forward and down. Backward would just open up his range and lose her ground. But forward, ah, that was another matter. Whether she realized it or not, the femme grasped on their size difference with dogged desperation. To swat at her, the Warlord would have to stay somewhat upright and bring his arm up higher for the momentum. That height gave her a miniscule open window to act.

So she dove between his legs.

As evasion went, it wasn't graceful or even skilled. If he twitched his foot, he could pin her in place. But the femme wasn't stopping to analyze logistics. She was more focused on: he not in that space. Go in that space. Scary, scary.

Sliding along the ground was noisy, scuffed her paint on her front, but gave her the needed speed to roll onto her side and scramble into a crouch; ready to move again if needed. Now if she could only sty close behind and under him, she'd be ok.

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Roulette's gaping optics were charmingly absurd, as was the holy frag! electromagnetic flare that crashed against his own field as he bore down on her. Megatron had not exerted himself with the charge, though his frame still moved with lethal speed for his size.

The femme was much, much faster, however. Slippery-quick, she'd gone to get as completely inside of his reach as possible. Specifically: directly beneath him and out the other side. It was a bold move, made in haste on just educated-instinct.

Not particularly original, but it saved her getting relocated into the far wall.

If this were a real fight, he would have raised the massive plane of his pede and slammed it down atop her. Even crouched and ready to spring away, his foot was almost the size of her body, and there were good odds that he'd crush something. As Megatron wasn't actually intending to hurt her (though he'd feel no grief if he did), he scraped his leading leg back to turn and shift backwards, effectively blocking her path through his legs in the process.

Roulette was already moving when he fixed red optics on her, not giving him chance to lunge or swat at her again. Effective as this strategy would be in the extreme short-term, it was going to become tedious very quickly.

"Evasion is only part of close combat," Megatron advised, his light tone contrasting the scowl his faceplates had drawn into. Then, in a voice synonymous with his rank and reputation:

"Attack me!"

The barked command was followed by the sound of the heavy blade slotting out from beneath the monstrous cannon dominating his right forearm. It was the flat edge of the sword that he swung at her, however - a punishing smack rather than a damaging strike.

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Up on the rafter, Fairwinds had no idea who she was rooting for.

On the one hand, Lord Megatron was her Master and Carrier and basically her hero and world.

On the other, Roulette was her best friend and all kinds of awesome and it so totally rocked to see her in action without MECH or a long-range rifle involved.

Both 'combatants' had had their share of miserable lately, too. Megatron was lost on his own ship, trying to piece together his processor using awkward social skills, with a crew whom had little to no idea how to deal with their Commander's attempts at small talk. Roulette had been subject to MECH's nasty little fingers and rotary saws, and was still recovering from the mess they'd made of her sharpshooting skills. Her confidence had been shot to slag, which in a weird twist Megatron had tried to help with (in his own clumsy-casual way) in a bizarre target practice session only a month ago.

It was fitting now, and filled the cassette's spark with all manner of warm fuzzies, that Roulette would be engaging the mech now on his own turf whilst he was recovering from MECH's handiwork. Symmetry. Balance.

She didn't know who to cheer for.

Megatron was still, technically, the reigning champion of the Kaon gladiatorial pits. And as much as Fairwinds made a point to align herself with the large and in-charge, she did like an underdog.

She fixed her optics on Roulette, currently belly-sliding and not looking particularly elegant about it. Definitely in need of a cheerleader.

"Get 'im, Roulette!" Fairwinds screeched, bouncing wildly.

Cheering was nice, but advice was nicer.

"Watch out for his toes! Go for the vulnerable spots! Mount him! Mount him!"

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I could really use less encouragement on his part, she thought, her own tone kind of quavery like the flight of a moth. Slaggit, he was intimidating! Being under him wasn't helping, either. She was entirely too aware of just how damned big he was. And she wasn't fooled for one minute at his own speed. Big didn't always mean sluggish. He was just toning the ridiculous amount of skills down by a notch or five.

She mutely snarled at the command to attack him. How could she physically attack him?! No, really. That wasn't even a completely moral debate. Besides him needing recovery time, she doubted a few bullets would harm him. Hell, she'd done more damage shooting at the targets.

"Attack you with what?! Harsh words?" She had a few in her mind, but the sound of his blade being deployed definitely shattered the litany she could have recited him. Instead she had this curious, burbling in her head like a broken record. Possibly panic meeting disbelief with a dash of hysterical run on commentary? Whatever the thoughts were distracting her at the moment, her mouth sure as slag didn't have a problem chattering away her nervousness. Especially when Windy chimed in her own brand of advice.

Mount him?! THAT'S WHAT YOU GOT FOR ME? THAT'S YOUR WISDOM?

"Windy, I really hope you meant that as a defensive measur-eep!"

He wasn't exactly giving her time to plan an attack much less execute anything remotely better than inarticulate flailing. And as a rule: Roulette didn't flail mindlessly. Instead, she just had to move and the sooner, the better. With zero plan of action in mind, she twisted back to the leg he'd shifted his weight on and, incidentally, had blocked her path with. Now, providing several million things didn't go wrong in the process, she planned on latching onto the knee guard that stuck out so fetchingly (and sharply) in the way. With a shove of her heels, she really hoped she could slide around the calf and use his own damned shin to block the strike.

She didn't mind playing parasite if it kept her from getting smacked with a damned sword nearly as large as she was.

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Megatron had caught fleeting sight of Roulette's attitude after almost knocking her down in the corridor, and then again with Fairwinds before they'd come into the training room. Under pressure, it seemed that her mouth ran faster and sharper. Now if only her frame would catch up with it...

They'd made physical contact now, at least, even if it was just a handhold to dodge being cleaved - should he be inclined to turn his wrist a quarter.

Megatron could only guess that it was apprehension keeping her from at least drawing a weapon. Not of hurting him, surely, as unless she pulled something unexpectedly powerful from her subspace, the idea was laughable. The way Roulette spoke indicated that she wasn't intimidated into paralysis by his proximity and focused attention, so he doubted she was anxious about striking her Commander.

It took more than a few seconds to analyse an opponent, he conceded, and she had said that she was relatively weak at close combat. She was still warming up. Hopefully she would lay a strike soon.

Before Fairwinds felt the need to shout any more 'helpful' suggestions...

Roulette's bold move to duck around his leg and dodge the sword worked, and if anything Megatron facilitated the maneuver by dropping to one knee. He followed her with the blade, sweeping the metal inches above the ground and twisting with the momentum. His knee turned on the decking with a loud grind of metal on metal, then the gladiator was twisting up onto his feet again.

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There was a tangible effect from being pressed and put on the offensive: Roulette didn't have time to indulge in being terrified. Sure, she wanted to. Who wouldn't? Slag, she was literally under The Big Bad of the Nemesis and he was trying to skewer her with a sword. The same sword he'd likely used to dispatch countless mechs in his lifetime. There wasn't exactly job security on the Decepticon war ship. He could very well oopsy her ass off the face of the Earth.

Later, if she managed not to be squished or stepped on, she'd reflect on how freakin scary it was trying to stand toe to toe with Megatron (and fail) but for now she could only focus on moving. In a way this was exactly like her career path she'd chosen. Sharp shooting was nearly like being a sniper in that patience and level headedness was key. She couldn't let nerves get to her. A shaky hand wouldn't land a shot and her life ended up depending on having steady hands.

In the academy, she'd been trained to shelf emotions during conflict. Not remove them completely. That was impossible without maiming or throttling oneself. And she certainly didn't want to end up like Shockwave. (Who would? Besides, Shockwave.) No, she had learned to put the fear, the nervous terror, the worry away to take back up once the dust had settled. It was a common tactic trained into troops but it was up to each individual if they learned and used it.

So while she twisted to the side, taking a scrape from the sword across the back of her calf in payment for wavering for a second, she felt a jittery sort of calm. Which should have been impossible but the nervous energy had to go somewhere. While she couldn't indulge in a bout of screaming like she wanted to, she could fairly bounce on her feet in a surge of stimuli flooding through her body to move, move, move, Primus move already. But inside that mind of hers, she was quietly reflecting on how badly outpowered she was, almost as if she was narrating to someone or writing one of her boring reports.

This sucks, I can't get away from him. I can't stay under him forever. I can't-wait, Windy said to mount him. I-

She grit her teeth when he started to rise and didn't second guess the impulse to leap onto his back. It was a sloppy, stupid jump and she had to dig in the end of her pedes for a toehold on his stupid shapely hips. But she planned to stay behind him for all that it was worth, to the literal meaning of the word, even if she had to impersonate a baby lemur in doing so.

Fortunately, as streamlined as Megatron was, he was also plagued by the plight of being a Con in design. His armor spiked up in artful, lovely ways that made clinging to him easier as he rose. She made a small noise as the ground left her behind and reflexively clung tighter. She had scant seconds to actually take initiative for a spin before he'd retaliate. She could guess how this was going to end: he'd elbow her off, he'd reach behind and just pluck her off, he could shake her off, or he could just be especially cruel and drop his weight on her. If he chose that later, she'd likely just die on the floor and not just from embarassment.

Sacrificing her firm hold, she let go with a hand and snatched one of her pistols from the holster. Well, she could hamper his reach a smidgeon if she was lucky enough. Taking fast, desperate aim, she shot one round into the underside of his arm as it moved, aiming for the joint...with a cold round of paint.

Huh...didn't even know I had any of those left...Good job, moron. You plan to tickle him into submission?

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Megatron had naturally expressive features. Combined with an unrefined sort of charisma, indomitable force of will and a poetic audio for stirring oration, he had drawn hundreds of thousands to swear fealty, fight and die for him. An optical ridge quirked just so could make a mech rattle inside his plates - because that look meant worse than death. That same ridge drawn down, and underscored with lipplates drawn back to expose serrated dente, could as easily fill a room of soldiers with the blaster-warming anticipation of an assured victory.

Now, at the sensation of cold and wet against his mesh where he'd been expected the smashing burn of a solid round, his optics blew wide, brows arching high against the rim of his helmet.

Megatron laughed, a surprised bark of sound that heaved his chassis and threw his step for a pace. He aborted the move to reach back and tear her off his back, leaving her perched whilst he touched a claw to the 'injured' area. The tip came away bright green from the burst pellet of thick, almost sticky paint. That was going to be a task to clean out...

Then he was ducking again, feeling how her weight shifted against his plates. Roulette held firm, apparently managing a good hold on his hips and shoulders. He drew his sword back into its sheath, aware that to slash at her blindly was to put her at a greater risk of being crippled than he was happy with.

"How charitable of you," he rumbled, and he could have been referring to either her use of non-damaging ammunition or her not taking advantage of his surprised pause to do some real damage.

His arm twisted back, and a massive hand reached up from below the femme, seeking to grab an ankle.

[Deleted]

Roulette had plenty of experimental rounds in her cache. Too much time in the labs created some interesting experiments with mostly useless prototypes. She had rounds that were just paint for practice. (And fairly useless for accuracy.) She had a few solitary tracking rounds but had never quite gotten them to work. The dart's impact always screwed up the long wave capabilities of the signal. Plus they were a bitch to use and prone to jamming.

She didn't actually want to use any of them on Megatron. That was like entering a knife fight with a feather. Even at the highest caliber, her weaponry couldn't injure him. (Which was just completely unfair on a whole cosmic level. Should a mech be that damned strong??) One stinging welt or two wouldn't interfere with his healing process, unless she actually shot him in the face. Which would just be a aftholish thing to do in spite of recent events.

Still, the paint had a certain appeal. He laughed. A sound that completely threw Roulette off in a wholly mental sense. She paused, head cocked, and tried to understand what she was hearing. At no point had she heard him ever make a sound like that. Of course, she'd spent a handful of minutes in his presence only before this but she didn't think he was the laughing sort. Not without homicidal tendencies lurking behind the chuckle. It sounded...nice, coming from him. Which was exactly not where her mind wanted to lurk.

Noooo, no. Don't think that. You already checked out his frame. But mostly for...a...tactical purposes!

She wasn't even lying to herself. She really had given him a critical once over while making her awkward climb. If she so happened to like what she saw, then that was just useless byproduct that she'd never speak or think of ever again. There.

His voice jerked her from her thoughts and she huddled against his frame tighter, her fingertips curling around the edges of his plating in tense readiness. She wasn't being charitable! She was being a lousy damn fighter! Part of her felt the need to clarify and part of her was still squealing and running in mental circles like a sparkling hopped up on too much fuel. So she relied on one skill that always seemed to get her out of tight jambs in the past: she opened that big mouth of hers.

"Well, if you concede defeat now, I won't have to-" The rest of the bravado was cut off in an embarrassing squeal as his hand neared her foot. Scrambling upward like a hydrophobic fish, Roulette practically heaved herself up to his shoulders with an absurd amount of wiggling and clinging. She never put the gun away so part of the climb was accentuated by her elbow digging into places he probably didn't want an elbow joint. Tough cookies, she wasn't about to let him grab her foot and fling her into a wall or something. Of course, being near his head was sort of not the best place to be as his range of motion was much wider here and he looked the sort to bite.

He wouldn't really bite me..I mean that would be....kind of an asshole thing to do. Still, just the same, she scrabbled to latch onto his head to keep behind him before he did something smart like bend over and send her tumbling off.

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He'd almost had her. His clawtips had scraped the underside of her foot, his arm twisting awkwardly as he'd automatically sought to followed her ascent. Megatron jerked to dislodge her, but despite holding onto the gun she had a solid grip on his plates.

Roulette had made a tactically sound decision in getting to his shoulders and the nape of his neck. She hadn't been flippant in her suggestion that her slim hands could easily reach between his armour plates and begin pulling. What she could access in terms of significant components, lines and hoses was quite limited on the majority of his body. His central systems were well insulated by layers of solid plates that overlapped to reduce the chance of blades and blaster strikes penetrating the gaps.

His neck was a different matter.

The dramatically large, angular rises of his shoulder armour were not purely for intimidation purposes; the curving spikes also served to hinder slashing blows to his neck and face, and his sweeping collar faring provided similar deflection. His distinctive 'bucket' helm had been modified over the years to slimmer frontal points, but overall it was still a miner's helmet. Solid. Sturdy. Separable from his helm.

There was space, albeit very little, for Roulette to reach her agile fingers from her current position into that gap and get at his mesh. She would have access to several large nerve bundles, main energon hoses and hydraulic lines that could paralyse him if damaged.

His reaction to a threat so close to the vulnerable area was automatic and immediate. He jerked his helm back, bring the rim of his helmet down to cover his nape.

[Deleted]

She lost her hold of the gun at the violent shake. Which was sort of spark breaking on a small level. She didn't fear it's destruction. Hell, she'd broken the damn pair too many times to count. They'd been rebuilt more times than she had. No, she was more upset with losing the tinier advantage over him. Goodbye, weapon! You traitorous, little- It tumbled away from her with a clatter against his plates, out of her reach.

If she hadn't been expecting him to shake her off, she would have been bowled right over him. As it was, she just barely managed to brace herself into a uncomfortable but firm position on his armor and used tension between her limbs to keep herself there. The maneuver wouldn't hold for long. Another good shrug and she'd loose whatever footholds she'd managed to gain. Which was exactly what she didn't want to happen. She didn't dare reach for the other gun and sacrifice her grip.

Frag, frag, frag-I got nothing! I got-

She stared at the vulnerable seam at his neck and then her hand. Already regretting the rash decision, she jammed her hand into the thin space to do...something. She wasn't sure what! But she'd know it if she felt it. Unfortunately, the slight hesitation cost her and his helm slammed onto her fingers pinning them in place. The yowl she let out was only partly surprise. That fragging hurt!

No, no, no, this is not cool!

Slightly panicked at the thought of losing her fingers, she sacrificed her foothold and flung a leg over his shoulder to shove against one of the decorative (and sharp) curving plates of armor just above his chasis. The other foot she shoved directly into his spine, not caring how it felt. She needed leverage to yank her damn hand out!!

"Gimmie back my hand!"

[Deleted]

"Stop pulling!" Megatron snarled, all good humour and borderline playfulness gone from every micron of his being. He was being straddled by the sharpshooter, her pelvis and forearm wedged by his face, with a heel in his back and pinching, snagging pressure being applied to an area of mesh that hadn't seen the light of day in centuries.

Fairwinds was laughing so hard her vocaliser was crackling, flopped sideways and helpless on the girder with her feet peddling at the air. She stifled it at first, frozen with a stab of panic that Roulette would either accidentally loose her hand or that Megatron would revert to old habits and tear it from her deliberately. Indignation outweighed any dangerous emotion like fury, though, and the scene was so painfully, comically awful she could barely keep her optics focused to record the whole thing.

Megatron's hands came up to attempt to dislodge her. One encountered the barrier of her aft, thigh and chassis, and settled for grabbing the knee against his chassis to stabilise her instead. The other reached behind and took hold of her wrist, squeezing to keep the trapped hand still.

He spoke, quite deliberately, to the floor in front of him. "You've jammed one of the manual locks, and I assure you: your fingers will shear before it breaks."

The sound of his jaw clenching was probably audible at this proximity. Then he took a deep, calming breath, pushing past the destructive urge to tear the jammed limb out and leave her to Knock Out. He'd been the one to start this, and then escalate it by goading her. Accidents happened in sparring, and it was just unfortunate that this accident had resulted in being sat on with Roulette's hand stuck under his helmet.

Megatron released her wrist slowly, grumbling for her to keep still, and then began probing at the base of his helm with his fingers. "Give me a moment to get the catches."