Ep. 1.5 - Barren Ground - (Closed)

[Deleted]

...Ah hell. Ah hell..

Thundercloud didn’t like this. He didn’t like any of this.

Fortress Maximus wasn’t following the script. He was disrupting status quo. He was throwing Thundercloud for a goddamn loop, by not behaving like he was expected to - how he was supposed to, how every past experience he had with correctional staff said he should.

The mech was being...decent. A decent person. He had stopped when he didn’t have to, pulled away without being made to. He did it of his own volition - and judging by the way he seemed sickened with himself, Thundercloud had the grim suspicion that his motivation wasn’t to avoid any ramifications he may have faced for maiming a fellow Autobot. No, more likely than that, it seemed Fortress’ morality had gotten in his way; the little voice in the back of his head must have reminded him that physically harming others in a fit of emotion was, generally speaking, morally objectionable - that someone who took satisfaction in brutalizing people, in making them hurt, was not the kind of person he wanted to be.

The big dumb fragger had a goddamn conscience and that made it all the more difficult for Thundercloud to keep hating him just on principle. It was harder to project his grudges onto the other mech, to picture him as guilty of and accountable for all the crimes that had been committed against him by the mecha that held his same authority, when he had the one thing they never did.

Son of a slag-sucking ground-pounding rust-rutting glitch.

Thundercloud had been thrust so far out of his comfort zone, so far from the realm of familiarity, that Fortress Maximus’ apology actually made him feel far more discomfited than his injuries did. At least injuries would heal with time and fade from memory - he would be stuck with that apology forever, that entirely unexpected series of words that he had no idea what to even do with aside from brush off, and attempt to bury deep within his subconscious where he would never have to acknowledge its awkward presence.

“...I think I liked it better when you were hittin’ me.” He said after a long moment, his expression uncertain, ambivalent.

“It was a lot easier to screw with you when I thought you were a total prick.”

He frowned slightly, as if mildly upset with the other mech for not being monstrous towards him, before shaking his head to dismiss his own words.

“Whatever. It don’t matter, I--frag. Mech, could you fraggin’ cuss me out or punch me again or somethin’? Cause this is startin’ to feel like a Kodak moment and I ain’t here for that touchy feely friendship slag. I mean, apology accepted and whatever, but this “bein’ civil” thing is weirdin’ me out a little.”

[Deleted]

Maximus nodded, slowly.

The other mech looked uncomfortable, like the ground had pulled out from under his feet. Maximus could understand that. He hated what he had just admitted to this Autobot he could not stand, and hated himself for saying the words in a fit of weakness. He was not accustomed to apologizing. It felt awkward and wrong. An apology felt too much like a concession, and yielding to anything or anyone rankled at what tatters remained of his pride.

But...

The ringing in his head had stopped.

He reached up and rubbed one hand down his face. In briefly covering his optics he was able to gather himself, regain his composure. Maximus straightened, pulled in a deep breath, and put the iron back into his chassis. He deliberately let the built up pressure blast from the joints in his knees and shoulders while he vented the last of the heat from his back. His battle systems begged for activation, but he ignored them. In doing so he managed to stand unbowed and tall, if not relaxed then at least at parade rest. He dropped his hand and clasped them both behind his back, his feet spread.

Military and grounded, his stance firm. But when he turned his red optics back to Thundercloud he only look tired, and spoke without heat.

"Then just consider this a cessation of hostilities," he said. "Not a friendship. I don't need it, and I don't want it. I've said my piece. I meant it. And now I'm done. But if you want me to hit you some more..."

He ran his gaze over Thundercloud, taking in the flier's dented chest and splintered arm.

"Then get yourself cleaned up and come back sometime. You know where to find me. I'll spar with you. And I will annihilate you."

[Deleted]

Oooh, threats of violence. It looked like they were finally getting back to basics.

About damn time. Thundercloud wasn’t sure how much longer he would have been able to tolerate all the...well, toleration going on between himself and Fortress Maximus before giving into the insane urge to throw something at the other mech just to return to status quo.

Not that there was anything nearby that was satisfyingly large enough to toss in the first place.

The warden’s words made him grin (and primus, wasn’t THAT an odd realization to have), then scoff, then roll his optics in a derisive fashion. He didn’t doubt the other mech could actually make good on his word if given the opportunity to, but he wasn’t about to admit as much to his face. Or at all, to anyone, ever.

“Yeah, you keep tellin’ yourself that, cupcake.” He replied dryly, as he brought a hand to his wounded shoulder to test the joint, wondering just how loosely his arm hung from it.

The answer to that silent inquiry was a “a lot.”

“Maybe if you believe hard enough, it’ll come true.”

He added this absently, distracted from the conversation by his dislocated shoulder and the predicament it put him it. He didn’t think he could transform like this, with his arm hanging loose and out of socket, and he didn’t particularly want to risk a test, only to have the limb fly off completely as it tried to contort itself into a new shape and connect itself to parts it was no longer securely attached to.

Thundercloud frowned loudly at his arm, eyebrows knitting together as if he were attempting to threaten the limb into getting its shit together so he wouldn’t have to swallow his pride and call for a ground-bridge back to base, before a thought occurred to him.

A thought he was surprised he was actually considering.

After a moment of debate, he mentally shrugged and decided, to hell with it. This would hardly be the stupidest or most outlandish idea he had ever followed through on.

“---Actually, if you wanna hit me now, you mind poppin’ this back in place?” He gestured to his shoulder lazily, before dropping his hand back to his side.

“Just punch it or somethin’, I don’t even care.”

[Deleted]

'No,' was Maximus' first thought. He was not big on being touched these days, and did not like touching others.

But he was the one responsible for the dislocated arm. He had stopped himself from ripping it out, he had managed that much, but the damage had been done. Time to fix what he had done.

For a moment he hesitated. But then he steeled himself and nodded.

"Yeah, hang on," he said. "This happened to me a couple times. I can pop it back. Give me a minute. And don't move."

With effort, he made it sound like less of a threat and more of a warning.

Maximus stepped forward, closing the space between them. He studied the flier's ruined shoulder and grimaced at the damage. He could recognise what was wrong: the joint had completely separated, the tensor cables still mostly attached but the hydraulic lines sheared and bleeding, and the rings of rotors that housed the endoskeleton itself ripped out of alignment. Usually it was an excruciating injury. Now that he was looking at it with a clear mind he was amazed that the flier was not showing any sign of pain.

He raised one fist. But instead of slamming it into Thundercloud's arm he spread the hand and placed it flat against the back of his shoulder, closing his fingers over the mounting there.

Maximus took a breath to steady himself.

"First time it happened was outside Mitteous," he said gruffly. Talking helped, so he kept going. "Got hit with an artillery shell right in the glenohumeral rotor socket. Fields medics yanked out the shrapnel and beat it back into joint. Second time it was a mechanized infantry round. Third time around a building collapsed on me. Got hit by rebar. Broke my back that time. Hurt less than the shoulder somehow."

Rather than waiting for Thundercloud to protest Maximus reached out and grasped his limp arm by the elbow. He rotated the limb gingerly, his optics narrowed as he clinically waited for the telltale rasp and click of rotor teeth gently snicking together. When he felt it he tightened his grip and said, "There it is. Got it. This'll hurt. Tough it out."

One sharp, hard heave slammed the dislocated joint back into place.

"Think that did it." Maximus stepped back from the flier warily, his hands raised. "Should have basic motor control over that arm again. Don't know if it'll support a transformation or not, but run a diagnostic to check it."

[Deleted]

Thundercloud had an instantaneous and incredibly childish urge to flail about after Fortress told him not to move, just to be contrary, but he refrained. He had a pretty solid conviction that if he tried to do Carbine’s noodle-arm move, he’d not only make an ass of himself, but he’d probably make his dislocated limb tear all the way off.

Besides, he’d hassled Fort Max enough for the time being. It wouldn’t kill him to behave and do what he was told, no matter how much the rebellious part of him argued otherwise, and wanted to do the exact opposite just on principle, for the sake of being contrary and as unhelpful as possible.

...Okay it wouldn’t kill him, but it would be missing out on a great opportunity to be troublesome.

And that was just tragic.

With no small amount of effort, Thundercloud managed to tap his depleted reserves of self-restraint and muster up enough obedience to actually do as he was asked and not move around as Fortress approached him. He wanted to, though. He really wanted to. Ignoring the urge to reach up and poke the mech’s right helm finial just because was torturous.

He managed it, somehow. Distracting himself by watching the other mech test the joint and listening to him make idle conversation probably helped a lot. That, and he only had one working arm at the moment, and judging by how quick Fortress’ reflexes were, reaching out to flick his audio would likely result in him having no working arms.

When he finally felt the larger mech’s grip on his arm tighten, a tell-tale sign that he was preparing to force the joint back into place, Thundercloud braced himself, planting his pedes a bit more firmly against the ground so he wouldn’t be knocked over when his shoulder was slammed back into working order.

It helped a little, but he was still shoved slightly to the side as his shoulder was forced back into socket, the action accompanied by an unpleasant combination of clicks, pops, and mechanical whirrs as the internal mechanisms residing within the socket attempted to once-again hold the joint in place.

He tested the joint’s hold, gingerly rotating his shoulder, clockwise, then counterclockwise. It still felt a bit off, but that was to be expected considering it was a field-repair not a surgical one. Not that Thundercloud really minded - it was back in, and he could finally move his arm around again, so that’s all that mattered. Granted, his motor control seemed a bit lacking, and his range of movement was likewise hindered, but partial control was still better than none.

“---Nah, I think I’d rather find out the hard way.” He replied, showing an unfitting lack of pain or even discomfort for someone who had just had a dislocated joint forced back into place.

“Diagnostics are for people who don’t got slag to do.” He brought a hand to his shoulder, brushing his palm against a splattering of fluid to wipe it away, so he could get a better look at the newly jury-rigged repaired joint.

Huh. Didn’t look too bad, really. Thundercloud wasn’t entirely sure how to gauge the severity of the wound, since he had no frame of reference to draw from his deadened sensor-net, so visuals were his go-to measuring tools. It didn’t look particularly harrowing, and since it wasn’t life-threatening, he didn’t feel the need to pay it much mind. Apparently it was supposed to hurt like a glitch, though. Fortress had said as much himself, and considering the mech in question’s…well, he knew a thing or two about pain. Thundercloud felt pretty confident he could trust the other mech’s word on this.

“...Uh. Thanks, by the way.” He added, awkwardly, as he looked back up to meet Fortress’ optics. “For the help.”

He paused, not liking how…nice that made him sound. For good measure, he added, in a deadpan: “You dick.”

There, some negativity to counter the positivity. The balance had been restored.

[Deleted]

"You're welcome," said Maximus. He was surprised by how drily it came out.

He sized up the other mech. Limited mobility seemed to have been restored to Thundercloud's arm. It rotated, though Maximus noted with a twinge of remorse that he could hear the rasp of broken ring cuffs in the rotor joint. There was a trip to the medic in that mech's future. He was taken aback by the fact that Thundercloud did not seem to feel it. Dislocations were painful injuries.

Maximus shook his head. Didn't feel it, or didn't care. The hard way, indeed.

Meanwhile, he felt spent. Not relaxed, not at peace - just calm. Flat. The scuffle had burnt through more of his reserves. What little he had left would last for maybe a day, if he was careful. But at least the fight was over, or else felt that way. He did not know what had changed, but the immediate hostility he had experienced at the sight of the jet had subsided. Gone to rest somewhere. Perhaps he was just tired.

It was not something he wished to dwell upon either way. They had narrowly avoided an ugly incident out here in the desert, where the only witness to an act of brutality would have been Maximus' own conscious. He didn't know what he would have done if he had seriously injured an Autobot over a personal grievance. And... this wasn't something he wanted to think about either.

Maximus hurriedly put one hand on his own shoulder and stretched, working the arm back and forth across his chest. He locked his treads upright over his shoulders and let the last of the tension dissipate from his frame. As he did so he eyed Thundercloud.

"I think it goes without saying," he said, "that this is probably something shouldn't mention to Optimus any time in the near future."

[Deleted]

Thundercloud couldn’t help it: he had to laugh at that comment.

He was sure Fortress Maximus was tired of hearing the sound by now, but at least this time his show of mirth wasn’t nearly as out of place and dissonant as it was before, when he had been laid out in the dirt, chuckling in dark amusement around a throat full of fluid.

This time, the laugh was shorter, far more spontaneous. It was a sharp, incredulous HA accompanied by a scoff and roll of Thundercloud’s optics as he expressed open derision for the very notion of telling Optimus what had occurred between himself and Fortress maximus.

His split lip welled with energon as he grinned, but he was quick to swipe the blue away with the back of his hand before it could trail down his chin.

“Nah, I think I'm gonna head back and tell the Boss straight up that I broke eight different rules ‘n regulations to dick around in the middle of nowhere and get my ass beat for shits ‘n giggles.”

His sarcasm was so thick it was practically tangible, but his smirk had relaxed a bit, becoming a little less mocking and more generally amused.

“For real though, big guy, I ain’t a snitch.”

He lifted a hand, gave his battered chest a pat. “This might give you away, though." He admitted, before allowing his hand to fall back to his side.

"Sorry to break it to you, but not many folks got face-busters as big as yours."

Fortress Maximus was a big mech. His knuckles left big imprints. It wouldn't be hard for someone to put two and two together and realize what happened if Thundercloud didn't come up with a damn good excuse as to why he looked like he'd volunteered to be a punching bag--which he kind of had.

He wasn't overly worried, though. He was well versed in the fine art of bullshiting his way out of trouble after a lifetime of frequent practice.

[Deleted]

The laughter rang in Maximus' audials. He closed his hands into fists and tensed, his body reacting without thought.

But then he caught himself. He frowned. Thundercloud's laughter did not sound like mockery. It was harsh and sarcastic, but it was not directed at Maximus. The flier seemed more amused by the notion that he might breathe a word of what had transpired than anything else.

Slowly, Maximus relaxed.

"Guess they don't," he said.

He lifted one hand and examined it. The heavy knuckles were a dead match to the deep indent in Thundercloud's chest. Maximus winced. He might as well have stamped a data plate on the flier's body with his name and serial number on it. And this after Optimus had said that Maximus' return to active duty at the Autobot base would be conditional on whether he was deemed 'steady' or not. Maximus did not know how steadiness was judged, but he could not imagine that this incident would be a point in his favour if it was reported.

Maximus flexed his hand open and shut a few more times before he let it fall back to his side. He nodded at the dent. "Might want to find an alternative to Ratchet to get that looked at. Like Dusk. Or the Neutral base. Both are good at doing their work without asking questions. That's just a suggestion, though."

And...

An awkward silence followed as Maximus hesitated. The surreality of the moment nagged at him. He hated this mech, hated everything foul and invasive that he represented. His presence at the Autobot base had tainted it, cast menacing shadows over what had once been untroubled places. The taunts that Thundercloud had thrown out during their scrap had hit raw spots with evil-minded intent.

And yet Maximus now stood in front of the mouthy convict and saw - someone who had taken a beating and not thrown a punch in return. Not even with the excuse of acting in self-defence on his side. No one would have blamed him for lashing back. No one would have clapped him in irons, thrown him into a brig the Autobots didn't have. He would have gotten off with nothing more dire than a lecture, while another black mark would have been chalked pityingly against Maximus' service record. One still might, if word of this ever got out. But that didn't change the fact that Thundercloud had not fought back.

It felt as if the world had tilted beneath Maximus' feet. Didn't make sense.

A thought struck him.

"What you said before," said Maximus. His frown deepened. "About killing... no, about your sentence being finished. Was it true? Were you released?"

[Deleted]

Somehow, Thundercloud managed not to make a derisive noise in response to Fortress’ suggestion that he see Dusk, or maybe even the neutrals for help patching himself back together, as opposed to going to Ratchet. Yeah, like he was actually gonna go running to the no-branders for help. He’d rather just hand Patches a blow-torch and let him try to sort things out, patch up what auto-repair wouldn’t be able to tackle.

...Though judging by the unpleasant clicking sound that emanated from his shoulder whenever he rotated it, he probably needed repairs that required a little more expertise than what Carbine had to offer him. Damn. Maybe he’d have to go to Dusk after all.

Ah well, he’d cross that bridge when he got to it. He prefered to live in the moment, handle tomorrow’s problems when tomorrow came. For now, he wasn’t going to let himself be bothered by thoughts of finding a medic who wouldn’t immediately rat them out to the Prime once they realized what had happened between himself and Fortress Maximus. He had a long flight back to base in which to think about the particulars of how he would explain his injuries, so planning ahead just didn’t seem necessary to him. He had time, he’d come up with something eventually.

Hopefully.

...Maybe.

If he remembered.

...Yeah okay he was probably boned. Oh well, wouldn’t be the first time he got in trouble for doing something he shouldn’t have, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Idly, he prodded his split lip with his tongue, grimaced at the sting of pain it caused, then gave it another prod out of compulsion despite knowing full well the second result wouldn’t be any different than the first. He lifted a hand to his jaw, rubbed at the battered half of his face, worked his jaw back and forth as he tested how much he could move it without his dented cheek protesting.

The answer was “not much.”

So distracted was he by his absentminded examination of his injuries that he didn’t even notice the awkward silence that had fallen between himself and Fortress Maximus until the other mech broke it. Glancing up, his attention shifting from his sore jaw to the reason his face ached in the first place, he couldn’t help but blink in mild surprise. He hadn’t expected the other mech to say anything to prolong their conversation, having assumed Fortress wanted to be rid of him as soon as possible, so the question caught him a bit off guard.

“Uh...yeah.” He replied slowly as if unsure whether or not he ought to answer, wary of why Fortress Maximus wanted to know in the first place.

“Got paroled early for good behavior.” He added, carefully leaving out the part where his parole was conditional upon signing his life away to the Autobot army.

Mecha tended to react poorly to discovering he joined the Autobots for less than noble reasons, and he really didn’t think he needed to give Fort Max another reason to have a raging hate-boner for him.

“Still got the tracker in me if you want proof.” He said, lifting a hand up to gesture towards his helm, before tapping a finger against the corner of his fractured optic.

“Kinda hard to see it without takin’ out my entire goddamn eye, but it’s there.”

He smiled faintly, almost bitterly, his expression darkly amused.

“Helluva placement, right? Don’t need to make the things tamper-resistant when you can just stick ‘em someplace no one’ll try to take ‘em out from.”

[Deleted]

Good behaviour.

Maximus arched a brow. That seemed hard to believe.

But Thundercloud had not attacked him. He had taken his lumps and retaliated with words, not fists. And words were not weapons. They could not harm you. So maybe the whole thing wasn't as improbable as it sounded.

Maximus slowly nodded as he digested it. Thundercloud's sentence was over. He was no longer a convict. Just a former one. Thinking of it like that made it a little easier to swallow.

When the mech lifted a hand to the side of his head Maximus followed it, frowning. His own eyes narrowed. A subdermal implant in the optic. As far as trackers went it was good place to embed one. It would not interfere with with optical functions or maintenance, and would prove a touchy thing to remove - at least, for someone who was not a medic. Or for someone who preferred to keep two working eyes.

A gruesome measure. The part of Maximus that still thought like a warden approved of its practicality, however. He wondered if the Garrus 1 warden had implemented that particular tracking system. Maximus had employed his own methods for controlling certain prisoners. One of them had also been inserted into a valuable biomechanism. It had not been a tracker. Its results had been swift and lethal.

Maximus eyed Thundercloud. Despite himself, he was curious.

"Surely no one is still monitoring your whereabouts," he said. "Even your official files would be corrupted and difficult to pull up after Cybertron went dark. That thing in your head has to be dead by now, the feed long disrupted. So why keep the tracker in? Why not get a medic to remove it? There's no law left back home to enforce the tracking system. The only law left is right here, with us. And I don't think Optimus is going to insist your movements be followed."

[Deleted]

Inside his head, Thundercloud could practically hear a record scratch. Though innocuous, Fortress Maximus’ question brought his thoughts--and movements--to a grinding halt He stilled, one wingtip raised slightly higher than the other as it paused mid-flick. Slowly he tilted his head, optics flicking from one point to another on the other mech’s face, as if searching for something, debating something.

After a quiet pause he scoffed, smiled without humor and tilted his face down towards the ground as he brought up a hand to rub at his jaw. He shook his head, optics offlining briefly before cutting back to Fortress Maximus, then allowing his hand to drop back to his side.

“I’m gonna be pretentious for a minute and answer that with another question.” He replied, cocking his head slightly to the side.

“What good’ll it do if I take it out?” He paused, as if inviting the other mech to supply an answer, but it was clear by his tone that the question was a rhetorical one.

“You’re right about it bein’ dead. Can’t track me anymore, so it doesn’t hurt me any, leaving it in.”

He thought he could feel it sometimes, if he focused hard enough, or if he moved his optic in just the right way, but he had been repeatedly told by the medic who installed it that it was all in his head, that he was just thinking about it too much and imagining things. Maybe they were right, or maybe they were just feeding him a load of bull. He supposed it didn’t really matter either way, since it didn’t hurt any. It was just there. A presence. A sensor-ghost he felt from time to time--or at least, thought he felt.

“So, you tell me big guy--why should I get it removed? What’s it gonna change if it’s gone? Taking it out ain’t gonna make me forget it it was put there, why it was put there. Not gonna make anyone else forget either.”

He paused, gave the other mech a pointed look, a hard, meaningful stare, before gesturing towards him with a wave of his hand.

“Case in point.”

He frowned slightly, looking as if he was debating whether or not to say something, before swiping his tongue over his teeth and turning his head to spit another mouthful of fluid on the ground. He stared at the blue and black ichor for a moment, lip curling slightly in what was either disgust or quiet indignation. It was difficult to tell - the look lasted only a brief moment before he turned to look back to Fortress Maximus, his expression hard, stony.

“Nobody lets me forget what I am, so what’s it hurt to have a permanent reminder?”

[Deleted]

Something whined in Maximus' chest as he stepped away from the stare, startled, his optics wide.

An instant later he had recovered. His eyes narrowed.

"Let me get this straight," he growled. He leaned down into Thundercloud, until his face rested inches from that of the other mech. His red eyes glowed. "You... have the option to surgically remove something that was forced inside you against your will, something that no longer serves any purpose and is nothing but a reminder of darker times that you bitterly resent... and you refuse to let go of it out of a sense of, what - petulant belligerence? You keep it around just so you can haul it out and throw it back into peoples' faces over any real or perceived slight against your past? That's it?"

Maximus clenched his jaw, his engine rattling.

"Do you have... any idea... what some people carry around inside of themselves as a direct result of the war and its associated horrors?" he said through grit teeth. "Do you? Do you have a single clue what some of those people would do to be rid of those thoughts and changes and scars? What they already have done? Do you have the slightest conception of just how fortunate you are to be able to reach inside and rid yourself of at least one lingering physical reminder of your ordeal so easily? Just like that, like yanking out a sliver?"

The warden reared back and turned on his heel. With his back to Thundercloud he threw his hands sarcastically into the air.

"Oh, but you'll just hang on to it instead, so that whenever you're feeling particularly prejudiced upon you can coddle it to your chest and nurse your resentment," he spat. "Because it lets you remind yourself of everything that's made you what you are now. Because it makes other people remember it. You can keep it in there for nothing more than the vindictive satisfaction to be gained from sheer spite, while knowing the entire time that, that - evicting yourself of it will be as simple as a trip to the medical bay. "

Maximus stopped and let his arms drop back to his sides. He looked back at the flier, his red optics glaring.

"What a god damned luxury," he said. "It's too bad its not one many other Autobots get to enjoy."

[Deleted]

Thundercloud did not have the good sense to lean back as Fortress Maximus advanced upon him, looming closer into his personal space than what Thundercloud felt was strictly necessary. Instead of moving back, he simply stood his ground and blinked up at the other mech, somewhat confused and mildly surprised that his anger had returned to him as quickly as it did.

As the mech bared down upon him, growling out sounds that seemed to be more anger than words, Thundercloud found himself fighting off the completely insane yet near-overwhelming urge to just lean up and bite the big dumb fragger just to show him why people should never put their face so close to his. He refrained, however, from indulging in the urge because he didn’t particularly feel like being brutally murdered by an unstable tank who carried around enough baggage to encumber a cityformer.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t entertain the thought, however, and entertain it he did.

The thought helped him stay (somewhat) level headed while Fortress Maximus ranted, his words harsh and scathing. Part of him wanted to just behave for once, to let the mech blow off steam and allow him to speak uninterrupted. The other part of him wanted to punch him so hard in the mouth he’d be coughing up teeth for a week.

Given Fortress Maximus was allowed to finish speaking uninterrupted, and had an uncompromised dental structure, it wasn’t hard to guess which option Thundercloud had (begrudgingly) gone with. He kept himself silent by mentally making all the interjections and rebuttals he wouldn’t allow himself to say out loud - “Here we go again with the disproportionate anger", "Primus, mech, do you have any settings other than Disgruntled and Pissed Off?”, “I’m sensing some hostility in your tone.”, “I like how you’re makin’ somethin’ that don’t affect anyone but me out to be a fraggin’ crime.”, “I thought you were a tank not a datastick, why the hell are you doin’ all this projecting?”, and so on and so forth.

Instead of speaking his mind, however, instead of saying any of the caustic things that immediately came to mind, he simply waited a moment for the proverbial dust to settle, his arms crossing over his chest. Then, he as he allowed the heat of the other mech’s words to settle over him then disperse. He may have been a reckless, cocky, swaggering motherfrager with no quit in him, but he knew when to hold off on speaking until he was sure his words wouldn’t be horrendously affected by his emotional state.

He already pissed the tank off and got the slag pounded out of him once that day. He wasn’t terribly keen on aiming for a second go.

“Well.” He said flatly, looking inappropriately calm despite the lecture he had just been dealt.

“When you put it that way I sound like an asshole.”

He matched the other mech’s angry glare with his own cool stare and had the nerve to shrug.

“Then again, I kinda always sound like that, so.” He uncrossed his arms, shrugging his shoulders and fanning his hands out in a lazy gesture which said "it can't be helped" without words.

[Deleted]

For an instant Maximus stood fuming, his hands raised as if ready to throttle him.

But Thundercloud's calm reply had left him nothing to react to. Nothing to lash back against. The flier stood there, his manner composed and bland. Maximus bristled, radiating heat and anger. It felt like it was doing nothing more than blasting futilely against the mech and rolling off his back.

He waited for an insult, a punch - anything he could use as an excuse. A provocation. Anything.

Nothing.

Maximus snarled.

"Imagine my surprise," he spat.

It was a feeble response, and he knew it. Maximus turned and put his back to Thundercloud again, determined not to let his frustration show. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides. One of his tank treads spun agitatedly, the iron plates grinding and clattering together. Bereft of a target, his anger seethed inside his chassis until it fizzled out. It was replaced with tension as what he had just blurted out in a fit of anger sank in.

Damn it. Maximus resisted the urge to glance back over his shoulder. At least it didn't seem as if the mech had digested any of it. Just let the words breeze past him, unexamined. Good.

Maximus collected himself and snorted.

"And don't flatter yourself," he said. "You only sound like half the others back on the base. 'Asshole' isn't how I'd describe it."

He stood without turning, his back stiff and his hands closed into fists. "Now, was that everything? Are we done here? If there was anything else you wanted to do while you're here, just get it over with now so I can leave."

[Deleted]

Oh, would you look at that. He held back on mouthing off for once, and as a result, he didn’t get a shiny new dent pounded into his face.

Huh.

Maybe there was something to that whole not being a jackass thing after all.

Thundercloud made a mental note of this observation, which he promptly crumpled into a ball and tossed away without a second thought, because he knew himself well enough to know he would probably never pay much heed to that advice.

Unless he was in another situation where he was fairly sure the direct result of mouthing off would be his own gruesome bloody death. Then maybe he’d hold off a little, behave himself a bit better than he usually did, like he was now whilst standing in the shadow of a mech who had proven just how easily he could pop his limbs out of socket like they were held in place by nothing more than the ball-joints used in cheap plastic toys.

Instead of flying into another rage and trying to beat his face in worse than it already was, Fortress Maximus simply turned his back to him and curled his fingers - a gesture which Thundercloud interpreted as being born from the frustration brought about from desperately wanting to strangle someone, but not having a good enough excuse to.

Then, gradually, the larger mech’s anger seemed to simmer away, its death signaled by his dry snort and the equally dry comment which followed after it.

Unfortunately, Fortress Maximus did not choose his wording carefully enough, because his request to know what else Thundercloud wanted to do opened up a pandora’s box of terrible responses, each more inappropriate and immature than the last.

It was a blessing, for both Fortress’ sake and Thundercloud’s, that the Powers that Be saw fit to curb the worst of Thunder’s imagination by reminding him that the threat of death still lingered over his head, and that if he knowingly provoked the other mech again, he would kind of deserve it. There was only so much one could tempt fate before it got pissed and decided to turn against them, after all.

With this thought in mind Thundercloud smirked, raised a finger as if to make a point, before thinking better of his words and dropping his hand. He shook his head, swiped his hand down his face and stifled a chuckle at the errant thoughts still running through his mind, begging him to take the mischievous route. He ignored them to the best of his ability, before lifting his hand again to point at Fortress’ turned back.

“--That's entrapment, you ass. How do you expect me not to screw myself over, askin' somethin' like that.”

His tone was oddly amused.