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.
“Layby knows,” he said. “Actually, maybe a week ago he got a hold of me when I was flying over Nevada and asked me to scope out the state for him from the air. I gather Cleaver’s last check-in point was over southern Utah. She stopped calling shortly after that.”
He twirled a finger in the air. “So I did. Flew a grid all over Nevada and Utah both, and part of Wyoming as well. Didn’t spot a thing. Just desert and mountains and trees. There’s a couple of settlements out that way. Supposedly she disappeared somewhere around Ogden. Pineview Reservoir’s not far from Ogden, along with smaller towns like Huntsville and Eden. Some good ski hills too. She could have gone down in the water. If she did, I wouldn’t have spotted her from the air.”
“But I dunno. Like I said, I just got here myself, so I haven’t gotten an update yet on the situation. Maybe she’s down somewhere and keeping radio silence to avoid detection. Maybe she is on business of her own and doesn’t want to be bothered. Or, well…”
He grimaced. “I don’t want to say there’s a possibility that MECH has got her, but let’s admit it - we’re both thinking it.”
Anxiety clenched at Roulette's receptors like a parasite. A week? The femme had been missing for that long?! What in the slag had they been waiting on? Sure, there was no love between the Cons and the Bots but they should have said something...
Hmph. Did we say anything to them? Did we even warn them this was a problem?
Roulette's field was a tangled mess of emotional spikes. Guilt was like an aftertaste in her mouth, like bad fuel. It wasn't her place but she felt like she should have said or done something for their behalf. When all she'd really done was pretend nothing had happened and busied herself with distractions.
It was always someone else's problem, wasn't it?
"My superiors have to know about this. And after taking a short vacation with MECH, I can damn well assure you I have some unfinished business with them."
For a moment he said nothing. He merely stepped back and studied Roulette with a cocked head, his expression puzzled, as if he thought he had not heard her correctly. He lifted one hand and rubbed his jaw, his brow furrowed.
“That’s - hang on,” he said. “Is that the reason why you’re here? Did you have a run-in with MECH, and they did something to you that you want a medic to investigate more closely? I - it’s not that I think you’re lying. I was just under the impression that they generally disassembled their victims. But you’re standing here in one piece and look rather whole, all in all.”
At any time an attractive mech studying her body was just fine by her. (Unless it was literally anyone on the Nemesis.) But his scrutiny, under the circumstances, made her shift in place. She curled her fingers into the palm of her hand to keep them from rubbing at old wounds. The once over brought back the feeling of exposed circuitry and numb limbs. Not a memory she was that keen on.
"No, I'm here to see a medic. For..other, horrible reasons." She waved her hand to shush away that tangent. That wasn't important just then. "We'll get back to that. The damage MECH did to me has already healed."
Suuuure it has. Keep telling yourself that. Is that why you can't stand to step onto the planet by yourself and why you made up twenty different protocols in your targeting practice for "just in case" scenarios?
"Right now I'm more worried about your medic. Purely for selfish reasons, I can assure you." She mumbled, while looking to the side.
“She’s not my medic,” he said. “My medic - well, actually, he’s back on Cybertron, if he’s even still alive. But I liked Cleaver. She cleaned me up and fuelled me once, back when I first arrived in Africa on fumes. Didn’t even charge me a thing. So if she’s missing - if the Neutrals are missing their medic - then, well, yeah, I suppose I’m concerned as well. Purely for selfish reasons, I assure you.”
His voice was terse. But after a pause he smiled again, and the tense expression passed over his face like a shadow over the sun.
“Anyway, I’m sorry I can’t offer you any more information than that,” said Deuce. “I’m really a bit in the dark about this whole nasty business myself. Is there anything I can do to help out in the meantime? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m no medic. But I have taken a lot of beatings over my time, and suffered my fair share of problems up here.”
He grinned faintly and tapped his scarred temple, mimicking her earlier gesture. “Maybe I can offer some insight. Or drinks. Drinking isn’t off the table yet.”
Last Edit: Mar 19, 2015 19:52:29 GMT -5 by Deleted
Roulette didn't know a lot about Deuce. What little she did know was lost in the haze of being severely, severely drunk from their previous encounter. But the sudden prickliness surprised her and made her lean back just the tiniest bit. Internally, she started shifting her regard of him at the tense vibe. Interesting...he wasn't all slap-dash luck and sunshine.
Looks like there is a storm cloud over that rainbow after all. Huh...
However, at the moment she didn't have time to ponder the intricacies of the drunken master. A supposedly quick check up had just turned into something complicated and, quite frankly, ugly. Already she was listing just what she was going to send Soundwave and how to spin it like she needed to stick around to be of some "use."
"...Huh, I figured you Newts stuck tight together." She gave a care-free shrug and rubbed at the back of her helm. "...how about this. Let me send word back to the ship and I will tell you every excruciating detail about my last ordeal. Who knows, maybe you can help me out. And in return, you only have to ply me with drinks." She grinned her best grin for him. At least she was sincere in her offer.
“Well, I can certainly handle that last one,” he said. “Plying myself and others with drinks is sort of one of my specialties. And I’m actually a pretty good listener! Which you might never guess, what with all the talking I do.”
He extended a hand towards the tunnel that led off to the distant bar in a gracious gesture, motioning for Roulette to take the lead.
“And incidentally, yeah, a lot of people assume that about Neutrals,” he said. “That they all flock together to form some vaguely defined third faction that exists on the fringe of the war to sit around and carp at people. It’s nonsense, just another example of the ‘us or them’ mentality that had seized hold of Cybertron even before the caste system kicked in. How we do love to compartmentalize our society."
Deuce rolled his optics in mild exasperation. “Even the word ‘Neutral’ is used like the name of a third party rather than a description of one’s political outlook on the war. That capital ‘N’ annoys me to no end. Those who choose not to pick a side are neutral in the matter, not A Neutral. Crickey, crack, cocaine. Very irritating.”
"Heh, some of us didn't get to pick a side, slick." She wanted to stand there and just rail at him, an easy target, about all the injustices one could run into in a war that didn't remotely compare to being labeled a name. But she was mentally compiling a mini report for Soundwave about the emergency situation. At least she felt it was an emergency. The more tech that fell into MECH hands was going to start showing up on the battlefield.
She sent the comm as she started to walk, proving a femme could write, compose, and hold a conversation at the same time. Even if her attention wavered from Deuce for a moment. Her optics finally focused back on him as she returned to the conversation at hand and the earlier consternation.
I should just drop it. Politics is something you don't talk about in polite company....except neither of us are polite. For frag's sake, he was checking out my aft as soon as I walked through the ground bridge.
"Look, I could understand the irritation at being shunted into a group without any of your say so. I get it. Everyone sees the emblem," she tapped the Con badge with a finger, "and thinks the worse. Usually for good reason, usually. But what if I'm the exception to the rule? You think I like having someone shoot at me every time they see the colors I'm flying?" She snorted and held her hands on her hips just near the pistols.
"But I don't get it. You get the luxury to choose to stay out of the war. You have this place, which really does resemble its name, and yet you say you're not affiliated with anyone here? Why? Why not align yourselves with one another? There is safety in numbers."
“You know who also have numbers?” he said. “Armies. How safe do you honestly feel in the Decepticon army, being shot at by Autobots and kill-happy humans from one side, while living under the overlaying threat of dissection via your own medics for no other reason than an undetermined defect? The Neutrals may not face the hazards of the front lines, or the more insidious dangers of backstabbing colleagues and war-hungry commanders, but let’s take a look at what they do offer: a commune of non-military peacenix huddled en masse inside a cave that everyone knows about while lacking a support structure, a supply chain, defensive armament, political allies, or a giant cloaked warship protected by high-tech military hardware and legions of drones. Sounds great! Sign me up for some of that! Watch how fast I run.”
He mimicked doing the running man, arms pumping.
“And for future reference, my choice to stay out of the war wasn’t really a luxury. It was just a choice, nothing more. When did we start elevating such a basic factor of day to day existence - the act of making decisions for ourselves - into a luxury, a privilege? Was it during the mind-numbing ennui of the Golden Age, when any act that departed from tedious routine felt subversive? Was it during the War, when suddenly making a poor choice had actual unpleasant consequences that we were forced to acknowledge as products of our own lack of vision, sense, or ethics? Eesh.”
Despite the words, Deuce laughed.
“Anyhoo, what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t have either the guns or the training to protect myself when the war started, so I chose to leave Cybertron to avoid getting killed. I’m still alive today, so I feel confident I made a decent choice for myself.” He sniggered. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to get angsty about it. I wasn’t forced off the planet at gunpoint by evil faceless soldiers while weeping a sparkling trail of tears. I saw the writing on the wall and scarpered. I accepted the consequences of leaving, and that’s all there is to it. That decision has worked out well for me so far.”
He eyed Roulette curiously. “I’m willing to bet that the choice to get out of the war is right in front of you as well. Perhaps you haven’t taken it because it wouldn’t be a good choice for you. Maybe it would get you killed. Maybe it would get someone you love killed. Maybe you like being a Decepticon! I have no clue, I’m not a mind reader. But that didn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
He was good. Persuasive, even. Not only could the mech talk in a friendly engaging manner, he also knew what he was talking about. Which meant the drunken klutz was just a facade of some kind, even if he wasn't aware of it. How much did he hide behind the easy smiles and devil may care attitude? Did he embrace the words he was saying, borderline passionately, or was he saying them from rote?
If only Roulette had the energy to take on a verbal sparring. Unfortunately, she didn't. There was plenty to poke at in his great speech. Which was likely the point. Engaging in a witty debate about the complicated philosophies of war never had appealed to her. For one, she didn't feel comfortable defending the Decepticon cause. And another, she didn't understand why they carried on the same song and dance. Surely both sides would grow tired of the music and want a change of tune at some point...
"There's a faulty logic there." With a shrug, she rolled her shoulder and crossed her arms into a comfortable hold. "If I'm free to get out of the war and it leads to my death, then it is not a real freedom at all. Might as well stick around until an Autobot concaves my helm in with righteous fury. It's a bit more useful, I suppose."
She didn't sound too enthused by the prospect of dying or living. As of the moment she was tired of the threat of both extremes. If she was going to die, so be it. But being strapped to a berth and dissected by humans or someone else wasn't the way to go. She'd rather go down in a quick blaze of glory. As for living...it just felt tedious at the moment. Complicated to the point of feeling heavy like a burden.
"It doesn't exist." She glanced at him and then looked away, calmly looking at the hallway. "The choice. I surrendered that long ago to Shockwave. Personally speaking, I think he came out on top of the deal."
Last Edit: Mar 26, 2015 19:29:18 GMT -5 by Deleted
“You’re only thinking in terms of physical freedom,” he said. “Which, yes, death would certainly put the kibosh on. But there is a profound liberty in making a choice you believe to be the right one, even in the face of death. The autonomy of choice, to make your own decision even when the gun is at your head and the jackboot is on your throat, is a form of freedom in itself. I can’t think of a greater satisfaction in life than in determining my own path through it, even if my choice steers me into an abrupt end. At least I was the one behind the wheel, not the a-hole with the gun.”
The grey jetbot’s optics were bright, his voice laced with eager interest. Unlike Roulette he seemed to take enjoyment in every word, in the vivacity of thought and its electric flow into the spoken word.
“So I suppose it boils down to this: which is more important to you? Freedom of body or freedom of thought? Professionally, I vote for the latter. Personally, I also kind of like my body. It took a lot of time and effort to get it looking this good. I’d hate to tell off the wrong ‘Con and get it perforated with holes.”
Deuce laughed and self-consciously touched one of the scars on his face. There were a lot of them.
“Which I suppose is my way of saying, thank you for not shooting me for disagreeing with you! Despite walking around with those guns you are totally not supposed to be carrying here in the demilitarized zone. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. And pfft, what are you worried about Shockwave for?”
He waved. “He’s back on Cybertron! Sitting on his science throne or whatever. Puttering about his lab, molesting specimens. What can he do to you here on Earth?”
Roulette really wished she could share some of that enthusiasm or zest for life. He couldn't be so selfish as to keep all of it for himself, right? When was the last time she'd felt passionate about...well, anything? A quick flick through the memory showed an alarming lack of zeal. When the hell had she grown so jaded??
The realization made her tank churn more than it already did. Absentmindedly, she reached out to the nearest wall to steady herself; balance suddenly unsure and a chore. A small flick of her optics to her companion and a grimace of a smile was meant to give a non-verbal reassurance she wasn't going to die just yet. Though the very threat of purging onto the floor felt like it could be a possibility.
You did not yack it when you were slag-faced, you're not going to do it now!
However, she did wince at the mention of the weapons she was carrying. Fantastic. Her second trip to the DMZ and she was already deviating from the rules because she couldn't get her shit together. That was such an absentminded thing to do. Senseless, really.
"Ah, I'll give them to someone for safe-keeping if it's a problem. I was...in a bit of a hurry," she finished rather lamely. Yes, super excuse there. A non-military organization was surely going to be forgiving. "I shoul-"
Whoa, wait, what. Did he seriously just say what I think he said?
She hauled up short to stare at him, nausea forgotten for the moment. How could he not know who she worked for? Surely she'd ranted about her boss when she'd been drunk and strutless on the bar counter. Then again...maybe she hadn't. She didn't tend to give Shockwave much thought outside of work if she could help it.
"Sweet pea...Shockwave is on this planet...When I said I had no choice, I literally meant I have no choice. Physical or philosophical. That mech is crazy." Well, crazy was stretching it. More, he was lacking...everything that made a mech a decent individual.
Last Edit: Mar 31, 2015 17:08:19 GMT -5 by Deleted
“He is?” he said. “Well, I mean, I’m sure he’s plenty psycho, I don’t question that part - but old One Eye actually left Cybertron? Why?”
Perplexed, he scratched the back of his head. “I mean, this is Earth. As much as I love the planet, and acknowledge it’s among the last of the front lines, it doesn’t exactly strike me as a place that would offer much to interest to one of Cybertron’s biggest scientific minds. Unless Megatron just has him locked up in the Nemesis purely for the potential utilization of his knowledge, and isn’t letting him out.”
Deuce paused as he digested that mental image.
“If that’s the case, if he’s safely tucked away aboard the warship, then why worry about him? It doesn’t seem like he can do much harm to you while he’s cooped away in some sort of evil science lab that’s cruising around at fifty thousand feet or whatever. Let him stew away out of sight and out of mind, while you run wild and free down planetside like Primus intended. He can't touch you if he can't leave the Nemesis.”
Hilariously, Deuce was almost close to the mark in his rambling. Shockwave wouldn't be a threat if he was free to stay in his lab. That's all the science bound mech wanted. Sure, some of his science led to...bodies turning up. But for the most part, he was contained and less of a threat than say the average bot. But he wasn't restrained or distracted.
"I can't tell if you're optimistic or..." She stopped herself before she said something pert. She wasn't trying to make enemies. "I'm one of his proxies. I can't just avoid him. That is usually frowned upon."
She liked to think she was a useful proxy. In that she kept busy enough to keep Shockwave from turning that analytic gaze on her. But sometimes she did find her thoughts straying to what life would be like without him in her life... How freeing would it be to not have to answer to him just the once?
"Can we talk about something else? I'd rather not focus on the instrument of my upcoming demise. I've already had someone screw with my head once today and knowing he's going to literally crack me open like a egg is starting to make me lose it, Decepticon resolve or not."
But, on the plus side, if he lobotomizes me, I probably won't realize anything is wrong. So there is that.
Ahead of them the tunnel opened up to the main bar area. Deuce veered towards it, his steps unerring.
“All righty,” he said. He grinned and held up a finger. “Here’s one for you: believe it or not, I was once in a similar position to the one you’re caught in now. Mind you, this was millions of years ago, and my boss was just a dick rather than Cyclops Science Grimace, but some of the details were the same. I felt trapped and under the knife, and begrudged it. While I didn’t have the threat of a Vehicon army over my head, I did have a boss who was neurotic about workplace efficiency and maintained constant surveillance over his employees. Maybe he thought we were all gonna steal his data sticks or goof off on our shifts, I dunno. Finally, finally, one day I got fed up enough with being treated like an office drone that I said…”
Deuce cuddled one arm around Roulette’s neck and gestured dramatically to the stars.
“Fuck it,” he said. “And I walked out of that job without notice or a look back. I’m sure my boss was totally pissed about that, but what could he do about it? I was gone, baby. I stole a shuttle and hauled my scruffy coke-coloured ass into space and let it swallow me. Without chewing.”
He released her and aimed for the bar, chuckling.
“That was a good lesson I earned that day: space is big, and people are small. Don’t sweat the small stuff. And don’t let the bastards grind you down! And if you’re going to crack a shuttle’s security locks don’t use a Hex-based encryption key, GOD. What was I thinking.”