[ti]Ep 2[/ti]Piece by Piece [Closed]
Aug 29, 2016 14:13:08 GMT -5
Post by Optimus Prime on Aug 29, 2016 14:13:08 GMT -5
Episode 2 | Week 2 | Day 5
Fourteen Days.
It has been fourteen days since his ceiling had been ripped apart, and thirteen days since the room itself was turned into a warzone. The entire situation was a mess, and a testament to just how broken the team as a whole had become.
It was so easy with fewer participants. When the Omega Outpost was primarily hollow, and vacant, left to only the sliver of survivors and remaining fighters that had survived the Ark, things were stable. Relying upon one another was what was needed, and arguments or disputes would have to be settled quickly due to the need to turn around and watch the back of your fellow Autobot. There was no room for grudges, and no room for loners. But things were different now.
New individuals filtered in, and to accommodate them the base had expanded out and grown like a hive through the mesa they had called their home. There were more places to go, places to hide away and be antisocial, and there were new participants that didn’t have a clue in the world to how the base flowed and how things went. It was disjointed; the sand stirred up within the metaphorical riverbed, and while it just needed time to settle down, some members may never find their place.
Like the two that had absolutely ruined his living quarters.
Clashing, one anti-social and avoidant as if everyone was tainted, the other socially abrasive and 'in your face' aggressive. There could come a day in which they have to work together on a mission, in which they are forced to watch each other's backs. In this war, he could not just pick and choose who would go with whom out to fight. He could try to regulate, but in the flurry of battle individuals can be separated, and left trapped with their opposite. Thundercloud and Zoom-Zoom had to learn to get along, but if what they did to his living quarters in their attempt to 'repair' it had any say, than chances are one or both would end up dead if that happened.
Optimus strode down one of the many long hallways of the Omega Outpost late at night, his steps calm and slow, not in any particular rush to go where he needed to go. He seemed reserved in the way he moved however, minding his own business, and not intending to encroach upon anyone else's as he traveled towards the deeper portions of the living quarters. Under one arm he held metal sheets, thin ((to Cybertronian standards)) panels that could be used to bridge the damage without having to finagle with earth construction supplies. In the other, he had a bolt gun, evidently to use with the aforementioned plates.
He would continue with these, intent to not converse with anyone that crossed his path past a light nod to acknowledge. Besides, it was so late everyone else was likely asleep at this point and time.
Fourteen Days.
It has been fourteen days since his ceiling had been ripped apart, and thirteen days since the room itself was turned into a warzone. The entire situation was a mess, and a testament to just how broken the team as a whole had become.
It was so easy with fewer participants. When the Omega Outpost was primarily hollow, and vacant, left to only the sliver of survivors and remaining fighters that had survived the Ark, things were stable. Relying upon one another was what was needed, and arguments or disputes would have to be settled quickly due to the need to turn around and watch the back of your fellow Autobot. There was no room for grudges, and no room for loners. But things were different now.
New individuals filtered in, and to accommodate them the base had expanded out and grown like a hive through the mesa they had called their home. There were more places to go, places to hide away and be antisocial, and there were new participants that didn’t have a clue in the world to how the base flowed and how things went. It was disjointed; the sand stirred up within the metaphorical riverbed, and while it just needed time to settle down, some members may never find their place.
Like the two that had absolutely ruined his living quarters.
Clashing, one anti-social and avoidant as if everyone was tainted, the other socially abrasive and 'in your face' aggressive. There could come a day in which they have to work together on a mission, in which they are forced to watch each other's backs. In this war, he could not just pick and choose who would go with whom out to fight. He could try to regulate, but in the flurry of battle individuals can be separated, and left trapped with their opposite. Thundercloud and Zoom-Zoom had to learn to get along, but if what they did to his living quarters in their attempt to 'repair' it had any say, than chances are one or both would end up dead if that happened.
Optimus strode down one of the many long hallways of the Omega Outpost late at night, his steps calm and slow, not in any particular rush to go where he needed to go. He seemed reserved in the way he moved however, minding his own business, and not intending to encroach upon anyone else's as he traveled towards the deeper portions of the living quarters. Under one arm he held metal sheets, thin ((to Cybertronian standards)) panels that could be used to bridge the damage without having to finagle with earth construction supplies. In the other, he had a bolt gun, evidently to use with the aforementioned plates.
He would continue with these, intent to not converse with anyone that crossed his path past a light nod to acknowledge. Besides, it was so late everyone else was likely asleep at this point and time.