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.
Ratchet wasn't wrong in what he had been saying. He'd been able to keep everyone at arms length by just avoiding them altogether, and those who he did have to interact with he just had the asshole attitude with to force them to turn away on their own. The ones around here seemed to be more difficult to keep away, especially with their determination to have everyone part of the team. It wasn't really anything he had been exposed to before so it was difficult to have the term of 'family' be force fed to him all of a sudden when he had spent his entire life on his own.
"I've gone through my entire life alone until now, Ratchet. I just don't know how to be anything but. Teamwork isn't anything I learned and this doesn't seem like the best time to learn an entirely new way of life."
Hot Rod looked down the hallway that Ratchet had motioned towards and nodded. "Sounds like a plan. It's not like I need a super fancy room to be in if I'm just gonna be recharging in it anyway, right? You go in, optics off, optics on, roll out. Guess I'll have to force myself to be social if I'm going to be attempting this whole... 'be a team player and get to know the team' thing, right? It won't be easy."
He shrugged some, looking as if he were about to pull another smug answer or roll up into his asshole status again, but instead he stood with his servos on his hips and nodded to Ratchet as he waited on the other to go.
Ratchet nodded approvingly. He turned, and started along the hallway again.
“Taking on a new way of life can be difficult, yes, but you’re capable of it, Hot Rod. You wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t capable. I admit, it can take some getting used to, having to deal with others all the time. But in the end, it’s worth it.”
Near the end of the hallway, Ratchet turned to the right, and started along another hall. This one was shorter, and the walls were must rougher, more recently hewn. The rock was unsmoothed, striations clearly visible. It made for an interesting appearance.
It was cooler down here as well, and the only lighting came from bare bulbs hanging from overhead wires. The floor was equally rough, angling downwards some. Three archways with no doors stood along the sides, two on one side, one on the other.
Ratchet turned and entered the single one.
The room inside was medium sized, equally rough-hewn. Here the rock had larger striations, making the walls look striped in red and grey. A single bulb hung in the center of the ceiling, the walls bare of any shelves.
Standing in the middle of the room, Ratchet looked to Hot Rod, “What do you think? We could put in a shelf or two for you, put together a slab and portable recharge kit, and you could be in here tomorrow.”
Hot Rod was rather observant for one who rarely kept his mouth shut for someone else to talk. The way that Ratchet spoke and approached the conversation about everyone else hadn't fallen to deaf audials or a blind optic. He kept quiet about it for the time being, figuring that he wouldn't want to anger the medic and have him leave him stranded in a part of the base he couldn't navigate himself out of. He listened, followed, and turned as Ratchet did. He reached out and touched the walls, running his servo across it as he usually did when he walked.
Tactile, taking in his surroundings, getting used to this area. There was a chill to the wall and the air here, one that his intakes appreciated and he took in a deep pass of of. Immediately it was heated up by his own heightened temperature and forced from the vents in his shoulders. Probably wouldn't have gone unnoticed to the mech in front of him, but it wasn't as if the medic wasn't aware of what he had going on in his internals.
He peeked his helm into the room first, trying to keep from having a repeat of the earlier incident. When he caught wind of the current passing through he did step inside and looked around.
"Looks like a barren wasteland," he said with his servos on his hips. "Though it's not something we can't spruce up with a little color. I'm thinking neon yellow on the accent wall and put the berth there," he pointed to the wall across from them. "Then maybe throw some other screaming color paints everywhere else! Whatta ya think? That's okay, right?" Sure, he was... probably talking nonsense, but at least he seemed to be in a better mood.
He said down in the middle of the room, looking around as he took in where he may want things. The thought of actually having a functioning room of his own was still foreign to him, so he looked at Ratchet as if to get approval from everything he mentioned putting in here. "Maybe some speakers so I can play music when I'm in here? Big screen TV for that wall to catch the latest movies?"
This was how a kid getting his first room should have been.
Then he paused and looked at the medic, pressing his servos against the floor behind him to lean back against them. "How long did it take you? You know... to adjust to a new life. To get used to it. To realize that all the running from the death you brought in your wake was worth trying to start over again?"
Ratchet stepped inside and leaned back against a wall, crossing his arms, and casually crossing his ankles. He listened as Hot Rod spoke of dressing up the room. “Screaming colors” wasn’t exactly his idea of anything that should be relaxing and helping to recharge, but if it would make Hot Rod feel comfortable, to each his own.
“However you want to decorate is entirely up to you. Cover one entire wall in painted flames, if you want.”
Well, at least he seemed to be –
Hot Rod’s next words struck Ratchet, and he felt himself bristling. “All the death you brought in your wake”? He hadn’t brought about any death, thank you very much! He was a doctor! He fought death, tooth and nail, trying to keep Autobots alive! Ratchet strangled down the desire to turn his anger towards the youth, turning his helm to gaze out the doorway as he struggled with his anger. He could feel the words trying to bubble up from his chest.
Megatron brought death to their world. Megatron destroyed everything. Megatron pulled down the towers of Iacon, and slaughtered innocents for the crime of not being aware. For the crime of not taking a stand. Did people really think the majority of Cybertronian citizens enjoyed the class system? Oh yes, some enjoyed having power over others. Some felt it was right and just. But the majority of the middle class, the couriers and messengers, the energon workers and scouts, the data clerks and recorders, all they were guilty of was being ignorant. They were just trying to get through their days. They didn’t see the manual class being abused, the Council made sure of that.
Ratchet continued to strangle down his anger until he felt he would be able to talk with a normal voice. He kept trying to remind himself that Hot Rod was young, that he had likely been forced to do some terrible things to survive, and that he might be innocently asking for help in dealing. Confronting him would not help.
After a moment, he turned back and regarded Hot Rod again, and spoke.
“You don’t. You never really adjust to a new life. If I was offered the ability to go back to Cybertron right now, that nothing had ever changed from my youth, I would be gone in a sparkpulse. I’ve been to many planets, but I never really considered them “home”. Even now, after all this time, I miss Cybertron. I miss my friends. My cohort. The place I lived. Simple things like the skyline. The moons.
If you’re asking when you stop feeling lost, when do you stop feeling like a...a foreigner? When does it stop hurting so much?”
He gave a faint shrug, “A deca-cycle, maybe. It takes time.”
"I don't really mean adjust to the new place. I mean... adjust to having to be around things that freak ya out. Being the one who is used to marching to the beat of your own drum then being thrown in a situation where you suddenly have to work within a certain box." Hot Rod sat up straight and mimed a box shape with his servos as he said that, then made the box smaller until his palms were together with a small clap. He stared at them for a klik then looked up at Ratchet again briefly before regarding another wall.
"The humans have a saying: You can't miss something you never had to begin with. I know you miss all those things and it probably hurts something awful to know it's been taken from you without you having much of a say so in it... but I am really super jealous of you being able to feel that way." He looked up at the ceiling, trying to picture the flame suggestion that Ratchet had made. He was trying to figure out his words and...
"Don't think of that in a twisted way and assume that I'm happy that you have to go through it- I really don't- I just... Oh man I suck hardcore at explaining things." He slapped his forehelm them slid the servo down and finally let it drop into his lap as his optics went to the floor. "Damn it, whatever. Basically, I wish that I had things to miss. I don't even miss my city or those who were in it cause I wasn't personally close to any of them- I'm just miserable that I had to be the reason all that isn't around anymore. Then, at the same time, it kinda freaks me out to let anyone get close enough that I would have to go through that feeling if something were to happen to them..."
He scrunched up his shoulders some as he stared thoughtfully at nothing in particular on the floor. Hot Rod just... he was a mix of jumbled words and thoughts that he was trying to sort through on the fly and just being this open with Ratchet had him feeling more exposed than he really cared to be. The way his frame tensed up hinted to his attempt to close himself off some more, already pretty aware that he had probably made Ratchet a little fumed by his previous statement with how he'd looked away and been silent before opening up again to him.
It was in this time that a nervous tic of his revealed itself. As he sat there, a small movement of rubbing the tip of his thumb and index digit together could be seen on the right servo- a subconscious action that he didn't even notice as he continued to stare off into la-la-land.
"Is it honestly worth it? Being close enough to someone or something that you miss them so much it hurts if something happens?"
Ratchet watched as the youth spoke, and continued to reveal his inner thoughts. It was good, in a way. While it was never easy opening oneself up so much, the odd thing was that sometimes something was bothering you, and you didn’t even know what it was until you spoke it aloud. As if your mouth knew what the problem was before your brain did.
He remained leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. Ironically, he was being more open with Hot Rod than he normally was, as well. His usual rigid self was missing. It was even seen in how he seemed to laze back against the wall. Few people ever saw him so...unprofessional. It would likely be lost on Hot Rod, however. They hadn’t known each other long enough.
He considered Hot Rod’s words for a moment, not wanting to rush through. The youth was being open and honest, and deserved open and honest answers.
“Learning to change your ways in order to get along with others is difficult, yes. I’m not going to sugar coat it for you. There will be times you want to scream. Times you want to up and murder someone. Times you decide none of it is worth it and you decide to just leave. Those are all normal emotions when dealing with any other individual. The benefits outweigh it, though. I’m not going to tell you it’s all happy days and rust-sticks. But you learn to depend on them. You know they have your back. Believe it or not, you even start to miss them when they’re not around...not that I will ever admit to saying that.”
A pause.
“What you had to do, Hot Rod....it wasn’t right. And I know you blame yourself, and I know there is literally nothing I can say now or at any point in the next million years that will ever make you feel differently. Sometimes...we have to do bad things. Sometimes good people do bad things. It’s not my place to judge you. It’s not anyone’s place to judge you.”
He shifted faintly, uncrossing his legs at the ankles, and re crossing them. Ratchet looked away from Hot Rod as he considered his last question.
“Is it worth it?”
There was silence for a moment, before he looked back again.
“I can’t answer that. It’s different for everyone. I know people who have lost lovers, friends, who would tell you no. It’s not worth it. They were injured beyond healing, and will never be the same again. I also know people who were utterly devastated at a loss, but would not change any of it for anything. The memories they have, and keep, are worth more to them than any treasure out in the universe.
It’s a decision you have to make. It’s a gamble. Someone hands you a box, and tells you if you open it, there may be something foul inside. But there may be something of incredible beauty that will change your life for the better, for the rest of your existence.
There are things I regret. I have opened those boxes, and received both the foul and the treasure.
"I guess I can look at it from a sour perspective cause... well, I don't have any 'good' memories or acquaintances to really count for."
Hot Rod looked around the room as he tried to envision it a little more. A few screaming colors would definitely make it pop. If he intended on spending any extended amount of time here, he was gonna need to really start investing in layouts and designs to make the spot his.
Figured he owed Ratchet that much for showing him around to this area after the enclosed space didn't work out so well for him.
"I don't have much of a choice, really. I'm here, got deposited off by the Neutrals with a one-way pass and no way of gettin' back. So, guess that means I either run off on my own and probably get myself offlined faster by the humans or the Decepticons, or hang around here with the lot of you bozos and try to make some decent memories." He meant 'bozo' in the most affectionate way, with no malice intent. Just a word to toss out to lighten up the rather serious tone that had suddenly fallen between them.
"I never really designed a space before. What would you suggest as far as decorating? Can I see yours for some ideas?"
Ratchet gave a silent sigh. While he picked up on the more affectionate terming of the word “bozos”, he wasn’t sure if others would. Well, Hot Rod had been advised. How it went beyond that, only time would tell.
“To be honest, I’m not much of an....interior decorator myself. I tend to avoid getting caught up in a lot of excess things and property. My personal quarter is small and most of my space is taken up with medical equipment.”
Ratchet neatly avoided the request to actually see his quarters.
“I can tell you what the others have done, however. Anything that catches your eye when you’re out and about. If it’s not going to cause trouble if removed, bring it back. Some of the others here have posters from human movies or TV shows, or even musical bands they like. Bumblebee, I believe, has created some sort of art...thing...using music disks that have brilliantly coloured surfaces. Javelin accesses the human’s Internet to order free Tourism posters and have it sent to one of the children’s homes. Her quarters have images of famous human cultural sites....as well as an odd assortment of anything associated with a particular sport called Hockey.”
A faint frown, as if unable to process the reasoning.
“It might take time, Hot Rod, before you discover what you like about Earth. Certain images, sounds, or even just trinkets. Bumblebee might be of more assistance than myself. You could take a look at his, get a feel for it.”
"Aw, Ratch! What a party pooper. You act like you have a room full of pin-up ladies or something on your walls and you don't wanna share the view or something. Now you're just gonna make me want to troll your room more to see what dark, secret obsession you have. Hm... unless it's pictures of like... cake and cupcakes or something. Maybe you have a whole arsenal of wind chimes?" There was a small nod to that, and a smirk remained on his face. This conversation was as light-sparked a tone of any- At least in comparison to the way their talk HAD been going.
"Anything that catches my eye? Anything...?" Hot Rod thought on the statement momentarily and cupped his chin, rhythmically tapping on it with his thumb digit. Had anything on this planet actually qualified as that? Sure, there were things that were INTERESTING, but could they really be considered worthy enough to be put in his personal space? Somewhere he would be recharging? Would any of those things be worth waking up to see each cycle?
Well, there were SOME things, but they'd probably be frowned on. Didn't hurt to try and ask, though?
"I suppose brand-new off the line sports cars are out of the question, right?" Hot Rod offered a rather confident grin, a sign that- even though the statement should have been rather rhetorical- he would have jumped at the chance and made the attempt to steal a freshly assembled, super expensive car and carry it right into base if given the go-ahead.
Ratchet said nothing to the pin-up comment. Didn't bat an optic, nothing. Nada. His only comment was, "If you're going to try and sneak in to have a look, you're going to be very disappointed. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Remaining where he was, Ratchet waited as Hot Rod seemed to go through his memories, trying to sort something out, or thought things through. He waited, assuming the mech would admit he had a fondness for a particular thing or event. He arched an optic ridge when Hot Rod spoke.
"Out of the question, yes. I'm not sure just where you think you're going to come across one of those. They're not exactly lying around in the open. You can, however, find images of the ones you like from the internet and put those up. Calendars are popular, and there are a lot of vehicle enthusiasts on the internet as well. Have a look around. If you find one you particularly like, you may be able to get an enlarged image of one. Beyond that..."
He shrugged.
"You're still newish here, Hot Rod. Give it time. You may discover you like more than you think."
Hot Rod scoffed and looked almost insulted by the mere suggestion of having to have a PICTURE of a sports car would suffice. He crossed his arms over his chest and pouted while staring at the other mech, a look a child would give to a parent for denying them candy from the story.
Alright, he wasn't ALMOST insulted- he definitely was.
"And why can't I? Clearly you don't get out much if you don't see all the vehicles out there that practically ARE laying around just waiting to be snatched up! Humans collect model cars to display around their room. I wanna do the same! I just want to be able to look at them and enjoy them for how they look. Can't do that to a small scale model that sits on a table somewhere."
Another scoff as he continued.
"I'm also not a sparkling, Ratchet. Pictures aren't gonna do it. I gotta have something that I can feel. Pictures are really last decade. Gonna need you to get into the present time and see that pictures aren't any sort of comparison to the real thing." He nodded at that and seemed almost defiant in his point of view on this..
Hot Rod was definitely going to be the asshole who would end up with Fowler all over their cases cause he was stealing cars and bringing them back to base to decorate his room with. Not just junks, either- multi million dollar pieces of craftmanship that he wanted to hang from his ceiling like an ornament.
Ratchet crossed his arms, looking sternly at Hot Rod for a few moments, before unfolding his arms, and speaking. As he spoke, he ticked off his points on his fingers.
“Yes. Humans collect them. As in they pay for them. As in they own them. As in that would be considered theft! As in something I am sure you are perfectly aware is illegal regardless where you live or have been living for the past century!
And before you say anything else, no, both Fowler and Optimus are not going to be happy if you’re seen molesting human’s vehicles. If you really need to, you are more than welcome to visit car shows and, using a holoform, go and look at them. But no, you won’t be “feeling” the cars, nor will you be bringing any back to base.
Jack might be interested in visiting the car shows with you, and possibly Miko.
And trust me, anything the humans here can hardly be called “present times”. I’ll wait until they can at least master working holograms, thank you very much.”
Recrossing his arms, Ratchet continued to watch Hot Rod, trying to see if any of his warnings were actually sinking in. It was clear he was starting to get very near his limit of patience.
Uh oh. Ratchet was acting like a grumpy grandpa, especially with the way he was indicating a new rule with a tap of his digit. That... was something.
Hot Rod hyper-focused on that, everything else seeming to fade off around him. He stood there, transfixed, pulled away from the current as if being pulled into a hypnotic state.
He'd seen his action before, but it had been a LONG time- back when he had first come online, in fact- before he knew the extent of the war he had been thrown into. There he was, in a position much like he was in now, trying to poke around and have a little fun and instead being reprimanded for his stupidity. Called out for acting like a child, being reminded of why he had been created, told that this was no time to be a sparkling and that he needed to be focused enough to make adult decisions. Decisions that would eventually kill everyone he knew.
Hot Rod's shoulders folded down slightly as he stood and he seemed to tuck into himself, as if he were about to transform into his alt mode right in the middle of Ratchet's talk, but he didn't. He just stood there, still more focused on the actions he'd seen rather than what had been toldt o him. He associated. He'd acted on or said something stupid again, and now he was in trouble. His optics trailed down and locked on the floor at his pedes and his face took on a new expression.
Emptiness. Loss. Like he was there but... not really. Physically he was, but his mind had wandered somewhere else. A ten-mile stare.
".... I understand. It won't happen again," he said once Ratchet was done. He hadn't heard what had been said, but that was the instinctual thing to say.
Ratchet had been about to say something else, pretty sure he knew what Hot Rod was going to say next. Another smart-aft reply. Something about how he was old, and not with the times, didn’t understand the world, that he was no fun.
As if this was all about fun, and not war. Not survival.
Ratchet had an idea of what Hot Rod had gone through before....there had been enough hints and tips that he had his theories about that....and knew that it was very likely the youth’s “I’m so cool” attitude was a shield. A way to keep people at arm’s length, to keep from being hurt. Primus knew he had tried it himself for a while. Well...not being “cool”, but keeping people away.
Instead, though, Hot Rod seemed to narrow his gaze down on his hands, and started to draw in on himself. When he dropped his hands and crossed his arms, the vividly colored mech before him remained drawn in, as if trying to be smaller than he was. Not like he expected a beating, but was just....withdrawing.
Ratched frowned, inwardly alarmed. He had seen things like that before in his medibay after a particularily harrowing and violent battle. Disassociation. Withdrawl. Mental Trauma. It was hard to tell if that was, in fact, what was happening here before him or not, but Ratchet mentally took a step back.
Hot Rod was going to have to be handled with fine tools, as the saying went.
The old doctor was gruff, and sharp. He had an acidic tongue, was sarcastic, and not a people person at all. That being said, he became a doctor because he wanted to help people. And even though the years had hardened his exterior to stone, he still had a gentle heart.
Taking a deep invent and silently letting it out, Ratchet spoke again, modulating his voice to be lower, calmer, and even a little gentler. He remained where he was, not wanting to make Hot Rod uneasy by closing the gap between them.
“It’s ok, Hot Rod. You’re not in trouble, and I’m not angry at you. Everything’s different here, and it’s new to you, and that makes it weird and ... even a little scary. There’s nothing wrong with that. Just don’t push people away who want to befriend you. Give them a chance. Will you do that? Will you give people here, and the base, a chance, at least?”
The words spoken to him, though they didn't seem to get through. Hot Rod was lost in himself, his own shadows His optics lost a particular innocent shimmer they had within them before, though there was certainly something there. They were dull, aged and worn though unfitting for a mech as young as Hot Rod.
Distance. Emptiness.
Delirium.
"... Why would you make me a killer?" There was a flash of fear in those optics- fear and anger like a cornered animal ready to lash out. Though Ratchet hadn't moved towards him, Hot Rod took several slow paces back as if he had. "Why does it have to be me? Why can't it be someone... else..." He faltered in his steps and dropped his servos to his sides. "You made me for this? Is this my intended purpose? I'm just a tool for you, aren't I? This stupid war has nothing to do with me but you're dragging me into it anyway, because that's why you CREATED me?"
There was silence as Hot Rod's shoulders buckled.
"I really gotta do this? My debt to my creators? I don't... understand. Why?" His voice was a stilled whisper as he stared at Ratchet with those hollowed optics. The heat around him began to slowly increase as it had before, though in much smaller intervals. A slight change, barely noticeable if one were not right in front of him.
Unfortunately for Ratchet, however...
He lurched forward then to grab for the edge of Ratchet's upper chassis at the cuff around his neck. He may have been going for his throat, though perhaps had stopped himself short on purpose, with the way his servos momentarily trembled. Once latched on, Hot Rod's frame hardened once again and he gripped tightly to the metal there, clenching his digits inward. The youth's helm was tilted down during this time, though when it finally raised so he could look the medic, the previous emptiness in his optics was replaced with a fuming hatred for the mech before him.
"WHY would you make me into this?! You turned me into a MONSTER!" Denta clenched and ground together as his frame shook with the anger raging within him, temperatures around them threatening to push the limit. Hot Rod had him in his sights.