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.
Rail continued to observe. Humans were still something of a mystery and for Rail, harder for him to understand. The pair of Cybertronians were easier to read, but Rail hardly counted himself as proficient in body language. Being on the edge of audio range didn’t help. The snatches of misheard words only muddied things up. Rail did get the impression that they were not organized, that actually made him feel a touch less nervous. On the chance they weren’t friendly, chaos and confusion would serve him better.
Of course circumstance liked to crank up the pandemonium one more gear with yet another portal. This new one ejecting a wild riding six wheel offroader, with a rear mounted canon that Rail too particular notice of not pointing at anyone just yet. Human or Cybertronian he wondered. The way everyone reacted was also definitely noted. In particular the flier drawing their swords reflexively, sheathing them away, but still posturing. He had already decided that if everything went gear shaped, the flier would be the greater threat, their apparent melee capability just added to that calculation.
Post by Bluestreak on Nov 22, 2018 15:33:58 GMT -5
In response to Odessa, Bluestreak admitted he was - well, totally not sure what he was. His mouth opened, then closed like a stunned goldfish as he took in all the words. His doors splayed out to the sides as he quickly stared down at the sand beneath his feet. Oh, look, a bush, a rock, another rock, that's a rock that sort of looks like the first rock, yep.
He knew it was that joking military moment - fun and slightly crude to burn off a little of the tension, but erk, right in front of an Autobot they'd only met seconds ago, but hey- she seemed to be taking it in stride and turning it right back at Odi with equal humor.
"Yeah, good idea," he agreed, grateful that Skystone felt like an easy-going sort so far. Lifting his downcast gaze back up, he nodded at the tall flier. "That works for me, great idea, that makes sense and we can grid more ground and get this done fast. Since Odessa is up there already how about Raf and I take the left side here, it's a little tighter with those rocks, and we can slip through pretty easy, right, Raf? Smart though, we'll stay close enough to he-"
The green light of another bridge snapped into view. For one second Bluestreak thought that maybe Arcee had sent someone else along to help. Instead of stopping though, the situation in front of them turned into a flurry of motion; Odessa's vehicle sliding one way as a white blur roared out of the portal and fishtailed on the sand. The other vehicle registered; white, six tires-
Six tires!
A memory smashed forward into Bluestreak's brain; his mind reeled with the vicious uppercut.
The smell of salt air. On the horizon, the red sun setting over the long section of beach. Music swirling out of the door; the high-pitched beat and slide of electronic notes accompanied by flashes of neon blue and pink. A signal that had led him into the building and seeing that Decepticon. Wearing an avatar as she went slumming among the humans, and that was the politest term he could come up with.
Her shirt displaying that cold purple sigil, all sharp lines and jagged angles.
All reaction more than any specific thought, Bluestreak's rifle seemed to leap up and tuck itself smoothly into his shoulder, even as he instinctively took a step forward to put himself between Raf and the vehicle that had burst on the scene.
Truce, truce!
Her shout across the landscape. Even with that one word, her voice screeched out exactly as he remembered. It crawled up his relays as if it were jagged glass.
This is not happening, this is not happening, of all the Decepticons to decide that today was the day to check out a signal, it had to be her. Dislike and distrust snarled back from where he'd tucked it away after their encounter. She'd been a self-centered, nasty bit of work, and the clearest point that had remained in his head after everything was her whining about cleaning her storeroom as a reason she didn't want to go back to the Decepticons. Cleaning a storeroom. Go figure.
A deep grinding sound echoed softly from his jaw as he held himself utterly still. The barrel of his gun did not waver from where it had cross-haired the other vehicle on the sand. Bluestreak's hand and shoulder and arm appeared to be absolutely steady; but there was a soft hum from his systems that sounded as if it was a high tension cable under massive strain.
In his head, the echo of his own swishing main pump was loud as thunder, one solid beat at a time. Reflected in the glass behind his left optic, the cross-hairs shimmered crimson; locked on with a projectile round chambered and ready in case she veered toward Odessa's wobbling buggy.
It was Raf's soft question that dragged him back from that place where he teetered.
"Right. Truce," the silver mech mumbled loud enough for both Raf and Skystone to hear him. The linked targeting scope went dark in his head as he lowered the rifle ever so slightly. "She's right, truce."
He looked down at Raf. "I think we better go find this Autobot fast," he said, his voice clipped and short. "Once she answers Skystone as to what she's doing here."
Last Edit: Nov 22, 2018 15:48:21 GMT -5 by Bluestreak
Sparkplug hadn't been expecting to emerge from the bridge right on top of another mecha, and under the circumstances, it was just as well she'd skidded to a stop the instant her tyres had hit sand. It took her a second to realise that is wasn't another one of them - this was a human vehicle. Oh, and there was a very small human over there, too, with two Autobots that weren't even the slightest bit disguised.
Huh.
Her headlights flickered as she remarked, mostly to herself, "So we're not hiding from the local sapients today? O-kay, can do." Her voice was, to American ears at least, inflected with a southern drawl - one she'd picked up from radio broadcasts that her language construction programs had sampled.
With a certain lack of urgency, she initiated her transformation sequence. The rear of the off-roader split apart, pulling under her, as the upper half of the vehicle and cab spun around a hundred and eighty degrees, folding back. In a blur of reconfiguration, she stood up. She was a shade taller than Arcee, but more broadly built, her gleaming white chassis made up of flowing curves rather than the more customary sharp Decepticon panels. Her multiple sets of wheels were embedded in her legs and back, and her headlights ended up on the front of her shoulders, like guards. Her open, expressive faceplate expressed wry amusement, her bright green optics igniting as she straightened. Only her elongated left arm, plain silver, with two sets of elbows that gave it knee level reach, stood out as strange.
Nodding down at Odessa's buggy, she said mildly, "You okay there, sap? That was some lousy luck. Still, no harm done, right?"
Glancing over at Skystone, Sparkplug looked the big flier up and down. The flash of blades had come and gone while she was still busy avoiding Odessa's buggy, but the wariness that Skystone was radiating wasn't exactly hard to pick up. All the same, the femme was impressive, and a flicker of appreciation touched Sparkplug's field before she opened her mouth to reply to the question.
And then, she recognised Bluestreak. Not from the chassis; she'd never seen him in that mode. But the voice was familiar. The wildly over-the-top hostility he was signalling like a beacon felt like an overreaction.
Twisting, she greeted him, "Oh hey, Mister Friendly is here! Been to any good bars lately?" Over her shoulder, she added to Skystone, "He knows who I am. Designation and everything. We met when I was dancing in a bar in... what was it now? Rehoboboth? Something like that, anyway. Someplace with a nice long beach and lots of cruising roads. Didn't tell me his designation though, which I call plain rude."
Considering how over-protective he was of the humans in the bar, a perverse impulse drove her to add directly to the small one next to him in a friendly, conversational manner, "Hi, little sap. Sorry, are you immature, or just short? I can't really tell with your species yet."
Straightening up again, she looked from one Cybertronian to the other reproachfully. "You know we're not at war, right? Peacefully co-existing, learning to work together, one big happy team, reminding each other that we're all Cybertronians under the sigil? There's such a thing as being polite, rather'n barking demands." With a particular glance at Bluestreak's rifle, she added, "Unicron's moon-crushing ball bearings, Mister Friendly, point that thing somewhere else, you'll have someone's optic out. Let's try this again, yes? From the top?"
Planting her right hand on her curved chestplate, she bowed her helm slightly. "It's nice to meet you, mixed sapients. My name's Sparkplug, and I'm here for two reasons." Raising two fingers, palm outwards, she ticked them off as she spoke. "One, I picked up an encrypted transmission on an emergency wavelength, and came over to check it out. Could be anything. I'm certainly not the only one to fall out of the sky lately. Two. I was real bored, and it's nice to have an excuse to get out and exercise the wheels."
She grinned. "So who are you lot, anyway?" Cocking her helm, she took in the smouldering wreckage beyond the knot of mecha and local organics, and she whistled. "Scrap my aft, that's a mess. Should take a look, but that doesn't look promising."
Odessa stayed still in his buggy. Completely caught off guard by the sheer fact of casual approach by the Con after being run over. Oh yes! I almost ran you over! We cool fam?
YES WHY YES WE ARE. AND AFTER MAIMING ME, LETS GO GET A COFFEE. TALK ABOUT OUR FEELINGS. WE CAN GET SOME COOKIES AND A TUB OF ICE CREAM!
He had half a mind to hop out of of this buggy and slap this Con’s shit. Break the truce immediately. Show this Con some Human hospitality… at the end of his newest invention. Then the other half of his mind step in to remind him that he was completely unarmed and in an absolutely vulnerable state. Even if he was armed, it wasn’t as if he could drive and shoot some high powered techno-gun as is. This shit will have to be slapped another time and preferably when certain inventions were complete. He made a mental note to work even harder. It was one thing to say danger was always on the horizon and they must be prepared, but meeting it face to face brought the danger closer to home.
Sap.
It’d been a long time since he was called Sapper.
“Yeah… all good, and after this we can go get some coffee a tub of ice cream and discuss the latest episode of Sex and the City.” Odessa hopped up on the frame similarly to how he had with Skystone, one hand on the frame, foot propped up in the door. Giving sight to the new…...Ooooooh~ Helloooooo Nurse This day just kept getting better and better. She was a spry thing. Much the opposite of Skystone. Connie has a scheme much different than other Cons… the few he had seen of course, no evil dominated choices. Your purples, dark blues, bolacks, red. She was softer in appearance, sleeker than Sky, but that aint no slight against Sky, Just a different side of the spectrum. Large “Muscle” design, slim curves, it's all good baby. Still, what he looked upon was TEEEEEEEEEEECHINALLY the enemy. Using the word enemy, lightly, the title still remained. She sure was something to look at, maybe he was a mechaphile, maybe it was his engineering background, maybe it was maybelline.
Odessa remained quiet as Connie’ started banter Blue and Sky and a well established acquaintance it seemed. They’re more human than he thought, or he was more cybertronian than they were.
Dancing in a bar? Cybertronians had Strip clubs too? Wait, then what did Robots find as lewd? Did they have bodies under those plates? Did Javelin just not tell him how they reproduce? He was thinking bad thoughts. He had to know more. A shit eating grin curled across his face at the thought of what they had underneath. Cheeks only slightly aflush. Oh so shes just calling everyone Sap.
So much about this truce, truce this, truce that, it's more important than survival for them.
Odessa stayed meager in the conversation. Off to the side, out of sight out of mind. Optimus wouldn't be happy with Humans being alongside a Con, as obvious as vocal as he was about it, but something gave him a sneaking suspicion that this won't the first time, nor going to be the last. Optimus tries his little heart out. Bless ‘is ‘hert.
Sparkplug, interesting. Why do all their names have to do something with human concepts. Ratchet, Bumblebee, Hot Rod… it's like they were named by other people or something.
The “enemy” they faced were just as their own. Something actually foreign to Odi. Being in the military, U.S. Military at that, gave a somewhat sense of authority. Not in the kind of being better than another, but that not many countries could rival its force or technology. It was always a situation of being the big bois on the block, and now the fields were even.
Odessa would take the distraction Sparky had with his two compatriotes to slink back into his seat and give a slight idle forward away from the femme. He’d continue on further until a greater distance was gained from Sparky before giving a lil more gas. While definitely not out of earshot, he was a socially acceptable distance away to start moving towards the wreckage.
He came up to the pod a hot minute later. Taking in the destruction of the pod. As advanced as they were, it didn't seem they were capable of resisting reentry force all too well.
“Ayo! Anyone here?” He called out. “This is Lieutenant Odessa with Unit: E. We’re with the Autobots!”
Post by Raf Esquivel on Nov 30, 2018 19:21:21 GMT -5
Bluestreak’s answer seemed to settle Raf, and he nodded. He hadn’t missed Blue snapping his rifle up so quickly, and it had almost shocked him. Blue was always so happy and easy going. He had never seen Super Serious Bluestreak and it seemed almost....wrong somehow.
Raf knew Bluestreak was considered amazingly good with his rifle, knew that he was a sniper, which meant he could shoot people from really far away. But even knowing Blue was a sniper hadn’t really prepared Raf for seeing such a quick and sudden reversal of his friend’s usual manner.
If Blue was taking things so serious, it was serious.
When the Decepticon spoke to him, Raf felt himself tense slightly. Unlike Miko, who would be more than willing to grab a baseball bat and go lunging at the giant alien robots, Raf was a little more content with not being a source of their interest. But when she made a comment about his height, he felt an inexplicable urge to say something back. He had almost opened his mouth to say that at least he didn’t have an ugly oversized arm...but stopped. Maybe it wasn’t her fault she had that arm. Maybe she had lost her real arm somehow and that was all she could find.
Ugh, stop worrying about Decepticons! he griped at himself.
Though it was hard to just hate someone who hadn’t actually done anything bad to you or your friends..yet.
Ignoring his softer nature, he looked back up at Bluestreak, and nodded, “Yeah, let’s go. Um....would it be ok if I rode on your shoulder? You guys walk a lot faster than I do.”
Code just makes more SENSE than people. Either it works, or it doesn't.
Skystone tended to think she was someone who could take nearly anything in stride. She'd even go so far as to call it a defining character trait. It was a necessity, really.
But this Sparkplug character was really pushing that for her. Skystone couldn't define her voice as anything else other than grating, and maybe it wouldn't be so bad, except she wouldn't shut up. Skystone shook her wings out slightly and stepped back, signaling that she wasn't hostile anymore.
It was a slight relief that her and Bluestreak knew one another. At least she wasn't a completey unknown factor. He knows her, but he doesn't seem to really like her. Then again, it wasn't like Bluestreak was the type to be overly sympathetic to the Decepticon cause, at least from what she'd observed of him.
The fact that Sparkplug then felt the need to censure her and Bluestreak made something in her spark feel venomous, but she kept her field carefully controlled, along with her expression. She had a job to do, and this situation was taking away from that. However, here she did respond. "You know what this looks like. You come upon a rescue mission, where there's been an obvious crash. Truce or not, we have a right to be suspicious." She still wasn't overly friendly with Sparkplug, but she kept her voice deceptively mild. Surely Sparkplug could understand their wariness. If not, then it wasn't really of any consequence- she had no reason to loose rest over the opinion of some random Decepticon.
She couldn't help but also notice Odessa running off somewhere, and she kept one optic on him critically, unsure of how safe he was in the presence of Sparkplug.
Whoa! The silver mech was fast with that rifle. Scary fast really. It appeared to Rail that both mech and femme were hardened soldiers, or at least very battle ready. This seemed to be in contrast to the white six-wheeler. Rail reasoned that they were enemies but still couldn’t pick ‘bot from ‘con. He could entertain several scenarios describing the relationship of these three other bots, but such mental exercise was ultimately futile. Insufficient data for meaningful answer.
As for the two humans, he had very little clue. Rail simply lacked enough knowledge on the native bipeds to make any accurate guesses towards understanding their current behaviour. While contemplating his own future actions, he simply left the humans out of his calculations for now.
On the off chance everyone went hostile, he’d try to shoot both Red and Silver enough to disable, he’d charge in and gun down Six, and then finish things off in melee. Said plan did depend on ridiculous amounts of luck. Also such pre-emptive self-defence required more aggression than Rail could ordinarily muster. He’s could straight up stand up and surrender, but giving in so easily like that went against his nature, even taking into account his timidity. Surrender was failure, and Rail was scared of failure. He could continue to observe but he was running out of time there before discovery. He’d much prefer his own terms on that point.
A slight shift of the wind carried the scents of the welcome squad to Rail. He could finally smell them, certainly much better than he could hear them. All three Cybertronians had quite distinct signatures relative to each other, not surprising to Rail. The same change of wind also brought to voice of the larger human just into range of Rail’s hearing. At first he couldn’t understand anything before he clicked onto the fact the human was speaking English, the dominant language of the locale. All this time Rail had been straining to hear his own native language. He missed what the human said. Rail didn’t fully understand English yet, there were still holes in his vocabulary – like what word the humans might use to describe his species of bi-morphic metallic lifeforms.
Maybe now was as good time as any to be decisive. Rail chose to speak over radio comms, rather than stand up, maintain his cover a little bit longer. He chose to transmit at low power short range, about one mile reception range for most cybertronians. Full spectrum and unencrypted too to maximise chances that he would be heard.
::Please identify::
Rail’s comm voice was identical to his real voice, a vague metal on metal scrape, slightly high pitched – a metallic voice of one who simply does not speak enough to keep their vocal synthesizer in good working order. He tried to keep it to the point and give nothing away about himself, though his voice still carried emotional undertones – mostly anxiety with shades of resolve.
There was absolute silence from Bluestreak as Sparkplug turned and spoke. The mech stood quietly, his rifle staying exactly where it was now not because he couldn't snap it into place but because it was her telling him what to do with no please involved. Instead, she immediately rounded on him, made mention of their last meeting,
Well, not giving her his name had been obviously a sore spot, and that was just fine with him, because...
This was sure the femme he remembered.
Not once in all of her words was even a fleeting apology. No quick sorry about that, didn't mean to startle you - or a swift show of empty hands to offer up her intent. Nothing of the sort, just a offhanded remark to Odessa and then immediately tossing a verbal poke at him. Well, so be it.
However, as the Decepticon's attention slid fully onto Raf, Bluestreak took one firm step forward again to make sure he'd settled his frame between the young man and the Decepticon.
Inside though, his internals felt as if they were doing an impression of a percolating coffee pot. Distance. He wanted distance, between her, between him, between Raf. The idea that she just popped out of a bridge, right here, right now and was acting like they were rude for being wary had thrown him. In his dealings with Decepticons, where there was one there was more, and they wouldn't hesitate to kill you.
At her reproachful look and her almost-condescending lecture about not being at war, the mech blinked. His mouth opened to blurt out that it was a cease-fire, and that was a whole lot different than an actual end to the war, and-
However, at Raf's question he immediately looked down to give the young man his full attention.
"Absolutely," he replied. His rifle immediately lowered as he carefully knelt down on one knee. The silver mech flattened the back of his dark hand to the sandy soil, palm up. Raf would be able to clamber onto his hand, and only after the young man had situated himself safely on his shoulder would Bluestreak straighten back to his full height.
During this time though, Skystone had replied. He was incredibly grateful for that. The flier seemed to be a calm, no-nonsense sort, and she was straight to the point with the Decepticon.
When a strange voice abruptly touched the airwaves, for a second he couldn't believe it. He cocked his head slightly and stared out at the crash site. Nothing moved, nothing stirred; the only thing that wavered was the heat still rising off the stones and the rocks and the eddying wisps of smoke.
Oh whoa, they're alive.
It was a good moment, and he looked over at Raf and Skystone.
"They're alive," he repeated, and there was honest relief in his voice.
Bluestreak's rifle lowered again, barrel towards the ground, even as he returned that elusive, slightly high pitched response.
::Autobots!:: he answered over that link instantly, his tone concerned and friendly even as he looked around the desert. The rocks and dips made his scanners struggle and bounce erratically- really, he tended to use his eyesight and scope, and right now sure wasn't the time to bring his rifle up again and sight down it.
::With human allies. We received your distress call and came to help as quick as we could. How badly are you injured? Er, where are you? Can you wave at all? Having a tough time pinpointing your location.::
Last Edit: Dec 5, 2018 3:50:29 GMT -5 by Bluestreak
Sex and the City? Was the human inviting her to some kind of mating show? Weird, but at least it seemed friendly. Unlike the rest of the reactions. She'd not really expected anything better from the silver mech, but she still vented a sigh as only the human gave a designation, and that only in passing as he yelled at the wreckage. While she couldn't know how her sincere greeting and friendly words were being twisted cartoonishly into insults and taunts in their audials, the overall effect wasn't hard to pick up.
"Something starts yelling for help in long-range Cybertronian frequencies, it'd be suspicious if someone didn't turn up to check it out," Sparkplug retorted with a hint of exasperation.
Oh, well. At least whoever or whatever had been in the wreck was alive enough to talk about it. Her green optics flicked this way and that, searching for the source of the signal, as she switched to radio.
::Well done on surviving that mess. I'm Sparkplug, Decepticon. There's a truce on, which is why no one's shooting at anyone else, so please don't start. There's a neutral base on this world too, that I can offer safe passage to. Give your alignment, and whoever you're here for will take you home::
There was still a percentage chance that it was a Decepticon, or an unaligned. Dropping fast, though, and presumably they were about to put an end to that ambiguity. Probably just as well. The upbeat mood that had carried her out into the sunlight had soured, although - she was willing to admit - her hope that at least some mecha would be willing to speak to her like a civil being might have been over-ambitious.
The silver mech was probably refusing to signal this new arrival his designation just because she was in hearing range, too. Now that was petty. Whatever happened to the old, 'Ho, I am Ironshaft, and I shall destroy you and all your kind'? Even when they were trying to kill each other, they'd at least have the decency to signal who they were.
Tiredness leaked into her field, and she shook her helm dolefully. "Yes, you have the right to be suspicious," she addressed to Skystone. "I'm not your enemy right now, but habits are hard to break. Just hoped we could talk like civil strangers, at least. Not like we have a cease-fire every planetary cycle, and the chance doesn't come around often."
Post by Raf Esquivel on Dec 5, 2018 18:29:58 GMT -5
Raf contentedly clambered onto Blue’s shoulder. He never really knew how some Autobots would feel about being sat on – not that he was heavy in any way possible. Still...you were sitting on someone. He knew Bee didn’t mind at all, and Ratchet seemed ok with – as long as he put you up there. And it was mostly just to make it easier when he was helping him with something.
Raf knew Blue was different, though. Raf liked Blue – liked listening to him talk. Even though sometimes he talked about things that...well...weren’t overly interesting to Raf personally, like building porches or trellises, he always seemed so happy to see Raf or the other humans you just liked listening to him.
Sitting down – it was safer that way – he could brace his feet as Blue moved and didn’t have to worry about falling off – Raf rested a small hand on the side of Blue’s neck just as an additional steadying method.
He listened to Skystone answer the Decepticon, and was about to speak when he noticed some of the Cybertronians all sort of...froze for a second.
It wasn’t like freezing, not really. It was so brief he thought no one else would even have noticed it. Another human, that was. But Raf had seen it before, and it was usually a way to tell that the Autobots were talking to each other through their internal comms.
It must be so convenient, he thought.
Blue spoke aloud, announcing the newcomer was alive, and Raf smiled. That was great! Noticing Bluestreak then seemed to start looking around, Raf guessed the occupant must not be in the crashed ship. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, Raf started scanning the area too, “Aren’t they in the ship? That must be good, right? It means they can move around, and must not be too hurt.”
Code just makes more SENSE than people. Either it works, or it doesn't.
There were moments in life when you had to suck it up and play nice, even when you don't want to. Skystone was well aware of this. But damn, was it hard to play nice with a Decepticon.
She had the feeling she was older than the other femme. Maybe that was why she had a harder time adjusting, her longer sense of history. Then again, Cybertronians had such long lifespans, it should all be relative anyways. So perhaps it was her personality. Regardless, Sparkplug didn't seem to harbor the same suspicions about the Autobots that her and Bluestreak held about her. Was the truce really that powerful?
Regardless, she needed to pull it together. "It's true- we don't have a cease fire every cycle. In fact, I've never been in one so...recognized until now." Randomly scrapped together "cease fires" happened from time to time. But this...truce? Skystone had honestly not experienced -or expected- this. She gave Sparkplug an appraising look, wondering how she was going to fit into this new equation, where she would work best. Before she could reply again, she heard the newcomer over the comms. She replied as quixkyl as she could.
::Skystone. Autobot. We're here to help you out, regardless of faction.:: She figured that much at least was true. Because of this truce, Skystone's obligation lie no matter where the other Cybertronians affiliation did. There was no need to ask more, as Bluestreak already had. She kept her optics on Sparkplug, hoping that one message said all she needed to. I'm on board, and ready to work. Let's do this.
“Having a tough time pinpointing your location” indeed. With the sole exception of the human with the buggy, everyone else seemed to be mulling around in Rail’s expert opinion. They’d have a hard time finding their own skid plates with a diagnostic was the thought going through Rail’s mind. Of course there could be reasonable cause. Outwardly, it was two soldiers, one nosy ‘Con and a couple of locals, one presumably a child of the species. Rail himself was currently a scout by reason of survival. He was biased.
A truce now after all these eons seemed like an unachievable, unrealistic, wishful fantasy. He hoped but didn’t really believe. But could he trust anyone of them? A well prepared Decepticon could seem more trustworthy than an unprepared Autobot, it was right there in their faction name afterall.
He had no real choice. He couldn’t run from the flier, and he couldn’t hide forever. And he wouldn’t survive long on an alien world without being noticed by one of the 8 billion sentient locals. He knew he was essentialy trapped, even without any walls or bars in view but ones instead made of circumstance. But then being trapped never stopped him before, and being scared brought him focus and drive.
Rail stood up, not fully but his arms, shoulders and head were now visible behind the boulder. His blasters were pointed at the group but at no particular target, though he was mentally targeting the two grounders. He stuck with radio for now, choosing not to shout over the distance.
::Look east. Designation Rail, Autobot. Can anyone..::
He trailed off as he finally noticed another noise over the radio background. It wasn’t anything he could recognise yet, too weak, but just there on the edge of his reception, reception better than most. Some sort of high pitched electrical hum. It was so faint he just knew no one else would be aware of it, or be aware that he was aware.
It’s a trap! was at the forefront of his processor. He took a step back and all eight of his toes dug into the dirt, finding purchase, getting ready to sprint.
Immediately, Bluestreak peered to the east. There among the rocks and scrub, there was a slight feather of motion - and now he could concentrate his sensor array on an an obvious area.
:See you and copy you, Rail: he replied quickly but wasn't sure why the mech had trailed off. Maybe he was having some issues with his comm. If he was it wasn't surprising. Bluestreak had picked up after an awful lot of crash landings, but this pod had hit hard and there were large, sharp rocks all over the the area.
At the pressure of Raf's hand, Bluestreak turned his head. The mech's bright blue optic cast back the view of the Nevada desert around them; the sleek, polished lens slightly distorted Raf's reflection. That low nervous, brittle energy that had seemed to surround was smoothing back; the doors behind his shoulders settled down a notch or two. His hand still held his rifle, but his fingers had settled slightly down on the stock.
"Yeah, that's good, great, I mean it's great, it's fantastic," he agreed with Raf and offered up his own smile even as he began to stride forward. His voice was smoothing out into more of his normal tone and flow; the nervous, brittle energy of earlier had drifted into more familiar places, his words beginning to tumble over each other in his delight at getting a response and seeing the mech standing upright and - well, finding out for a fact he was an Autobot, whew.
"Have be honest, the way that pod looks, I was hoping but kinda admit I wasn't expecting him to answer us... but yes, he's an Autobot and he's- well, he doesn't sound like he's critical, which is awesome, Ratchet's got so much going on lately- I mean, not that he would say anything, right, but you know what I mean-"
His words cut off as something abruptly slammed into him from behind.
Caught off balance, he staggered forward a step, the end of his rifle abruptly shoved into the dirt. His helm turned sharply to one side. Perched where he was, Raf would see the silver mech's optics widen with surprise even as the air between them became thick and heavy with a low, electrical hum.
It snarled into a harsh, rasping buzz, the sound rising so quickly it would feel like it was echoing in Raf's bones, flicking along every nerve ending. It attempted to dig in, bouncing along the inside of the boy's skull as if it was becoming as sharp as ice-cream headache, the kind where even your teeth began to hurt.
Beneath Raf's perch on his shoulder, the mech's body trembled.
Within the Autobot's optics, the adjusting lense-rings spun frantically and erratically, right before Bluestreak's left eye abruptly brightened. The color turned from sky- blue into into a pale, washed out white. A red flash revealed a grid flaring the depths; targeting coordinates and Cybertronian glyphs rolling and strafing across the lens-
They abruptly vanished and were replaced immediately by sharp blue tendrils of electricity arcing within the depths of Bluestreak's optics. Writhing and twisting, they flung themselves outwards; flaring like the glowing pink spatters within the curve of plasma globe when they encountered the clear barrier.
Raf would be able to feel the mech stiffen. Every cable and relay in the sharpshooter's body went taunt.
Without a single word, Bluestreak staggered a step and then went to his knees. There would be a few brief seconds where his hands scrabbled for purchase on his weapon and his arm angled towards the ground, his dark fingers clutching the stock as if were his lifeline...
A few seconds later, he crashed face down into the dirt and went utterly still.
A wicked-looking, sleek metal cylinder was speared into his lower back.
Last Edit: Dec 9, 2018 14:09:59 GMT -5 by Feldspar
Skystone, Sparkplug, and Odessa would be first to hear the noise of car engines, and also to realize it was coming from behind them.
It was the throaty rattle of at least six off-road vehicles tearing across the desert floor. Dust spun up behind them as they rushed across the desert floor. In the open top ones, several figures hoisted up what appeared to be personal portable launchers; not huge, bulky things but slim, sleek arrays that balanced easily on their gyroscopic mechanisms.
Over them, several tiny drones hovered and swooped; the pale blue-grey of their metal nearly invisible against the late afternoon sky. As one, they flung themselves forward towards the tall, mechanical forms that were bold and obvious against the flat desert and pale blue sky.
"Got one, one's down!" a young man in tan fatigues yelled to the driver in front of him in the open-top Jeep. His sandy hair ruffled in the hot breeze; a pair of field binoculars bounced against his chest.
"The big one?" the driver called back, even as the Jeep tore a shrub out of the ground and threw it back behind them with casual, vehicular disdain.
"Not yet, but that's next," the young man replied crisply as he swiftly worked on reloading his weapon. "Odile was right, this crash site was going to draw them in just like a goddamn duck call. I've got four pingbacks- that fourth one just popped up out of nowhere. That's nuts. They warned us though, tough to find these bastards alone lately. When's backup gonna be here?"
"Five minutes, tops," the driver replied and then turned back to focus on the landscape in front of him. The sleek silver pushbar on the front of the reinforced Jeep was oddly steady as the vehicle bounced up and over a jagged rock and straightened itself in an instant.
"Right," the man replied, and then lifted his hand.
A crackle in his earbud made him pause.
"Sir, we've got - not getting a reading off that buggy, looks like it's civilian?"
"With these things? Good guess it's no civilian."
With that, he lowered his arm with a swift chop of motion.
Immediately, two of the other off road vehicles peeled off to the right.
"Steady now! Targeting systems scanning for the weak points!"
"Take the shots, take em' down!"
There was no puff of smoke, no flare of light from the shoulder mounted weapons. The projectiles silently and speedily flashed across the distance. They were slim and slender; tapering to a hard, sharp point. In the air the drones darted like fireflies; swooping after them, tiny cameras focused on the frames of the mechs; relaying detail after specific detail on joints and section.
One of them curved slightly to lock onto on the tall form of Skystone...
The other veered towards the white shape of Sparkplug.
Last Edit: Dec 9, 2018 14:05:11 GMT -5 by Feldspar
Sparkplug's shoulders relaxed a little as the big flier replied in a more neutral tone, and she nodded her agreement. It was startlingly without precedent to have the heads of both factions actually agree to down weapons, at least for a while, and it stood head and shoulders above any other temporary battlefield ceasefire like a combiner over a minicon. It had its frustrating elements – the limit on weapons development was a particularly annoying one – but it had its perks, too.
It was natural for the other Cybertronian to wonder why, exactly, Sparkplug seemed so casual about talking to them. Faith in the truce, however, wasn't the key to it. It was rather simpler, and yet more profound than that. Way back, before the All-Spark was hurled into the void, she'd been deeply invested in the progress and outcome of the war. Her original chirpy personality had grown gloomy and humourless as she struggled, day by day, to believe in a positive outcome.
Then, after the All-Spark's loss, she'd been shown that those worries were a waste of time. The race was doomed anyway, so the outcome didn't really matter. Building new weapons was fun, and so was shooting them, so why not do so? Aside from Him, she didn't bear a grudge against any mecha anymore; it was easy to flip from shooting at them to chatting to them, and sometimes difficult for her to remember that others didn't tend to share her nihilistic convictions, nor her breezy lack of personal hatreds.
She cocked her helm as the transmission came in. Rail. Autobot. Oh well, that concluded this little excursion. She might as well call for a bridge out then and there. Still, she was mildly curious as to what he looked like. Oh, and the big flier was called Skystone. Nice to have a designation to put to her. Nice name, too.
It took a full second of staring for her to process the fact that the nameless silver mech had just been shot in the back. By humans. They were under attack? They were under attack!
Her transformation was instant, and instinctual. The large, rectangular headlights mounted on her shoulders flipped up and withdrew, baring the snub noses of eight micro-missiles each side, racked in two by four blocks. Curved plating irised open at her waist, and the multiple emitters of two gatling blasters slid out. Her left arm, however, underwent the most drastic change: snapping straight out, both elbows locking in line, a ripple of green light flared beneath the plating. Her hand folded away, and the end of her arm split, like a flower opening, into three broad pylons around a glowing central emitter. At the back of her shoulder, panelling opened around a smooth, conical nozzle. The diminutive femme was a walking weapons battery.
"Get down!" she yelled, her optics seeking out the hissing darts soaring through the sky towards Skystone and herself. Pin-point accuracy had never been her strong suit, but if there was one thing she was good at, it was making one hell of a mess.
Missiles clattered out of her shoulders, the twin gatling blasters spinning up and spitting a hail of purple bolts into the sky. Rippling fireball detonations filled the air as she threw the massed bulk of her light arms at the twin projectiles.
Last Edit: Dec 10, 2018 6:52:12 GMT -5 by Sparkplug