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.
Nero had gone perfectly still when Coldwind crushed the terminal. But now he smiled.
"It's all right," he said lightly, to Javelin.
Slowly, carefully, he picked his way around the debris that now littered the floor, watching where he placed each step. The sparking terminal lit up the underside of his jaw as he came around to the business side of it and studied the wreckage. It was thoroughly crumpled, and something like triumph briefly flickered in his optics.
Nero raised his left hand and touched the inside of his wrist.
"In fact, I think you and I can consider this another unqualified success," he said. "I'll, ah – explain later. In the meantime-"
His red gaze raised to Coldwind's back. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I couldn't have done this without you. Off you trot, now."
Coldwind advanced towards the doorway with heavy footfalls. She seemed hesitant and stopped for a few moments. Her hands formed fists. A quick quiver ran down the appendages. Then she sighed and nothing more.
Wordlessly, the Vosnian left the room and plodded down the hallway. A safe distance from the Autobots, she halted again. There, without warning, she slammed her fist into the wall with sheer, untempered strength. It cracked and shattered into tiny pieces like a sheet of glass.
Coldwind turned towards the broken metal and saw her reflection in the glossy shards. The Seeker in the mirror was fractured, incomplete, broken—both literally and figuratively. It often did her unwell to think about it this way. And when she wasn't well, she was furious.
She had to leave. Now.
Last Edit: Dec 31, 2018 7:39:38 GMT -5 by Coldwind
Watching Coldwind leave, Javelin didn’t completely relax until she saw the large Decepticon leave the room entirely. Only then did her field lose some of its tension. She glanced back at Nero in silence for a minute, looking at him curiously, head slightly tilted to the side. He was different, that was for certain. Remaining that calm, one either was incredibly stupid, or they were completely comfortable in their ability to protect themselves. Mecha usually came in two types: overly arrogant and boastful, or quietly capable. The arrogant ones were often either not as comfortable in their ability as they wanted you to believe, or it was all they knew, and needed to be sure you knew they were valuable. The other form was quiet and still. They were more than aware of their abilities, and found no need to be boastful. To them it was no different than the color of their paint.
Much in the same way Javelin never bragged about her archery. She knew she was damned good, but it was just who she was, as much as the color of her optics. She wouldn’t brag about those, either.
Glancing back at the door through which Coldwind vanished, she spoke to Nero, “If you don’t mind me asking, what is it you’re looking for here? You’re not a doctor, from what I can see, or a nurse, yet you obviously felt comfortable enough attempting to use a monitor here.”
A faint smile, “If it’s none of my business, say so, and I’ll drop it.”
Another glance over her shoulder, “And do you think we should check on her? Make sure she’s not killing one of the Neutrals here?”
"Given your tolerance in the face of that Decepticon's hostility, and – admittedly – the goading I did to provoke it, I feel as if I owe you an explanation," he said. He raised his optics briefly and offered her a smile. "No need to drop anything. I appreciate your patience – and refusal to be intimidated."
He curled his fingers around a handful of crushed casing and tore. "I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you earlier. I do know a little about this neutral base – enough to know that the medic who presided over it is dead, leaving behind all of her files. Those files would include sensitive medical information on any Autobot that has passed through these doors since we first arrived on Earth."
When Nero straightened again he held a slender drive within his fist. "If those files exist, I cannot allow them to remain here, undefended, to be stolen by any passing Decepticon with half an ounce of cunning in his or her head. If the Lieutenant out there destroyed them along with this terminal, then I'll rest easy. But if they survived intact… well, the only one I feel comfortable holding such information would be Ratchet. Do you think he'd appreciate a gift?"
Down the hallway, she continued. And as she looked back at the whole situation, Coldwind couldn't help but feel embarrassed. This entire debacle did not help her, not in the slightest. Truth is, besides a few notes on the Autobots' personality, Coldwind was, by and large, emptyhanded.
Ah, this brought her back in time. It was so easy to get what you wanted on Cybertron. A simple, by-the-book interrogation revealed so much. Decepticons used to sit upon piles and piles of Autobot intelligence. But none of it was useful anymore. Cybertron was gone. The war had new rules.
New rules meant Coldwind had to adapt or else she risked losing all she had strived for her entire life. No. Not again. If the game changed, so will she. The Vosnian was tired of being left behind. She turned back.
With a newfound perspective, Coldwind slogged back towards the infirmary. It would appear that she got all of that rage and scorn out of her system—at least for now. She put on a stoic expression and straightened out her body language. Then she entered.
She passed Javelin and Nero respectively right as the latter was playing around with his drive. She did not inquire, and instead, plainly stated, "My apologies. I—I seem to have lost my temper. This planet is getting on my neurocircuits."
Coldwind placed her right hand against her forehead. Earth was incredibly tiresome. All this nonsense with the truce, it exhausted the Seeker to no end. It better be over soon. For now, the time was to play nice with her enemy.
"I can't believe I'm saying this. But can we start over?" She adopted a much more reasonable tone and dropped her hand back to the side of her body. Coldwind was a very mercurial character. One moment, she threatened with torture and death. The next, she apologized.
Javelin blinked at Nero, startled, as he waggled the drive at her. A smile appeared on her face.
“Why yes. Yes I think he would.”
The smile faded slightly, however, as she spoke again.
“I didn’t know that about the medic here. That’s sad. Do they know what happened?”
She was about to speak again, when a familiar voice interrupted her, and she paused.
Turning slowly, she saw Coldwind, standing back in the medibay, looking at them.
For a split second, Javelin was about to say no. Leave. You’re not wanted here, just go away. However, despite herself, Javelin found she had to be a little impressed that the large Decepticon actually came back and apologised.
Whether or not she meant it was another thing.
Javelin glanced to Nero before looking back to Coldwind.
"Well, it is the neutral base," he said, grandly solemn. "Intended from its conception to be a place where enemy forces might foster cordial relations beneath the strict aegis of an enforced demilitarized zone. With that in mind, in the spirit of the truce, I suppose we could overlook any previous transgressions and attempt to – get along"
He stepped back around the terminal and strode back towards join Javelin and Coldwind. By the time he joined them the drive had mysteriously vanished from his hand, as if by sleight of hand. Black magic!
Nero paused, deadpan. He steepled his fingers together with a glint in his optic. "I suggest with the assistance of a lot of energon. Did you know this base supposedly has a bar? I don't know about you ladies, but I find that very intriguing. It is my professional recommendation that we immediately seek it out. For the purpose of crucial OPSEC, of course."
Coldwind stopped right there and then. She couldn't do this, could she? Just hobnobbing with two Autobots in some bar. The mere idea of that was, quite frankly, disgusting. However, there was little else she could do at this point. If fraternizing with the enemy was a gateway towards information, Coldwind would have to swallow her pride. At least she was finally about to get some use out of this miserable planet.
"I find it astonishingly easy to say," she sighed in exhaustion, "But the terms. They are agreeable."
The Vosnian lived through a war spanning the cosmos and millennia without ever talking to an Autobot on an even level. On Earth, it took but a few planetary cycles. She blamed this planet for everything as of late. The moisture, the abhorrent organic wildlife, the commotion, the fact that she was about to "casually" chat with two enemies.
Javelin looked down into the box she carried, as if considering, servos lightly squeezing the box again. Inside, she was trying to make sense of her emotions. She shifted her weight from one ped to another, a slight shifting of her hips. The bright lights in the medibay made for strange shadows, pale and almost sickly, moving when she did.
Ok, it’s bad enough I have to entertain talking to her, acting all doo-de-doo and we’re getting along just fine and happy, then she threatens Nero and now I have to sit and drink with her!?
Javelin made a quiet vent. She didn’t really know her way around Haven, and would have to go looking for whoever was in charge of buying/selling/trading. Maybe a drink would help.
Glancing towards Nero, she nodded, “Yeah, ok. Sure. But only a drink or two, and then I’m gone. I need to see about bartering some of this - it is why I came.
Maybe you can help me find whoever is acting as merchant in this place after?”