[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Day By Day [Finale]

[Deleted]

“Wasn’t it awkward, though, working on yourself? I can only assume working on your own frame would be somewhat difficult, as your view of yourself is so limited...”

Finale let her words trail off as he spoke again, talking now about what he had done previously.

Spark splitting.

She had heard of such things before. Just how much was accurate was impossible to say – she knew nothing about the delicate touch required to work with sparks, but it had always seemed to give her a faint sense of unease. Should a spark be cut into? Even to create new life? Finale wasn’t sure just how spiritual she was – she never really sat down and thought a lot about such things, despite meditating on fate often. But it always seemed to have a faint sense of....sacrilege about it.

Still...she could not deny the high degree of skill that would be needed to attempt such a thing.

Her gaze moved from his face down to where he moved closer to work on her stuck dagger. She shifted slightly, attempting to get more comfortable while not moving away from him to give him clear access.

Lightly pressing the two switches, the dagger seemed to lurch forward, perhaps finally able to complete it’s proper movement – only to come to a quivering halt less than half an inch. It seemed as if the internal spring mechanism was perhaps caught up on something, some small, unseen bit of debris or a component out of place. Now the blade no longer attempted to retract, just remained half activated, stuck good and proper.

A faint, rare smile formed on her face as she looked back to his face, and almost sheepish look, as if she were aware her malfunctioning weapon were becoming a pain in the aft. She attempted to bring him back to conversation.

“Installing upgrades. Before the war, you mean? I can remember a few places on Cybertron that did similar work. A number of them were cosmetic, elites attempting to gain a new look or ability that no one else had. Although a number of them were actually very useful. Speed boosts, strength, the like.

But splitting sparks....Primus, you didn’t chose something simple to get involved with, did you?”

She paused, as if hesitant, “Do you...mind if I ask you questions while you work? I promise if I ask anything personal, I fully expect you to tell me to mind my own business. I...just... find the thoughts of such work fascinating.”

[Flatline]

"Yes and no."

A sort of light shrug.

"They branch off of my upper arm's neural net. Careful removal of the under arm paneling, sliding loose wires free and splicing new ones in, then channeling through a clear pathway to chest with a pipe with tape on the end..."

There was more to it of course, the fear of disabling an arm entirely, the careful planning on where to run the wires so they did not get MUTILATED when he transformed... Then there was coding the splice joints to even have them recognized as new limbs and not have them move in tandem with his primary ones. While it was a huge ordeal and a half, plus more trouble than was potentially worth it, AND something he should have waited for appropriate help to do rather than have his ego surge up in determination, it was nice to pretend it was simpler. Nice to pretend he was simply THAT good and was able to do anything.

Try to look more valuable to others than he was.

Looking down at the blade as it unlocked but refused to move, Flatline's brow crooked again, half lidded eyes peering upon the weapon with care. It seemed he would need to get a tad more forceful with it. No longer the delicate touch, no longer able to rely on finesse and care. The weapon truly did seem lodged, to a point it now refused to even try to slide back and into place. With this in mind, Flatline pulled up his right hand, curling all fingers except pointer that he gingerly started to feel beneath the blade, the sharp talon's edge wedging a bit as he went.

"Feel free. I will ignore if I need to think."

Not meant to be rude even if it was, but simply being direct. If she was asking him things while he was focusing on her weapon assembly, chances are he would simply snub and block out what was being spoken about so he could not get distracted. The professionalism of his work would not be sullied by simple preventable negligence.

"Upgrades were here on the Nemesis. Vehicon work. Pre-War I constructed frames for the wealthy."

A click, a snag, Flatline's talon seemed to hit the spot he was looking for in his gradual slide of a claw beneath the blade. With this point found, he started to twist his finger, keeping it in a hooked shape. Given the talon was more oval in shape at a cross section, the twisting motion acted as a low-key crowbar, applying pressure underneath the weapon until it clipped away from its track and housing with a loud pop. With this, his hand pulled away, flicking down once since it wasn't exactly comfortable to do, shaking some soreness from the joint like he tweaked it a bit, before returning to task.

"Decepticon Military work is far more rewarding however. Serve a greater cause than serving the demented entitled."

A lie, a straight up Primus forsaken lie. Flatline LOVED his work as much as he hated it back in the day. The Towerlings were grotesque to work for. Fussy, uppity, wanting things that contradicted one another for the end goal. Nonsensical with their formless ideas such as 'Make it more glorious' which has absolutely no guiding elements to it given everyone's differing perspectives. But as much as he hated his clients, he did love the idea of creating something that would actually LIVE and FUNCTION. Creating life even if it was created as a status symbol boast of the wealthy. He knew by now the majority if not all of the frames he helped construct were deceased, his art purged off Cybertron and the galaxy given their finesse and fragility, but he still felt it had been rewarding.

Whatever the case, Flatline then pulled the blade forward to string it out from the wrist guard completely. He looked over it just to rule it out, peering at the underside that appeared clean and pristine. No big indents, no big smears of grit or goop. With this done, he would gingerly let go of her arm to grasp his cane, turning to walk over to a nearby work table so that he could place the weapon down.

"After I find the source, you may sharpen should you find necessary."

The weapon looked pristine, but there was no denying sharpening it when it was detached from the arm would be easier.

At this, Flatline would return with a limped stride and part drag of his limb, helm crooking to try to see what was below where the blade was.

[Deleted]

Canting her helm to the side, Finale listened as he spoke. She wasn’t normally the type to find interest in other’s work – her own kept her happily occupied. In truth, she found other work to be either too difficult for her to understand, as in the case of medicine, or too boring for her to bother with.

But Flatline....

He was starting to interest her.

At first glance he seemed weak. Something to pity. A frame many would consider unattractive, oddly shaped, resembling an Insecticon in some manners, if truth be told... one would assume such an individual would have the brains of one as well. Simple, basic and barbaric.

And yet...as he spoke, it was quite clear Flatline was educated. He spoke clearly and precisely, proper terminology and affectation. And now, considering what he was capable of doing...

Fascinating.

She listened as he spoke about how he had attached the smaller arms to his frame, brushing it away as if it were something anyone could do with a welder and tools.

“That’s very impressive.”

Finale watched as Flatline continued to work on the blade, listening as he continued to speak.

“Ahh. I think I may have seen some of your work. Some of the elite were very fond of frame alterations, going through several in a year. I can remember one femme I saw who had these strange....” she made vague motions with her free hand, motioning towards her back, “They were like spikes, really, only they lit up and sparkled when she laughed.” Finale shook her head, bemused, “They wanted the strangest things.”

Her attention was taken when the blade was finally removed, and she watched as he handled it with care.

“We are lucky to have you with us, then, Flatline. Your skills add much to the Decepticon cause.” She raised her optics to his face, “Perhaps it’s not as fun as working on frames, but at least it has some lasting meaning, other than some Towerling’s latest kink.”

She dipped her head in thanks when he mentioned she could sharpen the blade if she wanted, and watched him again as he started to search for the cause to the trouble.

Within the arm, Finale’s dagger was spring-loaded, with a fine trigger to release it into the palm of her hand. The spring would retract once the blade was removed, or if she needed to just pull the blade back in. The track of the dagger and spring was small and fine, and normally kept completely clean.

If he were to look hard enough, Flatline may be able to just make out a tiny piece of....something...way back where the spring was normally kept coiled. Small, dull, and grey. Closer examination, or if he were to start carefully feeling around in there, he would discover a small piece of rock, no larger than a human’s thumb. A small chip wedged into the back portion of the track, the longer edge jutting up into one coil of the spring, only allowing for a partial extension of spring and blade.

[Flatline]

"Oh I don’t know if you saw anything I did"

Modestly spoken, Flatline’s helm shook ever so slightly.

"I did not produce enough to have my work seen as prevalent, and the chances you saw one of mine is rare unless you happened to reside in the same city."

Or more, his work was primarily so FOCUSED on a subject only the highest of elites roamed, he doubted she would have ever been exposed to it. Or maybe she had? She had a sort of grace to her, spoke conversationally with more decorum than others, it would not have been too much of a shock to imagine she once basked in some higher ranks, but it was so uncommon for one of those types to adapt well to WAR.

Despite this, Flatline opted not to bring up the fact that it wasn't so much he built full frames, but more the fact he manufactured ‘Sparklings’ or whatever trendy term had been applied to it given different regions. They could be controversial to some, weird to others, and downright appalling to pretty much the rest. To create a frame and spark that had a sort of throttled processor so it could learn and adapt by surroundings gradually... Effectively living Cybertornian PETS that were sported to mimic the lifecycle of other alien lifeforms.

It was best not to venture to such topics when it was hardly relevant.

"That modification, while asinine, falls directly in line with what they thought was brilliant."

He let out a snort at this, continuing to task until she spoke praise during his return.

This was weird, this was unknown in his current place in life, and Flatline didn’t know what to make out of her words. Where they genuine? Or half baked nonsense meant to flatter and get on his good side? If he wasn’t so starved for any kind of positive interactions since the Nemesis’ fall, he would have probably called her out on her perceived bullshit, snarl that he didn't need smoke blown up his tailpipe and for her to hold the crap. Instead, he rolled with the punches, trying to eat it up even if it was all false.

"Thank you, I hope to continue my work."

Returning to task, Flatline rested his cane back upon his hip, and balanced himself once again mostly upon his good leg. There were faint noises, subtle churns of the gyroscopes in his torso stabilizing, before his primary hands draped forward to lift and maneuver her arm once again. It was significantly easier to work like this without any fear of being shanked through the face or throat. Because of this, he held her wrist up near his sunken cheek plating, the closest eye focusing down the track as straight as he could into the mechanics.

Adjustment of the lens plate, trying to focus and look for any flaws... Flatline let out a tsk before he would lower her forearm again, and move to grasp onto his cane once more.

"Looks like something may be down there. I will need a tool however."

As small as his secondaries were, the pointed claw wasn't quite THAT tiny.

[Deleted]

She nodded as he spoke. It was unlikely she had seen anything he had done....and yet it was possible. She did perform at some of the higher class galas and parties....but it would have been difficult to know for certain. At any rate, he almost seemed a little anxious speaking of it, and so she gracefully let it pass.

While he worked, she remained still, watching him as he continued to inspect her arm.


“I found it odd that some of the higher class individuals were so....bizarre. I wonder if it’s possible that their lives, their want for nothing, their having everything handed to them, didn’t....change them, somehow? Alter their thinking in some manner?”

She looked away for a moment, gazing at the nearest wall, optics slightly unfocused, as if she were looking into the past.

“As if just to find some sort of enjoyment, they had to find more and more outrageous ways of standing out, of....being different....and yet they were terrified of being seen as different.”

Her gaze moved back to him for a moment, and she looked almost bewildered, as if lost. A slight blink, bringing her back to herself, and gave a ghost of a smile, laughing at herself.

“Ah, well.”

She watched him work a little longer, nodding again when he expressed that he would need a tool.

Finale was quiet for a minute, and when she spoke, it almost seemed blurted, as if she weren’t sure she should even be asking or not.

“Did you....I mean, if you are allowed to say, and you do not have to say what was created...but did you ever create anything for a mech called Accolade? Did you meet him? You...probably don’t even remember him now, understandably, but I’m curious.”

She paused again, “Ah...is there anything I can do to help you?”

[Flatline]

Flatline listened to what Finale had to say, not noticing she was staring off into nothingness as her thoughts drifted. His focus was far more upon what he was doing, seeking out the appropriate tool from wherever Knock Out had hid them in this half slap dash excuse of a Medical Bay. He would open a drawer thinking it was where the hook was only to remember that was where HE would have put it and the red medic seemed to live by a different set of twisted laws.

"I believe everyone seeks something to work towards no matter how wealthy. To be goalless, creates instability and a lackluster existence. Their preening may have been means to fill this instinctual gap. Instead of seeking monetary wealth, a stable home, and fuel like we may have, they redirect to outpacing competition in other ways."

He swung closed a drawer a bit too hard with an annoyed snort, causing the contents to rattle slightly before he took a couple steps with his cane to check a different location.

"Someone must have started the trend of physical modifications being this newfound goal, for it spread like a plague to paint a specific aesthetic.

Ah... there it was.

Flatline fully pulled open the drawer when he realized it was the correct one, his secondary hands reaching forward to delicately pick up a sort of hook like hand tool. The shaft was hatched with lines to permit a grip even if it were covered in Energon or oil, while each end held a dangerously thin hook that twisted to a sharp point. It seemed more suited to scaling thin rust or grime out from thin seams in joints, but it would work well for this task as well. Keeping the tool his smaller hands, Flatline would start to walk over once more.

While the red and black medic was making his gradual way back to where Finale stood, he stopped as she asked him about a specific name. The blurted question seemed to slap him a bit with how random it almost appeared, though with a second look it did not particularly seem out of line given their particular subject matter. With care, he thought back upon his old clients, raking through his memory to days that were oh so very long ago. While Flatline thought, his pointer finger scratched idly upon his cane with a scrape.

"I crossed paths with so many even just looking for quotes..."

His upper lip pulled back some, trying to think.

"I don't believe I ever made anything for one called Accolade, but I also wouldn’t be surprised many used falsified names."

Perhaps a bit of a hint he worked with something a bit more taboo in nature. Whatever the case, Flatline would move forward with a huff, swapping subjects back to task for a brief moment.

"If you want to sit and lay your arm down, it'll be far more stable for me to ease the obstruction out."

He gestured with a talon towards Knock Out's desk. It'd be more comfortable for this over making her lay flat on a medical slab, even if it was a bit of a risk since Flatline didn't have a table of his own to use instead. As their interaction progressed he was getting more and more bold, falling back to the days before the Nemesis sank.

[Deleted]

Finale watched Flatline’s face intently as he spoke, taking in every word, watching his movements. He continued to interest her...his skills were quite clearly his intelligence, and in her opinion, the Decepticons didn’t have a whole lot of such. Oh, there seemed to be a lot of large, heavy-hitters, but she was well aware you could only punch you way out of so many problems before you needed brains to work around others.

She found herself nodding when he spoke of having goals. She never really thought of it that way....that one must always seek a goal, and if you are given everything you need, you will make up new ones. Perhaps that was why she sought out the Decepticons when her own world came crashing down. She had always needed something to strive towards....being able to find her own goals, no matter what they were....were satisfying to her.

Finale hadn’t even been aware she was going to ask about Accolade until the name was out of her mouth, and even though she was the one who spoke it, she still felt that strange tightness inside her, that sense of unease, of being watched. Why she had brought him up now was beyond her but....a part of her still wanted to know where he was, at all times.

Hearing that Flatline had no memory of him at least, gave her a slight sense of ease.

Her gaze moving over to where KnockOut’s desk was, she nodded, rising and making her way over. She glanced around for a moment, and located a simple stool. Hooking it with a foot, she pulled it over, and eased herself down upon it, then laid out her arm upon the desk, underside pointing up, her hand relaxed on the surface.

“I imagine you must do this a lot, yes? Fix and repair weapons and the like? Keeping us in good working condition, especially before the truce.”

[Flatline]

Watching as Finale relocated, Flatline spoke with a more monotone deadness to his voice.

"I work within a void."

Slow movements, the continued rhythm of two hoof like peds clicking down followed by a tap of a cane... Flatline walked towards where the femme now sat, the tool idly rolling between the forefinger and thumb of his secondary with measured actions. He seemed to drift in thought momentarily, considering his placement once again.

"Sparkplug is a savant with weaponry, holding passion and skill for it I never could."

Weaponry was never his strong point. He could easily install a blaster or a sword, he could make sure it was properly powered and the transformation sequence was smooth when it was called upon, but when it came to MAKING them? No... He didn't know how to produce a blaster, or at least not one with any level of accuracy and true power. Sparkplug handled that sector without challenge, and he did not intend to ever step within that domain.

Unless he had to.

"Knock Out commands medicine, fielding repairs and medical needs."

Flatline stopped beside Finale, his left primary pushing the points of his claws beneath her wrist only to gingerly curl around it to hold it steady. Not only did this further add stability to her limb to keep it from rolling or anything that could be annoying, it also lifted the hand up the width of his fingers to make it that much easier to peer down the length of the sword's channel.

"I had dreams of overthrowing Knock Out from his throne, but now I am content to assist."

Flicking the hook about so that it was the more angular end rather than the curving slope of a pick, Flatline's secondaries reached down to get to task. The left secondary planted near the obstruction to gently grip onto her arm as well, before the thumb crooked up. Using the thumb as a stabilizer to his other smaller limb and the tool, the hook would slip within the recesses of the metal enclosure with care, a smooth even movement with no flinches or shakes of uncertainly.

That was a huge pride of Flatline's. While normal hands had to be used for everything from hauling heavier tools and objects in everyday use, or called upon for other utilitarian tasks such as cleaning, his secondaries where exclusively for more delicate needs. No strained joints, nothing that could be worn down from exertion over time... simply finely tuned mechanisms that didn’t faultier once and worked with upmost care.

Flatline went silent then, white lens plates focused intently down upon his work, able to feel the slightest surface touch of the hook before he twisted it slightly to the side. With a soft crackle of stone, he retracted the hook, dragging with it a small bit of grit. Not simply assuming that was all however, he snaked the hook under again, trying to gently feel for any more stone or other obstruction so they didn't need to go through this mess again after the blade got put back if it were to continue to fail.

[Deleted]

Again, silent as he worked, watching him closely. There was a sort of quiet contentment watching someone who was engrossed in their work. Even if they didn’t really enjoy what they were doing, it was interesting watching people raise and lower their awareness as they worked.

Finale enjoyed watching people.

Her eyes on his secondaries as he worked, she spoke.

“It is a wise person who is aware of where their strengths lie....and where they do not. We all contribute something to the cause....pretending to be interested in something you’re not....thinking that you are excellent at everything you do...does not gain anything, neither to you, nor to the cause. Find your strengths, and excel in them.”

Her optics were locked onto the interior of her own arm, watching as Flatline worked free a small piece of grit. She spoke again.

“Likewise, there is nothing wrong with assisting. We each give to the cause in different ways. We need not only give in one manner. However, attempting to rise and improve one’s position is commendable. Perhaps when you have regained your strength, you can once again set your sights on certain goals.”

Finale didn’t meet his gaze as she spoke, nor did she give any indication as to what she was implying. She could have simply been talking about looking for a promotion in the honest sense of the word.

She very quickly changed the subject, however.

“Tell me, have you spent much time moving about on this planet? I normally do not have much interest in organic planets, but I have found myself growing curious about this one, and in particular, some of the native wildlife. Perhaps you would be interested in joining me some time in a leisurely trip around some of the local environments? If you are having difficulty moving about due to your current injury, we can easily keep to more level areas.”

[Flatline]

Flatline did not know how to take the femme's words.

She spoke eloquently with calculated care, dancing around a specific peak without expressly pointing it out. Due to his time working among the higher class, Flatline was not lost to this art. He knew what it could entail, and knew what it could be trying to do. Guiding, angling perspective, delicately pushing to a goal that was only defined within the processor of the listener... interpretation spinning it all into what they may WANT it to mean more so than what was initially implied.

It certainly sounded as if she were trying to kindle motivation within him. Trying to light a fire beneath his steps once more to fight and push for placement and a feeling of security. MAKE the Decepticons see his value so that he could stand tall and strong upon whatever pedestal he locked himself onto. Perhaps even carve a niche where others could not replace him with ease. Yet, this could just be his perspective, untrusting, uncertain, not truly KNOWING the individual before him. She could simply be kind in a way, trying to support with no greater message or manipulation.

But she was a Decepticon.

Flatline did not respond to her first series of words, his expression growing distant as he mulled through them while also paying heed to what he was doing. He fished the tool as far as he could within the weapon's channel, gingerly clicking the side of the hook on it to feel for anything else. There were a couple other bits of grit that were carefully pulled free, using the side of the hook like a scraper, but they paled in comparison to the larger chunk that was wedged out previously. These smaller amounts would likely not stand a chance to disrupt the weapons movement, but... might as well get rid of it when he was there.

The subject shifted then, leaving the previous words answerless to bounce and curl in his processor later on.

"Forgive my audacity and bluntness, but why?"

While he said this, his secondaries planted flat along the channel, angled to the side as the other set smeared the grit towards the sharper edge. With care he would scoop up the sand and debris, lifting it away from the weapon assembly before flicking it down towards the ground. The Medical Bay floor was due for a mop anyway, and it would be removed when he did so more likely than not right after Finale departed.

"I do hold curiosity of the sights you speak of, for I have only seen scrap yards while milling for my own supplies. I have never witnessed native species other than humans and the pigeons and rats that infest... but I do not understand why you would pick me to share such sights."

Time to call her out on why she was being so kind, for none within the Decepticons that he has met thus far never were nice without ulterior motives. At least not outright from a first meeting. It took weeks of bickering, weeks of fighting and snarled words, and borderline throwing punches against Knock Out for them to even be slightly on friendly terms with one another at this point. It was a process, butting heads until finding how you rank up against ones opponent... Because of this, he paused in his work, looking over at the femme while continuing to speak.

"All whom I have crossed paths with strive for nothing more than attempts to climb up the hierarchy and scrabble for the ability to boast dominance over the less fortunate. I can neither offer you a promotion, nor do I have ability to back you up should you require my help beyond medical, which I would be obligated to supply anyway."

A slow inhale shifted through his vents, before the air slid out with a gradual sigh, eyes closing.

"I am so low ranking, you would likely need to ask my superior if I would even be permitted such a jaunt outside this prison."

These words felt like poison on his tongue, bitter to say, and damaging to his ego. Once proud and arrogant, now too fearful to even attempt any form of manipulation to gain an ally. Too wary to even dare ask for his harpoons or inquire for freedom to go topside.

"I don't understand why you are being nice."

Flatline's eyes opened then, gaze locking down onto Finale intently to look for any clues in her expression.

His experience through this war made 'friendliness' a red flag, and this femme just smacked him with one.

[Deleted]

Finale had expected such a response.

Friendship within the Decepticons was rare, and was often seen as a weakness, a soft link that could be exploited, used against one. That did not mean it didn’t happen, but it was rare. And here, now, having only just met Flatline, Finale was extending a hand in what was possibly friendship.

In all honesty, she wasn’t entirely sure herself why she was offering. As he had so bluntly pointed out, there wasn’t anything he could do for her, but then...she didn’t really need anything. Finale was one of those extremely rare individuals who was quite comfortable where she was.

If anything, in the short amount of time she had been talking to him, she found Flatline interesting. One normally associated physical appearance with mental capabilities, for right or wrong. Those who had intelligence and skills were usually perfect in appearance. Certainly she had moved through the ranks of the elite often enough to notice this. Brutish appearance went arm in arm with a brutish mind. But here....here was something very different. Flatline, while odd in appearance, clearly wasn’t odd in his mind. He was sharp. And yet....he was so unlike the elite she had known, so obsessed with appearance.

Finale was a good judge of people. It came with her job, being able to read someone swiftly, see what would make them tick...what would make them bolt. What would alarm them before she was able to slip a dagger into their backs....

Flatline seemed to be someone intelligent, concerned with what he needed to be concerned with, and little else, certainly not the unimportant things like appearance. Even going so far as to create and equip himself with a second set of arms in order to work better.

It was something she tried to attain in herself. And was so rare in others.

But how to word it?

She gave a faint smile, lifting her free arm in a slight shrug, and spoke.

“Why would I not? You are clearly an intelligent mech. Although we have only spoken a short time, you yourself seem well spoken and are clearly no drudge. Why would I take a brute, someone only concerned with advancing their power so as to inflict their whims onto others, out to watch the local wildlife, to study and observe? Should I ask a Vehicon their thoughts on the arboreal hunters of this planet? Do you think any of the others here you know of would care?”

She tilted her head slightly, meeting his optics, “Believe me or not, but I have no desire to climb in rank. I enjoy what I do, and the higher I could move, the less I could do it. My job depends on my being.....unknown. I have no desire to lead or command others. I have no wish to take on extra responsibility. My desire is to work for the Decepticon cause to my best abilities, and to have time alone to meditate and practice my skills.”

A slight pause.

“That...does not mean I do not enjoy conversation with those who, I feel, would be interested in more abstract topics of conversation other than who’s gun is bigger and who can shoot the farthest. Perhaps I am being bold but I think, perhaps, we both might enjoy such company.”

She spoke again with a simple plain quality to her voice and tone, an honest, no-nonsense timbre, to be taken as Flatline would.

“In short....I am being “nice” because, so far, I enjoy your presence, Flatline. And I would like to...extend a hand in comradery, if you wish to accept it.”

[Flatline]

Compliments upon compliments, praising his intelligence, showing interest in discussions of more abstract concepts that would go over the mindless rabble that composed of the majority of other Decepticons... It was a form of good will that continued to be strange. It didn't matter so much it was true on multiple levels. Most of the workforce tended to like to set their goals upon the bigger picture, trying to be as dangerous and viable in battle as possible. There were of course exceptions, Knock Out having enough independence to go street racing for his leisure, but it still felt abstract and surreal to a point he was thrown off balance.

Flatline's lips parted some though his teeth remained clipped together. Trying to formulate words, trying to figure out what path of response he wanted to take. Part of him wanted to tell her to back off and slowly earn such comradely over time rather than point blank ask him out for some kind of leisurely walk. The other would like to get away. Just... get out.

While he was indeed curious of what she spoke of, his interest was angled more in just seeing daylight and stretching out without the oppressing confines of Blackridge crushing around him. No cage of rock, no imprisonment between his hellish sleeping arrangements and the Medical Bay. Away from the dust of construction and stench of cleaning chemicals that had once seemed refreshing but now were signs of his entrapment. Sure, whatever animals there were could be interesting! But... he just wanted out...

Slowly, Flatline aborted his immediate words, gaze softening some as the white lens plates flicked to the side momentarily in further thought. Just after this motion, he gradually turned, hand clutching onto his makeshift cane to start to traverse across the room to where her blade lie. While her weapon assembly was not ready for the sword yet, and he would not install it anyway so she could sharpen it should she feel the need, he was using it as a stall, silent as he reached the sharp metal that he picked up in his free hand with a click of talons against weapon.

"Very well."

He turned the blade in his grip subtly, watching the light and hazed reflections across its surface.

"You will need to speak to Knock Out."

Dry words, defeated.

With this, Flatline turned once again and started to make his way over, secondaries pulled up under his pectoral plating as he did so. Almost anxious or nervous, a sign of feeling a bit beat down. While he had been pacified before, the realization he COULD get some freedom but have it declined seemed to cow him further.

"Can you attempt to engage the weapon extension?"

He didn't look at Finale as he returned, gaze settling upon the open weapon housing to watch if the blade mount could deploy fully.

[Deleted]

Finale watched him as he walked, as he seemed to consider her words.

She wasn’t entirely aware of the limitations that had been placed upon him, and so couldn’t quite understand why he seemed so hesitant to accept her offer. It seemed as if he didn’t want to, as if he were doing her a favour by agreeing. Which, again, seemed odd. He owed her nothing. There was no reason for him to appease her.

Reaching out her arm, underside up, she turned her own attention upon the housing of her blade as it shot forward inside her forearm, the small latch on the end snapping forward, tiny twin clamps on the end snapping back to allow the dagger to disengage completely from her arm to settle in the palm of her hand It was clear to see how it worked.

“I don’t think Knock Out will have a problem with you going outside. I can be persuasive when need be, and I have heard he is ever so fond of flattery.”

Finale gave a small smile as she continued to look at the weapon housing in her forearm.

She sat in silence for a few minutes, observing him as he worked, before speaking again.

“Have you travelled much on this planet? Before you came here, that is? I am, regrettably only familiar with the local area.”

She raised her optics to meet his face, “Perhaps there are some places you are familiar with that you could show me, if you like. I am not asking you to reveal any secret place you may use for your own purposes – merely a nice area to travel? Any odd or interesting sights?”

Finale had no idea what Flatline’s alt form was, but looking at his root mode, it seemed very unlikely he was any sort of flashy speedster. More like something utilitarian, perhaps. A pickup?

[Flatline]

"He is also fond of vengeance and we have not been on particularly good terms these last few months."

It was a fifty-fifty chance as far as Flatline was concerned. On one hand Knock Out could be swayed by kind words and flattery to do a favor for the femme. Allow him to leave Blackridge for whatever reason... on the other? The CMO could dig his heels down and simply accept the praise but not budge on the matter. It was particularly hard to try to get a bead on what version of events would unfold, if... any of them. There was of course always a chance Knock Out would throw a curve ball and derail everything.

The little shit.

Looking down as he approached, Flatline watched as the weapon housing engaged, making note how smooth it was, and how it didn't seem to get latched up on anything again. To be certain however, he sat her blade down before gingerly reaching his hands out once more, taking hold of Finale's forearm to now observe the housing with the attachment piece extended properly. He was looking to see if any grit was now stuck behind it in the channel, something that could now prevent it from sliding back and into place.

Flatline maneuvered the arm at different angles while she spoke once more.

"I have only ventured out a handful of times. Once to receive an alt-mode, and the other times to rural salvage yards to poach metals and supplies."

As this was said, he clutched his palm on either side of her forearm, thumb claws latching atop the movable part of the housing to hook over its edge. With a firm grip his secondaries eased forward to press the connectors back, using the strength of his thumbs to pull against the springs and test the tension of the extended portion. It seemed strong, as it was rather difficult for him to force back with any level of distance other than a handful of inches, which was good. With the latches engaged and not held at bay as they were now, he was confident no strike into a foe with a direct pierce would cause it to collapse. Unless she tried to full tilt ram it into a rock... Then it was questionable.

"So unless you consider rusting heaps of metal, decaying fibers, and rancid stagnant water nice, than I would not reply upon my knowledge for a destination."

With this, he pulled his thumbs aside to let the spring channel thwip forward with a snap back into its latches properly. From what he could see the obstruction was completely gone, and things were running smooth once again.

"Everything appears to be in order now. A bit of oil to the track wouldn't hurt, but it doesn't appear necessary."

Flatline then looked over at her.

"Do you know how to attach the blade in again?"

He didn't know if she wanted to actually sharpen it, or if he was merely projecting what he thought an individual would do with a sword once it was freed. Flatline only had his rotary saw and harpoons. The harpoons were gone and no longer a concern and the saw was more utilitarian and didn’t need such a slick edge as a sword. He also did not know if Finale would even know how to re-attach the blade and close the maintenance housing hatch or if she would need him to since she would only have one hand to do so.

[Deleted]

Finale continued to watch Flatline as he worked, noting how easily he worked, how he didn’t hesitate or pause as he examined her inner workings. He was clearly comfortable with what he was doing – it wasn’t new territory for him.

His words, however, interested her even more. While it was perfectly normal if the CMO didn’t want to let Flatline go, as not everyone succumbed easily to flattery, no matter how much they enjoyed it, Flatline’s wording that Knock Out was also fond of vengeance was taken and stored away for later examination. Such a person always had to be handled carefully. She herself was an advocate of vengeance if she felt it was warranted, and knew first hand how people could take their time, plan the most severe revenge, and spring it when one was the least suspecting.

Knock Out, in the event they ever became adversaries, would have to be watched, very carefully.

Her mind then turned to the more mundane conversation they were having.

“If you do not mind me asking...why haven’t you been out? Surely you could get permission to leave the Nemesis?

Or is it that you do not enjoy being on a more organic planet?” She softly laughed, “Primus knows they can be very....unclean, with any number of small wriggling things living in the dirt beneath one’s feet.”

Dark purple optics settled on his face again.

“Even planets such as this can have their more enjoyable sides, if you leave the foliage behind. While I do enjoy watching the night hunters come out, I have also seen there are places that remind me, somewhat, of Cybertron in the old days. Human cities around the world, filled with tall metal towers that gleam at night, cities that do not sleep but are constantly alive with motion and sound. There is a city on this continent that is known for it’s bright lights and entertainment. It is called Las Vegas. The pictures I have seen of it remind me of the old Cybertron at times.”

A faint, wistful smile came to her face for the briefest of seconds before vanishing like dust in a wind. Her optics resettled on Flatline’s face again.

“If such places would be more of an interest to you, we could go there instead.”

When he brought her attention back to her weapon track, she dropped her optics and focused on the housing for the weapon.

“Ah, yes, I do, but....would it be asking too much of your time for you to apply a little oil, seeing you already have my arm open and all.”

She offered him another faint smile. Seeming almost rare and fleeting, her expression suggesting she knew she was perhaps asking for too much from what must be his other important work, and yet hopeful.