Ep0.5 - 'Negotiations' - Closed
Feb 13, 2012 16:35:56 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Feb 13, 2012 16:35:56 GMT -5
<<Set after “Pop Cans”>>
Megatron was feeling… sated, less fractured and unstable than he had the day before. It seemed he’d struck on something successful in taking a drone to exorcise the result of Barricade’s condition on every few days. Soundwave had become more overtly watchful since his self-appointed 'treatment' started, as if seeking to quietly remind his master that his actions were not going undetected. Megatron let the spymaster watch, and then monitored him on the security feeds arranging for the droid bodies to be salvaged and disposed of.
The communication from the surface requesting, of all things, an audience with the warlord had done nothing to upset his mood, and Megatron now stood just ahead of his throne with a spike of intrigue prowling his field. It had been eons since he'd last spoken to this medic, and even longer since they had met. Back down in the arena's repair bay.
Two Eradicons walked the old femme in, weapons raised though they lowered at a gesture from their Commander. Coming to stand in front of the towering, dark-cloaked figure, Cleaver forced her jaw up. "Megatron. Thank you for having me aboard."
"It's a pleasure to see you alive and well, Cleaver, after all this time," Megatron replied, voice lilting as his optics narrowed. He tucked a hand behind his back, other hand moving to hold his wrist as he stepped towards her. "What is it that you want?"
Cleaver's joints naturally twitched into a step back, blades angling outwards and helm dipping. She caught the motion far short of becoming a cower, however, and made her gaze tip back up and up that massive frame. Straight to the point, before she lost her nerve. "I'm here to negotiate for a Neutral base that will be spared your attention in this conflict."
Megatron's field flattened, cold and deadly as his tone. “You want a state of peace.” It sounded like pure offence.
The medic was quick to respond, optics flashing with renewed resolve to hold her ground. “There have been demilitarized Neutral zones before-”
“NOT on the front line!" Megatron bellowed, the vast majority of little-collected calm disintegrating in a blast of force. "You disgrace yourself, Cleaver, believing you can cheapen this war by hoarding space where the unaligned cowards can grovel" Another stalked step, fuming. "Whilst warriors fight for an end to the war on the same planet.”
It would take nothing less than being accused of cowardice for Cleaver to step boldly, stupidly, closer to the tyrant, her voice barking as it had on the wards. “The Neutrals are far from cowards, Megatron. We left Cybertron to scrape our living, with the Autobots as much of a threat as the Decepticons to our survival. Always living in warzones despite refusing to take the life of our own kind. Hounded and harassed because we refuse to go back on our stance, refuse to be beaten into conformity by the two ruling powers left of our race."
Shoulders stiff and high, blades trembling with a level of anger she hadn't felt in vorns, Cleaver went on with denta bared. "It would have been so much easier for any of us to brand on an insignia and have a single enemy, a single purpose of destruction, but we didn’t. We won’t.”
Silence dragged out in a thick wave in the control room, neither mecha breaking their stare as Megatron critically assessed the medic and Cleaver refused to be unsettled by him. Finally, Megatron's voice slipped into something closer to a civil level, though there was a black curl to his tone supported by the beginnings of a smirk. “How much do you want this?”
There was a challenge there - something Cleaver wouldn't back down from. She sensed that this was the turning point, clenching her denta hard enough to taste metal shards before replying. “I’ve committed myself. This needs doing.”
Megatron stepped close enough to touch, his field briefly over-lapping hers before the femme's energy snapped close to her plates. He loomed over her now, helm bowed so that his faceplates were obscured in darkness but for the slick red light of his optics. “Would you bleed for it?”
Cleaver flinched at the quiet utterance, hated herself for it. She thought of the mecha this would help, possibly even save. Thought of Ironhide at her back. Finally nodded, sharp and assured. “Yes-”
The Decepticon commander didn't give her vocaliser time to finish the word, the entirety of his fingers of one hand punching into her side like a jagged blade. With his other hand, Megatron cradled her helm to his shoulder, ignoring her jerk and gasp from the wound. “Bear it, Cleaver. The initial moments are the worst.”
She moaned into his armour, optics shuttering and blades rising to... push him, hit him, something. Not a deadly wound - he was good enough to avoid vitals when he chose to, but still serious enough, and Primus she'd never been stabbed like this before. “Fragging..”
Megatron hummed something like comfort, hand ghosting down her backstrut. Holding her steady at the waist, he jerked his impaling hand back and waited until her shout peeled off before speaking into her audio again. “I believe sometimes that it’s prudent for a medic to be reminded of what it is they treat. The feel of it, not just the mechanics."
He released her and took a step back, optics bright on her form. Drinking in the frequency of pain and determination. When her helm dipped, backstrut threatening to curl as a transformed hand went to her side, Megatron forced her jaw up and neck straight with the tip of one energon-streaked claw. "Helm up, on your pedes. You've earned my attention now, and the longer you stand, the more you get. Now, speak.”
Cleaver forced her vocaliser to reset, and felt a bitterly cold wave swell up from her pedes towards her helm. Energon seeped through her fingers at her side, a steady run of it winding down her leg or just dripping straight to the floor. Ironhide gave me that. The thought came out of nowhere but it was a slap in the faceplates, enough to snap her out of the initial shock. “A Neutral base, but open to anyone who has need of a safe haven for a time.”
Megatron returned to his throne at his own pace, resting his jaw in her energon on the back of his hand. “Autobots?”
She forced a cycle of air, feeling her vents stutter on the out, and resisted the urge to use her other blade as a support crutch. Not in front of him. Primus, how do they do this... “And Decepticons. So long as everyone follows the rules, everyone’s welcome.”
Infiltration. Information gathering. Seducing disillusioned mecha to his cause. The possibilities were endless. Megatron nodded with a smile, sitting back a little with the decision made. “For my part, and in exchange for the same privileges that the Autobots will be entitled to, I will deal with any infractions of the haven’s rules myself. I will not wage war on you or your base. Anything else?”
She wanted to leave, but her vocaliser kept going. “Wide perimeter exempt from hostilities. Space for groundbridges and shuttles.”
“Humans?”
Cleaver found it in her to breathe a laugh, thin and dismissive. “If they’re brought. I’m not inviting any.”
Idly, and guided by some unrecognized force that had been driving him with the Eradicon drones in the night, Megatron slid her energon across his mouth. “Will that be all?”
She'd shuttered her optics when he'd tasted her, wanting nothing more than to curl up on a berth somewhere warm and not move for a long time. But she was so close now, and forced the last out from her reluctant vocaliser. “Your word that your forces won’t interfere with this, not whilst it’s under construction or at any time after.”
“Done," Megatron agreed, hard and satisfied. He watched her optics relight on him, and motioned with his hand. "Supply me with the co-ordinates, and I shall disseminate the status of the location as a demilitarized zone amongst the Decepticons.”
Cleaver snapped her head in the negative, fingers tightening against the metal in her side hard enough to warp it. She'd re-routed most of the fluid lines, but the wound was deep and pierced systems she simply didn't have that kind of control over. “I want it in charge, Megatron.”
The warlord smiled, quietly impressed by the old femme's mettle. Declining the impulse to remain where he was and watch her struggle towards him, the mech rose fluid-smooth and extended a charged hand. Her energon would be an excellent conductor of the circuit-deep accord. “Of course.”
She grasped his thumb and palm, not watching how his claws swallowed her hand, and sent her own charge back. It was a quick transmission, and Cleaver withdrew as soon as the energy settled and he released her. A shaky step back and she tried not to think about how familiar he still felt. “You’ve changed.”
Megatron tipped his helm, expression calm. “Out of necessity, perhaps, but I have honoured my debt to you. Consider it paid in full."
He spoke without looking back to the waiting Eradicons, delivering the order whilst watching her bleed. "Escort her back to the surface.”
<->
Megatron was feeling… sated, less fractured and unstable than he had the day before. It seemed he’d struck on something successful in taking a drone to exorcise the result of Barricade’s condition on every few days. Soundwave had become more overtly watchful since his self-appointed 'treatment' started, as if seeking to quietly remind his master that his actions were not going undetected. Megatron let the spymaster watch, and then monitored him on the security feeds arranging for the droid bodies to be salvaged and disposed of.
The communication from the surface requesting, of all things, an audience with the warlord had done nothing to upset his mood, and Megatron now stood just ahead of his throne with a spike of intrigue prowling his field. It had been eons since he'd last spoken to this medic, and even longer since they had met. Back down in the arena's repair bay.
Two Eradicons walked the old femme in, weapons raised though they lowered at a gesture from their Commander. Coming to stand in front of the towering, dark-cloaked figure, Cleaver forced her jaw up. "Megatron. Thank you for having me aboard."
"It's a pleasure to see you alive and well, Cleaver, after all this time," Megatron replied, voice lilting as his optics narrowed. He tucked a hand behind his back, other hand moving to hold his wrist as he stepped towards her. "What is it that you want?"
Cleaver's joints naturally twitched into a step back, blades angling outwards and helm dipping. She caught the motion far short of becoming a cower, however, and made her gaze tip back up and up that massive frame. Straight to the point, before she lost her nerve. "I'm here to negotiate for a Neutral base that will be spared your attention in this conflict."
Megatron's field flattened, cold and deadly as his tone. “You want a state of peace.” It sounded like pure offence.
The medic was quick to respond, optics flashing with renewed resolve to hold her ground. “There have been demilitarized Neutral zones before-”
“NOT on the front line!" Megatron bellowed, the vast majority of little-collected calm disintegrating in a blast of force. "You disgrace yourself, Cleaver, believing you can cheapen this war by hoarding space where the unaligned cowards can grovel" Another stalked step, fuming. "Whilst warriors fight for an end to the war on the same planet.”
It would take nothing less than being accused of cowardice for Cleaver to step boldly, stupidly, closer to the tyrant, her voice barking as it had on the wards. “The Neutrals are far from cowards, Megatron. We left Cybertron to scrape our living, with the Autobots as much of a threat as the Decepticons to our survival. Always living in warzones despite refusing to take the life of our own kind. Hounded and harassed because we refuse to go back on our stance, refuse to be beaten into conformity by the two ruling powers left of our race."
Shoulders stiff and high, blades trembling with a level of anger she hadn't felt in vorns, Cleaver went on with denta bared. "It would have been so much easier for any of us to brand on an insignia and have a single enemy, a single purpose of destruction, but we didn’t. We won’t.”
Silence dragged out in a thick wave in the control room, neither mecha breaking their stare as Megatron critically assessed the medic and Cleaver refused to be unsettled by him. Finally, Megatron's voice slipped into something closer to a civil level, though there was a black curl to his tone supported by the beginnings of a smirk. “How much do you want this?”
There was a challenge there - something Cleaver wouldn't back down from. She sensed that this was the turning point, clenching her denta hard enough to taste metal shards before replying. “I’ve committed myself. This needs doing.”
Megatron stepped close enough to touch, his field briefly over-lapping hers before the femme's energy snapped close to her plates. He loomed over her now, helm bowed so that his faceplates were obscured in darkness but for the slick red light of his optics. “Would you bleed for it?”
Cleaver flinched at the quiet utterance, hated herself for it. She thought of the mecha this would help, possibly even save. Thought of Ironhide at her back. Finally nodded, sharp and assured. “Yes-”
The Decepticon commander didn't give her vocaliser time to finish the word, the entirety of his fingers of one hand punching into her side like a jagged blade. With his other hand, Megatron cradled her helm to his shoulder, ignoring her jerk and gasp from the wound. “Bear it, Cleaver. The initial moments are the worst.”
She moaned into his armour, optics shuttering and blades rising to... push him, hit him, something. Not a deadly wound - he was good enough to avoid vitals when he chose to, but still serious enough, and Primus she'd never been stabbed like this before. “Fragging..”
Megatron hummed something like comfort, hand ghosting down her backstrut. Holding her steady at the waist, he jerked his impaling hand back and waited until her shout peeled off before speaking into her audio again. “I believe sometimes that it’s prudent for a medic to be reminded of what it is they treat. The feel of it, not just the mechanics."
He released her and took a step back, optics bright on her form. Drinking in the frequency of pain and determination. When her helm dipped, backstrut threatening to curl as a transformed hand went to her side, Megatron forced her jaw up and neck straight with the tip of one energon-streaked claw. "Helm up, on your pedes. You've earned my attention now, and the longer you stand, the more you get. Now, speak.”
Cleaver forced her vocaliser to reset, and felt a bitterly cold wave swell up from her pedes towards her helm. Energon seeped through her fingers at her side, a steady run of it winding down her leg or just dripping straight to the floor. Ironhide gave me that. The thought came out of nowhere but it was a slap in the faceplates, enough to snap her out of the initial shock. “A Neutral base, but open to anyone who has need of a safe haven for a time.”
Megatron returned to his throne at his own pace, resting his jaw in her energon on the back of his hand. “Autobots?”
She forced a cycle of air, feeling her vents stutter on the out, and resisted the urge to use her other blade as a support crutch. Not in front of him. Primus, how do they do this... “And Decepticons. So long as everyone follows the rules, everyone’s welcome.”
Infiltration. Information gathering. Seducing disillusioned mecha to his cause. The possibilities were endless. Megatron nodded with a smile, sitting back a little with the decision made. “For my part, and in exchange for the same privileges that the Autobots will be entitled to, I will deal with any infractions of the haven’s rules myself. I will not wage war on you or your base. Anything else?”
She wanted to leave, but her vocaliser kept going. “Wide perimeter exempt from hostilities. Space for groundbridges and shuttles.”
“Humans?”
Cleaver found it in her to breathe a laugh, thin and dismissive. “If they’re brought. I’m not inviting any.”
Idly, and guided by some unrecognized force that had been driving him with the Eradicon drones in the night, Megatron slid her energon across his mouth. “Will that be all?”
She'd shuttered her optics when he'd tasted her, wanting nothing more than to curl up on a berth somewhere warm and not move for a long time. But she was so close now, and forced the last out from her reluctant vocaliser. “Your word that your forces won’t interfere with this, not whilst it’s under construction or at any time after.”
“Done," Megatron agreed, hard and satisfied. He watched her optics relight on him, and motioned with his hand. "Supply me with the co-ordinates, and I shall disseminate the status of the location as a demilitarized zone amongst the Decepticons.”
Cleaver snapped her head in the negative, fingers tightening against the metal in her side hard enough to warp it. She'd re-routed most of the fluid lines, but the wound was deep and pierced systems she simply didn't have that kind of control over. “I want it in charge, Megatron.”
The warlord smiled, quietly impressed by the old femme's mettle. Declining the impulse to remain where he was and watch her struggle towards him, the mech rose fluid-smooth and extended a charged hand. Her energon would be an excellent conductor of the circuit-deep accord. “Of course.”
She grasped his thumb and palm, not watching how his claws swallowed her hand, and sent her own charge back. It was a quick transmission, and Cleaver withdrew as soon as the energy settled and he released her. A shaky step back and she tried not to think about how familiar he still felt. “You’ve changed.”
Megatron tipped his helm, expression calm. “Out of necessity, perhaps, but I have honoured my debt to you. Consider it paid in full."
He spoke without looking back to the waiting Eradicons, delivering the order whilst watching her bleed. "Escort her back to the surface.”
<->