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.
It was the end of the day, and Butch could feel it in every bone and pore of her body. It had been a long day at the hospital, cleaning up after multiple surgeries scheduled back-to-back. As the clock struck six in the evening, the woman sighed, taking a long drag on her cigarette. The Control Room was empty, Butch left to lean on the railing of a catwalk in near-silence. The controls beeped and bopped away, symbols she couldn't comprehend slowly scrolling across the nearby screens.
There was nothing for Butch left to do. The room's floor was polished to a shine. The rec room's human area had been tidied, and the pillows and blanket by the children's couch fluffed and set right. It was too late in the day to make any more coffee, and Sergeant Walker was probably home by now. It was a good chance for Butch to reflect, dwelling on the camping trip and adventure at a cafe a couple of days prior. A long, thin scratch down her right arm, red and raised, was idly itched as she recalled the weekend's adventure.
With a sigh, she exhaled a cloud of smoke, and took another drag. The kids were nowhere to be seen, so that left the TV free. Maybe a documentary would be a good way to pass the time before she left in a couple of hours. Languidly making her way towards the stairs, Butch stuck her cig in the side of her mouth, stuffing her hands in her pockets.
Post by James Porter on Feb 6, 2024 9:33:23 GMT -5
Finally, Porter’s workday was more or less at an end. His first official day at his new posting had gone by without any issues despite how unique the whole affair had been so far. His day consisted of things typical of redeployment which included many different types of briefing all covering different things, tours, introductions and everything in between. There was a lot of information that had to be taken in, more than the Englishman was used to and that led to his notepad being full of pages about details that he needed to remember. The end result was him feeling rather exhausted and looking forward to getting properly settled into his accommodation.
Porter walked into the Control Room from one of the corridors. Dressed in military uniform which consisted of his MTP camouflage shirt and cargo pants, his brown boots and his green SBS beret. Aside from getting himself changed into civilian clothing, the man had not made any plans for the evening which meant he’d more than likely spend seeing what else needed unpacking. Maybe explore the base a little as well. His options were open after all.
Marching across the room towards the stairs leading up to the catwalk. Porter took a moment to let his head swivel around the large room to just take in the sheer size of the place. Concluding that the old silo or whatever it used to be was the perfect place for the Autobots to operate out of. That’s not even taking into account all the advanced hardware around him. His gaze soon fell upon both the command console and the groundbridge. Porter still couldn’t wrap his brain around the fact that he was looking at what was a glorified teleporter.
This place was something else, that was for sure.
He climbed the staircase up to the catwalk in silence, it wasn’t until he heard a sigh that Porter was brought back to reality as he realised that he wasn’t alone in the room. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, he immediately spotted the other person. The Lance Corporal was briefed on the fact that there were civilians on the base, an idea that was still ridiculous to the man. Judging by what she was wearing, the scarred man thought she may be a civilian but then he saw the dog tags around her neck.
Despite feeling somewhat fatigued from his busy day, the man has no intention of coming off as rude nor was he going to give off a bad first impression. That embarrassing introduction to Jazz yesterday was still fresh in his mind. So he offers her a smile and a nod of his head in a friendly greeting.
Post by Cassandra Cassidy on Feb 6, 2024 13:56:20 GMT -5
The woman stopped in her tracks as soon as she spotted James. She stepped to one side to allow him to pass, seeing as he was coming up to the crosswalk. Butch regarded him with an impassive look, eyes flickering over his body and scars to take in the person before her. His uniform and patches were different than an American's. He had a massive scar on his face to rival the one on her bad hand. He hadn't been seen or noticed by her around the base, so either he was new or their paths had not crossed. The latter was as likely as the former, as there had been Autobots she'd not yet met despite the days cleaning at base.
"Evening," Butch replied in return. She was tempted to keep walking, but curiosity struck her in the moment. "I don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting."
She left it at that, waiting to see what his reaction was. He might be on duty still, despite how late it was getting. Just as Butch's face was stolid, this man gave off the same kind of energy, albeit looking as tired as Butch usually did. The cleaner would let him take the reins of any conversation, instead grabbing her cig from her mouth. She took in a drag, blowing smoke away from Porter's face and into the cavern air.
Post by James Porter on Feb 11, 2024 12:28:32 GMT -5
Seeing her step to the side, Lance Corporal Porter gave her another nod in thanks as he began to walk again. Taking a few steps forward so he wasn’t in the way of the stairway in case other people magically appeared and wanted to use it. Not that he thought any would.
Porter found his eyes drawn to her left hand for a moment, having observed an irregularity with it. Seeing some clear discolouration of the skin around the knuckle followed quickly by the scar itself. If he took a little longer to observe it, he may have been able to figure out what sort of scar it was but he decided to neglect that curious part of his brain for the moment. It wasn’t like it was any of his business either way. The scar and those dog tags only reinforced the idea that she may be a cog in the military machine like himself. He refocused his eyes back onto her face. It became quite clear to the Englishman that she was very impassive to the conversation he sprung up. Her tone only confirmed that more.
Whether that was because she wasn’t really interested in talking to him or waiting for Porter to expose more about himself as their conversation progressed was unknown to him. But he could make a guess depending on her response.
“You’d be correct. Got here yesterday. Brass had me transferred away from the lads on the East Coast to join up with the detachment stationed out here in this amazing desert.”
No attempt had been made to hide a very clear and prominent British accent. His voice being quite fruity and crisp. The accent, along with the Union jack patch on his arms made it quite clear to any observant person that he wasn’t a local or even remotely from this continent. Much like the rest of the residents on the base.
He leaned back against one of the railings, folding his arms and frowning to himself for a minute in thought. Mind pondering on where this conversation was going. She had more than likely been around here longer than him so it would be prudent of him to get a decent lay of the land and get some more information. Not only that but understanding a bit more about future colleagues who'll have to look after you in combat and vice versa was important.
“What about yourself? Have you been stationed here alongside our ridiculously tall and mechanical comrades for long?”
Post by Cassandra Cassidy on Feb 11, 2024 13:27:32 GMT -5
If she noticed his quick stare at her scar, she didn't acknowledge it. Instead, she listened in quiet as James explained where he'd come from, making a thoughtful hum at the end of his short shorty. She took a puff of her cigarette, saying, "East Coast, huh? Didn't realize NEST ranged that far and wide. You liking it out here in Nevada so far?"
If she had to hazard a guess, the "amazing desert" comment was a little more on the sarcastic side. There wasn't much out in the area at first glance - it was definitely a "make your own fun" kind of place. Vegas had plenty of night life to spare, but the hustle and bustle of Nevada's crown jewel wasn't for everyone. By the sounds of it, too, James was from somewhere far and away from the dry, rocky landscape that Omega One found itself in. Butch wouldn't be surprised if the hot climate wasn't his kind of thing.
At the question of being stationed, Butch chuckled softly, but not unkindly. "No, no. I'm not stationed here - I'm just the help, on occasion. I owe the Autobots one for keeping me in one piece while a jet swooped down on me one day, looking to take a chunk out of my ride. These tags belonged to my father."
She took them with her good hand after putting her cigarette back in her mouth. Holding them up for James to see, the Englishman might notice they were emblazoned with the name "Robert Leopold Cassidy". "He used to be a part of your group. My name's Cassandra - Cassandra Cassidy. Everyone calls me 'Butch'."
Post by James Porter on Feb 14, 2024 19:07:35 GMT -5
Something about Cassandra’s answer didn’t sit right with Porter. Was it him being a bit too suspicious about something that more than likely wasn’t an issue? Quite a possibility but the man just found it odd that she responded in the way she did. Despite not being briefed on much before his arrival, Porter knew that NEST had other detachments and units scattered about the place. Not showing any of his suspicion on his face, Porter elected to continue the conversation as normal but avoid saying too much possible military information.
“I’ve only been here a day and a bit so far so I can’t really render my final judgement on it yet. However, I can say that I absolutely despise the damn heat.”
No sarcasm had been laced in his voice this time as he told Cassandra his general thoughts on the matter. The heat and the desert sure were some negatives so far but it wasn’t enough to completely rule out hating Nevada. Not yet at least. Porter would have to see what the local town and area in general had to offer before he made a final judgement on Nevada.
Upon her chuckling, Porter gave her an inquisitive look and patiently waited as she continued talking. It seemed that she wasn’t a fellow military person after all which should have been the thing he was stuck thinking about however that wasn’t the case. Instead, he found himself in disbelief at the way this civilian had been dragged into this mess. He couldn’t imagine something as bad as a jet strafing someone and then turning into a 20 foot robot to dish out some more pain. She’s lucky an Autobot was around to save her.
“There’s a lot to unpack there…I’m quite glad that my introduction to these aliens wasn’t with a modern fighter jet harassing me and then turning into a robot. You’re very lucky.”
Porter leaned forward as Cassandra presented the dog tags for him to see. His eyes flickered over the dangling metal tags and was able to clearly read the name on it. From how she was speaking and the fact that she had her father’s dog tags, Porter could only assume that the man had passed away. “I’m sorry for your loss. He was one of us? Can’t say I met him but I’m sure some of the others around here have.”
Now that she had introduced herself, Porter had to do the same. Again, he unfolded his arms and extended his right to offer the woman a handshake. “Lance Corporal James Porter. Just call me Porter. Nice to meet you Butch. I've got to say, you unintentionally had me for a second. You certainly don’t give off that civilian atmosphere.”
Post by Cassandra Cassidy on Feb 14, 2024 19:58:55 GMT -5
"You'll get used to it," Butch said. "I'm from a climate not dissimilar to your own. It took some adjusting, but if you roll with it, you eventually become one with the heat. At least it's a dry heat, and not everything is a steam bath."
When he mentioned the fighter jet turning into a robot, Butch shrugged her shoulders and said, "Well, it was more a game of cat and mouse. Didn't see any robot transforming action until me and the Autobot incognito were well away from the danger. Still wish I could've gotten a better look at the jet, see what kind of markings it had in case it ever comes back."
Setting her dog tags back down when he was done expecting them, Butch said, "Some did. I already met with them, and Dad's replacement works here now. Sergeant Nathan Walker is his name. He should've left a while ago, but I'm sure you two will meet eventually. Fair warning: the beef jerky in the rec room's snack cupboard is his."
She took his hand firmly with her good one, giving it a strong-gripped shake. "It's good to make your acquaintance, Porter. So, are you on duty?"
Butch leaned back against the railing, taking another drag of her cigarette. As she did, her eyes rested on Porter, taking in his posture, his body language, and overall bearing. Yes, this was a man honed and trained for duty. She made no comment about being mistaken for a soldier - her own bearing was more serious than most, so it didn't surprise her. Thoughts of joining up had fleetingly crossed her mind before, but with her bad hand in the shape it was in, she'd never pass Basic.
Post by James Porter on Feb 19, 2024 8:31:49 GMT -5
A sceptical chuckle escaped from the man. While some could adapt with the heat overtime, for Porter it was a different story completely. Having been deployed to multiple desert or hot climates for extended periods of time he has never properly gotten used to heat. He has adapted to them to an extent but not enough where he’s ever felt truly comfortable in it. “Unfortunately Butch, my experience so far in desert or hot climates have not been like that.” He said with a shrug. “This isn’t my first time in the wasteland known as deserts. I’ve been deployed to them a few times in my career and spent a decent amount of time in them. Never truly adapted to them like others.”
Unfortunately for him, the Lance Corporal just wasn’t wired to get used to or enjoy heat that is ever present in the desert.
“Can’t imagine what’s worse. My assumption of what happened or what actually happened. Either way, I wouldn’t enjoy the attention of a sentient, free thinking jet harassing me. That’s for sure.” When Butch mentioned wanting to get a chance to get a good luck at the jet, he found himself failing to agree with that. While civilians giving out information can be important, Porter personally hated the idea of anyone outside the military or intelligence apparatus putting themselves at risk to get that information. In a situation like the one Butch was describing, survival was more important than remembering what the jet looked like. “I wouldn’t worry too much about not remembering any real details about it. I’m sure the Autobot that dragged you out of the frying pan got a decent enough look at them.”
“At least you were told. Many aren’t told the truth about their loved ones in these sorts of environments. Even more so when they’re service history is covered in black ink.”
A mental note was taken when Cassandra mentioned one of the other personnel stationed here. Porter was more than likely going to meet them at one point so remembering that name and any others who are stationed here are important in understanding the colleagues he’ll be working alongside. “You’re right there. Will most definitely come across him sooner or later. Consider your warning about his beef jerky heeded.” Another chuckle emanated from him again. Porter knew all too well what happens when someone in the forces messes with other people's stuff. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, that’s for sure.
Porter matched her firm and strong gripped hand shake with his own. “Likewise Butch.” He said, withdrawing his hand from their handshake so that he could pull back the sleeve on his right arm and check the time on his watch. “To answer your question, I officially came off duty about two minutes ago. So no, I am not on duty.”
Post by Cassandra Cassidy on Feb 19, 2024 14:36:07 GMT -5
Despite the solidness that he carried himself with, Porter seemed quite sociable. That was good - it meant he probably was a team player. Not that it was any of Butch's concern, but she liked to think everyone at Omega got along, for the most part. Her experience with the other Autobots was still lacking, but at least all the adult humans on base were friendly.
"If you want anything in particular stocked there, let me know," Butch said, taking another drag. She was quick to smoke her cigarettes, that was for sure. Years of chain-smoking had given her the habit of going through her cancer sticks speedily. "I do snack runs for the base. There's Hot Pockets, mini pizzas, chips, granola bars - take your pick, it's probably in there." Another drag was taken, the cigarette pinched between her thumb and first two fingers.
When Porter mentioned he was off duty, a plume of smoke erupted from Butch's nose, and she smiled slightly. "Good, I'm not keeping you then. You have any plans for tonight? Or is it a straight shot back to your apartment, or wherever else you're calling home base these days?"
Post by James Porter on Feb 25, 2024 15:09:44 GMT -5
For Porter, being a part of a team was something that had been drilled into his skull in every stage of his military training from basic in the marines to the selection training for the Special Boat Service. It’s to the point where it is part of his very nature at this point. Even then, the man is very capable of working alone. So far, Porter had a fairly positive opinion of Butch. She seemed rather friendly and rather upfront about things. Not many people can tell someone that a family member or someone close to them isn’t part of the living anymore without some hint of sadness, awkwardness or anything like that. Not to mention the fact she talked about a possibly traumatic event when she first encountered Cybertronians without flinching from the facts too much.
“Appreciate the offer. If I think of anything then I’ll make sure to throw it your way but I should be fine I think.” He wasn’t all too bothered about getting things in. Either the local town or the base will have something decent from him to live off so it shouldn’t be too bad for the man. As long as there’s decent tea then Porter could deal with most things.
An amused smile sprang up on his face as he noticed how quick Cassandra had gone through that cigarette. He personally could not understand how some people could smoke so many on a regular basis and go through them in record speeds like Butch just did. “You lost me at Granola Bars, Butch. Sure hope you get paid to supply this place with snacks.”
His right hand shot up to take off his beret. Neatly folding it and putting it through the belt loops on his trousers while his left hand flattened down his hair a bit as a few strands of hair had decided to rebel against the man and stick up. “Any plans?” He says, turning away his gaze from Butch for a moment in thought. “No, not really. I’ve got some things I need to unpack but I can do that tomorrow really. I’m in no rush to do it. Why ask?”
Last Edit: Feb 25, 2024 15:10:06 GMT -5 by James Porter
Post by Cassandra Cassidy on Mar 4, 2024 22:24:20 GMT -5
"More or less making conversation," Butch replied. "I must admit, though, that I sometimes can be too nosy for my own good."
A tinge of a smile caused the edges of her lips to perk up, though it didn't quite make its way to a full one. Ever curious was the cleaner, and for them to have a new member from so far away? It made her want to ask all sorts of questions. What was England like? How long had he been serving? What kind of places had he gone? But Butch knew better than to ask Porter these questions, not wanting to badger him like she had Jazz and Crescent.
"Do you have any questions about Jasper?" Butch asked. "I've not lived here as long as some of the others here have, but I know my way around. I'm afraid I can't tell you of a good fish and chips place, if that's what you're looking for, but there are other little treasures to be found. You might find the desert more tolerable if you go exploring for them." Casually the woman lifted one foot, snuffing out her cigarette against the heel with a scrunching hiss. Her balance was impeccable, the woman calmly standing on her one leg like a stork in the middle of a marsh. She crushed the butt of her spent cancer stick in her good palm, grinding her gloved fingers against it. The hot ash didn't bother her thanks to the cloth protection and the callouses on her fingertips.
Post by James Porter on Mar 11, 2024 13:10:53 GMT -5
“That’s fair enough. I’m not that awkward to talk to am I?” Porter replied with a joking tone. His head had swivelled back around to face the woman as they continued their conversation.
Personally, Porter was glad she wasn’t being too nosy or inquiring about him too much. Answering questions wasn’t something the man minded but he wasn’t one to talk about his personal life or that much about himself to others. Especially civilians that he’s just met. Once he was sure his hair had been flattened to a reasonable degree, Porter ceased trying to organise the top of his head. His hands shot down and embedded themselves into his pockets.
“Questions about Jasper? Hm…I guess my first one is asking where the best pub, bar or whatever you guys over here call them is located.” A place to drink alcohol at and socialise was the first question for him. Jasper surely had some sort of watering hole that could fit his alcoholic needs. “You really had to do me dirty like that huh? Telling me there’s no fish and chips place? Really ruined my morale in one devastating blow, Butch.” He laughed a little at his own joke before he continued on with his reply to the civilian. “I don’t think there’s that many worthwhile treasures outside of a chippy. That goes double for this wasteland of endless sand.”
Porter watched in silence for a moment as the smoker snuffed out her cancer stick. Finding himself surprised and even more impressed with how well Cassandra was able to balance herself like that. Most people are barely able to balance themselves without struggling or wobbling so what she did takes some skill. “That’s certainly one way of putting out a cigarette. If that’s how you’ve been putting them out then it’s no wonder you’ve gotten pretty good at being able to balance yourself.”
Post by Cassandra Cassidy on Mar 11, 2024 14:23:45 GMT -5
"No, I can be awkward at starting conversations," Butch replied. "I usually would've let you go on your way, but since you're new here, I wanted to see if you needed anything."
It was certainly a far cry from most of her social interactions. Butch could be straight and to the point, even among her coworkers at the cleaning company she worked for. Something about being around the Autobots and their human allies, though, brought out her talkative side. Perhaps the novelty of alien life and secret government bases hadn't worn off yet.
"We might not have a fish and chips place, but there's a couple of bars," Butch replied. "I know a place that has a great nacho platter. Nothing like the fish and chips back home, obviously, but if you like chips, it's a good place to go. Not too expensive, either, and there's a chance you'll have dinner and a show if someone attempts their 'Spicy Nacho Extravaganza Platter'."
The remark about her balance caught Butch off-guard. She never put much thought into her reflexes and balance - it had been a side-effect of learning parkour all those years ago. That, and being sharp enough to bolt when cops inevitably came sniffing around where a bunch of teenagers broke in to smoke and screw around. Butch shrugged at the comment, saying, "It's just me," before balling up the cigarette remnants in one hand.
Post by James Porter on Mar 17, 2024 10:19:00 GMT -5
“I bet it’s even more awkward when you're trying to start up a conversation with an ugly mug like yours truly.”
To emphasise his point, Porter had extracted both his hands from his pockets to gesture towards himself as he spoke. Index fingers pointing at him while his other fingers and his thumbs were crunched up into a fist. While it was a joke that didn’t mean Porter hadn’t encountered others that were uncomfortable or put off by the scar on his face. While it wasn’t something completely horrific, it was at the very least distracting and many people have varying levels of tolerance for unpleasant sights. In this case however he didn’t think Butch was phased at all by it.
“Well you’ve at least redeemed this town a little bit. Glad to know there’s somewhere I can get a drink or two at.” At least this town had a few bars. Porter’s real question however, was whether any of the drinks they served were actually any good. That would be the true test. If not then this was going to be a hellish deployment for the man. “Nachos you say? You’ve got my attention.” Porter said in response. Letting her finish before he replied. “Always enjoy some entertainment while I’m eating. I should give it a shot then, see if it’s really all you’ve made it out to be. By the sounds of that, I assume that’s some sort of ultimate Nacho dish of some kind right?”
Balance was something the Englishman wasn’t half bad at. Some of his training had forced him to learn how to properly work on his stability to cross difficult terrain with his equipment or get himself into a better position. “I guess so. Thought it was worth commending is all.”
Post by Cassandra Cassidy on Mar 19, 2024 19:05:46 GMT -5
Butch scoffed. She was, in fact, unfazed by the scarring on his face. "You're not ugly," she said. "In fact, I think the scar adds character. It tells a story of where you've been and what you've done."
When Porter asked about the nachos, Butch said, "It is. Five pounds of pepperjack cheese nachos, topped with jalapeno peppers, habanero slices, and slathered with the in-house hot sauce. I saw it being taken on once myself, by a coworker of mine. Poor man didn't even make it a third of the way through before having to down a glass of milk and then run to the bathroom. His stomach couldn't take the ghost pepper in the hot sauce, I'm guessing. Oh, that's another part of the challenge: you can't have anything to drink while you take down the platter."
She smiled faintly when he mentioned her balance was worth commending. "Your words are appreciated, Lance Corporal." She hoped she hadn't come across as too prickly with the last comment. Porter was still a stranger to her, and it was...odd...to be so sociable with someone she didn't know so well. In fact, now that she thought about it, perhaps it would be polite to try to....
"You think you feel like hitting up one of these bars, getting out of here for a bit?"
What was she doing? What had she just said? Butch never invited people out to somewhere. Most of the time it was tagging along on a group excursion or heading to the same place someone else was. Butch just didn't do this. But here she was, doing so, and forcing a friendly smile to her face to seem more warm and welcoming. It came off as more of an awkward grimace, which she quickly schooled into a neutral expression because it hurt the edges of her mouth.