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.
Shadow almost dismissed her first question as asking for more tactical information than could comfortably be shared, but they were talking about a DMZ, and presumably at least one Autobot already had at least some idea of the numbers involved. Or maybe not, given Ironhide's focus on Cleaver, but he probably would have at least noticed if she'd been talking about dozens of mecha.
Probably.
At any rate, Cleaver had been willing enough to offer information unasked for (Moonshot and gun range were definitely topics she intended to pursue), and Shadow had already set precedent for simply moving away from unwanted subjects. She drew one leg up on the chair, a deliberately casual pose so that Cleaver couldn't in any way mistake her curiosity for interrogation. "You said the mine is big, but your group isn't, is it? Are you going to have the personnel to handle getting the base in order and the rules established?"
"My 'group' is three mecha and one human," Cleaver replied, wry and easy with Shadow emanating longwave like that. "Up until four months ago, it was me and Reflector, and Reflector was a stowaway when I first met him. Neutrals... don't tend to congregate."
She sat forward at the next point, quietly keen to discuss the ideas that had been brewing in her processor ever since she'd secured both faction leader's agreement to the DMZ. "In terms of cleaning out and setting up, I'm setting up a credit system for work done by anyone. Place is, basically, gonna be a rec. centre for Bots and Cons alike - to give them something beneficial out of not killing each other on that particular bit of turf. So, lobbing court, bar, refec' room and the like are gonna fill up some of all that space. High Grade costs credits, and credits get earned for serving time on the weapon's handover point, behind the bar, clearing out rubble, things like that. Basic trade of goods for services."
"So like I said, small." Shadow grinned, though three mecha and a human was a much smaller group than she'd expected for such an ambitious undertaking as creating a spot where Bots and Cons would have no choice but to play nice. She hummed a little, thoughtful. "You're going to be relying on peer pressure and the shiny of the DMZ to ensure everyone behaves, I'm guessing? I mean, I know major infractions will be dealt with by the faction leaders if they crop up, but I doubt that'll stop people from being afts, and asking the factions to police each other would be asking for trouble."
The base was a good idea, and she had no doubt mecha on both sides would be willing to work for the promise of some sort of entertainment, and more than likely they'd be willing to keep their friends in check as well. Still, it seemed like Cleaver was putting a lot of faith in the better natures of the mecha who would be participating, much more than Shadow was comfortable with. Particularly since she was finding that she liked Cleaver on her own merit, wholly separate from Ironhide's feelings for the femme, and from the fact Cleaver was, sort of, already cohort. Even if she didn't know it.
"How much thought have to given to handling anyone who's pushing right up against the line of acceptable behavior?" The question slipped out before Shadow could stop it, and she grimaced at herself. "Sorry. I hope you don't think I'm being negative, or implying you don't know what you're doing." She shrugged sheepishly. "For the record, I think this is a great idea, and I'm probably being paranoid. I'd just rather you were over-prepared than taken by surprise."
Cleaver raised a blade tip with a smile, stemming the apologies before they could escalate. "I'm biting off a lot here, I know, and if it was someone else doing this I'd be asking them the same questions and calling them an idiot on top. But, I've made a living out of difficulty and handling unruly mechs. Cratered medical students, torqued off gladiators, both factions in moods when I've been too close to a battle site..."
She trailed off, considering her words, struggling to put belief and a conviction of success into words, especially in the face of such fair and warranted criticism. The medic didn't want Shadow to leave with the impression that she was simply too much of an optimist to see that the base could fail. It wasn't going to fail because it fragging well wasn't. She'd seen DMZs run successfully before, and taking cues from those, this one would be a success as well.
"This isn't the first DMZ that's been sanctioned, just the first on the front line. There's not been many, but I've traded in a few, and they worked exactly because they were demiliterized. Gross oversimplification to say that the war's gone everywhere and taken everything, made mecha who never wanted to fight into soldiers with no end in sight and nothing behind them but wreckage. The DMZs are, respites, from that. You can't fight else you'll get torn a new one by your own commander, so you're near enough a civilian again. Every mecha, bot or con, has a spark in 'em and interests outside of fighting."
She grinned, a memory returning unbidden of the last DMZ she'd set pede in to trade salvage for energon. Inspecting her wares had taken a breem, and she'd set herself down in the refectory to wait it out, watching the other occupants with no small note of wonder. "I've seen purple and red playing Crystal Hex with nothing more than insults and promises to tear out their optics next time they fought. Next time. But in those places, and I'm hoping it'll be true of the mine, mecha just get to be Cybertronians for a few breems."
Shadow was silent for a klik too long, and she knew it was too long, she just...couldn't quite accept Cleaver's reassurances. Couldn't wrap her processor around them, really. She suspected that if she had any memories of being a civilian to fall back on, it would be different, but everything before Labyrinth was hazed over and error prone, and after...after there had been plenty of things to learn, of targets and objectives, but not much of anything in the way of mecha just being Cybertronians.
Every mecha, bot or con, has a spark in 'em and interests outside of fighting, Cleaver had said, as if it were an obvious truth.
It bothered Shadow more than she wanted to admit that she wasn't sure it was true of her.
"I'll take your word for it," she said finally, when the silence had stretched on too long. She thought of Steeljaw and his utter shock over her attitude about the war, and added by way of explanation, "I was sparked not long after the start of the war. I've never really been a civilian, so I'm afraid I don't entirely understand."
She had, at some point, utterly lost the ability to meet Cleaver's optics; now she vented quietly and forced her head up. "Obviously, I'm not someone who should be trying to make suggestions about any of this, but I am glad you're doing it. I'm glad you believe in it." She smiled again, the expression only a little forced. "And if you're still willing to tell me about your plans, I promise not to give you any more unsolicited advice."
From nowhere, Cleaver had the sudden urge to pull Shadow into her lap and tuck her up against her chassis. The young femme seemed in need of some prolonged TLC, though she couldn't entirely place why. It gentled her tone, field warming in that way that had always soothed particularly young patients back on Cybertron. "Your perspective isn't wrong, or your suggestions. Probably more realistic than mine, at this point. I don't know."
A slight shrug, turning the trailing-off into an offhand remark rather than something more serious. She sat back comfortably in the chair, fidgeting minutely to accomodate her still-healing side. "Maybe when the place is up and running, you'll come by and see something like how things were before the war. And I've gotten the impression from Ironhide that cohort and friendship are things that exist in this base. "
"I don't know how realistic I can be about something I've never seen." She offered the medic a smile. "That will have to wait until you're up and running."
The touch of Cleaver's field was soothing, and Shadow relaxed enough to huff a small laugh at the mention of cohort, thinking of Jazz and his determination to wheedle her into trying new things. "And yes," she added, certain Cleaver wouldn't understand her sudden amusement, "cohort and friendship are definitely important around here. That's why I'm pretty sure I won't have a choice about visiting; I'm bound to be dragged along at least once. Not saying I wouldn't want to visit anyway, of course. Assuming Moonshot will allow those of us wearing faction symbols anywhere near his gun range."
She tipped her head, noting Cleaver's slight show of discomfort. "Are you sure you're all right? You must have had a long day, between - Cat's? - injury, and the surgery on Prime."
"Cat," the medic confirmed, settling into the chair as if she didn't plan on getting out of it for a good long while. Where there couldn't be a chair near the Medbay she couldn't figure, though Ratchet did strike her as the 'hovering and pacing' type... "Who's finally spending some time with her own species. June and the younglings seem like a nice lot."
Cleaver really didn't want to make an issue of the wound Megatron had dealt her. It was healing, Ironhide didn't know about it, and would continue not to know about it if she had her way. She flicked reassurance at Shadow, downplaying the lancing ache as she saw fit. "And I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. Get to my age and something's always aching."
The way Cleaver was sitting confirmed for Shadow that she'd had a long day, but she wasn't going to argue if the medic wanted to downplay that fact. "You're going to be here a while; just let me know if you change your mind about needing anything," she said, and let her attention be diverted to the humans.
"June and the kids are generally nice," Shadow said, her field brightening with genuine affection for them, "though I'm not sure June's fully adapted to having giant alien robots around." She grinned. "I think we offend her sense of reality for the same reason Miko loves us. And Special Agent Fowler is...well, nice doesn't fit, but he's decent enough. Though you probably should still be glad you missed meeting him."
She leaned forward just a little, curiosity creeping into her field. "How did you meet Cat? You said it was just you and Reflector until four months ago; did she arrive with Moonshot?"
Cleaver's field relayed some sense of embarrassment far more than her faceplates did, and she transformed a blade to thumb at an optical ridge. "No, Moonshot crashed on my doorstep a little before Cat. I met her when we were both having engine troubles of our own."
It was one of the worst displays of common sense in her long life, but it had also led on to an increasingly valuable friendship. She'd taken Cat into her ship as a charge, as something that needing some taking care of. No food, no real home, busted transport, no credits - that the young woman had wanted to pay her back in time and energy had said more about her character than anything else she could have said or done. It was an understatement that she was pleased that Cat had decided to stay on with the Neutrals and move into the new base with them.
"Her truck had broken down a little ways off from where I'd put down to do a repair, and she just walked right over. My holo glitched on me, which finished off the half-aft job I'd been making of being in disguise." And Primus had offering to take the dehydrated human to a lake been a particularly smooth move... Cleaver's remaining blade-tip twisted against the floor in a small, awkward fidget. "Cat panicked, I panicked. Eventually she ended up in my shuttle where I foisted water and chocolate onto her. That's... pretty much it."
Shadow laughed, letting her field convey that she wasn't laughing at Cleaver's embarrassment. "You shouldn't feel bad. The way Bee tells the story, Arcee accidentally kidnapped Jack, and then nearly landed two Cons on top of Raf. When you compare to that, a glitched holoform and chocolate is practically a courtship."
She was, frankly, more than a little surprised by how embarrassed Cleaver seemed by the chain of events. It wasn't as if she had anyone to answer to for the mistake, or any reason beyond self-preservation not to announce herself to the humans outright, if that was what she wanted. And Cat, from what Shadow had observed, was certainly no threat to Cleaver or anyone else's self preservation.
"Cat seems lovely," she offered. "And if it helps any, Jazz is fond of telling me that a stupid plan that works isn't a stupid plan. Whether you panicked or not, things seem to have worked out, so," she shrugged, "it must not have been so half-aft after all, right?"
"True," Cleaver conceded, helm tipping with a smile. "And Cat's been a wonderful addition to the... whatever I'm calling this collection of strays I'm accumulating."
She held up a blade, pulsing wry humour in longwave. Shadow relaxing was contagious given how tense she'd started off. "Not a crew. Autobots have crews, and duties, and all these devices to get the ragtag pointed in the same direction. Neutrals have weird semi-cohorts of favours, debts and plain reliance that turns into trading and living together."
"Definitely not a crew," Shadow agreed; a crew she would have understood a lot better, and felt more secure with. This was...well, frankly this was something that Jazz would undoubtedly tell her was educational and insist that she needed to observe.
She shifted position, leaning forward. "So, you have your non-crew, and you have your location, and you have a plan. For certain values of plan that I think are fragging crazy, but a plan." She smiled to take the sting out of her words. "But you said before that Neutrals don't tend to congregate. What made you decide to go to all the trouble of a DMZ, when your group could have just kept its collective head down and not been bothered?"
It was the billion credit question, and the one that no one had come right out and asked her until now. Cleaver tapped a blade-tip quietly, trying to word the answer in the form of some philosophy for peace. Something to make it sound like a grand vision, not the flat and simple truth of what the DMZ really was. Her processor warmed, sifting through old audio transmissions from the Prime that had been passed around the 'verse, and older ones laced with static from the original calls for peace back on Cybertron when the deaths were mounting into genocide. Trying to find concepts, phrases - anything to articulate why she'd gone to the (suicidal?) effort to propose this lunacy, let alone see it through.
What finally sighed from her vocaliser was less than spectacular. It was nothing that would be remembered. But it was, achingly, truth.
"I'm tired."
A beat and then Cleaver shrugged, optics holding Shadow's brightly, measuring the response to that admission. "I'm tired, I'm old, and I just didn't want to move on again. DMZ's the only place where you can live openly and not get killed, recruited or enslaved." She smirked faintly to lighten the tone, though her field was still resonant with frank honesty. "It'll benefit a lot of other Neutrals who just can't fight to survive, but mostly, it's because I'd old and stubborn and I decided to retire on this particular rock."
Shadow could see Cleaver trying to come up with a good answer, and she was prepared to sift through the slag and try to find the truth under it. Cleaver's actual answer, when it came, surprised her with its simple, blunt honesty, and where Shadow had already begun to like Cleaver, her respect for the medic now grew by leaps and bounds.
Before Barricade, Shadow had always had a home. She may have been away from it more than she was there, sometimes for scores of vorn at a time, but it had been there and she had known it. Some days, she thought she would give anything to have that kind of certain, fixed point again.
Even if the front lines shifted, if the Autobots chased the war somewhere else, it sounded like Cleaver's new base would still be here.
Shadow pushed that thought aside as having too many cohort-related variables to deal with right now. "I really can't fault you for wanting a home," she said. Her vocalizer wavered a little on the last word; annoyed at the slip, she quickly cycled her vents and added in a lighter tone, "And as much as you may try to downplay it, that still sounds like a fragging lot of work in the name of retirement."