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.
'Kind of…? Maybe…?' "No, not exactly…" She winced, kicking back off her seat and taking her sweet time to walk over to and study the now oddly shaped stack somehow keeping its balance. Out of frustration she almost wanted to beat her meaning into his head with verbal bricks, fetch a black board somewhere and draw him diagrams, graphs, make some flash animations, drop the bomb, something.
…But part of her, that same part of her that would question her actions, began to become more obvious in its prodding. The same guilty feeling creeping up a little closer now that there were pauses in between just blurting. Cleaver did mention at one point that she didn't want it to be blasted over the loud speaker… and if anything was louder than a loud speaker, it was her.
As she wrestled with it, she carefully maneuvered so that her back was to him, her concentration almost completely focused on a box she was attempting to pull. Or that's what she tried to make it look like at least. "Well, good, that's okay 'cause it's not that important anyway. So forget about it, nevermind." It came out a bit rushed, sudden. "'Your turn. Hurry up and lose."
Well that was the wrong damned thing to say. Sideswipe narrowed his eyes at the human, optical lenses spinning up and refocusing on the little human. In an instant and liquid smooth move, the commando abandoned his place watching her and was crouched very loomingly over her. He had his index finger flat against the side of the box she was trying to move, pinning it in place. He tilted his head at her, the blue glow off his optics casting pale light across her face, bouncing light off the frames of her glasses.
“No. What were you saying? I want t’ know.” The Cybertronian leaned down again, face hovering over hers. He’d swapped to English on the grounds that it was an obnoxious and straight forward language and he felt like being both. “You said ‘actual mom-ness’. Whaddya mean because I’m trying t’ give ya a chance to not tell me ya think she’s fuckin’ pregnant, because we can’t do that. Our world is dead, Cat, and th’ Last Sparked are lost or dead or on their way their cuz of a war ain’t stopping.” His expression was unreadable, neither angry, friendly, or sad. “So, again, what are ya gettin’ at?”
He had it pinned. She knew, not only because she no longer had any effect on the position of the box, but because of the shadow and the dim light that had fallen over her. The Loom… and the giant fucking finger holding it all in place. After a few more tugs just to show she could, maybe with some small hope that he'd get the hint… she gave up. Planted her forehead against the box briefly with a thud.
'Sonnuva…' She was back peddling. Trying. Was counting very much on Sideswipe throwing his hands up with a 'whatever' and leaving it, but the scales tipped in the other direction. 'Duh, they did.'
"Nothing!" She started at first, staring straight up at that face and sinking thankfully into heated and rapid Italian in response, sometimes anger doing it for fending off larger predators. "I said forget about it, that's it!" Not working. Not this time. So she huffed and simmered, shoving herself back to lean against the box behind, rolling her eyes towards his hand to give her something, for a few seconds, to stare at other than his optics. 'Shitfire, if you'd just let me take that chance like I'm trying to do…'
At first she kept her mouth shut, letting her head hang down after a moment of dropping the huffy act and veiled whatever was showing of her face with dark waves of hair. Back peddling was out of the question now, unless something decided to start blowing up Africa. Seeing as to how Moonshot was absent, she'd have to make due. She could run.. except for that she'd be caught and possibly left in a cupboard until cooperation. She could poke one of his optics out from here, maybe. But he'd probably just ask Cleaver anyway, and then what would that accomplish but making Big Red Jackass an enemy? She exhaled audibly. 'I should just really shut up.' Blunt and plain… that seemed like the best way to continue, right?
"You're right, she's not." She said finally, her voice muffled until she dipped her hand under the veil, and swung it all back with fingers running through that wavy mop. "'Cause that'd just be ridiculous." And she settled, elbows resting off to the side.. fingers fidgeting and tapping against the box. Clearly, by her inability to be still and quiet, there was more. "…Except for that she is." She sighed, deflating, and rolling her eyes upwards to glance at his face from the tops of her frames.
“No, she’s not,” said Sideswipe flatly. His other hand he pressed flat to the floor, leaning down closer, crowding Cat down slightly against the boxes. He couldn’t put a finger on the exact point of his anger with her; it was not as if it was her fault that holocaust had wiped out their species. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t understand and he resented her anyway for pointing it out. “Not possible. Not on this world or any world. What we got is what we got. In case Cleaver ain’t made it clear we’re a rapidly dying breed. Why the hell are you saying this?”
Having no where else to look but him was uncomfortable, especially when she felt the tension rise just a bit when he pressed his other palm flat beside her. Sighing she raised her eyes directly to him, one arm folding around herself while the other stayed out to help her words along. "I'm not trying to start something here, Sideswipe, I'm just telling you what I know because you asked," 'And it slipped and I thought you knew…' "Look.." She released that breath, shoving her fingers against the bridge of her nose," I'm not just gonna say it for the hell of it." But she was quickly become frustrated again; frustrated at her own inability to get him to see, at her lack of knowledge that might help her to do so. Frustrated this conversation was even happening at all the way it was.
He didn’t say anything. He just stared at her… then he muttered something in Kaonese and shoved the whole stack of boxes over as he stood up, heedless of where they tumbled to stand the hell up and walk the hell out of the room. There were no more full frames. Fact. When Cybertron died the spark of the world died and took the All Spark, the primary current that ignited all living metal, offline forever. That meant no more protoforms, no more sparking crèches, no more frame-building, full, sparkling or otherwise and if Cat was saying otherwise then that meant Cleaver had said something. The blue light off his optics flashed over his shoulder.
“No fucking way. I’ll ask her myself.”
He appeared ready to just storm out of there… but then thought better of it an turned on his heel walked back to where Cat was standing and in a single stride and bend, he reached down and, with more gentleness than his anger might have suggested, picked her up. “Hang on,” he growled, setting her up on his shoulder, between his shoulder fin and neck, where the headlight of his alt was laid flat into his shoulder. Then, Cat seated and hanging on, he walked out of the room – briefly tapping his knuckles against Sunny’s medical slab as he passed – leaving to find Cleaver.
'What-' "What?" She stopped short of dodging some of the falling boxes that had spread out at the base, practically tripping over her own feet as she came to halt behind his retreating form.
'Shit. Shitshootshit.'
She didn't know why it horrified her so much, that he was storming straight to Mom before she could get to her first. A flashback to warring with cousins, under the impression that getting there First would somehow change the future. It should have been okay… just going to ask something honest, right? But he was pissed. She felt guilty, and altogether that made some weird combination of something that urged her to try and control all she could.
"Sides! Just wai--!" 'Dear God.' She stopped so suddenly her boots scuffed the ground when he turned, and she could only barely back up fast enough to plant right in the middle of his palm. And with a light-headed feeling that might have been pleasant any other time, was swept up and set in the shadows between shoulder and head. 'Well then.'
"Fine." She managed to spit out, hunching over raised knees to hold on lightly with her hands after hooking her boots well enough to the plating of his shoulder. 'Stop being pissed.' She wanted to say. 'You're making me pissed.' Instead, she stayed quiet. Cooling off before she could say something that might inspire her ride to accidentally trip send her flying.
They found Cleaver in the control room, fiddling at the ground bridge control console. It was still in need of tweaking. Even after all the work of basically pulling all the groundbridge tech intact from her shuttle and reformatting it to draw power from their base generators, none of them were exactly ground bridge engineers. There were still considerable tweaks that needed doing. Well, those tweaks were not getting done just then because Sideswipe crossed the atrium, stepping over several massive humming powerlines and a past a pile of boxes and tools, and proceeded directly to where the medic was painstakingly adjusting something on the console.
“Hey, Cleaver.” Sideswipe shoved at her shoulder slightly to get her attention and not exactly gently. It wasn’t like the medic needed coddling and Sideswipe was Sunstreaker’s brother. ‘Gentle’ had never been his style, even if Sunny had accused him of being such – Sunstreaker’s baseline for ‘soft’ was simple not murdering his way out of every situation. He glared at the medic. “The human seems to be under the impression that you’re having a fragging new-spark, magically. Does ‘endangered species’ no longer apply to our race or are you just lying to make the human feel better about living with aliens? Or was explaining what the All Spark is, just too time consuming?”
((OOC: Kraxie can come in, or Cat can interject. :3 I'm good with whatevers.))
One thump with her boot against his shoulder guard with an irritated glare was all she managed after his 'greeting'. Like hell it'd hurt him, but it got her mood across if nothing else did and made her feel.. slightly.. better.
From there her face went straight to palms, doing at least some good to hide the cringe she was feeling on the inside. It stayed there, at least until he was done, after which she slowly looked up on an audible inhale/exhale, and plopped her chin between the heels of her hands. Her muscles were tense, lips pursed and brows drawn together so tightly it wrinkled her forehead, all of which formed thick layers of want to beat him senseless.
But under it all, meant for Cleaver, were deeply apologetic eyes and expression she might be able to pick up on. 'I did not mean for this to happen.' She thought, hoping in some way, she could think it to her.
(( Just slipping this one in there, and all good here. <33 ))
Cleaver's mass didn't budge under the red mech's shove, though her hands did cease over the controls. She grit her denta a little at the sour edge of his field, all outraged disbelief and anger and scrap this could have been avoided if she'd had enough presence of processor to say something to him.
It was easy to blame her 'forgetting' to mention that she was currently making a sparkling on Sunstreaker, but it was where her focus had been since Sideswipe had agreed to come back to the Base with her. Putting him back together, trying to coax his consciousness back to the fore, and then trying to keep his brother occupied when that kept failing.
She finally looked up and saw Cat perched miserably on his shoulder, scanning her for damage by default because Sideswipe had never picked her up before to her knowledge, and it didn't look like she was there willingly now.
The medic didn't need to threaten him now to ensure Cat's safety, and with a barely perceptable nod at the young woman's emoting face she clicked her optics to Sideswipe. To be fair, he had never been the easiest mech to have a real conversation with. Punctuating with physical blows aside.
"Not magically," Cleaver finally drawled, straightening with a gravelled sigh and sliding her arms back into blades at her side. "I'm one of a pathetically tiny percentage who can self-generate and, presently, am doing so."
Full-framed sparked and low-caste originating to boot, there was no way that Sideswipe was just going to digest that. She made a small gesture towards her lower chassis. "Got a mess of manufacturing heat coming off here where it's growing. Big enough to show on scanners now, if you want to see for yourself."
Then she mentally braced herself. For what, she wasn't rightly sure. With Sideswipe it could be anything.
Sideswipe glared suspiciously at Cleaver, his EMF flared in a way that very clearly said you better not be having me on and underscored with the usual threat that came with Sideswipe being Sideswipe. Then that abated somewhat and the commando’s bright optics flicked down uneasily at the medic’s chest and abdominal plating – as though it might fragging burst open Alien-style and disgorge some horrible half-shell on him or something. Then, with more hesitance than he’d admit to later, Sideswipe moved forward and placed a hand flat against her flank, on a long seam of alloy in just below what would be her ribcage on a human. The heat was pervasive, radiating and steady-on. Like a second pulse below the frequencies that belonged to the medic herself.
He glanced up at her, briefly, before dropping his optics again and stepping a little closer. His palm moved slightly down and across, as if he could map through touch and frequency alone the shape and configuration of what Cleaver was insisting was the mechanisms of self-generation. Bullshit. That’s what the human term was. If dropping down to Kaonese there was a glyph sign for the rumor of self-generation in the Northern Towers – fancy spark slag. It was so unnecessary, so… fucking deviant. When all were sparked from Primus, what was that degree of separation that upper castes put between themselves and the All Spark of the world?
A pulse flickered up against the denral sensors in Sideswipe’s finger tips and he pushed back, recoiling. “No way. That’s scrap. Self-generators were wiped out in the Tower bombings. There’s no…” But Cleaver was never in the Towers. Sideswipe shook his head. “No way. Nuh-uh. There's no way you're one of those fancy-spark freak-bots!”
Last Edit: May 21, 2012 17:57:35 GMT -5 by Deleted
The oddly gentle moment was lovely right up until the insults started flying again, and Cleaver's right blade had come up to crack the mech around the helm before her expression had finished morphing. It stopped short by bare inches when she remembered Cat - now staring at her in wide-eyed terror. The apologetic look she gave was only a fraction of the feeling clenching her spark, as doubtless the blow would have crushed her.
She swtiched the blade and held her hand out, taking her down and, despite herself, cradled the human to her chassis above the dangerous emanating heat. "Not as though it's something safe to broadcast, back in Kaon or now. Especially now." It was quieter than she was intending, her focus temporarily on Cat as she set the woman gingerly down atop the console. Safe.
Then, Cleaver looked back to Sideswipe and hardened once again. "'m older than you think I am, Sideswipe. Don't assume you know me well enough to say scrap like that."
She felt the breeze off of that one, which served more than enough as a sigh of relief. Not that she thought she'd be squished... But it was close enough that she practically slumped with her exhale. If not for her current perch, she'd have been more than happy to watch Cleaver smack Sideswipe upside the head, but she'd prefer to not be pancaked in the process.
Glancing at Sideswipe--not bothering to hide contemplating completing where Cleaver's swing had stopped short--she hopped easily to her outstretched palm, and tossed here a glance only when she was in Cleaver's shadow. Something a mix of the apology that hadn't quite left her face covered with an eye roll that could only mean I would smack him if I could... And maybe a slight promise that some day (soon), she would.
Now set on the console, she stepped around Cleaver's form enough so that she could see the both of them, and stuffed her hands in her back pockets, quiet. For the moment.
Sideswipe just looked at Cleaver, pale optics searching her face for any sign that she was lying to him. Then again, how would be know? She’d been a Tower-bought self-generator for millions of years and never told him. She’d scooped his own guts and gears back inside him after dozens of battles, sheltered him and Sunstreaker after bad fights, been there when all other mechanoids seemed to come and go – a fixed point to hold onto and even if that was all she was, that had come to mean something. Sideswipe didn’t like having his perceptions rearranged. He didn’t like the idea that when he’d bombed the Towers, back when he wore the Decepticon sigil, that he might not have just killed the upper caste but people she’d known once.
Had she ever cared for anyone in the Towers that built her? Who was she exactly? What had she ever been?
“Why the frak are you doin’ this now? With Megatron planet-side and the Prime? That fragger is crazy enough when he’s not in close proximity to the one thing he hates the most in the fraggin’ universe. You saw what he did to me, to Sunstreaker.” His voice was soft, complex with static and sub-sonics. “You wanna bring some soft-shell new-spark into this?”
"Megatron's fault that this happened in the first place." Cleaver's mouth was a hard, twisted line, field radiating agitation and angry defensiveness. "I had protocols set to prevent this, and those got slagged offline when he slagged me and I didn't find out until after the fact."
It felt beyond wrong that a coming sparkling would be the cause for an argument like this, the act of carriage deemed obscenely stupid and unwelcomed. Cleaver had become so immersed in Ironhide's joy, in Cat's bright-eyed pleasure over something she didn't fully understand, that to receive the opposite was a strike to her systems.
And that it was Sideswipe she had somehow ended up explaining herself to, like he was some authority she needed the blessing of all of a sudden, was torquing her off.
"It's not the right time, but it'll never be the right time," she went on sharply, stepping into the smaller mech with an ex-vent that sounded like a growl. "We're beyond an endangered species, and one new-spark ain't going to make a blind bit of difference in the grand scheme of things, but it's something and whilst there's a DMZ, it's safe". And it's mine.
In the face of Sideswipe's bright, unwavering stare, the medic cycled down a little as if wearied. The red mech wasn't shouting at her, wasn't picking a fight, was just looking at her with soft modulations. Hurt.
She took a step back and to the side, gaze flickering up to some point just above and behind him. When she spoke, her tone had softened. "Same reason as why I didn't tell you, tell anyone, in all that time down in Kaon 's why I've spent all these vorns scavenging instead of trading, going alone aside from one tiny stowaway. Nothing to stop me getting snatched, strapped down and turned into a fragging manu-plant."
Last Edit: May 24, 2012 10:24:40 GMT -5 by Deleted