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.
The first thing he thought and kept thinking over and over and over again was ‘Why the frak would a self-generator come to Kaon? Because she was 100% slagging right someone would strap her down, lobotomize her, and convert every inch of tech she had into a false crèche machine because illegal sparking was one of, if not the, most notorious black market rings run down there. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker themselves had been sparked outside the law, their frames loaned and owned by another bot completely – sparked shackled to the debt of their own lives. He was furious at her. Furious that she’d always been in the peril for all the time he’d know her and he’d never picked up on it.
“Yur damn right, ya couldn’t tell me! Yur damn right n’ya shouldn’t be tellin’ anyone! There’re tens of thousands of us left, that’s fraggin’ it! If Megatron or his scientists fraggin’ finger you fer a brightplate sparker-build they’ll fraggin’…” They’ll enslave you. Same as they would have on Kaon but worse and Kaon was the worst. He couldn’t see straight he was so angry, didn’t see himself or feel himself move until he was grabbing Cleaver’s shoulders, gripping her tight, speaking through his teeth. “Ya think a DMZ will hold if they figure it out? They’ll find a way to drag you outta here, spilt you open’n see how it ticks because that’s what ya do ta shit ya don’t understand. ”
He let go of her, EM field a seething boil of anger and anxiety twisted by dread. "Ya see how it ticks..."
Cleaver regarded the young mech with dull optics for a long moment, feeling her systems trembling outwards from her constricting spark. Then, because slag it she needed it too, she stepped forward to close the distance he'd put back between them and crossed her blades behind his back.
His helm fit snugly beneath her jaw, and she held him a little tighter when she felt him stiffen. "Thank you for so aptly summating my greatest fears," she replied, dry and matching her field in bitter humour. "Much appreciated."
The medic eased her hold, allowing and indicating that he could slide away now if he wanted. She didn't drop her arms, though, taking no small measure of comfort in his familiar solidity, the feel of a body she'd known too long and done an obscene amount of work on. Still here, still going, still an aft but a loveable and protective aft. Still family, no matter where either of them went or how long they went missing for.
Cleaver sighed a little, rotors twitching to sag lax down her backstrut, and she turned her helm a little into Sideswipe's so that her cheekplates rested against his crest. "'m being careful, and got a walking weapons locker for the sire. It'll be alright." A smile that she pushed out in her field to compensate for him not being able to see it, knocking his side with one blade in a familiar, reassuring strike. "Besides, it's not like you'd let anything happen on your watch."
In all the time that Cleaver had been welding his aft back together, Sideswipe had never been the subject to any physicality on her part that wasn’t throwing something at him, pinning him down, punching him out or some other form of necessary medic violence. Bottomline: he stiffened slightly at the sudden embrace, engines humming briefly anxiously awaiting a headlock or punches to the side of his helm. When he realized she was actually just holding him, his engine noise only became more anxious. It meant she was actually scared.
Cleaver. Tough as hell, don't-give-a-slag, sit-your-aft-down-or-I-kill-you, Cleaver was scared. Sideswipe wasn't good with that. So, he stuck to what he knew. The soldier pulled back only far enough to look up at her, the crystal diaphrams of his optics irised to narrow points in the lenses.
“I’ll fraggin’ tear ‘em apart,” said Sideswipe. “All your enemies, doc.” He dropped into the guttural battle-pidgin dialect of Kaon to say it – low-fidelity tonal chords arrayed in base tones and clicks, a violent language meant for violence. He swapped back to English went he added, “I ain’t good fer much. But I’m good for slaggin’ fraggers who start trouble an’ I’m good at startin’ th’trouble.” Then, the moment having passed, he poked at the medic-bot over-warm abdominal plates and frowned theatrically. “So… does this mean you’re gonna bulk out and start pourin’ steam in the middle of the night?”
Last Edit: May 24, 2012 20:56:32 GMT -5 by Deleted
A quirk of a smile as Cleaver dropped her arms and stepped back half a pace, looking down to the red finger prodding at her chassis. "No, not much more than this. Only things you'll notice is me taking fuel like a Wrecker with High Grade and 'charging more. Well. Until a bitlet appears in around eleven joors and tries to climb your leg. Reckon you're not so thick-plated that you won't notice that."
Sideswipe's gutteral promise was both touching and reassuring, and more than anything showed that, however weirded out he was by this onslaught of new information, he still accepted her. Still trusted her despite the massive but necessary omissions.
A thought occured and she looked between Cat on the console and Sideswipe in front of her. "Wait. You two stormed in here..." Sideswipe, pissed off, frustrated, having snatched Cat up along for the ride. No Sunstreaker, but that just meant the collateral damage wouldn't be entirely catastrophic and the walls would be intact.
Her optics narrowed, voice falling into wonderfully familiar modulations after the upheaval of the last few minutes. "Where were you? What the Pit did you do?"
“Ain’t doin’ nothin’,” said Sideswipe defensively, optics immediately getting shifty recalling that he’d ended their game of Jenga with a decided disaster of boxes.
He would be swift to blame the fall out on the human however, since she proposed playing building blocks with the medic’s equipment. At least Cleaver was back to her normal, face-punching, growlerific self, though that did not bode well for the state of Sideswipe’s continuing not-dented self. He backed very hastily out of helm-punching range, though he knew it wouldn’t make a difference if she really got it in her head to dent him.
“I was takin’ a nap. Anything that occurred after th’ napping wasn’t my fault!”
Last Edit: May 25, 2012 11:36:55 GMT -5 by Deleted
That made her brows shoot up right quick, shifting out from behind Cleaver's shadow enough so that he could see every angry little wrinkle in her forehead, weight shifting to one hip with the motion and hands sliding down to her hips before she launched into it.
"Uh-uh, I don't think so!" She began, which carried her thought 'You are not gonna pin this all on my ass!' with it. In a tone heated and seeming to carry multiple meanings, one that underscored everything in bullshit. "That little hissy fit you pitched-" that sent a heap of boxes all over Med Bay, he might be able to fill in "--wasn't your fault?" She challenged, narrowing her eyes, hand flinging out towards him as she spoke.
Last Edit: May 30, 2012 15:47:34 GMT -5 by Deleted
“Yu-huh, human.” Sideswiped didn’t quite make a face at her, but it was in his voice that he would have liked to. He was very quick, however to jab a dramatic finger at her, leaning around Cleaver to angle a matte black finger at her. He got very animated and mock indignant, optics flashing with friendly malevolence. “I didn’t even know what Jenga was until you proposed playing it with all Cleaver’s boxes of stuff! Knocking crap over is the inevitable point of the game. Blame falls on you!”
She threw her hands up. "A game you chose to play, with stuff that ain't fragile, by the way, all of which would still be standing if you hadn't shoved it over!" By that time she had come fully around to one side of the console, so that Sideswipe was fully in her vision and Cleaver's frame mostly to the side, stepping until she was near to the edge and as close to Sides as she could get. One hand on her hip, she swiped her other finger in the air, barely managing to hide a giggle, a grin, that was creeping up at the look in his optics (though still managed to flash behind her frames). "Nuh-uh!" She continued, "Blame fall on you."
Sideswipe was now fully facing Cat, having moved around Cleaver to face his accuser in full. He was of course, millions of years old and had, you know, oodles of eons of experience and knowledge and literally centuries of arguing with Sunstreaker under his belt. So he totally had this in hand. Totally. Which is why he said, immediately, with great argumentative prowess:
“No! You!”
Last Edit: May 31, 2012 13:58:14 GMT -5 by Deleted
She may not have matched him in years, but where he had age, she had about as many cousins, she could swear like a sailor, and put sirens to shame... that had to count for something. She was balancing, having shifted her weight (serious business) to both feet, arms braced beside herself and elbows tucked in for a powerful point, breaking into a mixture of Italian and English if only because swearing and shouting just seemed so much more satisfying in Italian. "Fuck no, YOU!"
Balancing and leaning foreword as much as she could, practically daring him to come closer.
It might not have been immediately apparent, but Sideswipe was relieved to be back on familiar ground, namely being unnecessarily obnoxious for the sake of being unnecessary obnoxious and not talking about the assemblage of an impossible spark in Cleaver’s chassis. The whole thing seemed just so… fucking bizarre and organic.
Sideswipe had spent eons of his life fighting and traveling from one edge of the universe to the other and in that time come to accept the fact that he was a mechanical being in a predominantly organic universe and that was just the way it was. How they functioned, the nature of the Spark was widely acknowledged – by other species out there in civilized space – as a bona fide miracle and one of the great mysteries of the universe. These strange robotic souls running around obliterating themselves and, often, the organic species so marveled by them. A Spark seemed natural to a Cybertronian, but what Cleaver was doing was alien even to them. Or him. Or at least... a lot of bots like him.
Whatever. He made a face a Cat and opted not to think about it.
Relieved as she was to see Sideswipe broken clear out of his moping and bitching like a sparkling with Cat almost exactly like he would have with Sunstreaker, Cleaver could not pass over the fact that the pair had been fragging around in her Medbay with her stuff. And had apparently left a Twin-trade mess in their wake.
Sideswipe wasn't paying attention to her - neither of them were - fixating with single-minded obsessiveness on either prolonging or winning this highly cerebral argument with Cat. The red mech didn't have the chance to react before Cleaver slapped a hand down onto his neck and shoulder assemblies, heaved him clear off his pedes and then slammed him down into the floor. To make absolutely sure she had his attention, she cracked the blunt tip of her other arm down over his audio covering and held it there.
"Knock it the scrag off, you worthless pile of scrap, or I'll reformat you into a dump truck. An ugly one." Her head turned sharply to Cat, optics narrowed and blazing. "As for you, I'm going to have you scrubbing parts for so long you'll never dream of giving glitched ideas to this glitch."
At least they weren't talking about her being forcibly turned into a breeder anymore...
This was, naturally, par for the course, howevever, so the mechanoid made no effort to get up off the floor, figuring it might do some good to Cleaver’s mood if he just stayed down. While examining, in great detail, the minerals of the atrium floor at close range, the Lamborghini considered that in eons of pre to post-war behavior that some habits just didn’t change. And that was comforting… in a very painful, familiar, plate-denting kind of way. He rolled laboriously onto his back, lying in a kind of dramatic heap looking up at the medic, facial alloy composed into carefully, deeply, personally injured hurt.
“An' how could ya say that? Imagine if Sunbeam wakes up an' his spark-twin is a dump-truck. He’d put a round through us both just t'rid himself of the shame. Goes 'gainst all your fancy an' estimable medical edicts t' do no harm an' – OKAY! OKAY! NO NEED FOR TH' KNIVES! YEESH!” He rolled away from the attempted helm-thwacking, springing with mass-memory adroitness to his pedes. Just out of reach, of course. "Always with th' violence..."
Her boot was off of her foot and ready for throwing, right at that shiny fucking face, and prepped to give a scuff or two… at least until she could find something bigger-- 'Oh damn.' Lots taller, bulkier, and orange wasn't exactly what she had in mind, and dear God she didn't want to hit him that hard! With each thnk! (thnks that sounded dent worthy) she cringed, realizing after Cleaver had him pinned that she had leaned further down and over her knees… half in an attempt to see with some type of morbid fascination, and half in sympathy pains for Red.
…Sympathy pains which she dropped the instant Cleaver turned that temper on her. She rested her chin on her forearms over her knees (still where she was from poor Sideswipe's treatment. Hers was much more mild, it seemed), much like a punished puppy, and stared up from the tops of her frames. Keeping it to herself (at least for now) that… it was mostly her idea.
"No argument there." She said, tapping her still free boot on the edge of the console. Almost offering up an apologetic smile through a wince… before Sideswipe could start talking. She stood, refitting her boot through the sound and shouting of knives, standing to face them just as Sideswipe steadied himself out of Cleaver's reach.
"Sorry 'bout that, Cleaver, I'll go clean it up. Right now." She said, finding a side that seemed suitable enough to climb… slide? down.
Cleaver nodded with a grunt at both, outwardly far from pleased but inwardly enormously relieved to be back onto normal and familiar territory. And it was good to see that Sideswipe and Cat had been bonding. Sort of. It depended on how badly 'Jenga' had gone in the end.
Before the human could begin a dangerous descent from the console, Cleaver slipped a blade under Cat's body and deposited her on the ground as if laying a fried egg onto a plate. Gently, but with far less of her usual attention to her companion's comfort and dignity.
Her optics flickered between them both. "Go and clean up your mess, both of you. Then you can move on to every other surface with a micron of dust on it until I come and tell you to stop."
She raised the blade she favoured for bludgeoning to point in the direction of the Medbay, one optical ridge arching. "Now, sparklings."