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.
“Ah, you say, ‘okay’ but then you come back and you got another blown deployer and half a dozen dents in your extremely complicated chassis.” The heli-bot flipped her laser scalpel, catching it flat in her palm so she could gesture mock aggressively with it. “You’re lucky I’m an incredibly charming, easily flattered, weapon-building whizz or I'd say you owe me a wax or something.”
A head shake, then Sola was bent over the attachment again, complaining conversationally.
“Order’s been Cybertron’s leading public service and emergency relief organization for millions of frakking years, watching the caste systems throw our culture down the smelter. Then the Primacy starts a slap fight with a Kaon revolutionary and kick starts this stupid war. Now where are we? Putting rescue bots like you on the front lines because we all keep getting Primus-slotting blown up, shredded, bombed, and fragging killed because Megatron’s got his godsdamned charge on for that latest Prime or whatever. The nerdy one. With the –” She gestured to her own face, though it was unclear precisely what about the new Prime she was talking about.
“Anyway, I don’t know what Elita sees in him ‘cept that he isn’t Megatron or Zeta and that's setting the bar so low it's subterranean.”
Last Edit: Sept 13, 2012 19:44:19 GMT -5 by Deleted
"War isn't a different scale of awful than the worst disaster work, Sola." Flareup said very seriously. "We were getting blown up, crushed, set on fire, melted, and worse before any of this ever happened. We've always been on the front lines. It's our purpose. We fought mechs or aliens too, when we had to." Well, okay, by "we", she meant "Contour as controller", but she/they had combat experience.
Her facemask slid down, leaving a sudden void where her field had been. "Megatron's a disaster in his own right." She was unsure whether she should try to defend the honor of the Autobots or their Prime here. Sola seemed to be in a bit of a mood.
Sola looked up at Flare. “I never hated a slagging earthquake,” she said flatly. “A volcanic eruption is not an enemy solider with a gun to your head. No earthquake lasted for eons, wiped out our infrastructure, whole model-lines, and systematically marched toward the extinction of our society. This isn’t some fringe squabble in Council space for turf rights. Not since the Age of Wrath has it ever been like this and even then, it was never like this.”
“Megatron’s a disaster all right. And he likes to say he’s inevitable, that the revolution was as fragging natural as the spin of the moons in orbit but that’s the rhetoric of every tyrant who ever walked the universe sayin’ he’s inevitable and necessary, but the Order of Solus and any decent person in the ‘verse believes that the apathy, cruelty, and violence is not necessary. The civil war currently becoming militarized genocide is not some circadian rhythm of the frakking planet it is sentient intention and stupidity. Our own stupidity, Flare.”
There was a pause, then.
“I dunno. Maybe you’re right. Maybe war, violence, oppression, and self-destruction is what comes naturally to us and this is just the grandest natural disaster: the Cybertronian race. But I like to be optimistic.” She looked back to the attachment in her lap but she didn’t touch it for a moment, holding the weapon for a moment, like she hadn’t noticed it was a weapon until just then. Cradling it like it was alive. Uncharacteristically quiet, she said: “I like to think people deciding to kill each other isn’t a ‘natural disaster’. At least the nerd Prime believes that too.”
Last Edit: Sept 15, 2012 16:16:33 GMT -5 by Deleted
A headtilt. Flareup's field was fully shielded with her faceplate down, so her emotional cues were not conveying.
"Yes, war is bad." She said it as a simple statement of fact, without any sarcasm. "But it's not something we/hive need to be shielded from. Walking onto a battlefield is not more terrible than responding to a fire in a sparkling toy factory where someone's chained the door shut because they don't trust the work cohort, and the screaming hasn't stopped yet but there's still nothing we/hive can do that will save anyone. Or thousands of other industrial, transport, or natural disasters I could name. Often the deaths are cleaner on the battlefield."
Her voice didn't change throughout, as upbeat as ever. "We are rescue and I am fire-adapted, and I am not sure you understand what that means. You have no idea how many mechs we've watched burn to death, or the kind of dangers we have to navigate as part of our ordinary purpose. We've always been on the front lines."
“It’s not Primus-slotting energy weapons and fire I’m Primus-frakking worried about!” Sola immediately turned off her laser scalpel and slapped it on the floor, away from the armament in her hand. “It’s the infiltrators, strikers, liner-breakers, and basic trooper armor-piercing rounds running flanking manuvers that bother me! All the bad killing tools I know all about that are capable of killing you!"
"I don’t got a fragging clue where you got this in your head that rescue work qualifies you fragging well for battlefield extraction so let me say this before Chromia hears you and glitch-frakking beats that into you drill sergeant style: It’s not the same. Natural disaster work is horrible, it rips lives apart, horrible slag happens to good people for no reason and we can’t stop it and you do incredibly godsdamned work. You’re literally built for it and you’re tough.”
She leaned forward.
“It is not the frontlines. If this is you being brave, if this is you putting on the brave face because you’re the new femme and you want to be a real striker and you don’t want us protecting you like a support bot…” There was a tremble in her voice. “Then telling me that you think the purpose you were built for is ‘the frontlines’ and equating it to what soldiers do – what the blade-techs, and battle-class are doing – is not the way to win any confidence. As one of the femmes who’s keeping an optic on you in every skirmish, how about you listen to me, because I’d rather not watch some Con melee scramble you while you’re fixated on your deployers, rip you apart and…”
Sola stopped. Her hand on her knee was a fist, her rotor blades vibrating so hard she was humming. She ex-vented carefully.
“I just… my job, on the team, is to make sure you guys don’t get blindsided. Protect you. There is a way to move on a battle field and you still move like you’re in a disaster zone. Like you have time, and that’s not true in a firefight.” She sighed. “You worry me, Flare. Okay?”
Last Edit: Sept 17, 2012 0:01:33 GMT -5 by Deleted
"I know it upsets you when I don't move like a monospark," Flareup said. "But a lot of the time you're yelling at me it's not helpful. It's like you feel that if my/Flareup's head isn't turned towards enemies I can't see them, because I'm not putting out monospark cues like..." her facemask retracted, and she pantomined moving her head to stare at something and looking very aware of it.
"And yes I know nonverbal communication is important, but it takes an extra thread, and when I'm down deployers it's often that or tactics. I am usually watching my own back."
She looked very earnest. "And yes, sometimes when you're yelling at me it's very useful, but I don't need so much... helicopter parenting."
Last Edit: Sept 20, 2012 22:06:09 GMT -5 by Deleted
“If I’m yelling at you, then it is because you’re about to get shot in the head, not because you’re not looking at the fragger. Shall I just assume that your deployers are all seeing and spotted the sniper at two-hundred technometers? No. I’m gonna tell you he’s frakking there. It’s field chatter and I get you’re still new to this heavy combat bit of the war, but it’s only gonna get worse if Bucket Head has his big bot bolts screws in real tight.”
Sola twitched her rotor blades with agitation.
“There are going to be people yelling at you. If that is a problem for you because your hive programming makes tertiary thought fragmentation stringing difficult for you, then we have a problem. In fact, the same problem I’ve been telling you about this whole time. You say it’s ‘not moving like a monospark’. It’s not you turning you head or failure of body language its that you don’t react as fast to in-field variables because you’re focused on your gestalt and… well...” She gestured hapless.. “Yeah!”
“You need someone keeping an optic on you. We all do, but you in particular. You got no melee ranking, your body is a bomb factory, your armor is environment-proof, not combat-proof, and apparently your deployers take up so much of your focus while remote operating that you can’t focus on that and duck when I say duck. Of course I’m yelling at you. Me, Elita, Chromia, Hot Rod, every Primus slotting femme who gives a flying frag is yelling at you because we know, of all of us, you’re the most vulnerable literally because you’re not a monospark. You’re so buried in… in blowing stuff up – which no one contests you are good at – but you don’t see when you’re being snuck up on.”
The aerialist tilted her head.
“And beg pardon, but Chromia was doing most of your backwatching, femme. And she won’t always be between you and the baddies.”
Last Edit: Sept 21, 2012 4:14:39 GMT -5 by Deleted
"A headshot is survivable, if we have enough distributed processing up," Flareup said. "By our standards, in any case. I know others get twitchy about replacing cognitive hardware, but it's not even spark-terminating for us. A lot of the autonomous functions that the head handles for you can be handled by a deployer. Transformation and weapons, even. We're much less capable without my main processor and it's not a fun recovery, but..." hands waved, vaguely.
"You make assumptions. And they're not always good assumptions - I don't think you know how to read our functioning level like Chromia did. We're not like Hot Rod. We don't think the same way all the time."
“What the… frak?! The survivability of a headshot is not the frakking point!” said Sola, an open frisson of horror and disbelief in her field. “Are you actually telling me that I should let you get shot at? That’s what you’re saying? Because you’re so special, because your build is so incredibly unique and alien I should assume you can take grenade, a missile, a bullet to the spark – alter my modus operandi in the field and just assume you’re just fine and leave you to it? Let me tell you about your build as described it in your own field dossier: You are FIRE proof. NOT bullet proof. You’re not even stab proof. But you are to argue with me about the minutia of what you can survive? You have deployers that you don’t seem to give a damn about blowing and as a weapon designer let me make this clear: You are a liability.”
Sola slapped her tools down, the attachment down.
“There. I’ve said it. You’re green and you’ve just told that that, apparently, if you just survive it’s a frakking glitch-humping win and it’s not. Every time you blow a deployer, every time you break your weaponry, every time you get slagged, get head shot for example it costs resources, material and time to get you operational again and it’s unnecessary and pointless. Plenty of blade-class in our ranks can operate in the field without getting slagged and costing us so much. If you can’t be BOTHERED to look out for yourself, adjust to how we operate in the field, and expect me to just watch you get hurt because you think that’s an acceptable way to function then, I can’t work with you!”
She stood up, leaned down very near to Flare Up’s face, EMF shivering hot.
“I won’t watch you die. I refuse. I don’t care if you think you’re so tough. I’ve seen tougher, I’ve seen grunts and gutter-sparks with drill bits for melee weapons tougher than you and they die. They all die. And how dare you say I should sit back and just watch you get hurt when everything I am is to not watch my friends get hurt. How dare you.” Sola started to walk away, hid the trembling in her hands by making fists of them. “I’ll fix your attachment later. I need to… do something…”
Last Edit: Sept 30, 2012 16:54:56 GMT -5 by Deleted