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.
Rhinox watched in silence as Optimus powered down his console and fold his arms across it, and tried not to worry audibly. Optimus bore a lot of weight, as the Autobot Leader - anything that went wrong naturally landed on his shoulders. But Rhinox, though not as familiar with Optimus as others he could name, was disturbed, for he'd never seen his leader so bowed by it before.
He had reason, though. He had every reason.
"It's all right," he murmured. "You don't have to say a word." He scooted his chair over, settling in next to Optimus to cover him in his longwave and trustandrespectandaffection glyphs like a warm, comfy blanket. "We can just sit for a while," he promised, as gentle as he would be for a sparkling.
It had been a very long time since anyone had taken it upon themselves to speak to him like that. Most Autobot who had history with him would have known better, and most Bots who’d only known him for the time Rhinox had… would not be so bold. Point of fact, the average soldier did not want to know that their leader was experiencing any kind of doubt. For his part, Optimus did not think expressing his doubts, or his anxieties, was appropriate for someone in a command position as elevated at his. The illusion of complete confidence, of unbreakable, and unflagging certainty in the face of horror – that illusion was important, even if it was a known illusion. It kept fear at bay.
The collective symbol of ‘Prime’ – it was important.
It also, apparently, meant nothing to Rhinox who insisted on speaking to him as though that part of his history did not exist… or at least, like that part was not important. Optimus closed his optics, offlining them completely, and for a moment allowed the engineer’s frequency to sync silently to his. This was as sure a show of gratitude and trust as any Cybertronian gesture, and for a while he said precisely nothing and let the crush of his anxiety bleed away at least for that little while.
His service on the Axalon had taught Rhinox either bad habits or very, very good ones. All of them shared everyone else's space to some extent, and his commander had been his close friend. And he'd trusted Rhinox - with every flux, every doubt and fear. He'd let Rhinox's longwave soothe his doubts - or Rhinox's sense to guide him to a better solution, those few times when those doubts were justified. Rhinox himself had learned that leaders were still only mechs, the fearlessness and assurance they showed often no more than a mask - a necessary one, yes, but no mech could wear a mask all the time. Not even Optimus Prime.
Rhinox didn't have the same friendship with his Prime as he'd had with his commander, but he could still offer this respite. So he remained silent but for the lulling hum of his EMF, his glyphs equal parts comfort and the unshakable respect he still had, and would always have, for Optimus.
It was some time later that the Prime’s optics came quietly back online, lifting to look at the seated mechanoid across from him. His internal chronometer informed him now, with the same quantitative assurance of Cybertronian techno-biology, that he’d comfortably spent half an hour letting a fellow Autobot share space and frequency with him. To any passing observer, the stillness that came over the two Cybertonians might have been almost eerie – two mechanical being falling out of physical interaction into the invisible ether of wavelength and electromagnetics – the world between them transcribed in radiowave and the unseeable tune of their individual systems.
An internal diagnostic pinged a positive 15% uptick in efficiency, those half a dozen stray sub-directives having scrubbed themselves as non-priority from his mem-net threads and aborted their processes, narrowing the scope of his attention to the narrow foci of Rhinox sitting across from him. Falling into sync with the Autobot engineer was almost, but not quite, like falling into a deep recharge – the circadian rhythm of his internal mechanism slowing down and recalibrating to an easier pace and pitch. Coming out of it now… he felt better. He offered Rhinox a small, genuine smile.