[video]

[sword_redemption]

[The camera shows Wing's quarters, a breeze lightly rustling a curtain behind the two mechs. Drift's standing, almost pacing, as though he's been talked into this and is still not very comfortable.]

[He hesitates, trying to gather the right words. It's so much easier when he's writing it for someone else.]

A lot--more mechs than we even know--died here, or went missing. Everyone deserves to be remembered, whether we have their bodies or not. They were all like us, and we, any of us, could disappear or....worse, ourselves.

[Ghosts, zombies, the unknown fate of the badlands: so many options, all of them terrible. Wing doesn’t like any of those notions, but this idea is heartening. He rises from his seat near the window.]

If there’s one thing recent events have taught us, it’s that memories have a power of their own. We need a way, not just to mourn, but to remember those no longer with us, both past and future. To honor them. And maybe keep hope alive for the lost.

We were thinking of a place, not like a cemetery, but some place that recalls them as they were. This is for all of us, not just Cybertronians, so we were kind of wondering. How do you celebrate the memories of those you've lost in your worlds?

Comments

[action] epically late but an idea I had that I kept forgetting to follow up on.

[winged_knight]

It's a little later after they'd both fielded multiple ideas on the subject and discussed it a little themselves. All this talk of memorials and those lost to war and other means has drummed up old memories for Wing.

He leans a little on Drift beside him, helm canted towards his love but his optics wandering a distant place. "Do you remember a while back, when I told you there was an event in my past, during the early war, that was a turning point?"

Wing knows this is not exactly sharing 'good' memories, but if he's to offer himself fully, formally, to Drift as he plans in the future, he wants the mech to know and accept all of him. Even the painful parts. The failures, the dark times. It's a strange sort of gift, but not one he's given to anyone else.

((ooc: Also prose because it's easier. We could log this instead, if you want. I just wanted to put this here so I didn't forget again!))

[action]

[sword_redemption]

Drift's trying not to get too used to having Wing beside him, to look over at and take comfort in that, or just know he could brush a hand over, just to make sure he's real. It's just that he never wants to take Wing for granted.

But when Wing leans against him, he definitely indulges himself in the touch, hand sliding down the lines of the jet's chassis and side. As Wing speaks, he goes a bit further, planting a kiss on the helm. "Yes?" He doesn't want to pry, but he's willing to listen. And he doesn't care if it's not the brightest memory in Wing's past. What matters it that he's sharing it. With Drift.

[winged_knight]

Taking things for granted was something Wing did far too much of when he was younger. A lesson he's learned and like Drift, doing his best to exercise the opposite of. That's why he's here, preparing this story to share, appreciating Drift and everything they have together in every way possible.

The touch, the kiss, encourages him to seek more of Drift, finding solace in the contact, not just leaning on the other but in his presence and acceptance. There's the flash of smile, mildly sheepish as he remembers Whirl's words so many months ago. "I'm sure it's a small thing compared to what you've seen in your time, but, sometimes pivot points must be small to create paradigm shifts."

[sword_redemption]

"Wing." His brow furrows, knowing he doesn't have the skill with words to say exactly the right thing. But he'll try anyway, tilting his helm to rest the side audial against Wing's, friendly contact without the stress, he hopes, of optic contact. "Big or small, if it matters to you, it matters."

[winged_knight]

"It mattered." To a lot of people, in the end. More than he cares to remember, but it's the lesson he prefers to recall, not the details of the events. Unfortunately for this, the latter must come first.

Drift's presence is worth more than any word the mech could offer, so Wing settles in, leaning into that shoulder and against that helm, drawing one knee up to hook his arm around it.

"Is saying 'it was back before the war' too cliché a way to start one of these tales?" It's an attempt at keeping a light spark, even if it's a weak one. He sighs before launching into things more in earnest. "Actually, I guess the war had already started, it just wasn't called that yet. People didn't want to admit yet I think, I certainly did not." There's regret there, acknowledgement of a mistake. "I was a courier, assigned by the Functionists. It was work, and flight work at that--you'd be surprised how limited the options are for jets outside of military functions--so I couldn't really complain, but it was rigid, demanding, and rout work. It did let me see a fair amount of Cybertron...but never explore it. Never touch it. It wasn't a cage, not like you had with your circumstances, but it was a leash."

He's tangenting now, getting distracted by the lesser details, and maybe stalling a little. Wing chuckles a little, having realized this, but having the context though, will probably help in the end.