re_alignment | [VIDEO]

Entry tags:

✘ tf: g1 | perceptor (crau)

[VIDEO]

[The video feed, when it clicks on, is a bit chaotic, the picture jerking about roughly. What landscape that can be discerned in the image, however, seems to be near the border of the badlands. Something large, mechanical, and sharp suddenly slashes into the frame and then back out again, like a weapon being thrust toward the camera.]

AAhhhhh! Cease and desist at once, you arachnid annoyance!

[Perceptor briefly flails into view for a moment, looking a bit flustered, before he ducks out of view again under another swipe of that weapon. Or rather, not a weapon, as the view shifts wildly to pan across a massive robotic spider with very large fangs lowered threateningly toward the camera.]

[As the view swings wildly again, there are muffled thuds and thumps and the thick clang of metal against metal that seem to hint at an epic struggle. Perceptor looks much more harried when he bounces into view again.]

I, ah, seem to have stumbled into a bit of an inconvenience... wherever this location is. If anyone is nearby, assistance would be greatly appreciated!

[There is an odd, almost liquid sound that splatters into the feed, and a sudden yelp from Perceptor as a stream of thick, greyish goop blasts past his head.]

As soon as possible?

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[Perceptor isn't avoiding the question-- Well, perhaps he is. Just a little. Awakening in the temple and being told that he'd been brought to yet another strange universe that he had not originated in had come as something of a shock. Not, perhaps, as big a shock as most arrivals here, since he had his experiences on Gillanan III to call upon, but, still, a shock. Realizing that Drift had not been there when he'd awoken had been even worse, hence why he had wandered off, alone, without even paying much attention to his location: he'd been too lost in thought at the time. He'd been so relieved to hear Drift's voice through the link, that Perceptor had all but ignored the swordsmech's confusion. Drift is here! Perceptor will not be alone as he'd feared!]

[Provided that he manages to remain unslain before Drift arrives to assist him, and that terse demand actually brings a smile to Perceptor's features. That's his Drift, for certain.]

Yes, of course.

[And, even though he knows what a useless thing it is to do so, he adds an entreaty in a low murmur before he goes quiet to concentrate on evading the spider-creature.]

Be careful, Drift.

[That momentary lapse in his attention costs him, though, as Perceptor turns to glance back at his attacker and gets a face full of "adhesive substance" for his troubles. Everything goes dark as his optics are covered, and he splutters wordlessly under the thick layer of goo.]

[Good news, Drift! Perceptor won't be distracting you with useless prattle now!]

[What's with everyone telling Drift to be 'careful'? Drift doesn't do 'careful'. At least not this Drift.]

[It's a real shame Perceptor can't see anything, because it's a hell of an heroic entrance Drift makes, roaring over a berm, transforming midair to land on the back of the creature that's looming menacingly over the other mech. ]

[Drift's no expert on xenobiology, but he figures a blade in the back of the neck is generally a good start.]

[The creature flails, chittering and shrieking, limbs clawing at the air, and then falls, shaking the ground with its weight.]

Edited 2012-08-21 13:50 (UTC)

[Sorry, Drift. It's habit.]

[Perceptor will be very, very disappointed that he hadn't been able to see that truly grand entrance. He hears the familiar roar of Drift's engine (but it sounds... just a little different? Not much, though. Easily explained by odd echoes of this waste, and interference from the creature's gooey weapon), the shifting of a transformation, and the crash-clang of two large bodies meeting violently. Granted, Perceptor is a bit distracted, trying to scuttle back away from the creature's stabbing legs, but with his optics covered, hearing - and deciphering those sounds - is his only current means of determining what direction to attempt to flee in.]

[One hand is busy attempting to scrub the goo away from his face, as he holds the other arm up in a rather ineffectual attempt to shield himself, when that pained shriek cuts the air. He's only managed to scrub enough away to free part of his mouth when the sudden impact of something huge and much too close! knocks him from his feet. The noise he manages is something between a squeal and a grunt, as he abandons trying to scrub the sticky substance from his face in favor of using both hands to help him scramble away.]

[It occurs to Drift as he rides the back of the arachnid creature to the ground that if Rodimus were here, he'd probably want to find a way to saddle the thing and ride it.]

[....maybe it's a good thing Rodimus isn't here.]

[As he hits, he rolls off, and then returns to finish the creature off, hacking through two legs before finally severing the head. And then he turns his attention to the mech on the ground, his armor splotched with grey white blobs of...something gross. But the armor underneath it is red and teal--at least what he can see from all the flailing.]

[He sheathes his blades, stepping closer.]

Uh. Hey. It's...it's dead now...? [You can stop freaking out now, maybe.]

[Oddly... Perceptor's Rodimus might ponder the same idea. That would be a terrifying thought, if Perceptor were aware of it. Fortunately, (or perhaps, unfortunately) he is too busy trying to make certain that he is out of range of flailing spider-dagger-feet to worry about something so... silly.]

Drift? [It comes out a bit slurred, through the goo still covering half his face, but it's definitely a recognizable name. Speaking of recognizable, there's a rather familiar looking scope barrel on the shoulder of this red and teal mech that might trip some memories in the swords-mech.] Drift!

[He isn't "freaking out"! He's maintaining a tactical distance from a hostile entity!]

[Well, he had been doing that. Now, however, he is flinging himself at Drift, managing to get both arms wrapped around one of the swordsmech's legs.]

You are here! [Have a gooey hug, Drift.] When I awoke within the temple, and the acolyte detailed our most recent predicament, I'd been too distracted to formulate many questions before the acolytes had encouraged my absence. No one had mentioned your arrival, and when I attempted to com you privately, there was no response! I thought I might never see you again!

[He's clearly distressed by that fear, and during this rather rapid-fire flood of explanation, he's been pulling himself upright using Drift to help him. There's a lot more goo transfer, and hands that seem... a bit more than merely familiar as Perceptor blindly gropes his way upright.]

[Well, let's just say screaming and flailing sure is an interesting 'tactic' for 'tactical distance'.]

...

[Um. Okay. Kind of gross, but you know, he'd hugged Wing when all oozy with the Red Rust so he's not really in any place to complain.]

[It's sort of double overkill, what with all the words and the, uh, the touching and everything.]

Me? Do...do I know you?

[He wasn't screaming! Flailing, he'll give you, but "screaming"? No way!]

[Before the words register, Perceptor's hands are already telling him something... distressing. Drift... doesn't feel quite right. There's the hip sheathes, but the plating is different. There's curves where there should be angles, and seams that Perceptor is expecting just are not there.]

[And then his hands reach the spaulders, and Drift's chest, and those are definitely different. But the same. Different enough for Perceptor to notice and be shaken by the similarities and differences.]

[And then the words register, and for a moment, Perceptor reels as if struck.]

Do you...

[One hand is grasping Drift's upper arm, as if he's afraid that if he lets go, reality will shatter apart, while the other hand scrubs frantically at his optics. The goop comes away with a thick schlorp, and Perceptor gets his first goof look at Drift.]

...oh.

[Ever kick a puppy, Drift? Or a young turbofox? Because this is what it looks like.]

[Well, this is new. And slightly unpleasant. He's never been used as a ladder before. And *whoa* that spot's a little sensitive.]

[He reaches out a hand to steady the other mech who seems pretty wobbly. And the face, as he tips his head up to see, looks...weirdly familiar. Almost like Perceptor when he'd first met him. He could almost imagine him bending over, thoughtful finger on his chin, examining Drift's Crystal City upgrades.]

Perceptor?

[This is by far the worst 'thank you' to a rescue he's gotten so far. ]

[Well, in the name of honesty, not all of that groping had been strictly necessary to get to his feet, but in his defense, Perceptor had thought you were someone else, Drift. And then he'd been curious.]

[The voice is achingly familiar. Perceptor takes a moment to visually scan Drift over. There's the Greatsword, looking as it ever had, gem winking in the light. There's the helm finials, and the familiar weight of the spaulders, and the short swords in their sheathes, and even the shin greaves... but everything, except the Greatsword, is just a little different. And very new.]

You've been upgraded recently, reconfigured, but in a manner I haven't seen used in years.*

[Funny you should consider those words, Drift. Except, this time, instead of a Perceptor recognizing New Crystal City work, it's a Perceptor recognizing the deft skills of a Ratchet in your rebuild. There's no finger on his chin, though. Just a hand still clutching your arm, which he suddenly remembers; he snatches his hand back with an embarrassed cough.]

My apologies. I thought you were someone else. You... are a Drift, aren't you?

[Just not his Drift. He'd been right. His Drift isn't there. He's alone. Again.]

[Arriving on Gillanan III hadn't hurt this much. Giant spider notwithstanding.]

Thank you for- for saving me. [He'd been about to say, "for your assistance," but a spade being a spade, and all, Drift hadn't "assisted". He'd saved Perceptor. Just like his Drift had. Just like his Drift had saved his Perceptor. That thought summons a thing shadow of a sad smile to his features.]

You have a talent for that, it seems.

* quoted/paraphrased from Spotlight Drift on purpose.

Edited 2012-08-21 20:15 (UTC)

I uh....[Wow. So this is Perceptor. Kind of. That's kind of freaky, honestly. ] Recently, yes.

'A' Drift? [Is this like that Dent thing again? Someone stealing his name?]

It's...uh, I mean you called for help. I mean...uh ^{you're welcome}?

[Perceptor can only assume that this Drift had run into Ratchet - or perhaps even someone who had trained Ratchet - and gotten his upgrades from him, rather than having ended up in New Crystal City. Except, that would not explain the Sword. He is perplexed by it all. More than perplexed. Confused, and disappointed and sad, and probably doing a rather poor job of keeping that out of his expression, despite his attempts.]

I do not understand.

[That's spoken in a murmured lament. He motions as if he intends to reach forward to brush his fingers against the Greatsword's hilt, but stops himself before his hand even gets near Drift, himself, much less the Sword.]

Yes. "A" Drift. I knew a Drift; he was my friend. [More than a mere friend, but this Drift does not need that burden. He glances up at the Greatsword again, before meeting Drift's gaze. His Drift would have lectured him, called him "nerd", yelled at him for getting himself into trouble.]

You... are certain that you do not remember me? [He can't help the hopeful look or the wistful tone of his voice. Maybe this is his Drift? Merely... addled, somehow?] Or the Event Horizon?

Edited 2012-08-22 00:12 (UTC)

[Drift smiles. ]

I've been saying that a lot since I woke up here. But at least we had a break before getting attacked.

[He can't help but notice the way the other's optics keep flitting over to his Great Sword. But he has no idea what to make of it.]

Well, you remind me of Perceptor. When I first met him. [For those few moments before Turmoil....yeah. That.]

No. It was the Trion. [He tilts his head.] Did you get hit on the head? Stung with some cyberneurotoxin or something?

[Drift is... smiling. Smiling in a way that looks natural, as if he is accustomed to doing so. It's not a sight that Perceptor is used to; his Drift has always been so serious.]

[It's the smile, really, that drives home just how much this is not his Drift, and Perceptor wilts. He's seen versions of himself, and iterations of many other mechs over the years. It makes sense that there would be other Drifts.]

A break? Oh. I am fairly certain that I should not have come out here. I was lost in thought. [Brooding, actually.] I am afraid that I lost track of my surroundings. [So basically, getting attacked right away was pretty much all Perceptor's own fault.]

Thank you for your assistance. You were not harmed, were you?

[He gamely summons up a shaky smile of his own, which falters a bit as he actually looks at Drift and sees what a mess Perceptor has made of the swordsmech's plating.]

Oh dear...

Trion? [His wandering attention snaps back to Drift's face as he shakes his head negatively.] I do not remember any Trion.

The... the Drift that I knew did not come from my reality. This is not the first time that I have awoken in a reality that was not my own. Nor the first time that I have met others who were likewise removed from their base universes.

[He's trying to be brave and understanding and something like cheerful as he offers Drift what is probably supposed to be a smile again. It's debatable how successful he is. Probably not very at all.]

Neither of us were from the reality where we met. And we always knew that we might be taken away without warning.

I, ah, will not be capable of recalling your "Trion". I'm sorry.

[Though saying the name "Trion" reminds him of the glyph on his arm, and he reaches up to absently rub at it with his opposite hand.]

[He's never been given a weird look for smiling before. It crumbles a bit around the edges. ]

Lost in thought? I mean...you must have been. Really lost. [You don't lose a lifetime's wariness, ever. He'd sensed Mirage's presence back on Cybertron--he can't imagine being so situationally unaware that he'd somehow end up as spiderbait.]

Not really injured. I mean, not much more injured. Than I was. Before. [Wow that doesn't sound good. Next topic plz.]

[He nods.] A few others have said that. That they've been other places between their home and here.

....I'm sorry. [He has no idea exactly why, other than that the mech seemed sad.]

Edited 2012-08-22 01:32 (UTC)

[No! Don't stop smiling! It's nice! Just... different. But nice! Oh drat.]

Ah... eh-heh, yes. [Perceptor glances down and rubs one sticky hand against the back of his neck with embarrassment. "Situational Awareness" and Perceptor just don't often occupy the same spheres, normally.] I, ah, tend to do that. You-- Err, He would often... scold me. For that.

Before? [Perceptor's gaze snaps back up and now he is really peering at Drift with a medic's optic. That's damage to the external audio sensors, for one thing, and there may be other damages hidden under the transferred goo.]

[He nods absently, filing the comment about others away for later, then waves off the sympathy. He is sad, and will probably have something of a breakdown later. When he can be alone to do so. Where's it's safe. And private.]

[For now, though, there's something here to distract him from the growing ache in his chassis.]

I have some medical skill. Please, allow me to assist you? [He sighs ruefully.] Once we are decontaminated, that is. I owe you for your assistance, at the very least.

Edited 2012-08-22 01:44 (UTC)

[It's still weird to hear about what 'he' would do.] Well, uh, it's a little dangerous. Apparently.

[As you kind of found out.]

[It's his turn to look a little sheepish.] Uh. There was a crazy tentacle robot. And sharkticons before that. And the plague. But I had that when I came here.

[Reasons we don't let Drift tell stories part 7,334.]

I'm fine, though. [His brow furrows under his helm. ] Just a little banged up. That's all.

[Perceptor shifts to peer at the spider carcass.] Yes.

Had that? [Now he looks alarmed, and Perceptor's hands keep twitching, as if he is holding himself back from running them over Drift's chassis to make certain that the swordsmech is functional.] What plague? Sharkticons?

[He frowns, and then reaches up to point at the damage to Drift's audio.] That is a bit more than "banged up". [The frown shifts to something a little sadder, more worried, especially when his detailed study picks out the faint traces of fresh welds along Drift's chest and torso.]

Are there real medics in residence here? Please allow someone to see to your injuries, if not me? [He'd really prefer if Drift would allow him to see to the repairs, but it makes perfect sense that Drift wouldn't want to allow Perceptor that sort of familiarity. That his Drift had is the bigger mystery.]

At least allow your repair technician to ensure that you have not stressed those recent repairs? [He's not quite begging, yet, as he nods toward the fresh welds he'd noted a few moments before, but he's quite adamant.] I will only go as far as to make certain that you arrive safely, and then I will leave you in peace, I promise?

Plague. The Red Rust. Your insides liquefy and...sort of leak. Everywhere.

[It's pretty gross. That stuck with him because he'd been so helpless. Sharkticons he could fight; he even endured Prism's torture as something he could almost understand--violence, sadism--but a disease? Microbes? It had been unsettling. ]

Uh yeah. Prism did that so I couldn't call for help. ...not that I would have. [Because he's not weak. Okay? Got it? ]

We have real medics. Ratchet. And Pharma. And they're mostly done with repairs. And Vandal--she's looked at my fuel lines. And to see if there was a bomb in me.

[In short he's pretty used to strangers rooching around inside him. Occupational hazard.] They're just...busy. And this stuff isn't important. [Working comm? Yeah who needs that?]

[Perceptor is horrified. Not by the disease; Cosmic Rust had been just as bad. By the fact that Drift had had to endure the Plague. Illogical as it is, Perceptor feels that he should have been here to do something about it.]

You have been properly treated for that? The Red Rust? I have a serum designed for Cosmic Rust, if not. It would be simple enough to examine a sample of this plague and adjust the Corrostop serum to treat it.

[He's not bragging; it's just truth. If it's science, Perceptor can do it.]

[And there's that horrified look again, with a heavy dollop of angry.]

Could not call for help? [Ratchet up the angry. Well, not Ratchet, the doc, ratchet the dial.] Why did this Prism wish to prevent you from getting assistance? [And where can he find Prism, if it's for why he's afraid it's for?]

["Real medics." Yes, that's right, Perceptor isn't a "real medic". He's just the stopgap because they had no choice. He wilts a little.]

Well... if you have--

[Ratchet. They have Ratchet. Could it be his Ratchet? His knees buckle, dropping him to a rather precipitous seat in the dirt. It's all just too much for him suddenly. Losing Drift, losing even the usefulness of his medical bay on the Event Horizon, losing all of his new friends after years of having lost his home, and now, Ratchet?]

[And a bomb, too? It's fitting, really; Drift - his Drift - always had seemed more than capable of getting himself into - and back out of - trouble, but it's just exhausting. Everything is. This isn't his Drift, and he's all alone again, and what will his Drift think to find Perceptor gone? He'd promised. He'd promised to stay, and even that's been taken, and he's just weary of it all, of the loneliness and the loss and what will Ratchet think of any of this? What will this Drift think of his pitiful weakness? He drops his head into his hands, elbows braced on his knees.]

It's not unimportant, Drift. And it's all right to ask for help when you need it. ...you never were able to see your own value...

It needs properly repaired.

Pharma made a cure. He's good. [Drift has absolute faith in the jet.]

[He shrugs. ] Prism said he was a scientist. And wanted some help. He cut open my chassis and...yeah. It was bad.

[Drift: not good talking about bad things. Especially when his audience suddenly seems to collapse: Drift reaches out, trying to catch the larger mech's arms to prevent him from falling.

It'll get fixed when there's time. [A sort of sheepish grimace: Drift's been yelled at a lot about this.]

[Drift is certainly strong enough to keep Perceptor from collapsing, but that means he now has his arms full of slightly gooey scientist. Slightly gooey scientist who relaxes into his arms for a moment. It's habit; he can't help himself. It's not so much, relax, really, as... seeking comfort. Almost snuggling into Drift's arms for that moment, as if it's just second nature to him... which it is. Or reather, was.]

[Of course. Pharma is a "real medic". Why shouldn't Drift have faith in him? Perceptor sighs, caught between the moment where he feels safe in familiar arms, and the moment he processes whose arms he's relly in. His gaze shifts upward, a deep yearning etched into his features as he stares at Drift--]

[Then everything registers. Drift's arms, his stare, what a fool he must look... He stiffens, and tries to crumple up that want and familiarity and lock it away behind calm professionalism as he struggles to gather his feet back under himself. How successful he actually is in stifling that aching desire... well, only Drift can say. This Perceptor has never been particularly good at lying, and Drift has quite a bit of experience in seeing past a much more stoic Perceptor's facade.]

I have time now?

[It's a weak offer, battered by Perceptor's shaken confidence and his acute embarrassment, but it's an offer, nonetheless.]

[He holds the taller mech, awkwardly, the powerful servos in his arms keeping them stable. He knows how unsettling it was to wake up here. And then running into Wing. It seems sort of like what Perceptor's saying: a different Drift--familiar and unsettling.]

[It hurts, and for a long moment he wishes he were this other Drift, who seemed to have it all together. Drift...does not have much together.]

Uh.... if you want? [He scans the area.] I don't see anything dangerous.

["Together" is such a relative term. Drift might be surprised to find how much he and this other Drift had in common.]

[It takes Perceptor a moment to get himself back to his feet, not clinging to Drift for balance; he uses the distraction to cover his rather obvious attempt to regain his composure.]

Perhaps you know of somewhere to, ah... decontaminate ourselves, first?

[He holds up his hands, indicating the tacky spider spit caught on his fingertips, and also waves toward all the goop that Perceptor had smeared across Drift's chassis, as well. He coughs out a bit of a nervous little chuckle as it occurs to him that all the transfer looks as if he and Drift have been up to something entirely different together.]

[Drift looks down at the goop, shrugging. He's been through worse. But still, point. ]

Liege's temple has some washracks. Or Solus's temple, which is right by the medibay.

[He has no preference. He squints at Perceptor, trying to see his holomark.] Who's your First Forged, anyway?

Alpha Trion, apparently.

[He reaches up to scrub a blotch of goop from his arm where the glyph should be.]

Wherever you think would be most convenient. I am already in possession of my own medical tools, equipment, and supplies to make minor repairs.

[So he doesn't really need to use the medibay. Putting off seeing this ratchet? Maybe.]

[likewise towards action eventually]

[ACTION!]oh percy's going to be so disappointed

[ACTION!] ;_; dramangst in 5... 4... 3...

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[ACTION!] (also, all contact with Drift approved by his player here)

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[ACTION!] 2... 1... kapow.

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[ACTION!] lol DZ Drift *would* have!

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[action] happy scope has run out of happy... refill?

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[action] waaaaannngst!

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[ACTION!] lol DZ Drift would have!