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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.]

Huh. [That's a name he hadn't really expected to hear. But it made sense, unless, you know, Sunstreaker and Ironhide had both lost their minds.]

We're closer to Solus. But...I'm pretty good at getting in and out unseen.

[Yeah don't think about that too long.]

Is there a problem? [Is Alpha Trion a madmech or someone completely different here than in his own base reality?]

[Perceptor tilts his head, favoring Drift with a considering look.]

Why must you remain unseen?

Edited 2012-08-24 01:39 (UTC)

No. Just...Alpha Trion existed in my world. Where I came from. [If Ironhide's to be believed.]

[Wince.]

I, uh, sneak out sometimes.

Ah! Yes, Alpha Trion exists in my world, as well. Not as a FirstForged, however, he does exist.

[Sneak out? Speaking of sneaking, perceptor has a sneaking suspicion, and it onvolves that medibay near the Solus temple, and the fact that Drift still has injuries.]

You were not supposed to have been released from the medibay when you came to my rescue?

[It's more a statement than a question, but there's the upward lilt of uncertainty at the end there, so... it could still be seen as a question.]

I don't know what he is in my world. But we didn't have a Vector Prime or any of these other primes.

Uh. Not...exactly. [He could possibly look more guilty, but it would take effort.] But you needed help. And I'm fine, so...it's all..^fine?

[Perceptor nods.] Optimus Prime, and then, after he was killed, Rodimus Prime. [He manages the part about Optimus being killed with calm grace, for once.] No other Primes, however.

[He sighs, stifling a frown. It's something Drift would do. It's something Drift actually had done, in fact; he shouldn't be surprised. With a thin, fond smile and a shake of his head, Perceptor reaches out to grasp Drift's hand, tugging him away from the spider carcass just as he would have done to his own Drift.]

Show me back to this temple, and I shall assist in getting you clean before performing some diversionary action so that you may more safely return to your repair berth. Then I shall tender your final repairs? I do owe you for saving my life, after all.

[He smiles down at Drift, and almost leans in to brush a kiss against the swordsmech's helm... until he realizes what he's done, and what he is about to do.]

Oh! I beg your pardon!

[He nervously releases Drift's hand and drops his gaze down to Drift's feet.] I'm sorry! I'm just used to-- That is... Umm... I mean...

Which direction is Solus?

These are all Primes, they say. At the same time. [Yeah don't ask him how that works. He was sick with the plague, okay?]

[The gesture startles him, but he lets himself be led. It's strange to be treated like this--affectionately, patiently.]

I...uh, all right. [He manages a smile. ] It, uh, you don't owe me anything, though.

[All he did was kill a spider.]

[This is just a swamp of awkwards. Yes, better to get moving.] This way.

[Swamp of awkwards? Yes. That seems fitting. Perceptor follows, falling into step just behind and to one side of Drift, where he won't be in the swordsmech's way if Drift needs to draw his blades. Another habit he doesn't even think about while he is busy attempting to pretend that he hadn't just horribly embarrassed himself and assumed such liberties with Drift's person.]

It does seem rather strange, yes.

[It's easier to study Drift's new upgrades from here. Well, easier to study them without Drift being quite as aware of how much Perceptor is staring. He can see the Greatsword better from here, too; even the glyphs are the same. Not that Perceptor had memorized them, or anything.]

I do. [His voice is firm, perhaps just a little petulant as he states that. It softens, though, as he goes on.] I cannot be certain that the creature would have succeeded in deactivating me, however, I'm quite certain that I would have taken significant damage, Drift, and your actions prevented that. Thank you.

They have powers too, at least Vector Prime does. He slowed down time or something so I wouldn't die.

[Very, very large tick!]

[He glances over his shoulder, but when he sees Perceptor keeping pace with him, he moves out. It's not far to Solus's temple. It'll be slower since he doesn't risk vehicle mode while all gummy like this, but still, not far.]

It...it's what I do. I mean, kill things. [He sounds a little sad when he says it. He's learning, from peace, that there's a lot he doesn't know.]

[Die? Perceptor stumbles as that word just seizes his attention and shakes him like a turborat with a scraplet. What has Drift managed to get himself into since his arrival here!?]

[He is about to ask that very thing when Drift's other comment derails his worry. This is a conversation he remembers all too well.]

No, Drift. You protect. [Perceptor's voice is gentle, but firm. There will be no dissuading him of this point, because he believes in it too deeply. The smile he offers as he reaches up to brush his fingertips against Drift's shoulder is almost serene.] You do more than kill. You save and you protect. I do not see the stains that you still see on your hands. I see the hands of a defender: a bit scratched, a bit battered, but they are honest. And they perform many more functions that merely wielding a weapon.

[He's startled at the touch on his shoulder, as much as the familiarity of the words.]

_{You don't know me, Perceptor. Whatever you think, it's not me.}

[Perceptor sighs softly; this, too, is familiar enough to him. He closes the distance between them, trying to step around Drift to make him stop for a moment.]

Perhaps you are correct. [He holds a hand up here to forestall any interjections Drift might attempt to make.] But I know that sword, and I knew one who carried it.

He was a Decepticon, once. A particularly... violent one. Many Autobots fell to his hands, and he did not merely believe in what he'd thought was the Decepticon way, he'd believed it strongly, and with every mote of his spark. There was no price too high to pay for victory, no life too precious.

He is-- ...was... almost eager, sometimes, to tell me of the atrocities he'd committed as Deadlock. What had always been more difficult to wrest from him were the descriptions of before, of the events which gave rise to the Decepticon he'd been. As if he refused to allow himself the temptation of rationalization.

I cannot condone all of the actions Deadlock performed, however, I can understand, if only a little, why Deadlock came to be.

[If Drift will allow him, Perceptor will reach for and cradle one of Drift's hands between his own, one thumb gently massaging the swordsmech's palm as he stares pensively down at that hand he holds.]

I am not certain that I will ever see him again. I know, though, that Drift will never be content with his hands, because he will always see Deadlock's hand when he looks upon them.

I do not.I see Drift, and Drift's hands do more than merely hold a sword.

[What do you do when someone knows more about you than you know about them? When they know more about you than you've ever willingly disclosed to anyone?]

...that's because I could do that again. [His voice is soft, admitting something he doesn't even dare tell Wing. Wing thinks he's perfect. Wing thinks everyone is perfect. And he wants to be perfect for Wing but he knows--he knows--he's not perfect.]

I could fall that far again, thinking I was doing right but I don't think I could pull myself out again.

[He shrugs, his hand curling in Perceptor's.] That's all I do, though. I'm a weapon. All I want is to give my life for the right cause.

[It really isn't fair of Perceptor to use what he knows of his Drift. It really isn't fair that Perceptor knows anything about a Drift at all. It's just happenstance, luck, and sheer stubbornness.]

[Many, many long "nights" of patience, of offering tiny gestures of friendship, of waiting and wanting. The physical part had come so much easier between them. There had still been moments when Drift had seemed so new to himself, had fallen back to action rather than words, out of habits long established. Words were harder for him, harder for him to force out, harder for him to face. And yet, he'd thrust them at Perceptor, sometimes, as if trying to push that wedge between them.]

[Trying to chase Perceptor away with the images that were worse than nightmares, because they were memories of things Drift had done under another name. It had only been so recently, mere weeks, that Drift had finally begun to trust him enough to share these things.]

[It really isn't fair to this Drift that Perceptor knows what little he does know, for it is but a little, compared to the vast pool of harsh memories and night terrors that Drift has lived. Perceptor can be ruthless, though, sometimes, if the cause is right, and if this knowledge, however unfair, is enough to weave a lifeline out of for this Drift, then Perceptor will use it and regret to himself only the injustice of it. He has sins enough that this one will fit among the others with little stir.]

[He gives Drift's hand a reassuring squeeze, and shakes his head.]

Dying for the right cause is easy, Drift. It is living for the right cause that is the most difficult task. The Drift I know would not take the easy road, given the choice.

[He pauses, dragging his gaze up from their joined hands to Drift's face, his optics, seeking...]

If it means anything to you, he came from quite shortly after putting on the Autobot badge. If... if it does mean something, and you were that Drift... then you have some so very far from who you and he once were. I will believe in you, as I believe in him.

[He smiles sadly, offers a hint of a shrug.]

And if it means nothing, and you are not he, nor he, you... I shall believe in you anyway; a character flaw of mine, if you will, to trust.

Edited 2012-08-27 03:21 (UTC)

[He smiles. Because you sound like Wing.] I know. I'm trying. We won the war, and it's...harder than I thought.

[His smile turns a bit sad. ] It's hard for all of us, I think. Like none of us know how to do anything but war.

Don't believe in anything. [He extricates his hand from Perceptor's, bumping the other's chestplate. ] Believe in yourself.

[Perceptor returns that sad smile with one of his own.]

I do not remember a time without war. I wish that I could have seen your city.

[His smile widens, just a fraction.]

Is there any reason that I cannot do both?

Edited 2012-08-28 02:05 (UTC)

I do. The war was almost an improvement. At least we felt like we were finally doing something.

[Which is why it's hard to let go of that last darkness, the knowledge that he'd started with every intention of doing good.]

I wish I could have enjoyed it while I was there. [A rueful shrug, and an awkward scuffle of feet, before he turns his gaze back toward Solus's temple.] You can, probably. I find it hard enough to manage just the one.

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