robothell | ready for nothing [open]

Entry tags:

slipstream | chickscream

ready for nothing [open]

Who: Slipstream, her confusion, and YOU!
Where: A ruined, empty street or sky.
When: RIGHT NOW
What: Intro/bafflement post
Warnings: A snarky angry seeker lady who hates her dad

A.

Slipstream was already ready to go home.

Oh, sure, Detroit wasn't that great, and she'd spent a lot of time dodging under the radar and swinging across the lake to Canada (where the Autobots never set their feet, for some reason), but it was all the home she had ever known in her own right, besides her brief stint on Earth's moon.

Her memories of other homes weren't her own, and she ignored them as best as she could, ignored the echoing deja-vu of these streets. It looked like... a place Starscream had known, once, but torn apart and ravaged, like in the wake of a battle; it looked like no place she had ever been, and the stars were arrayed in shapes unknown to her optics.

Pressed back against a wall and with her optics narrowed, Slipstream was just about ready to jump out of her plating and shoot the first thing that surprised her.

B.

Taking to the skies, Slipstream circled tightly in jet mode, taking in the view.

She hadn't even realized how much she liked greenery until there was none, how lively organics were until she was in a place of metal and gears.

Unsettled, she braked and switched back to her more customary form, hovering and looking over the city. It spread further than Detroit ever did, pocked with craters and destruction-- a wholly inhospitable-looking place, in her opinion, and probably no fun to get back home from.

"Sparks, this place is awful," she tells the air, and swoops down over the city looking for more signs of life-- familiar or otherwise, she doesn't care, as long as it's not Starscream himself-- beyond whoever greeted her first. If someone wanted to hail her down to the ground, she'd go, no matter who; and if someone wants to come up and bother her, she'll probably not shoot them.

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With so few fliers on the planet, it was noteworthy to see anyone in the sky. Hearing the sound of a jet engine overhead Dreadwing had stopped his current task to watch them. He could recognize the build as a seeker but from down here had no way of telling which one. At this point he wouldn't be terribly opposed to any of them so long as they weren't Starscream.

He transformed and took to the air, keeping a good distance. He just needed to get close enough to confirm it wasn't Starscream, all these seekers looked so alike it was nearly impossible to tell from the ground. He'd been tailing them a short while before they stopped and transformed mid-air. Dreadwing pulled up quickly, circling from a higher vantage point. Definitely not Starscream, in which case it was probably worth while to attempt a conversation.

He descended again, coming up alongside her, still a little offput by the fact she was flying in robot mode.
"Am I correct in assuming you have only just arrived on this planet?"

What, other Cybertronians can't?

Her heels are still firing thrusters, and she turns to look at him, optics narrowed as she looks him over. "Yeah," she answers, cautiously. No alarms are ringing in her databanks, no old memories from Starscream yelling at her to run, but that doesn't mean much when she only has a fraction of his self; the guy looks like a 'Con, sure, but there's plenty of Decepticons that are not to be trusted (examples A-E Or Something: her creator and fellow clones). "What's it to you, buster?"

Not on his universe, that's for certain. As he circled in jet mode he couldn't help but contemplate the disrespect that seemed to be a universal constant among Seekers.

"You wear the badge of a Decepticon. You will find that an alliance with others of our kind would be beneficial to you. Not to mention there are many Autobots present on this planet, and remaining airborne for long is a risk." To prove his point he descended quickly, transforming to land on the roof of a nearby building.

She followed him down, more slowly, and landed on the far side of the roof from him-- still within conversational distance, but out of reach.

"Well, it's not like I chose the brand," she tells him, cautiously. "But I haven't seen a Allspark-blasted thing that looked even remotely dangerous here. Am I supposed to be spooked by the Autobots?"

She is not spooked by Autobots, because Autobots are barely threats, in her experience. (Maybe to her brothers, but not to her.)

"I would not underestimate them, especially when Megatron himself is allied to their cause. Multiple versions of him, as it were." Not to mention the other notable warriors among the autobots, the likes he which he was rather doubtful she had encountered. Under normal circumstances he would not question her attitude, but then these were hardly normal circumstances.

"What do you mean, you did not choose to become a Decepticon?"

She blinks at him, twice, and then asks him "What?" in the flattest tone of voice imaginable. The Decepticon, the leader of the Decepticons, paling around with Autobots for long enough to be called allied to them?

... What did the Autobots have on their side, here?

After a moment of thought, she takes a glance around, her eyes narrowed in thought. Actually... if this is Cybertron, there's nothing to stop Megatron to consider it taken, from what little she's seen. Perhaps he considers his primary goal acheived, and the Autobots as tools to help him maintain control? If there's some kind of power vacuum in the Autobots, it might not be so terribly difficult for a charismatic leader-- even one with a purple brand-- to step in and take control...

Though that's all wild supposition.

"Starscream made me with them already there," she answers distractedly, thoughts clearly occupied by Megatron the Autobot Ally.

"Indeed. One from a universe where he surrendered to the Autobots, the other from before he began the Decepticons."

It was odd, and it was something he was still coming to terms with himself considering he had yet to meet either of the characters in question. He was willing to take Tarn's word on the matter though. While she was distracted by that, though, he was far more concerned with her own revelation.

"Starscream made you?" he asked, with a look that was either pity or disgust, or both.

Oh, Allspark, she'd missed the plural before.

She stares at him, and answers his question, slowly and clearly preoccupied, "Unfortunately, yes. I don't really want to talk about it."

Multiple Megatrons. Dear God below.

If he were in her place he wouldn't want to talk about any association with Starscream either, so he let it slide.

"If you have only recently arrived, you will find both autobots and decepticons from across multiple universes have been brought to this planet. Perhaps some you would recognize, though I would not depend on finding old allies here."

He stopped, staring at the decepticon insignia on her wings for a few moments. Perhaps she did not chose to join of her own free will, but even so it wasn't as if the decepticons could be picky at the moment.

"Those of us who consider ourselves loyal to the Decepticon cause have formed something of an alliance on this planet. You are welcome to join us, if you wish."

Craters weren't exactly a new feature in this city, but a fresh, smoking one was a bit unusual.

Also, there was a green and white mech in the middle of it who might or might not be dead, so there's that. He mostly looked like he was sleeping.

Yeah, that's acceptably interesting for Slipstream to stoop down and alight on the edge of the fresh crater, peering down curiously. She wasn't an expert or anything, but it looked like maybe the bot at the bottom of the crater might've been involved in something big and booming.

She steps over the edge of the crater, sliding down the curve of it and coming to a stop next to the immobile bot, and cautiously nudged the-- corpse? napping idiot?-- in the head with a foot.

"Do that again and I'm taking your foot," Sixshot warns serenely, not bothering to open his eyes or even move for that matter.

Honestly now, what was with it with people kicking him when he was trying to nap? Very rude.

"Thought you might've been offline," she says, and doesn't do it again, instead leaning over him and looking him over. All the bots around here were kind of weird-looking, honestly; who needed that many little fiddly bits and sharp angles? "I guess I can't steal your stuff if you're awake, though," she sighs, though she sounds more amused than disappointed.

"Not much on me, I'm afraid."

Sixshot does activate his optics then, peering up at the strange... Seeker? There was certainly a lot of familiar elements in the flier's design to Starscream's old trine. Too rounded and simplified though.

"Hm," he says, squinting.

"Hmm yourself, buddy." She quirks a grin at him and straightens up, waving a servo around the crater they're in. "So is this yours, or did you just decide it was the best place to snooze a while? Gotta say, if you made it, I'm pretty impressed."

"I was bored," Sixshot rumbles, as if that answered anything. It explained plenty in his mind, but then the destroyer of worlds wasn't exactly used to needing to explain himself.

Debriefs with High Command after a mission, yes. Explaining how he intentionally crash landed and created a crater the size of a small building out of mind numbing boredom to a random Decepticon soldier? Not really.

She's not usually a sympathetic person, but-- man, does she know that one. "Boredom is the worst emotion. Not sure I ever blew scrap up to get it out of my head, mind you-- though I guess I could've gone to the moon to shoot things up."

Come to think of it, there was a moon here, wasn't there? (She double-checks, looking up.) Probably wasn't as abandoned as Earth's, but maybe she should check it out sometime.

"You must be packing some serious firepower, huh?" Slipstream sets her aft down in the crater near him, apparently settling in for a chat. "I know I couldn't blow a hole this big."

"I'm a Phase Sixer," Sixshot answers, watching as the other Cybertronian settled down beside him, unafraid. It was still so strange to meet people who weren't scared of him.

"I'm made to execute the final stage of Megatron's invasion plan before Cyberforming can begin." Shutting his optics off again in silent acceptance of her presence, he quietly relaxes against the the tidy, Sixshot shaped hold in the ground once more. "My job is to destroy whatever resistance is left and wipe all native life off of a planet's surface."

She blinks at him, slowly, despite his optics being off.

"That is one heck of a job description," she says, after a moment. "You ever actually done that? Cleared off an entire planet? Because, let me tell you, I would be so impressed by that."

She would be, too! She thought Megatron was pretty powerful, but he wasn't even remotely on this guy's (claimed) level. (She doesn't get the feel that the bot's lying, though; she will be genuinely impressed and without doubt if he tells her he's pulled it off.)

"Thousands of times."

Sixshot... doesn't really elaborate more than that though. Nor does he sound particularly enthused about the subject. After a minute, he moves only to fold his hands over his chest, idly braiding his fingers together, before going still again.

"Huh."

She hesitates, looking down at the resting bot, then contributes, "I was made to bolster my creator's ego. And his forces, I suppose, but mostly his ego. I'd rather be your sort."

Slowly relighting his optics, Sixshot turns again to peer up at the stranger.

"You have my sincerest condolences."

Was he being honest? Sarcastic? His tone was so flat, it was a little hard to tell. His expression didn't have any malice or condescension in it though.

"If you're willing to deal with having a remote off switch, terrible hours and a lot of isolation, I think you'll enjoy my job."

There are a few things that give Arcee some amount of pleasure in the world that she can indulge in - beating up Decepticons is something she knows how to do, and do well. And in the uncertainty of being torn between Prowl and Optimus with her only solid footing being the badge on her chest, she's itching for a fight. So she'd followed the other bot - silent and above on the rooftops - until the Decepticon had stopped.

Someone who isn't Arcee would be concerned about the sheer size of the 'con. Taller than Optimus? Most likely. Well, she's dealt with bigger idiots. It's a matter of personal pride that Arcee attempts to move her position on the roof to somewhere on the wall above and to the side of Slipstream with as little sound as possible - fingers digging into the metal to give herself a foothold. Her foot gorges a part of the wall to ease the stress on her joints - but it's hard to disguise the squeal of metal.

Still.

"You look lost," she says, smile turning up into something sharp as her free hand tightens around the hilt of one of her swords. She hasn't ignited it, but Arcee would be lying to herself if she wasn't relishing the idea of a decent fight.

Slipstream's head jerks up at the squeal of metal, and she jumps away from the wall, spinning around and-- oh, ow-- clipping her wing against the building she'd been standing against, guns raised instantly.

... Wait, was that an Autobot?

One with actual weapons, maybe, but still just an Autobot, in singular and alone. So someone she clearly outweighs in the weaponry department; Autobots can be clever and quick, but all she'd have to do is take off into the air, and not a single Autobot ever made would be able to follow her, obviously.

Still, she kept her aim; there was no need to invite attack, not after so long dodging detection and minding her own business.

"A little bit," she says, cautiously. "So, do you make a habit of waving weapons at lost bots, or am I getting the star treatment?"

Guns. Just like a Seeker, Arcee supposes, even though the other bot in front of her is both taller than Starscream and the rest, and a color scheme that reminds her of whatever one teleports. She's never fought that one, or any of them really, and finds herself almost enthusiastic at the idea. Optimus told her not to kill any of the Decepticons wandering around, but there wasn't a ban on fighting.

"I don't do special treatment. There's no point, everyone ends up the same way." Dead, if they annoy her or are conveniently there when she's in a bad mood. But she doesn't make a move to fight - not unless the other one engages first. She's still an Autobot, and while working out what that means to her and the world around her is difficult and hard and she can't quite make the connection work, she's trying.

Slipstream is honestly reminded of no one she has ever seen or met, and no one Starscream has ever seen or met, and so she has no idea how much trouble she could be in.

But she has been on Earth, and absorbed the idea that pink is a soft, gentle color; she squints at this Autobot, and decides either Earth must be direly wrong, or this femme is terrible at picking paintjobs to match her personality.

"You're just bursting with cheer, aren't you?" she asks, tone sardonic. "Why's everyone gotta end up the same way, Pinky? You could end up going that way and me going this way and neither of us bothering the other-- it'd be better for both our healths, believe me." She looks the little Autobot over, and continues, "What do you think you could do to me, anyway? Prick me with those little needles you've got there? You're barely up to my ankle, smallfry."

Slipstream, no.

What, Slipstream, energon isn't pink in your universe? There's something to be said about painting yourself the color of what comes out of you when you're dying. But Arcee can't help but smirk at that, letting her sword flare into life - the orange flames casting a sinister glare over her face.

"Why don't we find out?" She should know better, really. She should. But she's dealt with too much, needs to work off steam and there's really no other available outlet. "Unless you're just another 'con who won't put their shanix where their mouth is. That's okay though, it won't make a difference."

Fight her, Slipstream, please. It's been so long since she'd had a proper spar that she feels as if she might have forgotten how. As if she could. She'd killed plenty of bots who've tried to keep her from Jhiaxus, and then she killed him for six years. That sort of thing leaves a lasting memory of how to inflict a certain amount of pain.

Edited 2015-03-01 02:55 (UTC)

Well, yeah, sure, but Slipstream bleeds black oil...

Still, being the color of dangerous and explosive and unstable energy isn't too far off, and Slipstream's eyes widen as the sword lights up. Uh... yeah, she hasn't seen that before, though the thing is still the size of a pocket knife to her.

She was being challenged, though, no doubt about that, and she was no coward to cringe away from a fight, and her mouth flattened into a hard line.

"You want to dance, Autobot? Then let's dance," she says, and shoots the building above Arcee's head to pelt her with rubble (and hopefully send her hurtling to the ground) as Slipstream takes to the air, not bothering to transform when she can fly in robot mode juuuust fine.

Oh, Arcee does. Her smirk only widens as she lets go - shoving herself off from the wall and letting herself fall. Cute trick, Slipstream, but her free hand goes to her other sword and lights it up as well, using them both to shield herself from the heavier and more dangerous bits of rubble that fall on her. Her landing isn't the best, but Arcee knows how to use her momentum to roll herself out of harm's way.

Sure, there's one or two hefty dents in her plating, but they barely register. "Nice trick," she says with a jerk of her head towards Slipstream. And then she shoves herself to her feet and puts as much power into the jetpack as she can, rocketing up with both swords aimed - not for Slipstream's chest or face, but the jets on her feet.

Joke about her only coming up to your ankle again, Slipstream.

Slipstream doesn't even look back as she flies up, planning how she'll pick off her opponent from the air, until the roar of jets besides her own and the strikes to her heels hit her.

Yelping in surprise, she tumbles end-over-end through the air, twisting to catch a look at what had hit her-- did the little Autobot have missiles-- and expression turning to stunned dismay when she sees the little pink bot is in the air with her.

"Autobots don't fly!" she objects, because they don't, and this femme doesn't even have wings like Optimus had when she'd shot at him, mistaking him for her creator. "That's not fair!" And her thrusters are sparking and pained from the slashes landed across them, a burning pain and unpleasant stink of fried metal and plastic from the flaming blades, which is doubly unfair.

Even more serious now, she levels her guns at the Autobot, letting off a volley and trying to get more space between them. Swords are short-range; if she gets far enough away, she ought to be able to go back to her original plan, sniping and strafing from safety.

After all, everyone knows that Autobots are never heavily armed, and definitely don't use guns.

"Really? Tell that to the three I can name off the top of my head." She's not used to being able to fly, however, and in the moment or two it takes her to swerve out of the way she's lost her advantage when it comes to close range fighting. That's okay though, Arcee can work with that. "Life isn't fair, Decepticon."

Her gun isn't made for long distance shooting, but it will get the job done - and Arcee stows away one of the swords in exchange to pull it out and fire a few rounds in the general direction of one of Slipstream's wings.

Even if Slipstream was familiar with Autobots from Arcee's universe, she'd find out that she's an exception for them as well.

She's beginning to think that she shouldn't take her eyes off the Autobot, because it takes just a quick glance to make sure the skies above them are clear for the Autobot to produce a gun and start shooting it. It's not even a built-in gun! She's holding it, in her hand, like-- like a human cop!

Slipstream is starting to regret agreeing to this dance. Sure, she's no coward, but apparently this bot has unexpected tools at her disposal. What more might she have stowed away?

And then she gets clipped in the wing, and really regrets getting involved in this dance.

"Ow!" she yelps, and makes a strategic retreat, dropping down to land between two buildings and checking over her wing. It's not bad, but clearly she needs to be taking this way, way more seriously-- this Autobot actually seems to be trained, and Slipstream isn't incompetent, but all her own training is whatever Starscream learned over several million years of considering Autobots to be barely worth his time. She curses him, silently, for being so awful and leaving her with only a little bit to draw on, and crouches into cover, veiling the Allspark energy that gives away her position and aiming upwards, waiting in kind-of ambush for the Autobot to show herself.

For a given amount of trained, sure. You pick up some skills when you kill your way through the universe looking for a specific individual. But none of that included flying, so Arcee drops out of the air and onto the roof of a building, stowing the gun. Swords are what she feels comfortable with - swords and with something solid under her feet.

"Disappointing," she calls, grinning still. "I thought you'd have more fight than that."

What good were Decepticons if they couldn't at least give her a challenge? Arcee has a flash of tinged regret that she and Galvatron never really got settled into a fight before she was dragged here; that's one she's interesting in having. She's content to wait until the other shows her head, if she feels like it. Too long, though, and she'll have to go hunting. Which she's done before - and somehow Arcee thinks this one isn't going to be as much of a challenge as Jhiaxus was.

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ready for nothing [open]

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