robothell | dramatic pointing at ripped up furniture

dramatic pointing at ripped up furniture

Who: pre-war Megs and Tarn
What: Tarn gets a talk about his garbage actions
When: Shortly after everyone's favorite torturer extraordinaire gets their ass into a medical bed
Where: Camp Decepticon
Warnings: feeling bad for terrible people

Tarn would find himself getting another visitor in the form of his would-be commander. Not quite the terrifying warlord he should be growing into: still inexperienced in matters of leadership, and less so in matters of killing Autobots.

Megatron knew what happened not long after it occurred. Having been working the clinic when his older self came with his injuries, it didn't take much to deduce how he got them. Figuring Tarn was the worse off of the two since his older self wasn't mangled like Drift was, he made his preparations. As soon as there was an opening in his shifts, he took what he needed, sent a quiet message to Aftermath, and left.

With him he was carrying a storage crate from the Autobot medibay and his own solemn conviction. The side of his face that had a blaster bolt shot through it had managed to heal up fairly well with some methodical application of repair nanites, though a deep gouge still ran through it. His previous concern was noticeably absent as he looked over the Decepticon's wounds before stopping at the silver badge, a thin, well concealed plume of anger and guilt running up his struts. He makes eye contact as he steps through the doorframe.

"Your accomplice doesn't seem to be particularly attentive."

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He was the last face Tarn was expecting to see in that doorway. Tarn stared, dumbfounded from behind his cracked mask before hardening himself and looking away from Megatron. He doesn't want his leader to see how far he has fallen. How crippled and feeble he must seem.

His frame is mangled, old energon still covering armor plates. Luckily Spinster managed to get some pain dampeners which have left Tarn weak and disoriented but more comfortable than he would be otherwise. Most of the more urgent injuries have been dealt with leaving self repair to take over. Supplies are limited enough as it is.

"I'm sure he has found some project or another to amuse himself with. He has done what he can with the supplies he has."

The crate is placed on the floor with a heavy thunk as Megatron moves forward, taking a closer look at Tarn's injuries. Blunt force trauma, it looks like, with a few shots from some sort of high-powered energy weapon melting some plating. His double fusion cannon had been wrenched from its roots in his arm, and was no where to be found.

How to approach this? It seemed so much simpler when he was planning it out, but now he wasn't so sure. Even though Tarn had inflicted great pain on people he cared about, something felt wrong about tearing something from him when he could barely move. Even if he was unconscionable.

He goes down to meet the Decepticon, keeping a level gaze.

"Why did you do it?"

Tarn sighs, glancing back at Megatron for a fleeting moment.

"I was following orders that you will give me years in the future. My very purpose in life is to hunt and kill Autobots and traitors to your cause." He shifts on the berth, closing his eyes. "It is a task I have been entrusted with for millennia."

Exhaustion weighs heavily on Tarn's frame, sapping every ounce of strength he would normally have to deal with a situation such as this. It leaves him vulnerable.

"We were abandoned by our leader. Guidance has been lost and I am doing what I see fit to continue on."

Tarn huffs a small laugh, grinning to himself beneath his mask.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand. Not yet."

"I'm aware, you've told me this before," he contests, taking a closer look at the injuries and repairs with a practiced hand. He'd managed to get quite a bit more experience than he was expecting thanks to Tarn's attacks.

"I find it hard to believe you have no wishes or agency of your own," Megatron looks at Tarn, finding his response to be less than adequate and rather disappointingly lacking in much insight. His gaze gets a little colder.

"What does loyalty mean to you? What does it really signify?"

He stands up, satisfied with his own examination.

"Do you actually follow my word - or do you interpret it as you see fit?"

Edited 2015-02-28 00:22 (UTC)

Tarn stiffens at the accusation, optics snapping open to glare weakly as the mech standing in front of him. The mech who he would come to see as his leader, his idol, his reason for giving up hid very identity. All to better serve him.

"Don't ever question my loyalty, Megatron." he hisses, attempting to sit up on the berth, ignoring the ominous creak in his frame and re-opening a wound on his stomach. "Too many times in my life have I been betrayed and abandoned. I have found my home in the Decepticons and I am not about to see them travail into ruin because our leader has left us. We must not appear weak to the Autobots lest they use it to their advantage."

"I question what I observe, Tarn."

Megatron's doubts evaporate as he finds a familiar, rebellious anger in his spark, doing nothing to stop Tarn from hurting himself as he sits up. His voice grows bolder:

"I question the motives of someone who takes up my symbol and rips a doctor to shreds the moment I step out of sight - for what? For some delusional idea of strength? Or perhaps 'collaboration' has taken on a new definition in your future. Enlighten me."

Tarn looks incredulously at Megatron. He doesn't try to defend himself against what happened with Ratchet, knowing full well that it is his word against the Autobot medic's is probably moot at this point.

"That was desperation, not strength. I will admit that. As for collaboration, you need to understand that I was made to harm people. I do my job efficiently and without mercy, as was taught to me. Even if I did try to work along side the Autobots I would never fully trust them, nor would they trust me. I am a Decepticon and I have no intention of surrendering to their victory." Tarn lets out a weary sigh, shaking his head. "I Don't want to argue with you Megatron. I don't expect you to understand. War changes many people."

Tarn's hand touches his stomach, coming back slick and pink with energon. He curses quietly.

Tarn's insistence seems painfully ironic in light of the reason he wanted to raise arms in the first place. To combat the very idea that you were defined by your work. In a way, it hurt to see how twisted his plans had come - how far he'd change things for the worse.

He evens his voice: "Then you have no intention of stopping."

"Even though there is no war here, no enemy that wants to kill you, you will continue to butcher, and maim, and murder. Peace isn't even worth the bare effort, because its far easier to find purpose in breaking others."

"Even though I am here, and willing to work with you, you'd prefer to assume I'm incapable of comprehending your reasons. Slaughter is your way, and there's no way of changing it."

"Is this what you are telling me?"

Tarn stares absolutely speechlessly at Megatron. Behind his mask, his mouth opens and closes a few times as words die on his lips.

Was this really happening? Was he really going to lose both Megatron's to the Autobots?

Sputtering uncharacteristically, Tarn tries to find words.

"I-I... Megatron, that's not..." But that is what he's saying. He can't deny it but he's far too stubborn to admit it.

"Well? Am I wrong? Am I unclear?"

Whether or not Tarn decides to explain itself, it appears Megatron has made his decision. It's clear enough to him that the warrior holds no remorse and no intention to cease his attacks.

He glances down at Tarn's silver badge.

Tarn has no answer. He stays stubbornly silent, averting his gaze.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Megatron is supposed to side with him. He is supposed to rise up and lead the Decepticons to victory; succeed where the last had failed.

Tarn's spark sinks in his chest. It was too good to be true. He had hoped for too much.

The silence was clear enough of an answer. Megatron's expression hardens.

With Tarn averting his gaze, he raises his hand and encloses edges of that silver badge.

Edited 2015-03-01 07:46 (UTC)

Ripped away from his thoughts, Tarn finches as Megatron's hand comes to his chest.

"What are you doing?" He snaps as fingers grip the edge of his polished badge. Tarn's hand comes up to warp around his commander's wrist in an attempt to push it away.

He looks at the hand around his wrist, feeling a weak push.

"Let go, Tarn."

Megatron doesn't need to explain himself, it's obvious what he was doing. That said, he didn't want to fight Tarn while he was infirm and in a medical bed, despite how painfully lopsided it would be.

Edited 2015-03-01 18:02 (UTC)

Tarn's mind begins to race, trying to find a way, any way, to talk himself out of this without outright lying. Why can't Megatron see that he is doing this for him? For his cause; the one Tarn has fought so hard for.

He can't let Megatron do this to him. In a thoroughly ill advised move he continues to push, Injured shoulder sending bolts of pain through his arm as he lifts it to press against Megatrons chest.

"No. You can't do this to me. I have given my life up for the Decepticons. It is everything that I am; the only thing I have left."

"You say that you're a loyalist, but you're really a sadist that found a convenient cause allowing you to fulfill your own dark wishes. And if you refuse to change that, then I won't allow you to poison it any longer."

Megatron pulls his arm out of that grip, and goes in again, this time clenching the badge and tearing it clean off Tarn's armor.

In actuality, it was part ideology and part disciplinary. The fact of the matter was that he had told Tarn to not harm the Autobots, and Tarn responded in turn by ripping up two and leaving them at his doorstep. Megatron had long since learned words were meaningless without action, and so Tarn would face the consequences of his choice.

Tarn flinches in on himself, hand coming up to touch the bare patch on his chassis. A low noise winds its way from Tarn's vocalizer. It's confusion, and sorrow, and anger all twined into one drawn out groan.

Looking up at Megatron, his optics flash in an indecipherable emotion. Disbelief and anguish roil in his tanks.

"I--You--" Words elude him as his hands continue to paw over the empty spot where his badge once sat, not entirely believing what had really happened. This is a Nightmare. It has to be. He couldn't have possibly just been kicked out of the Decepticons.

"You're free to murder as you like, I doubt what anyone says will stop you, but you will not do it in my name."

Megatron stands to his feet, leaving no sympathy for Tarn to find as anguish crashes through the warrior's frame. Despite what Tarn had done, a little part of him did still feel wrong for wrenching his faction from him - it was clear enough that Tarn had been trained to be so fanatical.

But, at the same time, he couldn't turn a blind eye to this. Admittedly, there's a small hope that separating Tarn from his Decepticon identity may help him break out of his own self-fulfilling cycle of violence, as painful as the process would be.

Tarn doesn't even hear Megatron's words. He doesn't know what to do with himself as his spark feels like it begins to tear itself apart. Is this what it feels like when he uses his vocal talents?

He collapses back on his elbows, continuing to stare up disbelievingly. This isn't real.

"Megatron, please, I beg of you... Don't do this. Kill me before you make me leave my faction. Please, if you must do this, end me now."

It would be easy. Tarn has nothing left to live for.

Megatron picks up the crate, the badge itself tentatively in hand, and the memories of both Ratchet and Drift's battered and beaten bodies still fresh in his mind.

He looks at Tarn's damaged frame, the re-opened wound on his abdominal plating, and the pain clear in his eyes. A small part of him considers it. The little nagging feeling that berates him for not slaughtering Sentinel when he had the chance.

He meets the warrior's optics and finally makes up his mind.

"No."

Megatron takes a few steps back towards the door. He was done here.

Edited 2015-03-02 20:26 (UTC)

As Megatron goes to leave Tarn tries to ease himself off the berth. He cannot accept this. He cannot let Megatron take his identity. Despite his disorientation and anguish he manages to catch himself before he falls on his face.

Desperately he tries to comm his team. No answer. And again. And again. They wont let this happen. They will help him fight this injustice.

But he's alone; they aren't here. His allies are dwindling and for the first time in millennia Tarn feels a stab of fear. He hates it. He feels himself crumbling. All he has left is his mask and now all it seems to do is mock him.

It took a moment after leaving Tarn's room to steel himself for another conversation - a less punitive one. He wasn't sure how well he'd be able to handle causing so much anguish to another one of his followers - even ones like Tarn. Megatron was far from being a cold and ruthless tyrant, and merely wished - deeply - that things could have turned out for the better.

But after a few moments of staring at a wall, he goes deeper into the Compound with crate in hand, looking for the Decepticon that shot him.

There's a pile of equipment blocking the hallway in front of a closed door. A faded graphic of what looked like an active shower head had been stenciled onto said door in white. From within, there are sounds of welding, the occasional metallic 'clink' of equipment being swapped out.

After a minute, the door slides open and Spinister steps out, wiping dust and chunks of old, gunky cleanser fluid off of his forearms with a rag. The sound of footsteps draws him out of his cleaning and he snaps his head around to the source-

Only to stare at Megatron, momentarily frozen.

Then he steps back into the shower room and attempts to slowly shut the shower door.

"Wait!"

Megatron trots forward to try and catch that door with his hand before he closes it. He had kind of expected Spinister to still be a frightened - going by what he'd managed to piece together of what his future self was like, but he was sure he'd be able to clear things up.

And now, with no gun involved (he suspects) there's much less a chance of incident. He was still marked by the gunshot wound, but medical nanites were doing a quick job of piecing it together over the last few days. He didn't look quite as ghastly.

It's not really the appearance that frightens Spinister. He's kind of pieced Krok together after the whole nasty thing with Vos.

It's just he shot Megatron in the face.

Which was kind of like shooting God in the face and God was a terrifying warlord.

"Nyyyeeeeee," he squeaks when Megatron catches the door before it could slide shut.

Well - the fact that he wasn't bleeding profusely out of his face anymore might be a good indicator of his current mood towards people named Spinister. Maybe.

Regardless, he forces the door open, trying to squeeze in the widening gap.

"Wait- I'm not going to hurt you - Hf." He clumsily pulls his leg free from a tangle of equipment in a very un-warlord-like fashion. Something definitely falls out of place clatters to the ground. Oops.

He lifts a hand,"We just need to talk."

Edited 2015-03-05 02:44 (UTC)

Well, Spinister wasn't about to slam the door on Megatron, so the moment the other mech gets a foot in, the heli backs up, hands held up and spread in front of his chest.

Sure. Alright. Now he was just trapped in a small space with Megatron. Again.

"... okay," he manages in the tiniest of voices, optics wide.

The first order of business was to try an mitigate the fact that Spinister looked like he was ready to collapse in on himself in terror.

Megatron steps in as the door slides shut on its own. He gives the medic a good look before raising a hand,"I understand that you were acting out of desperation. I'm not going to fault you for that."

He sets the crate on the ground with a light thunk. After popping open the locks, he reveals its contents: repair nanites, tools, miscellaneous supplies from the medibay, some cubes of energon. It wasn't exorbitant, they weren't swimming in equipment, but it was a little extra that he could spare to ease the very clear shortage on the Decepticon side.

"You can use this as you see fit. It's yours."

Upon the crate's contents being revealed, Spinister's hands move up to cover his mask, optics darting between Megatron and the medical supplies. Tarn's repairs had been Pharma and him running on a shoestring of scavenged supplies with what he had managed to steal but this...

But- that didn't make any sense. Why would Megatron be bringing supplies to the mech who'd shot him in the face?

"... Wh- why...?"

"Killing you over an accident won't really help anyone in the long run, will it?"

He'd be hard-pressed to accept that conclusion even if it was absolutely necessary. His voice grows firmer:

"But I don't want to catch you stealing from the Autobots again, do you understand? If you need something, if you know someone who needs something, you can come to me. We can resolve this."

Megatron taps the crate,"There's enough for both sides."

Killing people over an accident was kind of how things worked? Spin wasn't about to question Megatron on this particular topic though. He's kind of too busy doing the masked equivalent of gawping at the guy right now at any rate.

"Why are you working with them?" Spinister drags his optics up, away from the medical supplies. "I thought... I thought they weren't on real friendly terms with us."

He stands up from the crate. No point in lying or bending the truth in this.

"Ratchet offered to instruct me in medicine. One or two Autobots are a still a bit uppity about having me around, but I doubt they're interested in fighting."

"Tarn says the Autobots haven't got real nice things planned out for us," Spinister twitches his rotor unhappily. "You ought to stay here, with us. Where it's safe."

A pause. "Kind of."

"Anyways, I can teach you about medical stuff! You don't need to go to them at all!"

"Tarn wants more subjects to torture for his own delusional reasons," he retorts,"He has a vested interest in lying about our situation to keep the conflict going."

"I have stayed and worked at the Autobot medibay for several months. I can assure you there's no danger - and the company warms up once they get used to you."

Spinister blinks at Megatron, the dawning of revelation slowing crossing over his face.

"Oh," he says quietly. "So Tarn... lied."

And the heli might just sound a little hurt.

"He has his own self-interest to look out for, no doubt. Just be aware that you don't have to give in to his coercion anymore."

Despite his anger with Tarn, though, he wasn't opposed to letting him stay and get treated. He won't mention the bot was technically booted out of the Decepticons.

"I never caught your name."

"He didn't really coerce me, he just said the Autobots were being aftheads and that's not super unexpected," Spin shrugs.

"I'm Spinister!" he says on a more cheerful note, jerking a thumb at his chest. "What's your- wait, no, I know that already."

Sure got over the hurt pretty quick, buddy.

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dramatic pointing at ripped up furniture

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yo my pal spinister

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