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robothell2015-03-12 02:23 pm
tsunclonus) wrote in robothell2015-03-12 02:23 pm
Entry tags:
[OPEN] Catch-all Cyclonus Post!
Who: Cyclonus and ANYBODY
Where: Places!
When: Any time after he arrives
What: Cyclonus doing what Cyclonus do
Warnings: Sad robots, LOUD SINGING
A -
Cyclonus watches solemnly as the terminal in the forum plays through it's clip show once again. It's not the history of his Cybertron, but it might as well be. The rise of something beautiful and great and it's slow death in the face of millions of years of war. He had missed the death of his own Cybertron, lost in the Dead Universe, but here was the death of another laid bare to him in a series of scattered images.
Though perhaps not quite dead. Injured, torn, desecrated, but still alive and reaching out. Longing for what it once was. Or perhaps he's just projecting his own longing for his lost shining Cybertron.
Optics darkening, he places a hand on the terminal, as though he can offer it comfort or at least understanding. Then he does what he always does when his longing for his old home grows too much: he sings.
Loudly, fervently, he sings, the Primal Vernacular harsh and gutteral in his Tetrahexian accent. He sings odes to the glory of Cybertron, to its great cities, to Primus and the Guiding Hand. He sings ballads of his people and their deeds before they set about ruining the planet that birthed them.
He sings with all the emotion of one who has known loss; of his home, his friends, everything he held dear. He sings with the pain of one who has known the ache of a wasting death, the sting of betrayal, the guilt of being made to hurt that which you loved most.
It has been a while since he's sung without an audience, having grown used to Tailgate's presence during such moments, his wide, bright optics fixed admiringly on him, sometimes his lighter voice joining Cyclonus's darker in song. Cyclonus feels his absence keenly in this moment, and that too finds its way into his voice.
He will sing until static begins to creep into his voice, and then he will leave. But he'll be back to sing again the next day.
B - Cyclonus takes to the air every day following his arrival. The first time he sought to explore further, sweeping over the surface of this familiar-yet-unfamiliar Cybertron. He hadn't made it far, struck by an irresistible urge to return to the city.
Perhaps it was a malevolent force, trapping them here. But Cyclonus couldn't shake feeling that this Cybertron was simply keeping all of its guests close.
Still, every day he sweeps the skies, testing the limits of how far he can bear to go and keeping an eye out for anything interesting... And a certain someone.
C - Whatever!
OOC: Cyclonus is totally getting all up over the city, so feel free to throw scenarios at me or ask me for a starter or just generally bump into him somewhere!
Where: Places!
When: Any time after he arrives
What: Cyclonus doing what Cyclonus do
Warnings: Sad robots, LOUD SINGING
A -
Cyclonus watches solemnly as the terminal in the forum plays through it's clip show once again. It's not the history of his Cybertron, but it might as well be. The rise of something beautiful and great and it's slow death in the face of millions of years of war. He had missed the death of his own Cybertron, lost in the Dead Universe, but here was the death of another laid bare to him in a series of scattered images.
Though perhaps not quite dead. Injured, torn, desecrated, but still alive and reaching out. Longing for what it once was. Or perhaps he's just projecting his own longing for his lost shining Cybertron.
Optics darkening, he places a hand on the terminal, as though he can offer it comfort or at least understanding. Then he does what he always does when his longing for his old home grows too much: he sings.
Loudly, fervently, he sings, the Primal Vernacular harsh and gutteral in his Tetrahexian accent. He sings odes to the glory of Cybertron, to its great cities, to Primus and the Guiding Hand. He sings ballads of his people and their deeds before they set about ruining the planet that birthed them.
He sings with all the emotion of one who has known loss; of his home, his friends, everything he held dear. He sings with the pain of one who has known the ache of a wasting death, the sting of betrayal, the guilt of being made to hurt that which you loved most.
It has been a while since he's sung without an audience, having grown used to Tailgate's presence during such moments, his wide, bright optics fixed admiringly on him, sometimes his lighter voice joining Cyclonus's darker in song. Cyclonus feels his absence keenly in this moment, and that too finds its way into his voice.
He will sing until static begins to creep into his voice, and then he will leave. But he'll be back to sing again the next day.
B - Cyclonus takes to the air every day following his arrival. The first time he sought to explore further, sweeping over the surface of this familiar-yet-unfamiliar Cybertron. He hadn't made it far, struck by an irresistible urge to return to the city.
Perhaps it was a malevolent force, trapping them here. But Cyclonus couldn't shake feeling that this Cybertron was simply keeping all of its guests close.
Still, every day he sweeps the skies, testing the limits of how far he can bear to go and keeping an eye out for anything interesting... And a certain someone.
C - Whatever!
OOC: Cyclonus is totally getting all up over the city, so feel free to throw scenarios at me or ask me for a starter or just generally bump into him somewhere!
A.
Miranda came marching into the forum like storm with a loaded semi-automatic in hand down at her side. Expecting anything from the already high tensions getting the better of the other inhabitants breaking out into a fight to whatever else would send giant robots into screeching ballistics.
Instead she finds Cyclonus, alone and his voice petering off with a strangle warble as if-
"Was that singing?"
This planet was awful.
no subject
"It was," he answers simply.
no subject
Miranda wasn't stupid; Cyclonus was a great deal larger, made of metal, and potentially a tidbit self-conscious of his musical endeavors if he was belting out those godawful notes by his lonesome. She was happy to put away her weapon and keep it all conversational.
no subject
He's not the least bit self-conscious about his patriotic singing, otherwise he wouldn't be doing it in such an ostensibly public place. Plus he has a very fine singing voice, though Miranda would be more likely to recognize it when he's not belting out Old Cybertronian in a Tetrahexian accent.
"The first language of Cybertron.
no subject
In truth, it sounded like a metal can being run through a garbage disposal. Still, Miranda admittedly found how Cyclonus could manage whatever that was and perfect if slightly accented English was impressive.
no subject
As if that explains everything.
He's silent for a long moment, then he speaks up again, "Do you have any idea why you are here?"
The presence of other Cybertronians he can understand. This is an echo of all their homes, after all. The presence of humans and other races however is... strange. What purpose do they serve?
Then again, what purpose are any of them meant to serve here?
no subject
It was a fair question; Asari alone had a lifespan of a thousand years or so let alone the Reapers themselves that predated human civilization tenfold. Then Cyclonus asked a question that was also fair, and one Miranda thought on a great deal.
"If your the changes in your homogeneous ecosystem evolving to adapt to organic life imply we, forgive me, I am the repopulation effort."
no subject
Sorry, Miranda, Cybertronian history is frequently ridiculously old.
His mouth thins into a stern line at Miranda's conclusion. "If you are implying that your species is intended to supplant ours as the people of Cybertron, then I would remind you that more of us have been brought here than your kind, and that the planet provides for us as well."
no subject
"Merely that the changes to the planet is evident that there is a need for...outside forces to streamline bringing this hunk of rock back up to par for it's native population."
What she is saying is that your species is a pack of ambulatory disasters that need help and badly before Cybertron is knocked back to another primordial state.
"So," She cocks her head, "Ten million years?"
no subject
Still, were humans really the best choice for helping??
He gives a nod, then corrects slightly. "Over ten million."
no subject
Truth be told, Miranda had not come here to make some polemic at the expense of the planet and its native populace. Much as she detested being here. It was in her nature to be critical. The proverbial boot attempting to kick things in the right direction for improvement.
"Normally, when we reveal our age we like to shave off a few years."
no subject
"This world has been done a great wrong," he says, then admits, "Perhaps an external presence is needed to undo the damage."
Because Cybertronians are apparently a bunch of ancient babies who need constant supervision.
He gives Miranda a sidelong look. "Are your people embarrassed by experience?" Seriously, why else would you lie about your age.
no subject
She could sympathize with wanting to keep the matter in-house but she had been involved involuntarily so if it meant bringing this diminished shadow of a planet back out of the dark ages she would drag Cybertron kicking and screaming to do it.
At what was a fair assessment, she shrugged.
"Perhaps the horrendously broken nuances of where humans allocate their priorities is a conversation for another time."
no subject
The corner of his mouth quirks up slightly. "I suppose all species have their own unique follies."
no subject
Then, spurred by her own curiosity.
"So is there a rough translation?" Beat. "For what you were singing?"
Still felt just short of lying to call that singing.
no subject
"It's hymn," he answers, "A version of the Primal Sacrament, our creation tale. I can recite it for you, if you wish."
a
Slipstream wasn't here for the beginning of it, but it catches in her audio sensors as she wanders the city, and she approaches quietly, head cocked to let it fill her processor. It's... strange, and alien to her-- she's never heard the like, and has no memory of Starscream ever hearing it, either. Certainly no such music ever played on human radio or television while she hid in Detroit.
It tugs on her, or perhaps the terminal does-- she can't separate the feelings, but she's drawn in anyways, crunching to the ground a little ways away and seating herself on the ground, close enough to listen and to be seen in the peripheral, but not so close as to intrude.
no subject
Or perhaps they simply don't wish to be rude by interrupting.
Finishing his current ode with a particularly loud and enthusiastic syllable, Cyclonus takes a moment to reign himself in before turning to meet the newcomer. A jet of some sort, clearly, and a Decepticon as well. So be it.
"And you are?" he asks.
no subject
Alas, she is an ignorant plebeian (and a Starscream clone) so she does not understand musical zeal (or true patriotism), and there's not a shard or bolt or wire of artistic knowledge in her body, but she's still avidly curious. Something alien to her-- something new, something untouched by any memory of her creator-- is something to be sought out, and possibly deeply indulged in, out of spite for Starscream and joy at being completely free from him in at least one way.
no subject
"I am Cyclonus," he answers. "It was a hymn to the homeland." He turns a bit to place a hand on the terminal, which seems to have completed its picture show again. He knows it'll resume again later. "To Cybertron."
Glory to Cybertron, glinting in the heavens... for this Cybertron should never have lost its glory either.
A
He landed on the outer edge, content to watch and listen. While it was not a language he was familiar with, it was still captivating to listen to. With the war there were so few opportunities for such an indulgence in culture, but he had always had an appreciation for such things. The melancholy tone and emotion of the song had him reflecting on the recent loss of his twin, a wound which had hardly healed even before discovering of Starscream's plot to resurrect Skyquake.
He remained motionless as Cyclonus continued, but as the singing ended he finally moved, striding across the courtyard toward him.
"That was quite the performance," he called out, a genuine compliment.
Re: A
"Cybertron deserves a little verve," he says softly, glancing back at the terminal. "It has given much to us."
And time and again, across multiple universes, his people seem determined to squander its gifts.
Re: A
Dreadwing took a moment to see if Cyclonus was wearing any particular insignia. After what happened with Tarn he was less inclined to attack an Autobot outright, but that didn't mean he had to be friendly.
Not seeing on, he took a few steps forward, pointing to the terminal screen.
"Tell me, have these monitors started revealing anything useful?"
no subject
Cyclonus moves aside slightly, giving the heavy flier more room to approach the terminal. "Nothing new since it began broadcasting its history."
He finds himself somewhat disappointed by that fact, though it would be foolish of him to expect a planet to acknowledge his performances.