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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!
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.