robothell | So Tarn walks into a Bar...

Who: Tarn and You
Where: the NEW Maccadams Old Oil House
When: right now
What: Tarn tries to make some new friends
Warnings: None :0

It has been weeks since Tarn’s fight with Megatron and he has kept himself as scarce as possible, nursing his wounds, and even more recently, his broken pride. Spending his days mostly alone has begun to wear heavily upon him, too ashamed by his recent fall from the Decepticons to face most of the mechs in the base.

The bare patch on his chassis still jars him when he glances down at it.

Still, he can’t help but think about what Sixshot told him. He can’t hide forever, and the longer he waits the more the Autobots will think that they have won. A change of tactics does seem to be in order.

Tarn has wandered from the base still wearing his scars from the battle and hobbled by a slight limp; but otherwise at nearly full strength. Heading deep into the city, the DJD Commander begins his search for any flicker of civilization in the vast, crumbling, nearly desolate city. He wants to be seen. To let it be known that he is done hiding and won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. They will be forced to face him whether they want to or not.

Before long he stumbles upon a small establishment, clearly Autobot owned. Maccadams, it seems, has made it to even this Cybertron. He isn’t surprised; though as he approaches the door he does note a small sign clearly stating ‘No Tarns’ in bold lettering. A Deep booming guffaw rips from him before he quickly tamps it down, muffling his chuckling by clearing his throat. Tarn straightens his back, lifting his head and purposefully ignores the sign. The former Decepticon pushes the door open and steps confidently into the dim lighting of the bar.

This can only go well.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Far be it from to keep watch over the activity of your squad, but I'd be correct to assume that it's been some time since you've had contact with Cybertron, yes?"

Shockwave makes a sound in near-perfect facsimile of clearing ones throat. Not something he put the time in practicing to imitate his binocular contemporaries which why the sound was bit forced, unnatural. Unnerving. Especially as that large, singular optic turns and dilates boring into Tarn.

"Best you hear it first. This is my formal resignation from the Deceptions, and a friendly request my operations on this naked carcass of a planet not be impeded."

Tarn's jaw drops for a moment as Shockwave delivers that bit of news, singular optic blazing. Resigning from the Decepticons? The DJD Commander can't help but crow a loud bitter laugh, throwing his head back as he leans back into the chair.

After all that has happened, after everyone who has left the faction, after his own spectacular fall from Megatron's grace...what can he say to that? There is nothing he can do about it here on this desolate crumbling planet. Alone, without his team, without any support, there are no Decepticons here. There's nothing to fight for.

So he says something outlandish as he resigns for the time being.

"Your request is granted. But, if I may ask, why the change of heart?"

"I assure you that this appeal is more for your benefit." Shockwave made to leave then, but a simple question upended him. Caused a shift he physically felt, like a release.

"'Change of heart.'"

Once, ages ago, Shockwave had marveled at it; the almost intoxicating and maddening contradiction of his own anger intermingled with cold analytical dispassion. There is a certain degree of unreality as he almost observes himself bearing down on Tarn. Shoulders squared and taking full advantage of the height difference as Tarn was seated. The distance between them was a hair's breadth and this close, it almost looked like Shockwave was shaking.

"Allow me a moment of transparency I've not indulged for the last four million years as well as some advice, Tarn: Megatron functioned for this long because I deemed his continued existence tipping the scales of a careful cost–benefit analysis in favor of my own endeavors. Never had the option to put a bullet between every set of eyes in the Decepticon conclave been an option unconsidered. This cause you supplicate yourself at the feet of was never so much concerned with winning as it was making the other side lose, having the audacity to be surprised when it finally bled itself dry.

Do you want to know something, now that I've done away with your misconceptions of where my loyalties lay? Never once had I found it worth my time or efforts to advise Megatron to constrain you. Not with the Achilles virus or some other alternative."

Shockwave leaned one hand on the counter. He was quieter. Voice and disposition thin; sheets of ice cracking over boiling water.

"You're a fawning parasite, Tarn. An addict slavish to rhetoric and your own vices the which you cleave. You were always your own undoing. So here is my advice: Do not insert yourself in my affairs here. And find a new creed."

For once, Tarn is at a loss for words.

His jaw drops behind his mask as he just stares at Shockwave in disbelief for a few moments. That was...surely that is a bit harsh. The DJD Commander opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to squeeze out a rebuttal to the Scientist's scathing commentary.

"Ah." Is all Tarn manages to say for himself. He sits back politely, bowing his head and clearing his throat. "I...suppose I can't object to such a...strongly worded proposal."

"You've caught me at a bad time."

Also the sun rose every morning, gravity held them to the earth, and several other obvious statements et al. Tarn perhaps had not once in his tenure of being the brutalizing left hand of Megatron's cause been upstaged, and certainly by someone who in another life was nothing short of infamous for their outbursts.

"I never pretend to care for the Division." Shockwave rose, voice falling back to a markedly less room shaking decibel. Almost conversational. "In fact, now I almost find myself pitying you for playing instrument to a vanity project."

A stab of anger shoots through Tarn at Shockwave's last comment. His eyes narrow behind his mask, icy rage gathering in their depths as the commentary finally begins sinking in.

A vanity project?

It is one thing to insult him, but to insult the sanctity of his team is edging upon going too far.

"Oh, spare me, Shockwave, I don't want your fragging pity." He spits, leaning back to stare him in his singular yellow optic. "I am proud of what I did for the Decepticons. The cause hinges on its internal administration running as smoothly as possible even if it means getting a bit dirty from time to time."

"You will find my anger less palatable," Shockwave said thinly, "And you will note I said almost.

This was all beneath him. Shockwave knew he was better than kicking someone when they were down. Even Tarn, whom he counted among the intolerable of those in the old ranks determined to raise Megatron to some sort of level of divinity. And yet the bilious feeling elicited when he saw the Decepticon brand nowadays happened to be plastered over Tarn's face. It made being the bigger man difficult.

However, he also was not here just to vent four millions years of pent up rage onto Tarn.

"Is Megatron here?"

Edited 2015-04-11 03:30 (UTC)

Tarn can't help it; he throws his head back and just laughs. He briefly wonders if Shockwave is at all aware of Megatron's defection to the Autobots.

"He is. In fact, from our universe, there are two of him."

He clears his throat, attempting to collect himself and tamp down the surge of manic rage that grips him at the thought of the red badge smeared across his ex-leader's chest.

"I'm guessing you haven't heard the news."

"If you're referring to his defection," Shockwave said nonplussed by the unexpectedly brassy reaction from Tarn. "I was the first to hear of it."

It had been quite the event seeing Megatron rip the Autobot brand off of Bumblebee's still smoking corpse and call it an act of growing character.

Tarn narrows his optics

"You were there." It's a statement rather than a question. There is no doubt in his mind that, somehow, Shockwave has something to do with it.

"Tell me how it happened."

"Yes." Shockwave nodded but did not elaborate.

"Tell me what you already know." Shockwave countered, it served a purpose twofold; he wanted to know hear what information had been diluted reaching distant ears. And he simply wanted to keep Tarn on the end of the rope.

"I know nothing other than what Megatron, himself, told me."

"Mostly that the war is over and he has to atone for the mistakes that he made. Nothing about how it actually happened, or the events leading up to it. Just his weak reasoning as to why it has to be."

Tarn locks eyes with Shockwave's singular yellow optic.

"Tell me."

"All this and what good would that do me to dismantle the man for you now?"

Shockwave crossed his ankles over the other and sat straight almost prim on the barstool with one hand on the countertop and the cannon for the other set evenly over his lap pointed away but with the implication that was liable to change with the direction.

"Optimus Prime's young scout master Bumblebee and I had an unfortunate run in when I was," Shockwave's massive yellow optic flicked for a brief moment elsewhere. "Caught in over my head researching the energy crisis. Megatron apparently suffered a resurgence of conscious in the wake of his death. I've been told they bonded and some of that ideology rubbed off him.

Easily - willing."

So Tarn walks into a Bar...

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