robothell | (no subject)

Entry tags:

sixshot | phase6kindofbot

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Who: Sixshot and YOU.
Where: Somewhere in the city!
When: Some… time.
What: Talk to doggy! Pet the doggy! Annoy the living heck out of the doggy!
Warnings: Standard potential violence warning because Phase Sixer.

Sixshot never stayed in one place for too long. There were places he would visit often, like the Decepticon base and the Autobot clinic, but he never lingered for longer than a day.

Sometimes he dug; there were various Sixer-sized holes around the barren city now. His olfactory sensors helped with homing in on various useful equipment and he left them where either Spinister, Tarn or First Aid would find them.

More often than not, he wandered. There were massive spaces underground, caverns left by destroyed metros, the dead roots of collapsed skyscrapers. Unstable death traps to most other mechs, but quiet places for one who could withstand half a world falling upon him.

There was a hole over this particular section of what appeared to have once been an underground mall. The sound of running water echoed through the darkness and Sixshot could see the sparkling spray as he got closer to the shaft of light.

A waterfall? A very small one, but it certainly looked like a waterfall.

Sixshot slows to a stop under the collapsed ceiling. The water disappeared into a pile of rubble for the most part and plants were scattered here and there and up around the edges of the hole.

Stepping up onto the pile, the Sixer sticks his massive head out of the hole in the ground. Where does this pop up into?

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He doesn't remember having met a beast mech here and certainly not one that smelled like this. At the offering of the stranger's name, the Sixer stares for a moment longer before replying.

"... Sixshot."

Okay, that actually sends Sixshot rolling, although he doesn't seem too concerned by the sudden displacement. In fact, the Sixer makes a sound that might be suspiciously close to a laugh after he lands on his aft a few meters away.

Smothering the sound with the back of his hand, he watches as Rampage sulkily sits down on a rock, all but radiating smug superiority.

"You could use more training," the six-former remarks, tone carefully neutral. "Or. We could go exploring."

Rampage heaves a shrug - he is so not sulking - and stands up.

"It's not like they had anyone of my caliber to train me against," he says. And not that they really trained him at all so much as they tested how much pure punishment he could take and dish out. The answer to both was 'enough to kill most mechs'.

He doesn't say 'yes' to explore, but he does walk over to stand next to Sixshot and stare at him expectantly.

"I wasn't hiding."

Which... doesn't necessarily make it easy for people to find him without direct radio contact, really, come to think of it. Even in this form, it would be hard to find him when he didn't stay put long enough to be found.

"Did the Autobot help you?"

"I... didn't mean to say you were."

He really didn't. And it's a bit upsetting to think he's somehow hurt the huge bot's feelings, or otherwise offended him. His wings flick.

"Sort of. There's still no gasoline here." And he's been using a generator ever since. Which means mostly staying in one place.

That looks suspiciously like sulking, Rampage.

"Pity, that," Sixshot remarks, casting his new companion a look as the other mech comes to stand by him. "You'd have been worthy of becoming Warrior Elite with some polishing."

Not that really mattered now with the war having ended. What future did they have? Weapons for a war and no war to fight.

Suddenly feeling a bit gloomy, Sixshot starts leading them deeper into the bowels of the underground part of the city.

There's a spot Sixshot found, not too far away from the clinic. It was on top of a short, stocky, square building that had once been crammed between other buildings of the like, but the neighboring ones had long been demolished. The surround debris created a ramp of sorts, right up to the top- and the clinic was still in sight but far enough away that he could generally avoid possible, uncomfortable confrontations with Ratchet.

Most days, at the end of his daily wandering, Sixshot comes and waits there for a few hours. Sometimes his brings supplies he'd found in his digging, and if First Aid didn't show up, he would leave them behind the roof access door for the medic to find later.

Today, he's waiting with a little box between his front legs, drowsing off under the alien starlight.

Sixshot cocks his head in confusion. He wasn't offended. It just puzzled him that the flier didn't think they'd meet again.

"Gasoline?"

Oh, right. The guy was from Earth, wasn't he.

"You should go to the Autobot clinic. They might have the supplies to convert you to a more common energy source."

Wow, get your optics recalibrated, Sixshot! Totally wasn't sulking.

Rampage's horns twitch awkwardly at the compliment, feeling oddly... flattered? He's never received and honest compliment before, and he's not entirely sure how to react to it. So he just scoffs and says, "Like I'd agree to be one of Megatron's pets! I'm a free mech, now and forever."

Free to make his own choices. His own... terrible choices. His own mood drops, falling to match the gloom trickling off of Sixshot. With a grunt, he catches up with Sixshot, then 'accidentally' shoves him with an elbow as he moves by to take the lead.

The look he flashes over his shoulder seems to be a challenge.

His kneejerk reaction was to argue that he wasn't Megatron's 'pet'-

But in hindsight, that argument didn't hold much water. He'd been groomed since the day he came online, made to be an obedient and loyal weapon. He'd never disobeyed a single order willingly, questioned only to clarify his mission, existed only to serve and to destroy when told to. If he should ever have stepped out of line, Megatron could have uttered the kill code and that would have been that.

Sixshot didn't even think to exist beyond his function up until he woke up on this planet- only to find existing as empty as everything else in his life. Moreso now without any direction.

'Pet' was exactly what he was. Death Bringer was right-

The sudden shove snaps Sixshot out of his depressive spiral.

He blinks, offended and baffled, but doesn't immediately try and fight Rampage to take back the lead- at least not until the afthead that look.

"Do you even know where you're going?" the Sixer grumbles, casually digging his elbow into his companion's side and shoving.

"Do you?" Rampage asks, before Sixshot's elbow sends him knocking into a wall. It's not really exploring if you already know where you're going, is it?

It's something of a relief when other emotions pull to the fore of Sixshot's mind, overlaying the underlying depressive feelings. Hot anguish and acute emotional pain Rampage can handle. He enjoys that. But this creeping hopeless hurt... it tugs at the dark places in his own spark, and he doesn't like it.

Rampage's retaliation is a casual shoulder check.

It's still exploring if you've never been to the place you wanted to go to!

"One of the maps says there's an atrium down this way- Uff!"

RUDE.

Sixshot huffs indignantly as he picks himself out of the empty store front, roughly brushing dust off of his armor. He then strides over, back to Rampage's side, and kicks the back of the crab-former's ankle.

Wow, it is on.

Rampage gives an indignant squawk as he topples to the ground, leg knocked thoroughly out from under him. He doesn't even bother to stand up, he just rolls around and kicks a foot straight up into Sixshot's crotch.

Pharma huffs quietly. When in the world did First Aid get an attack dog in the most literal interpretation of the phrase. "Self. Defense," he hisses quietly before sighing, pondering the question again.

"Fine -- for Tarn, I very much dislike him and wish he would stop existing at the same time as I, but given that I would rather not die a gruesome death, I... perform necessary surgery if he requires it."

Yeah, this one's definitely not Cybertronian by any means. Alien, sure, but definitely not Cybertronian. Also a fairly recent arrival, but still.

"You are also a wolf."

Miria seems to know better then to keep arguing the point, since she can judge by Sixshot repeating the whole chewed wire statement. So she doesn't say anything on that.

In fact she's going to step back so the phase sixer can get out of the hole without worrying about her.

"Self defense doesn't hold up very well in my court." The amusement in Sixshot's voice was becoming more and more obvious. "Am I hearing correctly, then, Pharma? That you want the mech, whose company I currently value more than your life, to stop existing?"

The claws slide a little closer together, a few more inches closer to crushing the jet between them.

"You might want to reword that a little there."

Sixshot's crotch was covered in the same black-hole harvested metal armor the rest of him was covered in, so the resulting yelp and ridiculous back-hopping was borne more of surprise than pain.

"That," he declares, looking quite offended. "Would have been a very low blow."

After a brief pause to shake some accumulated grime off, Sixshot turns back to Miria, expression somewhat thoughtful.

"If you want to keep them as pets, you'll need a container." He turns and starts trotting off. "I doubt they'd survive the bath."

"I have six forms."

Which doesn't stop him from being a wolf, Sixshot supposes.

Was he a wolf more than a tank or a jet, though? That, he doesn't really know, but does spend a lot of time as either a mech or a wolf.

"Yes."

He shifts in place again, drawing his knees to his chest. There's probably value in what the huge robot is saying. He didn't steer Kagerou wrong before. But on the other hand...

The familiarity of the frame is a huge comfort the others lack.

"You're pawning me off on them again."

As Sixshot says that, Miria brings a hand up to her hair and gently, way more gently then one would expect from her, takes the glitchmouse out of her hair.

"This rodent is not this Unit's pet," she responds, as flat as normal. "It is merely residing in this Unit's hair."

But hey, she's putting the mouse down in a spot that will keep it safe from getting stepped on by Sixshot. And now she's ready to follow him to get showered.

"And?" Casting Kagerou a baffled look, Sixshot cycles a sigh through his vents. "I do not know you. I have no resources to take care of you even if I did."

Spinister might be able to help, but Spinister didn't have much in terms of resources either- and Sixshot would know. He was the one who brought the Decepticon medic most of his supplies.

"If you're content to wallow like this though, I won't continue to bother you."

And with those words, Sixshot makes to duck back into the pit.

"I don't need looking after."

He isn't sure what he's hoping to accomplish, saying that. Maybe just prove he's capable of functioning on his own. Maybe... fix something or bridge some gap here. He doesn't want to be looked after, he's just... he's oddly content to trail in this being's shadow.

And then the other threatens to leave and he's sitting upright, flaring his wings. "You aren't bothering me!" he calls out, louder than he should. "You don't have to leave!"

Rampage takes one look at Sixshot's offended expression and promptly cracks up laughing.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't know we were being honorable about it!"

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