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robothell2015-04-04 12:59 am
phase6kindofbot) wrote in robothell2015-04-04 12:59 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
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?
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?
no subject
Rampage's horns bristle as First Aid comes closer again and continues to be touchy-feely with Sixshot, but he doesn't do anything other than cross his arms and settle huffily against a wall.
"I always hurt," he says helpfully, deciding he doesn't need to look directly at First Aid and Sixshot and glaring out across the city instead.
no subject
"That's horrible."
He's not sure what else to say, since the situation has turned rather awkward. Rampage obviously didn't want his help and he had snapped at Sixshot earlier, when Rampage had been the one to start it.
"Avoiding injury might help alleviate chronic pain." He wanted to ask if Decepticons did this, but with Sixshot there, it might be somewhat rude. It suddenly dawns on him that he totally forgot about the candies. He's not even sure if they made it through the blast. He turns to Sixshot, nudging his hip.
"Slag, I left your present. Did the box get crushed?"
no subject
"Yes, Rampage," he agrees with the medic, tone saccharine sweet and accompanied with a rather toothy grin. "Why don't you try avoiding injury? You know, by not shooting at me as a method of greeting."
At the mention of the candy box, he pauses, and then stands up, announcing, "I'll go see."
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Seriously, it's creeping him out. Medics are supposed to be concerned for him, just concerned with figuring out how he works. Sixshot just gets a silent glare, his horns flaring up. Oh sure, choosing the other guy's side, he sees how it is!
Despite his words to First Aid, he feels worse when the conversation ceases to be about him. Presents? Boxes?
Finally he snaps peevishly at Sixshot, "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean to interrupt your date."
no subject
It was quickly becoming very obvious that Rampage was not only violent, but very immature. First Aid isn't sure how he feels about being left by himself with the large, sulking mech, but his only expression of his unease was to turn his head and look at Sixshot as he gets up.
"Thank you."
Rampage's irritated jab catches him off guard, and First Aid feels far more flustered by it than he expected. His visor widens and he clutches his hand to his fist at his chest to keep himself from floundering.
"It wasn't a date!"
Sixshot is just being friendly. Frankly, he's surprised he hasn't gotten bored of him yet.
no subject
"He's cute," he says after a moment of deliberation. "But no, this isn't a date. We did not agree to anything like that. Still, I don't like being shot at, date otherwise."
And on that note, he walks off to fetch the candy box.
no subject
He stares at First Aid when the little 'Bot flusters at his jab. Well. He stares after Sixshot as he answers. Well.
...He's really tempted to shoot Sixshot again, just to spite him. Not because he's flustered or jealous or angry or anything. His fingers actually twitch towards his gun.
Instead he just stands suddenly. "Well, as much as I enjoy being the third wheel on this not-a-date of yours, I have better ways to spend my time."
No he doesn't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here.
no subject
That left First Aid with Rampage, who promptly decided he was going to leave too. He started this whole mess rather worried, but not he just felt embarrassed.
"Can you stay?" He asks rather abruptly, hoping that the red mech would at least listen to him before he flounces. "Someone wants me dead. And well-- I think we've gotten off to an awkward start, so I'd like to start again."
Skipping Sixshot at Lotti's behest for maximum awkwardness
"...Why would someone want you dead?" Seriously, the little medic doesn't look like the sort of person someone would be particularly interested in killing, beyond his occupation.
No, Rampage, most people don't hate medics. "And how are you not dead already if someone does?"He stomps closer and crouches down in front of First Aid, still looming over him. He reaches out to give him a firm poke in the chest. "You look like a stiff breeze could knock you flat."
Re: Skipping Sixshot at Lotti's behest for maximum awkwardness
First Aid stands his ground when Rampage towers over him, but he sways slightly at the strength of the poke. It felt somewhat like a punch, his hand raising to press against the sore plating after.
"Because I killed him," he says, his visor flickering with shame. "I was-- angry."
He tilts his head, looking up at the larger mech's face.
"Things are different here. The dead can be alive. I lost my arm when I saw him again." This was an uncomfortable topic. His field prickles with guilt and sadness, his tank roiling.
"I would just like the company."
no subject
Backing off a bit, he sits down, acid green gaze fixed intently on First Aid. "I'm not the sort of company one generally wants to keep."
He feels the guilt spilling out of the medic's spark, and asks, "Did he deserve it?"
no subject
The laugh just makes the tightness in his chest worse, twisting in his spark, and he drops his head, face shadowed. He's not proud of what he did.
"I didn't need to kill him," his voice is quiet, barely audible. "He'd been my friend. I was so, so angry because he killed so many and my friend and thought it was funny. But he didn't need to die."
no subject
Well, except one.
"Mm, sounds like he deserved to die as much as anybody."Most of the time Rampage is pretty convinced that everybody deserves to die. "More than some. Why bother feeling guilty about it?"
no subject
Except he did. He remembers Ratchet's counter to it, that they're better than Pharma, and his retort that Pharma wouldn't win at anything because he'd be dead. He hadn't been as angry then, but the mockery right before had been too much.
"I'm a doctor. I don't-- I help people."
He cycles the vent he was holding.
"Can we talk about something else?"
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"It flew a ways away," he announces once he's close enough, seemingly oblivious to the conversation he was interrupting. "Might've gotten shook up."
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And then there's Sixshot back again, interrupting, and Rampage's horns sweep back as he once again feels awkward and out of place between two people who actually like each other.
He shouldn't be bothered by it. It's not like he wants anybody to like him or anything. People generally aren't expected to like abominations. That doesn't stop him from lapsing into sullen silence though.
no subject
Rampage and First Aid had very different ideas of interesting. His plating rattles and he fights the urge to bury his face in his hands. He luckily doesn't need to respond; Sixshot chooses that moment to return with the box in his teeth.
"Thank you." His voice is quiet and he reaches up to take the box from the large mech's mouth.
He vents softy, slow, and opens the box, looking at the contents as he steels himself and numbs his spark as much as he can.
"There are some doctors that care more about reputation than helping anyone. Being a doctor doesn't make you a good person. I'm not a good person, but that doesn't matter. I'll help anyone who needs it."
Except he won't.
no subject
Sixshot doesn't seem particularly repentant about the last part. He's too busy flopping back onto his side next to the two of them.
"You're in the company of not good people. No one's about to judge."
no subject
So yeah, Rampage has a few issues with medics. Just a few.
He crosses his arms and stares away from Sixshot, muttering petulantly, "I'll judge who I want."
no subject
First Aid takes Sixshot's exposed belly as an opportunity to rub it, but he doesn't linger with it and gives a parting pat.
"He has the right to prejudice. I've had a privileged life compared to most in the war."
no subject
The hand on his belly makes Sixshot half sit up with a start and a surprised 'whuff!'. The petting ends before he could really figure out how he felt about it though and the Sixer stares blankly at First Aid, stunned into silence.
"I- well-" he manages after a few seconds, trying to recover. "Doesn't mean you're... bad."
no subject
and a bit of envyat the casual closeness between the other two. Even if Sixshot does seem surprised by it.He misses having friends. A friend. His only friend. Life sucks.
"I don't think he's bad. I'm going to judge him for being pathetic enough to feel bad about hurting someone who deserved it."
So there! He is so very mature and not a youth at all.
no subject
"If valuing life makes me pathetic then I will gladly own it."
He settles and starts cramming the candy into his face. These mechs would never really understand; they were all strength and size. He didn't fault them for it, but they obviously didn't see his own strength.
"It's because I was angry. It's not Pharma. I shouldn't have made that decision in anger."
no subject
It wasn't a concept Sixshot entirely understood himself, however. He was built to be loyal, to hunt, kill and destroy. But while the joy of carrying out his function had faded eons ago, they had still been an everyday part of his life until very recently.
Why wouldn't you kill someone who committed injustice? Why wouldn't they deserve it? Gruesome and often public executions were such an ingrained and normalized part of Decepticon justice that hardly anyone batted an eye at it, much less questioned it.
The lack of violence was foreign to him, something he understood in theory but not applied to himself. It was like speaking about some peculiar aspect of an alien culture, a practice or behavior explained but not something an outsider would ever entirely get.
But, well, Sixshot felt more like contradicting Rampage today than admitting that.
no subject
"I'm aware of that, mutt," he drawls. "I just don't see the point in indiscriminately valuing life. Not every living thing has value, and some of them don't deserve life."
And some who deserve life don't have it. He states gloomily at the ground, mood darkening as he thinks about Transmutate.