phase6kindofbot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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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?
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?"
no subject
"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."
no subject
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.