robothell | (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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Because you said I could."

That's. Literally his answer. He doesn't see any problem with that answer. He stops where he stands, shifting his weight.

Does that mean he has to leave?

"That, doesn't answer anything." Sixshot turns suddenly, teeth flashing, frustration and irritation in every line of his massive frame. "Why are you doing this? "

That's. A switch. And it's enough to make him take a step back, his expression registering the surprise before he can school himself back to neutrality.

"I... don't know what else to do."

At least it's honest.

The startled expression and meek reply sparks off a sudden blaze of something repressed and old and very close to hate. Sixshot slams his claw down hard enough to crater the road beneath them, armor plates bristling and optics flaring in rage.

"You are not allowed to use me," he growls, voice so deep it shook the buildings. "You have no right."

And again, he's completely startled. Stunned into anxious silence. He doesn't know how to respond to that. No one has ever accused him of... of that. Of using someone.

"I... what?"

But he's already taken a step back. Instinct telling him to be ready to fly off.

And just like that, the anger seeps away, back into nothingness, leaving static in its wake. Sixshot slides his jaws shut, withdrawing both externally and internally.

"Go away," he says sullenly, turning to stride off into the waning light.

... This time, he doesn't follow.

His tension drains away. He stays there, staring after the departing bot. Wondering what it was he's done wrong. Fighting down the urge to follow.

... and now he's alone, again. Alone and uncertain and burning bridges without even realizing his mistakes.