Sentinel Prime (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ashandrust) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
robothell2015-04-12 12:46 am
ashandrust) wrote in robothell2015-04-12 12:46 am
Entry tags:
something in your bones calls you here
Who: Sentinel Prime and whatever lucky sods as happen across him.
Where: Pretty much the other end of the city from the Crater. First on the extreme outskirts, then later, somewhere in the city proper.
When: Nnnnow. Ish. /vague gestures
What: Sentinel Prime sees victory torn from his hands only to be replaced with a different opportunity – and another Cybertron in need.
Warnings: None as of posting but violence possible?
In one instant, chaos. Cacophony, sunlight glinting off sheared parts, the stench of burnt metal and boiling asphalt in the air, thick in his olfactory sensors. It's enough to make even his head pound, but Sentinel Prime sets that aside. In this instant, sword held high, Optimus beaten and kneeling before him, he has won. It's a pity; he always did like his student, but the younger Prime is the biggest obstacle he faces. The only thing really standing in the way of Cybertron's rebirth. It cannot be tolerated, not even from his former friend, his successor to the Primacy. His weight shifts and Sentinel brings his blade down to take Optimus' head and end the fight once and for all. In that last instant, he does his friend the small mercy of shutting his optics as he strikes – no Prime deserves to be seen executed as such, even by the headsman.
His mistake.
In the next instant, his blade slams hard into the ground, momentum burying the tip a full foot deep. The light fades, deepening to twilight blues and greys. Immediately he opens his eyes again, rips his sword free and brings it to bear, shield on his other arm as he circles, ready for the attack that doesn't come.
"Who dares–?" he hisses, then falls silent. He blinks and looks again at his surroundings, puzzled, wary. This is not the human city – this is not the bridge. It seems… familiar somehow, and yet not. The far-spanning vista to his left, barren and dull for trackless miles under the darkening night sky, reminds him of a plain he hasn't seen in aeons; the rusted shapes and spires rising behind and to his right, perhaps a city that was once one of a dozen glittering jewels on the face of the world. Sentinel turns slowly, taking it all in with a scowl of growing displeasure.
None of it is right. There is rust and decrepitude to every side and it scratches at his optic lenses like fine grit in the wind. This is home, surely. But it is dead, or very near to it, and strange to him besides. It is not his home.
Slowly, sword and shield still at the ready, he starts toward the city proper. Something – someone? – is calling him there. He feels it in his frame, in his very spark, tugging at him like a summons. Was his arrival not a malfunction of the Space Bridge, then? Was he perhaps brought here against his will? The thought deepens the look of fury on Sentinel's face even as he presses on. He may have been called here, but though the pull he feels echoes a much older, much more profound longing, he will answer to no-one if he so chooses. He is, after all, a Prime.
The more of the city he sees, the more unsettled Sentinel grows, anger fading gradually with each step he takes. This is Cybertron, he's certain of it now. But it is a Cybertron he has somehow never seen. There is simply no way the Space Bridge could have brought him to this place, no means for it to send him beyond its own reach; he didn't design it with such power in mind.
Then how?
The question continues to plague him as he forges deeper and deeper into the canyons between looming, empty buildings, the night thick here on the street with only the stars high above to light the way. He could use his own lights, but he'd give himself away too easily like that in this unfamiliar territory. No idea if anyone here is friendly, though the odds are stacked solidly against that for him, he decides with a shallow sigh. His security is a small sacrifice in the end, but just now, he might regret it. A little.
Sentinel finally pauses a block away from a sprawling, open intersection. He has a better view of the sky here, and the stars form no constellations he recognises. He frowns at them, then turns his attention back to the ground. He still feels that draw guiding him further into the city, so he hasn't reached whatever place he's expected to be and he has no idea how much more lies between him and there. Somewhere past the spires rising high above him is the faintest glow of moonlight tinting the purple-black sky. It hasn't risen high enough to light his path just yet. He'll wait until he has the moon in his favour, then, and he eases into a nearby crumbling entryway for shelter while he waits. The temptation to sit and rest is strong, but he makes himself remain standing. Only when he's sure he's safe, he tells himself.
Whenever that may be.
Where: Pretty much the other end of the city from the Crater. First on the extreme outskirts, then later, somewhere in the city proper.
When: Nnnnow. Ish. /vague gestures
What: Sentinel Prime sees victory torn from his hands only to be replaced with a different opportunity – and another Cybertron in need.
Warnings: None as of posting but violence possible?
In one instant, chaos. Cacophony, sunlight glinting off sheared parts, the stench of burnt metal and boiling asphalt in the air, thick in his olfactory sensors. It's enough to make even his head pound, but Sentinel Prime sets that aside. In this instant, sword held high, Optimus beaten and kneeling before him, he has won. It's a pity; he always did like his student, but the younger Prime is the biggest obstacle he faces. The only thing really standing in the way of Cybertron's rebirth. It cannot be tolerated, not even from his former friend, his successor to the Primacy. His weight shifts and Sentinel brings his blade down to take Optimus' head and end the fight once and for all. In that last instant, he does his friend the small mercy of shutting his optics as he strikes – no Prime deserves to be seen executed as such, even by the headsman.
His mistake.
In the next instant, his blade slams hard into the ground, momentum burying the tip a full foot deep. The light fades, deepening to twilight blues and greys. Immediately he opens his eyes again, rips his sword free and brings it to bear, shield on his other arm as he circles, ready for the attack that doesn't come.
"Who dares–?" he hisses, then falls silent. He blinks and looks again at his surroundings, puzzled, wary. This is not the human city – this is not the bridge. It seems… familiar somehow, and yet not. The far-spanning vista to his left, barren and dull for trackless miles under the darkening night sky, reminds him of a plain he hasn't seen in aeons; the rusted shapes and spires rising behind and to his right, perhaps a city that was once one of a dozen glittering jewels on the face of the world. Sentinel turns slowly, taking it all in with a scowl of growing displeasure.
None of it is right. There is rust and decrepitude to every side and it scratches at his optic lenses like fine grit in the wind. This is home, surely. But it is dead, or very near to it, and strange to him besides. It is not his home.
Slowly, sword and shield still at the ready, he starts toward the city proper. Something – someone? – is calling him there. He feels it in his frame, in his very spark, tugging at him like a summons. Was his arrival not a malfunction of the Space Bridge, then? Was he perhaps brought here against his will? The thought deepens the look of fury on Sentinel's face even as he presses on. He may have been called here, but though the pull he feels echoes a much older, much more profound longing, he will answer to no-one if he so chooses. He is, after all, a Prime.
The more of the city he sees, the more unsettled Sentinel grows, anger fading gradually with each step he takes. This is Cybertron, he's certain of it now. But it is a Cybertron he has somehow never seen. There is simply no way the Space Bridge could have brought him to this place, no means for it to send him beyond its own reach; he didn't design it with such power in mind.
Then how?
The question continues to plague him as he forges deeper and deeper into the canyons between looming, empty buildings, the night thick here on the street with only the stars high above to light the way. He could use his own lights, but he'd give himself away too easily like that in this unfamiliar territory. No idea if anyone here is friendly, though the odds are stacked solidly against that for him, he decides with a shallow sigh. His security is a small sacrifice in the end, but just now, he might regret it. A little.
Sentinel finally pauses a block away from a sprawling, open intersection. He has a better view of the sky here, and the stars form no constellations he recognises. He frowns at them, then turns his attention back to the ground. He still feels that draw guiding him further into the city, so he hasn't reached whatever place he's expected to be and he has no idea how much more lies between him and there. Somewhere past the spires rising high above him is the faintest glow of moonlight tinting the purple-black sky. It hasn't risen high enough to light his path just yet. He'll wait until he has the moon in his favour, then, and he eases into a nearby crumbling entryway for shelter while he waits. The temptation to sit and rest is strong, but he makes himself remain standing. Only when he's sure he's safe, he tells himself.
Whenever that may be.
no subject
"We are at war," he says in a low voice, thick, gravelly. "And you bear no markings." After a moment's thought, he stands a little straighter but remains wary, keeping a cautious eye on the other's movements. The dropped gun he gives a look of mild distaste, then flicks it further away with the tip of his sword.
Just in case.
"If you truly mean me no harm," he goes on, stiff but sincere, "then I… apologise. But I do not know who can be trusted here and you are no exception."
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"Everyone deserves a chance." he says, though it's clear from his tone he seems sceptical of his own statement. He's got a lot going on, alright.
"I would never harm a fellow Autobot," another lie "My name is Sentinel Prime."
He cautiously holds out a hand. He wants to get at least one right.
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"Your words ring… hollow," he says slowly, as sceptical as his counterpart. "But I will give you the benefit of the doubt, as a fellow Autobot." He pauses and considers his next words; if this is the state of his kind here, it may be ill-advised to reveal himself. On the other hand, this duplication is curious. Finally, cautiously, he adds as he lowers his shield, "And as a fellow Prime. To say it is a pleasure to meet you seems oddly self-congratulatory."
no subject
He's not surprised his hand isn't taken. He's rather glad, almost.
Fellow Prime, though. Sentinel frowns; this guy sure does say a lot of words that aren't important at all. He always did hate the dull political formalities.
"If you say so," he doesn't bother to hide his exasperation. Honestly, he still wants to shoot the guy. "A name would help."
no subject
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Raising a hand, he tries to wave his initial reaction off, "That's not-- the answer I expected. You look like more of a... Nominus." he says quickly.
Nailed it.
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"That name means nothing to me," he says, brow quirked, in one go both acknowledging and dismissing the matter. He looks around them again, then back to this other Sentinel and adds, somewhat more respectfully, "Tell me what you know of this place. Is this…" He pauses and gestures to their surroundings with dismay. "…Actually Cybertron?"
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"Yes," unfortunately goes unspoken, "we were not the only ones who awoke here, either."
God knows they'd all be fucked if it was just a load of different Sentinels around.
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His flat tone and calm expression never waver. Internally, he boils with rage that he was so close and now he is… wherever this is. This run-down, rusted out Cybertron. This sad world that is not his.
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Whether the Autobots and Decepticons are actively trying to murder each other or not. His optics narrow and he taps his chin.
"Tell me, what of the war you know?"
He kinda missed his own. Came down with a nasty case of 'Megatron punched a hole through him.'
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His other may be a decent enough start.
"The war?" he says, voice low and hard and heavy with regret. "It destroyed our world. Killed Cybertron. We were forced to flee our home." Some… earlier than others. But he needn't share that irrelevant detail just now. "Megatron could not be stopped. And you say he is here already?" It's a marvel that things haven't already imploded. "That I do not stand in burning ruins tells me he has been kept well in check," he murmurs and looks around them.
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"Lacking in Decepticons and weak willed to do anything alone, more like." Yeah he'll just settle comfortably into denial. Mmm, comfort zone.
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"I see," is what Sentinel says, circumspect. "Then we are fortunate indeed, to face such circumstances with superior numbers." Megatron is always the one with greater forces. Strange to hear the tables turned.
He turns to leave; they can talk and walk, surely. And he expects to be followed.
"We must be lacking for medical aid," he says meaningfully.
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He follows, of course, though with a bit of a limp. That awkward encounter with Megatron is still screwing him over months later.
"I would've thought supply issues would've been obvious from first glance."
They're fine. Mostly. He's still not sure how he didn't cark it.
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There, he finally said it outright. This other Sentinel Prime is an absolute wreck. Trying to be a good example to one's followers by not seeking medical aid for every little problem only works until so many problems accumulate. That point passed some long months ago, by his guess.
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Silently, he nods.
"Then you know the current priorities, too."
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"I assume you have centralised what supplies there are and organised access to them," he adds. Because it seems only logical for another Sentinel Prime to have been leading.
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"Sure."
Nailed it.