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.
At the city
So things sucked but they were a tolerable amount of suck.
Seeing that particular asshole walk by goes beyond tolerable.
Unfortunately Epps is very weaponless, so all he can do is follow him to see where he was going.
no subject
It makes the waiting tedious, but then Sentinel Prime is little if not patient. He reviews the stars he mapped on his way here, though he cannot make a proper chart until he has oriented it by the poles. No matter which way he turns the images, they do not match the skies he knew when Cybertron was in her glory. This world, itself so like Cybertron and at the same time not, alarms and intrigues him in turns. Even more, he burns to know the means by which he was brought here.
And so his thoughts run as he spends his time in silence, listening, watching the street come into stark relief as the moon breaches the tops of the buildings and light spills down.
He'll have to move. The call hasn't ceased all this time and he wants to see what waits for him at the end. He sighs, very softly, and picks up his sword.