robothell | [OPEN] Catch-all Rampage Post

[OPEN] Catch-all Rampage Post

Who: Rampage and ANYBODY
Where: Somewhere inside of the city
When: Some time after the medics get back??
What: Trolling under a bridge
Warnings: Horrible people being horrible and nitro-deer abuse.

[A]
Rampage enjoys hiding under things. He's not entirely certain why, but there's nothing quite so comfortable as huddling up in his beast mode in a dark crevice. It's not exactly the easiest thing to find a hole just his size to hunker down in, but today he's found a perfect shadowy gap under the partial wreckage of a bridge. Just the right sort of place to curl up in and have a nap.

Or ambush someone. It's easy for him to tell when someone with a spark comes near. They tickle at the edge of his senses and pull him into wakefulness so that he can lurk in wait, ready to snap out a massive claw and snatch them up. Just for fun, of course.

The sparkless - the humans and other mechanoids and such - have a much easier time of sneaking up on him.

[B]
Occasionally what Rampage manages to catch whilst lurking under things is a nitro-deer. When he's still and silent for long enough, sometimes herds will wander by, usually slightly on edge as though they can sense something is off but can't quite place what. Their nervousness isn't enough to save them all.

When his claw snaps out to grab one up, the herd scatters, most of them fleeing to safety. But nothing can help the small green creature caught in his grasp. It bleats and beeps and kicks, but Rampage pays it no mind. He reaches out with his other claw tip to gently stroke its head.

Voice low and soothing, he says, "There, there, save your cries, little one. The pain hasn't even begun."

[C] Feel free to ask for starters if you have something in mind!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Cammi is one of those lucky, sparkless few that could sneak up on him if she wanted. Probably. She's not inclined to do it, but it sort of happens by accident. She stares at him from near his little hole, not entirely within his sight. She says nothing until he grabs the read and generally starts being a little crazy at it, and she's not afraid to make that fact an obvious one.]

I think that's the creepiest thing I've ever seen someone say to an animal. So... good job on that, I guess.

[Rampage twitches in surprise when Cammi speaks, his claw tightening slightly around his captive, making the deer squeal.

He pays it no mind, focusing instead in Cammi. He shuffles a bit out of his hidey hole to get a better look at her.]

Oh, it's you.

[He's still not used to humans and the silence of their lack of sparks. It's kind of creepy.]

Living in the shelter of bridges and tunnels is nothing new to Slipstream, after her year on Earth and her months here on Cybertron, though caution keeps her from staying in any one place for too long. True, she has no real enemies here, besides perhaps the other femme that attacked her when she'd just arrived, but it was a good habit, to watch over her shoulder and keep from staying in one place too long.

Of course, watching over her shoulder means she's not watching where she's going, and she settles down in the shade cast by the bridge with not a single glance into the darkest shadows under it, with a tired sigh and a stretch of her arms and wings.

She is almost certainly in claw range.

Green optics watch Slipstream with equal parts curiosity and suspicion. She looks Cybertronian and yet she doesn't feel Cybertronian. She feels like less against his spark than even the glitch mice and nitro-deer. And yet she's not nothing like a human.

It's baffling.

Reaching out quietly with a massive claw, he tries to snap it closed around her waist, before asking, "Just what are you supposed to be?"

Slipstream lets out a surprised gah! at the grab, immediately twisting to look behind her and leveling a blaster into the dark.

Oh, hell, she didn't clear the space under the bridge before relaxing, she's been going soft while here--

But she seems to be in slightly less than immediate danger, probably, and it's not like this is the most unfriendly introduction she's gotten. At least he's probably not hitting on her and/or trying to kill her. (Scrap, she's been away for long enough that he may have just moved in, and wants to know who this stranger on his doorstep is, for all she knows.)

She cycles some air and relaxes, slightly, though her eyes are narrowed and bright as she stares at him through the darkness. "A cybertronian," she answers, cautiously. "How about you?"

Rampage steps slowly out of the shadows under the bridge, gradually revealing his armored crustacean-like bulk. He keeps his grip on Slipstream for the moment, though it's gentle enough not to dent.

He turns his head this way and that, looking at her with one eye and then the other.

"A Cybertronian. For the most part," he answers. "You, however..." He tilts his head. "You don't seem to have a spark. Or at least there's something very wrong with it."

Her eyes widen, just a bit; she'd mentioned it to a couple people, because it's totally unnerving to most Cybertronians and that's hilarious, but this is the first someone else could tell.

Intelligently, she asks, "You can tell?"

Then she rolls her eyes at herself, and mutters, "Well, obviously you can tell, that was a bolt-brained question." Speaking up in a more conversational tone, she asks, "How can you tell? No one else can, even after I tell them. It does spook them pretty badly to hear it, though!" Slipstream grins, though she's still tense about being held here.

Rampage tilts his head, an amused glint in his eyes. Why, he enjoys spooking people too!

"My spark is hungry," he answers. "It reaches out to others so it can taste them, savor their pain and terror and torment."

He moves Slipstream closer, getting a better look at her. She seems normal enough from the outside, but he supposes he might, too. "You I can touch. You have a presence, but you have no taste."

He finally releases her, not setting her down but simply opening his claw. "And where's the fun in that, hm?"

She makes only a small huff of noise as her heels hit the ground, firing for just a moment to soften the fall, and looks back at the giant crab-robot guy. "That is creepy as scrap," she informs him, still conversational. "What, does your spark eat other people's? Or just the emotions?"

Maybe Slipstream shouldn't be conversational with a possible spark cannibal, but she's curious.

"I'm powered by a shard of crystallized Allspark energy," she adds, tapping the teal glass of her cockpit, "if you were wondering why I'm bland as slag."

Does the giant crab look a little smug at being called 'creepy as scrap'? Yes he does!

"Mm, just the emotions." And 'eat' might be a bit of poetic license. He feels others' emotions and he certainly likes the taste if them, but it's not like he can stay functional on a diet of pure emotion.

But he's not going to tell Slipstream that. Instead he gives a grin that's all mandible and fang and adds, "Though sparks are rather tasty on their own, too."

He squints at her cockpit, the cocky attitude fading into slight confusion. "Allspark energy...?"

She should probably not laugh about cannibalism, if she's reforming and leaning towards joining the Autobots, but she totally laughs anyways-- just a few dark chuckles, and a grin back, but it's pretty friendly, all things considered. "You're one of the bad ones, huh?" she asks, in a way that is not at all condemning him for it.

As for his query to her, she shrugs, settling her hands on her hips. "I don't understand it much," she confesses, "just that that's how I was cloned. You want to see?"

Slipstream, have you no shame? (She has no shame.)

Cannibalism is totally hilarious! Besides, the people he ate deserved it. At least some of them deserved it. Deserved something anyway. Whatever. He was angry and hurting at the time and making other people hurt made him feel better.

"The very worst," he says, clearly amused.

His head tilts. "Cloned?" Allsparks and clones? He doesn't understand this much either, but it's certainly more interesting than your average Cybertronian!

"You show me yours, I'll show you mine."

Shame is for people that care what anyone thinks.

"I'll hold you to that," she laughs, tapping the glass again before retracting it, revealing a near-blinding bubble of cyan-white light. In the midst of the light, it would be easy to miss the tiny, tiny fragment of Allspark sustaining her, no bigger than a human's fist, but it's clear that it's nothing like an actual spark.

Letting it all hang out, she gestures for the crabbycon to show her his, eyes bright with the light reflecting from her chest.

Rampage squints against the light to see the little sliver. It's almost like a shard of a spark, if sparks could shatter! (They can't. He's tried it. They do kind of pop, though.)

"I'm amazed I can sense you at all," he says. Because it's definitely not a spark. It's not even particularly spark-like, beyond the blue glow. How strange!

But he's going to fulfill his end of the bargain, so he transforms, shifting from standing on many legs to sitting on the ground. Once in bot mode, he lets his chest plating part, sickly green light spilling out. It looks like a spark, for the most part, but there's something off about it. It throbs strangely and its surfaces shifts subtly giving the impression of things squirming below.

One of the scientists back at the institute always mentioned how queasy the sight of it made him whenever they forced Rampage's chest open to take a look.

"Huh." Slipstream leans in a little, peering at the spark, though not so close that close that it looks like she's going to make a grab at it or anything like that. "Are sparks usually green where you're from? Or are you bad and special?"

She has to admit, she has no memory of sparks being anything but blue, regardless of who they're in... but she also had no memories of Energon being anything but bright pink (and incredibly dangerous) before arriving here. Who knows what colors sparks might come in in other universes?

Edited 2015-05-09 00:12 (UTC)

"Green is rare," Rampage answers, staring down at his spark-that-shouldn't-be. "But mine is unique."

So yes, he is bad and special!

"What about you? Are..." He waves a hand at her little shard. "Spark-shards common?"

It was strange having his arm back after so long without it. His balance was off because he was too used to compensating for being heavier on one side; First Aid wobbles as he climbs over rubble and ruined buildings, bending over more than a few times to keep himself from slipping. A few nitrodeer come bounding over the pile he was climbing, nearly knocking him over with surprise. It takes him a full few moments to regain his balance and make sure he wasnt going to--

He slides down, landing with a 'Oof!' next to Rampage's hiding spot.

First Aid tilts his head, visor flickering at the monster size crab holding the tiny bleeting nitrodeer. He scrambles up to his feet and makes a grab for Rampage's claw, trying to get his attention.

"If you're going to eat it don't torture it first!"

Suddenly! Small robot!

Rampage had known someone was in the area, though he hasn't been around First Aid enough to recognize him by spark alone, but he'd been paying most of his attention to the deer. He certainly didn't expect for someone to suddenly be there, touching him.

"Oh, it's you," he says flatly, recognizing Sixshot's 'friend.' He's still not sure what to make of the little Autobot medic, but he does let out the world's most longsuffering sigh when First Aid insists he not play with his food. "And why shouldn't I?"

For a few moments First Aid isn't sure how to respond to that. He didn't imagine having to negotiate the deer's life; it reminded him too much of begging the DJD to release Trailcutter's brain. He clings to the crab's claw, hands tight on the warm metal.

"It's cruel. Look how scared it is!" He turns his head to the squirming deer. Somehow he doubted that would deter Rampage much.

"Please?"

"I know exactly how scared it is," Rampage says. "I can feel its fear lashing against my spark. It's tasty."

He pauses and stares sulkily at the deer. "...Actually it's a bit bland. That's the trouble with animals. No subtlety."

Giving another sigh, he completely ignores First Aid's grip and shoves the deer into his mouth. With a hard crunch, the creature's cries cut off.

The crunch stuns First Aid for a moment; he stands still, visor wide, taken totally off guard. He's not sure what he expected. He certainly expected the nitrodeer to be eaten, but... not like that.

His hands slide away from the claw. "There's plenty of energon. You don't need to eat the deer."

"Do you like hurting people?"

"There's a lot of things I don't need to do," Rampage's mutters, chewing on his little snack. "But I do them because I want to."

Maybe it's the beast mode. Maybe it's the healing ability's need for raw resources. All he knows is that he actually enjoys eating more than energon on a primal level.

He pauses for a moment, then swallows. "...I do. But I haven't done it for awhile."

He's been trying to satisfy himself with just the nitrodeer and bothering people. But sometimes he misses the pain and the terror.

First Aid didn't really understand how anyone could delight in the pain of another living creature. It made him sad, his visor dimming, and he reaches up and strokes his hand over the huge mech's claw.

"I'm glad. I'm proud of you and Sixshot. You're working very hard."

His hand pulls away and he looks at it, seeing the dust and dirt stuck to it. He makes a small sound, then looks back up at Rampage.

"You're filthy! When's the last time you bathed?"

There's a long and unfortunate story behind this one, First Aid. Though perhaps he'd always have been a sadist. Nature versus nurture is such an interesting discussion.

Proud? The First Aid is proud of him? And he's not even lying! He can tell when people are lying. It makes him feel... awkward, and he hunkers down closer to the ground, drawing his legs in towards Hus body. What is with this Autobot?

"I'm not doing it for you," he snaps defensively, then stares blankly at the question. "...Awhile."

Come to think of it, he probably hasn't done more than the occasional shake off and wipe down since he arrived. Cleanliness was never really one of his priorities.

First Aid gives Rampage a rather deadpan look at his response then sighs softly. What's with murder machines being horrible at taking care of themselves? And when did he volunteer as their babysitter? Oh well.

"You've probably got weeks of sludge and grit in your plates. You could get parasites. Come out of there." He reaches for the claw again, trying to tug the crab out of his hiding spot.

"Don't even think of giving me that slag about immortality or whatever. You can't heal dirt out of place."

"What does it matter to you if I get parasites?" Rampage mutters.

Stubbornly he resists First Aid's tugging and actually backs deeper into the hole until he's wedged neatly inside of it.

"I don't need to heal dirt out of place. It's just dirt."

Edited 2015-05-07 16:49 (UTC)

"It's gross. Do you want to end up with a colony of metal mites inside you?"

First Aid isn't deterred by Rampage's retreat. He squeezes in after him, tugging on him. It's like trying to move a solid wall, but he was hoping the tugging would be annoying.

"You must be itchy. And you smell bad."

"Mmmngh," Rampage mutters. Metal mites do sound kind of gross...

"Nrgh..." And now that First Aid mentions it he is a little itchy.

"Hmph!" He finally gives, moving forward into the light - and shoving First Aid ahead of him if he doesn't get out of the way. "I don't smell bad."

"How you smell to yourself is different from what other people smell."

He gets out of the way, but he tries to keep his grip on him. Like hell was First Aid going to let Rampage scuttle off.

"Let me climb up and I can get between your plates."

With a loud huff, Rampage drops to his belly on the ground, raising a small cloud of dust. He's not going to help First Aid climb up, but he's not going to hinder him either, though Primus-knows-why he doesn't just squish the little pest. Hmph!

"If you try to tamper with my systems I'll do for you what I did for the deer."

Fortunately he doesn't need Rampage's help climbing up his frame. He has plenty of practice with climbing. Having a second hand again helped.

"Why would I do that? That would be stupid."

He swings his legs over each side of Rampage's back, straddling his shell, and plants a hand square in the middle of it. His other hand folds open into several brushes and picks and once he slips one under the seams of the crab's back plate he starts by squiring a small bit of cleanser in the crack.

"Because you're a medic," Rampage answers, as if that explains everything. To him it does.

He mutters and tucks in his legs as First Aid climbs onto him. A shiver goes through him as First Aid sticks the brush between his plating, and it grows into a a full shudder at the squirt of fluid.

It... it tickles.

"Stop that!"

"Oh stop whining. You sound like a newborn."

First Aid was fairly used to treating young mechs; the whining and fussiness was part of the the package. He doesn't stop, but his touch was slow and gentle as he starts to scrub, picking sticky, black sludge from under the mech's plates.

"I do not," Rampage whines. Seriously, being a newborn involved a lot screaming and sobbing and begging because you didn't understand what was going on and your spark ached and nobody was listening to you.

Whining was a privilege he acquired later in life.

He continues to mutter and twitch at the sensations, but doesn't attempt to unseat First Aid. His grumbling is interrupted by a whuf of suppressed involuntary laughter.

Countering whining with more whining. First Aid shakes his head.

"You know you ought to learn how to do this yourself, or I'll be pinning you down and grooming you every time I see you, buddy."

He's well aware this tickles, but he knows it also can feel rather good. Getting all that grime and grossness out of the joints and such was usually such a relief. First Aid pulls a cloth from his subspace, wiping down the plating as he goes until it gets too filthy to use, which he drops in front of Rampage's face.

"Look how nasty that is. I'm not even anywhere near done."

He'll whine as much as he wants!

"Pinning me down?" Rampage says flatly. He has doubts about First Aid's ability to pin down a nitro-deer, let alone him! He gives another few huffs of partially suppressed laughter, unable to stop wiggling.

"It's a waste of time," he grumbles, though he pauses to stare at the cloth when it drops in front of him. That is pretty gross. He lapses into silence after that, except for the occasional aborted giggle.

Then he speaks up, "They used to just hose me down."

"Yeah, I can tell you think it is," First Aid remarks, his tone dry.

When the silence descends he continues to work, his knees tightening around Rampage's back so his wiggling won't eventually cause him to slide off. Dirty cleanser, so filthy it was black drips down the places he sprays off.

When Rampage speaks again, he waits for a moment, realizing that he was sharing something personal and giving him time to continue speaking if he wanted to. First Aid's free hand moves to the bit of forehead between the crab's eyes and rubs slow and gently.

"That only gets the surface. Careless."

"No," Rampage says, pulling his legs closer to his body. "It got everywhere."

He remembers the burn of the high-pressure hoses, stripping paint, blasting between the gaps in his plating to tear as sensitive circuitry. They knew he would repair the damage so they didn't care. It was efficient.

His bulbous crab eyes dim slightly as First Aid begins to rub his head, an odd sense of calmness slowly coming over him. His twitching settles and he grumbles softly.

"Oh." There's something about Rampage's tone that makes his spark ache for him.

First Aid pauses in his leaning, his hand transforming back into it's regular shape. He flattens himself against Rampage's back, spreading his arms into what wold be a hug if he could fit his arms at all over the crab's body.

"Nobody's going to do that to you anymore. And I can show you how to do this so no one has to touch you."

"I made sure nobody would do that to me anymore," Rampage grumbles.

It's a rather soft grumble, however. First Aid's contact, and the soft sympathetic feelings emanating from his spark leave him feeling oddly warm and fuzzy, even as he presses himself closer to the ground with a slight huff, feeling awkward.

"I can't clean myself," he adds. He just hasn't been. Because whatever. And also he admittedly doesn't have the tools to easily clean under his plating, and his hands are rather large.

"Oh yeah? That's very obvious," First Aid teases.

He nuzzles his mask into the flat surface of Rampage's plating between his eyes, butting affectionately. It just sort of occurred to him he doesn't really know what the mech turns into. Sixshot was obvious, as were mechs like Ratrap and Ravage, but Rampage? He had no idea what sort of form this was.

"Is this your preferred mode?" he asks, leaning back up so he can get back to work with cleaning between his plating. He pats him, trying to get him to fluff so he can get between the seams easier.

Edited 2015-05-24 04:33 (UTC)

Rampage totally said he can clean himself, there is no evidence to the contrary what do you mean. Luckily, First Aid's teasing makes sense in either context!

"I can," he huffs. "I just didn't feel like it. Cut that out."

First Aid's nuzzle leaves him feeling distinctly flustered, and he can't actually huddle any closer to the ground. He twitches his mandible and snaps Hus claws restlessly instead

It's actually a relief when he goes back to cleaning. First Aid doesn't need him to fluff up much, he's already a ruffled crab!

"It's good for resting-" There's something comforting about bundling up in a hole as a ball of crab-monster. "And more stable on rough terrain. Not sure I have a preference."

They're both good modes. The only one that gets a bit ignored is his tank mode.

First Aid takes advantage of Rampage's awkwardness to dive back between the fluffed plates and start picking out the old oil and grime and wiping it away, working quicker once he got into a rhythm.

"When rigor morphis sets in the body returns to the preferred shape, you know? Imagine your dead body being some mishmash of arms and legs."

Rampage, meet First Aid's extremely morbid sense of humor.

Rampage snorts loudly at that, body gradually relaxing under the rhythm of First Aid's cleaning.

"It's almost a shame no one will get to witness the glory of that particular monstrosity," he says.

He appreciates morbidity.

"Almost. Unprecedented at the very least. I'm glad about that, though. Sometimes it's nice having one less life to save."

So much nasty grime under there. Dirty cleanser patters to the ground beneath Rampage as it runs out of his seams and over his shell. Eventually First Aid hums and pauses to inspect his work. As good as it would get out here.

"You want to let me get beneath you to get your belly?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[OPEN] Catch-all Rampage Post

B.

Re: B.

A

Re: A

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Typo nooooooo

no subject

no subject

no subject