robothell | ROOOOOBOT PROOOOM

ROOOOOBOT PROOOOM

Who: ALL ROBOTS.
Where: THE FORUM
When: RIGHT THE FUCK NOW
What: ROBOT PROM
Warnings: teenagers making out, galvatron doing his thing, a throwdown between first aid and tarn over sixshot. usual prom shit.

ROBOT PROM

the punch has been spiked, the music is whatever they could scrape together, and there’s bleachers to make out behind. takes place OUTSIDE in the forum so there's plenty of space and people can easily crash it.

prom king is optimus prime, prom queen is pipes.

please behave as irresponsibly as you would at real prom.

comment around, mingle, you all know the drill.

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"All the same, I'm happy to let him take the spotlight," he said, waving away the suggestion that he could or should be prom king.

Clearly the obvious answer here was Rodimus must have modeled the crowns for size.

"True, but I don't think that's going to be happening for a while. I think there are more important problems to deal with first."

Well that was a characteristically clinical view of situation, to be sure.

"If you weren't planning on participating, you didn't have to show up." Just an obversation.

"Yes, that's correct. The Magnus is the head of the Autobot Council. It's basically what you would refer to as 'Prime'."

"It has been almost 5 million years..." he says, absent mindedly. He has no idea this Optimus is so young.

"You're right, though. I'm honestly amazed no-one's been killed yet." A beat. "Uh. Not counting the erstwhile denizens of this city. Planet."

"I have no idea what a bird is."

Some type of jet??

"Most deaths aren't."

There's a beat.

And then Sixshot realizes he wasn't exactly being helpful talking about things this way, which leads to him awkwardly rebooting his vocalizer with a cough of static.

"... You've got a chance here, though."

See, these are reasons why even after he'd allied himself with Decepticons he kept his distance from them, with the exception of his handler. Too many of them had this sort of personality.

"Yeah, that's what I just said! It's common." The harm of outing himself as a double agent to a Decepticon was fairly small, but drunk mechs were unpredictable. For all he knew Spinister was one to shout. Considering Rodimus was already suspicious, he didn't particularly need to be affested at the party.

"Maybe I just liked the design. I have to look my best and all."

"A gathering... to have fun?"

The words sound foreign coming out of his mouth. Like he has no frame of reference for any of it. He blinks a few times, before looking over at Trailcutter instead.

"Why aren't you with them...?"

Most people would run away in the face of legitimate anger from the DJD. There was no shame in it; First Aid had seen many mechs fear them. He's seen what they can do, conversed with the mechs who killed Trailcutter.

Thinking about Trailcutter, the pain the other mech displayed to him earlier, made his own temper flare again.

"Oh yeah? And what if circumstances were different? What if Megatron didn't have you on a short leash? You wouldn't kill him for being friends with an Autobot?"

"... You are not a bad influence."

The fact of the matter wasn't that Sixshot doubted Tarn or his sincerity. It was always more a question of whether or not the Phase Sixer himself had ever deserved it. Part of him had hoped that distancing himself would have made Tarn care less. The truth might have been easier for them then.

Now that Sixshot was faced with the opposite...

"Not anymore than I can be to myself. Have been to myself." He stops there for a long moment, claws shifting under Tarn's touch. "Before I woke up here, Starscream had challenged me to a duel and then shut me down with my secret kill code. I never found out the reason for his challenge or his return to good health."

But if Starscream had known what he was doing, the rest of the army would have known well before Sixshot had even had a chance to crash into the dirt after being deactivated.

"I was going to join them." Turning his head, Sixshot peers down at Tarn, red optics steady. "I was going to join the Reapers."

"Ah..."

He muses for a moment. If Pipes ends up being dangerous at all, he could fly just as easily in his bird mode as he can now. In the end, he transforms, staring mildly up at the minibot.

First Aid presses his hands to his face and takes a deep vent. Trailcutter had every right to be angry-- he shouldn't have kept it from him, but he really didn't want him to know. He wanted him to be happy. There was more to it, more he should tell him now that this had started.

"I didn't tell him," he murmurs, quiet. "He just knew. He could smell you on me."

His hands drop and he looks away. He was omitting the whole brain thing. There were some things he just wasn't willing to tell.

"I'm sorry."

There is a shrill noise in the air, not unlike a dog whistle or a boiling kettle. It's coming from Mayday.

He's at an overly excited loss of words but that doesn't stop him from throwing himself at Pipes and wrapping his arms around him.

What, the 'shooty before asky' personality or the 'aggressively touchy and social' personality?

"It matches your little briefcase and I think that's really sweet," Spin agrees, cupping a hand to his own cheek, optics sparkling with adoration.

It's kind of hilarious coming from a guy who was magenta, purple AND teal.

"If it weren't for the present circumstances He wouldn't be friends with you!" Tarn shouts, enunciating every word to be sure that First Aid understood him.

"He wouldn't be friends with either of us." He storms off, engex clenched in his fist, hoping to clear his head.

Unfortunately for both parties, their interaction doesn't end there. After a few hours and even more cups of spiked punch Tarn runs into First Aid again.

Sixshot’s words don’t quite sink in for a few moments. But, when they do, Tarn can only stare blankly up at the Phase Sixer. His tanks have turned and he suddenly feels engex working its way back up.

“You were... going to leave the Decepticons?”

He must have misheard. This isn’t happening. Is no Decepticon on this planet loyal? Belatedly all he can think is that he was right after all about Phase Sixers being inherently treasonous.

His hand awkwardly pulls away. For once in Tarn’s life, he isn’t sure how to handle the situation. A volatile cocktail of emotion starts to brew dangerously inside of the DJD Commander. Suddenly it feels like there are far to many people in the forum. Like everyone can see his mistake; his betrayal. Still, his desire to be close to the Phase Sixer remains completely intact. Too many conflicting feelings flood Tarn's processor, sending him spiraling.

He crushes the empty cup in his fist.

This was shaping up to be a pretty awful night for First Aid. He had come to the party to unwind and relax and all he's done is gotten drunk and moody. He's had the time to keep nursing his inebriation while Tarn has been gone, and by the time the mech bumps into him again he's pretty sloppy drunk.

"What do you want?" he asks as he turns to him, his voice sounding dull and tired, his visor glowing a bit bright from the overcharge.

A little of category A, a little of category B...

Toughly weirded out, one of Brainstorm's optics widens a bit more to emulate raising an optic ridge. How does he respond to that? He's used to Trailcutter or Skids' drunken shenanigans. This was quite a bit different.

"Yeah, well, yellow is a superior color. It's energizing and promotes creativity."

It also happened to be his favorite color, so of course it was the best one.

"Do I know you?"

"I'm Spinister!" Which was his cue to grab Brainstorm's hand in what will probably be a rather one-sided handshake. "I'm a surgeon! Also expropriation specialist. I'm a surgeon for a team of expropriation specialists and also I work as that between being a surgeon, I mean." Does that make sense?

Too late, Spin is just going to keep on trucking.

"The baby Megatron put me in charge of the clinic until Red Alert came back." A very comforting notion, of course. "Also, everyone here is so young? So many young people here."

"... Yes."

How could Sixshot even begin to explain the reasons why? The unending stretches of static laden loneliness, the hollowing lack of personhood, the creeping numbness that came with destroying so many worlds for a Cause that'd been in the slow process of crumbling around Megatron's narcissism.

The Reapers had understood. The Reapers had seen his isolation, had opened their arms to welcome him as a sibling. Sixshot could have been a part of something again instead of a distant servant and weapon with no connection to the people he'd been created to serve. Starscream had just been the one to cut the tether.

In the end, however, the words all just tasted like excuses. People could betray the Cause, but the Cause couldn't betray the people and that was always the final word on the matter.

Sixshot waits instead, letting Tarn process his betrayal with the patience of a mech who already knew the final verdict.

Pipes was not prepared for a such a forceful hug and stumbles backwards slightly, but manages to grab Mayday back and not fall over.

He bomps his faceplate against Mayday's visor again, "You're happy about that, I take it?"

"Precisely," Cyclonus says, then adds by way of explanation. "Rodimus is the original captain."

No seriously, as far as he's concerned 'it was Rodimus's idea' is a perfectly valid explanation for all manner of seemingly questionable (and actually questionable) choices.

As one of the members of the Prom Committee, Drift is of course in attendance. He is in charge of confetti.

Although he'll spend a considerable portion of the evening making out with Rodimus in some dark corner, Drift is otherwise hanging around, enjoying the drinks and watching everyone have a good time. There's a good vibe in the air tonight, and it's coming from the heart of the party. This is what Cybertron wants, isn't it? Somehow, Drift gets that sense, and it makes him buoyant. He might even dance a little, although he's mostly hanging back serenely.

"You're the ex-con."

Arcee isn't here to enjoy the party - she's here as an observer, watching everyone and attempting to understand who's here, who's new, and who's gone missing. Drift is-- Arcee isn't sure. She and him haven't met, haven't interacted. But she knows who he is just as much as she knows every Autobot knows who she is.

Conversation isn't what she's good at - things are difficult and it's a skill she hasn't perfected. Which is why she's perched on a crumbling wall behind him when she talks, swords sheathed on her back.

Drift is a lot better at conversation than Arcee is, but given the way other Autobots have historically treated him, his bar for courtesy is pretty low. He's aware of who and what he is, how heavily his past wrongs outweigh the rights he's trying to do now. That doesn't mean he has to be curt right back, though, particularly when talking to a warrior of Arcee's caliber. Drift knows her only by reputation, but its reputation enough.

He turns when she speaks, optics lighting up in only faint surprise. Something tugs at the corners of his mouth -- disappointment, shame, maybe just plain displeasure -- but that's all there is before his face turns surprisingly neutral.

"Drift," he offers, a little pointedly. Evidently his ongoing efforts to define himself as anything but an ex-Con haven't really yielded much yet. He gives her a discreet once over he's sure she nonetheless feels, noting the swords on her back and the way she moves -- or doesn't. "Arcee, am I right?"

"Rodimus, that's -- his leg?" The soft, warm expression on Drift's face evaporates immediately into one of discomfited uncertainty. There goes the tender moment. He doesn't pull away, though, keeping Rodimus close with warm hands on his plating. "The one he lost to Tarn?"

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ROOOOOBOT PROOOOM

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I have no icon for the 'Kawaiii' expression he is making here

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GOOD ENOUGH

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