ROOOOOBOT PROOOOM

[rodders]

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.

Comments

[lifepersists]

First Aid wants to say something, to explain himself, to comfort, but his vocalizer felt like it was glitching. His spark felt like it dropped into his fuel tank, the pleasant buzz in his systems vanished.

"I--" he starts, stops, his hands twitching helplessly. "That's not. That's not true, I--"

He reaches out, then pulls his hand back, folding it against his chest.

"I couldn't tell you."

[gimmicky]

"But you could tell Sixshot?" His hand gestures out, towards the dance floor vaguely. Thankfully, with Megatron's gift of sobriety, there's no drunken anger. And sober Trailcutter is a more reasonable one. "In what universe can you not tell me but you can tell a Phase Sixer?"

His glass drops out of his other hand as they travel to his visor, sinking down to a sit in the corner as his biolights flare up. Trying to keep it together.

"Don't leave the ship on Ofsted XVII. Rodimus said that."

As if somehow asking First Aid if that's what this was in relation to.

[lifepersists]

"I didn't--"

The sheer disappointment and despair on Trailcutter's face makes First Aid's spark clench in his chest. His visor heats up and his fans click on in attempt to fight the streams of light that were threatening to spill. This was Trailcutter's pain-- he didn't have the right.

"You died there. I lost my friend." His voice was quiet, barely audible over the sound of the party goers and music. "I-It was my fault. I wanted... I wanted to help a dying Decepticon and you were the only one who stayed with me. 4 drams active energon, each of us."

His head droops, looking at the ground. Does he tell him the wrong story? He's not sure if he can.

"It was a mistake."

[gimmicky]

Hearing it from First Aid's mouth somehow solidified it even more than Sixshot could have, and a hand goes to his visor as his body slumps against something, his biolights flaring up as he tries to keep his forcefield generators from initiating panic mode.

"You were doing your job."

He can't fault First Aid for that, although his voice seems like it's trying it's hardest to get that out. Like his throat involuntarily wouldn't work and he had to force it to.

Nothing was okay.

"I should go..."

Before he does something regrettable. He can't blame it on the alcohol this time.

[lifepersists]

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."

[gimmicky]

It was hard to be angry seeing First Aid like this. He knew the medic would have done everything in his power to keep him alive--but that was just it. He couldn't. Which made him wonder just how it happened. How he could have messed it up so badly that First Aid couldn't do anything about it.

Maybe that's why he was angry. That he was sober and on the right path only to make a mistake.

And now regretting Megatron ever hitting his fuel intake chip.

"You did what you could."

He doesn't know the facts, but that...that he's sure of.