robothell | so if you're out there in the cold, i'll cover you in moonlight

A:
Well, this was unexpected.

The last thing Wing remembers is the fight outside New Crystal City, trying to keep an optic on Drift, the slaver, a sword-thrust--he'd felt it, hadn't he? He looks down at the front of his chassis, touching the barest hint of a scratch and still feeling the sick weight of inevitability pressing heavily on his tanks. But.

Not dead. And hale and whole, apparently, just... elsewhere.

He settles down by the crater and cycles his vents steadily, dimming his optics and trying to settle his mind, to let the awful certainty drain from him to make room for whatever this new future might bring.

---

B:
Meditation, such as it was, didn't take him very long, and once he's sufficiently centered he gets up, brushes the dust from his greaves, and settles off in the direction of the first populated area he sees. He wanders around the broken, empty city, watching intently--it tugs at him, because this place is most definitely an old, destroyed Cybertron, almost a sad parody of what once had been his home. But there's signs of new growth here, too--habitation and rebuilding. The thought makes him smile a little as he pokes around, waiting to bump into one of the new inhabitants and hoping whoever it is can answer at least some of his questions.

Threaded | Flat

"I'm told whichever way you look at it - it's still just a really big hole."

Look, Verity understood nuanced perspective that went deeper than what could be gleaned from a superficial first glance. Back with the Wreckers, even on Earth between hitching rides and fencing picked pickets, she was a poet at heart. The arguments between her and 'ol Magnus about the nature of the written word in relation to mans' attempts to understand themselves burned the midnight oil on several occasions.

What she did not get was why this particular crater was where everyone and their dog meandered around waiting for an epiphany. Gaze all you want but it's not the navel.

The future came, and the future was a smartass.

If Nautica was awake, she was probably out and about, doing the hands-on engineering tasks the more science-oriented members of the Cybertronian brain trust rarely got around to. Since the elder Shockwave's arrival, she'd had his extremely efficient and often worrisome help, but that just meant she could get more accomplished. The more exhausted she was when she finally surrendered to the need to recharge, the less time she had to think about...well, anything, really.

While Wing was seeking out new friends, Nautica was in a trench dug by Shockwave's drones, working on getting their new, better energon distribution system up and running. Good thing a Camien engineer was used to doing more with less--even if a few months on the well-equipped Lost Light had started to spoil her--because the salvaged flow regulator she was repairing was proving recalcitrant at best.

"Oh, come on!" The exasperated shout was followed by the clang of metal on metal as Nautica kicked the device's housing. That was totally a valid engineering procedure. Don't question her.

Arcee always watches. It's a hard habit to break and here, on this strange Cybertron where nothing really fits like it should, she falls back into it easily. It's not like it was with Prowl before, where it was required by plots and her own needs. Here it's because it's something she's good at. Knowing things. It helps put things in perspective.

Wing is a mech she doesn't recognize. He's like the other white one - Drift - who she talked to briefly. But more pointy. Someone she doesn't know is rare - and she watches him move around cautiously. Following him just a few steps behind and above. He smiles, however, and that gives her pause. People don't smile here. Not about the city. Something about an emotional connection to Cybertron, or the pressing need of having been torn away from more important things.

So she watches closer - feet braced against a wall as her fingers carve smooth grooves into the wall. Hmm.

A.

B

B