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Entry tags:

sixshot | phase6kindofbot

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Who: Sixshot, Tarn and anyone.
Where: Some place!
When: The day after prom!
What: Sixshot trying to deal with the devastating aftermath of the spectacularly disastrous prom party.
Warnings: Awkward teenage super robot drama. Also discussions of sex?

For Tarn

Unfortunately for Sixshot's new found sense of shame, the six-former's sense of obligation was still stronger. It took a bit more motivation than usual to drag himself out of humiliated hiding, but he manages it and arrives a prim ten minutes early to the agreed meeting point.

And then he just sits.

And tries not to think too hard about the upcoming talk, quietly grateful that his canine face wasn't too expressive.

If Tarn tries to kill him today...

Honestly, Tarn wasn't going to kill him today because, frankly, Sixshot wasn't going to let him. He was not going to die being known for what happened last night, so help him Primus.

Open

The giant murderous space dog is attempting a new strategy: being small.

And hiding.

After shoving most of his mass into subspace, Sixshot was quickly being enlightened to the fact that the dead city actually had a surprising amount of hiding places. He'd never though about it before: Phase Sixers didn't hide after all. Ambush tactics were for the weaker.

On the other hand, Phase Sixers also were never trained to deal with social situations gone so awry that they would actually want to hide. Sixshot certainly never was, anyways.

He quietly curses Megatron's short-sightedness because, clearly, this was all his creator's fault, and shuffles deeper into the hole.

To most outsiders, he was barely more than a white nose sticking out of a wall.

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Friend?

They'd seen each other a scant few times and the interactions hadn't exactly been... 'friendly'. Or much of anything at all, for that matter. It was hard to understand emotional cues from an alien robot- even harder to understand them when the alien robot wasn't really expressive.

Sixshot is not entirely sure what to think about it. After a few seconds, he decides he doesn't want to think about it and sighs, settling back down.

"Like I said. Do what you want," he grumbles, optics finally flicking to the damaged leg. "I'd go the clinic if I were you, though."

His response was... Odd? Not that Miria knew how this whole thing works, because she's never had a friend before. And she was only using the word in regards to Sixshot and her simply because Optimus had when she had told the Autobot leader about the time the phase sixer had helped her.

At the mention of going to the clinic though, she does look at her leg.

"It is not as bad as it appears to be," she responds, even though it is very obviously a wound from being shot at. "But this Unit will go to the clinic, later."

Sorry, she wants to hang around Sixshot. Even if it's just hanging around being quiet and/or awkward.

"Stop enjoying this," Sixshot grumbles once he manages to stop spluttering. "okay, so, basically, no. No I don't want to have sex with you and especially not right now." And especially not after last night which Rampage doesn't seem to know about and that is good because this Phase Sixer was not talking about it.

"Also, try to have sex with people in your age range and try to avoid anyone less than five months old. Or drunk slash drugged unless that was their plan or something. Definitely not anyone unconscious and absolutely not anyone dead."

Rampage just laughs, clearly still enjoying Sixshot's consternation. He offers a little shrug. "I thought it might cheer you up. It cheered me up. But it seems you're far too busy being miserable to enjoy yourself."

His horns droop slightly as Sixshot starts going over the apparent rules of sex. Frowning a bit, he thinks out loud, "First Aid isn't in my age range. And he was drunk."

Did he do something wrong? It certainly hadn't felt wrong. It was one of the few times he'd felt right about himself and his mutant spark.

Just like that, his cheerful edge evaporates and he shoves at Sixshot until he can squeeze out from under him.

Silence stretches out for a few long moments. What could be said? Tarn fidgets as Sixshot begins having something of an existential breakdown. This was awkward. He isn’t clear headed enough to deal with this level of vulnerability from the Phase Sixer.

But he was there for Tarn after he had his badge stripped. He feels a if it is his responsibility to at least attempt to help his friend.

Friend. That is, if Sixshot still wants anything to do with him.

“It’s not meaningless. I find that trusting yourself is always a good place to start. You have a good head on your shoulders, and clearly things are complicated, but I think that in the end you will be alright. Your own conviction will help you through it. ”

Tarn gingerly settles himself on a pile of rubble across from the six changer

“If you find that you can no longer trust me, I will willingly back away. If you are willing to give me a second chance, then I am willing to do the same for you. There aren’t enough of us here that making enemies of each other is worthwhile. You’re the one who told me that, considering my limitations, I need to function differently. I’m going to try to take that advice."

"I am not done," Sixshot growls, reaching out to flatten Rampage down with one massive paw.

"If First Aid was happy when he woke up, that's fine," he continues. "But try and avoid situations like that because if your partner was so drunk they weren't in their right mind when they consented then you're going to be woken up with a gun shot through your head."

"Also, the age range thing is just so you avoid getting manipulated by older mechs." It was something Sixshot had been given a Talk about when an ex-elite had goaded him into, well, Things when he was younger. "It stops being really relevant after you hit half a century. I don't think First Aid was manipulating you, but be wary of others."

First Aid's scent led back to the clinic as it always did. It was bit trickier to track a person down in a small area when they reused the same trails almost every day. With the scent trails always refreshed, it was easier to just retrace their steps and hope that you'd eventually run into them.

Sixshot hovers for a long while outside of the clinic though, uneasy and unsure, walking long winding paths around until he ends up back in front of the building- only to take off again after a moment of forlorn staring.

Was First Aid alright? He was extremely tanked last night, but he hadn't exhibited any signs of energon poisoning.

Would First Aid even want to see him?

It's after his fifth loop that he finally gives in, slowing to a stop and- after a moment of debate- transforming into his root mode. He stands outside the door for another long moment before finally cycling in a vent and cautiously stepping inside.

"First Aid?"

Rampage squawks as Sixshot shoves him back to the ground, the dog earning himself a Most Offended Petulant Teen Glare (TM). His face relaxes into more of a vague pout as Sixshot continues talking.

"It's not like I'm planning to interface with a wide array of people," he says with a slight huff. "I don't like most people."

He doesn't notice that implies he likes Sixshot. Whoops.

"He's not back yet."

Ratchet limps slowly out of the storeroom, an extremely mild expression on his face. The slow, steady click-step of his gait on the crutches is oddly menacing. He stops a little ways away from Sixshot, though, and picks up the datapad he was using for inventory before he went to check something in the other room.

"Heard he had a hell of a night, so I'm not exactly surprised."

"Oh."

Which meant First Aid was probably avoiding people then. Avoiding Sixshot specifically.

It also meant Ratchet Knew.

And that was Sixshot's cue to quietly attempt to back himself back out the door and leave.

"Hold on a minute," Ratchet says, very firmly, setting the datapad back down and limping closer again. "I heard he got into a fight with Tarn--and that you broke it up." He stops a few paces away still, not quite willing to invade Sixshot's personal space. He waits for a beat before he shifts, almost awkwardly.

"...you all right? I know you could probably take Tarn out if you didn't mind taking a city block with you, but First Aid--and the rest of the party--ended up unharmed, as far as I heard. You don't need anything?"

Sixshot drags his fingers down his face, feeling the plating under his palm heating up with humiliation. He quietly prays that Ratchet had no infrared mods in place because it was quite horrifically noticeable temperature change.

"Tarn wasn't- out to cause trouble," he mumbles in stiff attempt at defending his friend, the words followed by an awkward shrug. "He just wanted to drink. I... kind of messed things up. They were fighting because of me."

"I don't want to hear about how much trouble Tarn isn't intent on causing," Ratchet says dryly, swinging a crutch through the space where his leg should be to knock twice against his opposite shin before planting it firmly back on the ground. "And that doesn't answer my question as to whether or not you need medical attention." Seeing Sixshot this embarrassed is a novelty all on its own, and Ratchet savors it for a moment before he shakes his head.

"First Aid is fond of you," he says, watching Sixshot thoughtfully. There's no accusation in his voice, not yet. "He's a good kid. Please tell me you're not just jerking him around."

Sixshot laughs at that as he lies slowly down on his side. It was an exhausted and slightly hysterical sound.

"How am I supposed to trust myself when I don't even know if what I want is real or not?" Existential breakdown? A little.

"Tarn, you were shouting about the sex we had while you were drunk. I tried to leave our Cause." His voice drops to a whisper. "The punishments assigned either of those infractions aren't really comparable. I'll stop being embarrassed in a few decades at most but I'm a traitor forever."

"I'm fffiine." Which is why he nearly jumps out of his armor at the tapping. "I'm just. I'm fine." You know, beyond being embarrassed enough to want to crawl into a hole to die for a little while.

"I didn't know First Aid wanted- and then Tarn- I didn't know." He flattens his hands against his face, flustered, frazzled and frustrated. "I didn't even guess? Then they were fighting over me and I just- I don't know what to do."

"Hrm," Sixshot answers and shuts off his optics.

And that's really the end of that on his part. If she didn't want to get fixed, that was on her. If he'd cared a little more, he might have just plucked her off the ground and took her to the clinic, but he doesn't know her terribly well. It was one of the unfortunate downsides of having a wobbly sense of empathy.

Ratchet stares for a long, deeply considering moment before he cycles his vents in a warm sigh.

"Well--come on, come in here, I'm not having this conversation in the doorway." He limps back to fill two glasses of energon, switching both crutches to under one arm so he can carry the glasses in one steady palm as he makes his way carefully over to a higher slab with some chairs shoved against it. "Sit down." His tone does not invite argument.

"I was under the impression that you were fond of First Aid, too, with the way you were coming around asking about him." Ratchet eyes Sixshot, bland and curious. "Was I mistaken?"

At least he has some kind of empathy, even if it's wobbly. Miria's is more a pre-programmed rule to make sure humans don't get hurt, which actually explains why she doesn't take too much care of herself. Really.

And since Sixshot has gone silent? She's not going to say anything else on her end either. Instead just semi-leaning against the wall near his snout hole and just staring at nothing in particular.

... This would probably be very awkward if it was any one other than these two.

"How about we don't have this conversation at all?" Despite the protest though, Sixshot still sullenly obeys and follows Ratchet in, stiffly taking the proffered seat.

Damn his obedience training.

"I- saw him at the crater on the first day," he admits, crossing his arms defensively and staring at the floor, hunched over and radiating embarrassment. "He didn't look well and I just wanted... to make sure nothing happened. To him."

Which was a roundabout way of saying 'yes'.

Sixshot nooootiiiceeeessss~

Fortunately for Rampage's dignity however, he has the grace to not mention it.

"You're going to live for millions of years," the wolf mech reasons. "You don't know that for sure and it's better to know earlier."

"Huh," Ratchet says, sliding the second glass towards Sixshot and taking a careful sip of his own, watching Sixshot over the rim. "I thought so."

He sighs again, then puts the glass down.

"...look. I don't know what's going on with you and Tarn and frankly I don't really want to. I also don't know how much you know about... about First Aid's last post, on Delphi with Pharma, and why exactly that went to hell, but First Aid's been through a lot and he blames Tarn for most of it. Not necessarily incorrectly, though there's certainly enough blame to go around."

Ratchet's lips compress, and he turns his glass slowly in place on the table. "But balancing... anything with both of them involved is going to be difficult because of it. I'm not saying you shouldn't try, mind, and I confess my advice to everybody is to stay as far the hell away from Tarn as possible, but that one's up to you. It's just going to complicate your life in ways you might not expect."

IT'S NOT LIKE HE LIKES YOU OR ANYTHING, DUMMY. He just hangs around with you a lot because you're fun to bother, gosh.

Rampage gives a loud snort, trying to cross his arms but foiled by the large paw on his chest. "I can tell when people have bad intentions, you know."

It comes part and parcel with having an empathic spark. Ain't no-one can lie to the crab.

"Everyone's always talking about all the horrible things Tarn has done but I've done everything that he's done tenfold. He was mostly responsible for internal policing. I was Megatron's war hound." He watches Ratchet slide the glass of energon towards him morosely. "I did everything Megatron commanded from the day I was created."

"Tarn and Spinister know what it's like. They both gave their whole lives to Megatron- and he just. Left us. There's no one else who understands and I don't want to lose them." The more Sixshot speaks, the smaller he tries to make himself, previously crossed arms moving to wrap around his midsection. "First Aid knows what I've done, but we don't... talk about it? No one talks about it. Only one person has been openly angry at me about it and she was mostly angry because I'd worked with Overlord."

"I want to keep being around First Aid, but I don't think I'm supposed to and I don't know what to do if turns out I'd killed his some of his friends."

The Sixer falls silent for a moment after. Then he reaches out very gently nudges the energon back towards Ratchet.

"Also I can't... drink that I'msorry."

Edited 2015-06-10 19:27 (UTC)

"You've killed some of my friends," Ratchet points out, no accusation in his voice. "Hell, you've tried to kill me, and I'm inviting you into my medibay and sitting you down to give you energon I should know you can't drink, like an idiot." He reaches out and takes the glass back, shaking his helm a little ruefully.

"It was a war, Sixshot. One that's over. We're all still learning to navigate that without shooting each other all the time, and everybody's doing it differently. Personally, I just don't see any point in yelling at you over things you can't undo as long as you're not planning to do them again. Tarn..." He trails off, lips compressing. "The things Tarn did to Pharma--and to First Aid and to me by association--were intensely personal and deliberately cruel, and maybe that's a stupid, selfish reason to be angrier with him than I am with you, but there it is. I also don't believe he gives a damn about who he's killed, or that he has any intention of stopping, and that's why I'm wary of him, not because of every single terrible thing he's done."

Ratchet looks back down at his glass, his lips compressing for a long, thoughtful moment.

"Drift has killed friends of mine, too. Maybe Deadlock didn't have the same kind of career you did, but that doesn't mean it wasn't bad. I kept track. He's one of my best friends, now. Just--it can happen, is what I'm saying." Ratchet looks up at Sixshot, his optics steady and clear. "And the fact that you care about whether or not you hurt First Aid goes a long way, with me. Just for the record."

"Then make it real. Whatever it is that you are searching for, I assure you that you are more than capable of finding it."

Tarn turns to better face Sixshot. He briefly presses his palms to his face as if it might alleviate some of the pressure built up his his head.

"I'm aware that they aren't comparable... But, you can still make this right. You've made mistakes. Grievous ones, I will not deny that. But we are weak here and vastly outnumbered. We need all the support we can get. I can offer you a fresh start in the Decepticons. As your own person. I'm sure Megatron will agree."

Tarn's optics dim. Every bit of his training screams that this is wrong. Sixshot is a traitor and he should be put to a traitors death.

But he has to ignore it. He has to adapt and choose his battles.

"Trust can be built back with time."

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