robothell | (no subject)

Entry tags:

sixshot | phase6kindofbot

(no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This is awful.

It's all Tarn could think as he staggered out of the Decepticon base with the worst hangover of his life. Daylight cuts right through his processor, making his helm ache desperately. Unfortunately for him, he remembers everything that he said and did, the night before, in vivid detail.

Or rather, he remembers the events leading up to his discussion with First Aid. Everything after Sixshot dragged him off is a blur.

What a shameful mess he made of himself. He should know better than to get overcharged and catty like that. He doesn't know how he'll be able to look his fellow Decepticon in the eye after some of the things he said.

Or is he still a Decepticon? Tarn doesn't even know. After all, that bit of detail is what sent him on his spectacular drinking binge to begin with. But really, what does being a Decepticon even mean here? What does it matter?

Eventually Tarn finds himself approaching Sixshot at their designated meeting spot. His steps slow as he risks a glance up at the six changer.

Primus he's never felt so mortified by just looking at someone.

"Sixshot." He clears the static from his throat. "Thank you for seeing me."

On one hand, seeing Tarn limping into the light made a spiteful part of him delighted beyond description.

On the other hand...

The frustrated anger that had been coiling up under his spark fizzled away into something like pity. Angry pity. In that he was still pretty ticked at the DJD commander, but he still didn't particularly like seeing the other mech suffering like this, even if it was entirely self inflicted.

"Tarn," he greets. Then pauses in uncertainty. How should they start this?

Sixshot opts to trying for professionalism. After all, pretending like last night didn't happen was very high up in the beast mech's current agenda.

"... Nice. Weather. Today?"

Good job.

Where does he even start? Do one start with ‘I’m sorry that I was yelling about your dick last night at a crowded party’, or ‘How could you leave the Deceptions'? Those are two very different topics to be had.

It’s going to be a very long painful conversation regardless of where they start.

“I-“ He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m really-“ Embarrassed? Sorry? Confused? Ashamed? Any of those would be true statements. “I behaved very poorly last night."

Understatement of the century.

"I can't really disagree there, unfortunately."

This was a little worse than that time the Prime punched Megatron hard enough that their great leader tried to start a poetry slam in the medical bay with Sixshot in it. Only this a lot more public and in front of an Autobot majority crowd.

"Of course, since you've completely ruined my image in a way that was immensely embarrassing for both of us," cue the most painfully embarrassed expression a wolf could muster. "I don't suppose I can get extension on any upcoming executions? I'd like to die with a little dignity. Preferably after people forget about my, ah, sexual performance."

Tarn can’t suppress the cringe of embarrassment at the hazy memory.

“I’m not going execute you, Sixshot. I have no right to make that decision anymore.” He gestures to the empty space on his chest. Megatron had stripped him of his badge. Technically he’s not commander of anything, anymore; let alone the Decepticon Justice Divison.

It stings his pride. But still in some strange way he’s thankful. It gives the Phase Sixer the second chance that Tarn desperately wants him to have. It’s not too late for redemption.

“Regardless, it hasn’t stopped my disappointment. I thought that you were loyal. I thought that, out of all the Decepticon’s that I’ve met here, you would be the one to have my back."

"Tarn, I woke up here realizing that my loyalty to the Cause had never been my decision to make. Additionally, the mechs who'd made that decision in my stead have chosen otherwise for themselves." He knew the politics of the Decepticon upper echelon. He knew that Overlord had the Achilles virus installed. He knew.

And on some level, he'd always suspected Megatron to have done the same to him.

Finding out he had a switch that could just turn him off like an over-glorified lamp still cut though. Deeper than he thought it would have.

"The strange thing is that eons ago, I would have been content with others making decisions in my stead." He looks away. "Eons ago, I was also fighting with my fellow soldiers. The Reapers... just offered that to me again."

Tarn listens quietly. He actually listens. Maybe its the guilt about his behavior, or the massive hangover, but Tarn finds himself able to consider what that meant for Sixshot outside of the cause. Anger recedes making way for crippling depression. What does being a Decepticon even matter here anyway? Everything is upside down. Why does he care so much. Who is he caring for?

Primus sake, he feels like he's the only loyal Decepticon on this ball of debris and he was kicked out.

“Yesterday…You said you still trust me. Do you still mean that?”

"Why does it matter?" Bitterness laces his words, bitterness that'd been rotting away in some dark cavity in his mind until it'd become something formless and foul. It was bleeding out with every word and Sixshot was apathetic enough in the moment that he didn't care beyond that fact that it felt so wretchedly cathartic.

"I was made and groomed to be loyal to Megatron and the Decepticon High Command. I'd trust you if you told me you'd kill me." It was the reason why he hadn't just killed Tarn when they'd first met. It was the reason why he came to meet Tarn here, despite knowing that he could be willingly walking into his death.

"I still trust our Megatron. Despite the betrayal, despite the killswitch, despite the fact that he sent me off to fight an entire army of beings as powerful as I am with no intention of backing me up." The old tyrant was probably just sitting and watching the screen and bickering with the rest of the cowering Elites like it was some kind of racing match for all Sixshot knew. "I still trust our Shockwave too, despite him never having any loyalty to the Cause to begin with. I would die for both of them even now."

He falls silent for long moment after that, finally beginning to grasp the magnitude of his manufactured existence. It was something he'd only given a passing thought to before fading back into static apathy, but now...

"My trust is meaningless too."

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."

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."

"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."

That was the problem, wasn't it? He didn't even know what he was searching for in the first place. He'd thought it was camaraderie, friendship, literally any kind of connection with another person, but in the face of last evening's events, it turns out he was miserably unprepared for such things.

It was easier to be alone.

Slowly, he cycles air through his vents, letting the spark-deep bleakness at his existence sink back into nothingness. There was no point thinking about things that couldn't be changed and especially not when he was making a fool of himself in front of another Decepticon- in front of Tarn especially.

Pushing himself onto his belly, Sixshot lifts his head up to peer at the other Decepticon, optics flickering a dull red.

"I will do whatever it takes."

Relief blooms in Tarn as Sixshot looks up at him. That bit of assurance is exactly what Tarn wants to hear. Although he is blind to Sixshot’s remaining internal struggle, he allows himself to relax in the other’s company a fraction more, frame sagging noticeably into the rubble.

“I apologize for the way I acted last night. There is no excuse for that sort of behavior. Over-Indulging like that on engex was shameful and I know better.” Tarn sighs, shaking his head. "I let my own weakness take over.”

There's a 'whuff' as Sixshot snorts, a glimmer of tired amusement chasing the darkness from his optics. He shuffles forwards and proceeds to further flatten Tarn into the rubble, planting his giant, heavy lupine head on the smaller mech's chest.

"Apology accepted," he rumbles. "I'll be sure to keep tabs on that in future. For the sake of our dignity, if nothing else."

a soft 'oof' escapes Tarn as Sixshot's head pins him to the dirt. He pushes almost playfully at the large snout, a soft huffing chuckle escaping him as shifts in the rubble.

The Ex-DJD Commander's hand slides up to gently stroke behind one of the Phase Sixer's ear nubs as he relaxes his weight, staring up at the sky.

"I think I'll be staying away from cheap engex for some time. I should hope that it won't be a problem; for a while, anyway."

The ear rubs earn Tarn the world's most blissed out of rumblings, Sixshot's optics narrowing contentedly.

"MmmI think that's a very sound plan," he purrs and lets himself forget for a moment just how complicating this friendship was. For now, the Sixer was content with the present; the conflict between Tarn and First Aid was a matter for another day.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(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

Thread wrap?