robothell | (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

"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."

"... I wish I could drink," Sixshot mutters, wistfully watching the cube Ratchet had taken back. After everything that'd happened last night, after everything he'd just spilled to the Autobot CMO of all people- and then Ratchet's own words...

The list of reasons why one of the most powerful Cybertronians in existence shouldn't get drunk was a very, very long one. It didn't stop Sixshot from dreaming though, even as he finds he has no real memory of what actual drunkenness was like.

"It doesn't actually fix anything," Ratchet says, shaking his helm a little. "Not even temporarily, not really."

"Look. You're going to do what you want--I know I sure as hell cant stop you. But as long as First Aid still wants you around, well. It's fine with me. For whatever that's worth."

"I don't think he wants me around anymore," Sixshot admits, deeply unhappy. "He wasn't really happy to find out that I was fuc- that. Hmm."

Yeah, you know, in case Ratchet didn't figure out what First Aid and Tarn were fighting about last night.

Quietly, he palms his face and gets ready for Ratchet to kick him out.

Ratchet makes a very quiet choking sound and quickly sets down his glass, looking slightly traumatized. He shakes it off though, lips compressing thoughtfully.

"You should probably ask him that, Sixshot," he says. "Directly. In person. He'll pop back up, and you're still welcome here in the meantime. Please, make no mistake," and Ratchet's voice is extremely, unnervingly pleasant for a moment, "if you set out to deliberately hurt him, physically or otherwise, there won't be a single rock on this desiccated husk of a planet under which you'll be able to hide, and not just from me." He turns his glass slowly between his fingers, his expression easing. "But until then, I wouldn't worry about it so much."

If Sixshot had ears to pin back, he'd be pinning them back right about the moment Ratchet's tone turns poisonously pleasant.

"I don't... want to hurt him," he offers anxiously, wide-opticed and thoroughly unsettled. After a long moment he sighs air out his vents in a loud, unhappy huff and presses his palms over his optics.

"I think I should go," the Sixer utters, hands dropping to his lap. "He probably needs space more than me talking to him right now. Also, I need to go find a nice, deep hole to be embarrassed in for a while."

Ratchet's face shifts, then, almost softening.

"...I believe you," he says quietly, his optics steady on Sixshot's face. "That means something to me, so I'll give you some advice--don't back off too much. He's liable to get into a funk if you do, and decide you're staying away because you don't want to see him anymore. At least have a conversation with him, please, sometime soon."