robothell | (no subject)

Who: Tarn and Galvatron, Tarn and Spinister
Where: in and around the Decepticon Base
When: the morning after prom
What: Tarn is hungover and meets Galvatron/ Spinister and Tarn have a heart to heart
Warnings: none as of yet

Galvatron

Hangovers. Something that Tarn is familiar with, in concept, but not necessarily in experience. He would have preferred to keep it that way, to be honest. Unfortunately one can not simply undo the massive amounts of engex that he consumed over the course of the previous night. Now he must pay for his mistake.

At least the world had stopped spinning, that is a definite improvement. However, daylight still felt like it was melting his processor, and mild nausea still roiled in his tanks.

Tarn finds it important to celebrate the small victories.

As he heads back to the Decepticon base from his meeting with Sixshot, he finds that his footfalls are agitating his headache. Too wrapped up in trying to cultivate as quiet a journey as possible he barely notices that someone is in his way until it is too late.

Bumping shoulders, Tarn turns to look at the mech in his way.

“Apologies, I was distracted.”

His voice is strained and far softer than his usual deep timber.

Spinister:

He hasn’t been avoiding Spinister. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just that they haven’t really spoken since Megatron came to pay the base a visit, over a month ago.

It isn’t as if Tarn hasn’t done anything to warrant the scientist’s displeasure, because he is aware that he has done plenty including denting the walls of his brand new shower…

Regardless Tarn figures now is as good of a a time as ever to talk things out as he limps his way into Spinister’s lab with his dented pelvic plating.

He has attempted to ask Pharma about seeing to it, but the Autobot had immediately pinned him with a poisonous glare. It seems to him that the helicopter might be his only option.

“Spinister. Do you have a moment."

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Tarn grits his teeth behind his mask as Galvatron's hand tightens around his throat. He barely even feels the bump of the fusion cannon against his helm, but it's enough to stop him from struggling further. He's tense as he anticipates further assault.

"What do you want from me?" He manages to grind out, glaring up at the warlord.

That gets another chuckle out of Galvatron, but he doesn't ease up. His frame tenses more, never trusting, never giving an inch. Only a fool would back off now, when the taste of victory has just barely touched his tongue.

"Just for you to listen to what I have to say. You anger easily because you know I speak truth."

He pushes the cannon against Tarn's chin, tilting his head up.

"What's your name, warrior?

He grunts a bit when Galvatron doesn't let up on his throat. Honestly, he's not sure if he truly expected that to help at all. Galvatron is far to experienced to fall for something so simple. Slowly, becomes more willing to hear him out.

"Tarn." His voice is thin from the pressure being applied to his vocalizer.

"Speak then; I don't have all day for you to find your point"

"...You named yourself for a city."

Galvatron doesn't get the significance since he tunes out Soundwave when he tries to talk Decepticon history and he missed that. Even if he knew he'd probably still find it extremely stupid.

"I think you do, actually." Changing the subject will help keep him from laughing at the mech some more.

He eases up finally, releasing Tarn's neck and lifting his weight off him, then offers his hand to the mech as he gets on his knees.

"Find no shame in sitting in the dust with me. It's the dust we were born from." He gives him a critical look, then reached for his energon reserves. "You also look like you need something for the hangover."

Tarn slowly reaches up to rub at his sore neck, regarding Galvatron skeptically. After a few moments he accepts the offered hand, pulling himself into a sitting position.

He tries not to look shocked by the sudden change in tone. Instead , he simply clears his throats and straightens his posture; trying not to look as pathetic as he feels for being called out on his hangover.

Looks like he better settle in for a bit of a speech.

"It would be appreciated."

That smirk on Galvatron's face wasn't going anywhere, even if it made his split lip bleed more. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand and then licks the smear of energon off his fingers. Once finished he reaches into his subspace and offers the cube to Tarn.

"I had my first hangover before your spark was even a possibility in Vector Sigma's design. This will make you feel better, but it tastes awful."

He turns his attention to the sight of the Decepticon home in the distance. So dismal and empty. He then looks back at the mech, optics flicking over the absence of a badge.

"What does being a Decepticon mean to you?"

Tarn takes a drinking straw out of his subspace, delicately sliding it into the opening in his mask.

He grimaces the minute the energon hits his tongue, but swallows without complaint. Immediately, he turns his attention to Galvatron, struck by the audacity of his question. Tarn doesn't miss the warriors gaze on the criminally bare patch of his chassis where his badge once stood. His fingers come up to touch it, shielding it slightly from the critical gaze

“What does it mean to me? I’ve dedicated everything to the Decepticon cause, including my own identity. My entire purpose is to keep it running smoothly , eliminating traitors and useless cowards; weeding the weak willed from the strong. The cause is my very life.”

Galvatron can see your mouth there, Tarn. Don't think he's not judging you for the straw as well instead of using your Primus given lips to drink that. His optics narrow and he gives Tarn a smack on the back of the head for the answer. Idiot.

"That's what you do and the crutch you lean on, not what it means to you. What are the Decepticons, in your own words?"

Tarn jerks at the smack , glaring up at Galvatron with a growl.

“The Decepticons are the faction willing to fight for the right blaze their own path. Crushing the functionalist regime beneath them and tearing down a corrupt senate. That is the past. The groundwork for what is to come. Today the Decepticon cause is a struggle to obtain the pinnacle of Cybertronianian happiness by whatever means necessary; even if it means the elimination of those who stand in its way. "

Galvatron has had worse than dirty looks from a hungover zealot. He takes it mildly, then makes a thoughtful sound.

"Naming your founding actions as your greatest achievements is saddening. I'm told your 'groundwork' happened four million years ago."

Leave it to Galvatron to piss all over what Tarn just said with pride. That aside, he wasn't entirely impressed.

"Soundwave told me the Decepticon goal was freedom from oppression and peace. He hopes to achieve that by working with these 'humans'. What is your vision of what the pinnacle of Cybertronian happiness is?"

His vision? Tarn pauses, unsure of how to respond. He’s been following Megatron’s lead for so long that he isn’t sure that he truly has a vision of his own.

Is he being interviewed?

“ Of course, freedom from oppression is the ideal. But, if we’re discussing this truthfully, I don’t foresee this being feasible through an alliance with these humans. Organics often do not have our best interest at heart. Whether its the Black Block Consortia, the Galactic Council, or even Humans. They always have ulterior motive. They want us destroyed and humbled; weak to their rule. War is the only way for now."