the shit train just keeps rolling

[sparkwhisperer]

Who: Tarn and 'Friends'
What: post-'execution' drama
When: immediately after Tarn's shitty life is spared
Where: D-con base/ Medibay
Warnings: Tarn yells.



Starters inside

Comments

For Ratchet :)

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn can barely think. Too consumed with rage, sorrow, and lingering panic, He finds himself stalking (limping) towards the medibay after Ratchet.

Tarn feels sick, his entire body is practically vibrating with battery suppressed emotion, his mind on the very brink of breakdown. Never before has he ever experienced anger particularly like this. An anger so deadly and ugly, that he barely feels within himself at all. The pain shooting up his leg from his bleeding and sparking knee only exacerbates it.

There is no hesitation as he bursts through the medibay doors, eyes blazing wildly.

“Ratchet!” He roars, staggering toward the medic, his attention lingering briefly on Ambulon as he backs himself up against an unconscious First Aid’s medical berth.

“I will have words with you, now.”

[asafepairofhands]

"I just bet you will," Ratchet growls, but his gaze flicks between Ambulon and First Aid's limp frame, spark pulsing in muted panic, his optics wide in calculation. He shifts, trying to draw Tarn away from First Aid and keep himself between Tarn and Ambulon simultaneously, his vents drawing shallow little pulls of cool air. "What, are you going to complain to me about getting caught, or about how I undid all your hard work? Or maybe about how I saved your miserable life? There's so many topics from which to choose."

[sparkwhisperer]

“It was not your choice to make!” Tarn continues to shout, rounding in on Ratchet. Not thinking clearly, the only thing that rings in his mind is that he has nothing left to lose. He’s lost his faction, his leader, his home, his lover. What does he possibly have left to live for?

He staggers forward, making a grab for Ratchet’s arm.

“Stay out of Deception business, Autobot. This could have all been avoided if any of you just knew how to mind their own business!”

His voice is spitting static at its very core as emotion overcomes him. His hands and knees begin to shake as he gesticulates wildly.

[asafepairofhands]

"You're right, it wasn't. It was Megatron's, and he made it. Go argue with him, if you're this pissed off--or are you too frightened to show your face? You should be--he sounded pretty serious when he told you he never wanted to see you again."

Ratchet ducks out of the way, nimble as possible on the rickety crutches, and swings one up to connect hard with the back of Tarn's arm, knocking him forward before he shifts his grip and drives the end of the crutch hard into the crook of Tarn's bad knee. He's between Tarn and Ambulon and First Aid, now, and some of the panic buzzing in his brain recedes, sharpening him.

"Did I wreck your plans for being a martyr, you poor thing? You could fix that, if you wanted, and you know it--just show back up on Megatron's doorstep and he'll take care of it for you. I could call him right now, if you like. No?" He doesn't really wait for an answer, seeing how distracted Tarn is, how utterly uncontrolled--he pushes harder. "No, of course not. Because even bound on your knees in front of me, even when you had to rely on me of all people to save your scored, sorry plating, you were too much of a coward to want to die. You could have dropped me any second and you didn't, because you want to keep on living your pathetic, pointless life at all costs rather than die with some damn dignity!"

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn’s knee buckles as Ratchet jabs it sharply with his crutch and he falls to the ground with a grunt.

He whips around the best he can , his hulking form knocking against an empty berth

"SHUT UP!” He cries, fist clenching on the ground “You know nothing, you pathetic old fool!”

Had Tarn been capable of coherent thought, he may have used his vocal talent and extinguished Ratchet’s spark where he stood. But, instead, Tarn Simply smashes his fist into a shelf of surgery supplies, sending them spilling across the floor.

For one very long moment, Tarn considers following Ratchet’s advice; returning to Megatron with Ratchet and Ambulon's corpses in tow. Ripping the life support from First Aid and leaving his spark to gutter into darkness. If he’s going to go, he’s doing so with a body count.

With a growl he lunches forward, attempting to tackle Ratchet to the ground.

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet's optics flare and he flips one crutch up, keeping a firm grip on the handle to slam the pad as hard as he can into Tarn's throat as he moves forward and shoves, struggling to drive Tarn back. He can't let Tarn through, not with Ambulon and First Aid behind him, but Tarn's nearly twice his size. He braces hard with his foot and his remaining crutch and drives the point down against Tarn's knee again, hard, then again as he shoves his weight forward to knock Tarn back.

"I'm pathetic? You're supposed to be gone by now, but you took the time out of your busy packing schedule to kick in the door of a dedicated medical facility an assault three surgeons, one of whom is crippled and one of whom is unconscious. You're calling me pathetic?"

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn barely feels the pain of the crutch against his knee as he locks in on getting to Ratchet, vision going red at the very edges. He feels that last thread holding his mind together snap. Gone are words and insults— the only thing Tarn has left is bestial, brute strength. He can not fail again. Not again.

He roars his rage as treads shake in barely contained sobbing. He would be embarrassed if he was even slightly within himself.

Tarn’s hand makes it to Ratchet’s face, grabbing his chevron and using it to try to pull him closer. At the Same time a knee goes up, trying to plant itself firmly in the medic’s stomach.

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet snarls as Tarn's knee connects, knocking the wind out of him and leaving him briefly stunned--but only briefly. Tarn grabbing him, Tarn being this close is terrifying, but tactically it couldn't be better. Ratchet's far from helpless but he's a surgeon at heart, and when he doesn't have a gun in his hand he fights like a surgeon. He flicks a scalpel out of his wrist and lashes out, precision jabs between armor plates, against sensitive wiring, severing any important connection he can reach before Tarn hauls him closer and his optics widen helplessly.

He drives his arm up without thinking, swinging in to bury the scalpel in against Tarn's vocalizer and twist, doing as much damage as possible before Tarn tries to fling him aside again.

[sparkwhisperer]

The sharp pain of Ratchet's stabbing only makes Tarn more angry. Pushing the pain aside, he lifts the medic closer, determined to end it once and for all.

Unfortunately, in his blood rage, he neglects to consider that this may be poor planning. His shout of pain is quickly cut off as Ratchet buries his scalpel in Tarn's throat, successfully destroying his vocalizer with a savage twist. Panic seizes him as reality sets in, grounding him. Tarn is quick to throw Ratchet against the nearest supply shelf with all of his strength, hands coming to his throat to assess the damage. The following livid bellow comes out only as a series of clicks. His optics bleach as the flare brightly in shock.

For Spinister

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn would refuse to admit that he is shaking as he limps away from the gallows with his life. He needs to think— He needs to plan. Leaving a thin trail of energon in his wake, Tarn makes his way to Spinister’s workshop.

He knocks, but doesn’t bother to wait for the scientist to answer before letting himself in.

“There’s been a change of plans, I’m afraid.” His tone is short and somehow off.

[triggerhappycopter]

Spinister stops in the middle downing a cup of high grade.

"Huh," he says remarks, putting the cup down on the table and seemingly entirely unsurprised and vaguely disappointed. "So you're alive."

[sparkwhisperer]

"Yes I'm alive, I hate to disappoint you."

Tarn storms over, grabbing the abandoned cup of high grade and knocking the remaining energon back in one go. It's smooth and pure and helps to lift his mood, however slightly. At least he got one more sip of good high grade before he's doomed to scavenge for scrap.

His injured knee creaks as he shifts his weight, a fresh wave of energon dripping down his leg to pool around his foot.

[triggerhappycopter]

The theft of his drink earns Tarn a decidedly unimpressed look, but Spinister doesn't protest it.

"You sit down before you make things worse," he sighs, standing up and offering the chair up before going to fetch his supplies. "How much time've we got?"

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn accepts the seat without hesitation, fiddling with the empty cup. He can barely concentrate on what Spinister is saying, but somehow he is able to catch the gist of it.

"I've been given under an hour to vacate the city." The cup slips from his trembling fingers, dropping to the ground with a startling noise. Tarn just stares at it.

"Be quick about it, I've other things that I need to attend to."

[triggerhappycopter]

"It'd better be packing," Spinister grumbles as he returns with some supplies, placing a nearly full bottle of high grade next to Tarn for a good measure. He didn't slagging deserve it, but at it'd replenish the lost energon and also get the guy tipsy enough to be a marginally less dangerous walking tower of trouble.

"We need medical supplies and at least a week's worth of energon in case anything goes wrong with the old energon setup. Tarps too, there's not as much cover out in the wastes and it's pretty dusty when the winds pickup."

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn listens quietly, attention torn between trying to get his fine motor skills tuned enough to open the bottle of high grade and absorbing information.

"You intend to accompany me then?" He would be lying if some part of him wasn't thankful. Spinister's knowledge of scavenging would be extremely useful.

[triggerhappycopter]

"What, and wait to see if you'd somehow grown a benevolent strut in your body if I don't?" You know, in case Tarn forgot they weren't friends.

Spinister huffs, opening the medical kit and snatching up the pain dampening chip. "Pop your maintenance panels up would you?"

for Grandpa Galvatron

[sparkwhisperer]

Having managed to stagger away from the city, Tarn collapses against a rock. Exhausted and in pain, his hands come up to his mangled throat. His voice is ruined and with it goes anything useful about him. His last weapon has been stripped from him completely. He tries to curse but only spits out a hiss of ugly static.

Tarn's helm falls back against the rock with a dull thunk. He should just give up. What else does he truly have to live for.

He curls away away from the world, hoping no one will find him. He just needs to rest.

[kidstoday]

Not today, Tarn. Galvatron has been looking for Tarn ever since he found that the mech hadn't been slaughtered. Disappointing that Megatron didn't follow his violent urges, but it works in his own favor. He can use the broken and exiled mech for his own purposes.

This tank can fly, which is lucky since scanning the area was easier from above. Galvatron smirks at Tarn as he settles down, the thrusters on his feet powering off, and he makes strides over the mech to close the distance.

"Not here, mech. Your inexperience with Cybertron's wastes is showing."

Galvatron bends, hooking an arm under Tarn's knees, and then hoists him into his arm with ease.

[sparkwhisperer]

He tries to groan, but only clicks pathetically. Instead, he settles for pounding a fist against Galvatron's shoulder. He tries to wriggle away, feet kicking at him the best they can with his maimed knee.

He just wants to be left alone. Tarn shouts his displeasure in a piercing binary shriek. How dare Galvatron manhandle him like this! Especially after the week he's had; it just adds insult to injury.

[kidstoday]

Sorry, Tarn. All that kicking and punching just gets an amused smirk out of Galvatron. He'd have to do better than that if he wanted him to put him down. Instead, the ancient mech starts off towards shelter by engaging the thrusters on his feet again, taking to the air. Good thing it just happened to be the place Spinister suggested.

"You've had a soft life in Cybetron's cities and ships. The wilderness is much more harsh. If you want to survive, you have to learn not to lay your frame exposed in the cold wastes."

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn stills himself as they take to the air, fingers digging into gaps in Galvatron's purple armor. The minute they land at the rusted building, Tarn is trying to push himself away, wildly thrashing until he falls to the ground in heap. He glares up at warlord, lips furiously forming words behind his mask but catching in his throat. He wants to die, why can't he just be left alone.

Frustrated, he slams his fist into the ground with a dull thud; he can't even muster the energy to stand from the dust and address Galvatron with dignity.

[kidstoday]

Tarn has to be one of the fussiest tanks that Galvatron had the pleasure of dealing with. If Tarn wanted to flop into the dirt, then Galvatron was going to let him, instead inspecting the integrity of the building. He returns a moment later once satisfied and probably much to Tarn's pleasure, he hooks his fingers around Tarn's collar and drags his body across the ground into the building.

"My former master Megatronus staked his territory in the darkest, harshest areas of Cybertron," he says conversationally, knowing Tarn can't really respond to him. "Many viewed the Darklanders as barbarians."

He sneers, then lets his axe slide from and unfold from its subspace. He uses the handle to pound at the metal of the floor until it gave away, then began to dig. Once satisfied, he uses the edge of the axe to cut his palm and holds the dripping wound over the small pit, filling it with a small puddle of energon.

"Your fellow Decepticons faced exile much more gracefully."

He snaps his fingers to make a spark, then sets fire to the pit.

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn is thankful when Galvatron turns his back to inspect the building. He hates being seen in this state. He can see the the disgust and the judgement in the Decepticon's eyes. The moment of relief is short lived and Galvatron returns, reaching down for him. Tarn tries to swat his hands away but ultimately gives up as the warlord begins dragging him into the building. His only response is a low hiss from deep in his throat.

He watches silently as Galvatron works, embarrassed by his own uselessness. Under different circumstances, building a fire would be a simple undertaking. Now, with depression and weakness weighing so heavily on his mind, Tarn is unsure that he would be up for the task.

'I am not a Decepticon.' He tries to mumble, 'Not anymore.' He's far too pathetic to carry the title. He can't shame the faction like that.

The warmth of the fire is welcome, helping to chase the chill from his scuffed and bleeding body.

Tarn curls towards the fire, exhaustion pulling him down into the dust.

[kidstoday]

Tarn is a miserable sight. This was a mech who had obviously given up pride or usefulness in favor of wallowing in his despair. Galvatron despised this sort of behavior, but he puts on a smile, tending to the small wound on his hand before he turns and clasps a hand on the mech's shoulder.

"This is one of your first failures, isn't it? Don't let it defeat you."

He leans over his lips brushing the tank's audio as he lays in the dirt near the warmth of the fire.

"I am so very proud of you, Tarn."