robothell | big dumb loser baby

Who: Helex and whoever wants to look at his ugly mug.
What: Big angry sad confused Easy Bake Oven not sure how to handle the fallout.
When: Somewhen after Tarn dramas.
Where: WHEREVER WORKS REALLY. He's sort of out and about.
Warnings: Potential violence if you really annoy him? Otherwise not much honestly.

now.
Deep in a largely empty district somewhere in the city far from the crater – and so, in theory, far from other people – a building begins listing to one side. Dust and smoke drift up from the street in thick bursts and metal shrieks as it crumples.

Helex twists steel sheet and rebar in his massive hands and imagines it's his own neck. Actually tearing off his head won't do Tarn any good now… not that Helex was much good before either. He should have stepped in, he tells himself. It should be Helex in exile, not Tarn; Tarn could figure out a way to bring Helex back. The walking smelter has no such knack for planning and short of a one-bot rebellion, he can't see a way to make it work. Not that such a rebellion would work anyway, he thinks, tearing siding away from the underlying building frame. He could wipe out plenty of the bots here without too much trouble, maybe… but Megatron…

"Dammit," Helex snarls, rending the metal in his hands into scraps and shards. "Dammit!" He starts punching the frame with both large fists, a one-two battering ram that he just imagines is aimed at Megatron's face. He doesn't know what else to do. Attacking anyone outright without a plan will just end up with him dead or exiled, too, and he can't help Tarn that way. Girders start buckling under his frustration and he keeps pushing, punching, ripping away.

He shouldn't kill anybody if he wants to be useful to Tarn, no matter how much he wants them to suffer, but nobody said he can't tear apart decrepit old buildings as an outlet instead. As though it'd stop him if they told him he couldn't.

later.
Sullen and holding at a low simmer, Helex wanders grudgingly back towards civilisation. He's covered in dents and scrapes and finely powdered rust, his smelter is a little over half-full, his hands look like he just tried to box a Metrotitan, and he only feels the tiniest bit better. Wrecking inanimate structures is a mediocre substitute for the pure satisfaction of ending a life.

But he's tired, and hungry. And he can't really address either problem without coming back here.

Threaded | Flat

In his exile, Tarn has taken to watching the city. He’s found some high ground relatively close to the edge of the city where he goes to think (and maybe, also, to get away from Spinister’s judgmental stare). He isn’t there long before dust and smoke begins to rise from a secluded district away from civilization. It barely registers on Tarn’s radar until he picks up a familiar scent in the smoke. Helex’s smelter.

He never did get to speak with him before his exile. He had looked, of course, but the smelter was no where to be found. Which, to be quite honest, with the way Tarn’s mental state was at the time, was probably for the best. He immediately stands up, taking a step toward the scent before pausing. He shouldn’t go down there. He takes another step, and then another. The area of the city is deserted…surely no one would notice if he snuck in. It’s so close to the edge of the city that he would barely be breaking Megatron’s order at all.

Transforming into his alt mode, he makes the quick trip to the very edge of the city, before deciding to continue on in his quieter root mode. If the scent of smelting alloy didn’t serve as a beacon, the screech of tearing metal certainly did.

As he carefully rounds the corner of the building he finds his comrade with his back to him, making quick work of what used to be a building.

He knows better than to approach Helex when he is in a mood like this; especially unannounced. In fact what he is doing is a near death wish as he approaches him from behind. He can’t even clear his throat as a warning, but he does make an effort to make his footfalls a bit louder in hopes that he might hear him through his blind rage. Carefully he reaches out to place a hand on Helex’s broad back.

Ratchet knows it's probably stupid to be this far from home base right after the attack, but he can't spend all his time cooped up in the medibay, or so he's been told. It's even stupider for him to be alone, and this occurs to him abruptly as he watches Helex's intimidating bulk moving towards him. As he gets closer, Ratchet realizes that he's injured, and hesitates for a long, long moment. Well, it's not like he could run, unless he's banking on Helex getting distracted laughing himself to death to save Ratchet's plating.

"You look like somebody dropped half a mountain on you," Ratchet says, pitching his voice to carry and decidedly not moving to come closer. "What happened?"

Avoiding Optimus Prime is now, suddenly, a full-time job. That, and keeping his video stockpile up to date. There's some seriously weird scrap floating around in the abandoned buildings, and the wasteland areas. Somehow, they managed to keep from being obliterated.

... it was easier said than done. Especially when someone who is also large, and a great deal angrier shows up. Okay then.

He straightens up from where he's been rummaging in a crate on the street. Hands on his hips.

"You mind watching where you're slinging your scraps?"

Sixshot doesn't announce his arrival. The sounds of a building being torn apart covered up his approaching footsteps- and he makes no point to give Helex the courtesy of letting him know there was someone there.

He makes no point to actually try and talk with the smelter immediately, either. Instead, the wolf-mech settles quietly down and patiently waits, watching the ongoing wanton destruction with an air of mild disinterest.

Helex will be done at some point. Sixshot was nothing if not patient.

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