Helex (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
warmesthugs) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
robothell2015-12-05 09:00 am
warmesthugs) wrote in robothell2015-12-05 09:00 am
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.
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.
no subject
And that's... gross. Who would even have that installed? And why? Part of him can imagine some pretty... creatively disgusting scrap. And the rest of him is revolted. Yay. What a way to start the day.
"That's... wow. What a big mess you have. In you."
A+ conversation skills there, big guy.
orz i keep forgetting Roller pre-dates all that
it's okay!
He has a vague feeling the answer is going to be 'yes'. Overwhelmingly so. Everything about this guy was disturbing. On a lot of levels.
no subject
"It isn't 'installed'," he growls. "It's my mode. I'm a smelter. It's my job." He rounds on the big guy. "You got some kinda problem with that?"
no subject
"That's... That sure is a thing."
He spreads his hands, as if to ask what in the world the angry bot was expecting him to say. If he feels any kind of wariness... he hasn't shown it. Honestly, he's used to being Too Big to get into any real physical scrapes.
Or he was. And then Shockwave Happened.
"What do you want me to say here? Because you're acting like you're spoiling for a fight, and nothing's stopping you from walking away right now, pal."
no subject
"I didn't want you to say anything in the first place!" he bellows, throwing aside his handful of twisted metal and rounding on Roller. "And yeah, I want a fight! I wanna beat somebody so bad I can taste it! But I'm not supposed to!" He rips something out of the wall with two hands. He wants to kill so much it's like physical pain. But he'd just cause more trouble for Tarn if he did, so he can't.
Not even this guy.
"I came out here 'cause I can't hurt anybody if there's nobody around!" As if that's the most obvious thing in the world. And it drives him up the wall to say it, because the last thing he wants right now is not to hurt people.
no subject
Okay, that was weird. As far as he knew, there wasn't anything like law in this place. Or rules. Or anything, really, to keep people from killing each other. So what was keeping Psychopath McSmelter from doing what he clearly wanted to do?
"Hey, you almost knocked a building down on my head. What was I supposed to do?"
But he's not advancing on this guy. No, that would be stupid. So he just holds his ground across the street. Hands on hips.
no subject
He can't hold it in a moment longer. He charges at Roller with a furious roar, one fist drawn back and ready to punch. Just one good hit. He just wants one good hit, to feel actual living metal buckle under his hand. It'll feel so much better.
no subject
It's sort of relevant. Except with the roles reversed.
And it takes him a moment to process what's going on here. Not long enough to take the hit dead-on, but long enough to where when he ducks to the side, one massive shoulder is in the path of this jerk's swing.
no subject
"Fight back!" he demands. Just give him one good fight.
no subject
This is not how he wanted the day to go. Not even a little. Maybe find a drone friend or something. An old video. A vending machine still handing out boxes of juice. Those would have been better. Anything would have, really.
His shoulder hurts, but Roller has a few things going for him. Size, for one. Size and strength. About the only good things he had going for him, sometimes, he thinks.
He grasps that small hand, clenching his fist hard enough to try and make metal bend under his fingers, twisting sharply. Maybe that will be enough to get him an opening to duck away. Man, he does not feel up to this fight.