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
When he finally steps out, the entire building shudders as he drags a support beam with him and one side of the building begins crumpling inward. He spots Sixshot and stops in place, scowling. He's itching for a fight – he aches to kill, but he's not stupid. That isn't a fight he can win.
He grinds his jaw.
"What d'you want?"
no subject
"We've only spoken briefly before, haven't we, Helex?"
That's not a question Sixshot seems to be expecting an answer to and the softness of his voice belied the ice underneath. This was an interview between a soldier and a ranking officer.
"With Tarn in exile, I think we should have a little chat." There's a subtle flash of teeth to accompany the words, the Sixer crossing his massive claws neatly together. "Why don't you have a seat?"
no subject
It'll never be as good as the real thing.
"And I'm busy. Go find somebody else to bother."
no subject
He realizes, after a second, that he's raked deep gouges into the dirt and slowly eases his claws free. This wasn't good. He was letting his feelings get the better of him again, a fact that seemed to be happening a lot more often than he'd like these days.
Flattening Helex under his heel was tempting. Primus knows the mech was as big a threat to the fragile peace as his commander had been. It wasn't the politically correct move to pull though, not after Megatron had spared the mech. The only option now as waiting and seeing what Helex was going to do with the chance he'd been given: Tarn being spared was as much as verdict for the smelter too, after all.
Drawing on his suddenly rather dry well of patience, the Sixer cycles air through his vents.
"Helex," he starts again, trying to stifle the vengeful spite that'd lodged itself in his vocalizer. "Unless you want to join your commander, we're going to have to work together. I'm sure you like the idea as much as I do, so I think we should lay down some ground rules for each other."
no subject
"You stay out of my way," he grinds out, "I stay out of yours. I came out here because I don't want to talk about Tarn right now. End of story."
He's trying very, very hard to not cause more trouble for his commander or himself. And everyone around here is making that very, very difficult. He crushes the metal between two hands and tosses it aside, then turns his back on Sixshot to tear a large chunk from the outer wall. It makes a deep, satisfying sound; the next piece he pulls away much more slowly. It's almost cathartic.
no subject
"Alright," the six-former says frigidly as gets up, the heavy sound of massive claws echoing through the destroyed buildings. It's all the warning Helex gets before one of those claws slam into him to pin him flat to the ground. "Let's talk about you then."
There's a maw full of teeth next to the smelter's head and Sixshot lets the smelter bear a little more of his hyper-dense weight. "If I find out that you've so much as left a scratch on anyone in this city." His voice drops to a low, low whisper. "Know that you can't hide from me."