robothell | (no subject)

(no subject)

Who: Tarn and Spinister
What: life is bad
When: sometime
Where: The wastes
Warnings: none

The wind howls through the skeleton of their meager shelter, bringing with it thick clouds of soot. Unfortunately, dust storms were more frequent out here in the middle of nowhere than Tarn had hoped. The vast expanse of the wastes left little to prevent the cloud from building on itself.

As it stands, the state of their dwelling is… unsustainable to say the very least. Tarn has begun to lose count of the amount of times that he’s woken up from recharge and had to chase after supplies that had been caught in the wind. However, shelters in the wastes are far and few between, and he finds himself hesitant to move further away from the city and its supplies. His occasional sneaking trips into the city outskirts have yielded just enough to make the risk work it.

Tarn pulls a tarp tighter around his body in a futile attempt to keep his vents from clogging. in truth its more for show than anything; his entire frame, from the top of his head to his feet, is covered in a thick layer of sand and dirt. He can do little but wait for the storm to pass and wait for Spinister’s return in hopes that he has been able to dig up something of use.

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The storm grounded Spinister, rendering the walk back far longer than it usually was. He'd have huddled in the city and waited until things calmed if it weren't for slagging Tarn and he makes sure to curse the commander's name the entirely of his walk to their shabby little base.

His cloak of tarp whips wildly around him as he drags the sled of supplies through the storm, counting down the minutes until he'd finally be there. The heli almost doesn't realize he's arrived until he nearly smacks into one of the building's pillars.

"TARN!" he calls out, feeling around until his hand meets corrugated metal, their makeshift door, and then he starts banging. "TARN, OPEN THE DOOR."

Tarn can barely hear Spinister over the wind and creaking of the shelter. He quickly gets to his feet, readjusting the tarp around himself as he feels his way to the door, keeping his optics as protected as possible from the blowing sand.

It takes all of his weight to open the door against the storm and the metal sheet is ripped from his hands the minute that he’s managed to muscle it open, pinning it open against the side of the dwelling and letting in a torrent of dust and sand. He scrambles to regain his grip on it, trying to pull it closed after Spinister. It's easier said than done, especially when one hand is dedicated to clutching the tarp tightly around his chassis.

Spinister moves behind the sled and pushes it in past Tarn, careful not to hit the purple mech along the way. He did NOT need to fix that knee again. When that's done, he goes over to help Tarn yank the door shut and lock it in place with a heavy slab of metal.

"Hell," he coughs as he starts quickly unpacking the supplies. "This is the worst one yet."

He's brought all kinds of building supplies with him this time; pieces of steel beams and sheets of metal and even a welder and welding rods.

The storm has been raging for hours. Far longer than any of its predecessors; and fierce to be certain. Tarn finds himself a bit impressed that Spinister made it successfully through the blinding sand at all.

He breathes a sigh of relief as the door locks closed, taking with it the brunt of the storm. He crouches slowly, taking care to not put too much taxing weight on his knee, surveying Spinister’s find.

Tarn only nods in agreement to the statement, turning the welding torch over in his hands. Its a good haul this time, leaving them with plenty to work with to help solidify their camp.

“Good find.” He croaks simply, gesturing to welder in his hand.

"It's got a battery but that's dead until I can charge it, so we're going to have to hook it up to our own systems." Which means they're going to be balancing energon and welding for a while. There was no real shortage of energon at least, but he's not managed to get a surplus distilled yet. Not between distilling and scavenging.

"We're going to cordon off our sleeping area so less dust gets in there." Spinister grabs some thick steel sheets off of sled as he talks, boosting his volume over the sounds of the storm. "You hold these in place while I weld, alright?"

Being treated like an adjunct grates on Tarn, even now. He’s a Commander, not some scavenger’s dumpy sidekick. Still, he is out of his element, and Spinister most certainly knows what he’s doing. He can only nod and bear it.

It takes some wrangling to maneuver the cumbersome sheet of metal to where Spinister needed to weld it, but he manages quickly and efficiently enough. Bracing his forearm against the bulk of the metal sheet he keeps it steady, focusing his attention back onto the heli. He looks different somehow, though Tarn can’t quite place what it is.

“Where di- you f-- this?” He clears his throat and tries again. “Find this?"

"In a pile of stuff," Spinister explains simply, shrugging and taking the welder away from Tarn to get to work. It wasn't untrue, but he wasn't under any obligation to specify which or whose pile of stuff.

He takes a roll of soldering wire and goes to work, welding the new wall piece in place.

"Tomorrow's going to be a lot of work reinforcing this structure," he grumbles, mostly to himself.

Tarn makes a small noise of acknowledgement. The sooner this scrap heap of a building is reinforced, the better. He’s growing weary of waking up half covered in sand…

‘A pile of stuff’ is pretty vague, Tarn thinks; perhaps there’s more to find nearby? He adjusts his grip on the sheet of metal as Spinister sets in on welding.

“Where exactly.” He forces, voice harsh as he pushes his volume over the storm. He’ll make his way over when the storm breaks and see if he can help to dig up any additional supplies for them to use.

"In the city," Spin says with a tone of finality; the city that Tarn's exiled from and shouldn't be snooping around in the first place. He hopes it's enough to deter more questioning because he wasn't particularly adept at making up information.

"Take that volume down a couple notches or you'll be adding another year to the healing," he adds, somewhat gentler finishing the last spot before going to fetch the next panel. "We'll switch to chiro once this is done."

Tarn glares at Spinister’s snappish response.

“Watch your tone wi— me…” He crosses his arms over his chassis as the heli digs through their supplies. He can’t let that sort of attitude fly with him, lest it becomes the norm. If he’s to be stuck out here with someone he at least requires respect.

Belatedly, Tarn realizes that Spinister is remarkably clean for having just come through that storm. He was filthier when he left than he is now. Something isn’t adding up. Then it hits him.

“Who --- you been visiting?” The only shower that he knows of is in the Decepticon base. Has he been with Megatron? Sixshot? The possibilities snowball in his mind into a frankly paranoid delusion.

Ah, shoot, he should have rolled around some more in the dirt before he'd come.

Spin stops in the middle of moving the panel, rotor blade twitching in irritation. After a moment, he sets the panel against a beam and turns to Tarn.

"I'm not exiled," he says simply. "I can use the shower in the city. I brought a canister of cleanser for you."

That was a lot of not-explaining and Spinister is kind of terrible at this.

While that may be true, jealously consumes him. What he would give for a hot shower...

Tarn squares his shoulders and takes a step towards Spinister, fists clenching at his sides.

“Someone gave these supplies to you. Who was it?” Tarn forces his voice to steady. His throat tightens towards the end, resulting in a quiet cough. Certainly it wasn’t Helex or Galvatron that gave Spinister the materials, they tended to deal exclusively with himself; and Megatron surely wouldn’t provide anything to make Tarn’s exile easier on him. His fuel pump skips slightly as his mind wanders to Sixshot. Perhaps Spinister has been with him? Were these supplies a gift? A trade? What could the heli possibly have to give in return?

He reaches forwards to grasp Spinister by his shoulders, giving them firm shake.

“Tell me.” Tarn would have been using his gift if possible, instead the words just sound hoarse and desperate.

Spinister doesn't back away when Tarn reaches out to grab his shoulder but he does stiffen at the unwelcome touch and shake, optics narrowed into vivid slivers of red.

"Why? So you can put them on the List too?" His voice was level but there was venom under the cool tone. "They gave me supplies and I'm using them to help you. That's all you need to know about them."

"Besides, they only gave me the canister." Spinister reaches up to untie the tarp from around his neck. "I actually did find the welder and the steel sheets by myself."

Tarn could kill Spinister, he's so fed up. His fingers tighten, but he stops them before the can dent. he needs to find a new tactic; hurting his only ally out here in the wastes is far from productive. He needs Spinister whether he's willing to admit it or not.

Tarn forces his fingers to release the scavenger, and taking a step back, he beings focusing on reigning in his frustration. He needs to handle this like a competent commander rather than a petulant child.

"The List is useless now." He begins, shaking his head slightly. "I just need to know where all of our alliances lie; keeping secrets from one another is not the way to hand-- handle this situation."

He can feel the fingers tightening around his shoulders and still Spinister doesn't move. His optics narrow further, however, radiating quiet anger until Tarn lets go of him.

"The guy who helped me doesn't like your ugly mug either." Spinister turns away, grabbing the panel and going to put it into place. He doesn't bother waiting for the other mech to help hold it up this time before getting to work, ignoring the way the sheet keeps bouncing off his shoulder as he welds.

"If you don't trust me, I don't care," the heli continues as-a-matter-of-factly. "Just let me do my work. I don't want to live in a drafty scrap pile if I can fix it."

Edited 2015-12-31 06:58 (UTC)

"We're a team Spinister. And whether you want to admit it or not, our alliances are mutual." He continues to explain even as the heli turns his back to begin welding.

He's on his way over to help when he see it. On Spinisters back, just above his hip, is a small paint transfer. A light teal, from the looks of it. Before he even realizes what he's doing, he's lifting Spinister to get a better look.

Tarn quickly goes through a mental list of all the mechs here with that paint color. The only one that comes to mind is...

Tarn's tanks do a weird flip and he feels even colder than before. Gone is the level headed and competent commander from before, leaving behind a paranoid, heartbroken, angry mech.

"Y-You.... You've been fragging him..." He drops the heli before he does something that he will regret. It all makes sense now... The sneaking around, the secrets... of course he would want to hide this from Tarn.

"You've been fragging Sixshot."

"Mutual? You put me here! There's not a single mutual thing about- OY!"

Spinister squawks as Tarn lifts him up, quickly shutting the welding torch off before he burnt something sensitive. Then the bastard sets him down again after a moment and Spin just stands still, stiff with indignity, rotor blade set ramrod straight.

"What-"

There goes that horrible sinking feeling. He drops the welder and claps his hand over the spot Tarn had been staring at, feeling the minute change in texture before spinning around to face the other Decepticon. They'd missed a spot. HOW had they missed a spot?

And more importantly, why had Tarn been staring at his aft?!

"IT WASN'T SIXSHOT YOU PERVERT!"

Edited (holy shit i keep missing errors i am so sorry) 2015-12-31 20:33 (UTC)

“Don’t lie to me, Spinister!” He takes a step forward, fists clenching at his side. His internals twist with rage as he points accusingly at the pale paint transfer marring his darker plating.

"Who else on this miserable rock has the shade of teal?”

How could this be happening? He doesn’t know what else to say as his frame begins to vibrate from the effort keeping him from ripping Spinister’s arms off.

Shoving his hands over the paint streak, Spinister's armor flares in righteous fury.

"His FACE," he snarls, livid beyond words. "Is LITERALLY an emoji ALL OVER THE NETWORK."

A couple of long seconds tick by and then Spin realizes he's basically given away just who it was he'd been visiting. His face twists through a peculiar series of emotions before finally settling back on being angry because he hates Tarn and that's what he's sticking with.

"AND STOP LOOKING AT MY BUTT."

As realization hits Tarn the tension built in him slowly fades, leaving his shoulders slumped. Brainstorm… He had somehow forgotten that the undercover agent was here as well. And, upon closer inspection, the paint smear is clearly slightly more blue than Sixshot’s plating

Gone is the anger, leaving behind only mortification. He’s acted like a lunatic, to say the least.

“I…” He looks away from Spinister, giving him the privacy that he’s asking for. It’s the least he can do.

“Apologies. I was out of line."

Spinister spends a good few more seconds bristling before going to grab the welding torch and blasting the bit of paint off of his aft. It stung, but he didn't particularly care as long as it'd get Tarn to stop bloody looking at it.

"Look," he says, pointing the welder at Tarn. "I don't trust you and you apparently think I'd bang your freaking ex. One: we only talked when I needed supplies. Two: he helped you break my shower." An event that Spinister still hasn't deigned to show any kind of forgiveness over for Tarn himself.

"I fix you up no matter how much you mess up and I help you when you need it." He turns away, angrily flattening the metal sheet back into place again. "We've got something we need from each other. We're partners. You're not my commander and I'm not your fragging teammate, so don't treat me like one." Uncoiling more soldering coil he goes back to work, rotor blade still twitching in a distinctly pissed manner.

Tarn is at a loss. He stands uselessly behind Spinister as he turns his back and continues his work, huffing a sigh. He watches quietly for a few moments before nodding in agreement and approaching slowly. Tarn’s hands firmly flatten he panel in place so that the heli didn’t need to struggle against it, allowing him to concentrate on the welding.

He doesn’t say anything else on the issue, working in silence to help Spinister reinforce their meager sleeping area.

It isn’t until they’re almost done that he opens his mouth again.

"Thank you. For the cleanser."

The winds still made the new walls shake, but at least it was a step up from having dust dumped over them while they slept. Spinister finishes up the last weld seam and goes to gather up some of the tarp to pin to the entryway as a makeshift door when Tarn thanks him.

He is silent for a long moment, scowling at the DJD commander over his shoulder, the tarp bundled up in his arms. Eventually he turns away, ex-venting a slightly exasperated sigh.

"Go put that canister over the fire pit." The angry edge is gone from the heli's voice but his tone was unreadable. "Once you're done, there's a brush in the sled. Get some dust off while I finish up here."

Tarn does as he’s asked and lugs the canister over to the fire, arranging it so that is is steady, before going back to the sled to root through the leftover scraps. His fingers quickly find the brush; it’s old and worn but more than he could have hoped for.

Tarn settles down by the fire, soaking in the warmth as he begins scrubbing and brushing weeks of caked on dirt from his plating. He finds himself paying extra attention to his joints and in between his treads. It’s an oddly peaceful moment as he enjoys the feeling of soft bristles and listens to the walls rattle and bend in the wind, accompanied by the quiet crackle of the fire.

His optics dim as he indulges in a moment of contentment, letting his stress be brushed away with the dirt; if only for a little while.

How strange that they went from wanting to murder each other to this strange calm all in span of a few hours. Of all the things to make Tarn listen, being extremely wrong about Spin jumping the local Phase Sixer wasn't really at the top of the list.

Spinister finishes pinning the tarp to the top of the door frame and places some concrete chunks on the bottom to keep the fabric from blowing up. Not the most elegant solution and noisy as heck, but he can make a proper door later.

By the time he makes his way over to Tarn, he's picked up a bucket and two cubes of energon.

"Here," he says, offering one of the cubes to the purple mech.

Apology accepted.

For now.