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phase6kindofbot) wrote in
robothell2016-01-02 02:30 am
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(no subject)
Who: Rampage and Sixshot
Where: In a dump.
When: After Rampage 'visits' Tarn.
What: Sixshot's sense of smell is unfortunately good.
Warnings: Angry sad robots.
There's a lot of things Sixshot has been letting past him intentionally. He smells traces of Tarn throughout the city still, underlying the scents of various mechs. Helex's heavy molten slag smell and the supplies the titan brought with him to the edge of the city to meet with his commander. Spinister's more elusive paths through the city, the smell of Tarn's old energon and healing nanites and the dry scent of the wastelands. He smells Galvatron and the heady, electric scent of sex.
Every time he catches a strand of it through the thousands of scents that linger over the city, he has to stop. Smell was his most dominant sense and the memories he accumulated through it stayed vivid for eons. Every time he breathes Tarn's scent in, it feels like his spark breaking over and over again.
There's a scent that he's caught recently that makes his tank flop however.
Fresh energon. Tarn's fresh energon.
On Rampage.
He waits in one of their more usual meeting spots, the building not too far away from the clinic where he'd introduced the crab-former to First Aid. There's a tension in his frame, wings standing on end and hands clasped together in vise grip.
Where: In a dump.
When: After Rampage 'visits' Tarn.
What: Sixshot's sense of smell is unfortunately good.
Warnings: Angry sad robots.
There's a lot of things Sixshot has been letting past him intentionally. He smells traces of Tarn throughout the city still, underlying the scents of various mechs. Helex's heavy molten slag smell and the supplies the titan brought with him to the edge of the city to meet with his commander. Spinister's more elusive paths through the city, the smell of Tarn's old energon and healing nanites and the dry scent of the wastelands. He smells Galvatron and the heady, electric scent of sex.
Every time he catches a strand of it through the thousands of scents that linger over the city, he has to stop. Smell was his most dominant sense and the memories he accumulated through it stayed vivid for eons. Every time he breathes Tarn's scent in, it feels like his spark breaking over and over again.
There's a scent that he's caught recently that makes his tank flop however.
Fresh energon. Tarn's fresh energon.
On Rampage.
He waits in one of their more usual meeting spots, the building not too far away from the clinic where he'd introduced the crab-former to First Aid. There's a tension in his frame, wings standing on end and hands clasped together in vise grip.
no subject
He ignores the tension in Sixshot as he approaches. His friend has been varying degrees of moody since the incident took place. So he simply saunters up and tries to sling an arm over Sixshot's shoulders.
"Why are you always miserable?" he says, amusement flavouring his voice.
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"I'm not... always miserable."
First Aid was recovering from wounds that'd left a lot of other mechs dead. Just watching the progression filled Sixshot with a light he'd never felt before in his life. He was healing. He might not ever be the same way again, but he was healing and he was alive.
And yet.
He closes his optics at the wall of smells that assaulted him. He could smell the fresh energon- and also the smell of Tarn's older injuries. They'd gotten close enough that the minute details had been transferred over.
"... You've hurt Tarn."
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Yeah, he's kind of still riding that sadistic buzz.
"Yes," he admits freely, not sounding the least bit guilty or regretful. "Are you surprised?"
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Tarn tried to kill First Aid. He'd trusted the mech and he turned around and tried to murder his dear friend. He should hate him by all rights. He should be feeling some morbid, spark-deep feeling of gratification at the fact that he could smell Tarn's fresh energon on Rampage's armor.
And yet he does not.
The thought of Tarn hurt, the thought of Tarn dead or dying makes his spark ache. Guilt follows it immediately afterwards, throwing him into a sudden cycle of deep, painful worry and self hatred.
"Rampage," he says very, very quietly. "I don't want you to hurt him."
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His mask twitches with the sudden urge to sink his teeth into Sixshot's shoulder and he offlines his optics. Restrain yourself.
"I didn't do it for you," he growls softly, pressing his face against Sixshot.
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"I don't care what your reasons are." He closes his optics and presses the side of his mask against Rampage's, reaching up to touch the crab-former's chin, fingers uncharacteristically gentle over his friend's armor.
"Just don't..." he shuts off his optics before the filaments could start heating up, static heavy in his voice. "Don't hurt him."
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Gentle fingers on his chin have him relaxing his grip, and he gives a soft huff.
"I want his pain. I want his fear, and his anger, his despair and hate. I want it."
The longing in his voice is heavy. Already he's feeling hungry for more. It was always that way. The more he tasted, the more he wanted, it was never enough he always wanted more.
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"Why?" he snarls, twisting to face Rampage red optics flashing bright red streaks. "Why is it so important to hurt him? Just leave him to his fate, that's enough as is. Why?"
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Words crackle in his vocalizer, waiting to be spat out like venom. He could make it worse. He could try and draw out Sixshot's anger like blood from a wound. He could pick out the things that make his friend hurt the worst and do his best to make him hurt...
His horns droop and his arms drop to his sides.
"Because it feels good," he mutters sullenly. "He's just a convenient target."
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Optics narrowing further, Sixshot drags Rampage down by his throat until their faces were level.
"I've already thrown one lover to the wastes. Don't think for a moment that I would do anything less for you," he hisses. "What's stopping you from hurting First Aid? Or anyone else for that matter?"
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"I like First Aid," he starts, still sullen.
It barely hurts to hear that Sixshot would throw him away if he needed to. He expects it. The say Sixshot and First Aid turn on him or leave him or are taken from him. And he knows when it happens it'll be because he deserves it.
But he doesn't think he deserves it yet. Not for Tarn.
"I'm stopping me," he snaps, a bit of fire sparking in his optics. "I've been here this entire time and I haven't hurt anyone else-" Scared a few people, sure, but he didn't hurt them. "I've been good. I've been hungry but I've been good!"
Transmutate never wanted him to hurt anyone and he's finally listening! But Tarn... Tarn...
"But he's a monster! He hurt First Aid first. Why can't I hunt my own?! He deserves it!"
They deserve it. They don't deserve happiness. He doesn't deserve Sixshot or First Aid. But he was hungry for that too...
With a growl, he pushes away from Sixshot regardless of whether or not he loosens his grip. It doesn't matter if he leaves half his throat behind, it'll heal. He'll be fine. His body is always fine.
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He slowly lets the hand sink back down to his side, watching Rampage as he ranted, justifying his actions. A long silence follows afterwards, Sixshot's processors slowly working through the information.
"... What do you mean 'hungry'?"
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Why is he getting so worked up about this anyway? He shouldn't care. He never cares what anyone else thinks of him or his actions. Not even Transmutate, until it was too late.
He lets out a long gust of air from his vents and stares down his hands. He's torn many people apart with these hands, starting with those that made him what he was. He moves a hand to clutch at his chest, over his spark.
"It's like being hollow. I want to fill up the emptiness with their emotions. Their fear and pain and suffering. But I'm never full, I always want more." He looks up at Sixshot again. "You don't know how good it tastes. How good it felt the first time it was them and not me."
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The Sixers were also the beginning and the ending of the experiments with the ununtrium. Shockwave couldn't afford to throw away the preciously rare metal on prototypes.
"Does it only work with those emotions?" Sixshot questions, taking a step towards Rampage, closing the distance again. The coldness is gone from his voice.
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"It's different with other emotions. They only ever gave me the pain and fear. They only ever made me hurt and angry. Made me hate. I think I wanted more, once, but I never got it."
He lifts up a hand to place it against Sixshot's chest, over the hidden hum of his spark. His voice softens as he slips into reminiscence.
"I wanted to give it all back. And I did. But it was too fast. I didn't understand how fragile most Cybertronians were yet. So they died, and it wasn't enough. I wasn't satisfied. So I went after others, cultivated their agony and terror and hatred, but it was never enough. I still wanted more."
His fingers curl against Sixshot's chest, his optics taking on that feral glow again, his voice dipping into a growl. "I always want more."
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In hindsight, it makes a lot of sense. Like how the crab had always managed to find him all the damn time. How he'd managed to find First Aid in time.
Very lightly, Sixshot slides his hand over Rampage's, his optics dimming in thought.
"I can't give you suffering, fear or pain. Not consistently or willingly." He steps closer smoothing his hand up Rampage's forearm and over his shoulder to gently cup the side of Rampage's face. "We'll see if this 'more' is something that can be satisfied in other ways."
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Little prickles dance over Rampage's plating at Sixshot's gentle touches and he turns his face into his palm without thinking. It's... strange. He's not used to such softness from Sixshot. He's hardly even gotten used to it from First Aid.
His optics dim, his hand dropping back to his side. "I don't want your pain."
He lets out a huff. "No. That's wrong. I still crave it, but I don't want to hurt you."
It's hard, when parts of you want different things. It's confusing.
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And because Sixshot's ability to be gentle with Rampage is a limited thing, the touch on his face become a smart little flick of the Sixer's finger against one of his partner's mandibles.
"I won't tolerate it anyways." He pauses for a moment before continuing, tone serious once again. "I won't tolerate it on anyone else either, Tarn included. If before is how you usually behave after torturing someone then you will just have to live without."
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His vocalizer clicks several times with irritated responses cut short. Why not?! and Just try and stop me and I'll do what I want. He wants to antagonize Sixshot. He wants to toss him into a building. He wants to go out right now and find Tarn and make him scream.
He also wants Sixshot to touch his face like that again, so instead of doing any of that he turns away and stomps several steps away to sit down heavily on what was probably a bench once.
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"Rampage," he says softly, placing his hand on a red shoulder, standing a step behind his friend. "We can't exist like we did before. Not if we want some kind of future. Not if we want First Aid in our lives."
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He lets his optics dim and leans back, planning to rest his weight against Sixshot. "I really shouldn't exist in the first place."
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"Besides," he muses as Rampage leans against him, reaching out to tangle his fingers with the crab's antenna. "I get the impression you're not so willing to stop right now."
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"I can't exactly choose whether or not I continue to exist either, can I? The universe is stuck with me, and I'm stuck with it."
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"Well," he muses, teasing the tip of one horn. "If nothing else, you can exist to protect the people you care about."
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"A couple million years," he repeats, leaning more heavily against Sixshot. "I haven't even reached a thousand."
Protect the people he cares about, huh? He barely managed to save First Aid, and the person he cared about most... he'd not only failed to protect, but had a part in her death. All his horns droop. "Hrm."
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"Well," he says, awkwardly resting his hand on top of Rampage's head. "More time to try and figure things out?"
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Rampage snorts at that. "All the time in the universe."
He stares up at Sixshot in silence, enjoying the oddly tender moment, however awkward they might be. Then he looks away and promptly elbows Sixshot in the knee.
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Well it didn't hurt, but Sixshot still does his best to look offended.
They were having a moment!
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They were having a moment. A very nice one. Now he's trying to have a different moment!
Though he's distracted from trying again by a thought. "Are we friends? Actual friends."
Not like when you call someone a friend when they actually hate you.
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Despite his words, the Sixer radiates affection and amusement and that's really all the warning Rampage gets before he's headlocked and noogied.
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The noogie is less pleasant.
Sputtering and growling playfully, Rampage struggles against the headlock, kicking his feet and tugging at Sixshot's arms as hard knuckles scrape the paint off the top of his head, sparks tickling his plating.
Well! He'd normally try and bite Sixshot, but with an arm locked under his chin he can't reach.
So instead he tries to poke him in the eye.
Thread wrap?
We can!
It's time for a tussle!