robothell | (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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Good."

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."

The flick startles Rampage, but he quickly retaliates with a playful shove. The sudden drop back into seriousness after takes him even further off guard, and his fists clench defensively.

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.

Sixshot watches Rampage stomp away with an air of mild amusement and some exasperation. He gives the crab a moment before following him, his footsteps lighter.

"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."

"I know," Rampage says. He doesn't pull away, welcoming the touch despite his grumpy demeanor, but his beast-mode legs curl tighter over his shoulders. "I've known that since before I came here. I have been trying."

He lets his optics dim and leans back, planning to rest his weight against Sixshot. "I really shouldn't exist in the first place."

"Whether or not you should exist is irrelevant. It's not something you can chose." That was probably a bit of Shockwave coming through, but logic was the best comfort Sixshot knew how to give in this instance. It's no use struggling about existing when someone else made the choice the drag you into the world.

"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."

Rampage lets out a little rumble, not quite a purr, his horns twitching against Sixshot's fingers. His optics spark a bit with dark amusement and he stares up at his friend.

"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."

"It might not be so bad in a couple of million years?" Sixshot offers somewhat awkwardly. He's not really one to speak, having been stuck with depression and social isolation for god knows how long.

"Well," he muses, teasing the tip of one horn. "If nothing else, you can exist to protect the people you care about."

Rampage decides that he should really get his horns touched more often. It's always really nice when it happens. If a little... ticklish. The teased horn flicks reflexively.

"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."

"... Ah." That's right. Rampage was actually very young. He keeps forgetting the fact with how much of an ass the crab usually was.

"Well," he says, awkwardly resting his hand on top of Rampage's head. "More time to try and figure things out?"

Wow, Sixshot. Young people can be assholes, too!

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.

"..."

Well it didn't hurt, but Sixshot still does his best to look offended.

They were having a moment!

Rampage looks offended right back as Sixshot fails to rise to the bait.

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.

"I guueess," Sixshot sighs with the most put upon of expressions, bending over to casually wrap his arm around Rampage's neck. "I mean, it's not like I can escape you."

Despite his words, the Sixer radiates affection and amusement and that's really all the warning Rampage gets before he's headlocked and noogied.

Rampage snorts out a laugh, the affection he feels from Sixshot cancelling any sting his words might have had. It's strange and warm and nice, and he's still getting used to having feelings like that directed at him.

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.

Laughing, Sixshot rears back as Rampage tries to poke his eyes, finally deigning to let the crab go. He's probably about to get tackled, wasn't he?

Sixshot is definitely getting tackled. Sort of. Rather, Rampage turns and uses the slagged bench as a stepping point to launch himself bodily at Sixshot to wrap both arms and legs around him in a hug of death.

It's time for a tussle!

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