A scientist, a warmonger, and a surgeon walk into a cave…

[ashandrust]

Who: Sentinel Prime, Tarn, Spinister
Where: Out in the sticks
When: Somewhen after Tarn's exile /hand wobbly motions
What: SUPER TENSE AWKWARD MEETINGS
Warnings: None as of posting but can/will edit as needed

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Life on this strange, half-dead Cybertron is not what Sentinel Prime would call ideal, but since he removed himself from the city, it has at least been peaceful. There was a time – when he was much younger – he wouldn't have minded being surrounded by others and their day to day business, however removed and tedious it may have been. Perhaps in his age and bitterness he has forgotten how to enjoy company.

He finds, looking across the blasted landscape outside the city, he is content with that.

The lack of interruption and chaos makes his work easier; he spends his days taking and studying samples, mapping the stars and using those maps to navigate as much of the land as he can reach before he is compelled back to the city. The compulsion is disorienting at times, seeming to tell his nav systems that he's suddenly changed directions, telling his mind he's going the wrong way. He needs his maps.

More than that, he needs to understand what happened to this world, and his grasp of its demise and rebirth is sorely limited when he cannot range and see all there is to find. So today is another day of collecting, scraping metal and stone to see what – if any – changes have occurred since last week. This inferior Cybertron is still changing and recovering, however slowly. He must understand the process. If he can capture it, replicate it, he may yet be able to bring his own world back.

Or so he tells himself.

But he must not doubt. So he picks his way along paths through the foothills, visiting sample sites and gathering what he needs. He'll need to go down into the city for energon soon, too, he thinks as he climbs past a fall that wasn't there before. Sentinel Prime pauses and frowns, looking back. The site has been disturbed since he left it; odd, since few bother coming out this far. He eases back down the slope for a closer look and finds tracks in the rust and graphite, and he scowls, slowly pushing air from his vents in a sigh. He doesn't want company.

Comments

[sparkwhisperer]

Taking Spinister anywhere is always a exercise in patience. It takes at least 60% longer to do anything between stopping to thoroughly investigate every possible scrap of metal discarded in the sand. And certainly the endless inane chatter isn’t helping matters. Tarn pauses every now and then, listening and surveying their surroundings in search of anything, or anyone, unusual. Ever since Rampage began stalking him, Tarn has been constantly been on the defense.

Still, matters could be worse, and although Tarn would never admit it, he’s finding it easier and easier to tolerate Spinister’s presence. He even, occasionally, has sought it out. After all as far as watching out for potential danger, two sets of optics are better than one. Which is what brings them to where they are now, combing the wastes for shovels or anything that could be fashioned into one. The basement of their dwelling holds too much potential to pass up, all they need to do is dig it out.

Tarn sighs, stooping to pull a sheet out metal out of the sand, turning it in his hands and testing its sturdiness. Casting a glance over his shoulder he proceeds to turn and address Spinister.

“What do you think of this sheet? It’s certainly the most sturdy that we’ve found so far."