robothell | Tarn and the very bad no good terrible week

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ratchet | asafepairofhands

Tarn and the very bad no good terrible week

Who: Tarn and Drift and Tarn and You
Where: The city center
When: A few days after the Rodimus incident
What: Tarn has an unfortunate run in with some new friends
Warnings: Tarn. Violence to come

Tarn has had bad days before. Occasionally his latest victim would get a good punch in, perhaps they were particularly good at eluding himself and his team, or they managed to temporarily escape. Maybe the pet decided to gnaw on a particularly important set of data pads. Or Vos decided to poach parts from one of the cleaning drones. Again.

Any of that is a walk in the park compared to the viciously terrible week Tarn has had. So far he has been transported to an alternate Cybertron without his consent. He has been harassed by Autobots, burned, shot at, disrespected,; but really, the proverbial cherry on top of the whole mess, was the incident with Megatron. The founder of the Decepticons, the mech he has sacrificed his identity, his name, his very life to serving, turned traitorous. Betraying his own faction and trading his own badge for an Autobrand. Honestly, Tarn is having a difficult time even wrapping his mind around the whole thing. One thing is for certain though...he is angry and on the hunt for someone to take his aggression out on.

He has been prowling the city ruins for hours, stopping every few minutes to transform a few times, just to take the edge off. He can feel his T-cog grinding more and more with every transformation. He is familiar with the sensation and the knowledge that the cog probably wont last him the month only adds to his every growing ire.

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Tarn looks down at himself before locking eyes with Pharma. Clearly the prickly medic hasn't changed a bit since he last saw him. Rumor of the plauge that hit Delphi, and Pharma's untimely demise, had reached Tarn months ago. The news was...irritating.

"hm, yes... I'm afraid this transformation cog is quite worse for wear. I don't suppose you could provide a spare?"

Worth a shot, he supposes.

Wow. Is Tarn for real right now? Pharma stares at him for a moment, trying to discern this very question.

"Yes, because I just happen to have an extra one on me," he says in a tone flatter than the Mitteous Plateau. Although there might be a slight indent of derision somewhere in the end of that, it's hard to tell. "Straight to business with you, I see."

There's a look of concern that crosses his expression for the doctor. He didn't know why Ratchet was being so difficult about this, but it was obviously something very personal.

"I have made it very clear to Tarn that we will both be collaborating with Autobots from here on out. Whatever hate he holds for them will also be put aside.."

"Besides, your reasoning could be applied to me," he remarks, a little undirected bitterness seeping into his voice.

"We all know what lies in my future."

"I've treated you, when you've landed in my medibay. Not just here." Ratchet straightens, something too angry to be fear tightening at the corners of his mouth as he looks to Megatron and then up at Tarn, unflinching.

"You can collaborate with him all you like, though I wouldn't recommend it. I won't have anything to do with him, and he's not welcome here." His chin jerks up at Tarn, his optics bright and furious.

"These were Pharma's hands, and I'm not using them to fix you."

Edited 2015-01-27 01:03 (UTC)

Drift's optics flash wide as Tarn catches him in the middle and slams him back down to the ground, stealing the air from his vents. If there was any hope of catching Tarn off guard, it was with a move like that, and for a split second, Drift had actually thought it would work, too. He's hardly injured, though, just stunned and in a bad, bad position for fighting back. Tarn looms over him, red optics gleaming from behind the mask. The sight makes Drift's tanks churn.

"What do you see, Tarn?" The words come through gritted teeth, though they're nothing more than a distraction as he wraps his hand around the hilt of his other sword and moves like lightning to drive the point of it right through Tarn's foot. It won't do anything more than slow him down, but for Drift, that might be enough.

Tarn sits up, inspecting his fusion cannon for damage, as Sixshot transforms. A few superficial dents and scratches to the barrels but nothing crippling overall. It should still be functional. Tarn latches on to the last part of Sixshot's sentence

"Fool's energon?" Tarn pauses and glances up at his fellow Decepticon. He is unfamiliar with such a thing.

Tarn stares, levelly, down at Ratchet.

"Then I assure you that they have repaired me more than once already."

Perhaps antagonizing the medic in front of Megatron is not the best course of action. But he certainly isn't lying-- Pharma replaced Tarn's transformation cog on multiple occasions.

"However, I am wondering how you came into possession of them. Surely, as a medic, you appreciate the importance of a medic's hands."

"They use the stuff to keep a lot of prisoners weak on the penal colonies. Cheaper than energon."

Strange that Tarn would not have heard of it. Then again, Sixshot hadn't heard of it either up until he'd asked a warden about it during a layover in one such colony. The smell had stuck in his mind.

There was a series of 'POPS' from above their heads. The Sixer blinks up at the ceiling before reaching out to try and take one of Tarn's arms and calmly escort him out.

"We should probably leave," he says. Honestly, a collapsed building wouldn't kill either of them, but digging out of it would be a bit of a pain.

Tarn looks down at his skewered foot. Leaning down, he pulls the sword out, flinging it far away from Drift's grasp. Pain radiates up the sensors in his leg but he pushes the feeling aside, focusing again on the Autobot at his feet.

"What do I see? Why I see a doomed mech, writhing at my feet." and with that, he kicks Drift right in the middle with all his strength.

"I see a pathetic traitor." He allows his voice to begin constricting his prey's spark.

"I see your impending death."

He's quiet as the two speak up, uncertain of what was being referred between them. It's getting clearer now that Tarn must have done something to a contemporary of Ratchet's. Probably executed him - or maybe kept him prisoner? It was a war, he was certain there was any number of awful things both sides did to each other.

It actually does beg the question why Ratchet would do something as morbid as take his hands, but there was no way to know without opening what was clearly a very big can of worms.

Megatron does give Tarn a harsh, cold look, not expecting the first words to come out of his masked mouth to be something to exacerbate this. It was difficult enough trying to convince Ratchet without anatagonizing him. His expression only slightly alleviates when returning to the doctor.

"I didn't leave Sentinel's cog with you so you can withhold it because of whatever past you two have had."

Ratchet's optics blaze white with fury and he actually takes a step forward before he stops himself, cool air catching in his fans as he struggles for composure.

"Pharma's dead," Ratchet spits, bare poison in his voice. "He was crazy, as you well know, and now he's dead because of it." He turns on Megatron, venting hard, his lips peeling back from his teeth.

"I took that t-cog from you for the express purpose of keeping it from him. I'm not installing it and I'm not giving it to him for someone else to install and this conversation is over. We'll discuss it further later."

At first, Tarn goes to withdraw from conversation with Ratchet upon Megatron's cold look. That is until he mentions Sentinels Transformation cog being on the premises. He cocks his head and, of course, does the logical thing and begins to look more closely around the Medibay for where it could possibly be hidden- ignoring Ratchet's furious gaze in favor of beginning to wander around a bit.

"Hm, a shame about Pharma, really. But his death was his own doing." Tarn pauses,turning to look Ratchet in the face. "I certainly didn't kill him. In fact, those hands of yours are rather incriminating. Perhaps it was your doing."

Ratchet's optics widen slowly, a kind of thick, choking rage numbing his brain and sending a faint crackling through his audials, soft white noise in his head for a long moment before he manages to draw in a shuddering vent of cool air.

"Pharma was one of the greatest surgeons and researchers we ever produced," he snarls, voice a little unsteady, "and he was my friend,, and you ruined him, and you murdered him, as surely as if you'd put a gun to his head. You aren't getting one single more t-cog from an Autobot medic, not if I can help it. We are done here."

Tarn continues to stare at Ratchet, embers of rage beginning to burn inside him. He almost wants to laugh at Ratchet's audacity but is finding it quite difficult after everything else that has happened. After a quick glance at Megatron he moves a bit closer to the Autobot medic.

"I hate to break it to you, Ratchet, but every decision Pharma made was his own. I'm afraid i had no part in it, as easy as it would be to blame on me. Look inside yourself, for that one. Perhaps you should have kept in better contact with your friend. You may have seen something amiss."

Tarn chuckles, beginning to approach Pharma slowly. It appears that the medic is still so unafraid after all this time. Secretly he always appreciated the lip he got from the Autobot-- though, he would never openly admit it.

"Has it truely ever been any other other way?"

The concept of alternate realities doesn't shock Tarn in the slightest. After all he has seen and heard the past few days...he's not sure there is anything Dreadwing could tell Tarn that would surprise him.

He makes an indistinct noise of thought. So far in Tarn's eyes, this version of Dreadwing seems like a good fellow. Reliable. Well spoken. An upstanding Decepticon.

"Mm, yes i heard news of Starscream's rise to power on Cybertron. Temporary business, I assure you."

Although with Megatron now an Autobot...perhaps his thoughts on the matter will need to be reevaluated.

Okay, so it had slowed down Tarn for about half a second. Cool.

Drift lets out a sharp groan as Tarn's foot connects with his stomach, putting a heavy dent in his plating before it sends him flying -- he skids back a good several yards on the ground, kicking up cool gray dust and feeling the tang of energon in the back of his throat. Drift's vision swims for a terrifying moment, but he doesn't let it stop him -- two palms on the ground, Drift, that's it, you've only got to bear your own weight --

But then Tarn's voice is like a vice around his spark and he drops back to the ground with a choked sound. He's heard about Tarn's voice, heard what it can do, and he'd long since decided he wasn't afraid of death, no matter what form it took. But to feel it is something else entirely, and Drift's optics go wide and pale at Tarn's voice tightening around his spark, threatening to snuff it out. Drift knows he can't get out of this alive, but he can't let himself die without doing something -- if he dies without so much as leaving a scratch on Tarn it'll all have been for nothing. Even as he struggles to bear it, to move, Drift reaches to close his hand over the hilt of his Great Sword strapped to his back. The spark is supposed to amplify the sword, not the other way around, but if Drift can just get that channel established in the first place... He lets out a rough snarl around gritted teeth as his spark struggles against the insinuating power of Tarn's voice, pain searing white hot through Drift's mind, but he doesn't loosen his grip on the Great Sword, doesn't buckle in -- until he feels his spark break free of Tarn's hold on him and he gasps at the sudden flare of his spark in his chest, the pain searing away to a vivid feeling of renewal. Drift's optics are blazing as he pushes himself to his feet, his Great Sword crackling with energy. Here, on Cybertron, brought here under mysterious circumstances in which Drift has no choice but to put blind trust, his faith is stronger than it has been in a while.

"I might be a traitor to you now, Tarn," Drift says, his voice crackling with static, low and determined, "but I was a traitor as Deadlock, too -- to everything I believed in. Everything I should have stood for."

But that's about all the dialogue Tarn gets out of him before he makes a dead charge for the Decepticon with a raw cry, his energy-streaked sword held aloft -- and when he's in range, he swings the masssive sword inwards to cleave at Tarn's side.

The...stove? Tarn has no idea what that is supposed to mean but he continues his pursuit regardless of his misunderstanding of human colloquialisms . The bright color of his frame certainly is useful for keeping track of the little car.

Tarn charges his turrets, shooting a plasma round at what he has now come to consider his prey.

"Yes, better run on home and take care of that 'stove' of yours."

Now that Sixshot mentions it, the effects sound vaguely familiar. A cowardly way to keep a prisoner subdued, for certain. He had pushed the concept to the back of his mind until now.

He is snapped out of his thoughts by the loud popping of the building framework starting break apart and Sixshot grasping at his arm. He staggers to his feet, but not as calmly as his comrade may have hoped.

"Do you mean to tell me...That Megatron has been on this 'fools energon' Since we have arrived" Tarn has begun pacing the crumbling building. His hands are quivering in barely contained rage.

"Like I know," Sixshot huffs, actually beginning to feel a small niggling of exasperation when Tarn starts to pace. He digs his heels in and tries to pull the purple mech out the giant dog-shaped hole of an exit.

"Far as I cant tell, he has been." For a while too since Megatron didn't smell like a particularly healthy Cybertronian. Still, Sixshot feels vaguely compelled to stop Tarn from doing anything too rash and points out, "He's got fresh energon right in front of him though. I don't think he's going to be on that stuff for long."

Tarn is impressed, to be honest, that Drift manages to free himself from the grip that he held on his spark. Not many have enough strength for such a feat.

Between this and the enormous eye roll that Tarn gave upon hearing Drift's self-righteous drivel Tarn wasn't entirely prepared for the forward charge and swing that the Autobot took, catching him right in the side. He staggers, letting out a pained grunt-- hands coming up to grip the sword, ignoring the sting as its blade cuts into his fingers.

He pulls the sword, aiming to free it from his prey's grip.

Pharma takes a step back and ponders how many steps Tarn would take in the time he could turn his hand into a chainsaw. Looking back up, and up to Tarn's face helps him decide against that for the time being.

"Unfortunately --" Although he sounds like it's pretty fortuitous after all. "-- It seems there aren't any haphazardly lying about. Might I suggest considering saying 'no' to the urge to transform without reason on occasion?"

Hahaha, no, that'd be too easy.

"That's enough," anger adds an authoritative weight to Megatron's voice, now thoroughly annoyed at Tarn's needling. He stands in front of the soldier to address Ratchet and keep the two from closing in any further.

"I've just received a message from Nautica. She's delirious and panicked."
Which means he's going to go. Now.

He looks back at Tarn as he slips from in between them,"We will discuss this again later, unless you're inclined to press salt into whatever Red Alert has suffered from the war as well."

Drift lets out a low snarl through gritted teeth as Tarn closes a hand around the blade of the Great Sword. Drift feels a sharp tug of dismay at how easily Tarn seems to withstand the blow, but he refuses to let his spark quail -- he can't give up now. Drift pushes more of his spark energy into the Great Sword, intent on searing it right through Tarn, as deep as he can. Drift knows it's dangerous to put this much of himself into the sword, knows it could kill him -- but so could Tarn, and Drift's never done anything halfway anyway. Spark-fueled energy crackles and arcs along the entire length of the blade, blazing brightly.

Tarn tries to pull the sword with one arm but Drift throws his entire weight behind it, aiming to drive it as deep into Tarn's side as he can. It's a risky move, but then, Drift doesn't have much to lose here.

Tarn continues to pace, ignoring Sixshot's pull on his arm. Dust begins to fall from the ceiling as the popping and creaking becomes more frequent.

Fury blazes in Tarn's eyes as his mind races. He had fallen for Megatron's bluff like a fool. A golden opportunity had been squandered. He barely even notices as a portion of the ceiling falls in.

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Tarn and the very bad no good terrible week

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