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 chuckles, slowly approaching the stunned Autobot. It is clear that he honestly doesn't remember the incident. It occurs to Tarn that if there can be a past Megatron that perhaps this Drift is also from some point in the past. This simply means he gets to experience the sensation of destroying drift anew. Wonderful.

"Don't you recognize your own voice? Well, let me fill you in on the gritty details. You see, we tracked Overlords energy signature to your ship. Surely you wouldnt expect us to just go on our merry way after disposing of him. So, we stuck around for a little while. I must say I expected a bit more of a fight than we got. There was plenty of running and screaming but not nearly enough challenge for my taste." His voice bites at the last sentence. "Not a single mech was still online when we left. But don't worry, you will be happy to know that we kept you for last. You were particularly distraught over the disposal of your medic friend. His energon did make quite the mess."

Tarn pauses, taking another measured step forward.

"What ever is the matter, Drift? Have I upset you?"

Drift's mind is racing to keep up with what Tarn's saying, his optics still shocked and distant. It still doesn't fit -- Overlord? Even if Rodimus had tendencies toward omission, Drift knows Ratchet wouldn't have withheld anything about the D.J.D. being involved. That wasn't how it was supposed to have gone down at all. But Rodimus had said there was another Lost Light, and things had gone differently for them -- was this, then, their ultimate fate? Painful deaths for them all, taking special care to make it as excruciating as possible? Drift thinks Ratchet's pained cries in the background, visualizes all too well what the D.J.D. must have done to him, and he feels sick. It feels as though his spark is shrinking in his chest, withdrawing into itself, leaving him feeling empty and cold.

It's slowed him down, frozen his reflexes. Drift knows Tarn is slowly approaching and he finds himself momentarily unable to move, his focus scattered by the sick, churning feeling in his tanks. But then it passes, at least partly, and Drift's hands close around the hilts of his swords again, half-drawn.

"Whatever horrors you brought down on them," he says quietly, levelly, "it didn't happen to me. But that doesn't mean I'm going to forget about it, either."

He knows he should turn and run, should take any opportunity he has to get the hell out of this confrontation. But he can't, not when Ratchet's cries and everyone else's are still ringing in his mind, and Drift just tightens his grip on his swords.

Tarn glances down as Drift clutches down at the hilts of his sword and makes an indistinct hum of thought.

"Yes perhaps that's true." He takes yet another step closer, bringing him almost a yard away. "But I never said I ever wished for you to forget about it either."

Tarn's voice drops lowly, threatening to begin tearing into Drift's spark. This was going to be a fun evening.

Drift bites back a groan as Tarn's voice starts to insinuate itself into his spark, feeling it wrench, even just slightly. Alarms sound in the back of his head, everything else starting to fade into static. If there had been any hope of escape before, it's gone now. If Drift tries to run, Tarn's voice alone could out his spark before he can get out of earshot.

There's no way Drift can win this fight. He knows that. Tarn is as powerful as a Phase Sixer, at least -- and Drift is strong, Drift is more than a capable fighter, but Tarn's advantages are stacked against him. Even so, Drift remembers the weld lines on Rodimus' shoulder, the scorched plating, thinks of the desperate cries of everyone on the other Lost Light as they'd fallen victim to the whims of the D.J.D....

Drift's optics are cold and pale as he stares back at Tarn, unwilling to yield. He's never been afraid of the D.J.D., of Tarn. He isn't afraid of Tarn now. But Drift can give him a run for his money, at least, make it count. He's not getting out of this any other way anyhow.

Drift doesn't even bother with a clever remark, not so much as a one-liner. That'd just give Tarn more time than he needs -- so instead Drift just springs forward, swords drawn -- but instead of launching himself at Tarn, he aims to vault clean overhead instead.

When one is in a profession such as Tarns, they learn how to read the subtleties of body language. Tarn sees Drift preparing to launch forward, but it’s the upward tilt that catches him somewhat off guard. Regardless he manages to lunge forward a few steps in time to catch Drift in the stomach with his elbow, forcefully driving him back into the dirt. Vaulting over him was not something that Tarn would have expected. Maybe running forward before dodging to the side, or even foolishly trying for a frontal assault.

“Good try, Drift. Really.” He walks over to where the Autobot lays collapsed in the dust, stepping on the tip of one of his swords. “I never would have seen that coming.”

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 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."

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.

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.

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.

Energy flows into Tarn as Drift pushes forward. Searing pain engulfs his frame, short circuiting sensors and slicing through thick armor into his protoform. Unbidden, a pained roar escapes him and he clenches his fingers harder on the sword's blade.

Primus, it hurt; Tarn's vision flickers slightly as he manages to pull the sword from his side. A splatter of energon hit the ground as he holds the sword up, inspecting it, before tossing it over with the other.

Eye's blazing in fury, he locks eyes with Drift.

"Clever, Drift, very clever..." he groans, "much better than last time, I must admit. You must be learning."

Drift puts his entire body weight into the keeping the sword buried in Tarn's side, but Tarn's too strong -- Drift's optics widen as Tarn pulls the sword from his chassis even as the blade cuts into his fingers and tears it out of Drift's grip to toss it behind him. Drift staggers back several steps and feels his spark clench in his chest, now facing Tarn without a weapon in hand. The Great Sword had been his best bet -- Drift knows he doesn't stand a chance in bare-fisted combat, not against someone as massive and powerful as Tarn.

"It must have been a long time since you've felt pain," Drift says levelly, holding Tarn's gaze as he steadies himself, refusing to give in. He might be weaponless, but he's still in good shape, not too injured -- he hasn't lost this fight yet. "You've made pain your business, but you forgot what it felt like, didn't you?"

And that's when he runs right at Tarn, charging as if for a full frontal assault -- an undeniably stupid move, as he's sure Tarn will think. But just before he gets within arm's reach of Tarn he rapidly transforms, shifting down into his sleek alt mode with a scream of tires hitting the dirt as he shoots right for the gap between Tarn's legs.

The blow has weakened Tarn physically, but rage keeps him alert and consumes the pain like fire. Holding a large hand to the deep wound on his side, he snarls and dodges the speedster. He must applaud him for his bravery in the face of death, if nothing else.

"You know nothing!" Tarn growls lowly, reaching for his vocal talents once again; capturing his spark in a vicious grip and pulling. He just needs to down Drift long enough to regain the upper hand. "Where do you think you're off to? Do you think I am so weak that a silly sword to the side will be enough to fell me? I know more than anyone the limits of Cybertronian anatomy, and that barely even scratches the surface of the threshold of pain we are able to bear."

Drift speeds past Tarn, intending to transform back and grab his Great Sword off the ground -- but he's barely even finished transforming when Tarn's voice insinuates itself into his spark and brings him to the ground with a choked cry. Drift can barely move, his spark suffocating under the influence of Tarn's voice -- his optics flicker and flare dangerously, his entire body stiffening and arching off the ground.

He can't manage a response -- he can't even speak, the only sounds making it out of his vocalizer strangled and full of static. It's blinding pain in a way Drift has never known it, and for several impossibly long moments he can barely even move. But Drift is determined to fight til the last glimmer of his spark, and even as Tarn's voice constricts dangerously around it, Drift reaches out a straining, shaking hand to close it around the hilt of his Great Sword lying nearby.

Edited 2015-01-31 04:23 (UTC)

Tarn stalks over to Drift as he lays convulsing in the dirt. Even as pain overwhelms him, the Autobot reaches for his sword. With a snarl Tarn kicks it out of his reach, reaching down to grab Drift by the throat with his mangled hand.

"Does it hurt, Drift? I assure you that there is more to come. Perhaps you will learn to have a better appreciation of pain by the time we are through." He squeezes, his own energon running down Drift's throat cables.

Drift feels his spark constrict in his chest, suffocating, as Tarn kicks away the sword, his only shot at dealing any more real damage to Tarn. All he manages is a fiercely strangled cry by the time Tarn lifts him with a massive hand clamped around his throat. Drift feels warm energon -- Tarn's -- dripping down his throat, and the entire world spins around him in a dizzying rush, leaving his tanks churning. He's only dimly aware of the fact that his legs are dangling several feet off the ground -- he feels for a sickening few seconds like he's upside down, being jerked side to side, and his optics flicker again, his gaze going distant and unfocused.

It does hurt -- more than Drift has words for, even if he could form them. He's no stranger to pain, but the invisible vice around his spark is new and fresh and it sears mercilessly through him. But even now, groaning as every circuit lights up with agonizing pain, Drift refuses to knuckle under. Somehow he musters the strength to raise his shaking hands to Tarn's wrist, his fingers scrabbling uselessly over the energon-streaked plating -- and then Tarn squeezes and Drift feels his vocalizer give out under the pressure, crushed in his throat, and whatever sounds he'd managed to make at all dissolve into senseless static.

Tarn smirks as he feels Drift's vocalizer crush under his palm, his pathetic noises quieting to static. At least he can no longer spew his spiritual nonsense.

"Such a shame that you turned your back on the cause. You made such a brilliant Decepticon. Your love for killing was unmatched." Tarn sighs, patting drift amiably on the cheek. "Really, Drift, I am disappointed in you."

And with that Tarn draws his arm back before punching Drift across the face with all his strength.

Drift's throat burns with the urge to retort, protest, defend himself somehow -- because he's not Deadlock, not anymore, hasn't been Deadlock for a long time and he's not a murderer anymore -- but he can't make the words come no matter how hard he tries. He no longer has a voice.

And then Tarn's massive fist connects with his face and Drift's optics fly wide open, even as one of them shatters with the impact. The plating on his face dents in heavily, and Drift feels it pinch and sever nervecircuits and minute cabling in his helm, sending shocks of pain radiating through his body, but all he can manage when he opens his mouth is a rush of static.

Tarn catches Drift by the arm before he can fall to the ground, hauling his weight up and catching him in the stomach with his knee, leaving a sizeable dent and warping some of his transformation seams.

Lifting him even higher Tarn looks into Drift's panicked eyes, blue bleaching to white as they widen further than he thought possible. So much for the brave warrior persona. He flicks a bit of cracked glass from his cheek before backhanding him across the mouth.

The look of shocked agony hardly leaves Drift's face, lighting up anew with every blow Tarn lands. He can't move like this, can't see enough to predict Tarn's next move or even guess -- until Tarn holds him aloft, energon starting to leak from the dented cracks in his midsection. He's dizzy, the entire world spinning around him with Tarn as its sickening epicenter. Drift sees Tarn draw back his hand but he can't get away, even as his hands clutch at Tarn's wrist -- the Decepticon's hand connects with his face and Drift lets out another roar of static, tasting energon hot in his mouth. But he refuses to let go, gritting his teeth against the pained cry he can't vocalize. Drift grips Tarn's wrist with both hands as tight as he can, using what little leverage he can gain to swing his hips forward to kick Tarn right in the face.

Tarn stumbles back with a grunt as Drift's foot connects with his face, loosening his grip on the Autobot's throat and temporarily dropping him. Once he regains his composure he glare's down at drift, death radiating from his eyes.

Reaching down he grips Drift by the ankle, beginning to drag him away.

"I think that its best if we took this outside." The last thing he needs is for one of his ridiculous Autobot friends to stumble across them. "But first..." He plants a large foot on Drift's chest, pulling on the leg with a harsh tug, successfully dislocating it at the hip. "Perhaps this will pacify you a bit."

Maybe Drift is lucky that Tarn crushed his vocalizer so early in the fight -- he can't let out a pained cry when Tarn dislocates his leg, only a crackle of static. It pretty effectively immobilizes him, because even with the use of his arms, with no swords and Tarn dragging him across the ground, out to the far reaches of the city. Drift's spark quails in his chest despite himself; the farther they get from the center of the city, the less likely it is that anyone will see what's happening.

Then again, that might be a good thing. Drift hadn't expected to come out of this alive, anyway. Maybe if Tarn pulls him away from the city, he can get a few last desperate blows in, incapacitate Tarn -- so he doesn't resist as Tarn drags him for what seems like hours, even as every circuit lights up with pain. But as soon as Tarn seems to slow down, Drift grits his teeth and braces both palms on the ground, trying to use them as leverage to twist his body and pull his good leg out of Tarn's grip, although with his other leg hanging uselessly from his hip, there's a lot of dead weight.

Edited 2015-02-02 23:19 (UTC)

Tarn lets Drift pull his leg away as he stops just outside the city. Its not like he can go anywhere. And with his swords left far behind he is basically useless against Tarn.

"Now, Drift, I'm afraid I have some good news and some bad news." He kneels down, clapping a hand on his shoulder as Drift braces himself on his hands. "The good news is that I'm not going to kill you. Isn't that nice. That bad news is that by the time I am done you..." He buries his fist in the dented plating of his stomach again, " Well, you will wish that I had."

Kneeling on Drift's good leg, he leans in so that their faces are just a hair away. "You see, I have use of you. You are going to help me with a little task."

Drift has never thought he'd be so unfortunate as to ever have the opportunity to gaze into Tarn's optics at this range. He can almost make out the scarred face behind the mask, but Tarn's optics burn bright red into his, and Drift has to fight to keep the sick fear from showing on his face. He wants to throw the words back in Tarn's face, tell him he's not afraid, tell him he'd rather die than help Tarn -- but all he can do is stare back at Tarn, his one good optic burning with fierce light. Pain flares in his stomach, shooting through every circuit to the tips of his fingers, and Drift knows with a grim, basic certainty that he's already suffered some massive trauma to his internal organs.

Truthfully, Drift had felt better when he'd been certain this fight would end in his death, however gruesome. Tarn's skill at torture, his flair for creativity -- they're legendary, and as unafraid as Drift is of pain, he's finding it harder and harder to steel himself agaist the thought. But he refuses to look away from Tarn, no matter how much his spark tightens in his chest. He doesn't have any idea of the world of pain he's about to be in, but he knows one thing -- if whatever Tarn wants him to do will put anyone but himself at risk, he'd rather impale himself on his sword than go through with it.

Tarn can feel the panicked ex-vents against his helm even as his remainly bright blue optic pierces into Tarn's red. The sound of grinding components cutting through the silence, highlighted by quiet static.

"I need you..." Tarn grabs Drift by the collar assembly, smashing his head back into the ground. "to pass a little message on to Megatron."

Planting a hand on the ground beside prey he continues to pound him repeatedly into the ground, creating a crater littered with shards of broken aromor plating and smeared with energon. He is sure that upon seeing the condition of one of his precious Autobots, Megatron will read his message loud and clear. He cannot be there to protect all of them at once. But that will not be the end of it. He will drive it even further. Grabbing one of Drift's arms he holds it up, snapping one wrist in one firm flick of the wrist before moving quickly onto the other, his intent to thoroughly incapacitate him for what is to come.

He leans in to whisper into Drifts Audiol. "Are you listening to me? Nod yes."

Tarn and the very bad no good terrible week

Of course. then tennis in the early afternoon.

i'll bring the parfaits, you bring the quiche

Mmm yes. i will also provide the linen table setting

and i'll finally have an excuse to break out my wedding silver!

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