robothell | [ THE "DRIFT GOT HECKED UP BY TARN" CATCH-ALL POST ]

Drift's optics narrow a little further in tired concern at that, but then something flickers across his face and it softens, going slack.

"You thought what?" Drift says, one corner of his mouth tugging down. "That I wouldn't want to talk to you at all? That -- what...I wanted to talk to Megatron more than I wanted to talk to you?"

He makes a small, rough sound, almost a bitter scoff, his optics flickering. Yeah, like that conversation was a treat.

"Uh. Yes?"

Rodimus makes a helpless gesture with the hand that's still holding Drift's - obviously letting go isn't an option that's occurred to him. Seriously though, what was he supposed to think? It sounds stupid when it's actually said; he hadn't prepared himself for that. Nor is he prepared for the sound Drift makes, squeezing Drift's hand tighter for a second or two.

Edited 2015-02-21 08:21 (UTC)

The idea that Drift would have wanted to talk to Megatron more than his own best friend... If Drift weren't still reeling from the blow to his sense of self Tarn had dealt he'd be sorrier to have made Rodimus feel that way -- but there isn't room for that, really, just a look of incredulity about him. He still holds onto Rodimus' hand, though, unwilling to let go.

"Rodimus, I didn't want to talk to Megatron. I had to."

Drift's face darkens, his gaze dimming as a bitter frown tugs at the corner of his mouth. He'd said nothing of Tarn's message before he could talk to Megatron, but that doesn't mean he ever expected it to stay a secret. And now that Megatron's gotten his message, there's no reason not to tell Rodimus. His gaze shifts away from Rodimus' face for the first time, air leaving his vents in a harsh rush.

"Tarn gave me a message to pass on to Megatron."

Of course he did. Rodimus is sick of this, of Tarn's targeting of his crew because -- well, the deaths on the other Lost Light can't be Megatron's fault in any other way than Tarn existing because of him, and that's good enough for Rodimus. They're not his crew, but they were and he failed them too when he died.

Which, okay, weird to think about.

"And you couldn't tell me you had to?" What little accusation was in his tone before has completely fled, replaced by confusion. He just doesn't get it. Please, Drift, help him out. Because he wants-- he wants to do something to help Drift, he just doesn't know how and he hates that too.

Drift just looks up at Rodimus helplessly, unsure of what to say for once. He realizes he doesn't know how to put it into words, the strangely unquestioned thought that it wasn't something to share with anyone else first. There had been an unspoken implication in Tarn's command to that effect, Drift was sure of it, and besides that he hadn't really had a chance to tell Rodimus in his own words. How does he explain this to Rodimus? Drift falters for a moment, his optics stalled and searching before they soften, flaring gently with light.

"I didn't have any way to. And I didn't...want to bring it up right then, when I first saw you after I woke up." He was still reeling, after all, and right then it was just good to see Rodimus' face. Drift's mouth tugs insistently down, though the bitterness has mostly faded. "Besides, it was...kind of personal."

"Oh. Personal," is what he says to that. He gets the idea of things you keep to yourself in theory, he does. But it tends to fall apart in practice where he's concerned and he can't come up with an effective response. Also: personal? Give him a moment - it needs to sink in before he catches up with that particular statement and devotes more of his attention to it. In the meanwhile: "What's wrong with telling him himself?"

And then it dawns on him.

"Wait, personal?"

Drift isn't bothered by how slow Rodimus is to comprehend all of this -- everyone takes their time and Rodimus especially his, and Drift would never begrudge him that. But having to slowly relive the prickling humiliation from the whole event even just through memory is uncomfortable at best, and Drift just nods slightly, his gaze bitter and still directed away from Rodimus'.

"I was the message, Rodimus." Drift's long since let go of his ego, as much as he can, but this is still hard, and he can't scrub the last bitter traces from his voice. "Most of it, anyway. Tarn could have threatened Megatron any way he wanted, but he chose to do it by leaving behind the beaten body of a former Decepticon hand-picked by Megatron himself."

Rodimus' expression slips from confused into something harder almost instantly - grip on Drift's hand tightening. Not out of anger or disgust or anything towards his friend, but rage at Tarn for doing that to him. For using Drift to make a point to Megatron, because he just so happened to be ha--

What.

"Hand-picked by Megatron?" He should have approached the topic with more delicacy, probably. That would be the friend thing to do, but Rodimus approaches all things with something lacking complete subtlety. "Most of it? What else did he want you do to?"

As if doing what he did to Drift wasn't enough. Yeah, he's pretty sure he'd much rather see Tarn dead than just merely beaten into submission at this point.

Edited 2015-02-23 23:50 (UTC)

Drift's kneejerk reaction to Rodimus' surprise at that news is somewhat subdued by the heavy weight of the topic -- it hadn't really occurred to him in the moment he'd uttered it that Rodimus might not know that about him, about the circumstances under which Deadlock was recruited -- but it's not even really the point of this conversation. Drift's chassis heaves with a heavy vent of hair, and he raises one hand to his face, covering his optics.

"He wanted me to describe to Megatron in detail what he did to me. To tell Megatron that he'd go through as many of us as he needed to in order to make Megatron face him himself." Drift's voice is quiet, but an unfamiliar venom seeps into it. "He wanted me to tell Megatron how proud I am to wear his brand."

The venom takes Rodimus by surprise, confused gaze now hard and intent as the entire situation slams into him. He can't imagine having to say that, can't imagine what Drift went through to say that because he's known, he's always known how hard Drift has worked to be an Autobot. It's why he didn't want him to leave, because Drift had done too much to just throw it all away to protect him.

A favor he can't return. But that's not the point, he realizes. Drift is the point.

"Well you're not, are you?" He says, helpfully. "Not the proud, I know you're not." He says, also helpfully. "But it doesn't count. It's not made from your spark casing."

Amazing.

Rodimus' vote of confidence means a lot to Drift -- it always has. He knows Rodimus trusts him implicitly, that Rodimus knows him better than anyone else in some regards, but Rodimus believed in him before that. Before he even really knew who Drift was. And that means more to Drift than any badge.

But it's not the point. Drift's hand slides heavily away from his optics, appreciative of the sentiment but still far from comforted by it.

"It doesn't matter, Rodimus. It's a symbol. It's about what it means -- what it means for someone to put it there. It's always been about that." Drift bites at the inside of his cheek, his hand curling over his chestplate again. "And it's not like my spark casing grew back when I became an Autobot, either."

His free hand reaches out to cover both Drift's hand and the brand - expression serious for once as he looks at his friend.

"It's a symbol, yeah. But it isn't you, Drift. Not anymore." That's the best he can do, even though he knows saying so doesn't make everything you've ever done magically disappear. He's silent for a moment, before-- "Move over."

He shoves - probably not as gently as he should - at Drift, trying to get him to clear a spot next to him that will fit (most) of Rodimus. Because do you know what they're gonna do now, Drift? They're going to cuddle and you don't actually have a say in it.

Sorry.

"Knowing you, you'd say something about how it's," and he puts on his best Drift Impression voice, "Not the spark casing that matters, but the spark." What are best friends for if not lovingly mocking each other's character traits? Even if he doesn't realize it might do more harm than help at this point.

Edited 2015-02-25 05:30 (UTC)

Drift's not really in a position to argue when Rodimus decides to push him over on the slab so he can climb on -- he winces slightly and lets out a grunt as he shifts to accommodate Rodimus. But the serious look on his face gets to Drift, it's not a look he sees often, not like this -- and certainly not about him. Drift's optics flick down to Rodimus' hands, both of them covering Drift's. The sight, the warmth of Rodimus' hands against his, tugs at his spark.

Not nearly as much as the words that follow, though -- Drift's let go of his ego enough not to be ruffled at Rodimus' imitation, especially when it's such a close reminder of himself. An arrested look catches Drift's face for a long moment, caught off guard by it -- his face softens and he lets out a soft vent of air, pulling the hand on his chest away from Rodimus' to cover his face again. This time, though, it's half in embarrassment -- that and something like relief, something that almost tugs his mouth back into a smile. The heaviness that's settled over Drift seems to melt away now, little by little.

"You're right," he murmurs, not quite laughing but sighing something that sounds like it. He swallows it down, looking back at Rodimus. "I would say something like that."

Rolling onto his side, Rodimus finds himself reluctantly letting go of Drift's hand - he's grown used to its weight in his grip but he needs that hand free. So that he can wrap it around Drift's middle and pull the other bot back closer to him as he curls into his side. This, Rodimus realizes, is so much better than sitting in a chair, even if his other arm is kind of trapped under his weight. He'll deal with it later, for now he's just focused the feeling of Drift pressed against him, warmth spreading through him at the small change in Drift's demeanor.

He'll take it.

"Yeah, you would," but his tone is fond, and there's a light in his eyes that hasn't been there since this conversation began - the beginning of a smile creeping over his face. "Magnus would say that it means I've been spending too much time with you." Magnus would always say that, though, no matter what. He understands why now, more than he used to, but it's not going to stop him from spending even more time with the other bot.

Drift feels fine, but Ratchet would probably object to him being moved around like this -- but Ratchet's not here now. It's just him and Rodimus (and Nautica, but Drift's pretty sure he heard her counting points of articulation in her wrist earlier, so) and that's something he didn't even realize he was craving. It was hard, not being to communicate with Rodimus before he got his voice back, but just having Rodimus close like this -- it brings some light back into his spark, too.

But the mention of Magnus tugs at his spark, brings to mind another weight Drift's been bearing in his mind. He curls in close to Rodimus, sighing out air softly from his vents even as his optics reflect the fond light of Rodimus'. He curls a hand over Rodimus' side, tucking his helm in against the other mech's.

"Rodimus -- there's something else I need to ask you about."

If it's bringing some light back to Drift, it's doing wonders for Rodimus - previous concerns momentarily banished to some unimportant part of his mind as he just focuses on this. Sure, he can't forget everything that's happened, but he can absolutely not think about it for a little while at least.

Or so he thinks.

"Yeah?" He doesn't move, eyes dimming in contentment for the moment. How bad can it be, really? "What's up?"

Drift's optics dim again, half-shuttered, but his hand smooths absently over Rodimus' side, as if soothing. He's not even upset this time -- okay, he's a little upset -- but really he just wants to know. He's not offended, and he doesn't think Rodimus has been keeping things from him with any malicious intent, but Drift would really rather not hear all these earth-shattering events from other people.

"Why didn't you tell me about Crystal City?"

If he hums a little at Drift's touch he dismisses it as unimportant, because it is. He shifts to free his other arm - hand reaching out for Drift's to hold it again. At the question however, he stiffens despite the comforting hand on his plating. Crystal City. How could he forget about Crystal City? So when he looks at Drift there's sadness in his eyes, lips turned down and regret clear.

"I didn't mean to," he says emphatically, hoping that Drift will believe him. "I just-- I forgot. I wasn't there when Cyclonus and Whirl found what was left of the Circle. They were really the only ones who saw Dai Atlas die, the rest of us were busy." Rodimus pauses, tightening his grip on Drift. "I'm sorry."

And he is - for Drift's loss and for not telling him earlier. It's something he's saying more and more to Drift, but he feels as if Drift is the one who needs his apologies the most right now.

Drift sees the look on Rodimus' face and knows it's genuine, and he's prepared to let it all go. He doesn't want to be upset with Rodimus, and there's a kind of relief in knowing that he doesn't have to be. But that thought vanishes from his mind almost entirely when Rodimus drops the news -- his optics widen and he looks shocked and almost devastated, the like the bottom's just dropped out of his tanks.

"I -- Dai Atlas is dead?"

"And most of the Circle." Like, ninety percent ended up dead by the time they got to them. So uh. There's that. Confusion flickers across his face, frown deepening at Drift's reaction. "Er. That's not what you meant?"

Rodimus didn't meant to just spring that on Drift, but he mentioned Crystal City and he knew Drift missed the whole Luna 1 thing on account of the exile thing. And the whole not being caught up to everyone else thing too, but he's still not catching on to what Drift's referring to.

Help him out.

Drift already looked devastated at the news, but hearing that Dai Atlas isn't the only one dead by far hits him like another blow to his stomach, and it shows on his face as he curls in against himself, half-doubled over. If Drift were standing up when Rodimus gave him that news, he wouldn't be by now.

"Magnus told me we found Crystal City empty and ransacked," Drift says, his voice distant to his own audials. His gaze is just as distant, staring past Rodimus or else not quite reaching him, optics pale. "I didn't -- what happened to them, Rodimus? Who's responsible for this?"

His gaze goes back to Rodimus' face, coming back into focus even as an unspoken thought eats away at him from the inside -- did I have a hand in this, too?

"Oh, yeah. We did." Good job, Rodimus, that might have been important. But he has an answer for Drift, and it seems so far away - Luna 1 - even though it's only been six months. But other events have, maybe not eclipsed but certainly overshadowed, what went on on the lost moon of Cybertron. "Tyrest."

He attempts to pull himself closer, to tighten his grip around Drift and to draw him in. "I said he went crazy-- Drift, he tried to kill every single constructed cold bot in the universe. The Circle gave him all the test subjects he could want." And then he scrapped them and turned them into the Legislators and sometimes even Rodimus has a hard time accepting just how off the rails Tyrest went.

Drift looks dizzy for a moment, the room spinning until he comes back to himself, still looking a little stricken. At least it wasn't his fault, but it's a small consolation -- they're still dead. He takes in the explanation with a quietly nauseated expression, glad that Rodimus is still tucked in close. It gives him a comfort he can't really put a name to, and Drift lets Rodimus tug him in closer, a sigh shuddering through his vents.

"Why," he mutters, not so much to Rodimus but just at the room around them.

His thumb rubs circles into Drift's plating idly, even as his expression is full of regret. He doesn't really want to talk about this, hates talking about anything and everything that happened on Luna 1. But Drift here makes it easier, sets his mind at ease and his spark whirring calmly in his chest. "Crazy, remember. Because killing everyone was the best way to get himself into Cyberutopia. He thought he could get rid of his guilt by doing it."

But Rodimus knows it doesn't work like that, and he thinks-- he thinks Drift knows that, too. Guilt doesn't work like that. Never has, never will.

"No, I mean -- " Drift vents out a frustrated rush of air, still looking vaguely sick. "Why this? Why all of this? We're supposed to be on a quest for enlightenment. I never expected it to be easy, but I just thought -- "

Drift breaks off, shuttering his optics. He knows how guilt works just as well as Rodimus does, most certainly better than Tyrest -- well enough to feel its pangs now, mixed in with frustration. Drift's never considered himself naive, but he'd never imagined their quest would go so far off the rails. He just slumps against Rodimus, pressing his forehelm tiredly to the other mech's shoulder.

[ THE "DRIFT GOT HECKED UP BY TARN" CATCH-ALL POST ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)