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

Rodimus looks almost as exhausted as Drift feels, and Drift's almost inclined to let him go, just so he can get some sleep. But Drift has a feeling that's not necessarily what'll happen, and more than that he has a feeling that they need to talk now. He's been trying to learn to trust a different set of instincts for a long time now, and it's hard, but for some reason it's easier when it's Rodimus. And Drift doesn't want Rodimus to just walk out that door if there's something he needs to say.

Drift tries to reach for him, hold out a hand, but honestly he's drained from his conversation with Megatron, way more than he'd expect to be for just talking. But he's exhausted, and it pulls at his lines, weighs him down, and his arm only gets so far, hand shaking slightly, before Drift has to rest it on the berth again. Well, this is why he's got his voice back.

"Hey."

Edited 2015-02-11 02:36 (UTC)

His spark sinks with Drift's hand; he did this, he can't stop this, he can't protect anyone, but he can walk over to Drift's side. Which he does, standing awkwardly rather than sinking into his chair. (It is his chair, he's the one sitting in it most days so it's rightfully his.) Bitterness clouds his features for a moment - what if Drift doesn't want him here, what if he'd rather be talking to Megatron, what if he's still losing Drift in a way he didn't think he could?

His hand hovers of Drift's for a long moment, fingers outstretched before they curl into a fist. Not out of any anger towards his friend, but at his own failings and inadequacies. Drift encapsulates them all. He has, ever since that moment where he told Rodimus they needed to talk back on the Lost Light. There are plenty of people he should have done better by but Drift - he always comes back to Drift.

Fishing around for something to say, Rodimus settles on the safest topic he can. "Tarn's been taken care of," he says, rolling one shoulder. Not dead - he wishes - but Rodimus doesn't think he's going to be so eager to pick a fight with anyone after what Megatron did to him. That Rodimus couldn't, and his face twists miserably at yet another reminder.

Edited 2015-02-11 05:37 (UTC)

"Good." Drift's voice is low, even a little dark -- a tone he generally takes care not to use, because what made Deadlock vicious doesn't have any place in what Drift's trying to be now. The brand etched into his chestplate is a good enough reminder of that, but it's also an unavoidable reminder of who he used to be, too. What made him Deadlock in the first place.

But Tarn being taken care of is about what he expected. He knew Megatron would follow through, one way or another. So it's not really on the forefront of his mind right now. But Rodimus is, and Drift notes the way Rodimus reaches for him but pulls back, the bitter look on his face. Drift's optics dim, his mouth slack and tired.

"I thought you'd be happier about it."

Edited 2015-02-11 16:52 (UTC)

"I am happy about it," he protests. And he is - Tarn got what was his and was humiliated by the experience. Rodimus couldn't ask for more. Except he feels helpless and not in the way he did after Overlord where he wanted to be the one to defeat the phase sixer. No, this has more to do with his inability to protect them, the way that he continually comes second to Megatron in everything. Why should Megatron get a second chance to prove that he's on the level while Rodimus gets everything stripped away? He can't-- he can't make a difference, prove that he's learned, redeem himself, if he's never given the chance.

He can't even keep his crew safe here.

"Rewind should have been here to capture footage of it for you." Because showing Drift his tormenter getting beat up is absolutely the best option out of everything he could have done to make Drift feel better.

Drift doesn't respond to that the way Rodimus probably hopes -- there's no glimmer of a smile, just a dimming of his optics and a slightly more tired to his slump against the berth. He doesn't actually want to see Megatron beating the spark out of Tarn -- this isn't about this, it's never been about this. He just wants Tarn over and done with, a footnote in Megatron's unpleasant past come to rear its head again over and over again, because every footnote in Megatron's past is an echo of Drift's own, one that he's tried so hard to put behind him, to show the world that he's changed. It's hard to feel his conviction bearing a fresh Decepticon brand on his chest.

"You seem upset," says Drift, winning the "most observant friend of the year" award.

Spark sinking even further at the lack of positive reaction, Rodimus can't focus on Drift's face - optics trained on some vague point over his shoulder. He winces when Drift mentions his state of mind, childishness winning out over better responses as he mutters "Yeah. Can't imagine why," before sinking into the seat he'd claimed as his next to the head of the berth.

Because he can't leave. Not this time.

But he's reluctant to extrapolate, fingers tapping against the berth next to Drift's arm. Rodimus wouldn't even know where to begin. Nor does he know what's making him the most upset at this point in time - Drift's not even saying a word to him before asking for Megatron, the fact that it's just one more thing proving that Megatron is more highly valued, that he can do what Rodimus can't (he would have figured out a way to get back at Tarn, he would have!). His helm makes a small thump as he lets it fall back, connecting with the back of the chair. "It's bad enough he's on my ship. Why does he have to be here, too?"

Edited 2015-02-18 03:58 (UTC)

"We're all here for a reason," Drift says hoarsely, but it sounds a little hollow this time, bitter.

And he is, because he's trying so hard to put his faith in this, whatever it is that's happening, but he can't think of a reason for Tarn to be here, either, except to make them suffer. Drift doesn't know how to reconcile that. Blind faith has never been easy for him, and that's what makes it all so significant -- but this... He runs his fingers over the brand etched into his chest and his face darkens, his frame heavy with some invisible weight. It makes everything he's done to leave that part of himself behind feel futile. We're all here for a reason -- the words repeat themselves in his head, he repeats them, just as much to assure himself as it is for Rodimus. He need there to be a reason.

That particular movement is hard for Rodimus to miss, and his hand reaches out to grab Drift's wrist - probably not as gentle as he should have, all things considered - but he pulls Drift's hand away because that's not... it's not who Drift is. (His own palm smooth, with no trace of the voting tally but he knows the feeling of running fingers over scarred metal and the weight of something you'd rather forget etched into you but it's different with Drift because he didn't choose this.) Drift isn't that bot anymore. And he hates Tarn a little more. For making him feel helpless and worthless, for robbing Drift of the warmth he normally associates with his friend. He's not going to let that psychopath win. And sure, he's not certain what that entails, exactly, but that's never stopped him before and that's not going to stop him this time.

"You'll figure it out," is what he says in his attempt to at least banish the emptiness in his friend's voice. This isn't right, he thinks, because Drift's faith in whatever it is has always meant something to the other bot. He's always assumed it's just Drift being Drift but if his faith is what made him leave the Lost Light then it can figure out why they're all there.

Edited 2015-02-20 02:15 (UTC)

But Rodimus' words don't lessen the weight on Drift's spark, they add to it -- because Drift hasn't been able to figure out much, has he? All he's had is retrospectives and news of a dim future, one he worked to create. Rodimus is putting an awful lot of faith in him, but right now, Drift doesn't know where to put his faith.

But he lets Rodimus take his hand; he doesn't so much as wince when Rodimus grabs it, just curls his fingers around the other bot's and looks up at him. His optics are dim, but his gaze is oddly penetrating, as though he can see right through Rodimus.

"Were you avoiding me?" Drift's voice is quiet, but there's no accusation in it, just a question. "You knew I had my voice back, but you were ready to leave without talking to me just now."

Sorry buddy he definitely noticed that one.

Busted.

Rodimus has the decency to look ashamed of himself even if Drift isn't accusing him of anything - he kind of wishes Drift was. It would make things easier. "You didn't really want to talk to me before," which comes out far more childish than Rodimus thought it would. His head bows down, optics dimming as his mouth curves downwards, and he can't meet Drift's gaze.

What he does do is continue to hold Drift's hand, thumb brushing over the plating on the back of his hand idly. A reassurance that Drift is still here, alive. That's something. It has to be something.

Drift blinks, his gaze furrowing in muted bewilderment for a moment -- then his expression settles, subdued and still somehow heavy. His hand tightens over Rodimus', just slightly.

"Is that what you think? That I didn't want to talk to you? Why?"

Drift doesn't ask why didn't you just say so because, as we have established, Rodimus is terrible about coming forth and saying things. A lot of things. Hhhmmmmmm.

Because Megatron can do what he can't, and he hates it. Because he can't protect his crew, can't protect Drift, from Tarn but Megatron can. It's his responsibility, and there's some satisfaction to be had in the fact that Megatron acknowledged that much. But it still leaves him robbed of a chance to prove that he's learned his lesson, that he's capable of being better and doing better and-- he curls in on himself further, optics flicking up to meet Drift's.

"You didn't even tell me to leave," Rodimus protests. At least he should have been able to do that, but it was Ratchet who kicked him out before he'd even had a chance to say anything. "So I just thought--"

He's a giant baby, is what.

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."

of course we can. how can u say no to this face

uh easily. obviously. also have a few more quirk edits.

ur right, editing IS your quirk

you say that like you don't love it

(8

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