robothell | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Megatron, Rodimus & Tarn
Where: Probably a wide open space suitable for two large robots to throw each other around
When: A few days after Tarn wrecks Drift
What: Megatron goes to Deal With his Tarn Problem
Warnings: Scrums; raised voices; impoliteness

Megatron leaves the clinic with his knuckles itching to punch someone. His exchange with Drift hasn't lessened that urge any. He doesn't plan to kill Tarn, but he's certainly going to do his level best to make him regret his life choices.

As soon as he's out of the building he's pulling up Tarn's comm frequency. "Alright, you've got my attention," he says, in a tone of voice that doesn't do much to disguise how angry he is. "Meet me at these coordinates and I'm sure we can talk this out like civilised people."

He doesn't wait for any kind of response or acknowledgement before he cuts communication and calls Rodimus. "I'm going after Tarn. You can come with me, but don't do anything stupid."

He doesn't stop to wait for him, of course. He's sure Rodimus can catch up.

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Rodimus doesn't need telling twice - optics already trained on Megatron from the moment he steps outside. I'm going after Tarn has him on his feet in a second and jogging to catch up with the stupid former warlord's unreasonably long gait. He thinks - briefly - about telling Drift where he's gone, but he'll figure it out eventually.

"I hope by 'talk' you mean 'with your fists' or we're going to have to do some quick rethinking about this whole thing."

Also that the definition of 'stupid' is flexible and also what he does best. He makes it work for him because it's always what people don't expect, even after they know him.

"I highly doubt that Tarn will be willing to listen to anything else," says Megatron flatly.

It's only a couple of moments later that he actually looks down at Rodimus, his expression stern and serious.

"When this does get violent, and it will, you need to stay out of it. If you don't want me concerned for your well-being, then fine – I'm not, if you get yourself injured it's your own idiot fault – but unfortunately this," he points to his badge, "means I'm obliged to try to keep you alive as far as possible and I do not want Tarn using you to try to stop me from hurting him. Got that?"

"Unfortunately," he says, and if he could raise his eyebrows (which he does not have) skeptically, he would. "Sounds like you've got a working grasp of the Autobot Code. Up next: self-sacrifice lessons from Optimus Prime himself."

His least favorite part about being an Autobot, honestly, and Megatron can probably tell from his tone. People shouldn't die, and shouldn't willingly throw themselves into situations where they know it's going to happen to them.

He's got it, thought.

Edited 2015-02-08 23:25 (UTC)

Megatron scoffs, but he appreciates that Rodimus doesn't argue with him; he'd been braced for another argument, and he is really not in the mood.

He leads the way in silence, but when they arrive at their destination – an expanse of rubble that might once have been a recreational park – he holds a hand out for Rodimus to keep back, and shoots him a you'd better remember what I said look. It's not that he wants to make sure Tarn doesn't see Rodimus; he just wants him out of his reach.

Then he steps out of the shadows of the abandoned buildings, shoulders squared, his face set in a frown. "Tarn!" he bellows, as if he really is still summoning an underling.

Tarn had arrived at Megatron's meeting point not two minutes before he showed up. He gets up from his seat on a pile of rubble, turning to face Megatron head on. Its almost as if he is looking into the face of the Megatron that he once knew. So full of raw power and confidence, with a voice that demanded attention. He could have been fooled if not for that blasted Autobrand on his chest. Tarn, himself, Holds his head high, eyes alert and blazing behind his mask. His voice is clear and smooth as he addresses his old commander.

"Megatron. I see Deadlock gave you my message. It's good to know that he is good for something."

"Drift," Megatron corrects him flatly. "Drift gave me your message."

He steps forward, closing some of the distance between them. He does not look afraid.

"What do you want, Tarn."

"Mm, Drift, then. With his new brand I thought perhaps he might return to his roots, so to speak."

Tarn laughs, shaking his head slightly. He steps up to meet Megatron as he stalks forward, unafraid of what is to come. If his brief conversation with Sixshot told him anything, its that with this 'fools energon' running through his system, he may actually stand a chance. He may yet be able to show Megatron the error of his ways.

"We will settle this, Megatron. Right now."

Megatron's optics narrow. "We will." He looks in the optics, and says, his voice sharp with preemptive disappointment: "What I want, Tarn, is for you to leave the Autobots alone. You don't touch them and I'll make sure they don't touch you. How's that."

Tarn huffs a theatrical sigh of disappointment, dimming his optics very so slightly.

"Ah, yes. Unfortunately, I cannot do that. I am a Decepticon. I am doing what I was meant to do. The Autobots, they have softened you; made you into a sad, weak, fool. You no longer speak for the Decepticon cause and I will not take orders from you." Tarn is a mere stone throw away at this point. Close enough that he can make out some of he small dings and scratches on Megatron's frame.

"You have grown far too weary." His voice caresses dangerously against Megatrons spark. It feels so viscerally wrong. This should not be happening. Megatron should be on his side. But he must push the feeling aside. For the sake of his fellow Decepticons. Those who Megatron betrayed. Now is not the time to be having second thoughts. It's too late for that.

"Yes," says Megatron, and he sounds as tired as Tarn says he is. Tired, and annoyed, and unsurprised. "That's what I thought you'd say."

He's never felt Tarn's voice like this before, but as soon as he does, he knows he can't drag out the pretence of civility any longer.

One hand forms a fist as he draws it back, and then he punches Tarn mercilessly in the midsection.

No one can say he didn't try.

Edited 2015-02-09 02:51 (UTC)

Tarn stumbles back with a choked groan as Megatron's fist connects with his stomach. The groan slowly turns into a dark laugh as he looks back into his face.

"That's more like it." Tarn grits out, driving his shoulder into Megatrons chest with all of his strength. "Nice to see you still have your courage at least."

Megatron grits his teeth, feet digging into the rubble beneath them as he staggers backwards with Tarn's weight. He can feel the dent that blow has left, but he'll worry about that later – the fact that this once again can be something he'll worry about later, rather than immediately and utterly incapacitating, is so refreshing as to be almost intoxicating, and he can't help a bitter little laugh of his own as he seizes the treads of that shoulder in both hands and brings up one leg to knee Tarn in the chest with one of his ridiculous, over the top knee protrusions.

"Courage?" he snarls, backhanding Tarn away from him. "Do you think this decision was motivated by cowardice?"

Tarn doubles over when Megatron's knee rams up into his chest, stumbling back before catching himself on one knee. This shouldn't so so easy for him. The fools energon should have weakened him more than this. His optics flare in anger as he gathers to his feet.

"You abandoned us. We lost the war and you were no longer proud of what you created. Switching sides to run with the winning team? That is cowardice."

Tarn takes a swing at Megatron's jaw, trying desperately to vent some of the rage that threatens to tear him apart from the inside.

Megatron catches Tarn's huge fist against his own palm, optics flashing. The jolt of it sears up his arm, and with real energy running through him instead of poison he can easily bear it.

"It wasn't losing the war that made me realise I shouldn't have been proud of what I'd allowed the Decepticons to become, Tarn – but it was cowardice that stopped me from seeing it sooner."

He draws his own fist back again, and punches Tarn square in the face, right in the middle of his ridiculous mask.

Tarn takes a step away, hand coming up his mask in a useless attempt to staunch the rivulet of energon running from his nose. Planting his feet a bit further apart be prepares for Megatron's next assault

"You made this!" Tarn roars, "You didn't just allow it to happen, you commanded it to be so! Phase Sixers, the DJD, the entire WAR. It was YOU."

"Yes," says Megatron, his own voice bitter and even. "And it was a mistake." He produces his pistol. (That's more powerful than the last time he faced Tarn, too – thanks, Valeria.) "You were a mistake."

He fires. But he doesn't shoot to kill.

the shot buries itself in Tarn's shoulder, ripping through some of the sensor relays and destroying servos. A large hand immediately clamps down on the wound and he lets out a strangled howl of pain.

"So you have mentioned." Tarn hisses, "But what's done is done," Leveling his double fusion cannon he takes aim, swaying just slightly on his feet.

For a moment, he thinks of letting Tarn take that shot. It would, he thinks, be easier.

You abandoned us hums through his mind, though, the weight of responsibility as heavy as ever on his shoulders. He has too much to do to end it like this.

As the cannon hums to life he launches himself at Tarn, aiming to tackle him to the ground before he can fire.

Tarn tries to step out of the way but isn't quick enough. Megatron slams into his injured shoulder, knocking Tarn flat on his back. The shot from the double fusion cannon misses its target completely, incidentally wrecking a building nearby where Rodimus is staying hidden.

Pain seers through Tarn's arm as Megatron pins him in the dirt. His free hand comes up to grab Megatron by the throat and his equally ridiculous knee comes up between them in an attempt to shove him off.

Words have stopped coming to him at this point. There is only blind rage.

Perhaps this is why all of these knees are so ridiculous in the first place. Mystery solved

Megatron hears the explosion as the shot goes wide, and he knows that has to be around where he left Rodimus. There's the compulsion to look over, but he knows he can't afford to betray his concern – or to take his optics off of Tarn at all, especially with those massive fingers wrapped around his neck. He lets out a choked snarl, static buzzing in at the edges of his voice; with one hand he grasps Tarn's wrist, the plating warping under his fingers, and with the other he aims the souped-up pistol down at the knee Tarn's trying to use to push him off. He probably shouldn't be shooting it at such close range, but, you know, whatever, he's been a gun; bracing himself, he fires right into Tarn's leg.

Tarn's fingers fly open as Megatron shoots him point blank in the knee. His pained cry rings clear through the air and both of his hands fly down to clutch at his knee.

He glares up at Megatron, eyes blazing in uncontrolled fury. This is wrong. This should be easier. He should have been able to get the upper hand. But, no, clearly Sixshot was mistaken. There is no way the fools energon should have flushed out of his system this quickly. Even if he has been consuming regular energon, he should still be slightly weak.

His voice is his only chance at this point. Anger is all consuming, robbing him of enough thought to string together a coherent statement. A rare occurrence, for certain.

“New pistol, I see. Certainly nice of the Autobots to allow you to properly arm yourself.” He growls, voice hitting a spark snuffing baritone, “What do you say, Megatron? Would you like to kill me? Rip out my spark and bring it back to your new comrades? How proud they would be. You may even be able to pretend that I never happened. You never made your mistake at all.”

His voice is like a thick blanket smothering the flame in Megatron’s spark; viciously constricting and strangling without mercy.

Tarn's voice seizes his spark in a grip infinitely more chilling than that hand around his neck was, and Megatron thinks for a second or two that this is it, that despite his efforts he will die here.

Bullshit.

He's Megatron.

With all the strength he can muster past the fog of Tarn's deadly voice, he hits him as hard as he can, determined only to silence him. His fist leaves a dark, prominent crack across the Decepticon mask on Tarn's face.

Edited 2015-02-15 02:55 (UTC)

Megatron's fist did more than silence him. Energon begins seeping from the seams of Tarn's mask from the gash that the now broken and jagged metal created. He tries to cover his face with an arm, unsure if Megatron is going to go for a second hit. His other hand comes up behind it, feeling to see how extensive the damage is.

The crack is large, winding for his right optic down to the mouth slit. A small bit of the mask has chipped away around the eye hole, revealing the smallest bit of scarred metal.

How dare he.

Tarn slams forward, driving his chevron into Megatron's face, intending to do his own damage.

That's better.

Or at least it is until he's getting headbutted in the face with those awful spikes. He feels one optic shatter, and responds by slamming Tarn's head back against the ground with a roar of anger. A few seconds later his foot comes down on Tarn's chest, and he straightens up, glaring down at him with his one good optic. The way the other one sputters and sparks doesn't make him look any less furious.

"Enough of this, Tarn," he growls, and underneath the anger there's an edge of regret in his voice. "The Decepticons are over."

Like hell they are.

Tarn flails a bit trying to get up from under Megatron's foot. His fingers scrape against the plating of Megatron's leg, trying to do as much damage as possible. His fingers manage to hook under a bit of plating on his calf, tearing at it and warping it.

"Never. The Decepticons will go on without you, Megatron." Tarn spits, a bit of energon spraying from his mouth. "We don't need you."

He rips off a bit of plating and sinks his fingers into some of the wiring around Megatron's knee joint, pulling savagely.