legionworld | [open] starve the ego, feed the soul

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[open] starve the ego, feed the soul

Who| Drift and YOU!
What| Meet the new 20 foot tall shape-changing robot in town. He's pretty friendly.
Where| All around Legion World, Drift's biome, the training gym
Warnings/Notes| n/a

This is all...a lot. The last thing Drift remembers before waking up here was being in his shuttle, far, far away from the ship he'd been exiled from. Voluntarily exiled, because no one else could have taken the fall -- it had to be him. For everyone else's sake. And so he'd been alone, stripped of his Autobrand and adrift in the stars, looking for...something.

And now he's here, and he's wondering if this was what he was looking for. He took the oath almost immediately, because being asked to help save not just a world, but every world? Primus must have sent him here for a reason -- this reason -- why else would he be here? This must be some sort of chance at redemption, right? He doesn't really know if he deserves it, but hey, he's not going to argue against the will of a creator god. He just...has to have faith.

a. wandering around
Drift hasn't been around this many organics in...a while, not since he was last on Earth. It's kind of wild to think he's jumped a thousand years into the future. Humans seem to be doing pretty alright these days. He had forgotten how weird it was to be this much bigger than most people around him, though. At least he's got his swords. All three of them. It is a comfort.

He's milling around Legion World once he's settled in enough, getting his bearings. It's massive here, and there's a lot to see -- and where the space is wide enough, he'll be driving instead of walking. He hasn't had a chance to stretch his t-cog and drive around in his alt mode for a while, but despite the flashy sports car appearance, he is moving at a reasonably polite speed.

b. biome
Drift's biome is a little slice of Cybertron. It might not look very hospitable to organics -- it's cyberformed rather than terraformed, ideal for a race of sentient alien robots, but while the vast plains and jagged hills might look barren and cold to humans, it's basically the heart of nature for Drift. His biome is mostly untamed, open wilderness, though there's a building he's made a home for himself, complete with a designated meditation space in the style of Spectralism (read: very New Age-y). He's happy to greet anyone coming by, but if he's keeping to himself, it's almost definitely because he's meditating. Or trying, anyway.

c. training gym
It has not occurred to Drift that it might not be very polite to practice with swords in the gym considering how much space a 20 foot tall robot takes up, but he has at least placed him as far in a corner away from other fellow gym-goers so as not to get in their way. He could be doing sword kata back in his biome, sure, but he's spent...a lot of time alone in the last few months. Being around other people, even total strangers, is preferable background noise to the deafening silence of solitude.

He is pretty absorbed in his robot kata, though, going through the motions with a sword in each hand, though he'll stop to chat if anyone catches his attention. He has a third sword strapped to his back, apparently not currently in use, and if you are wondering if this guy really needs to be carrying three swords at all times: yes. Yes, he does.

d. wildcard!
[ feel free to hit me up at

runawayballista to plot things! ]

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Okay, wait. Drift (was that this robot's real name?) wanted Tucker to shake that giant hand and not get it crushed? Yeah, yeah, fuck that, not happening.

So, Tucker smacked it in a high-five instead. Totally legit and fine, right? Not rude at all. And it sounded...so weirdly small, which was embarrassing in itself.

Not focusing on that. Just think of him as a nicer Freckles.

"Tucker. Or Chick Magnet to the screaming masses." He smiled, all bright and shining. "Um, so, are you a guy in that metal suit or what?"

Drift looks a little bemused at the high five, but it's not like that's a foreign gesture to Cybertronians, so he just huffs out a little laugh as he sits back on his heels, resting his elbows on his knees. You're alright, little human.

"Tucker, huh? Nice to meet you." Aaaaand there comes one of the inevitable questions. It's always so who's piloting you or so who built you. Way to be low-key racist, Tucker. "Not a suit, and there's definitely no little guy. I'm Cybertronian." A beat. "Robotic life form. From the planet Cybertron."

Racist? Hey! He wasn't-- It was a legit question! He didn't have twenty-foot tall robot-- okay, Freckles didn't count. But you know what he meant.

There was a look that slid over his face, confused half by the name of the planet (sounded fake...but then Chorus sort of did, too), and half by the robotic life form part. Huh. That didn't solve as many questions as he thought it would.

"So, what, you're like an AI?" Because that he understood.

Drift lets out a long, slow sigh through his vents. Patience, patience. It's not really this organic's fault that he doesn't know anything about Cybertronians. Probably.

"No," he says tolerantly, keeping the smile on his face, "not an AI. Nobody made me. Like I said -- I'm a life form. I'm just as alive as you are."

Oh, Drift. You don't understand. You see...

"AI are totally alive and a pain my ass." Mostly when they die, when they do these stupidly large displays of sacrifice and keep fucking leaving him. He made a face, something wounded that was easily covered up by the anger of an insult. "My best friend is an AI."

Is. Forever Is. He wasn't about to start using past tense yet. So watch how you use those words...

"And dude, hate to break it to you, but we're always made by someone; they're called 'parents'."

You see, Tucker, when a supercomputer and a planet love each other very much...

Drift holds up his empty hands in a gesture of apology. "Sorry -- I didn't mean to offend. Every race has its own definition of life. We just don't really have artificial intelligence where I'm from."

He senses that there's something Tucker's holding back, keeping to himself -- he's just kind of giving off that vibe. He smiles a little more brightly with a sideways tilt of his head. "We are born, in a sense, but we don't reproduce the same way you organics do. We're forged from hot spots -- places on our planet that have been ignited by the life-giving force of our creator-god, Primus. We emerge from these hot spots as protoforms, made of sentio metallico -- living metal -- and then we take shape to become what we are now. The creation of life is miraculous no matter its origin, don't you think?"

He seems like kind of a hippie for a guy carrying three swords.

Okay, the whole thing sounded like a cult or something: religion and nature and Scientology level crap thrown in for good measure. But fuck, who was he to comment on it considering he gave birth to an alien son when biology deemed that Pretty Damn Impossible. So, maybe your planet volcanos your ass out because of godly blah blah. Whatever got this guy through the day.

His eyes did glaze over a little, though. Sorry.

"I guess," he muttered, still vaguely confused and letting it show. Do they not have sex? What a shitty life. Maybe he should have asked Lopez about that at some point.

"You're a sword guy, huh?"

Organics always seem so baffled by something so inherently familiar to Drift, but then again, their reproduction methods kind of mystify him too. His optics brighten and he touches the hilts of the swords sheathed at each hip in acknowledgment. The third, a fair bit larger -- probably about twice Tucker's height -- is strapped to his back.

"I prefer them to guns," he confirms with a grin. He is definitely a sword guy. "They require so much more finesse -- it's an art unto itself."

Also, it makes him look really cool.

"Yourself?"

A sword bigger than him. That's some old anime shit, without all the tentacles. Tucker felt his eyes rising to it, attaching to that weapon because it's a fucking sword bigger than he was. The other ones were cool, too, from the little he could see, but that one? That was a Excalibur level shit.

Shame this Drift guy was so big because epic training would have been awesome.

His hand went to his own sword, gripping the hilt and giving it a light shake to let it hum to life in his hand. It seemed so small in comparison, but he wondered if it would still cut through that giant blade of his. It's not about the size, but about how you use it.

"Swords all the way."

Wait. Waaaait. "Are your weapons made out of the same thing you are? Are they like...flesh swords?"

Creepy. Fucking...creepy.

Drift doesn't hate organics like some of his comrades do, but the phrase flesh swords gets an unequivocal cringe out of him.

"Uh...no. Not like that at all." His hand goes to the hilt of the sword strapped to his back, though he seems to hesitate to draw it. Don't try to cut through the Great Sword, Tucker, that would be a mistake. "Living metal, remember? These are made out of plain old metal."

Honestly, the difference isn't that hard to grasp. It's kind of weird that organics struggle with it. But he's intrigued by Tucker's sword, optics refocusing on it with bright interest. "What kind of sword is that? How are you powering it?"

Wait, that made no sense.

"Was it metal that was alive? Are you waving around a sword made out of your best friend or something? How do you figure out which metal was alive and what wasn't?" So many fucking questions, all about these flesh swords. And it didn't get better the more times you said it.

But hey, a least he deflected him and turned his attention elsewhere.

"Alien." Yep. Alien was the kind. "I mean, it's only for special people, Chosen Ones. Less of a sword and more of a key, but it does double duty and still stabs all the same, so that's what that matters." He shrugged about how it was powered; good question. He didn't have a clue.

"Well, clearly it runs on pure awesomeness." Seemed factual enough.

"No," Drift says, starting to get a little exasperated, "sentio metallico only emerges from hot spots, when there's a...actually, never mind."

Thank Primus for no more flesh swords. It is a terrible mental image.

"Chosen Ones?" Drift definitely perks up at that, because hey, that sounds like his speed. A sword that acts as a key? Is there a prophecy or a vision involved somewhere? This is his jam. "What were you chosen for?"

Nevermind. People only said "nevermind" when they didn't have the answers. Tucker saw through all of this crap. Expect to be yelled at during battles to take our your giant flesh sword, Drift. It's happening.

But Tucker liked this conversation, too; it was to his speed, and he had a wonderful affinity when talking about himself. His smile was wide, proud, which was odd because his answer was...

"Nothing, really. I mean, I'm a true hero or some shit, but the whole 'Chosen One' thing started as more of a line so some asshole could get a ship and I could get pregnant." There was a roll of his shoulders; he was used that crap, had it start all the way from when he was told that the Red Team equalled bad guys. "I did help save a planet with this shit, though, so that's cool."

Tucker has lost Drift by the time he says pregnant, a word which Drift most mercilessly does not knowing the meaning of, and his bright look falters slightly in the direction of confusion until that last part. World-saving is something Drift totally understands.

"That sounds pretty heroic to me," Drift agrees heartily. "Maybe you were chosen for something after all -- just not in the way you thought."

Projecting much? A little bit. Behind all that hippie chipper, Drift is so very existentially lost.

Oh, don't get him wrong: Tucker was forever lost. But, on the plus side, he wasn't aware of it, or at least, didn't give enough of a shit about it to worry one way or another. All of that talk was way too big for him, overarching and way deeper that he was willing to jump into. Chosen One? Cool. Was it a scam? A bit, but what a lady-catching title. Was he able to keep people safe? Added bonus.

"I'm sick of being chosen for shit." He rolled his eyes, huffing a little. "Everything is just being picked for this, picked for that, having to fight in this war and the next one and the fucking next one. Kinda over it anymore."

You know what that's like, Drift?

"So, like, is everyone a robot?" Yes, Tucker. Or, well, you know, made of metal. God, why do you think it's okay to ask these questions? "Do you have metal pets and shit?"

"Uh -- well, yes, all life on Cybertron is inorganic but we don't really...keep pets. Most of us are sentient."

He tilts his head at Tucker, his expression a little more somber.

"I understand about war, though. Not so many of them, but my people were at war for...a really long time."

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[open] starve the ego, feed the soul

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