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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Oh yeah, he'd really picked a winner there. Still, Wash is committed, and he'd rather have this conversation than pay attention to the more depressing thoughts bouncing off the inside of his skull. "Nah, we're just a bunch of assholes focusing on other people's problems so we don't have to deal with our own." He punctuates the answer with a shrug. It's dark enough to be the truth and blithe enough to make it seem like that's not at all the case. Dealer's choice.

"Honestly, I'm just trying to figure out if America actually picked up on something or if she's just as full of shit as she usually is." Which isn't exactly the truth, but he'd love to know regardless, if only for his own mental tally.

The corner of Drift's mouth twitches a little at that, however bad his mood has gotten, because there's something kind of funny at how close to home that rings. Funny in the God-is-laughing-and-you-don't-know-why kind of way, anyway. But the human seems pretty intent on this line of conversation, and as much as Drift is usually chatty and personable, this is hitting him from the wrong angle. He doesn't respond right away, trying to figure out just how he wants to answer that, because the truth is he doesn't want to talk about Megatron at all. Megatron is supposed to be his past, something he'd put behind him. Unfortunately, Megatron is feeling very present right now.

"I used to work for him," Drift says shortly, finally, and that's not a lie but it isn't the whole truth, either. It's not like he's thrilled to admit even that much, but it still beats letting this conversation get into intimate territory that, frankly, Drift doesn't think is anyone else's business. "A long time ago. We've since parted ways."

That much was obvious from their public scene.

Wash knows a conversational door slam when he hears one. If Drift were someone he knew personally, or if he thought Drift's baggage was going to fuck up the team overall, he'd pursue; as it is, Drift is a stranger who just got an asshole from his past unceremoniously dumped in his lap. Wash can relate to that more than enough to respect that slammed door.

So he sighs and rolls his shoulders. "Look," he says after a few moments, "you're not the only person here who's left a name behind, and you're definitely not the only one dealing with some asshole from your past who really should have stayed buried. That happens a lot around here." He's thinking specifically of the Meta and Felix (who is still in the wind somewhere, probably on Rimbor, and boy did he ever not need that reminder today), but Locus had been a hard enough pill to swallow when he'd first arrived, and...well, nothing like seeing a long-dead friend to dig up all that emotional baggage that you'd buried completely instead of trying to deal with it.

It's been a super fun eight months in that regard.

"But if you ever need someone to run interference so you don't have to run into him, or if you want to prank him mercilessly, there are plenty of people here who will help." Wash is definitely among them, though he's pretty sure he tanked his first impression with Drift thoroughly enough that offering his services now won't actually help.

Drift is at a serious disadvantage here, with Wash having witnessed what was unfortunately a very revealing personal confrontation, and Drift having absolutely no idea who this organic is. That makes this conversation a great deal more awkward for Drift, because he's starting to feel like he's receiving a pep talk from a total stranger. He's not really sure how to respond to this, only that there are plenty of people who will help sounds an awful lot like what America had said as she handed him a card that turned out to have the number of a local shelter on it.

Uh.

"I can handle Megatron," Drift says quickly, because the last thing he wants is humans trying to run interference on the Decepticon war lord. And yes, Wash, his not-ex is in fact named Megatron. "I just -- wasn't expecting him, that's all."

Obviously.

Evidently Wash's attempts to open a door have failed completely. Well. So much for establishing a connection.

"Look, I'm not saying you can't," he tries. It might be possible to salvage this conversation, but honestly, it's starting to look like a lost cause. "I just-"

That's when the door to the training gym bursts open and a dozen small children of all different species stampede in, shrieking with laughter. It's pretty clear they're on the lam from something - given how small they are, probably a school field trip. Wash blinks at the scene, then looks back up at Drift and shrugs. Never a dull moment around here.

He then turns to fully face the gaggle of children, puts two fingers in his mouth, and lets out a sharp, ear-piercing whistle. The kids tumble to a stop and stare at him, wide-eyed. Well, now he's got their attention (along with the attention of everyone else in the gym, but eh, what else is new).

"So you're the new Legionnaires I've been hearing about!" He strides towards the children, folding his arms behind his back. "Nice to finally meet you. I'm assuming you're all here for your first day of Legionnaire training, right? Good! Let's get started." It's all very big and theatrical, larger than life. Hopefully the kids will catch on that it's a game and play along.

He waves a hand at Drift behind his back. Play along, or call security, or look for these kids' supervision. He doesn't care; just do something.

Drift is, at first, incredibly thankful for the distraction, because maybe that means he can escape this increasingly painful situation and possibly never look Wash in the eye again? That would be great. Except then it becomes immediately apparent that the distraction is now their problem: a bunch of what Drift has gathered are juvenile organics without mature supervision, who are very clearly not supposed to be here.

Wash seems to have a handle on the situation -- Drift gets the gist of what he's doing with all the theatrics -- and then Wash is gesturing for him to help and Drift doesn't see any other organics chasing after the kids and he's not really sure what there is to do except play along. So he does.

"That's right!" Drift says brightly, his demeanor doing a neat pivot into something bordering cheerful as he steps up alongside Wash. A dozen sets of tiny eyes follow the sound of Drift's voice as they look up...and up. "Myself and, uh..." The human hadn't given a name. Right.

"We're here to teach you all about being a Legionnaire! Lesson one: know your weapon!" Drift promptly draws one of the swords at his hips with an audible scrape of metal. It's perfectly proportional to Drift, but it's also a little taller than Wash is. He draws his arm back, looking down the blade of his sword like it's a sniper scope. "You should it so intimately that it becomes an extension of yourself. If you treat your weapon like it's a part of your body, then it's a lot harder for your enemy to turn it against you -- and in the heat of battle, sometimes your life hinges on that true harmony."

Please stop him, Wash, he does not have any concept of what 'age-appropriate' means.

Wash grins brightly at Drift when he joins in. Great, now all they need to do is get the kids engaged in an activity and one of them can peel off to find wherever these kids came from.

The act falters for a moment when Drift does, and Wash mentally kicks himself for failing at introductions - there are dozens of ways to fuck up a conversation and he'd managed a whole hell of a lot of them - when help comes from an unexpected source. "Freelancer," one of the kids pipes up, voice slightly awestruck. Wash figures it has to be for the giant robot, but...nope, the kid is wearing a gray shirt with haphazard yellow patches in about the right places. He might have even attached them himself. That child is probably in hog heaven right now - the best thing Wash can do is get back in the act-

And stop Drift before he gets any further because what the fuck. "Whoa there, Drift!" he says with a loud laugh, laying a hand on Drift's leg (because that's about all he can reach at the moment). "I think you might've confused this class with the advanced course!" Please, for the love of God, do not teach the group of six-year-olds about bladed weaponry, what the fuck. "I mean, I can't blame you - they do look ready to take on Galactus!" It's big and jovial and obviously an act, because it damn well needs to be, but it's working - several of the kids are preening, and several more look hopeful in that do you mean it sort of fashion.

"For now, let's start you off with some basic exercises. Who here knows how to do a jumping jack?" He raises his hand, and hopefully the kids will play along with this too. If all else fails, it's a good stalling tactic until either they can come up with some kid-appropriate activities or the chaperones arrive - whichever comes first.

Drift looks sincerely bewildered when Wash brings him up short with the hand on his leg and the exaggerated tone of voice -- clearly he's misstepped here, and he sheaths his sword in a sort of slow, confused motion as several of the children begin to do jumping backs, the others apparently catching on quickly and joining in. Drift watches them in bemusement and crouches to whisper to Wash.

"Was the sword too much?"

Wash will say this for Drift: he cottons on quickly. His gaze stays forward, keeping an eye on the kids (some of whom are still doing jumping jacks, and some of whom seem to be trying to learn how to fly by flapping their arms really hard) as he murmurs a reply. "Yeah, a little bit."

But it's possible that Drift somehow has zero experience with kids, and Wash can't leave him hanging - not when there's no telling how long they'll be keeping track of this particular group. "Look, they're really young. They have no combat experience and no mind for it, and it's not our job to teach them either of those. We just need to keep them busy with fun and probably mindless activities until one of us can get enough space to call security and figure out where they're supposed to be."

Drift furrows his brow slightly, frowning in thought as one of the children takes it upon herself to correct the form of the other kids' jumping jacks to little effect. "When do you start teaching them combat? I mean, how old are they -- a week? Two weeks?"

You are correct, Wash, Drift has zero experience with kids.

Wash blinks, then takes a moment in the wake of that question to turn and unabashedly stare at Drift. His evaluation of Drift's understanding of the situation quickly shifts from 'has no experience with children' to 'doesn't conceptually understand what a child is.'

Well, maybe giant robots don't have children. He doesn't know, and now is definitely not the time to ask.

"Five or six years, and they'll be young for a while yet. Don't worry about it, okay? We just need to keep them busy, and they're not hard to amuse." He gestures to the kids, where the girl who'd tried correcting everyone else's form had now started arranging everyone in a circle, so they could do jumping jacks and look at each other at the same time. This endeavor is looking to be a little more successful than her last one.

"Years?" Drift repeats in surprise, because humans live less than two centuries, don't they? That is an awful lot of time to spend just maturing for such a short-lived species, but alright, Wash, if you say so.

"Aw, they are pretty lively little things, aren't they?" The brooding expression from earlier is gone, replaced with a bright half-smile as Drift watches them from a crouch. They're pretty endearing, for organics -- not old enough to be touched by the harsher realities of the world, apparently, which come at you a lot faster when it takes you only days to reach maturity. There seems to be something inherently sacred in that.

A few of the children have wandered away from the jumping jack circle toward Drift, demanding excitedly that the robot do 'something cool'. Drift glances a little uncertainly at Wash.

"I know swords are out, but what about a car?"

"Yep." From a lot of other species' points of view, humans are hilariously inefficient. Funny how those inter-species differences work, isn't it.

"They really are. You get used to them after a bit." Wash can't help but smile a little as he loks at the kids. He likes kids, for the most part - they tend to be fairly uncomplicated, and given that his life is nothing but complicated, that's a nice change.

He gives the question a moment's thought before nodding. "Sure. Just...go slow." He then turns his attention to herding the kids away from Drift, just a few feet - he's not sure how much room Drift is going to need, and it's better to just avoid the issue altogether.

"I'm not going to let any of them drive," Drift says reassuringly, or at least it's meant to be reassuring. He waits until the kids have backed up enough and then he transforms with a backflip into the air, landing on all four tires as a flashy, sleek-looking sports car.

The kids go fucking wild.

Apparently a robot turning into a car is a major attraction to a group of six-year-olds, and they all clamor around Drift, shouting excitedly and putting their tiny little hands all over his plating. One or two of them seems to be climbing up onto his hood but hey, no swords, right? And definitely no danger. This is a weirdly child-safe activity.

"Is this the kind of distraction you were looking for?"

"Still." He'd meant rides, but he also figured they didn't have to be on the same page so long as they still managed to be in the same book, or even the same chapter if they were lucky.

But damn if the kids don't absolutely love a giant sword-robot turning into a normal not-at-all-swordlike car.

He nods at the question and backs up moderately slowly, but none of the kids even bother to turn around or wonder where he is - they're too engrossed in the car-robot.

So Wash slips away, heading to where he'd left his stuff when he'd started using the gym. His bag is there with his omnicomm in it. He unzips it and pulls the omnicomm out, turning it on to see a security alert pop up first thing. It's a calm message with a nonetheless frantic undertone: there's about a half dozen children somewhere on Legion World. They're missing from a school trip, and has anyone seen them around? Their teacher is getting pretty worried...

Wash can't help but smile as he pulls the message up and readies a reply. They're in the gym on the training deck, and can someone come pick them up soon?

That accomplished, he heads back to check in on Drift. He hasn't been gone for too long - Drift should still be doing okay with the kids, right?

Drift is doing okay, sure. No one is injured or crying, and the kids all seem to be having massive fun -- mostly by climbing all over the robot car. Right now it looks more like a car-shaped mass of scuttling children, climbing on the hood and making car sounds, opening the doors and crawling inside with giggles of excitement. Drift doesn't really mind, exactly, but he feels like maybe he's lost control of this situation.

"Hey, uh...uh..." Scrap, what was this guy's name? "Freelancer? A little help?"

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[open] starve the ego, feed the soul

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when in doubt ADD CHILDREN!

NEVER FAILS

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