open log

[paxpertyrannidem]

Who| Megatron and YOU
What| exploring, being needlessly Extra, making a scene in the walmart with drift
Where| All over Legion World
When| Post the most recent plots.
Warnings/Notes| an overly dramatic reunion, shooting sim robots with big hologram guns

a. biome

Cybertronian wilderness wasn't a particularly comfortable-looking place on its own. Metallic dust coats the hills pulverized by the radiation of a star that normally had little protective atmosphere to get in its way. It was cold and devoid of anything resembling life on Earth. It was home.

What looked like a battlefield coating its surface looked perfectly in line with the rest of the desolate looking place. Dull remnants of once grand buildings and the skeletons of a crashed ships streaked through it. The remains of Kaon just as he remembered it. It had been millenia since their planet had become uninhabitable and their species forced to become space-faring nomads. One would think that perhaps he might opt for a version of their world a little less obliterated by total war, but he preferred this reminder instead.

He even included the makeshift throne crafted from Sentinel Prime himself - half furniture, half Sentinel arranged in a decorative fashion. And it was here Megatron sat, eyes smoldering and with energon cube in hand. He takes a long drink in silence.

b. sim room

After having arrived gunless to an alien world - worse, one full of organic creatures - it doesn't take long for Megatron to fulfill his due diligence and survey some of the weaponry currently available. For posterity, of course. The sim environment is a blank room, with not even a single target in sight. Yet.

What lie at his feet are seven guns, each to scale for a heavily built thirty-five foot space robot. Excessive? Maybe. But totally necessary in Megatron's opinion.

Two were of Cybertronian design: one being his currently missing arm cannon, the other a sniper rifle easily as long as he is tall. To the far right was a simple pistol, rather paltry compared to the other two, but necessary. All solid light holograms generated from the rather specific memories of a person who had intimately used them for millions of years, down to some of the nicks in the metal.

The other four were local models he had found in the database. Two energy-based, two solid projectile. Weapons that had, for whatever reason, been built to a similar scale. There had been more, but he narrowed it down to these four. The closest approximations to the Cybertronian weapons that he could find while perusing archives.

Kneeling down, he could be found examining one of the solid-light guns, disassembling and reassembling it. Reloading it. Examining all the functions and mechanisms and familiarizing himself with the alien tech, occasionally suspicious of the fidelity of the solid light projection. You know. Priorities.

c. cruiser docks

Sometimes, a guy needs the peace and quiet provided by the empty, inhospitable void of space. Flight wasn't something that usually came naturally, but Shockwave and Soundwave had truly done rather marvelous jobs in building him a new body. His vehicle mode handled like a dream.

Eventually, after familiarizing himself with some of the outside of the moon-sized station, he returns, not particularly looking for a proper docking space so much as an area of the bay that had enough room for him to shift back to root mode. He enters the cluster of cruisers as a black, triangular sliver of a space-worthy bomber, purple plumes spewing out of the exhausts.

The black sliver slows over an empty area, splits down the middle and transforms, going from sleek aircraft to grouchy looking Megatron as the engines cut and he lands on his feet.


for drift: shopping area 

On a flight within the larger open areas of Legion World, Megatron spots a familiar white speck on the ground. The only other Cybertronian on this forsaken world, and he had finally found him. Never one to shy away from making a grand entrance, he transforms mid-air, allowing himself to fall towards the open-air courtyard of unassuming shops.

He slows his descent with the jets in his feet, but only just enough to allow for a thud to reverberate in the ground and shake some leaves off the trees planted at the center of various arranged benches. He stands over a futuristic water fountain in front of the exit to the courtyard, paying no mind to the Legion staffers who happened to be attempting to go about their business without giant robots getting in the way.

"It looks like our paths have crossed again, Deadlock."


d. wildcard
ooc: Feel free to poke me for plots at hematite

Comments

C

[smarterthandad]

A three-year-old's work is never done, but only because this particular three-year-old is a workaholic who's very good at evading well-meaning adults. The new traffic routing algorithms will shave several percent off the energy usage in Legion World's non T-gate travel, and a few percentage points of that much volume represents quite a bit of power saved.

And then, of course, someone immediately ignores space traffic control to cruise on in like they're the only person in the universe. Val erupts out of the control tower office, three feet of righteous fury, only to stop short (so to speak) in fascination at Megatron's transformation.

"Cool," says a tiny voice up by Megatron's head. Fortunately for ease of conversation--not to mention a lack of temptation to step on her--Val's standing on a catwalk that puts her about ten feet above him, though there's only so much psychological advantage to that when you're a pint-sized adorable baby holding a plastic teddy bear mug in one hand.

[paxpertyrannidem]

He's only a few steps off the landing area before he hears Val's comment. The Decepticon looks up to see a flesh being - even tinier than your average human - watching him with fascination. He makes eye contact, mouth set in his usual frown.

It was a step down from the utter terror he tended to invoke in most organics. He definitely preferred the latter. All this casual conversation with a hated enemy was making his circuits crawl. His mouth curls slightly with irritation.

"What?" he asks briskly, already feeling overly generous that he didn't just keep walking.

[smarterthandad]

Val either has ice water in her veins or doesn't find a giant surly space robot to be threatening, because she plops down on the edge of the catwalk, leaning on the railing, feet dangling.

"Did you come up with that transformation? It's a real good design." Unqualified praise is rare from Val. Shame Shockwave isn't around to...not care. Mnemosurgery is a bitch.

[paxpertyrannidem]

It never occurs to Megatron that a three year old talking about transformation sequences was a strange thing. Granted, it'd be one of the least strange things on an artificial moon in another dimension, but a strange thing nonetheless. As far as he was concerned, this was a small adult with good taste, which is more than he can say for most fleshlings.

He flexes the fingers on one hand, as if to enjoy the sensation of the recently built joints.

"Shockwave lacks the ability to enjoy compliments on his work, if he happens to get pulled into our little predicament."

[smarterthandad]

"Huh." That could mean a lot of things, but since this Shockwave guy is apparently still chilling in the giant robot universe, it's academic. "He'd be useful to have around." Because what Val needs in her life is another amoral supergenius.

"Do you have any other configurations, or is it just flight and bipedal?" This counts as friendly conversation for her, but her gaze is sharp and her eyes flick over Megatron, disassembling him with her mind but not finding another arrangement for the parts than the two she's seen.

b

[thebioticwoman]

Shepard's carrying a real sniper rifle (can't let Garrus get too cocky about his scores) when she comes across Megatron stripping his simulated one and stops to watch. Drift had been perfectly nice, so Shepard has no reason to suspect the new Cybertronian will be otherwise, at least within the realm of normal behavior. Some people are just naturally set a little crankier, y'know? But she's not going in expecting Sovereign's more flamboyant cousin.

"What does it shoot?"

Bonding over guns...this should be an easy one.

[paxpertyrannidem]

As Shepard walks closer, Megatron reassembles the hologram sniper rifle. A figure is projected in front of them. Another Cybertronian, it looks like. One wearing the same purple badge that was displayed on Megatron’s chest, but with red and white armor. It was the form of his most wretched second in command, Starscream.

The blank room shifts to Cybertronian wilderness, with some mountains in the distance. Megatron looks through the scope, adjusting its settings. The figure comes to life, jolting into a fearful position, as if it had just suddenly realized it was the clay pigeon in a shooting range. The Starscream hologram makes a few steps back, his robotic voice panicked.

“Wait, Lord Megatron, can’t we be reasonable?”

Megatron stands, rifle in arm. The hologram Starscream reacts and jumps into the air, transforming into what looked like an old Earth jet to escape. The jet plumes send him rocketing away.

The next few steps are methodical and well practiced. The butt of the weapon is mounted on his shoulder as the jet gains some considerable distance. He steadies the rifle in his arms, lowering one eye into the scope. Seconds pass. The speck begins to bank for a turn.

A single beam of energy explodes out of the barrel, hitting it’s target. A tiny orange dot lights up in the simulated distance. The gun flares open to release steam. The Decepticon seems to relax with catharsis.

“Particle beam,” he says, finally.

[thebioticwoman]

...Uh-huh.

Shepard considers whether she should just go, but maybe there's a perfectly non-creepy explanation for why this guy is shooting sims of people he knows in cold blood. Cold...fuel? You never realize how anthropocentric your idioms are until you start making friends with alien robots.

"Uh. Right. Friend of yours?" There are a few people Shepard wouldn't feel guilty about shooting in the back if it came to that, but you don't see her going around programming Illusive Man simulations to do it in her free time.

[paxpertyrannidem]

Starscream? A friend? He had certainly known Starscream well enough, but their relationship was furthest thing from friendship that one could imagine.

“My Second-in-Command. He has a talent for treachery and slithering away from death. I doubt it would ever be that easy to be rid of him,” his voice has an odd fondness to it.

It was complicated. Really complicated. And not necessarily in a healthy way.

The sniper rifle is placed next to the other six, and he picks up the next one - the closest approximation to his fusion cannon sitting at the far end of the line. He begins again, disassembling it’s parts and laying them down on the ground.

[thebioticwoman]

It's not Starscream she's worried about, big guy.

"You fantasize about killing all your XOs, or is he just special?" Shepard folds her arms and leans against the nearest rock, which she glances at in a moment of surprise when she realizes it's metal and not the stone she was expecting.

all aboard the drama train

[auramatic]

The presence of another Cybertronian is unmistakable, and this particular presence is one Drift instinctively recognizes. He knows even before he turns around, even before he hears a name long dead, that it’s Megatron. Megatron is here.

Deadlock. From anyone else, it might not have gotten a reaction, but in Megatron’s voice, hauntingly familiar — Drift flinches even as he rises to his feet on a sharp turn. He’d come to the courtyard to sit in peace, a change of scenery from the comforting familiarity of his biome. Being around people, even organics, is still wonderfully refreshing — this place is so full of life — and he’d fallen into a pleasant state of almost-tranquility. He could practically feel his aura growing lighter along with his spirit. Until now.

“Megatron.”

Not Lord Megatron. It’s been a long time since Drift bent his knee to the Decepticon. His usual cheerful energy is muted, almost gone entirely, his optics flat and his expression guarded. The first Cybertronian Drift’s seen since his exile, and it’s Megatron. Why does it have to be Megatron? Drift tenses slightly, but his hands stay at his sides. They’re in a room full of organics — he’s not going to jeopardize their safety if he can help it.

“My name,” he says, optics narrowing slightly, “is Drift.”

Toot toot

[paxpertyrannidem]

A laugh bursts from Megatron at Drift’s response. It’s been a while now since he had turned. Since Turmoil had lost one of his preferred Decepticon warriors to the Circle of Light and eventually to the Autobots themselves.

But the war had always kept them apart since then. Drift had been spared the fate that most Decepticon traitors suffered: a timely visit from the DJD. That had been by design, at least at first, when he had initially hoped to bring him back to where he belonged.

Now? Well, now things were a bit late for that.

“What’s wrong, Deadlock? Are you ashamed of your past? Afraid that your new friends will discover who you really are?”

He gestures noncomitally to the passers by before making a step forward.

“It has been far too long since we’ve fought together.”

[auramatic]

Drift can think of few things that are more mortifying than a Decepticon warlord all but broadcasting to a room full of dozens, if not hundreds, of people that Drift has some kind of dark, secret past. He never meant to deceive anyone, but what's important is what he does now, isn't it? No one here knows about the Great War, or the Decepticons, or Deadlock -- do they really need to know? He's doing good now. The last thing he really needs is to lose the trust of the Legionnaires, not when he's only just starting to establish it.

He narrows his optics at Megatron, hands tensing into fists, but he doesn't reach for any of his swords. For the first time since his arrival, he's painfully aware of the scratched plating on his chest where his Autobot badge had been. Not his any longer. He doesn't rise to the bait this time, or at least he tries not to -- if he starts on the defensive about his past, it's only going to make him look worse in front of anyone who's paying attention. Which...yeah, people definitely are.

"Do you really want to do this here, Megatron?"

[paxpertyrannidem]

Megatron prowls forward despite the fact that Drift was the one armed here. As Drift knew all too well, he didn't need to have weapons in his hands to make another Cybertronian's day remarkably unpleasant.

He looks down at Drift, at the ex-Decepticon's tense hands, at the barely contained expression on his face, and most importantly, at the empty patch of armor where his badge used to be. A look of cruel understanding crosses his face.

"Ah, Deadlock," he says with mock sympathy. A huge hand reaches forward to rest on Drift's shoulder in a perfectly amicable fashion,"You're being far too bothered by what organics think of you, don't you agree?"

[auramatic]

Drift knows that look. He’s seen it before, Megatron pulling strings, a show of power psychological as well as physical. That he can completely dominate a situation by presence alone. He rose to power on his own merits, after all.

But Drift is no longer under Megatron's thumb. In a flash he's deftly sidestepping Megatron's touch, knocking that broad hand aside with the flat of his wrist. A bold move against someone like Megatron, but Drift's expression is flat and closed-off.

"We're guests here," he says evenly, as though that argument would have any impact on Megatron. He's all too aware that there are plenty of people within earshot, that every time Megatron calls him Deadlock it's only going to raise more questions, more doubt. Drift feels his spark contract uncomfortably in his chest. "These organics are our allies. And I will not let any harm come to them -- by your hand or anyone else's."

Never mind that many of these organics could take care of themselves. There's your warning, Megatron. Step the fuck right off.

A

[truefaceofthelaw]

The biome Rico drifts his way into is... perhaps a little different than the others. Coming in from the edges, he takes his time exploring his surroundings, hovering above the ground and taking everything in curiously. He's had far too much free time on his hands and too much to think recently, and when he gets bored, he gets nosy. The ruins of everything almost reminds him of the immediate aftermath of the Atomic War, and he's just gotta wonder who would make their little slice of home like this. It's exciting.

And oh look, there's a throne right there. As well as an occupant, looks like. He's pretty large. Rico likes that a little less, but that's not gonna stop him.

Hm. Maybe he should get a throne.

"It's a nice place you got here," Rico calls out, sounding amused. If it were possible to swagger without walking, he'd be doing so right now. "A bit dusty, but who am I to judge?"

[paxpertyrannidem]

Megatron is finishing a long swig of the synthesized energon, the glowing pink fuel sliding easily down his intake. The taste was bearable enough. It certainly beat some of the synthetic fuel he’s had to drink over the years staking out some remote outpost in the middle of the war.

When he looks down, he sees a fleshling levitating in the middle of his picturesque rendition of Kaon post Decepticon Revolt, and his red optics narrow. Dozens of square miles of terrain to explore and this organic chose his. He very decidedly doesn’t get up from his chair.

“The dust makes better company,” he remarks, a sneer pulling at the corners of his mouth.

[truefaceofthelaw]

That's fine, no need to get up on his account. Rest assured, Rico will entertain himself.

He laughs, and slams his fist into his own chest, over his heart. "Ouch. That hurts me right there." And with the corners of his mouth curled like he's laughing at a private joke, he drifts even closer.

"We haven't even started talking yet. Still, I won't take it too personally," he says, like he's being immeasurably generous by not taking offence. "Seems like you're the kind of droid who likes his solitude, with a place like this."

Something Rico's showing no respect for, as he circles around Megatron to inspect the throne.

[paxpertyrannidem]

Megatron is contractually obligated not to destroy trespassers into his biome, but he very much has the desire to do so. Life is hard when you can't easily rid yourself of nosy organic creatures.

He finishes the cube of energon, emptying the transparent container of fuel. For a few seconds, he doesn't seem to acknowledge Rico's existence, allowing him closer observation of the half-easy chair, half-Sentinel Prime eternally wrapped around a piece of furniture as decoration.

That is, until he releases the empty cube over the side of the arm, letting it crash perilously close to his new guest.

"Nothing bests a physical reminder for proper motivation."

[truefaceofthelaw]

There's a moment of complete stillness as it crashes down near him, Rico's face blank and poised to do something. But his fingers uncurl, one by one, and he settles down by the right arm of the chair to daringly reach out and run a gloved digit down the twisted construction. Assuming that Megatron doesn't take offence and swat him out of the sky like a fly, that is.

"So is that what this is?" Rico muses, an edge to his words. "You know, I met a guy once who had a burning building in his hab-deck. Said about the same thing. But see - he was the one who did it."

He pauses, and laughs unexpectedly.

"Does this thing have a face? Oh my Grud."

d. spaaaaace

[unspeakablyevil]

Megatron isn't the only being in need of the peace and quiet provided by the inhospitable void of space. It's been two weeks since the mission to retrieve the missing throne piece, two weeks since the battle with the Executive that left Aku feeling more drained than he'd ever felt. His physical being has recovered since then but his mind could still use some time. Which is why he's in search of a nice, quiet place to absorb the sun... in space. And what better place to absorb the sun than on the moon? The peak of the tallest sunward facing mountain was a perfect spot to bask in the unfiltered radiation.

From a distance, his elongated form looks like a tattered ribbon of darkness falling toward the lunar surface. Once there, he makes himself comfortable on the silvery terrain as if he's basking out on some powdered beach. Despite the lack of oxygen, his flaming brows continue to burn above his closed eyes. It's pleasant here — warm but not too warm (if you consider 220+ degrees F to not be too warm.) There's a nice view of the sun, earth and stars and the Legion's station isn't all that far away. If he's noticed any other spacecraft flying around, Aku hasn't made any indication of it. But if one should cast its shadow upon him, he'll look very annoyed.

[paxpertyrannidem]

Did Aku want some peace and quiet? Well it looks like that's not what's happening today.

He is soon joined by a black sliver - or a triangle, depending at what angle he was looking at - engine sound muffled by the lack of atmosphere. Worse than just blocking out the sun, the triangle decides to land by him to investigate, kicking up clouds of dust all over with its engines.

Silhouetted by the sun and the haze, the jet transforms into Cybertron's least liked export. More dust is disturbed by Megatron's footsteps as red optics focus on that bizarre looking void creature. His systems had managed to detect some kind of strange, flaming string floating through the void of space, and he decided to follow. It was not organic - not as far as he could tell. It did not appear to be hostile.

Nonetheless, one boot moves forward to prod it roughly with the tip, very much like a curious beachgoer prodding a man-o-war run aground.

[unspeakablyevil]

Aku senses a shadow pass over his closed eyelids before he sees the object that cast it. His eyes blink open instantly to see a sleek jet touching down on the lunar surface not far from him. Oh for the love of Darkness! Who is this accursed fool and what do they want from him? As great clouds of dust billow toward him, Aku turns away to shield himself and morphs his being into the shape of a smooth, low boulder to let the clouds roll over him.

He can't see yet just what is heading his way but he can feel the vibrations of heavy footsteps through the ground beneath him. There's a clang — or there would have been a clang — as metal strikes Aku's hard shell. Annoyed, and now indignant, Aku turns two angry, glaring eyes and their twin flames up toward whatever dared to kick him. Once again his form shifts, stretching upward and sprouting six horns as Aku rises to a height tall enough to look down upon the giant machine before him.

He's seen his share of giant robots but Aku can't say he's ever seen one like this before, especially not one that possessed shapeshifting capabilities. Squaring his spiked shoulders, the yokai stands tall and proud with talons curled at his sides. On the off chance that this thing he's never seen before is with the Legion, he might as well attempt communication. Floating somewhere in his hyperfluid black mass is Aku's communicator (along with his flight ring) which he'll use from within to transmit his thunderous voice.

"Who dares disturb the rest and relaxation of Aku?"

[paxpertyrannidem]

Things that don't usually happen on Cybertron: Vantablack-colored boulders growing flaming eyeballs from its internal aether. The trash bin in the local Maccadam's occasionally grunted, though.

Megatron watches Aku's shapeshifting with an amused, genuinely intrigued fascination. Organic vermin were certainly common enough in his universe, inorganic species less so, but this one was neither.

As it settles into the bipedal form, he makes a silent note of the thing's tall and proud stance. He's certainly dealt with enough imperious guards in the nucleon mines and cocky warriors in the gladiator arena to guess how this thing's reaction was going to be. A booming voice explodes in his audial receptors from the communicator, making one red eye narrow in irritation, but he otherwise maintains his composure.

"The last time I had visited this solar system, it tended to be filled with life of a fleshier variety."

[unspeakablyevil]

So it can hear him. Excellent.

"If you are in search of mortal fleshbags, you have missed your mark. You will find all you can handle and more over there." Without turning his head, he extends a long arm to point at the big blue thing hanging out there in the sky. There were fleshlings galore on that Other Earth That Isn't His and certainly more of them than Aku cares to deal with.

His gaze remains fixed on the machine before him, looking it over with mild curiosity. Like several bots he knows or knew (RIP in pieces, Scaramouche), this one appears to have a mind of its own. But given it belonged to the Legion, that mind was likely plagued with righteousness.

Though he isn't glaring quite as hard anymore, Aku's gaze is icy cold beneath his flaming brows."Again I ask who are you?"