legionworld | open log

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open log

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Well, if he's already issued you a citation for your reckless driving earlier, then there's no need to double up. Had the same problem with Prowl when he was here, but if you two pick up on things half as fast as he did, that should be enough." She glances up at Megatron. Given that Big Boy there was a plane, she doesn't think she'll have as many problems there.

She's quiet for a moment, considering. "We can call this a warning this time. Though, if you two feel the need to argue in the future, keep it quieter. There are noise pollution laws." Ones that're generally just a slap on the wrist and a small fine, but whatever. America disengages her helmet speakers, tucks away the citations, and digs in her pouch for a small card, holding it out to Drift. "Sounds like your ex here could be a problem. If you need a place to stay, or just someone to talk to, these people can help. I've worked with them since coming here. I'd suggest sending a message to the Deputy Leader or Kid Quantum if things get that bad, though." Her voice is pitched lower, though she's not sure how well Megatron could hear her in any case.

Robot ears. Hmph.

"I assure you, it will be quite evidently clear if there is ever a problem."

Well, it looks like Megatron is done preening his joints.

Do Decepticons need to be vaguely threatening all the time? Apparently, the answer is yes. It comes with the territory of violent uprising turned galactic invaders. But hey, at least he isn't checked out entirely of the conversation. He probably paid attention to like half of what they said from the corner of his eye.

Drift's been homeless, an addict, a failed one-mech mutiny, nearly crushed to death, and exiled from the one place he ever thought he'd really get to call home, and somehow, this right here still ranks as one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. It doesn't quite register that America means she's worried about abuse until she hands him that card and Drift stares at it, wondering if it's possible to die of spark failure induced by extreme mortification.

"No, it's not like -- " he tries, holding the tiny card and feeling impossibly stupid and, weirdly, a little bit like he's just been offered the number for a crisis line by a concerned Ultra Magnus. And then Megatron opens his mouth and Drift looks over his shoulder with a flat look on his face.

"There won't be a problem," he says firmly, more to Megatron than America, his tone warning. Intimidation will only get him so far with Megatron -- Drift knows he doesn't pose as much of a physical threat -- but he's hoping it'll at least get Megatron out of the room. He starts to rise to his feet. "And there won't be any further disturbance. Thank you, uh..." She didn't really give a name, and Drift feels weird about calling someone the Law. He fixes a bright, friendly smile on his face, the first one since Megatron walked into the room. "Thank you. We'll be on our way now."

She gives Megatron her best Look. The kind that would have hardened gang members filling her pants. It probably comes off as somewhat less than impressive when she has to crane her neck so far up she's practically leaning backwards, though.

The language Drift uses could be taken as an offense. But at this point, the situation seems mostly resolved. Mostly. She'll have to add a notice suggesting the two not be left alone on a team together in her daily reports to Kid Quantum. "Judge Beeny," she supplies in response to his hesitation, then gives a curt little nod, not returning the smile. Instead, she just plants her fists on her hips like she's waiting for them to disperse. Preferably in opposite directions.

Drift's stern looks and forceful tone go completely unnoticed. Megatron is too busy raising a robot brow at America, coming to the steady realization that this human was trying to stare him down like he was a convicted felon. That was certainly a first for him, most organics in his experience were either dead, about to be blown up, or scuttling away and screaming.

Something about that was quite a hoot, because one corner of his mouth pulls back into a grin. Not a sneer - a grin of genuine appreciation for a fleshling at about shin-height trying to peel his paint off with her eyes. The only one that bothered to get in between the two arguing Cybertronians in the first place.

"Judge Beeny," he says with fascination,"I'll remember that."

Drift's attempt at taking control of this situation has apparently failed miserably -- although, really, what had he been expecting? Megatron has never bent to anyone's will. He watches Megatron's reaction, though his own expression doesn't change, and he nods his head toward America.

"Judge Beeny. Thank you."

He glances back at Megatron one more time, his expression flickering, and turns wordlessly to leave. He's not so sure he really wants to leave here with Megatron after all. He needs some time to just...clear his head.

Unfortunately for Drift, Megatron's heavy footfalls follow behind him. It looks like he won't be rid of the Decepticon just yet. Drift was here for a bit longer, after all. He'd be more familiar with his surroundings. The confrontation, oddly enough, had left the warlord in a bit of a jovial mood, as if he'd released some of his own coiled energy in riling Drift up.

Once they're in a less populated area, he leans forward to be a little closer to Drift's head, which was sitting at around elbow height.

"And where, exactly, do you plan on heading to? These organics," he says, waving a hand to irritatedly gesture to the space all around them,"are everywhere."

The last thing Drift wants after that embarrassingly public showdown is for Megatron to follow him, but he'd suggested it, hadn't he? He regrets that a little bit. He doesn't change his pace in the slightest when Megatron catches up to him, and he doesn't turn to look at the Decepticon, either. He'd consider transforming and driving away if he hadn't gotten those citations from Rico in his first week.

"Yes, funny how that happens on an organic world," he bites back, and immediately regrets that, too, because he's only sniping because Megatron managed to rattle him enough. "I'm going back to my biome. To meditate."

As in you are not invited, Megatron.

Edited 2017-11-28 05:06 (UTC)

Megatron grins at the sudden uncharacteristic hostility. Drift's snippy comments weren't the words of a remorseful ex-Decepticon looking for redemption. That was Deadlock backtalking his Commanding Officers. It was instantly recognizable, and it amused him how easily Drift's facade melted away under a little pressure.

"I assume you mean that shed in the middle of the cyberformed land."

Drift didn't really expect him to take the hint and leave, did he?

It bothers Drift in a bad way that Megatron's succeeded so easily in throwing him off center. If this had been their own world, if that shopping area had been filled with Cybertronians instead of unfamiliar organics, Megatron wouldn't have succeeded in shaking his cool just by calling him by an old name and digging up the dead past. Every Autobot already knows who Drift is and who Deadlock was, what he'd done, and he'd accepted it. There was no shock value left in it. But here, where people didn't know, where none of Drift's first impressions were prefaced with the high probability that he'd probably killed a friend of theirs at one point, it's different. Drift thought he could start fresh here, but he ought to have known -- the past always catches up with you. If people here must know, then so be it -- but that isn't how he wants them to find out.

That does get another reaction out of him, a sharp look up at Megatron, and Drift is painfully aware of it. He narrows his optics. "You've been to my house?"

It's kind of a pathetic excuse for house, but it's still his, a last bastion of privacy, and apparently Megatron's already been poking around.

"I was surveying the relevant parts of this world," he replies with a little irritation,"Do you think I was flying overhead for my own pleasure?"

Granted, Shockwave and Soundwave made a new body that handled wonderfully, but no, he wasn't the type to go on pleasure rides. He preferred to get that particular feeling out while chasing a fleeing enemy. He liked to get a sense for his surroundings, even if they were infested with organics.

It's absolutely petty to take any pleasure in seeing Megatron rankled, especially when that's often a prelude to something much more dangerous, but Drift does, just a little bit. He shifts his gaze back ahead of him, increasing his stride. Megatron can follow him to his front door if he wants; Drift's just going to close it in his face.

"I don't know, Megatron," Drift says, his voice back to level now, even calm, "your taste in leisure activities has always been pretty esoteric."

“Really?” He cocks his head in a way that somehow seems mocking,”I figured you would be quite familiar with my taste in leisurely activities by now.”

As satisfying as it is to crush Autobots in his bare hands or send in a Phase Sixer to watch final wave of chaos after years of patient preparation, those wouldn’t really count as leisure time. Drift is one of the few who would actually have an idea of what he actually did in his spare time with a permanently activated FiM chip and four million years between himself and his last written work.

Most of it was staring sulkily into the void of space, granted. But not all.

Drift fights not to rise to that bait. The last thing he'd really wanted in that conversation was a reminder of what he and Megatron had once shared, however inadvertent. He tries his best to ignore the mocking tone in Megatron's voice, knowing that a reaction is just what the Decepticon wants.

"It's been a long time," Drift says as he heads for the lift to take them to habitat deck, only the flatness of his tone betraying him. Soon, at least, he won't have to deal with crowds of people just waiting to bear witness to something else embarrassing. "Tastes change. At least mine have."

"Oh, I'm sure they have," he adds, with all the intonation of someone entertaining their companion's obviously temporary obsessions.

"A Greatsword," he gives the large handle on Drift's back a light flick,"a meditation space, your pale appearance. You've fully embraced the tastes those fools have given you. Spiritual panacea for your poor, aching spark."

The lift opens in front of them.

Questioning the legitimacy of his spirituality shouldn't bother Drift by now. Just about everyone does, except for Rodimus. And it isn't really that that gets to him, even if he grits his teeth and neatly sidesteps into the lift to get Megatron out of his personal space bubble. Treating his Greatsword like some trinket, though, when it had been bought with someone else's death... Megatron's opinion shouldn't have an effect on him. Drift's no longer a Decepticon. But he still finds it hard to recollect his cool.

"It isn't some phase, Megatron. It's a way of life." That's what he's trying to make of it, anyway. Spiritual panacea for your poor, aching spark -- it hits closer to home than Drift was really prepared for, and it shows on his face for just a moment, a mere flicker of expression. "If you'd seen what I did at Vector Sigma, then you'd understand. But I don't expect you to. I don't need you to -- I know I'm on the right path."

Needling Drift is far too easy. While he seems reluctant to bring up their previous arrangements, the Decepticon is more than happy to, and that gives him the upper hand here. Even maintaining an impressively even temper compared to his time as Deadlock, Megatron could still see the little chinks in his armor. The flicker and twitch of a mech just barely tolerating his situation.

"A way of life?" he asks, although surprisingly not as sarcastically as one expected. "And what way would that be, exactly?"

He gestures flippantly, rather uninterested, but willing to go through the motions. If he and Drift were going to fight together again, it would behoove him to actually learn more about how his former soldier had changed.

He knows that an honest answer will likely earn him scorn and derision from Megatron, but anything less than the truth would be horribly inadequate. He's endured plenty of scorn for his beliefs already -- he can take it from Megatron, too.

"A way of healing. Atonement." He won't deny that he has much to atone for. That's what keeps him grounded, humbled. "Being a force of good in the universe, instead of one of chaos or destruction or oppression. Helping others in need. A good friend of mine once told me that helping others is the highest cause you can aspire to." He does look at Megatron then, his expression momentarily unreadable. "But he wasn't the first person to encourage me to help make the world a better place."

"A force of good."

He's heard plenty of this drivel from Prime, and tearing it apart was a favorite pastime. But this isn't about mocking Drift. Megatron is dead serious here, as if the assertion of some spiritual fantasy being 'pure good' was a personal affront to his own ideology.

"Dai Atlas was sitting comfortably in the halls of the Senate while you rotted in the Dead End. He wouldn't have even noticed if your spark finally gave out in the gutters. He wouldn't have cared."

The Decepticon tilts his head, optics narrowed sharply. Despite all the cruelty and the needless violence, the fiery rebel rising up from Kaon's underground was still very much alive in him.

"Where the hell was he, with his force of good, when Cybertronians were dying by the thousands to serve the Senate's thirst for automation?"

He moves forward, challenging, not an ounce of ridicule in his voice this time.

Edited 2017-11-30 06:45 (UTC)

The words sting more than Drift was expecting, lashing out at him like a whip, and he's angry that Megatron still knows just where to poke and prod. Somehow Megatron's words bring him back to Rodion, all those millions of years ago, at that rally where Megatron had preached justice and equality for all. When Drift had already seen the corruption threaded through their government through Cybertron's underworld. When Megatron hadn't just given him a new name, but a new purpose.

"It wasn't Dai Atlas!"

Drift's voice rings out inside the lift, louder than he'd meant it to be, and he curls his hands slowly into fists, gritting his teeth. He can't let Megatron keep rattling his composure like this.

"It wasn't Dai Atlas who changed my mind," he says, his voice quiet now, his gaze lowered. "He and I didn't agree on a whole lot when we met. I thought he was a coward in hiding, weak -- so attached to his principles that he'd rather lose everything than take up arms again to save it. And I'll admit it: I still think we made the right choice that day. I still believe we had to fight. And Dai Atlas, he changed."

Not, like, a whole lot, but still.

"But there was someone else. He was different from the others. He was willing to challenge the ideals of the Circle of Light. He made he realize I'd lost sight of what I was fighting for, how far I'd strayed from my path." He looks back up at Megatron then. "How far you'd strayed from yours."

While Drift seems to have found the motivation to try and grasp for his own better nature, Megatron is still satisfied nurturing his anger. He has yet to take a good hold of his own temper, much less consider something absurd like forgiveness. Uneasy collaboration was the best he could offer, and it was already trying to his patience.

"Dai Atlas is wise to hide like a coward," he says,"Many of my Decepticons would enjoy the opportunity to rid our universe of the last wretched survivor of that Senate."

Megatron looks like he's about to continue, but he's interrupted by a loud chime from the elevator. The doors open ahead of them.

Drift looks sidelong at Megatron as the doors open, his mouth set in a thin line. He shoulders past Megatron and walks ahead of him, not turning back as he speaks, his voice quieter, more controlled now.

"And what purpose would that serve, Megatron? The Senate is already long dead. Dai Atlas doesn't serve it anymore -- it doesn't even exist anymore."

"That does not erase what the Senate had done," he remarks coldly,"Nothing will."

And perhaps that revealed more about Megatron than it did Dai Atlas, that he mention that particular sentiment after Drift had explained his desire to atone. That perhaps it was a bit easier to pursue justified vengeance - or at least, that he'd convinced himself it was.

But he leaves it at that as they enter the biome.

"You're right. Nothing will," Drift agrees, his voice level but fierce. "Including killing Dai Atlas. We can't erase our sins, Megatron, and we can't forget them. Trying to fool ourselves into thinking we can do either only pulls us farther from truth and justice."

Megatron is a monster, maybe, but he didn't start out that way. And Drift had been a monster once, too. If he believes that he himself could change, then Megatron...even Megatron could.

Truth and justice. He laughs at that. Oh, Drift was certainly trying to make his little reformation work, wasn't he? Megatron was starting to think every Autobot was required to practice until they could get that sanctimonious tone just right.

"You certainly seem quite eager to forget your own past, Deadlock"

Megatron gestures ahead to the silhouette of the Cybertronian biome.

"You broke your own chains. You crushed the oligarchs who hurt you, and helped me free their slaves. There is no shame in that."

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