S O U N D W A V E

Long live my one true master. Soundwave Roleplay / ask blog from the series Transformers: Prime. PSA -- This soundwave will remain stoicly silent, and only communicate through audio recordings. Tracking the tag: crestingamplitude

[screechingcosmos]

    Starscream prides himself on control, prides himself on an inability to keep his true colors showing. Annoyance, yes, temper tantrums, they were they - but pure… unbidden rage. It made him dangerous, not cowardly. He could be ferocious, he could be fearsome - but he thrived on the backdrops of his incredible genius and tenacity. He was important, and he had made significant contributions to this entire cause, so to be constantly overrided, to be constantly subjected to humiliation, to pain-

                               It broke him.       Screens filled with images of one such scene - one that was burned permanently in his processor. He knew it by heart - could play it over and over again. The scar was somewhere, hidden on his visage - ones that Knockout hadn’t been able to get rid of, or ones he’d been outright commanded to keep.       It fills him with rage, fills him with contempt. He sinks harder into Soundwave’s neck, dangerous heels threatening to snap straight through an energon line. Those crimson optics were bright in the low light, striking in comparison to his more cowardly self. He was different - an entirely different mech. He wasn’t afraid of Soundwave, but he was afraid of what Soundwave might show their leader - yet even so, he had forgotten himself.                            “Stop it! Stop it right now! You have no idea-”     He stomps downwards, the satisfying spill of energon bright in vicious eyes. No. No more embarrassment. No more humiliation. He wouldn’t take it. Not today. Not ever. Megatron had long stopped being worthy, and Soundwave was nothing more than his devoted drone that knew little apart from their Lord’s own treachery. He only saw the good, and never the bad. Starscream knew every. Single. Inch.     So caught up in his rage, his hurt - that he can hardly feel the other mech tensing, hardly see the coiling in his limbs. He is ready to sever another line, to rip the other to /shreds/ - when that vocoder rings bright in his audials. It’s no longer a game anymore - no longer just for fun- not when he’s so easily apprehended.      It’s with a slight cry that he feels his feet rip from under him, feels the dangerous curl of Soundwave’s tenti-feelers, and knows that the other will gladly leave him with missing limbs if it means revenge. The crushing pressure has him livid, and had the pain in his wings not been substantial enough to earn the other a light growl - he might have cursed him profusely.    The Air Commander doesn’t struggle - doesn’t fight. It’s like struggling against quick sand, he knows, so he lets the predator entrap it’s prey - like some sort of twisted, silent spider - before finally offering a reaction once more. His face is full of contempt, full of anger. Soundwave has obviously gotten under his skin - and he’s not even happy to see one optic. No, instead - Starscream stares into it with as much ferocity as he can muster while venomous words fall from his lip plates.                “Just because you hear and see everything on this ship                                  doesn’t mean you feel it.”

[crestingamplitude]

     Electrifying blue energon leaks from punctured neck-cables. Smearing over sullen ash and violet armor plates. The thin copper wiring within his visible optic stretches; those small coils becoming taunt as that molten hued optic widens. Drinking in an expression of broken frustration and out right resentment from the silver mech. In that moment the thin wiring contracts -- that singular optic narrowing and focusing solely on Starscream.

     Soundwave watches intently as more pathetic prattle befalls from the others vocoder. Accusations that he knew not of the pain inflicted upon the other. While he listens -- allows the air commander his moment of falsified rebuttal; his feelers grip to the living metal of the first lieutenant's frame. Snaking around the opposing leg, tightening over the aviary's hip-joint like a vice.  

     No. He didn't need to feel Starscream's pain to understand it. The sickening jet was always so wrapped up in himself to realize the position he placed others in. The tortures other 'cons undertook and endured each and every time this unruly piece of scrap hatched another plan to over throw their Ruler. Each and every betrayal sentenced another to death. Forced some other 'con into playing the scapegoat. An outlet of the gladiator's anger.

      It wickedly bemused the communication's chief that this proverbial piece of junk never took the time to process why he refused to climb rank. Why the silent 'con remained tall and sturdy while so many crumpled into rust.  Jarring scars accented his armor now, chunks of plates had disintegrated over the years.  New alignments added to his exoskeleton all because this pathetic excuse of trash considered himself ingenious.  He stood in Starscream's would be place, and unflinchingly received that monstrous wrath on numerous occasions.

     Soundwave's movements are fluid, every inch of him radiates infuriating anger as silence consumes them. Leaning dangerously close to the other's mug. Shattered glass hovers mere inches from the other's helm. How many times had he withstood Starscream's belittling. Endured those moments when this horrid 'con accused him of being nothing more than a drone. Bent on following Megatron's every command. When he, in fact held motives of his own. Hidden to the untrained optic. 

                                    The silence is deafening as he lingers before the jet.

     Soundwave's well aware that Starscream had fallen limp. That one tactic the jet believes will save him. An outtake of exhaust leaks from the lean 'con. Fogging his visor and dissipating over Starscreams face-plate. A servo lurches forward; the only sound accompanying the movement is that of a gust of wind. Digi grip fast to his captive's jaw. Exerting enough pressure to crack the living metal flanking his digi.

                                    The embodiment of pure loathing radiates from his core;                                     There is but one major difference between the two.                                      Where one cowers, and waits to attack.                                     The other strikes on point.                     FEEL THIS, WORM

     Without warning; the digi gripping fast to Starscream's jaw releases the splintered metal. Only to find it's next target -- the base of the air commanders left wing. There's no hesitation within the silent mech. The smaller femme attached to his frame reverberates to life and separates from him. The restricting tenti's around said wing lessen; however those clinging to the commander's hip-joint constricts more so: crushing the inline, bolts, and cables. In the process his servo's digi pierce through the protoform of the wing, and in one swift motion he tears the mech into three.

     There's little to no revel as he watches the remainder of the other's frame clatter into the tiles. Laserbeak screeches as she swoops inward, capturing the prized wing within her maw; only to thus fly into the rafters overhead. The tentacles withering just above Starscream release his leg, and that too lands alongside the other. Soundwave stares downward at the display. Knowing that the damage is not nearly enough to cull this pathetic excuse of a Cybertronian. A servo uplifts, gesturing to his visor, then to the other's broken frame.  

               The message:                             You've broken my things.                                                          ----I've broken yours.

[screechingcosmos]

   He never expected Soundwave to give up to him easily. He was blindly devoted to Lord Megatron, and as a result had attempted to throw Starscream under the bus on a multitude of occasions. But the Comm Officer didn’t get it - and he probably never would. Wherein he was a good little soldier and garnered Lord Megatron’s respect, the Air Commander was his proverbial whipping bitch.

    It only made him more bitter.      It enrages him, the outright laughter - mockery. He was always mocked - when in reality Starscream was unpredictable. He was genius. He was dangerous. But Megatron had turned him into the laughing stock of the Decepticon army. And Soundwave had not helped.                      “For our Communications Officer, you do a                       scrap job of paying attention to surrounding                      relations.”    His grip tightens harshly, satisfied as the visor continues to crack. And just as suddenly as he was squeezing - he was drifting to his pedes, surprisingly graceful and silent. There is no movement from Starscream for a full thirty seconds as servos cross over his chest-    And then one long, lean leg is swinging, pede connecting with a painful crack to the side of the other’s helm. He’s not done, and utilizes the leverage given to him to press downwards, provided Soundwave might hit the floor. A sharp heel finds the sensitive juncture of wiring at the other’s neck, and he pushes down lightly - but enough to feel the form give a bit.                          “Show me.”     He’s standing over him, wings taught and optics wide.                                    “Do it.”

[crestingamplitude]

     A bitter metallic taste aligned against his glossa; the very idea that he had missed even the slightest inkling of information, or action upon the warship just left a bad taste within his maw. So much so that his ruined visor illuminated -- green,blue, and black light skipped in tattered images across the shattered screen of his visor. The illumination only lasted a second or so, but it was online long enough to jar the overhanging surveillance screens to life.

     A rough image of Starscream fills the room, His lanky form's encased by Megatron's shadow. Although the audio is dead, it's apparent to what's happening due to the grey-plated jet's cowering: Megatron's mechanism deep within one of his tantrums, and Starscream is once again, the outlet for his rage.  The imagery was set on playback. Stuck in a constant loop. In which he was solely responsible for. As if wanting the other to watch his own cowardice again and again.

                                     He was the eyes and ears of the Decepticons.

     Suddenly the pressure against his visor is gone, and within response to it; his frame straights as he raises up onto his knee-joints. Only to succumb to an vigorous strike to the flank of his helm. Shards of black glass splinter and careen across the dimly lit room.  Soundwave's taunt frame crashes into the tiles with a thud. Essences of light leaks through the remnants of his face-plate.

      Reeling from the harsh impact, a outtake of exhaust echoes from black and purple armor, and before he has the opportunity to react, there's a piercing pain inches above his shoulder-plates as a spool-heel digs it's way through his neck cables -- the action's not hard enough to kill, but forceful enough to split some of the tight wiring within said area, forcing bright hued energon to seep over the undamaged cables and pool at the floor.

      Every inch of Soundwave's build ignites. Sensors preening themselves as his  frame twitches under that leg's weight -- unbeknownst to the hovering lieutenant: the movements not out of fear or desperation. Another moment drawls out as Starscream demands to see his face; a feat not even their master has accomplished; however the time lapse was exactly what he needed, because there it was. The minuscule give he was searching for.  The corded tentacles that had once kept his form restrained had loosened from the sheer impact, and it was all he needed.  

     "I. Refuse."

     It's rare; even as rare as his face. But his vocoder grinds out the denied statement with an tone of livid boldness. Like flint against steel, the floor ignites in sparking embers as his feelers furiously yank from his beneath form and ensnare around the ankle at his neck cables.

    Yanking the other's weight from under him, Soundwave slowly sits up as his tenti's coil upwards, Raking over that slender frame, binding those wings flush against his spinal-cord. Their pronged ends opening and sucking to the edge of the other's jaw like organic leeches. The anger within his lean build practically fills the space between them.

      The pressure in which he holds the other's increases, as he's ready to crush the silver 'con into two pieces of scrap metal. Returning to his pedes, the glass covering his right optic falls, revealing a dark crimson glow -- the ridge is furrowed into the unseen. From what's seen, Soundwave's gaze is like that of molten lava, thick with the hatred and current desire to run this mech through.

[crestingamplitude]

and one predator

[pxlemistis-deactivated20141012]

     His massive frame unintentionally blocks the ray’s contact with the smaller mech. Gusts of expelled gasses from the Knight’s mouth-piece fade in the shade, as red optics peer down towards the faceless stranger.

[crestingamplitude]

       Shade befalls his lean frame, There’s a moment if intensity shared between the two, as Soundwave evaluates the creature before him, all while wondering if there’s any similarity to Predaking, or the other ancient reptilians such as his likes.

[crestingamplitude]

and one doctor.

[completeknockout-deactivated201]

Knockout would blink slowly across at Soundwave as he drew ever closer, closing the distance between them; so much for a personal bubble. Breaking barriers at every turn. The gesture is indeed very clear, but however, he casts a glance back towards the screen and keypad to the data he had currently been collecting, his attention yet again becoming set on the violet colored mech.

"Uh…but of course. Why didn’t you say so!" That last bit was a choke of sorts, an attempt at calming his anxiety about his current situation. Pointing towards one of the many slabs, he’d tilt his head. "Why don’t you…take a seat, and we’ll get started.”

[crestingamplitude]

      Four pronged clamps release the tool and allow it to clatter back onto the table, as the tendril in question slithers back into it's respected compartment. An inaudible wisp of exhaust vents from his lean frame. Hidden optics follow the muscle car's every move, until finally the doctor's attention was rightfully set upon himself.

     There's a plethora of words spoken from the mech, Words he only assumes are emitted to break that silence he was so fond of. With a curt nod, Soundwave bypasses the good doctor and sets himself against the examination bench..Dark plated legs cross over one-another as he leans forward; making his visor within reach.

[pharrma-deactivated20150102]

Holy slag it’s a giveaway!!

First place winner will receive:

1 COPY OF WINDBLADE ISSUE 3 SIGNED BY THE WRITER HERSELF, MAIRGHREAD SCOTT

YOUR CHOICE OF

a pair of Autobot Earrings  OR

a Decepticon lanyard  (we all know decepticons are the best)

AND

a one-of-a-kind drawing done by yours truly!  Holy shit!

Second place will receive one pair of Autobot earrings.

RULES

You don’t need to be following me but hey, like Transformers? This is a Transformers blog.  Followers might get a little something extra!

You MUST be comfortable with giving me your mailing address, otherwise I can’t mail you your prizes!!

Please like and reblog ONCE.  That’s it.  

Giveaway ends on the 1st of August.

[crestingamplitude]

and one predator

pxlemistis

       Large pedes sink into the soft dirt as he relinquish his movements. Sunlight flares from his dark visor as his helm leans back to regard the overly large dino-mech. 

[screechingcosmos]

    Eventually, Starscream gives up on his struggle. Soundwave is like proverbial quicksand - the harder you fight, the tighter he squeezes, and the mech is far from willing to have his spark casing cracked by an overly friendly feeler. Instead, he simply stares, red optics narrowed and obviously incredibly displeased. 

    A sigh of relief courses through him the second the audio is severed, and he attempts to make himself ‘comfortable,’ wings going slack against feelers and twitching just slightly at the texture. He couldn’t quite tell which part of Soundwave was touching where - but it was just better to not ask questions.      Slowly, crimsons optics widen - and he looks terrified.                       “Please, don’t.”

[crestingamplitude]

   The only indication that the sleek 'con is listening is the continuation of the sequence. The track skips to a stop at the other's high pitched interruption. Minimizing the countdown, his helm tilts to the side to regard the aviary 'con.There's a sensation that could easily be compared to sanctification as his imagery sensors inputs that terrified expression adorned across the other's glyphs.

     Of course the last thing he needs is for the loathsome jet to break a heel. -- if such a thing happened, he would never hear the last of it.  Considering that it was already hard enough to work with Starscream's constant interfering.  

     The snaking tendrils abruptly uncoil from the other's frame, and return into their respected compartments as their previous victim clatters downward. Hopefully his reflects are attuned enough to catch himself, less he looks like a fool.

[crestingamplitude]

*throws a bunch of paint filled water balloons* MAKE IT RAIN!!!!

          Anger spikes through his processor as he comes to a hault Stoic colors now bright red and blue — utterly clashing against his frame The visor illuminates as he searches for the cuplrit of the attack

[xx0nyctophilia0xx-deactivated20]

Send "Lips Like Sugar" for my muses reaction to yours grabbing them and placing multiple kisses on their lips

[screechingcosmos]

     He’s so satisfied with himself, it burns just a little.      It’s rare Starscream ever gets the upper hand over many of the Officer’s aboard the Nemesis, and rare still for Soundwave to fall prey to many of his clever plans. Truth be told - he probably would have taken over the proverbial world by now if he actually followed shit through. And this… this was one of the rare opportunities that he had actually done everything he’d intended.      The sonic cannon clicks back into place, servos forming once again. He flexes it slightly, and gives a heavy sigh. His wings are high on his back with pride, and the Air Commander stands just a little bit taller. He’s in front of Soundwave, staring down at him with both satisfaction and impending rage. He could be dangerous, if necessary.      The mech drops to one knee, reaching forward to tilt the Comm Officer’s helm upwards with a single claw. A click of a glossa against denta signals his thinking - his presence.                     ”Have you been trying to sabotage me this whole time?                     Your loyalties are misplaced, Soundwave.”      The claw digs in hard, furthering the crack along his visor.                       ”Show me your face.”

[crestingamplitude]

     The warmth of living metal penetrates through the thin armor at the bottom of his jaw; He's staring into darkness, a void of black beneath the very visor that hides him away. Still he needs nothing more than the scent of energon vapors within the venting exhaust that hovers before him; no doubt fogging his shattered screen's lenses to pinpoint the opposing 'con's location.

     Anger consumes him, but he's far from blinded from it. He's waiting for the slightest misplace of servos, and words driven by that crippling pride of his. Reinforced glass further spiderwebs as metallic claws push through it's weakening structure. 

      A low, almost inaudible growl seeps from below the mask -- that is however, until he hears the prattle. Accusing him. Declaring that his loyalties where anything but true. 

                           ------ It's not wrong. Not completely. The                           communications expert held no ties to the one kneeling over                   his bound form. No. Every ounce of loyalties remained true                    to that of his one true master: Megatron.

     Armored shoulders shake, as silent laughter rolls from the lean mech. Bemused. That helm held taunt by slender, scaled joints digits turns. Aligning its self with what he presumed to be Starscream's helm -- and the following motion's slow. Unwavering as he answers with a stoic shake of his head. No.

[screechingcosmos]

     He’s pushing his luck, he knows, but there are days Soundwave simply humors him for the fact of humoring him no doubt, and then there are days he simply is 100% done with the Commander’s bullshit. Apparently today is the former, because he immediately regrets invading the other’s personal space. 

     Another yelp leaves him, and as their frames press together, long legs kick out. Servos plastered to his side, the Commander is rather unceremoniously wiggling about - attempting to wriggle free of a vice-like grip. Of course, their Comm Officer certainly isn’t a weak one - but Starscream still got points for determination.      As the music begins broadcasting, he groans, helm falling back in pure, unadultered embarrassment.                          “Primus, Soundwave, shut up and put me down-!”

[crestingamplitude]

         There's a sensation of heaviness building. The air's thick with it. Many of days he can withstand the unintentional needy whines of this mech. Today however, was not one of them. Thick corded spines coil tighter if only to hear yet another yelp from his victim.

      Severing the audio quip, as rudely requested -- though his grip remains firm. In fact his thick cords are snaking their way between their chest-plates, separating them but retaining their steeled grip on the other. Binding his servos to his hip-joints. 

        The mockery's gone cold, as he can'ts his head to the side. Free servos raise into the line of sight, while obsidian black digits curl, pointing downward. The motion's followed by a slow nod as his visor's displays a launching sequence. 

[crestingamplitude]

Here Kitty Kitty

Next person to say "Here Kitty Kitty" in my askbox owns my character leashed, gagged and blindfolded for 48 hours.

       It wasn't everyday he was outwitted by the stiletto heeled jet. In fact this whole ordeal was a mistake, an accidental slip by the silent chief. A grave mistake he will rightfully correct the second he's given even the inkling of range. A shattered visor on looks in the direction he assumes the other to be perching. 

      His audio sensors are shot, and he's silently doing mainframe diagnostics on his current dilemma -- the blackout he currently faces thanks to the sonic disruptor within that vile 'cons hands.  

      Engines rev in the utmost anger as he lowers against his knees, servos struggling against the binds of his own feelers. Tendrils having become grid locked in their attempts to catch the scrawny 'con. 

     The air's thick with one message: Enjoy this, while it lasts.  

[lady-illusion-deactivated201606]

Next person to say "Here Kitty Kitty" in my askbox owns my character leashed, gagged and blindfolded for 48 hours.

[crestingamplitude]

and one doctor.

[completeknockout-deactivated201]

He always had himself tied up in the simplest of things, and yet, decided to make them ever more complicated for himself — as if for a test. “Hm…” Straightening, digits found his chin and ran over it in thought. 

The whirr laserbeak, caused him to look up from his work, arching an eye ridge, head cocked slightly to the left, though he’d go rigid at the prodding of his shoulderblade, turning round ever so slowly. “Guh! Soundwave — I didn’t — what in Primus name are you doing here?”

[crestingamplitude]

             The digi pulled away from the other's finish as he turned. Permitting an air of skeptisim to leak into the air as the cherry red 'con actually spews nonsense at him. There's cant to his helm as Laserbeak falls to a perch on one of the many tables scattered withi nthe room.

     Exhaust vents from his frame, befalling over the glossy mech as he leans inward, becoming dangerously close to the good doctor. Flatwinged arms uplift; and gesture toward the shiny mech -- however a tendril lurches past him ad uplifts one of the many items.

                 The answer's clear: Fix my cracked visor.

[screechingcosmos]

     The grey mech is instantly irritated once more, Soundwave’s mockery doing little for his regard for his own well-being. He can read the other well enough to know exactly what’s going through his mind - from millenia of interaction and restitution no doubt. All the same, Soundwave’s eternal mockery had him sinking backwards just slightly.

     Starscream narrows his optics just slightly, servos falling upon his hips. He’s attempting to squint past the other’s visor, foreheads knocking together as he stares. Wings are rigid, and he’s stare intensely - though years have taught him there is no getting past that visor.                     ”I don’t have anything to say to you.”        

[crestingamplitude]

     Pressure seeps inwardly at the bridge of his visor; his sensors clouded by an up close and all to personal Starscream. One who was currently preforming another pathetic attempt at seeing past his visor. A feat he was not going to achieve now, or any time in his future. 

     Helm uplifting so that their faces align, his tenti-feelers snake from the confines of his frame and ensnare that winged 'con flush against him. If he was daring enough to invade personal space, then he was daring enough to receive his fury.

       His grip against the other increases, the very visor before the other illuminates into a smooth, human courting soundtrack.  

[crestingamplitude]

and one doctor.

      Heavy doors pulls back against their tracks; giving way for his lean form to press inside. Laserbeak peels from his chest and darts across the good doctors lab; preforming her own recon while Soundwave busies himself with attaining the attention of a certain red muscle car.     

        Pedes ghost over the tiles as he comes to stand behind the other. Helm tilting downward and canting to the side as he waits to be noticed. After another moment his servo uplifts, long digis prodding the back of that red plated shoulder armor.

[screechingcosmos]

His saucy mouth frequently gets him in a lot of trouble, and Soundwave is no exception to the rule (possibly the simple equalizer). Often Starscream gladly went on a little power trip, and despite their Comm Officer’s frequent humoring him - the annoyance was there. 

The mech meeps suddenly, curling back in on himself and bracing for impact. When it doesn’t come, he blinks only slightly - optics opening once more to catch his rather cowardly face in the bright reflection. He scowls, drawing upright once more and going to knock those servos away.                   ”It was a joke. A new earth term I learned.                                  Calm down.”

[crestingamplitude]

          Cͤ̍̉ͬȃ͑̇̍̽̀l̊̃͋m͌ͧ͒ ̃͋̋̄̇̈̑d͗͑̔owͥnͭ ͨ̽͛-ͨ̅͆ͣ̈̑ͧ-̄̀̇͗́-̿ Ẫ́ ͗͋̈͛̃̿͗n̈́̑͛ͪͩ̈e̍͌͒̿̑̀̽w̌ ͥ̚Eͪ̓̉̿ͭä́̈́ͬr̚tḧ̒͛͆ t̋ͦe͋̄̃̌̓͒̇rͩ̃̇̒m̿͐.ͤ̿̾̌̂ Aͣ̋̌ͭ ̓̽ͬjoͨ̏̌͗̓̌̓kͧ̇e͊͆̑̽.̎̈́ ̍́ͧẢ͋̂ͥͭͦ jͨͭo͗̓ͫ̑̌̈́k̍̈̔̅͑͂ē.ͧ̽̂̐͋̍ ͆̓I͒ͦ̌͗̓ ̋̏ͦ̄͋̅̚l̓͌͐̿̂e͛͊̽a͗͊r̍̊́n̋̔͗ͧ͋̌ͭe͛̓͊dͥ̃͂̌̉̀̽.̒̇͛ͬ͒ͪ

     A mixed version of Starscream's voice echoes within the otherwise silent Communication deck. Relaying the very statement that had just been ushered unto him. The audio node falls flat and he straightens, lowering his servo. There's something satisfying in that meek, off guarded and frankly cowardly expression that adorns the other's helm.        

     Straightening to his full height, that visor sets upon the others face, waiting for something more. Elongated digi curl, and point toward the grey 'con briefly before opening flat palmed. As if encouraging the other dribble more words at him.