seekerofintegrity:
✮ ;; Fortunately, the youngling’s reply came rather quickly. It seemed concerned, though less for its own safety than for the fallen form before it. Dreadwing felt his spark flux with discomfort; he was used to the horrors of war, the death and chaos that came when a taken life left a frame cold and dull. This one was even more tragic–leaving behind a small, utterly helpless being, when they had not even lost their life in combat. From the little he could see, it had been nothing more than an accident.
[ My most sincere apologies, comrade… ]
His crimson optics shifted quickly to the smaller form, and he took a few short steps forward to kneel beside the bitlet’s offlined creator–putting it between himself and the lone survivor. “Your papa… it is difficult to explain.” How did one tell a sparkling of death? “But you must believe me, it is imperative that we leave immediately. He… he will come with us.”
It was a ridiculous idea, dragging a dead mech from a shuttle that was about to explode… but after all that he had lost, seeing another of his kind go up in flames was not something that he would allow. This mech deserved a much more honorable end. Yet as that idea flickered in his mind, a burst of flame shot from the ship’s console. They were out of time. Dreadwing launched his arm forward, urging the little one forward: “Climb onto me, NOW! We don’t have very long!”
Now that the stranger was closer, the little seekerlet watched him with wide, owlish optics. Her untrained EM field betrayed her feelings; curiosity mingled with her wariness, though it was obvious that she did not see Dreadwing as a threat. “We have to wait for him to wake up,” She told him. As she spoke, tiny hands gave the motionless body another little shove. She gazed closely at her creator’s face, looking for signs of his awakening, but he did not come out of his recharge cycle. How strange, and how troublesome.
Given that such an innocent little creature had not yet had to contemplate and process such a traumatic concept as the death of a loved one, her confidence was unsurprising even now. She pondered her papa closely, the tilt of her He usually woke at the slightest of touches, but obviously he just wasn’t ready to yet. “He’ll wake up and we’ll all go together,” she decided.
That was not to say she was not frightened. The nameless tot was dreadfully confused, and in pain, and desperately afraid, but her creator would surely get up soon and everything would be better. As soon as the panel sparked and looks-like-papa-and-me stranger lunged forward, she let out a startled warble and pressed herself tighter still against the inert frame, blissfully unaware of the danger they were in.
