Hello! Mun is Xoppi (they/she/he), and is 30+. While I've roleplayed for many years in a variety of formats, this is my first time giving Tumblr's scene a try. If I misstep in the etiquette, please let me know.
Primary muse/character for this blog will be Razorwreck, my Decepticon OC. Expect violence, war and war-related topics, and other adult themes. Specifically for Razorwreck: it isn't always blatant but he was the subject of laboratory experimentation and dubiously consensual body modifications. Let me know if something needs to be tagged, I don't have any triggers that I'm aware of, and I'm a (written) horror fan.
Tags, links + more below.
Indie, Non-Selective (for now, will change as life picks up)
Sentences to multi-paragraph.
Magic Anons and Anons in general are welcome.
I try to respond at least once a day, though life may dictate longer in-between times.
My dms are open to all.
If you want to/need to drop a thread with me just do so! Sometimes inspiration deserts a particular thread, or a post is hard to reply to, though I do appreciate a heads up for a longer running thread.
If something in one of my replies doesn't work for you, feel free to poke me to change it!
I am not the character I play in text on this silly website! Razorwreck might be bitterly angry and frustrated with a character, but chances are I am perfectly fine with them + their mun.
LINKS
Razorwreck Dossier == General info about the muse (To be updated)
Razorwreck's Life == Rough timeline of Razorwreck's life/points in time I'd be wiling to rp him
Collected Works == To Be Created: links to shorts/art/other Razorwreck related things
Change Logs == my attempt at keeping track of some changes on my blog.
TAGS
ooc : out of channels == Out of Character
ic : in channel == In Character
from a vantage: dash commentary == dashboard commentary
razorwreck aesthetics == Posts that feature something that fit the theming
razorwreck replies == replies to threads
razorwreck writings == solo writing about the character
razorwreck scribbles == drawings featuring the character
razorwreck info == extra info about the character
ooc://
Am graduating with my Bachelor degree in two weeks (went back to school as adult), have been focusing on that + letting brain relax with low effort stuff in the between times. Apologies for random poofing, especially to those I had just started writing with. My very technically dense class and Statistics kind of eat my brain's processing power like someone who's never eaten themselves sick gorging on leftover halloween candy the day after for breakfast.
“Happy Halloween!~ I hope you like them,” Morningstar chirped, proudly donning her self-made “costume” as she delivered a highly festive package full of homemade Cybertronian treats.
Jack-O-Lantern chromium alloy pies; oil cupcakes with oil buttercream frosting, silicone cream-filling and edible witch hats; a whole spongy Energon jelly roll, Energon lollipops on rust sticks; a box of chocolate-covered nut and bolt clusters, and whipped coolant truffles; a whole stack of copper chip cookies made with oil butter, all served on a bed of Energon gummy worms and spiders. To add even more of a special touch, she had even splurged on gold leaf, silver leaf, and copper leaf platings on certain ones for both flavor and color. A whole smorgasbord of festive goodies!
There was something extremely unnerving about hearing Mourningstar's voice from her current form.
Razorwreck just stared at the elongated, nearly skeletal-frame. It seemed too thin to support any kind of life, like instead he should be offering her a variety of food to rest up. But there was no distress he could detect, no sense that anything at all was wrong with the femme from her demeanor.
So he let his optics drop to what she held out and his mouth, uncovered for once, curved up at the edges.
"I did not expect the culinary arts to be among your repertoire. Perhaps some time we can exchange recipes." he murmured as he reached out to take the prize for himself, careful not to touch her. Surely a simple brush would not cause her frame to break else she wouldn't be out and about but he couldn't quite shake that irrational fear from him.
To Razorwreck's horror, Mourningstar had far, far more optics in unusual places he had ever seen before. It was shocking enough that the concern and even a little fear were visible in his own optics.
But maybe that was just from the way he had stumbled right as she opened those extra optics. Clearly it was just coincidental and not at all because of her, no no. At least that's what he tried to present as he got his expression back under control, though he regarded her with more obvious wariness than before.
He had never met anything quite like the femme before. He was extremely certain of that.
"…There's no leaking so far, no. Just superficial scraping on my plating." he said after regarding the relevant notifications and system checks on his hud. The scout's own super charged repair systems would be able to take care of that in the usual manner: snagging minerals and other necesscary elements from his tanks and putting it where it needed to go. Thankfully the damage was light enough it wouldn't cause his systems to resort to other measures.
"…How would you have helped?" Razorwreck's curiosity wouldn't let him just keep walking idly down the hallway without asking, no. He suspected he would regret doing so and the reluctance was audible in his voice.
Mourningstar let out a relieved ex-vent to hear that Razorwreck's damage was purely cosmetic, and nothing potentially fatal. Resting a servo upon her chassis, she calmed herself and focused more on the matter at hand. Prompted by the question of how she would have helped, the femme perked up as they continued on their way.
"I'm not sure how it's made, but my frame makes this black stuff--It's a tarry substance that acts as a deterrent, and some sort of adhesive," She tried to explain, tapping a talon to her cheek while trying to recall the information that she had heard from listening to the scientists. "The science bots would ask for samples routinely, and it sounded like there was some sort of breakthrough being made that would serve various functions!"
There is an optimistic lilt in her tone from regaling Razorwreck on her own little abridged explanation, even if she likely didn't quite understand what she had heard.
"They would put globs of it on an injured bot, usually if they had a hole or took heavy damages, and leaks. The ooze would clog the lines to stop Energon from being lost, and somehow, it would seal up the damages before drying into a rubber."
Which Autobot had been hiding a science project like this?
Producing an apparently hyper efficient healing goop would be incredible for either side of the war depending on possible side effects. Sure the method of sharing was... less than appealing, but if the patient was injured enough they wouldn't be in a position to complain.
"That is an… interesting ability you have. Perhaps we may find others need it more." he said blandly with a slightly strained smile. The mask made it hard to read but it showed around his optics.
With that Razorwreck gestured for her to follow him again, privately resolving not to let that goop touch him before he had seen its effects on someone else. Ideally one of the Autobot raiders, if things went wrong he wouldn't be reprimanded for shooting them.
"My self repair is more than adequate to deal with cosmetic damage," Indeed even the slightly different parts were already starting to heal over as his body stole materials from other parts of his frame to fill the gaps. "But many others are not so fortunate."
There wasn't much use for someone bad at combat at the front lines. He's always been good at finding things and acting on his own so he's sent out into space again. To gather up what scattered Decepticons could be found, to find out why some hadn't responded at all.
Like this silent, seemingly pristine base.
His bouncing steps slowed to a stop as he approached it and his wings fanned out behind him as he scanned all the channels he had access to. He was looking for anything: unintelligible noise on an encrypted frequency he didn't have command codes for, a stray bit of chatter, even a ping from an automated system.
Nothing.
The dust of the moon drifted up around him when he came, glittering in the light from the distant sun as the fine particles turn his high-frequency radar scan into confusing slop. He grimaced and folded his wings back down and the protocols governing their extended functions cutting out when he did so.
Too wary to enjoy himself, Razorwreck used the alien moon's gravity assist his steps as he bounded his way toward the entrance.
“Let me guess, they also were avoiding you.” Wrangle chuckled to himself, flashing the light in front of them to help them see.
“Besides a few simple greetings and scoldings no, if there is a Quintesson, I’ll still ditch you or try swapping to their side.” Wrangle said, giving a small poke with his blaster again.
Wrangle paused at the emergency door and the claw marks and energon stains, he had half a right mind to just run out and ditch again. But he didn’t, and he thought that the other hallway back at the intersection might also have this sort of problem too.
“…I’m checking the vents, if I’m right, they should be lock free or at least trap free cause this definitely looks the place to have booby traps.” Wrangle said, walking to a vent and kicking the grate to try and open it.
A quiet scoff at the idea of other Decepticons avoiding him. There was no reason for them to to do so, he wasn't that tedious to be around normally.
He glanced over at Wrangle, his mouth pressed into a thin line beneath his mask. The Autobot was correct, but despite how absolutely fine everything was, Razorwreck was loath to split up.
But he didn't have a good reason for them to not do so.
"Don't get stuck." he said quietly. A servo gestured to the relatively otherwise untouched metal of the walls.
"It doesn't look like a case of scraplets so you won't have to worry about that." Was there anything that could cause a fear as primal as meeting a swarm of those little monsters in an enclosed space? Probably not, so whatever was here should be easy to deal with, right?
“I will not.” Wrangle said as he locked his wheels so they didn’t roll before undoing the vent cover and attempting to get into it, only for his wings to noisily clack against it.
“…I guess no vents.” Wrangle said, locking his wheels again and standing back up.
He was a little disappointed he couldn’t fit properly into the vent, he did his best sneaking in vents. It was like, his thing, it was a hiding place, a great place to spy on things.
“At least we can scratch that off of the list.” Wrangle shrugged as he rolled back over to Razorwreck.
A wince of sympathy as Wrangle clanged his wings against the edges of the vent and then Razorwreck went still again. He figured Wrangle probably didn't have the same problems he did, but it was still jarring to get stuck like that.
"Do you think humans suffer similar difficulties after their own growth spurts?" he asked instead, momentarily distracted by the thought before he shook his head. "Nevermind, we need to focus. It is a shame the vents are out of bounds but there should be enough passages that not all of them are blocked."
He pulled a schematic of the expected layout of the base to the forefront of his mind and turned to walk away again, expecting Wrangle to follow along.
He couldn't resist one last dig at the other, just a little joke to help ease the tension.
"…At least I don't have to worry about you crawling around in the vents on the Nemesis anymore."
“Quintessons do, after Critter’s first shed he was so upset he couldn’t fit under my propellers anymore, it was so spark-wrenching.” Wrangle said, trying to distract himself from his disappointment and anxiety.
“Hilarious. How’s it feel getting little organic stuff stuck in your wing joints?” He teased back lightly.
The wheels whirred a quiet noise as they rolled along behind Razorwreck. Wrangle’s yellow optics warm with the memory of that moment.
He held his blaster close, a bit more aware of the surroundings now. Since he didn’t have the cover of the vents, and his wings could be a blind spot.
“How do you adapt to being out in the open so much?” He questioned.
"I believe with those organics you hang around with you would know that better than I," the scout replied dryly. His mouth is quirked up into a smile under his mask. If one ignored the way the base was abandoned and their respective badges, this was downright companionable.
Not too bad.
"The open?" he asked, wings shuffling on his back as he glanced over at Wrangle, optics raised. It took him a moment to piece together what the other meant, and he made a quiet noise of understanding.
"I'm just use to it. From the very start I was a flight frame, and the sky doesn't have much in the way of hiding places," not unless there were clouds. His wings twitched with memories and for a moment longing leaked into his field, aching and old but still so painful.
And then it was gone as abruptly as if he had turned it off. "…Have you heard or seen anything else odd?" he asked, more to distract than anything else.
The biplane shrugged. “Eh, I don’t really, interact with them much, they seem nice though.”
Wrangle had given him a look like ‘you fr?’ When he asked what he meant. Then his optics softened when he realized Razorwreck must miss whatever he remembered.
“No, you hear or see something?” His voice was softer, he wanted to help him with whatever was causing him to be sad.
He was never good at controlling his field so his worry seeped into it.
"Alas, my optics were not equipped with the ability to see through walls thicker than your helm," Razorwreck's voice was dry as the Nevada desert Wrangle normally called home, but he didn't mean it completely as an insult. The walls really were just slightly thicker than the average mid-sized cybertronian's helm. He was pretty sure no bot had the ability to see through that.
A shame, it would have been useful for this.
"Yiii-" Whatever word Razorwreck had been about to say was abruptly cut off by a high pitched noise as he stumbled and nearly fell. He snarled a curse under his breath, something about poor facility maintenance, and then stopped as he directed Wrangle's arm down so the flashlight was pointed at the floor.
There were weld marks on the floor. Thick, messy weld marks like those done by an inexperienced hand using an industrial grade welder all around the edge of a large, square plate of metal that stuck up slightly from the floor. There was no dust on any of it, no signs of wear.
Just what looked like a temporary patch for the floor that had become quite permanent.
"Hm. You spend time with the medic, don't you? Tell me, do those welds look recent to you?"
Wrangle covered his intake with a servo when Razorwreck tripped up, his optics glimmering with a quiet amusement as he stifled a small giggle.
“Ey!” Wrangle yelped as his arm was grabbed. “Don’t go and bring me down cause you tripped!”
He knelt, running his servos gently along the marks, his hand at a awkward angle cause of the fact his wing quadrants covered the backs of his servos.
“Yep, these are recent, no wear, no dust, even without bots here it would have dust and look old.” Wrangle nodded, seeming more on edge.
He shoved the blaster in Razorwreck’s servos. “Keep the light still for me.”
He started trying to use the sides of his wing quadrants to pick at the welding job, grateful it was shoddy work cause if not, oof, he’d have a tale to tell Eni while he fussed over his chipped up wings if he got home.
"The intent wasn't to bring you 'down'," the protest was a reflexive one as Razorwreck released his grip on Wrangle. Truly he hadn't meant to drag him down completely. But he had nothing further to say as Wrangle examined the weld marks, his mouth pressed into a thin line beneath his mask. It was just some repairs where he hadn't expected them, that was all.
'And those cryptic messages on the walls? How will you explain them away? Just graffiti? Then where are the artists?' A voice that sounded suspiciously like a long dead friend's shrill smugness asked in his mind.
Abruptly his attention was recalled to the situation as the blaster was shoved into his servos and he narrowed his eyes as Wrangle began prying.
"You want to open it?" he asked incredulously. He flinched at the way Wrangle was using his wings. His own twitched in horror at the sight, and he lowered the light briefly to pull a utility knife from his subspace and toss it to the ground beside Wrangle.
"Use that instead, you don't want to harm your possible flight later on."
“Well duh, what if there’s something important in there.” Wrangle said as if it was obvious.
“Oh, yeah that would work better.” Wrangle noted, grabbing the knife and starting back at scratching in the area the weld touched the panel, trying to at least make enough of a dent or divot so he could kick it open.
His mind kept going back to his family, to his conjunx, his Quintlets, and his future sparkling, he wondered what Eni would do, and he figured out, probably not this.
“Sooooo, anything going on in your life?” He said, trying to start small talk to fill the silence as he tried prying the panel loose.
"…Are you really initiating small talk righht now?" he asked in a bemused tone of voice. There was every possibility the pit might hold just rubble and unstable ground or the bodies of the Decepticons that were suppose to be here or whatever the graffitti was mentioning or be perfectly empty. Just a gap.
With a quiet huff he stepped back so he had room to move his wings through various positions, rotating them out and listening to the quiet grinding of sand and grit in one of the joints. The way it hurt. He had a seal that probably needed replacing back there. As it was they wouldn't have been flight worthy.
But it wasn't like his alt mode was an option anyways.
"Attempting to recreate some recipes. We have plenty of energon, after all." the scout finally said as his wings dropped back down to his back. He hummed to himself, considered his various failures and few successes. "I must admit the humans are resourceful. And purple gold has a certain texture to it I find quite appealing."
“Ooooo, sounds fun!” Wrangle said, prying it loose-ish enough for him to try prying.
“imagine this has nothing in it and we wasted this time.” The plane chuckled.
His mind was drifting off a tad, thinking of his family and friends and whatnot. It made his optics glow a touch brighter, he hoped they were doing well without him right now. He had to bring himself back to the situation at hand however, not wanting any distractions, Razorwreck still held his blaster and had built in weapons.
“Hey does the Nemesis still have that loose vent cover? I think I stashed some engex there if you want.” He remembered, snapping his digits as he started trying to lift it up.
“I should’ve really listened to Eni when he mentioned I should lift more huh?” He laughed. Trying to distract himself from how creepy this place seemed.
There's a pause as Razorwreck considered the information given and his head tilted as he considerd the Autobot.
"Hm, I'll have to see if someone else has discovered your stash." he mused as he stepped forward. He slid his blaster into his subspace with one hand and reached down to curl his digits under part of the metal plate despite his misgivings about the whole endeavour. Still if Wrangle was sharing secrets, then the least Razorwreck could do was enable a bad decision or two, yes?
"Perhaps, at the very least doing such things makes it easier to find your center of balance. I image the recent changes to your frame haven't helped." he mused. And then he dug his claws into the metal, grit his fangs and prepared to heave.
Was it just his imagination that it sounded like something was softly, distantly scraping against rough metal somewhere below? No matter.
There's an audible glitch to Repose's vocals as he staggered close to Razorwreck and grabbed the con's faceplates from each side. "Now, whose the cutest of friends. Yes, you are." Too many engex cubes down in his tanks, his vocal box malfunctioning, like his processors. With one last happy grumble he proceeded to try and bring Razorwreck into an embrace. Too bad, the second he did so, his frame froze into a standstill due to a recharge glitch.
"Just how much high-grade have you had to consume?" he demands as his processor trips over itself in an attempt find the words to adequately portray just how not pleased he is with this situation. "I believe I am far from being considered cute."
Look, look, when he flares his wings like he is now he looks so much bigger and meaner! Something to be feared! Alas Repose's glitches have never had convenient timing for the scout.
"…You are the most insufferable being I have ever met." he mutters once he realizes what has happened. He huffs and puffs and begins attempting to drag the sniper off. "I drag you up and down a few steps of stairs."
He won't though. Truth be told he missed this: the imposition of someone else into his space.
// I know a lot of people are unhappy about the update but I can see my notifications (including messages, activity, inbox, etcetera) and it's not taking me multiple times to reply to a post, and I can just easily respond in a dm instead of needing to hit the retry button! WHOO
Razorwreck has been stricken with hanahaki disease! Vines and crystal flowers the colour of his beloved’s frame will grow in the spark chamber and vents until a confession of true love is given. Hasn’t admitted his affection yet? Better hurry, those flowers grow fast. Already confessed? Perhaps it must be done again, wholeheartedly and in full; or perhaps there is someone else he hasn’t told yet. But do not despair; even if the affections are not returned, the flowers and vines will still fade, though far slower.
Be warned, however; if no admission of love is made, the growths will almost assuredly become fatal.
Something is wrong. Very wrong.
It feels like his spark is going to be crushed or pierced at the same time. Like something is scraping, scarping, scraping against it. It feels the way a wire brush made of too-strong metal feels as it scratches through paint and scours the plating beneath but worse.
Coughing is something he is familiar with, he's had the occasional fits of something getting into his ventilation that shouldn't be there. But it feels so much stranger this time when with source feeling like its in his spark chamber.
Nothing should come from there!
When the first razor-edged petal falls from his mouth to this servo, he makes a decision. Alone it had scratched his throat, not enough to cause damage on its own, but he suspects there will be more. He doesn't like being helpless or sick or being seen as such, not even by his fellow Decepticons. Especially by them.
Razorwreck catches a flight on a shuttle to the nearest neutral, third-party space station to Earth. Spends the flight out reading everything he can on his datapad about his symptoms, what might be waiting for him at the end.
There wasn't much use for someone bad at combat at the front lines. He's always been good at finding things and acting on his own so he's sent out into space again. To gather up what scattered Decepticons could be found, to find out why some hadn't responded at all.
Like this silent, seemingly pristine base.
His bouncing steps slowed to a stop as he approached it and his wings fanned out behind him as he scanned all the channels he had access to. He was looking for anything: unintelligible noise on an encrypted frequency he didn't have command codes for, a stray bit of chatter, even a ping from an automated system.
Nothing.
The dust of the moon drifted up around him when he came, glittering in the light from the distant sun as the fine particles turn his high-frequency radar scan into confusing slop. He grimaced and folded his wings back down and the protocols governing their extended functions cutting out when he did so.
Too wary to enjoy himself, Razorwreck used the alien moon's gravity assist his steps as he bounded his way toward the entrance.
“Let me guess, they also were avoiding you.” Wrangle chuckled to himself, flashing the light in front of them to help them see.
“Besides a few simple greetings and scoldings no, if there is a Quintesson, I’ll still ditch you or try swapping to their side.” Wrangle said, giving a small poke with his blaster again.
Wrangle paused at the emergency door and the claw marks and energon stains, he had half a right mind to just run out and ditch again. But he didn’t, and he thought that the other hallway back at the intersection might also have this sort of problem too.
“…I’m checking the vents, if I’m right, they should be lock free or at least trap free cause this definitely looks the place to have booby traps.” Wrangle said, walking to a vent and kicking the grate to try and open it.
A quiet scoff at the idea of other Decepticons avoiding him. There was no reason for them to to do so, he wasn't that tedious to be around normally.
He glanced over at Wrangle, his mouth pressed into a thin line beneath his mask. The Autobot was correct, but despite how absolutely fine everything was, Razorwreck was loath to split up.
But he didn't have a good reason for them to not do so.
"Don't get stuck." he said quietly. A servo gestured to the relatively otherwise untouched metal of the walls.
"It doesn't look like a case of scraplets so you won't have to worry about that." Was there anything that could cause a fear as primal as meeting a swarm of those little monsters in an enclosed space? Probably not, so whatever was here should be easy to deal with, right?
“I will not.” Wrangle said as he locked his wheels so they didn’t roll before undoing the vent cover and attempting to get into it, only for his wings to noisily clack against it.
“…I guess no vents.” Wrangle said, locking his wheels again and standing back up.
He was a little disappointed he couldn’t fit properly into the vent, he did his best sneaking in vents. It was like, his thing, it was a hiding place, a great place to spy on things.
“At least we can scratch that off of the list.” Wrangle shrugged as he rolled back over to Razorwreck.
A wince of sympathy as Wrangle clanged his wings against the edges of the vent and then Razorwreck went still again. He figured Wrangle probably didn't have the same problems he did, but it was still jarring to get stuck like that.
"Do you think humans suffer similar difficulties after their own growth spurts?" he asked instead, momentarily distracted by the thought before he shook his head. "Nevermind, we need to focus. It is a shame the vents are out of bounds but there should be enough passages that not all of them are blocked."
He pulled a schematic of the expected layout of the base to the forefront of his mind and turned to walk away again, expecting Wrangle to follow along.
He couldn't resist one last dig at the other, just a little joke to help ease the tension.
"…At least I don't have to worry about you crawling around in the vents on the Nemesis anymore."
“Quintessons do, after Critter’s first shed he was so upset he couldn’t fit under my propellers anymore, it was so spark-wrenching.” Wrangle said, trying to distract himself from his disappointment and anxiety.
“Hilarious. How’s it feel getting little organic stuff stuck in your wing joints?” He teased back lightly.
The wheels whirred a quiet noise as they rolled along behind Razorwreck. Wrangle’s yellow optics warm with the memory of that moment.
He held his blaster close, a bit more aware of the surroundings now. Since he didn’t have the cover of the vents, and his wings could be a blind spot.
“How do you adapt to being out in the open so much?” He questioned.
"I believe with those organics you hang around with you would know that better than I," the scout replied dryly. His mouth is quirked up into a smile under his mask. If one ignored the way the base was abandoned and their respective badges, this was downright companionable.
Not too bad.
"The open?" he asked, wings shuffling on his back as he glanced over at Wrangle, optics raised. It took him a moment to piece together what the other meant, and he made a quiet noise of understanding.
"I'm just use to it. From the very start I was a flight frame, and the sky doesn't have much in the way of hiding places," not unless there were clouds. His wings twitched with memories and for a moment longing leaked into his field, aching and old but still so painful.
And then it was gone as abruptly as if he had turned it off. "…Have you heard or seen anything else odd?" he asked, more to distract than anything else.
The biplane shrugged. “Eh, I don’t really, interact with them much, they seem nice though.”
Wrangle had given him a look like ‘you fr?’ When he asked what he meant. Then his optics softened when he realized Razorwreck must miss whatever he remembered.
“No, you hear or see something?” His voice was softer, he wanted to help him with whatever was causing him to be sad.
He was never good at controlling his field so his worry seeped into it.
"Alas, my optics were not equipped with the ability to see through walls thicker than your helm," Razorwreck's voice was dry as the Nevada desert Wrangle normally called home, but he didn't mean it completely as an insult. The walls really were just slightly thicker than the average mid-sized cybertronian's helm. He was pretty sure no bot had the ability to see through that.
A shame, it would have been useful for this.
"Yiii-" Whatever word Razorwreck had been about to say was abruptly cut off by a high pitched noise as he stumbled and nearly fell. He snarled a curse under his breath, something about poor facility maintenance, and then stopped as he directed Wrangle's arm down so the flashlight was pointed at the floor.
There were weld marks on the floor. Thick, messy weld marks like those done by an inexperienced hand using an industrial grade welder all around the edge of a large, square plate of metal that stuck up slightly from the floor. There was no dust on any of it, no signs of wear.
Just what looked like a temporary patch for the floor that had become quite permanent.
"Hm. You spend time with the medic, don't you? Tell me, do those welds look recent to you?"
Wrangle covered his intake with a servo when Razorwreck tripped up, his optics glimmering with a quiet amusement as he stifled a small giggle.
“Ey!” Wrangle yelped as his arm was grabbed. “Don’t go and bring me down cause you tripped!”
He knelt, running his servos gently along the marks, his hand at a awkward angle cause of the fact his wing quadrants covered the backs of his servos.
“Yep, these are recent, no wear, no dust, even without bots here it would have dust and look old.” Wrangle nodded, seeming more on edge.
He shoved the blaster in Razorwreck’s servos. “Keep the light still for me.”
He started trying to use the sides of his wing quadrants to pick at the welding job, grateful it was shoddy work cause if not, oof, he’d have a tale to tell Eni while he fussed over his chipped up wings if he got home.
"The intent wasn't to bring you 'down'," the protest was a reflexive one as Razorwreck released his grip on Wrangle. Truly he hadn't meant to drag him down completely. But he had nothing further to say as Wrangle examined the weld marks, his mouth pressed into a thin line beneath his mask. It was just some repairs where he hadn't expected them, that was all.
'And those cryptic messages on the walls? How will you explain them away? Just graffiti? Then where are the artists?' A voice that sounded suspiciously like a long dead friend's shrill smugness asked in his mind.
Abruptly his attention was recalled to the situation as the blaster was shoved into his servos and he narrowed his eyes as Wrangle began prying.
"You want to open it?" he asked incredulously. He flinched at the way Wrangle was using his wings. His own twitched in horror at the sight, and he lowered the light briefly to pull a utility knife from his subspace and toss it to the ground beside Wrangle.
"Use that instead, you don't want to harm your possible flight later on."
“Well duh, what if there’s something important in there.” Wrangle said as if it was obvious.
“Oh, yeah that would work better.” Wrangle noted, grabbing the knife and starting back at scratching in the area the weld touched the panel, trying to at least make enough of a dent or divot so he could kick it open.
His mind kept going back to his family, to his conjunx, his Quintlets, and his future sparkling, he wondered what Eni would do, and he figured out, probably not this.
“Sooooo, anything going on in your life?” He said, trying to start small talk to fill the silence as he tried prying the panel loose.
"…Are you really initiating small talk righht now?" he asked in a bemused tone of voice. There was every possibility the pit might hold just rubble and unstable ground or the bodies of the Decepticons that were suppose to be here or whatever the graffitti was mentioning or be perfectly empty. Just a gap.
With a quiet huff he stepped back so he had room to move his wings through various positions, rotating them out and listening to the quiet grinding of sand and grit in one of the joints. The way it hurt. He had a seal that probably needed replacing back there. As it was they wouldn't have been flight worthy.
But it wasn't like his alt mode was an option anyways.
"Attempting to recreate some recipes. We have plenty of energon, after all." the scout finally said as his wings dropped back down to his back. He hummed to himself, considered his various failures and few successes. "I must admit the humans are resourceful. And purple gold has a certain texture to it I find quite appealing."
It was late. Very late. Too late for them to really be working in any useful manner, but projects were projects. Part of their job of being Soundwave's apprentice was handling anything he did not have the time or bandwidth to do. Which included fairly menial tasks like filtering and sanitizing the servers on a bi-monthly bases.
They lacked the time and energy to create algorithms to do this for them, so Datashrike did so manually. It was a lot of hours hooked up to the ship, but it was worth it. Somewhat.
Supposedly though they were supposed to get some help...but information had been restricted as per Soundwave's personal directive. No issues there. Except that when Datashrike went to retrieve some minor repair tools from a supply closet, there he was...in power down.
Steps across the floor moving closer. The whoosh of the supply room door as it opened to his napping space.
Razorwreck's mouth turned down into a frown behind his mask. There was apparently to be no rest for the weary scout today. At leat not here.
He lifted his helm to face the mech, his expression turning into polite interest.
"Greetings," he returned quietly as he stepped away from the wall. His wings rustled against his back as he ran a quick check against the files he had been given.
..Ah. This was his new coworker. Wonderful. He was making such an excellent first impression already.
"Ah, Datashrike is it? I believe I've been ordered to act as your assistant for the presumable future." he dipped his help politely, lifted it and relaxed. "How can I assist?"
Datashrike was a little slow post neural link so it took them a good few, awkward seconds to comprehend that yup, their new coworker was in fact in the closet napping.
"Aye, I am sir." They peered down at him, then quietly shut the closet door behind them. "Razorwreck, yes?"
The stealth glider could have gone through his files then and there but the nagging lag was starting to catch up.
"I just got off my shift so I don't need help right this second, but...ugh, I need a nap. And you are tempting me with all of this. Why the closet though?"
A quick check of his internal chronometer and his new, rough, schedule confirmed he still had plenty of time before he was suppose to start work. Good, he was still tired after the travel time to get here.
And hearing that his napping was tempting the other? Well if a little smug smile crossed his face under his mask no one needed to know, and no one would know but him.
"It's quieter than the barracks," one of his wings twitched as he spoke but otherwise he appeared fairly impassive. And it wasn't like he was lying, exactly. The storage room would be far quieter if he woke up from a nightmare and started broadcasting distress signals before he was properly aware and could stop himself.
Which meant it was far, far less likely for him to get punch. Which was why he preferred to nap alone.
But his helm cocked to the side as his optics scanned the other. The words of having just come off shift made some sense, Razorwreck recognized post-neural link fatigue having been subject to it himself. Something in him softened, just a little.
"You look like you need the rest and there's enough room for two." Just barely, but there was room.
// whoever sent the hanahaki Razorwreck's way is horrible and genius and Thank You.
Although I'm now torn because I'm not sure he does romantic love, or if he's just proving denial isn't only a river in Egypt. But if he does having the current focus of the disease be among those he missed would be fitting. I think, in some storyline, that's the case.
Immediately Razorwreck regretted his question as he watched her twist herself around at sickening angles to fit through. He stared at her silently through the hole for a long moment as his mouth twitched beneath his mask.
He would have expected the process to make noise, to hear the grinding of gears or other internals as they were twisted into configurations they had never been designed to to take.
Instead there was nothing.
But he didn't have time to dwell. And at least she was… friendly?
But how long would that last?
"I… appreciate the assistance." he said stiffly as he tried to ignore that particular thought. He stepped up to the pile of rubble, added his own efforts to hers. Between the two of them they managed, and he was glad for the slightness of his frame even as he squeezed his way through the gap.
Albeit with much more scraping of metal against metal and all the screeching that normally came with a Cybertronian moving through a space too small for them.
Long scratches covered his plating, but he managed to twist himself about so that his wings, at least, were spared.
"Come, down this hallway and to the right. Deeper in should be less susceptible to any breaches in the hull."
Much to Mourningstar's horror, Razorwreck got scratched up from squeezing through with difficulty. While he was still in one piece, and didn't seem to have any cut Energon lines, the femme was already worried.
"Okay..." Dutifully nodding at his direction, the dancer followed swiftly.
Now, her optics were trained on him more intensely. The twin tendrils wilted as her vocoder quietly let out a concerned whine that was overshadowed by the surrounding ruckus, it was likely the first time she had even reacted with such distress in the entire situation.
"Razorwreck, are you going to be alright?" She piped up once they made it to somewhere he could actually hear her. "You're not bleeding any Energon, are you?"
Despite having just met the mech so soon, the femme was stretching her neck cables to crane her helm around, examining the damages. The tear streak-like markings opening to reveal those six extra eyes that grotesquely blinked unevenly as the pupils darted about.
"I'm not a medic, but if you need, I have something to help... It's a bit gross, though..." Mourningstar offered.
To Razorwreck's horror, Mourningstar had far, far more optics in unusual places he had ever seen before. It was shocking enough that the concern and even a little fear were visible in his own optics.
But maybe that was just from the way he had stumbled right as she opened those extra optics. Clearly it was just coincidental and not at all because of her, no no. At least that's what he tried to present as he got his expression back under control, though he regarded her with more obvious wariness than before.
He had never met anything quite like the femme before. He was extremely certain of that.
"…There's no leaking so far, no. Just superficial scraping on my plating." he said after regarding the relevant notifications and system checks on his hud. The scout's own super charged repair systems would be able to take care of that in the usual manner: snagging minerals and other necesscary elements from his tanks and putting it where it needed to go. Thankfully the damage was light enough it wouldn't cause his systems to resort to other measures.
"…How would you have helped?" Razorwreck's curiosity wouldn't let him just keep walking idly down the hallway without asking, no. He suspected he would regret doing so and the reluctance was audible in his voice.
It was late. Very late. Too late for them to really be working in any useful manner, but projects were projects. Part of their job of being Soundwave's apprentice was handling anything he did not have the time or bandwidth to do. Which included fairly menial tasks like filtering and sanitizing the servers on a bi-monthly bases.
They lacked the time and energy to create algorithms to do this for them, so Datashrike did so manually. It was a lot of hours hooked up to the ship, but it was worth it. Somewhat.
Supposedly though they were supposed to get some help...but information had been restricted as per Soundwave's personal directive. No issues there. Except that when Datashrike went to retrieve some minor repair tools from a supply closet, there he was...in power down.
Steps across the floor moving closer. The whoosh of the supply room door as it opened to his napping space.
Razorwreck's mouth turned down into a frown behind his mask. There was apparently to be no rest for the weary scout today. At leat not here.
He lifted his helm to face the mech, his expression turning into polite interest.
"Greetings," he returned quietly as he stepped away from the wall. His wings rustled against his back as he ran a quick check against the files he had been given.
..Ah. This was his new coworker. Wonderful. He was making such an excellent first impression already.
"Ah, Datashrike is it? I believe I've been ordered to act as your assistant for the presumable future." he dipped his help politely, lifted it and relaxed. "How can I assist?"
Always such a wise choice to tease a con with a knife in a servo. Lucky for Darkfang, this one didn't have an explosive temper. His words though, oh, something about the tone of his voice made him want to see how bad they'd get the longer he teased his circuits.
"Yes, I doubt they'd want to disappoint me, cause I'm such a lovely guest." There's a sarcastic flare to his vocals as he placed his remaining servo against his own chassis for extra 'drama' until the tickle of a digit made his frame tense up. A pulse of slight pain coursed from the open mesh, with Darkfang's optic twitching.
"A shame we ain't matching frames, or I'd borrow yours." Well technically, he's already borrowing his to work for him, but in this case, he meant it literally. "Oh, and I think you missed a spot." He pointed at the clean knife, with the tiniest of dirt spots between a seam.
'Lovely' was not a word Razorwreck would personally pick to describe Darkfang as a guest, though it did fit the merc's appearance.
"I do not believe mine would fit your color scheme," he said blandly as his matte black servos turned the knife they held over and ran the cloth over it. He stilled when Darkfang called out the missed spot, his mouth tightening into a thin line beneath his mask.
He shouldn't, perhaps, begrudge the other for the keen awareness to detail when it was something Razorwreck personally valued, in but right now it grated. Especially when he had made the mistake.
"You have keen optics," he said instead, his voice smooth and even like a quiet bucket of oil. Serene on the surface and yet hopefully opaque enough there was no real clue of this thoughts below. "What would you say contributes the most to your success in your work: your keen optics or your attention to detail?"
