Nov 22, 2015
Ratchet is teaching both Megatron and the scientist quite a bit about all of the whimsical things that can be done with a spike. It is rather interesting.
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Ratchet is teaching both Megatron and the scientist quite a bit about all of the whimsical things that can be done with a spike. It is rather interesting.
Routine Maintenance \\ restorativespark
Gentle pattering of the youngling's pedes sound off as he walks into the medical bay of the warship. Its darker, less homey atmosphere catches him off guard for only a moment. The purple and red hues reminding him of anything but home. It was still a surprise that the Autobot medical officer did his work in here.
But it wasn't like anything scared Ratchet anyway.
Gradually coming to a stand still by one of the examination tables, Bumblebee takes a glance around giving a small swipe of the area his brightly coloured frame and optics standing out like a sore thumb against the dark interior.
Curious beeps and clicks sound off from his vocoder, patently awaiting the mech's attention before gesturing a friendly greeting along with the flutter of his winglets.
No amount of emotional training could have helped him keep his composure after hearing such words, yet before his temper flared, pain did, horribly cold and intense, like his inner workings and spark chamber had frozen over.
In absolute silence, doorwings perked up so high to the point of straining the joints, he stared at Ultra Magnus – or rather, one of the objects he was holding: the Matrix. It felt obscenely out of place to see it in Magnus’ grip; it belonged to Optimus without a doubt. But the sight of the familiar artifact in the grip of a stranger – he found no other word to use – just emphasized a painful truth all the more, a spear that was driven even deeper into his spark.
“Optimus Prime is gone.”
The Nemesis suddenly felt empty.
Of course it did: they were missing a vital component, and that was their Prime. His sense of obligation and duty demanded that he accept Magnus as the new Prime… but he couldn’t; it was something that he couldn’t wrap his processor around, not even in another million years. But of course, there was another angle from which to look at this new development.
He wasn’t bothered with Magnus being the new Prime.
Rather, it was the fact that Jazz had lost his closest friend and comrade.
Optimus had made his choice to not come back the moment he had left the Matrix and the Star Saber behind for Magnus to inherit.
The saboteur clenched his servos into fists, his frame trembling – and his field even more so, his emotions a chaotic vortex that would likely spin out of control. The four million years he had spent in space, away from his team and brothers in arms, were an ache that was soothed the moment he found the Autobots back on Earth. But that was it: it had been soothed, not healed entirely, because the Earth months he had spent with them were ultimately not enough time for him.
Months were nothing compared to the notion of time Cybertronians had. They had felt like the blink of an optic, a passing moment that would never come back.
Just like Optimus, by the looks of things.
Jazz didn’t know how many consecutive losses he could take. First Prowl, then Orion – who had, thank Primus, returned from his captivity – and now Optimus. True, they were losses for the Autobots as a whole, but for Jazz they hit much closer to home.
He vented a long sigh, his leg twitching as it instinctively moved forward a mere inch to carry him out of the hangar bay, but he stopped. He could not afford to lose his cool at a moment like this, not when the chain of command had changed and the other Autobots would look to him and Magnus – especially Magnus – for guidance.
But there was one substantial difference between Ultra Magnus – even Optimus, too – and their Third in Command: Jazz wasn’t one to clam up when emotions overwhelmed him.
“You heard ‘im, Autobots: Optimus is just gone with the wind.”
Sparing Magnus a look, one of sorrowful acknowledgement, Jazz strode past the taller mech and left the hangar bay.
Powerful obsidian servos clenched into fists at the scientist’s sides, the only outward signs of his roiling frustration. The message branded itself into his processors, the embers of their severity still burning brightly as the iron embedded the words further. Everything they had worked for in the preceding months seemed all for naught.
There were other options; they had discussed them at length on multiple occasions, countless nights of sleep poured into saving the mechs they cared for so deeply. Optimus had never admitted outright that he planned to give himself up to the tainted Prime, although at least Skyfire theorized the idea was ever-present in the commander’s mind. Selfless, thinking only of what would keep those around him safest, the Autobot leader would always suggest a means that would keep as few of their sparks at risk as possible.
If the idea had been suggested outright, there was no doubt all would have turned it down in an instant. It was obvious why Optimus had kept it to himself.
Even so, it almost seemed more selfish than selfless, in Skyfire’s mind. There were other options, ones that would allow all to be active and see their brothers return home—but Optimus wanted none of them. He was gone, and there was nothing that could be done otherwise.
Helplessness and frustration fought for supremacy within the scientist, his wings held taunt and twitching slightly in agitation. Too often had he felt this useless, and the feeling had only become more prominent in recent times. The AllSpark was lost on his watch, their former home had been destroyed with so few signs of how or why. It was becoming almost too much.
Silently, Skyfire turned from the gathering and crossed the room to distance himself. At the moment, he cared little for protocol, for who would question his motives. He was beginning to question his own pacifism. Even so, all that could be done was to prepare for the arrival of the captives.
They WOULD return. Optimus’ latest sacrifice would not be in vain. If anything would impede their return, if the tainted Prime decided to go back on his word, there was one thing Skyfire knew: there would be no force in any universe powerful enough to stop the combined fury and might of those aboard the Nemesis that day.
As the message patched through to each individual, activity reached a standstill. Everyone paused, reading the finite words of Optimus Prime.
Optics slowly turned towards Magnus, a swarm of bright blue that collect on his frame. Magnus left the room and the rest of the Autobots stayed in silence as they watched him disappear.
Ratchet turned towards each of the Autobots, confused looks permeating their faces, and he himself was no exception. He reads over the message for a second time, worry settling into his field.
Their friendship was like broken glass, and had just recently been repaired. Ratchet had looked into the concept of kintsukuroi, which seemed a fitting term for what had taken place between the two mechs.
So soon after this though, Optimus disappears? It wasn’t fair. They had finally begun to talk again… and would they never again?
The unspoken questions that lingered over the helms of everyone in the room was answered when Magnus entered back in, shattering the silence in a fraction of a second.
24 - If you’re brave enough, singing us a little song.
Requested by restorativespark
Challenge accepted.
I would reply normally but I'm on mobile. I'm in upstate PA.
A panicked voice over commline desperately trying to get in contact with one of his only friends. {{ Wheeljack, Wheeljack are you there? Please, please answer. I can't lose--}} And the line cuts to static.
Kliks slid by, and then time marched ever on into total silence. There is no response; not even the automatic ping of a received comm made it back to the medic. It would not matter how long he waited.
Ominous dead air would be all the medic received.
Moby stop making me smile you butt.
00:00:00
In a universe where everyone is born with numbers on their wrists counting down to when they'll meet their soulmate, send me 00:00:00 for my muses reaction to their numbers hitting zero when they meet yours.
It wasn’t the first time, or the last, that Ultra Magnus found himself in the med bay. He and his Wreckers had been rough-housing with some Breakers when thing suddenly turned serious. and now he sported a wound that threatened to dismantle his arm from his torso, should he move it the wrong way.
At his companions’ encouragement, the large Wrecker found himself upon the medical berth, watching benignly as the orange and white medic prepped his injury and settled in to begin working on it. The smaller was muttering something under his vents, and Magnus had to tune up his audio sensors to catch was he was saying.
"… putting yourself in danger for no reason and causing me work. Can’t just keep put and not get injured — oh, no — you have to go right out there into some unnecessary skirmish at attempt to get yourself killed…"
Magnus laughed, quietly so as not to startle the mech. “Yah don’t get out much, do yah?” he asked, amused.
"For your information, I was out there, not too long ago," was the quick reply, and Magnus thought that he might have felt some unnecessary pain had the sensors not been deactivated to begin with.
"Yeah? But you’re a city mech now, aren’t ‘cha? Them Breakers aren’t gonna go easy on yah, if the Wreckers can’t hold ‘em back."
The mech grumbled a bit and carried on with his work.
"Name’s Magnus. Your’s?"
The medic grumbled, and then spoke up loud enough for the blue mech to hear. “Ratchet.”
The larger nodded his helm, thinking, then turned back to the medic— Ratchet. “When can yah get me out, Ratch? Gotta check on my mechs, make sure they’re good.”
Ratchet huffed. “Recover first, then worry about your mechs.”
Ultra Magnus couldn’t see it, or particularly feel it, but the smaller mech froze a few kliks after his words, gaze drawn downward to the glowing numbers at Magnus’ wrist. Dark optics rose, and he glanced sharply at the Wrecker before checking his own wrist, static escaping his vocalizer.
Unfortunately for him, said Wrecker heard it, and his optics focused back on Ratchet, concerned. “Somethin’ wrong, Doc?”
Wordlessly, Ratchet extended his wrist for Magnus to see, displaying the row of identical numbers: 00:00:00. The action was met with silence, then an awkward shift to view Ultra Magnus’ own.
00:00:00
Uneasily, he lay back on the berth, staring up at the ceiling as Ratchet got back to work. After a moment, he asked, “What now?”
There was silence, and a pinch of feeling in the wounded arm. Quietly, Ratchet replied, “I don’t know.”
[ meme reference ]
