MOVED

❝ pardon me if i do not weep for you. ❞ // es scream to megs :3 | @ascheming

"i do not need your pity, starscream."

despite the tone, megatron's words are gentle, half-murmured as he steps past the seeker. his arms are full of scrap; twisted beams and melted steel, remnants of their battle with croft. there is much left to do here, and the humans are busy with their own political aspect to the cleanup. the terrans need rest. and dorothy...

his grip tightens around the metal. it squeals in protest.

he cannot bear the thought of seeing her so soon. not after he chased down their daughter, nearly shot her from the sky. not after he was forced to watch from behind his own optics as his weapons struck her, as he could only silently scream for starscream to step forward and—

Blue-tipped pedes pace around the various piles of rubble that make up the Malto homestead; a kick is delivered to a haphazardly-placed pile of beams. He snickers when they scatter across the ground, undoing some of Megatron's work at attempting to organize the chaos. "And here I thought menial labor was beneath you."

It's certainly beneath Starscream; he won't be caught dead picking up after himself anywhere near the silver traitor. Not that this particular mess is his to begin with.

A brow is raised as he hears the screeching of twisting metal, and he rolls his optics. Megatron is ever so dramatic; it would be easier for both of them if he simply expressed what Starscream had done to torque him so now, so that they can get back to the usual screaming fit.

White wings perk higher on his back; he still has his pride.

"I do not. Several someones outvoted me when were were discussing next steps. They seem to think you and I should talk things out, or some such. Something about our last conversation being inconclusive. I tuned it out after that."

Nightshade takes notice to Starscream's clear intent to shut down the subject. It's understandable, and easy enough to set aside without any further comment. As much as Nightshade would love to ask questions, they know that it isn't their place. If Starscream wanted to open up, he would do so on his own terms. Nightshade respected that.

Moving onto more general topics was certainly a much safer route. Speaking of- Nightshade found themselves feeling a swell of pride in their chest when Starscream compliments them. They eagerly lift a hand, curling their claws into a fist as the ridges along the topside of their arm light up in a brilliant green. They tilt their arm to the side, showing off the way the ridges extend, then recede back into their arm. "Exactly! They work quite well for close combat- which I seem to find myself in more often than not."

The Terran offered their arm to Starscream, in case the larger bot had any interest in inspecting the ridges. "When I first scanned my alt mode, I gained the ability, but I have since modified it to better suite my style." Nightshade found themselves remembering the more recent situations where they had to use their blades. Fighting the Autobots.. fighting the Sharkticons. They glanced off to the side, attempting to push the thoughts down. However, the image of their parents being swallowed by Sharkticons plagued their thoughts. Of Robbie and Mo getting hurt..

He hasn't touched anything experimental in ages, but this little weapon has him most intrigued. He has something similar, though not powered by energon; his fingertips hide retractable claws, which he usually keeps to himself. But, if he were to reinforce his claws with a similar technology, oh... Oh, he does like that idea quite a lot.

"May I take a sample?" he asks and points delicately to one of the ridges, still being mindful not to touch. The fingertip he uses is no longer smooth and rounded but hooked downwards at the tip, showcasing his own mod for Nightshade to examine, albeit not as flashy as the Terran's.

A pause is taken as Nightshade proceeds to thank him, and he withdraws his servo, claws retracting back under the finer plates of his fingers. Nightshade appears to be under the impression that he rallied the Decepticons out of the goodness of his spark -- a notable falsehood, and he's quick to dispel the idea as soon as it reaches open air.

"Make no mistake, Nightshade. I did not enter the battle because it was the right thing to do. You freed my family tonight; it is only fair that we aid yours in stopping the destruction of us all. As I told Swindle and Breakdown, I may not like Earth, but I do happen to be one of the many idiots that lives on it."

Blades now has a gun. That he doesn't know how to use.

"No better time than the present," Starscream rasps, then shoves Blades forward in an attempt to turn him towards the treeline.

That hopeful smile before turns into one of excitement as Starscream settles on the edge of the cliff. Nightshade spots the open space beside the Decepticon, glances towards Starscream in an attempt to judge if it was okay for them to sit there, then shuffles closer. They make sure to leave space between themself and Starscream- understanding better than most that it wasn't an invitation to be touched- just to be near.

Nightshade fiddles idly with their claws as they kick their pedes back and forth over the cliff edge. They can't help but peer up at Starscream from time to time, bright green optics filled with interest and excitement. They looked up to Starscream, whether the Seeker knew it or not. Starscream had saved their family multiple times in the short time they knew him, after all.

"Everyone has a chance to blossom," they replied, fondness shining in their optics at Starscream's comments. "You may have... A multitude of hidden thoughts and problems beneath your surface, but that doesn't make your insides any less beautiful that what I see on the outside. Perhaps you just haven't seen it for yourself just yet." Memories of their time with Tarantulas flooded their processor. They couldn't help but miss the spidery Decepticon.

The Seeker can feel their gaze flicking over him repeatedly. He's trying to keep the brushes of servos along his forearms to a minimum, but he can't help it, especially when he remembers a grip around his wrist or a punch along the shoulder.

His optics are rolling upwards before he has the chance to stop them. "I suppose it depends on your idea of beauty," he says icily, and hopes the Terran takes the hint to drop the subject. It's a part of him that he'd rather not discuss -- too much like sticking a hand in a briar's nest. Bleeding is the least of their worries.

the scientist’s yellowed gaze is purposeful as it pins the seeker. despite the millennia of war at their backs, shockwave is no less the mech now than he was before. a scientist first and foremost, of course, but also a lieutenant. a member of high command. a friend, despite what others may hiss behind his back.

starscream’s comment catches him off guard, and shockwave finds his head lifting from his work with a sharp jolt. that single optic seems to tremble as it searches the other. then, it falls away, and the scientist finds himself unable to look at starscream as he lessens the distance between them.

white fingers reach out, and shockwave’s palm rests gently against the seeker’s upper arm. it takes less than three nanoseconds for the scan to complete, but a full two seconds for him to grunt his disapproval. this is because he knows this routine, and he knows starscream. complaining can only come after his job is complete.

but that does not matter now. because, between the three nanoseconds and two full seconds, the claw on his right hand had snapped out and snagged a sheet of energon from his side table. it was halfway absorbed before his complaint could be registered.

“levels now read at forty-seven percent. two more should bring you to full.”

It's too late for that, however; Shockwave's already administered a portion before he can stop him. Just to be contrary, he snatches the two the scientist points to and slips them into subspace for later.

"There. Happy now?" he hisses.

Right as he finishes the thought, his emotional matrix slams back online, picking back up exactly where it left off. Panic, heartache, and rage pummel him all at once, and he's left gasping for air, a black servo clawing thin lines into his cockpit glass. "Ah. There it is."

His field whips out wildly before he can stop it, and he grits his teeth as he pulls it back, back, away from Shockwave. It's not the purple mech's fault he's in pain; he doesn't deserve the full brunt of his emotions. "That's-- not for you," he says aloud. He thinks. He's not sure.

And then the swamping feeling is over. It's just the pain now, curdling at the edges as the anger slowly eats it way back up his lines.

He hears Shockwave's quiet words then, delayed as it is. Something as close to affection as he can manage swirls along the very top of everything else he's feeling, and he has to force his focus outside of himself, now. His right hand reaches out for Shockwave, trying not to claw but at the same time looking for an anchor.

Nightshade mulls over Starscream's response. They supposed the Seeker's absence from any gathering made sense. Given the history behind most of the bots Nightshade found themselves looking up to, it wasn't surprising. Starscream fought in a war for eons, and was only recently beginning to put that behind himself. It was only fair to assume relations would be... tense.

But, Nightshade was thankful for their opportunity to see a different side the mech most believed was a murderous monster. The plus of having been created after the war.

After a moment of thought, Nightshade finally lifted their helm once more to make optic contact with Starscream. They couldn't help but find comfort in the Seeker's blue gaze. Starscream was the main reason Twitch was still alive. The reason Hashtag was able to continue on with her life. They had a lot to be grateful for.

"There was... A lot that happened today. I suppose I just don't have the energy to join in on the festivities," Nightshade finally replied. "I don't want to ruin the fun- I wouldn't be a very good party guest right now." They had too much on their mind to be able to truly relax and let go. Some humans referred to that as a 'party pooper', and Nightshade wasn't particularly interested in taking up that title.

This murderous monster would very much like to kill, actually. He'd start with Croft were she an option, but he's heard someone already beat him to the punch. Oh, well. There are others on his list he's sure he can catch up with.

The naked trust he sees in their optics hurts to look at, and he breaks optic contact as soon as he sees it. This child has many reasons to fear him, and knows not a one. He doesn't want to shatter the illusion that Nightshade sees of him quite yet.

But Starscream can't help the laugh that erupts out of him. True him. Please. If only the little Terran could see the scars that crisscross along his innards. Acerbic is a nice word for what he is; 'a problem' is another. He's spent so long trapped in his own head, alone, that there's not much left to offer others but deathly silence or the wild, manic frenzy that will beat its rhythm into his spark.

He can't let Nightshade see that. He won't.

"Be careful what you wish for, Nightshade. I'm not as pretty on the inside."

Rebuff aside, he moves to sit at the cliff side with his pedes dangling off the edge, his forearms resting on white thighs so that his servos meet in the middle. There's space for the other beside him, though he doesn't offer it.

“it was not.”

although, in his defense, time was not the same while suspended in stasis. to him, it was still the war. fifteen years is a long time to miss, even for the everlasting like them. he will not bring this up, though; better to keep the twisting thoughts locked just beneath his skin.

He wants to pry -- it's what he does best, after all -- but Shockwave's assessment has him scowling. How dare the scientist speak truth about him, in front of his salad.

"I know what they are, Shockwave. I'm ignoring them on purpose."

Regardless of his protests, he trudges unhappily over, knowing for a fact his levels are much lower than thirty. He's still on fumes from his screeching fit, and he's been using the resulting exhaustion to dampen the wild spinning he's sure his spark will take up as soon as he's back to adequate fuel levels.

Even still, he lets Shockwave examine him. He won't find the source of his discomfort from a scan, at the very least.

There is a deep sigh from Starscream's side of the room. "It's been better."

He's not in the mood to dwell on it just yet. Maybe later, after he's had a few hours -- days -- weeks -- to focus on something else.

that is... an uncharitable thought, he recognizes. it is not wholly starscream's fault that their conversations can never go to plan. they have history. their past is littered with violence and rage; sharp tongues and spilt energon. both sides are guilty of brutality against the other. it is simply unfair to put the blame solely on him.

this is especially true when the guilt begins to stir. as starscream's own em field falls away from his, megatron can see the walls rebuild themselves. every inch of him trembles to reach out, to plead for starscream to see the truth. through the terrans, they have hope. their people have a future. they can begin anew.

they can never begin anew.

scars run deep, torn and twisted metal forever a feature in both their spark casings. whether they choose to go their separate ways evermore or work through their shared trauma, there is no hiding the marks upon their sparks. they may heal. the pain may eventually ease. but the evidence of their existence will remain until the day their sparks are finally snuffed.

they are forever intertwined. and for that, megatron is truly sorry. his rotors tremble once more before he pulls them closer, letting the blades fold against each other. this is not about him.

"you have every right to your anger," murmurs megatron. he takes a heavy step backwards, to grant starscream the space he seems so desperate for. his servos are up, palm out by his face. there is no danger here; not from the once-tyrant, at least. "i will not deny you that. i do not ask that you deny yourself it, either."

megatron's optics soften.

"we are not the men we once were, starscream. i hold no power over you anymore. it is time we both recognize that."

the words are gentle, barely audible, but there is conviction behind them. slowly, his servos fall. they clasp together in front of his abdomen, dark fingers intertwining. deep in his chest, the warlord settles back to slumber. sorrow surfaces instead.

"i will not hold you here, starscream. you are free to leave, now and forever. i only ask that you pass on my words to the others, if you find them someplace safe out there."

It's rich for Megatron to say that the hold on him is gone, when all evidence points to the contrary. They are twining black holes, yawning apart and together to rend the universe asunder. Trying to escape one another's orbit only causes more pain, more suffering -- for those within and without. Starscream is living proof, and the fact that Megatron wants to throw it all away strikes him as so fundamentally wrong.

And as with all things between them, there is a point that breaks.

"Must you have the last word in everything?" he snarls, for the pain must go somewhere. He's never been able to contain it within himself, and he's not starting now.

"I have committed to just that in spite of you, not because of you! Had you even opened your eyes once, you would see that." Wings bristle outwards; what the hell does Megatron think he's been doing this entire time?!

He pushes himself higher into the air; he has long overstayed his welcome. "Do not hail this frequency again," he says with as much vitriol as he can muster.

@ascheming liked for a starter!

The aftermath of Mandroid's attempt to shut down all Cybertronian life of the planet was.. messy. There were far too many things going through everyone's minds- Nightshade along with them.

The Terran found themselves perching on a small cliff near the Malto house. Well, what was left of it, anyway. The day's events had been... A lot to process. Nightshade idly picked at their hands, optics staring up at the night sky. Everyone else was taking time to spend the night with their loved ones, but Nightshade knew their siblings and parents understood their need to distance themself. Being in large groups after an already over stimulating day? It was too much.

Robby's and Mo's healing powers may have fixed the visible injuries, but Nightshade found themselves still hurting from the mental ones. The thought of losing everyone? Of being the last of their family?

Even though the wounds have been healed, Starscream can still feel the points of contact between them as if they remain as physical scars.

He's brushing off his arms of the blows when he lands at the cliff, unaware of the young Malto until after they speak, and he stiffens perceptibly, fists clenching at his sides.

While Starscream wouldn't mind a little visit on a typical night, he knows Megatron is with Dot, and Dot is no doubt with her Terran children, wherever they are -- the Seeker is not welcome there. And with Megatron in the picture, he dreads a day when he is.

"I don't know what Hashtag has told you, but I don't make the best house guest," he says instead.

megatron of tarn was a monster. he cannot deny that. the innocents he had snuffed, the lights he stomped out, the hope he’d smashed beneath his palm— they would forever haunt his waking days and sleepless nights. even now, there are moments when the silence becomes too much, when the nothingness becomes screams and pleas. when he sees their eyes, their optics, in the dark corners of his mind.

all they know is destruction, croft had said. she hadn’t been totally incorrect.

but even if he cannot undo the past, he can amend their future. he can try. he refuses to believe all they’ve fought for, all he did, was for nothing. so he closes his optics. he takes a deep breath, and tries to stifle the flood waters with bare hands and steady footing. it is all he has to offer.

“you’re wrong,” says the now and future autobot. his rotors pin back against synthetic skin, to try to stifle their quivers. “were i the mech you knew, this would not be a civil conversation. we both know that. we both remember the… shape our words once took.”

his vents shudder with a hollow noise.

before he can open his mouth, continue with the conversation at hand, starscream is in his face. the seeker’s form quivers with rage, sharpened claw mere inches from hooking his nose. his scarred lips ache in reminder. the hatred wafts off starscream like a heatwave. in response, megatron pulls his em field tighter around himself.

“you’re right.”

the words that come from him are soft, barely a murmur. he lifts a hand and rests his fingers featherlight across starscream’s wrist. not to grab; he does not encircle the other’s limb. it is merely a touch, a silent plea for starscream to lower those claws. there is no need for physical violence here. not when their words are more than enough.

“you are right, starscream. i am not blameless. my ignorance to croft’s true intent does not change that you were hurt. it will not erase that my hand led you there.” ruby optics fall, to starscream’s hand, and then flit backup. shoulders lift and fall in a heavy, tired breath. “it was cowardice. i could not bring myself to see those who i once led and later betrayed, and you suffered needlessly because of it.”

a pause. his throat tightens, and megatron forces down the bitter aftertaste of pride.

His field, which had been clawing at Megatron's armor plates, desperately seeking purchase -- [ feel what I feel you bastard ] -- sloughs off all at once, sliding off like hot wax away from the flame. For once in his pathetic life, the oaf has done it. He's stunned Starscream silent.

He is forced to listen as Megatron, finally -- FINALLY -- admits to being wrong. He feels like a marionette with the strings cut, limbs limp and numb. It's not what he's wanted, it's not. He wants to scream and wail and tear the plating off Megatron's back, sink his claws deep and make him feel the pain that Starscream has kept buried deep inside. To carve the suffering into his spark casing, watch the little light inside flicker as Megatron is stripped down to his bare self. Not this, anything but this.

The fire burning in his chest loses all its oxygen at once, the coals turning and spitting sparks. His vents are heaving, trying to expel all the warm air he's made, optics wide with disbelief and the barest glimmer of pain lurking beneath the surface.

"Why can't you just let me be angry at you? Why can't you let me have this?"

[ It's all I have left of us, ] goes unspoken, and he resists the urge to reach out and make Megatron feel it anyways. Everything is oversensitive now, and he wildly thinks touching the silver plating might make him actually catch on fire.

He pushes the distance between them, stumbling back as if in a daze. As it not being near will help. It doesn't as much as he was hoping it would.