Sic Parvis Magna;

    “You’re tell me!” A voice piped up below him, the small red minibot walked over his optics glued to the clipboard in his hands. “Not sure who has it worse here, you moving the boxes or me counting them.”

   Cliffjumper grumbled angrily as he scrolled through the list of items for the shipment.

     “Says we’re one short of the big boxes and so far that’s the most interesting thing that’s happened today. Pathetic.”

"Counting sounds worse.” Springer wasn’t one to favor any of this work, but a job was a job and he had to take what he was given, regardless of the multiverse crews given. Cobalt optics moved along the boxes, mentally counting each one with quick addition.

“Not my problem,” was his immediate answer, servos propping themselves on his hip plates, “All I have to do is move the cases from point A to point B. It’s not really up to me to put things together.” Though, it was his job to ensure everything got there on time.

He knows that time moved on, but when did things change so much? It’s like everyone forgot what it was like to live on the edge of your seat - to move with fluidity and strike with accuracy. Even sparring is getting dull. He feels like his frame is pent up with energy he can’t waste. What purpose was he brought back for, if not to fight? To load ships up with cargo? To act as a horrifying presence and ward off any wandering hands from shipments?

He stands on the docks every day. He cycles through the motions of his new life with little interest. He returns home to vent his frustrations, to spar, to get rid of that pent up energy.

Surely there is somewhere in the multiverse that he can find it- the solution to his restlessness.

Even so, he knows he shouldn’t venture too far just yet. This world is already beyond his comprehension. He needs time to adjust. It’s going well enough, but he wishes, for once, that it would hurry. He decides to read up on the past again in his free time.

How exciting.

He can’t possibly contain his excitement as he sulks against the wall, rolling his optics at the people walking by, whispering and gesturing in his direction. In all honesty, he’d rather be back in his quarters or sparring with Roadbuster.

He feels like something between a guard and a mech of manual labor. The idea of Cybertron being settled in a false peace makes his armor crawl with insecurity. Where does he fit in a place that no longer needs mechs like him? What use did a Wrecker have in the world now? Instead of wallowing in his displaced status, Springer pushes through with the idea that he should try. Which brings him to his job- a terribly boring one.

The upside is that he receives more opportunities to explore the world around him, escorting cargo ships to their destinations, acting as the muscle to ward off any unwanted attention. During the process, he explores and takes time to take in the way things are.

Even so, he finds the entire job lackluster- there’s nothing fun to do. No one’s attacked a cargo shipment since he started and the desire to act has been hard to press down. He vents his frustrations to Roadbuster in hopes of finding some common ground between them. Though they’ve grown closer since living within the same quarters ( like roommates), Springer still finds that Roadbuster has come to terms with things a little quicker than him. Maybe it was that long nap he was forced to take.

Maybe it’s the lack of action.

Whatever it is, it has him feeling extremely dissatisfied. Still, he works, stacking shipments and securing them within the hull, ignoring the chattering bots around him. He’s here to work, not make friends.

«Soundwave? A whiner?» That seemed moderately difficult to believe, but - that wasn’t the point here. Focus, Tarantulas.

…Oh. Well, of course not. Springer wouldn’t remember a thing, would he. Prowl likely found some way to either obscure or erase any early memories Springer might have had as Ostaros. To be fair, Tarantulas wasn’t sure what Ostaros’s upbringing had been like in this universe in any case, so…

«Ah - I see.» His vocals spoke of disappointment despite his rational understanding of the situation. «Information creep happens to the best of us, after all. It’s - it’s not terribly important, you needn’t worry about it. Simply a hypothesis I had regarding memory banks and zero point damage.» A flimsy little lie, that one.

:: Yeah. All he does is bring up how I broke his visor. Get over it. It’s not like it was a permanent break. :: Springer considered many things whining that weren’t exactly whining. But, was he going to explain it? Probably not.

He drummed his digits against his arm guard, allowing a looseness to relax his frame. Tension was usually something that arose without warning- sometimes, he felt tense for no reason in particular. Perhaps it was his fight or fight mode kicking in ( flight wasn’t an option unless he was fighting during flight combat). Cobalt optics wandered the room, landing on the ceiling as a loud sigh rushed his vents. He hated long pauses.

:: So, you’re asking me for no reason because you wanna test some hypothesis, but you’re not gonna go further than that? :: Weird. ::Well, my memory isn’t exactly what it used to be. Kind of feels like I missed so much, I forgot everything anyway. I have to relearn everything - well, maybe not everything, but enough to take effort. :: There was an unseen shrug.

:: Mmmmmm I’m bored.”

Black Shadow was blunt in his admission.

:: You should come over! We’re like practically buddies now. We should hang out or somethin’. ::

:: Bored enough to call me? That’s a first. ::

Springer applauds blunt statements. He has no time for flowery words.

«No! Nonono. That’s - you were completely justified in your reactions given all you’d been through, and the circumstances under which you awoke.» As much as it pained Tarantulas to say it aloud, it was true - he didn’t begrudge Springer his actions at all, merely lamented them. «That - that isn’t what I meant though. I mean - when you came online for the first time in your entire life. However many millennia ago.» As if Tarantulas was pretending he didn’t know exactly how old Springer was, right down to the minute.

:: That’s a first. Can you tell that to the other guy I punched? He’s bein’ kind of a whiner about it. :: Springer’s tone was amused, yet slightly annoyed. He fell silent as the spider continued, tipping his helm to the side as he thought back through his memory. :: It gets harder to remember that far back the more I think about it. I remember bits and pieces, but my memory has derailed to remembering old fights and important pieces of the war. ::

|| Featuring my other good boy, @hamadaxfighter ||

“Where is this place anyway?”

Springer adjusted his rotors, flaring them out along his back, folding them down together once more. Stretching his arms up, he crossed them briefly behind his helm before letting them fall to his sides. Knowhere, the human said. It was disappointing to know that he wouldn’t get to see Earth for himself, but it was for the better that Cybertronians stayed away from it. Prowl might break he answered when the kid suggested it a second time. As funny as the sight might be, he wasn’t keen on making the mech stress more than he already was. Cobalt optics watched as the armored human moved around his workspace, swearing up and down that there was bound to be vibranium there. Entrusted to babysit- what else was new? At least it gave him something to do- a purpose for the length of the trip.

“It’s floating in space somewhere, genius.” “I don’t need a smart aft reply. Just coordinates will work. I’m the one flying us there. So, unless you want to be hurling into space at spinning miles an hour, I suggest you give me the coordinates.” “Okay, okay,” Hiro replied, looking up at him with one of those smiles- he could read that in an instant. Trouble. “Let’s get going. I’ll tell you on the way.” Rolling his optics, Springer folded down, armor exploding with movement as rotors roared to life with a violent twirl. “To Knowhere, then.”

:: What ? Can’t you just ping once and be done with it? ::

Talk about a nuisance. Ah, well. He has nothing better to do.

«So it’s fashion. Do you actually know how to use a shield in combat?»

A sigh. You give a mech an invulnerable torso, and he decides he wants a shield to complete his look. All right, fine. «What kind? And if you don’t have training in using a shield, get some first.»

:: No, but what does it matter? It’s a shield. I can figure it out. ::

Part of Tarantulas was grateful Springer was still childish in a sense - it meant he hadn’t lost all of his youthfulness in the war. That was certainly something Tarantulas lamented on his behalf.

Alright now, ignore the weepy bit. Focus on the question.

«It’s not exactly a medical report. I - it’s more of a personal question, but I promise there’s a reason for it.» A hesitant pause. «Do you - remember when you first onlined at all?»

Whatever comeback he had in mind, he let it go. There was no need to cause a stir in the calmness he’d developed. True, he’d retained his almost youthful spirit, but he was never as rambunctious as people chose to believe. Wreckers were, in his opinion, a different group all on their own; they had their own language, their own body language, speaking a thousand words with one glare and the flick of the wrist. And their medics? Headstrong, stubborn, unyielding.

This weepy mech? He was far from the medics Springer knew. Still, he was a friendly voice to talk to- someone he knew.

“Depends, I guess. I’d like to think I’m somewhat of a cool mech, though I doubt it really matters. Siblings aren’t exactly real in our species, unless you count the type in other universes. Then again, I haven’t really explored anything like that in other places. So, yeah. I guess I would be the older brother type.”

A pause as he mulls over the thought.

«I’m not talking about you. In general, anybody who wants a shield would be better served making their armor out of whatever they wanted to make the shield out of. If what they want is a second layer of protection, then they’d be better served by a second layer of armor.

«Please don’t answer my question with a question. Do you want me to get you a shield?»

:: Just seems pointless, though. :: He was repeating himself, but the idea of a shield seemed to suit his sword well enough- he’d already been discovering the idea of aesthetics and his were very particular. :: It completes the whole look, Prowl. Come on. It’s like getting a new paint job, except that’s slightly useless. ::

Well, since the mech was apparently offering-

[[You’re right. Allow him to fall at your feet and thank you for bothering to show restraint so you can pretend you’re a kind and generous Autobot instead of apologizing for doing unnecessary harm. Precisely how hard must he beg before you decide not to punch him again? He’d rather avoid wasting time you could be using to stoke your personal delusions.]]

[[And don’t play stupid with him. He told you what he did.]]

:: If I had an ego that big, I wouldn’t have gotten as far as I did. ::

True, his ego was rather out of control at times, but he had quite the handle on it when it came to new events. Reeling in himself, Springer let out a long sigh, optics rolling in their sockets. :: Relax, mech. You don’t have to get so bent out of shape. You know, for someone working with Prowl, you’re really easy to offend. That must be fun for the two of you. ::

He had no idea what their relationship was, but Springer assumed that there was something there, due to Prowl insisting that the mech was there to help.