Left it all Behind

              Probative questions interrupted the smaller bot’s train of thoughts on what had been shared in the past: But how? Orion was so young, so new to the world; memories of the Well were so new to him that he could still draw upon the memories of its light, its smell, and vaguely map out its labyrinthian path.

              How could he ever known Megatron? Megatron was a stranger—

              Light little digits reach out and touched upon the barrier of the other’s field; there was so much charge in feedback between that that Orion watched the diminutive sparks coruscate off the simple contact.

              Eventually the static ran out of its power as it danced across his digits and the field’s breech, yet he still watched it slowly play in the invisible miasma. It was such a simple thing to relish, yet Orion did not give up so easily, not while he still held hope of holding onto the light that sparked between them.

              When asked of his intent, Orion raised his optics again until heated cyan found its way on the ember shades of Megatron’s red.

              What was he doing here?               How did he come here?               Where did he come from?

              “I—I don’t know. I just… knew to talk in a direction and I found my way here,” Orion answered, and then glanced around to the spacial reality of what here was.

              All he found was devastating, ruin, and rot; none of it a comfort as his spark had promised him. It was hollow with its wreckage, and a dead echo returned his small out-cry.

        The soft touch of digits along its barirer sent a rush of corresponding energy back to him, his own optics flickering to the scatter of evanescent sparks in wonder, then raising back to Orion's as his question was answered with interest.

        What answer is given does not offer any insight to how or why Orion had ended up in this place, but for now that did not matter, though it must have meant something that the lost librarion had simply found his way here by instinct.. that Megatron himself had wandered here simultaneously.

tagged by: paixchasseur

Animal - Great Horned Owl Colour - Deep Purple Month - December Song - Lord of Bones - Like Moths to Flames Number - 8 Day or night - Night Plant - Oak Tree -The oak tree represents courage, strength, and power. Said to be the most powerful of all trees, it stands sturdy through all things, enduring whatever is thrown at it throughout it's long lifespan.- Smell - burning sweet-smelling wood Gemstone - Hematite -Hematite calms your heart and soul and provides you with balance in life. It helps better understand certain perspectives and keeps you humbled and down to earth. You become practical when you have the stone, improving your mentality. It pushes you to meditate, helping to see things in a new light.- Season - Winter Place - Kaon Food - Salty Astrological sign - Scorpio Elements - Fire Drink - Fine Midgrade

He wasn’t about to go into the thought of it, that he had, at one time, actually and truly believed in Megatron’s grand scheme. That time was long gone, as should be the mech standing before him. That he wasn’t was enough to keep the flames of his anger stoked and ready to lash out at even the slightest provocation - and it took all his willpower not to simply fire both missiles at the fragging glitch. He hadn’t come this far to throw it all away near the cusp of his crowning glory.

"Agreed. Let us not dwell on what has occurred then." Megatron replied bluntly, laying the idle thought aside how untrue that statement must have been for both of them. Far too much history to be laid to rest as such.

              Orion just knew: This was his sanctuary                                               — a haven from the wild.

              He knew he belonged here the same as the sun, moons, and stars belonged in the sky above. Far beyond was a canvas that would be composed without his placement.

              He knew that the stranger did not; the eldritch form appeared more fitted with the umbral latticework of the Underworld from whence he had crawled from.

              Marvelous here under the vaulted dome, Orion approached with the trepid innocence of a new spark. All around him the fresh world was too harsh against his senses, too rough against the metal plates. A world so large as this could swallow him whole, and Orion could feel his smallness as he walked under the shadow of the trespasser.

              Yet, with great delay he welcomed the other, and a fledgling smile softly crooked the features too new. Knowing not that he stood more as an illusion of the past, Orion stepped forward until the first tendril of their fields began to touch, and with all the welcomeness of a youngling, Orion reached out to touch upon reality.

              Repeatedly stated, with words too soft for such a harsh world, “My name… is Orion Pax.”

              Tilted vision peered unbroken onto the stranger, and a visceral knowledge of familiarity tickled the outer recesses of Orion’s consciousness.

But it was all too real.

It took the touch of his field to break his latent cognizance that this was in fact reality, that if he were to, he could indeed reach outwards and touch what he thought a materialized memory. But how, why? These and many of what other questions he had, that by what rationale he had left could not answer, prickled his mind in an agiated need to be explained. His own EM field radiated with that confusion, but was not without a very subtle touch of the logning he had felt for his lost friend. The feeling transmitted from Orion was so very different. Pure, lost, misplaced in this world. Overall his aura changed from what he remebered, the way it now teemed with an innocence unlike any the warlord had been graced with, but so much like him all the same.

Optimus Prime was dead.. but Orion was here.

No words came to his processor, yet at the same time rushed him in a torrent of an inconsolidant blurr. To his adudials as the other spoke such soft words, sounding untouched by the stagnance of their corrupt world, were heard as a melodic purity comparable to none. Ringing with an essence untainted, Megatron feared to reach out towards him and pollute it with his countless sin. He did not understand.. What made him worthy of being in such presence, of this gift which appeared risen from the tomb? If had he not so many questions, of self doubt and otherwise, he may have fully embraced the situation. Instead, contorted by his ambivilance, he very uneasily reached out in a reciprocant manner.

"Orion.. I am, Megatron." Rough chords on an age old vocolizer rumbled out in vague awkwardness, unsettled by unknowing how he should react. This was Orion.. but this was not Orion. New.. Reborn.. Risen from beyond the grave. By what powers that be, Megatron can not hope to understand, only knowing that he was not remebered, obvious as the way the other beamed up at him with optics of benign innocence.