Decepticon Guardian

"Hm. Maybe.." Fearstorm hadn’t investigated earth technology very much. He’d made a few brief forays into the “internet,” and while it was definitely very appealing with its midis and its neat animated pictures of fire and skulls, he hadn’t felt the need to spend a lot of on it. Maybe he should try again. "Either way, I hope he comes back soon. It just feels… wrong without him."

He grunts at Fearstorm's comment about Megatron being missing. "I agree," he says.  During the war, Skyquake lead many battles and went on many missions, often alone, but he never held a rank as high in the Decepticon hierarchy as he does now.  In truth, he never imagined he would.  Now he finds himself in a strange territory and sometimes, though he's not likely to admit it to anyone, he wonders if he is as effective a commander as he should be.  Over the last several month,s he feels like he sees more mistakes than victories, and any sort of conflict with the enemy has become practically non-existent.  Sometimes he finds himself wondering if they've all become shiftless, a ship of warriors without anything to fight, other than boredom.

He finds that he actually misses his masters presence.  Megatron always had a focus, always had them doing something.  Skyquake wonders if he's fit to command at all.

He goes on, "See, right before I died, I had the chance to kill him. Lord Megatron was willing to throw Starscream’s life away. It’s hard to imagine he’d let him stay after all that." After a pause, the drone adds, "But it’s not my place to question him, and if Starscream is telling the truth, then I gotta trust Lord Megatron had a good reason for keeping him around."

Like Fearstorm, Skyquake can sometimes tend towards blind loyalty. Quite frankly, he doesn't want to imagine Megatron allowing someone like Starscream back into the ranks.  To Skyquake, Starscream is a living personification of everything he detests - a mech who is more content to go through war based on lies and underhandedness, than honor on a battlefield.  Someonw who is every bit as like to betray his own kind as he is the enemy.  Someone who will sell information if it means his miserable existence.

"He seems to be a mech of many lives," Skyquake says, before adding, "Unfortunately.  It is also unfortunate our master is missing.  I cannot confirm whether he intended for Starscream to be with us or not.  If he did, I will honor his wishes.  If he didn't, I'd be delighted to end Starscream's life myself."

Well, thank Primus for small mercies.

He shakes his head and goes on, “Not me, perrrsonally. I’ve only fallen through ‘em a coupla times. I know they can send you back in time, but that’s about it.” The cat remains poised, his optics blinking in the slow, deliberate way that felines’ often do. “Arrre you turnin’ us away?” It’s possible that this mech doesn’t feel that Razorclaw and Onslaught are welcome unless they have something useful to offer. The idea baffles the predacon a bit—these are Decepticons, this is where he should be—but he’s willing to accept it and move on, if it turns out to be the case. 

Skyquake then looks at Onslaught as he speaks.  With that faceplate, and without knowing the mech, it was hard for Skyquake to get a read on him, but he appears to have some familiarity with the other mech, so Skyquake decides he can perhaps be trusted on some level.

"Good," he says.  "I'll tell them to lower our weapons and you may come onboard."

"I know at least one Seeker who fits that bill." A pause. "The hypocrite and liar bit, not the whole ‘fragging grounders’ thing." 

-Ripclaw smiles sweetly to Predaking as if she wasn’t just angry at him and rubs her head against his arm. However, she blinks and glances to Skyquake, watching him with uncertainty.-

'Don't know exact numbers. Many still sleeping.'

He reaches for his high grade and takes a swallow as Predaking speaks.  "It happens, unfortunately," he says.  "I assume you are aware of these tears that have been occurring?  It is why I questioned your numbers.  These tears make it far too easy to enter and leave the Nemesis without anyone knowing, a large breach in our security."

He scowls again, and goes back to paying attention to his buffing.  He moves down to his legs now, first moving the buffer along his right thigh.  He watches it work, the collection of small scratches and scuff marks beginning to vanish, revealing a green paintjob that could almost pass for new.  He has to stop himself from snorting at that, thinking to himself he hasn’t felt “new” in a long time.

He’d always imagined them being happy, because after his twin had left he was- miserable.  Even more so after his death.  What would he do if he lost him again? Especially with this uncomfortable distance he’d been forcing between them, would he be able to cope with that?

It wasn’t likely, and although he wasn’t really sure why they were acting like this, why they chose to pick fights instead of merely looking past it- well, perhaps the war was grinding down on them.

And their patience.

Skyquake almost lets out a bitter laugh at Dreadwing's comment to 'start over', but he stops himself.  He knows if he shoots down the idea it'll just lead to another argument and they'll wind up not talking to one another for an even longer period of time, which will only make the two even more miserable in turn.

He finishes buffing along his left foot, and he stands upright, looking down at the lower half of his body, satisfied.  He shuts the buffer off and looks at Dreadwing, surprised to see Dreadwing is actually looking at him instead of away from him.  The idea of just 'resetting' things didn't particularly satisfy Skyquake, who has a tendency to never forget something that is said, and has far less of a tendency to admit he was wrong and apologize.

"Fine," he says.  "We can try to... start over."  The tone of his voice doesn't inspire confidence, but he decides to give it a try.

He leaves it at that, and says nothing else, thinking he might wind up sounding bitter if he speaks again.  He turns the buffer on and begins to buff along his crotchplating, which he finds to be a strange sensation, though not unpleasant.  He scowls slightly as he thinks to himself. 

This whole time he’d been bitter at his twin, angry for not spending time with him.  The few moments they had together actually felt like it did before he left for Earth, but other than those moments, they spent time apart, or worse, were fighting with one another.  Skyquake doesn’t like to admit it, but things feel different between the two of them.

That small bout of guilt that had been digging itself up, was gone now and he shifts back, pedes almost dragging across the floor as he moves to distance himself from his twin. 

That’s what it felt like between them in general, distance. Between each word and bitter backed statement there was distance, it seemed far too rare that they were actually close.

Dreadwing doesn’t say anything, just watching the other mech idly before contemplating returning to his ‘work’, building those countless bombs and merely add them to the pile. Only for his twin to speak.

At first, he merely stares, processor actually taking a moment to register what exactly the other meant before his optics brighten, optic ridges shifting in minor surprise only to furrow into a frown. “…Perhaps,” he retorts again, not denying, but refusing to admit it as well.

He scowls again, and goes back to paying attention to his buffing.  He moves down to his legs now, first moving the buffer along his right thigh.  He watches it work, the collection of small scratches and scuff marks beginning to vanish, revealing a green paintjob that could almost pass for new.  He has to stop himself from snorting at that, thinking to himself he hasn't felt "new" in a long time.

"I mean what I said."  He gives a shrug of his large shoulders.  "I figured you had no idea, since we rarely recharge together.  Our schedules are so different.

"I have dreams sometimes where I die.  Not all the time.  Most of the time I don’t recall my dreams at all.  And sometimes I just dream about other things.  Flying, old battles from the war back on Cybertron, even people we used to work for pop up, rarely.

"But sometimes I have that one.  It starts off differently sometimes.  Sometimes you’re there, and we’re flying together, and the terrain underneath us changes, begins to look like that canyon where I died.  Then it starts to become like my memories.  I can feel the weight on me where Prime’s scout jumped on my back.  I feel him punching me and ripping out wiring, I can feel myself beginning to catch on fire internally.  I’m trying to pull up, but I can’t, then right as I hit the ground, I’ll snap out of recharge."

He can’t help the way his gaze wanders to the side, allowing his twin to finish only to cringe at that final little statement. 

"I believe the humans call those "nightmares"," he releases softly after a brief moment, knowing that it wouldn’t really add to the conversation, nor console his twin in any way. 

What else was he to do? He hadn’t known, nor had he been around to help.

He leaves it at that, and says nothing else, thinking he might wind up sounding bitter if he speaks again.  He turns the buffer on and begins to buff along his crotchplating, which he finds to be a strange sensation, though not unpleasant.  He scowls slightly as he thinks to himself. 

This whole time he'd been bitter at his twin, angry for not spending time with him.  The few moments they had together actually felt like it did before he left for Earth, but other than those moments, they spent time apart, or worse, were fighting with one another.  Skyquake doesn't like to admit it, but things feel different between the two of them.

After a few moments, he lifts his chin in a short nod, giving a quick and wordless growl as he pings Skyquake with a comm frequency. The Seeker will recognize it as belonging to Knock Out. “He said he needed some help with a prroblem, and I came to help. I’d been lookin’ for Decepticon forrrces anyway.” Stranded in a strange dimension without his team, seeking out whatever shreds of his faction existed here seemed like the most logical choice. 

"I suppose a tear must have swallowed me" he said out loud with a small nod of his head, "Although I did not arrive together with our feline comrade over there, merely at the same time, by coincidence."

"The... issue you speak of," Skyquake wasn't exactly sure how Razorclaw 'helped' Predaking, but the only issues he knew of with the Predacon leader was the illness which was months ago.  "That was a few months ago."  Skyquake shakes his head at that, and wonders if the mech fell into another one of those tears.

"But I know those tears can make time pass strangely for some of us," he says, remembering how several months had passed for Dreadwing when he died, while he had not even realized he died at all.

He almost began to wonder what he would have been like if he’d lived on Cybertron before the war, but he knew he would not have. Not as himself, anyway. "Sounds complicated. I guess when Lord Megatron finally conquers, we’ll probably start building all of that again, won’t we? Only better, of course." Lord Megatron was a flier, but not inclined to preen and strut, so he doubted that he would tolerate any of that in his empire.

Skyquake shifts slightly in the air when a current changes, listening to Fearstorm on the other end of the comm.  "More than likely he will want to build yes.  The structures on this world are too... primitive for his standards, but I don't know what will happen with it all.  That will probably be the first thing we do once the war ends."

He almost loses his grip on the buffer in his surprise and he's quick to shut it off at that point as his gaze brightens as he stays silent a moment.

"I mean what I said."  He gives a shrug of his large shoulders.  "I figured you had no idea, since we rarely recharge together.  Our schedules are so different.

"I have dreams sometimes where I die.  Not all the time.  Most of the time I don't recall my dreams at all.  And sometimes I just dream about other things.  Flying, old battles from the war back on Cybertron, even people we used to work for pop up, rarely.

"But sometimes I have that one.  It starts off differently sometimes.  Sometimes you're there, and we're flying together, and the terrain underneath us changes, begins to look like that canyon where I died.  Then it starts to become like my memories.  I can feel the weight on me where Prime's scout jumped on my back.  I feel him punching me and ripping out wiring, I can feel myself beginning to catch on fire internally.  I'm trying to pull up, but I can't, then right as I hit the ground, I'll snap out of recharge."

Instead of getting angry again however, he just sits there, in silence.

He’s not even paying attention to the sensation of the buffer anymore and he hasn’t realized Dreadwing has removed it, until the other speaks.  Even his voice sounds distant, something Skyquake is only vaguely aware of.

He could feel that small bout of emotional pain from his twin, and he wanted to make it go away, but he wasn't sure how. He didn't want another fight.

Neither he nor Dreadwing speak for a long time as the cleaning continues, and his mind begins to wonder.  After a while, he finally speaks, bringing up a subject he had not brought up since he had been brought back online.

He doesn’t respond, doing his best to continuing the buffering of his twins frame. As soon as he finishes he shuts the buffer off, lowering it down to his lap as his gaze follows suit. “Perhaps,” he retorts to the others final statement, pained at the thought.

Instead of getting angry again however, he just sits there, in silence.

He's not even paying attention to the sensation of the buffer anymore and he hasn't realized Dreadwing has removed it, until the other speaks.  Even his voice sounds distant, something Skyquake is only vaguely aware of.

There's a small span of silence as he works, able to cover a good fraction of the others forearm before his twin speaks, and his progress promptly stops.

For a moment, Dreadwing doesn't say anything, servos holding the buffer from his twins plating before he sets to work once more, gaze staying focused down.

"I think," he states quietly after a moment, "that we're just falling out of line. Perhaps we're just..I don't know."

"Perhaps we've grown apart," he says.  It hurts Skyquake to say the words.  He never imagined he and Dreadwing would ever grow apart, but they had been separated for a long time, so maybe it was inevitable.  It was hard for him to think about the possibility that they had grown apart - for Skyquake it as something that was always inconceivable, even during the worst years of the war.

"Frag it," he mutters, continuing on, shifting the buffer to his left arm.  It was strange watching some of those old scrapes and cuts vanish, revealing his paintjob in better quality than it had been in years.

He’s a bit surprised when Dreadwing places his gun back on the table and moves to sit beside him.  He glances over to his twin for just an instant, considering scooting farther away, but in the end, he decides against it.  It would probably just cause another fight between them.

He turns the buffer off and hands it to Dreadwing, then holds out his right arm so Dreadwing can begin working on it.

For a moment, he grits his jaw together, listening to Dreadwing’s words, and he can feel his anger spike back up every time the other speaks, but in in the end, he does something he rarely does - he gives up.

He grumbles to himself, and picks the buffer back up finally, turning it on yet again.  He doesn’t say anything to Dreadwing.  Frankly, he doesn’t know what to say.  His wounded ego won’t allow him to be the first one to try and be kind, and he’s sure if he opens his mouth to speak, something sarcastic is still likely to come out. 

Especially with the silence that followed after.

Dreadwing’s quiet a moment or two more before his arm shifts, slowly dragging the weapon off his back and sliding it on the table before moving to approach the berth and take his place beside his twin.

"Frag it," he mutters, continuing on, shifting the buffer to his left arm.  It was strange watching some of those old scrapes and cuts vanish, revealing his paintjob in better quality than it had been in years.

He's a bit surprised when Dreadwing places his gun back on the table and moves to sit beside him.  He glances over to his twin for just an instant, considering scooting farther away, but in the end, he decides against it.  It would probably just cause another fight between them.