Starath's Datalog

She swatted the sharp claws away from her face.  “I can,” she repeated his mocking word, and flaunted a smirk. “Endurance is one of my better stats. You could say it comes with my stubbornness. And furthermore–”

Starath tried–  emphasis on tried–  to push Megatron away from her. This business of intimidation through size and authority and… and.. gall to corner her in such a manner had to stop.

“You seem to mistake me for someone–” Another attempt to push. A loud exhale. “–who has friends.” She rocked back against the wall. Squaring her shoulders, she found leverage and leaned her weight into the shove. “You assume someone would– phew– want to imitate my behavior. It’s not like this iiiiiiisss– ARGH!–  a product of who I am, and I’ll learn when I– huff– FEEL like it. You seem to think foooooooor—OWOWOW– one infraction, a thousand will follow.”

He hadn’t moved. But he had this odd look on his face, like he’d just seen Optimus Prime in a ballerina costume and he wasn’t sure if it was real. The far-off look snapped into focus and pinned her down.

“I understand that not everything is done in an effort to thwart me, to undermine me, but it is the matter of your honesty which I will call into question.”

Panting, Starath dropped down to both feet. Her breath fogged up the shiny metal of Megatron’s chestplate between every other word. “Well don’t. I tell the truth.”

“Pray tell, Starath, were you or were you not the one who demanded I prove myself worthy of you in regards to interface?”

She made a strangled noise that sounded like a squeaky toy getting sucked into a jet engine.  

A blue forcefield erupted from her wrists, encased her arms, and flooded forward, colliding into Megatron’s chest with the force of a lightning strike.

She covered her face in both hands. Her normal ash-grey facial tint became very, very pink. She scrunched her optics shut. Wait. Both hands? Since when did he let–

Megatron was suddenly over there.

“Oh scrap oh scrap oh scrap I’m sorry please don’t be mad!” She performed a little dance, forward and back, whining, squeaking, and slipped on the hundred or so Post-it notes now littering the floor. “I’m SO SORRY, I didn’t mean to do that, you just startled me!  That message was soooo totally inappropriate. I don’t know what I was thinking! Well, I was thinking ‘what the heck, might as well say it’ but you weren’t supposed to KNOW! That was such a terrible thing to say to anyone, and I said it to a Leader-class figure!”

Someone who had friends certainly stood a higher chance of having their behavior, however poor, copied in some twisted sense of loyalty; though, by indulging in the behavior, such a person was only the extension of some terrible joke. The revelation, nevertheless, earned her nothing–nothing more than the unsurprising satisfaction of knowing no one else found her likable. 

Here was an opportunity; a chance to exploit a weakness–hers. Even the strongest of minds had bent to his cult of personality; those who were vulnerable becoming his to control. An endless cycle of manipulation and pain…

Into him, she shoved, a futile attempt to rid herself of his presence. And, what, pray tell, was to happen if he pulled–to pluck her strings even further than what he was now?

At his accusation, Megatron waited for what would drip from her mouth: the truth or a lie. 

A breath against his chassis–Starath assured the truth. Another warm breath clouded against his armor–surprise fell from her vocoder as a strangled cry. What truth was to be spilled? He reached forward to seize her by the neck, to give her a reason to feel suffocated by the very idea of how he could strangle the truth from her throat–

“GRRAAAaahh!”

From his throat, the strangled cry fell as he was suddenly and inexplicably forced backwards. Unsheathing his blade, he drove it into the floor, attempting to halt his backwards skid. From the sharpened tip, sparks spat their fury as he came to rest, hunched over, against the wall. With an ugly glare, he looked up, letting his crimson gaze burn into the femme before him.

It was then the truth came spurting forth after some semblance of an apology and a plea for him not to be mad for whatever it was she had just done. Such strength, oh she seemed quite resilient, not only in spirit, but physical prowess as well. 

Her rambling did little to diffuse his anger. A small rumble of laughter escaped him; despite the sticky sense of madness clinging to his spark, he found her admission amusing. Slowly, he pushed himself to his full height, sheathing his blade back within its housing. What Starath might not have known, what she would learn, was how he preferred things up close.

“Kill you?” he questioned, drawing near. Every ounce of his being screamed for her demise, but to do so would be too easy. No, he admired a challenge.

Reaching her, he ensnared her neck within his grasp. Yanking her to his height, he used his full-weight to press her into the wall. May her wings sing her misery.

Is that what he called it nowadays? 

“Auto..bots…. tried… that,” she gasped.

They really did, too. They used any method of discipline they could think of during her “rehabilitation” in Autoboot camp…. Grueling exercise, solitary confinement, verbal reprimands, taking away televideo privileges… And a great deal of extended combat, as if they could beat the insolence out of her. The only thing that worked was Ultra Magnus’ horrendous essay assignment entitled “Seventy-Five Ways Why My Behavior is Inappropriate and the Following Acceptable Alternatives, with Footnotes”. Not because it made her think about what she’d done… okay, maybe a little. Mostly it was the sitting still long enough to write the slagging thing.

Her fingers dug into his wrist, desperately twisting at the joint with failing strength. She hammered at his elbow when that did nothing, and that, unsurprisingly… did nothing.

Well, fine!

Why was Megatron smiling.

Starath shivered despite her resolve to stand still. He didn’t– he couldn’t– he wasn’t doing it for any reason other than to weird her out. Get a hold of yourself, femme! As if he has any reason to admire you!

“I can handle consequences just fine,” She said, looking at him straight with her jaw set tight. “I do it all the time, often, without a word of complaint. You ought to know that, Sir.”

She swallowed, her shoulders suddenly feeling heavy. “And of course I didn’t expect to be caught by you. I was bored. I had post-it notes. ‘Smol’ is a funny word, given a Cybertronian’s comparison of size to most things. So I gave myself something to do.  I was thinking at the very least, I’d get a lecture from Skyfire or a debate with Knock Out on how ugly this shade of yellow is. You’re usually off doing leader-type things, not strolling the far halls of a forgotten corner of your ship.” 

She pulled her arm from his grasp, failed, and felt her wings flare.

“Believe it or not, not every act you dislike is done to spite or disrespect you. If you wish to punish me for being honest, then fine, get on with it.”

His lips quirked upwards as he met her gaze. “Can you?” he asked, his voice a low and sultry rasp. “You seem to have recovered well from our last encounter, exceptionally even,” he taunted, tracing the sharpness of his digit along her facial plating. 

And then, he tugged her closer, stooping over her, nearly erasing any breath of personal space between them. “The word irritates me, and if I pardon you for this infraction, regardless of how inconsequential it seems, I can only wonder what you’ll try to get away with next or who else might try to mimic your behavior. Optimus may no longer be here and Ultra Magnus may have risen to command in his stead, but I still command an army from this warship. I will not tolerate such childish behavior. That, dear Starath, is what you are being punished for.”

It was all trivial, what she had done. It wasn’t worth his anger or causing her to suffer. It wasn’t like the first time she had jabbed her digit into his chassis, demanding him to explain himself as though she had the right, as though she was worthy.

“I’d demand you prove your right to frag me…”

Realization stung him, and Megatron knew the anonymous could not have been any other. With narrowed optics, he glared at her, snarling, “I understand that not everything is done in an effort to thwart me, to undermine me, but it is the matter of your honesty which I will call into question.”

She swatted the sharp claws away from her face.  “I can,” she repeated his mocking word, and flaunted a smirk. “Endurance is one of my better stats. You could say it comes with my stubbornness. And furthermore--”

Starath tried--  emphasis on tried--  to push Megatron away from her. This business of intimidation through size and authority and… and.. gall to corner her in such a manner had to stop.

“You seem to mistake me for someone--” Another attempt to push. A loud exhale. “--who has friends.” She rocked back against the wall. Squaring her shoulders, she found leverage and leaned her weight into the shove. “You assume someone would-- phew-- want to imitate my behavior. It’s not like this iiiiiiisss-- ARGH!--  a product of who I am, and I’ll learn when I-- huff-- FEEL like it. You seem to think foooooooor—OWOWOW– one infraction, a thousand will follow.”

He hadn’t moved. But he had this odd look on his face, like he’d just seen Optimus Prime in a ballerina costume and he wasn’t sure if it was real. The far-off look snapped into focus and pinned her down.

“I understand that not everything is done in an effort to thwart me, to undermine me, but it is the matter of your honesty which I will call into question.”

Panting, Starath dropped down to both feet. Her breath fogged up the shiny metal of Megatron’s chestplate between every other word. “Well don’t. I tell the truth.”

“Pray tell, Starath, were you or were you not the one who demanded I prove myself worthy of you in regards to interface?”

She made a strangled noise that sounded like a squeaky toy getting sucked into a jet engine.  

A blue forcefield erupted from her wrists, encased her arms, and flooded forward, colliding into Megatron’s chest with the force of a lightning strike.

She covered her face in both hands. Her normal ash-grey facial tint became very, very pink. She scrunched her optics shut. Wait. Both hands? Since when did he let–

Megatron was suddenly over there.

“Oh scrap oh scrap oh scrap I’m sorry please don’t be mad!” She performed a little dance, forward and back, whining, squeaking, and slipped on the hundred or so Post-it notes now littering the floor. “I’m SO SORRY, I didn’t mean to do that, you just startled me!  That message was soooo totally inappropriate. I don’t know what I was thinking! Well, I was thinking ‘what the heck, might as well say it’ but you weren’t supposed to KNOW! That was such a terrible thing to say to anyone, and I said it to a Leader-class figure!”

Starath let out a disappointed “Awww!” the moment she felt Megatron’s grasp on her arm. She found herself too close to his proximity all too quickly. She huffed, staring him in the optics, and took in the view of his facial scars. He might have been handsome, at one time. Maybe. Her head tilted to one side. Were his optics always so red? Why did he always look so burnt? Everything else was polished to a pristine shine. Strange for someone who got into life-and-death fights on a regular basis. His face, though. Was it the exposure to dark energon?  Life experience? Did he shoot himself in the face every morning for cosmetic effect? 

Were his eyebrows removable?

Tempting though it was to answer that question, Starath kept her hands pinned to her sides. Well, the one he didn’t have a hold of anyway. The point of his talon pierced the soft metal of her chin and she squirmed. Fury rose to the tips of her wings and with some difficulty she forced them to stay still. Did he honestly expect immediate obedience just because he could intimidate her?

She jerked her head back, ignoring the jarring noise of two metal plates scraping one another. 

Megatron wasn’t disappointed. He spared the femme a hint of a smile, his gaze roaming over her frame, bidding her the honor of so much as looking at her with a shard of ill-intention in mind. 

What she wondered about him, he suspected it wasn’t anything different than what others had considered of him before. And what he wondered of her… How far did her arrogance go? What would it take to make her squirm at the very idea of him? And perhaps, might he have the opportunity to clip her wings? Never was he one to deny himself the luxury of such things. But, he sensed she would not falter easily.

It amused him as she jerked away, perhaps thinking she had freed herself of him. Alas, to have his attention guaranteed an oppression unlike any other.

Why was Megatron smiling.

Starath shivered despite her resolve to stand still. He didn’t-- he couldn’t-- he wasn’t doing it for any reason other than to weird her out. Get a hold of yourself, femme! As if he has any reason to admire you!

“I can handle consequences just fine,” She said, looking at him straight with her jaw set tight. “I do it all the time, often, without a word of complaint. You ought to know that, Sir.”

She swallowed, her shoulders suddenly feeling heavy. “And of course I didn’t expect to be caught by you. I was bored. I had post-it notes. ‘Smol’ is a funny word, given a Cybertronian’s comparison of size to most things. So I gave myself something to do.  I was thinking at the very least, I’d get a lecture from Skyfire or a debate with Knock Out on how ugly this shade of yellow is. You’re usually off doing leader-type things, not strolling the far halls of a forgotten corner of your ship.” 

She pulled her arm from his grasp, failed, and felt her wings flare.

“Believe it or not, not every act you dislike is done to spite or disrespect you. If you wish to punish me for being honest, then fine, get on with it.”

If she had not been so engrossed with her current task, she might have jumped into the ceiling and disappeared.  Starath shook herself, took a breath, and straightened her wings. It was SO not fair that someone so big could be so fragging quiet. And of course HE would be the one to catch her find her handiwork first! She wasn’t even finished yet, fraggit.

“Decorating,” she answered with a chirp, not bothering to turn around. The injuries from the last time they spoke still hurt. “Because I’m bored.”

Honesty was the best policy. Usually. As if she would say “Nothing!” and pretend she hadn’t posted those notes everywhere… while she had some yet-to-be-posted ‘smols’ still stuck on her arm. 

You really should acknowledge him or he’ll get mad… madder… well, maybe he’s not mad? He sounded like he’d stumbled across a peculiar life form onboard his own ship. Hmm. Why disappoint?

Starath selected a particularly nicely written post-it note from her arm, turned to face Megatron– remembering to look up, or it was awkward– and deliberately pressed the yellow square to his chest, right where a human heart would be.

“Smol,” she announced, giggling, and scampered out from in front of him, around the corner and–

How easily he might drag his claws along their length–

Starath chirped, her answer blunt and far too late for Megatron’s patience; her reasoning for her disobedience unjustifiable. Her antics were far from impressive; her vivaciousness irksome. But somehow, much to his irritation, he was amused. 

Finally, she turned, daring to face him at last. Briefly, their gaze met, and once more, she jabbed a digit into his chest. Memories percolated through his mind of the last time Starath dared to defy him, challenging him before his Decepticons in the very room his commands epicentered. Rage guided his servos as he struck her down, injuring her so severely to show he would not tolerate anyone questioning him.

Crimson shifted downwards, his attention distracted from Starath as he plucked the note from his chassis.

Smol.

She laughed and slipped away.

The matters she questioned him on all seemed to relate to his spark.

“Starath,” his voice boomed, reluctantly giving chase once more. Fortunately she had not gone far, foolishly choosing not to run from him. He noted how small her arm was within his grip before pulling her back and yanking her around.

He slipped a talon beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Starath let out a disappointed “Awww!” the moment she felt Megatron’s grasp on her arm. She found herself too close to his proximity all too quickly. She huffed, staring him in the optics, and took in the view of his facial scars. He might have been handsome, at one time. Maybe. Her head tilted to one side. Were his optics always so red? Why did he always look so burnt? Everything else was polished to a pristine shine. Strange for someone who got into life-and-death fights on a regular basis. His face, though. Was it the exposure to dark energon?  Life experience? Did he shoot himself in the face every morning for cosmetic effect? 

Were his eyebrows removable?

Tempting though it was to answer that question, Starath kept her hands pinned to her sides. Well, the one he didn’t have a hold of anyway. The point of his talon pierced the soft metal of her chin and she squirmed. Fury rose to the tips of her wings and with some difficulty she forced them to stay still. Did he honestly expect immediate obedience just because he could intimidate her?

She jerked her head back, ignoring the jarring noise of two metal plates scraping one another. 

No one knew where Starath got the post-it notes. 

No one was going to ask. 

….If they knew where the post-its came from in the first place.

And even then, who would know what her handwriting looked like?

Recently Starath had discovered that humans had some interesting cultural phenomenons. Things called “memes” that were, for some reason, found amusing and spread everywhere via the Internet. 

One such meme was the intentional misspelling of words for humorous effect.  

She wrote “smol” on the next post-it note and pressed it against the doorframe, right about optic-height for the next passerby to find. She giggled.

And, perhaps the perpetrator of such vandalism should have considered that the leader of the Decepticons might discover it first.

Though not quite at his optic level given he was larger than most, Megatron still spotted the brightly shaped square upon the door frame. Removing it, he lifted it only to read one of the words he hated most. 

Of course, a glance around revealed more of the brightly colored squares littering the corridor.

Yellow had never been one of his favorite colors, particularly this obnoxious shade.

Snarling, he pinged Soundwave, requesting him to track down the vandal at once. As usual, Soundwave never failed.

Rounding the corner, he came upon a femme he had not seen in some time.

“Starath,” he demanded her attention.

If she had not been so engrossed with her current task, she might have jumped into the ceiling and disappeared.  Starath shook herself, took a breath, and straightened her wings. It was SO not fair that someone so big could be so fragging quiet. And of course HE would be the one to catch her find her handiwork first! She wasn’t even finished yet, fraggit.

“Decorating,” she answered with a chirp, not bothering to turn around. The injuries from the last time they spoke still hurt. “Because I’m bored.”

Honesty was the best policy. Usually. As if she would say “Nothing!” and pretend she hadn’t posted those notes everywhere… while she had some yet-to-be-posted ‘smols’ still stuck on her arm. 

You really should acknowledge him or he’ll get mad… madder… well, maybe he’s not mad? He sounded like he’d stumbled across a peculiar life form onboard his own ship. Hmm. Why disappoint?

Starath selected a particularly nicely written post-it note from her arm, turned to face Megatron-- remembering to look up, or it was awkward-- and deliberately pressed the yellow square to his chest, right where a human heart would be.

“Smol,” she announced, giggling, and scampered out from in front of him, around the corner and--

The nut bouncing off his wing left him squawking, and he jumped, wings flicking spasmodically as he retreated further into the shadows.

This was getting ridiculous.

“Look, I know you’re here; you know I’m here – let’s just call it even and come out into the open, yes?” he called. 

Naaaahhhh....

She had to turn around to keep him in sight, though. Carefully she did so, straddling the support beam she sat upon, pinning it between her knees.  Her wings were no longer pressed to the wall  for balance, but the new vantage point gave her a clear shot to Starscream’s backside.

He then spoke, his voice ringing with authority and a wavering touch of paranoia. Starath’s old habits would have her respond to the command with obedience; she fought that back with a large stick.

Pfft, as if I would, seeing as your weaponry is now charging online...

The silver mech continued to edge along a pile of scrap. The bits of metal had ceased raining down on him, which led him to believe that either the other was watching him, or he was out of their line of sight–

Tink.

‘What was that?’ he wondered. The noise had come from the opposite direction from which he had originally deduced, but the unknown bot could have shifted locations. Still, it was unerringly stupid of them to drop something and reveal exactly where they were when they knew Starscream was looking for them.

Fraggit.

Starath counted backward from one hundred. No sound, no movement. She counted again. Still nothing. 

Where was h-- AHA!

If she twisted enough, she could see his left wingtip sticking out from behind a support beam. He’d frozen in mid-step, with all sensors on high alert, no doubt.  But that wing. The pointy bit just begged another shot.

Something flashed in the light, and he let it bounce off his plating at he tried to follow the arc of its fall; in reverse, of course. That at least gave him a general idea as to where the perpetrator was, and he set off to investigate, wings held low and flat against his back as he attempted to stealthily turn the tables.

She flicked the last bolt too soon and it flashed in the light cast by an overhead lamp. She’d tucked herself high up in the rafters, easily hidden by shadows, but the mistake had been made. 

Scrap!

He didn’t know it, but he’d looked right at her when he had glanced at the ceiling. Good thing she could dim her optics to almost nothing. He’d pinned his wings, though…. how was she supposed to score any more points if her targets were hidden-- and he was moving?

Hmmm… do I move or stay put?

Starath deliberated on the decision, weighing each possible outcome. If she followed him, she could score more points, but be discovered. If she stayed put, he’d never find her… but no more points. 

But he DOES have to come back to his workbench soooooooo…. She rattled a few nuts and washers in her palm. But, if I wait too long, he’ll figure out that he’s a target only when he’s over there, aaaaannnd…. where did he go?

What was that? Who was doing that? What– Ouch! That one pinged off his wing.

Two points for the wings. Three points for the helmcrest. One if it got stuck elsewhere.

OOOOOOOOOOOH.

……..

"I wouldn’t call ya stupid," he said bluntly, holding out a servo that was apparently ignored, then tucked it back against his chassis. "I mean, goin’ up to Big Boss and telling how he should treat people probably isn’t the brightest thing someone could do, but I’ve gotta admit, it’s pretty gutsy. I like that.”

Truth be told, he was rather impressed that she had survived the ordeal. There were few that could stand against the Decepticon warlord and live to tell the tale, let alone an Autobot; what was it about Starath that had allowed her to actually walk away from it?

 In his daze, he almost missed her departure entirely, the words only playing back in his processors moments after they had been spoken. Skywarp’s wings hiked in alarm, and he scrambled forward to try and grab onto the other Seeker’s arm. “Hey, hey, hey—easy there! I know you’re determined, but c’mon. At least lemme help you. I don’t get why you think ol’ Science-Wings will help ya more than a doc, but. Who am I ta judge? Now put your arm around me and let’s get going. Otherwise, someone’s probably gonna yell at me to clean this all up, and I’d rather be helpin’ the one makin’ the mess than the one stuck with the mop.”

If she had had the strength, she would have pulled away from him and continued on her way.

Instead, she settled for irritated grumbling and huffed. "Fine."

Leaning on him meant she'd given in entirely, so she leaned on him…. just a little.

"Some would say "gutsy" and "foolishness" are the same thing," she said, trying to sound grumpy, "But I'm glad you seem to know the difference."

Starath's audio and visual receptors faded in and out consistently now. She clung to Skywarp's slender arm, pleasantly surprised by its strength. 

"Remember… the last time we walked like this…? It was…. it was when… heh…. we filled Commander Starscream's office full of party balloons. We… laughed so hard… we couldn't stand up.  Til he found us, anyway."

By the Allspark, that was a long time ago…. long before that devastating battle, capture from the Autobots… and "rehabilitation".

Skywarp shook his helm, trying to push the thoughts back. In the moment, it didn’t seem like that mattered. The time for combat was long past, as disgusted as his trigger digit was by the development. What mattered now was making sure that they were alright, and not mucking up their designation. When someone was suffering, the very least that they deserved was hearing their name being said properly.

"Hey, Starry, you know I don’t really care about all that military rank stuff outside of combat," he said calmly, waving off the formalities. Although, it did feel nice to be called "Sir" again. Somehow, he had missed that.

Amber optics lingered on the growing pool of energon at her pedes, mixed with what he assumed to be glass from her cockpit. He swallowed harshly, knowing just how painful such an injury could be. It left vitals exposed, and left the target much more vulnerable than just about anything else. While it was a delicate guard, it was still one that fliers depended on.

"Ya torqued off Big Boss? Slag, even I don’t go and do that. I mean, uh. I’m sorry that happened to ya,” Skywarp added quickly, although the damage of his statement had already been inflicted. Way to go, subconscious. “Just what’d he get on ya about, anyway?”

Although, it did leave him rather puzzled: Why would she go to Skyfire if she was so grievously injured? “Are you, uh, sure you don’t have ‘em mixed up? Sky’s the scientist, he don’t do medical stuff. Not much, anyway. Doc Knock and that Autobot guy, uh… Ransack or somethin’, they’re the medics around here. You’d probably be better off going to one of them.”

"Yes Sir, I know…. Habit." She would have shrugged, but such a gesture would have upset her already precarious balance. Her audio receptors faded in and out as he spoke. Her focus divided evenly between standing upright and focusing on Skywarp's words, everything else became grey and fuzzy. 

"I… Uh… I wanted to make sure Optimus would be safe with him. Because of the…" she coughed, "you know. Megatron did not take kindly to my questioning him. Given everything, though… Can you blame me? It's out of my hands, anyway. I got what I wanted. I was too stupid to predict the consequences. I needed to know… to know… too badly. He misunderstood my loyalty to Optimus Prime… but then… thinking on it now… heh… Maybe I'm not the best poster child for loyalty to my leaders."

Well. A certain one, anyway. She'd still follow Commander Starscream to the ends of the galaxy if he asked. Starath often wondered if that was more loneliness than loyalty, anyway. Whoever heard of a Seeker with no thrine?

"I am going.. to go… to Skyfire." He was Starath's closest thing to a wing mate. "I can't stand Knock Out. I'd punch him in the mouth. Besides…. no one… was supposed to…" she gasped for breath and turned away from Skywarp. "….see me like this."

Mustering up her failing energy, she took a step. And another. And another. The lit hallway had long since dimmed and filled with grey shadows. 

So, naturally, he shouted right back. “Yeah, yeah I’m Skywarp! I’ll be there in a klik! …I think. Just… just hold on!”

He broke off into a light jog, skirting quickly around corners to try and find the source of the mystery vocals. Unfortunately, the Nemesis was good for making sounds travel in strange ways. It played terrible tricks on his sensory systems, which already took in far more data than the average Seeker. All of that data was necessary to make warp jumps properly, and with a large, empty warship as his current stomping grounds? Things were far more difficult for him than they should have been.

Fortunately enough, they were not very far off. Not more than a breem later, he skidded to a halt near a rather fresh pool of energon and glass, along with the Cybertronian he assumed they belonged to. Like him, they were a Seeker, but just a bit larger—not something he was used to seeing. However, something was strangely familiar about them. Yes, yes he knew who this was, and he remembered liking them too. Their designation, however, refused to make its way to the forefront of his processes. Pits.

"Heyyy there, buddy," the purple Seeker chirped, putting on the most friendly smile that he could. "You, uh… slag, you look awful, honestly. You get into a fight with one of the Predamabobs? Because they ain’t too friendly if you sneak up on ‘em. No, no—wait, that’s like. Rude of me. I think. Do you need any help? I mean you SOUND okay, but you look pretty fragged up, ya know?"

Luckily, smiling didn't hurt. 

He hadn't changed much… still tall and spindly, much like Commander Starscream without the swagger of arrogance. She was built for stealth and a good brawl, he was built for stealth and surprise. Long ago Skywarp had been one of Starath's commanding officers. Watching him in combat had been inspiration in motion. Yes, he was scatterbrained at times, but he could vanish and reappear in a blink-- who else could claim such talents? Starath's wings pricked upward, her mind suddenly flooded with memories and sheer giddy glee. 

"Good to see you, Skywarp…" The smile faded. "Second Lieutenant, I mean. Forgive my lack of protocol." Autobot or not, the Seeker's mentor was forever her superior. "My designation is Starath, in case you are trying to remember."

Of course he was. He stood poised between a joyful greeting and concerned apprehension-- trying to sound gentle while his mind clearly took in everything with astounding clarity and volume. 

Another piece of glass fell from her chest and struck the ground with a tiny, shattering, pliii--ink!

"I'm…" not fine. not fine. "I'm… going to make it to Skyfire's lab." Liar. Slagging LIAR. "I… uh… upset Megatron."

Static raced across her visual field. A new flashing alert lit up: Her internal temperature had exceeded normal operational boundaries.  Steam vents automatically opened to flush the excess heat from her vital components. She leaned to one side, swayed by the pressure release. A new wave of froth came up her throat. She swallowed it. 

"I'm… sorry I'm not in a better position to greet you, Sir. I'll…. I'll be okay."