#asocialconduct

@asocialconduct said: “ probably not gonna be easy for you to hear. ” from iglu.

ghost's knife is firmly in his grasp, arm raised and across his chest as he holds the weapon outwards. he's ready for an attack. knows iglu well enough by now to recognise he won't go for him like this, however. it's too predictable. he'll talk his ear off first, distract him. attempt to, at least. which is ironic, because ghost knows the other isn't much of a talker. and neither is he. but in the face of rushing adrenaline, the promise of a hefty nick, and the smell of blood fresh in the air, who's to judge him for running his mouth a little. cocky meets cocky. talent meets talent. they're well matched and ghost appreciates that.

          " what? " the spectre asks. " the sound of you losin' this fight, or your bloody accent? " who is he to turn down a little competition? ghost dares to swing across the distance, their blades clashing together as metal scrapes. he attempts to kick out one of iglu's legs but the other stands fast against his attack. his teeth grit and his frustration is silent. driven by the challenge rather than defeated by it. " come on, " he goads lowly. " don't give up now, igs. "

his skin burns. feels the sweat beading at his forehead. his stomach churns and his lungs press all too uncomfortably behind his ribs as he sits bolt upright, gasping for air. there's an itch in his fingers. an urge brewing. " what... happened...? " you know what happened, his subconscious pushes back. snarls. robbie robertson happened. you were having a bad dream... rage simmers and embarrassment lingers like a foul smell in the air. it's too humiliating to accept his defeat in front of vitalia, so he feigns ignorance. robbie hit him too hard and he doesn't remember a thing.

he plays the poor victim, wincing and pressing fingertips to his healed face. the cuts he imagined to be there are gone. vitalia's done some fine work here... he was sure he'd be scarred for life. drastically wounded, unrecognisably so. his dream had felt real. fingers clutching at the gun, his heart pounding, his mind racing...

The Hunted and Hunters

The polishing cloth moves slow and steady over his plating. A steady rythm against the shiny golden color, long since having been cleaned and polished to perfection.

He doesnt answer for a long moment, bright blue optics staring her down like she was pray before he speaks in a soft voice.

"That depends why your here." He was always quieter than Sideswipe. Almost harder to hear unless he wanted to be heard. "What do you all call yourselves again? The 'Huntsmechs?' Scrappy des, but i guess thats to be expected with half feral neutrals." The polishing cloth is slipped into his subspace.

The flightless seeker gives a long, slow sigh as he shakes his helm.

"I care." Claws stretch out, lengthening and sharping as microtransformations made them extend well past normal length. Hardening and gleaming in the fading light of the sun. "I have yet to hear why I should join either side. The Autobots are far to self sacrificial for there own good, giving up far to much for what? A handful of organics willing to tear them apart?"

He takes a vent, claws retracting back to normal as he turns to look at Megatron.

@asocialconduct said: “ justify it any way you want, you still broke the law. ” from apex. [ prompt. ]

ghost narrows his eyes at her and her matter-of-fact tone. dismissive and blunt. the irony. he's just broken into the home of a target. he's teaching apex the hunting basics. because being an assassin and a bounty hunter are two very different things. or at least, he'd like to believe such. ghost had said it was justified because their target isn't a good guy, and apex is arguing that it's still breaking the law. which irks ghost, admittedly. he's no criminal. he's a justice-bringer, the hero...

"How long have I been in the pits? There's no use for war ships anymore," She gives a half shrug, twisting the glave in her grip and looking the blade over. Optics half lidded as she sighed and leaned back.

"Though is it hiding if this is the only place ive ever been? Took one look at my alt and tossed me in here." She looks over at Megatronus, tilting her helm to the side.

The Hunted and Hunters

"And who decides who's prettier bleeding when they're dead." Ghostspire rasps, leaning against the wall and looking over his knife. It was a solid one, a bit bigger than most his others, but it wasnt made for him either. A trophy from his most recent bounty, the shannix sitting heavy in his subspace.

"Though, I suppose my bigger question is if that's a threat." The knife slides gently against his digits, just barely threatening to cut. Sharp and ready to use if he needed, but some people hed rather not fight if he can help it.

ellie had been a small but wrathful thing in the theatre, a bundle of lithe limbs and white hot anger that'd thrashed like a cobra cornered in its enclosure and had left the marks to remember it by, clean lines in her palms and arms from the switchblade tucked somewhere in her pocket. now, she's smaller, practically skin and bone. and abby herself isn't far from it.

the ocean air chills her to her core from the short crop of her hair through a nearby cracked window. lev sleeps somewhere in the adjacent room. she works at cleaning her gun, brow furrowed. oil soaks through the knee of her pants when she fumbles, gaze flicking to ellie.

"what mistakes?" abby wipes her hands clean, unsteadily adds, "i don't want to fight you, ellie. if that's what you mean. i mean. is that what you mean?"