#itscaptainprowl

THIS DRAGON IS WELL! AND CURRENTLY SPREADING THE WONDERS OF LEECHES TO ALL THE GOOD BOTS AND CONS!

Rodimus Prime

Repost, replacing the old information with your muse’s information.

Pass it on to your mutuals for a better understanding of their muses.

Tagged by: @vosnianprincess​ Face claim: ...non yet

Name: Age: 13-14 vorns. ?? Gender Frame: Race Car [has a bit of seeker in him not much] Nationality: .....???? [doesn’t really know] Birthplace: .......???[i can’t find what city he cannonly lives in]] Birthday: Celebrates on September 1st Sun Sign: The One Residence: On a small Shuttle that can fit 4 mecha  Marital Status: Single Alignment: Nuetral Good

L I K E S

Drink: Sweet Energon Food: Energon Day or Night: Night [likes this time to sleep] Snacks: Small Energon Snack Cubes Song: Stitches Quote: “Don't judge what you don't understand.” - unknown Historical Figure: Human or Cybertronian? If Cybertronian; Alpha Trion Pet: Cybercat that goes by the name Keychain. Book: The Dragon Rider [Eragon], Stars and Moons [cybertronian romance novel] Colour: Red and Blue and gold Flower: Crystal Rose Sexuality: …????

L O O K S

Body type: Short / Slender / Thin Armor Eye colour: Light Blue/ Sky Blue? Hair colour: N/A Body reference: [X] Beauty Scale: 6 / 10; At least he thinks this is what he is.

tagging: @notanothernoble​ @one-golden-eye​ @itscaptainprowl​ @ilordstarscream​ @radioactivibee​

Drift frowned, turning over in his sleep. He did not dream often. When he did, they were not comfortable dreams.

-the sharp crack of metal turning inward unnaturally, and a choked scream, cut off in a gargle of wet fuel-

He tossed, then turned. Drift grasped at the frayed ends of his recharge cycle, sleeping through sheer determination. His tarp was kicked off the berth and he vented deeply.

-the smell of scorched metal, the last feeble twitches of the dead, a flickering spark desperately clinging to dear life-

He gave up. Blue optics flickered on as Drift sat up, discomfort and tiredness stealing his usual grace as he slouched on his berth. He could only hear the faint whirr of his own systems, coming on a little louder now that he was awake. Normally, it was barely noticeable. Now, it was an unwelcome roar in his audials.

He ran his glossa over his denta - then stopped. That was an old habit, a leftover of darker times. Something he was working on stopping. There was some study about that. It took a mech twenty cycles to lose a habit, or twenty vorns. Drift thought he’d been making good progress.

Apparently not.

Getting up, he paced the room. He might’ve muttered about bad energy but found himself not in the mood for spiritual discussions. His wheels itched, demanding a harsh sprint down a track to burn off his excess energy until he could sleep.

He checked his internal chronometer. Hm. Not now.

Magnus was on shift now, and he had always been more suspicious of Drift than most. He didn’t feel like dealing with questions about why he wasn’t recharging, which would lead to questions about why he was awake which led to… … to his dreams.

Drift dreamed of violence.

It wasn’t a glorification of it. Never was. He simply dreamed of it, of committing it. He was a spectator in his own frame, watching mecha die before him as his gun spat out bolts.

“No,” Drift said. “No.”

It was loud in the room. Uncomfortably so. It seemed to echo in the silence back at him. No. No. No.

He dimmed his optics and vented. “I’m done with that.”

In the darkness, he heard the phantom staccato of gunshots. A fanged snarl from a face that was almost foreign, accusing red optics sneering at him. No. No.

Violence was easy. It was simple. Hit, shoot, cut before your enemy could. Always take the initiative. Was that why he had cut down that infected mech? Kill him before he can kill you.

Well. To quote Ratchet, said mech had been falling apart and moving at two miles per hour.

“I was protecting Ratchet,” Drift insisted. “He could have been hurt.”

Red optics almost blazed. Liar.

“I’m done.”

You never are.

“I’m not you anymore.”

Different frame. Different name. Different weapon. Same spark.

“Deadlock is gone.”

Is he?

Drift scowled. “I’m not going back to that. I’m an Autobot and I will honor Wing and I –“

Kill. Murder. Violence.

Drift cut himself off. He could almost hear the wet spatter of energon. His sword and gun blurred into one.

What are you? Who are you? Drift… or Deadlock?

Drift laid back down, but not to sleep. He could almost smell the laserfire. His insignia itched like an ill fit, or something just welded on a rough patch.

Who are you in the dark?

He powered down with his manual recharge switch. Immediately, he relaxed and his mind began to wander.

@itscaptainprowl