#primalxfire

.... Wow, Megs. 

@primalxfire​ said: “We all fall short of the grace of God.”

“RIP to you but I’m different.”

Honestly she couldn’t resist. She liked pretty much all the Cybertronians she encountered, those who tried to kill her notwithstanding, and she’d gotten pretty used to yanking their chains when the mood struck.

Still, despite her comment, she rocked back on her heels with her hands shoved in her pockets, cocking her head up towards the mech with a sort of half grin. The symbol, at least, was familiar. It was a symbol she knew, and at least as far as she knew, it was a symbol she could trust.

Send a word for a specific text from my muse to yours.

@primalxfire​ said: “I keep trying to atone… but, it just never seems to be enough.”

“...it isn’t worth it, Roddy.”

The statement is quiet and simple, and Drift’s head doesn’t turn from where he’s sitting on the edge of the desk to look at the captain. There’s a weight to his tone, the timbre of which he hopes Rodimus recognizes, for all they’ve talked about and gone over the manner in which a Spectralist might display their emotions without the use of their EM field.

He still says nothing yet, though, hands resting on his thighs, gazing at some point in the middle distance, audial flares slowly tipping back. It’s a quiet movement, and when he finally turns back, he’s frowning, and a clear wave of worry/acceptance/understanding rolls through his field.

“I spent how long, trying to find absolution? The problem is... you don’t find it. You have to live that. And believe me, it’s hard... reconciling your past and your guilt with the fact that you are not that person anymore, you never will be again. You can only focus on the present, and the you that you’ll be in the future. People aren’t obligated to forgive or like you, even if you make changes to better yourself. I learned that the hard way.”

Finally, he leans over, reaching out to take his best friend’s hand, twining the digits together. The next few words he spells out in chiro, fingertips pressing quickly into Rodimus’s palm.

@primalxfire​

Treat, of course! Roddy receives several handfuls of flavoured energon goodies, a packet of extra-crunchy rust sticks, and hugs all round. The dog-drones snuffle curiously at him, tails wagging as they take their cue from Scourge, who is making no secret of being delighted to see his friend.

Rung, browsing what small spaces of the web he can reach, nearly jumps when the notification patches through. Usually, comms. meant commands.

They laugh as they chain the Prime to the altar, chanting praises to their god in thanks for the good hunt, ignoring the flame colored mech's attempts to free himself.

One particularly cheeky mech, daubed in purple and black paint, has the sheer impudence to actually chomp on the Prime's spoiler, leaving actual dents in the metal, cackling as he retreats, the laughter spreading as others take notice of the deed.

Even in such good cheer, they still scatter to their hiding places when the temple stones groan under the weight of the approaching Sparkeater.