re_alignment_logs | The Worst Field Trip of All Time

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The Worst Field Trip of All Time

WHO: Megatronus & the Badlands volunteers
WHERE: At the edge of Haven, then onwards to the center of the Badlands offshoot.
WHEN: Sunday/Monday
WHAT: Now that they have their assault team, it's time to put an end to the recent influx of monsters.
WARNINGS: Violence against robotic centipedes.

Whether they hear it from Megatronus himself or through one of his Acolytes, all of the volunteer fighters are offered the same information: a time, a place, and instructions on what to expect from the Badlands. More of the monsters, surely, and the Call of the darkness is an ever-present threat. Stay within sight of the group at all times or risk being lost forever.

The only thing left to do now is make it to the rendez-vous point.

[[OOC note: tag in under the two sub-threads already provided: a more relaxed one for pre-fight chatter, and the actual fight thread. You can participate in both, or just do one and handwave your character's involvement in the other.]]

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Wing moves, restless, around the group, leaving an encouraging word or a soft touch with individuals here and there. Morale building, the knight thinks, though in truth it's also a way to keep busy, to not think about what's to come.

Eventually he comes to rest slightly apart from the crowd, to try and achieve some stillness, some control. He wishes he could meditate, though this is not the time nor the place. Instead he perches, leaned back against a rock outcropping to still his rustling wings. His face, drawn in an expression of contemplation, pinches from time to time as his pinions twitch with agitation.

It betrays his nerves to the keen observer. This was the first pitched battle since defending Crystal City, and he doesn't want to draw parallels. Their force was sizable, though by all accounts the enemy's numbers are far, far greater. The first invasion of sharkticons had been different: sudden and frantic and in a way exciting. He never had time to consider failure. He shouldn't allow himself to now, though it lurks at the edges of his thoughts regardless. It occurs to him, now, that he has so more to lose than he did when first arriving. And as before, in Crystal City, all that he's wanted and not been able to do.

It doesn't change his mind though, Wing is set on this course with a steadfast determination. Perhaps it's not the same as going into battle with all his brethren Knights, but there are plenty of worthy people here and Haven, Cybertron, needed them all. He'd do his best and no less.

((Feel free to approach him or be someone he approaches.))

Drift knows Wing well enough to notice the restlessness. And he can't help but compare the moment to the battle outside Crystal City also, but he's contrasting how calm Wing had been then, serene and settled, with this.

His brow furrows under his helm, he crosses over to the jet, giving what he hopes is a sort of comforting touch on the seated jet's knee.

"Ready?" It's a deeper question than that, but he doesn't want to force things. He's done too much of that already.

The touch is comforting, welcome in ways he can't express though it's likely apparent in his field. His face smooths as he looks up, some of the tautness in his limbs leaving as he stands.

Wing opens his mouth to answer only to catch the half truth, realizing it for what it is: much the same positive words he'd been handing out earlier. He gives a breathy laugh instead and a small shake of his helm. Of anyone, Drift will know better, and if there's anyone he can speak the truth to, it's also his lover and fellow swordmech.

"I should be." It's poised on the edge of knowledge that he expects better of himself, tempered by the pending realization that there's part of this that he simply cannot prepare for.

"Doesn't matter what you 'should' be, Wing." He lets his hand hover over Wing as the jet moves, to rest what he hopes is a comforting weight on a shoulder nacelle. "Whatever you are is more than good enough."

More than that: Whatever Wing is is perfect.

A warm look as his hand settles over Drift's, grateful for the support. "Thank you." No repeats allowed. It goes unspoken but they both know it.

Wing's optics cast about the varied crowd of mostly strangers. An impressive force, but only unified under the banner of necessity.

"It's new, for me. This," he gestures to the gathering combatants, "I'm used to fighting in a close knit, structured group." It's different, when you know every mech with you has your back. When you've strategized together and executed successful missions. The Knights of the Circle made that easy, trust and faith coming readily regardless of how well--or how little---they knew each other. But it'd been a long time since their rescue and recovery forays on Cybertron, fending off battlefield scavengers or deadly airborne games of cat-and-mouse.

Wing knows has to adapt. And here, in this, it's likely adapt or die.

Drift slowly pulls his hand away, though it's the last thing he wants to do. He wants to pull Wing into an embrace, bury himself in the velvety EM field, consoling them both. But that's for later, he told himself. That's what you'll earn after this.

"Never discount the power of the desire to survive," Drift said. He remembered leading Decepticons, ruled by fear and aggression and they had done great things. "We'll win because we have right on our side."

He gives that hand a squeeze before letting it escape. Wing feels the same, but it's certainly hard to steel oneself for battle when indulging in the velvety softness of a loved one. So he draws strength and fortitude from Drift instead, something he knows the swordmech has in abundance.

"And I have so many reasons to fuel that desire." One of them standing right in front of him, if the intensity of Wing's gold optics is any indication. He nods. "We will. I have faith. And hopefully, we'll make a difference in this conflict too."

"It'll be just like the slaver base, when we met," Drift said. "Only...maybe I'll be less of an idiot."

Maybe. No promises.

He offers the joke with a grin. Even back then, he'd been impressed by the jet's skills and courage. He believed in Wing more than enough for the both of them.

Wing can't help but laugh, which he feels a little bit bad about, a hand slipping over his mouth. "Just keep an optic out behind you this time, okay?"

No getting pancaked by giant...anything!

"Or maybe I'll just watch it for you." The tension is easing, or rather, it's being channeled into more manageable anticipation now thanks to Drift's encouragement. Even if he doesn't have a whole knighthood behind him, he has his own considerable skill to rely on and at least one other Knight he trusts completely.

The laugh was exactly what Drift was going for, grinning back. He leans in, bumping Wing's shoulder with his own, ducking in for a whisper, and to greedily taste some of that EM field again.

"That's what you're here for." He considers a kiss, but no. Later.

Wing returns that grin, pushing companionably back after the bump to his shoulder. "Well good. I'm not sure I want to trust anyone else with it."

A kiss is defiantly tempting, and it's obvious the way Wing's helm tilts when Drift leans in like that. Enough so that Wing resolves to, at least, steal one after the call to move out is given. He's not certain he could keep it to just one otherwise.

Drift wants to flirt more, but his optics glimmer with earnestness. "There's no one else I'd rather have at my back."

He realizes he's making the moment too serious with that, so he squeezes the other's hand, offering a wink. "Just remember. Hands off until later."

Sometimes for them, simple breathing is flirting. The earnestness only adds to it really, bringing them that much closer together. "Likewise." A rich smile, full of the same ardor. "I don't need the rest of the Circle, if I have you."

Not too serious, not for that sentiment. But, "Oh, just hands?" Maybe the soft giggle that follows is a little out of place for the situation, but it's very Wing.

It's a lot to live up to, the entire Circle. But Drift knows better than to argue. Not now, at any rate. "You have me," he says, lamely, wishing he could think of something better.

He's glad for the giggle: so much better than the tension he'd seen on the jet's face when he came over. "Behave," he says, with a little laugh of his own, not quite as used to being flirted with like this. "But when we win, you can do anything you want with me."

It would be, if Wing were only talking about skill. But Drift has an advantage the entire Circle does not: Wing never loved any of them this much. "And you, have me." Sometimes simplicity is better.

It strikes him as amusing: Drift being the one to tell Wing to behave. He finds he rather likes it for some reason he'll have to get to the bottom of later. And, wow, now he's really getting ideas. "Anything you say? Anything at all?"

"Anything."

Wait. That sounded dangerous, especially with that giggle.

"No dresses." There. Now that he's cleared that up.

"Oh, well. I should put some deep thought into it then."

Deep being relative.

Maybe.

"Not even if I wear it instead?"

It's hard to tell if he means it or not, given the sheer amount of mischief forming the expression on his face. Battle, what?

"Give you something worth concentrating on." Because this battle? Pfff. Cakewalk. Cakewalk where Drift can set things on fire.

He looks horrified. "Wing. I wouldn't wish a dress on anyone. Especially not you."

M-maybe Prism, though. As a start. Or Pharma.

"Well it's definitely preferable to hoards of bugs." And upon further consideration--because considering this topic is plenty appealing--he adds, "Actually it's preferable to most anything."

Yeah Drift, Wing's kind of into you.

A bark of laughter because Drift's reaction is as priceless as expected. "Oh fine then. There's no one else I'd wear it for anyway."

Maybe Vandal. Maaaaybe.

"You seem... on edge." Yes, Elita had noticed. She doesn't need to know him well to be able to pick out the signs of tenseness, of building nervousness, good or bad sort. Just a need for being observant, and she was that if nothing else.

Elita herself isn't so much focused, as calm. Drawn inwards, there's less the flicker of a field about her, as something less... distinct. She's been using the less directly combat-oriented abilities of circuit-su to meld the temporarily given fire with her most favoured method of fighting.

"Don't often attack an unknown force?"

He looks up as she approaches, standing and offering a polite greeting. "Ah, yes. A bit." Maybe more than a bit, but he's definitely in the process of marshaling it to his will.

"Not...one of this nature. Not with equally unknown allies."

"Not too unknown," she says it dryly, glancing about the group. "I doubt the mech with the Decepticon-insignia mask is here because he cares overly much, so he shouldn't be trusted. The humans, no matter how strong or capable, are still at a basic disadvantage due to being organic, of not because they're small, Starscream can probably only be trusted insofar as he's not going to outright attack any of us, but any actual air support from him is probably improbable..." Counting off the few observations on her fingers while she spoke, Elita shrugs.

"As for anything else, given that we have all volunteered some basic capability and proficiency in a fight will have to be assumed, in addition to the... gifts Megatronus Prime has lent us." She turns outwards then, looking away from their little "army" and into the wavering murk beyond.

"And if it I could be sure I wouldn't be turned around and lost like some when we leave alone, I could've said something about the force we're about to meet as well. The Prime adviced against leaving alone, though." It annoys her still, and it doesn't feel right that he's here, with the rest of the force, instead of being in front of it, gathering the information needed for a more well-informed strike.

Edited 2013-02-14 23:03 (UTC)

"I suppose you're correct." He did recognize a number of the individual's here, though he only knows their capabilities to a small extent. "My fellow knights of the Circle, we could perform together in ways most couldn't. That kind of synergy, the trust and faith we had in each other, it's hard to match." He also shrugs, his nacelles shifting with it. It's obvious he misses them here, but they feel like part of his past now. This is the force he fights with now.

"The Decepticon mask. Yes, I know him. I do not doubt he'll take any opportunity he finds the kill anyone on his list of wayward Decepticons. Drift included." The way his pinions flare out and his wings clack once against his Great Sword make his opinions fairly obvious. Protective? Oh yes.

"Megatronus knows battle, I assume at least, it seems to be his purview. I can only assume he's done all the necessary preparation already."

"Ah, yeah." Nodding, Elita could certainly understand, even if she'd "only" known Grim and the others for little over a decivorn. "Something like that usually don't come often, and I suppose it would feel more keenly lost when you had it." She might not have had something like that, but she didn't know too many personally in her own reality, and as such, the fact that none are here... feel sometimes all the more hard to take.

Shrugging, Elita frowns, turning over the thought of Tarn in her processor.

"Even here, then? Though, if someone's taken upon themselves to punish traitors, I suppose that should be expected... I can do my best to keep an optic out for if he and Drift get close at some point." It sort of does make her relieved that Ambulon didn't volunteer to assist, however.

"True. I suppose I'm just rather used to providing the information and being in front of everybody else."

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The Worst Field Trip of All Time

( open )

lmk if this is not okay

It's good! :D

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Well this was gonna be a fake tag, HAHA /puts ideas in Drift's head instead

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