re_alignment_logs | Noping right off Cybertron

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Noping right off Cybertron

Who: Wing, Drift and Sweary McCurseface
What: Close encounters of the NOPE kind.
Where: Vandal's House of Nope.
When: Shortly after Wing's creeper post.
Warnings: Vandallllllllll.

"Okay, we're going. We gotta go. Come on, Drift. You can't walk with your feet still all fucked up like that. You gotta get on my back, but we need to go now."

Yep. Definitely wanting to get the fuck out of dodge right now. Preferably before Wing gets there. Her only saving grace is that he can't fly right now at least, but she's not really too keen on letting her guard down. They're going to Solus temple, damn it. She was all suited up and ready to go.

And plenty nervous to boot. She really isn't sure what's wrong with Wing, but she doesn't want to find out first hand, alone.

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Drift stands still as the hand approaches, the device buried in his sleeve. He's not sure of the range, so he waits. He really doesn't want to hurt Wing, he doesn't want it on his conscience. Because this is maybe not Wing, and maybe Wing wouldn't remember, but Drift would.

"You can't see why, right now, Wing. We're worried about you."

If Wing aggresses toward Vandal, Drift won't hesitate to attack, himself.

A black fingertip brushes some of the silver locks away from the side of Drift's face. She's pretty, he supposes, as humans go.

Wing grunts, huffy and dismissive. "There's nothing to worry about. It's better this way. You'll just have to get used to it." And then a leering grin. "Don't worry, you will."

It seems most reasonable at the this point to transform and drive them somewhere safe, to a controlled environment...assuming they both could be trusted. He had little worry regarding Drift, though he supposed if he had weaknesses we was unaware of in this frame that was the one person who could best exploit them.

Vandal though...he did not trust. She was acting strange, and almost aggressive, panicy. Who knew what she'd do? Perhaps it'd be better is she made the trip while unconscious. He cast his gaze that way, optics narrowing dangerously as his hands twitched. He rocked back on his heels, the hydraulics and actuators in his legs hissing in preparation...

She almost relaxes. Well at least he hadn't just attacked him. At least there was that. Maybe he can be reasoned with.

Just as soon as she's thought it, she jerks at the sudden movement, taking a step back out of instinct.

Oh no.

It takes everything Drift has not to flinch at the touch. He's more aware than anyone here the power in that hand: it's his, after all.

"I really don't want to stay like this, Wing. Nor do you. You know that."

But then Wing turns to Vandal. He recognizes this, too, the bunch and coil of actuators, preparing to fire, to launch himself at Vandal.

No. NO.

He whips the device out, pressing the button. Vandal had said 'right directly on him', so he swings it, aiming right at Wing's face, his own face a contorted mess of panic and fear: he doesn't want to hurt Wing. It's killing him to. But he can't let Vandal get hurt.

Wing's expression twitches at Drift's words, but it changes to predatory alertness at the girl's sudden movement and then shock when the button is pressed. The flashlight comes on, striking him full in the face.

He'd have prefer it'd been a weapon, the flashlight a far more effective neutralizer.

He both lunges back and lashes out instinctively, but the abrupt change of direction fouls his balance and his swing goes high, flailing uselessly over Drift's head. He cries out, and ugly, angry sound, the light like a seering pain burning away wickedness. The cry goes from pain to horror as the light exposure reverts him, the cling of darkness leaving his frame and red of his optics fleeing as if in fear with an almost audible snap.

Balance broken he falls back, his other arm flung back to break his fall, the round halo of the flashlight centered on his chin and upper chassis. Clear blue optics blink above it, wide and startled, bordering on terrified, as memories of the past few days begin spooling in his processor.

Wing vents hard, fighting off panic from some unknown source, his vocalizer pitch tinny and high. "Wha...^where...?

Wow.

It worked.

It actually worked. She was right for once. Vandal has a brief instant where she feels incredibly smart.

"Wing! Quickly! Get in the light! In here! Drift- keep that beam aimed at him."

Drift's hands are shaking, both of them squeezing at the device, to keep in focused on Wing's face. He's nearly crying again--frag, he really hates that part of human teenaged girl-ness--because Wing....is in pain.

"_{I'm sorry i'm sorry}" he's stammering, wincing at the sharp cry, stepping closer. If Vandal wants Wing in the light, Drift can aim him that way. He hopes. "Vandal. He's in pain..."

It comes back, faster and harder this time. Like the recollection of a memory purge only he knows now it's not. It feels like days worth, and some of it vivid, but all of it a rushing deluge in an already alarm filled processor. He throws his head forward, clutching his helm, his whole frame shaking as he endures the memory dump. There's a keening whine in the distance...and he realizes it's him. But there's other voices too. Familiar ones...

He forces his eyes open, optics irising down until he can see past the flashlight's beam. Recognition strikes him but so does comprehension, a choking sound of both horror and relief.

The light.

He'd feared it, because it banished him.

Wing surges forward, a desperate leap for safety, for himself and for others, launching clear over both humans and into the halo of the trailer's porch light. He has enough presence of mind--instincts honed from centuries of training--to tuck his head and shoulder into a roll, but not enough to end on his feet. He lands prone, graceless, but it matters little as long as he's reached sanctuary.

"Fuck-" Well. It worked. It worked-ish... at least. He's in the light and he seems to be back to... well. Normalish. As normal as things can get right now. She runs over, starting to look him over for any possible injuries he could have sustained just now.

"Drift, you okay?" She calls over to him, worried about both of them at once.

"This is so fucked up... Wing. Talk to me. What the hell is going on?"

"Don't worry about me!"

Frag his injured feet: Drift runs as fast as the small, stupid things could carry him, over to where Wing is lying. In his body. He...can't even process this, still.

He grabs onto a piece of armor, by Wing's shoulder, torn between petting it for sympathy and tugging at it. "Wing? Wing? Please tell me you're all right."

The landing is jarring, but it helps bring him back to the physical world, along with the sounds of concern from at least one familiar female voice. He feels the touch of small warm hands on his shoulder armor and his helm turns that way. He knows her now, it's Drift. And it doesn't matter what the package looks like, only that he should be extra careful as he rolls slowly onto this side, an arm reaching for Vandal and then curling around the place Drift stands, burying his face against the ground next to him.

"It's me, I'm here. ^{I--I'm sorry}...!"

Karrie just sighs, laying a hand on Wing's finial and letting relief wash over her. She'd been right, but it certainly doesn't feel very good. Not with things the way they are.

"It's okay," He finds herself saying, the usual mantra.

"It's okay, we'll figure this out."

Drift can't help the fact that he's shaking. He drops to his knees, the baggy sweater pooling over his thighs, trying to get as close to Wing as possible. "Wing, are you hurt?" He looks up at Vandal. "What do we do?"

Wing wishes it was okay. Maybe for now it is. But that's a temporary respite and he knows it.

Even so, the stroke over his helm finial is comforting, and the presence of those dear to him. His fingers hover near Karrie, then cautiously stroke down her back. It's apology and gratitude all in one.

"Not hurt," he mumbles. Which was true, he had no physical injuries. His frame still shudders occasionally, his mind unwilling to fully process the memories of the last 3 days.

Wing can feel the shaking of Drift's form within his field. He gently presses the crest of his helm against the young girl's chest, blue optics flickering with emotion. It's the best embrace he has to offer.

"_{I was worried about you.}" There's relief in his soft voice, until necessity hardens it, "...but you can't stay here."

Give her a moment. She's just going to lean against Wing and try not to simply pass out right there. This whole ordeal has been exhausting, and the wash of relief is something on it's own.

"Well, on the contrary, I'm not leaving you here, Wing. From... what I gather, you need to stay in the light. My generator here will be more than enough to last the night. It runs on energon, so..."

So there.

"As long as you stay in here, you'll be good until morning and we can get you to someplace that will be better lit."

Eventually she slides away to go slump by the porch and let them have whatever moment they need to have.

"We were fine, Wing. You didn't need to risk yourself," or whatever--Drift still has no idea what's happening, "for us."

If the dark is what changes him, though. "You have to stay here, Wing. We can watch you." He still has the light in his hand, switched off, and he never wants to use it again, but if it keeps Wing himself, he would. "Listen to Vandal."

Wing rolls over onto his knees, palms flat to ground as if trying to stabilize. "I know. I--he figured it out first. Managed to keep control. I don't know how long..." His optics shutter tight. "Days?"

He shakes his head, tips of the white finials almost scraping against the ground.

"It's hours before dawn. Anything could happen between now and then. Blurr--" His eyes fly wide as the full memory comes, he chokes, fingers digging into hard packed silt ground. "H-He's up to something. Fireworks and music he said. I couldn't...get anymore out of him."

More of the memories surface and he can't stem the flow. His hands shake as Wing sits back on his heels, slowly drawing one of the short swords. "I'm not safe and you know that." With a single heave, the weapon goes sailing off into the junk pile. He didn't feel safe with himself, much less with others, people he cared about.

"Watch me? And do what if something goes wrong?" He gives both Drift and Vandal a hard look. He hated it--but it was the truth. If he needed to be neutralized, however it had to happen, he didn't want either of them to take part.

The sword's mate appears and follows suit, light flashing off the blade as it disappears in the opposite direction.

"One thing at a time," Vandal says from her porch, pinching the bridge of her nose, "For now, we wait until dawn and we can figure it out then."

Right now she's just exhausted, she wants to sit and have a moment to think.

"If something goes wrong we have the flashlight, and the generator is in no danger of running out of fuel. So just sit tight, try to rest and we'll think of something in the morning. I don't think Drift would leave you alone right now and frankly neither will I."

Her voice carries a sort of weariness. Snappish with just how taxing the whole ordeal has been.

"We're not leaving you." Drift echoes Vandal's words, trying to sound firm, and in reality sounding like a teenage girl trying to sound brave.

"Just stay with us, Wing. Talk to us. Don't worry about what might happen. Just be here. Now. With us." He shoots a worried look at Vandal. She seems exhausted.

The words of acceptance and comfort offer unexpected shelter from the storm. Wing really wants nothing more than to curl into a ball with them wrapped around him like a blanket. But that leaves him conflicted, because he also wants very much to drive both Drift and Vandal off, force them somewhere safe, because he doesn't feel safe being around anyone right now. Logic can barely penetrate the dark cloud of what he became and the lightning strikes ignited by the fear of losing control again.

"I--I have to remember. I talked to people...was planning something..."

He sits back on his heels, awkwardly, clearly unaccustomed to the frame he's in, a hand pressed to the crest of his helm. He doesn't want to remember, but he feels like he has to rifle through each and every memory for some sign of potential danger. If he'd made promises, was expected by anyone...they might come looking.

Wing shudders at the implications. "_{If anything happened to either of you...because of this.}" He shakes his head violently, losing a sob, hands pressed to the ground again.

Tired as she is, Karrie rises from her porch at the sound of Wing's distress.

"Come on now, just. For now, clear your head and give yourself a rest. You're just going to upset yourself more. Let your thoughts reorganize, okay?"

She awkwardly presses a hand to his finial, trying to be comforting.

"Wing." Drift wishes he was in his own frame, just for the ability to hold Wing. This was...absurd in a way. "Don't force yourself to do anything. Relax. If it's important it'll come to you. We're safe. You're safe. Just...let that be enough." He looks over the rise of Wing's shoulder at Vandal. It's all right, right?

Once he opened the gates, it was hard to stem the tide of memories. His recollection of a conversation with Overlord just recently worries him most, and he tries to sort out was actually said.

Vandal and then Drift's words penetrate, distracting him, pulling him away from the mass of strange memories. He looks up at the touch to his finial, optics focusing on Vandal. "I...but..."

The sound of his name draws his attention to Drift. It strikes him how fragile Drift looks in this form, but it's a cold irony that Drift is the stalwart one now and Wing fragile beyond measure.

"How can I relax, how can I know we're safe?" His optics flicker unevenly, his thoughts still disjointed, fingers clenching in the dirt again. He can't force them to leave, they're both way too stubborn. He not sure he can keep them safe, and he barely knows who they enemy is anymore. He feels entirely helpless.

....No, this wasn't helping. Wing cycles air deep through his cooling system, trying to put order to this thoughts. He looks up into Drift's eyes for a long moment. Still large and blue despite being human, he's reaching desperately for something external to ground him.

"You can't, but we just have to... trust and rely on each other."

Honestly that's not something Vandal is very good at, maybe preaching it, sure. She keeps that to herself though.

She still feels like she's intruding. This is Drift's territory, but she stays for Wing's sake, patting the crest on his helm.

"Let's just stay here for tonight and we'll regroup in the morning."

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Noping right off Cybertron

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