Re/Aligned Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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re_alignment_logs2012-06-21 04:54 pm
re_alignedmods) wrote in re_alignment_logs2012-06-21 04:54 pm
Entry tags:
- !npc | alpha trion,
- !npc | liege maximo,
- !npc | megatronus prime,
- !npc | nexus prime,
- !npc | prima,
- !npc | solus prime,
- !npc | vector prime,
- !open,
- brave police: j-decker | deckard,
- brave police: j-decker | gunmax,
- brave police: j-decker | mccrane,
- kingdom hearts | ventus,
- tf: animated | blurr,
- tf: animated | sari,
- tf: classics | elita one,
- tf: dreamwave | jetfire (crau),
- tf: dreamwave | starscream (crau),
- tf: idw | drift,
- tf: idw | wing,
- tf: prime | breakdown,
- tf: prime | knock out,
- tf: prime | ratchet,
- ✘ 9 | 4,
- ✘ batman: 90s animated | annie,
- ✘ kingdom hearts | luxord,
- ✘ legend of korra | korra,
- ✘ megamind | megamind,
- ✘ real steel | noisy boy,
- ✘ star wars | darth malgus,
- ✘ tf: animated | blackarachnia,
- ✘ tf: animated | optimus prime,
- ✘ tf: animated | prowl,
- ✘ tf: animated | slipstream,
- ✘ tf: animated | starscream,
- ✘ tf: animated | swindle,
- ✘ tf: bayverse | shockwave/driller,
- ✘ tf: beast wars | dinobot,
- ✘ tf: idw | optimus prime (crau),
- ✘ tf: idw | pharma,
- ✘ tf: prime | raf esquivel,
- ✘ tf: prime | starscream,
- ✘ tf: prime | wheeljack,
- ✘ yu-gi-oh! zexal | v
OPENING LOG: Awakening
WHO: Everybody!
WHERE: The Junk Pile.
WHEN: Right here, right now.
WHAT: Game opening! Our Heroes find themselves in a strange place not of their own world, however familiar (or not) it may be.
Consciousness is slow, and a struggle to obtain. The moments before darkness are hazy enough; a great vertigo, a twisting, and then, falling. Falling for what seemed like forever. And when you are finally aware of your surroundings, it is most decidedly not where you came from.
Instead, you are now in what appears to be a wasteland. A wasteland...of junk. Debris as far as you can see, heaped in mini-mountains that offer only so good of a view of the world around you. Perhaps in the distance, you can make out some flatter land, perhaps you can just make out what looks like a crevice - but it's difficult at best. The light here is all wrong, the two greatest sources being a white line in the alien sky that doesn't so much give off light as simply have it - and something in the south that glows like a setting sun.
You may or may not notice it at first, but you, too, have something alien - something on your arm, more likely than not. A marking that glows softly, but offers no clue as to how it got there - no pain, no sensitivity. It's simply there, as you are here.
So.
Now what?
((OOC: This is it, you guys! Have a blast! Please remember to keep everything under the first thread for now; we'll be adding the Firstforged in in a little bit...
OKAY There is now a second thread to post in! Feel free to make new threads there to react to the arrival of the Firstforged, or respond directly to the Firstforged themselves.))
WHERE: The Junk Pile.
WHEN: Right here, right now.
WHAT: Game opening! Our Heroes find themselves in a strange place not of their own world, however familiar (or not) it may be.
Consciousness is slow, and a struggle to obtain. The moments before darkness are hazy enough; a great vertigo, a twisting, and then, falling. Falling for what seemed like forever. And when you are finally aware of your surroundings, it is most decidedly not where you came from.
Instead, you are now in what appears to be a wasteland. A wasteland...of junk. Debris as far as you can see, heaped in mini-mountains that offer only so good of a view of the world around you. Perhaps in the distance, you can make out some flatter land, perhaps you can just make out what looks like a crevice - but it's difficult at best. The light here is all wrong, the two greatest sources being a white line in the alien sky that doesn't so much give off light as simply have it - and something in the south that glows like a setting sun.
You may or may not notice it at first, but you, too, have something alien - something on your arm, more likely than not. A marking that glows softly, but offers no clue as to how it got there - no pain, no sensitivity. It's simply there, as you are here.
So.
Now what?
((OOC: This is it, you guys! Have a blast! Please remember to keep everything under the first thread for now; we'll be adding the Firstforged in in a little bit...
OKAY There is now a second thread to post in! Feel free to make new threads there to react to the arrival of the Firstforged, or respond directly to the Firstforged themselves.))
Tis perfect!! :D
Distress. Disapproval. Understanding. Affinity. Patience. Parley.
Wing calmed, not struggling against his captor and letting the impressions wash over him through the blade bond. If the Great Sword, which in an abstract fashion was both companion and mentor, did not consider this mech an enemy then Wing would not either.
He remained passive, his EM field loosening gently as his head turned a glowing amber optic towards the stranger. Though the knight did not understand his words, he gleaned a bit of the notion. He smiled, the blue gem of the sword flickering.
"My name is Wing. I am a friend."
OKAY attempt at me not failing is go!
...but it didn't take him long to understand that there was more to it than that. His disorientation wasn't merely from his gyros compensating after a severe upset--it was coming from this mech, somehow.
That had happened before. Strong electromagnetic signals had been able to give them headaches, and high-voltage transmissions had made it hard to think. He could even feel some sort of field nearby.
It didn't seem to be that powerful, though. It seemed to be much more subtle, nothing more than the sort of energy signature that any robot might give off. It shouldn't have been enough to prolong his calibrations, and yet...
"Wing."
He'd understood. He'd understood, and he knew that this mech meant him no harm, and he knew that, somehow, holding onto this sword was wrong. It was wrong.
It didn't belong to him.
He let go as if burned, double-checking...and then triple-checking to make certain his perceptions weren't being controlled, and that this was not another incident like Inti.
It wasn't.
The golden optics were still watching him, and the small smile was still there.
Wing...wasn't his enemy, it turned out. Wing was a friend.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and let go of the hand that he was pinning, as well, still not sure how he had understood the other robot for a moment, but accepting that he had. Super-AI had proven to spark, before, when there was an accord.
He finally shifted his weight, and let Wing up.
Aw YEAH You Succeed!
The knight was familiar enough with his weapon's resonance, he wouldn't call it talking--there were no words--but it was still communication. Purity of concept. The fact that it had intervened in this situation and affected the other was...interesting. Whoever this mech was, he was worth knowing.
He noted the other mech's fallen weapon as he rose. Wing retrieved it and handed it to him, grip first, with a nod. "Thank you for releasing me."
Now that the hostilities were thankfully done, names were a hopeful place to begin. Wing smiled, repeating his name as he touched his chassis, then extending his hand to indicate the stranger.
*blush!*
How was he meant to draw the correlations between himself, and Gunmax, and Wing? What could it possibly been that they all shared, that brought them here?
So far, the only possibility he'd noted was the strong connections they all shared with their weaponry...or...transportation/armor, in Gunmax's case. That was a start, but even that seemed so starkly different from what it was that Wing had, or what he had, and that was the least of the questions that he wanted to ask.
Questions, however, were beginning to seem hopelessly out of reach. He could easily read the meaning in Wing's gestures, but the words that came out of the other mech's mouth were absolutely unintelligible once more. Whatever had transpired between them a moment ago, it was gone.
"McCrane," he answered, nevertheless, the grip on his shotgun pump tightening reflexively. "I am McCrane, of the Brave Police."
Now what, he wondered, was Wing?
Re: *blush!*
Wing smiled again and put one hand up, palm out, in a gesture of peace. Then he telegraphed raising his other hand to the Great Sword's grip, pausing before touching it as if asking permission from McCrane, before closing his hand around it. With an ease that seemed discordant to the weapon's size, the knight loosed it from its attachments and swung it in a vertical arc until is rested point down before him. He sunk the tip far enough into the ground so that it would stand on its own, the Great Sword's pommel easily level with his chassis.
Wing passed a thumb over the blue gem, evoking a smile. The weapon's resonance was calm and reassuring, so he moved forward with his gambit. Looking back to McCrane he beckons, inviting him to touch to weapon again.
"I think this will help, if you'll indulge me?"
no subject
It did not stop his hands from tightening on his shotgun, however, or the way his feet shifted, prepared to fire if he needed to. His last encounter with an intelligent sword had not gone well. It had been capable of controlling the broken J-Decker, and then had been used to unite both Cheftains into a vastly powerful, if strange, combination. He didn't particularly trust Wing's sword, at this point, especially given how he'd felt for the brief moment he'd touched it.
What if the sword was what really controlled Wing?
What if, by touching it, he was granting control over himself?
They were extremely real possibilities, and so he stared at the offering for a long, long moment, running through scenarios in his head, looking for the worst possible combination...
...and, finally, realizing that the worst thing that could happen did not make sense. Wing, or his sword, if it came to that, had not felt bad. He'd gone out of his way to communicate friendship, and was going out of his way to do it here, again. Even if the sword was capable of controlling McCrane, it didn't seem within Wing's nature to use it that way. Not on him.
Nevertheless, when he stepped forward, it was still with extreme caution, one hand still holding onto the trigger. The other reached, tentatively, brushing against the pommel with a ginger touch, testing it, watching Wing the whole time.
"I do not...trust...this..." he said, carefully. "But I will try."
no subject
Mistrust: caution. Effort.
...Effort? Wing supposed that made some sense when put into this context. It wasn't as if the blade had language skills or could speak, so of course communication would occur on a conceptual level. Which was, unfortunately open to interpretation. He chose his words carefully, keeping things simple with the presumption that this method of communication might include some trial and error.
"Thank you." Wing nodded. "I am Wing. I am one of the Knights of Cybertron. Cybertron is my homeland. This sword marks me as a knight and proves that I am worthy of being one."
no subject
That didn't help.
When Wing started talking, and some of it made sense that did not help either.
McCrane pulled back his hand, statled, staring with uncertainty at Wing. He'd even known this was going to happen--was likely to happen, but knowing about something and being prepared for something were two different concepts entirely. The last few words Wing spoke faded into gibberish, and McCrane's stare broke.
Gratitude? Wing, a name. Knight.
That was in line with what he'd already expected, and slowly he nodded. There'd been something about an endearment to a planet computer that he wasn't sure he understood, but then he had heard Knight again.
Knight.
Just like Duke.
The similarities were too stark, and he already missed Earth. This tentative connection, even with all of is strangeness, only served to remind him how important it was to return, and to solve this mystery he'd been thrust into the middle of.
Steeling himself, he reached out and touched the sword once more.
"I am McCrane, of the Brave Police. I am trying to investigate my appearance here, and return to my home." He glanced down to Wing's hand where it rested, close to his, deciding that if he was going to continue with any amount of comfort, this next question was important.
"What is this sword?"
no subject
McCrane's withdrawal was unsurprising, Wing could only guess that this was very alien to him. He did not press and has happy when the other mech decided to reinitiate the attempt.
The impressions that flowed through the blade bond were not as strong as those that originated from the weapon itself, but it was something more than they had before.
A name, "Crane?" Or a variation on it that he didn't understand. An affiliation with courage and lawgivers. Something about searching for truth and... definitely a strong notion of home. The a question about the Great Sword itself.
How could Wing even adequately describe it? He could say what it was, but why it existed and could do the things that it could? That was difficult enough to explain even without a language barrier. Start simple.
"A symbol of our knighthood. It holds ancient knowledge."
no subject
This time, when the word-feelings came through, he did not back away.
Instead, he let his crane arm lift over his shoulder, resting there so that Wing could see what he meant, hook dangling, before returning back from where it came. "It is my second mode."
He had a third mode, as well, but trying to describe how he united with his team to form a larger robot was not a discussion for today.
When Wing spoke, he listened, even if he flinched a little at the continued strangeness of it all. The message was much simpler this time, however, and left a clear impression in his head. Sword equaled Knight, and Sword was old.
Unfathomably old.
It made him hesitate once more, sensing the importance of this object to the mech who wielded it, knowing how odd he'd have felt for someone else to use his shotgun. It was only the fact that Wing's hand stayed by his that showed a continued permission, and a desire to carry on.
That would be enough, for now.
"Do you know where we are?" he ventured, hoping the concept was not too abstract to communicate.
no subject
He nodded at the confirmation of McCrane's name, putting the designation and likeness to memory. The words that followed Wing had a harder time understanding. Another aspect? Clarity struck when he saw the dangling hook--did that mean he was actually a crane? An alt-mode, meaning this mech could transform as well!? The notion shocked him, was there another mechanical race out there that had their kind of adaptability? Or did McCrane have Cybtertronian origins? The shock and wonderment was displayed clearly on Wing's face at this revaluation, the ailerons flanking his shoulder nacelles flicking out playfully.
"I also have a second mode. A jet." The folded wing panels on his back spread, extending from his shoulders with the soft sound of shifting metal. Wing grinned, both pleased and excited by the notion. It was a kinship of sorts in a situation where finding common ground had only come through struggle.
Wing schooled his mood a touch as he watched McCrane, the Brave obviously deep in consideration over something. When he spoke, Wing caught some of the basic notion. A query: location. At this Wing frowned slightly, shaking his head.
"I don't know this place. I only just arrived."
no subject
Another robot that could transform? He nodded, confirming the idea, pointing to the tires on his legs to show in lieu of actually transforming.
Wing still did not look much like what he imagined a jet looked like, but...considering Drill Boy didn't look capable of flight, either, Wing was actually a few steps up. His pinions at least were streamlined!
"A jet, and an alien." He murmured. The other robot he'd encountered earlier had indicated she could turn into a boat, and she had also been alien... "Cybertronian?" he asked, wondering if that was the similarity, not realizing that it might have been the 'planet computer' of before.
"She called this Cybertron." McCrane looked around. "But she did not recognize it. It looks nothing like Earth, but..." He glanced down, saw what he was looking for, and, without letting go of the sword, he bent to pick up a mannequin. "...but this is from Earth." Many of the things in the junkyard were. Many of the things in the junkyard also weren't.
It was all so confusing.
"I do not remember how I came to be here," he tried, instead. "Do you?"
no subject
The jet cocked his head at McCrane's next words, catching something like 'different' and then a concept that was definitely 'Cybertron's people'. "Yes!" Wing nodded. "I am Cybertronian." The rest was more difficult to decipher. Cybertron again, mention of another person, unfamiliarity, and, soil or ground? Wing looked curiously at the mannequin for a moment before making a different realization. "You've meet another Cybertronian here?"
The jist of McCrane's last question was plain enough in context and Wing shook his head again. "I don't know. I was in the middle of a battle. Something terrible happened, then I awoke here."
no subject
Wait.
No.
Cyber. Tron.
Suddenly, that made a great deal more sense to him. Their homeworld sounded computerized, and it was a planet, of course. So then, the next question had to be about meeting other people of the computer planet, to which the answer was a simple "Yes. I met a female."
That had been perplexing to him. She had definitely been a 'she,' but she'd not noted any particular differences between herself and other Cybertronians.
The definite denial to his last question, however, caused McCrane to sigh. He'd been hoping for some clue. The explanation he figured he mostly understood. Center of a fight? Yes. An event of sadness? Yes. Awakening.
Yes.
"Has this ever happened to anyone you have known?"
no subject
It did seem as though McCrane was achieving recognition of some kind, so though it was not his own Wing was happy for the progress.
The knight understood the basics of the last question and gave another negative response much to his own disappointment. "I've never heard of anything like this happening before."
"I had only just awoken when you cam along, how long have you need here?"
no subject
Again.
If McCrane was the type to swear, he would have. He'd hoped the other robot alien would have some clue to...something. To some piece of the mystery. To more than Elita had known.
His frustration was apparent, though it wasn't directed at Wing. Against all odds, there was no unifying factor amongst the people who were waking up here. None of them remembered how they'd gotten here. None of them had similar pasts. None of them even knew what could have done this.
Still, he tried to respond as best as he could to the query about time and presence, understanding the gist.
"I have been awake for nearly two hours." It had been eventful, to say the least. "Looking for fuel, and for clues, and for anything familiar." Anything.
Thus far, he'd found Gunmax.
And there'd only been one real, unifying clue.
He reached out, letting go of the hilt for a moment, pointing to the symbol on Wing's arm before returning his hand for the sword to translate.
"We all have this."
no subject
Two hours. Longer than Wing had been awake to be sure. And fuel. Oh, yes that could be a problem. "What do you use for fuel? I'll need to search for my own fuel but I can keep a look out for you too."
Wing looks startled a moment when McCrane points to the glyph. He cranes his neck to see around the bulk of shoulder nacelle, and low and behold, a complex golden glyph on the surface of his arm. He ran his fingers over it tentatively, then looked at McCrane's symbol which was different.
Yet...familiar. Both of them were.
Wing cocks his head a moment and kneels, hand sliding down the dark blade of the sword, his thumb trailing over the glyphs in its fuller. None of them matched, and the blade's markings were much simpler, but the strokes and curves seemed to share a kinship.
He looked up to McCrane. "I think they may be Cybertronian in origin. But I have never seen them before."
no subject
No.
He'd mentioned looking for fuel.
That must have been what Wing meant.
With a nod, he reached down to his side and unlatched his fuel door, showing the gasoline hatch inside. He could technically drink it to ingest, as well, but this was much more universal looking.
"I have a combustion engine, which can use either gasoline or diesel." It depended on the need. As a construction vehicle, he worked better with diesel, but it wasn't always easy to find while out on missions.
He was more pleased to see Wing concentrating on the symbols, however, especially when he seemed to draw a correlation between the ones on their arms and the ones on the sword. 'Cybertronian' seemed to describe them both.
"Ancient," he ventured a guess, since that had been how Wing had described his sword.
He slid his fuel hatch closed and looked around, as if this new piece of information would give him more to go on.
When it did not, he sighed. "But not enough information. I will need to talk to others, to learn more."
It's good his gas hatch isn't where Deckerd's is. (!!! How FORWARD! We've only just met...)
Combustion engine? This throws him for a moment until he taps his historical archive. Interesting. In contrast to their sentience and mechanical complexity they had a remarkably less advanced fuel system. And it was only thanks to exposure to other alien cultures that he any clue what gasoline was.
"Finding fuel of that type here might be difficult. If we knew its chemical make-up it would be easier to find on sensor readings." He tapped the side of his helm, near his optics, realizing that the concept was likely too complex to be communicated properly.
Wing nods at the word "ancient". Whatever the glyphs origin were, it was either very old or very new. Still, the Cybertronian influence was comforting to him.
And he has to agree with the last statement, as it's pretty easy to decipher. "Are there more here you think? Perhaps scouting the area is a good next step?"
no subject
He shakes his head.
At 'scouting,' though, McCrane gestures off toward the distance. There's movement out on the piles of garbage.
"I will talk with them." He points. "If I learn anything, I will try to get in touch with you."
He looks down at the sword, and up at Wing, wondering if he even needs to ask this next question, but erring on the side of being polite. Just in case.
"Will you be alright, if I go?"
no subject
"I will be fine. I'll the opposite direction--" He points over the ridge behind him," --and see what I can discover. Then we can share any information we find."
He gives a nod, "Good luck to you then, friend."