re_alignment_logs | OPENING LOG: Awakening

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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.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He should have known this was coming.

The worst part about the lambda, he had always felt, was that it blocked that which he should have been able to see. He had never known that the first Refugees were going to arrive. He had never known that the first Refugees were going to be lost to them, either.

And now, he had not known that Refugees were going to return.

As the keeper of knowledge, he felt he should have.

However, there was nothing to be done about it now. He was glad, in a way, to have the company again. He was glad to find others who could contribute to the history of Cybertron. He was glad, and he was also worried.

History could repeat itself so easily.

This time, however, at least he knew--he knew what to expect. That was his purview.

He appeared at the edges of the junk-yard, and immediately he strode forward to see what he could find. They were going to need information to proceed, and Alpha Trion was adept at finding information.

//I have brought the Link Devices,// He informed his brethren, prepared. //When your acolytes arrive, they may obtain any extras they need from me. This looks bigger than our previous batches.//

Finally. Someone who looks like--

Well.

Someone who might know what's going n. Prowl watches him for a time, before he even thinks of approaching. He makes no disguise of his observation; merely stands atop one of the piles of trash and detritus, and watches.

He'll see what the Firstforged will do, with his acolytes, and the, and only then, will Prowl act.

What Alpha Trion appears to be doing, at the moment, was looking for individuals...especially those in need of help. Occassionally, as he moved, he would pick up something from the pile and examine it, sometimes tucking it away into his subspace, other times placing it gently back down on the pile.

He was in no hurry.

If one of his was in distress, he'd was certain that he'd know about it.

In fact...one seemed to be nearby.

Even knowing this, however, it took Alpha Trion a moment to locate the ninja-bot. There was something about his standing out in the open that made him nearly invisible, which was a talent that Trion could appreciate.

With a slight tilt of his head, he smiled toward the top of the pile. "How is the view from up there?"

"Not as clear as I would hope," Prowl replied, never giving a straight answer. He leaps-- boosters giving a brief flare to propel him. He tucked into a curl, spun, and dropped, landing steadily on his stabilizers near the other bot before he straightened.

"Perhaps you can provide illumination. This is not where I expected to be."

He expects to be offline, his body interred on Cybertron, if he was very lucky. He doesn't believe that this is the afterlife he's supposed to be in.

Alpha Trion watched the bot's motion, paying attention to all the tiny details that told a story of their own. Two wheels...no. Three. A tricycle? Or a motorcycle with a sidecar, given the extra paneling.

"Was there somewhere you were hoping for?" he asked, conversational and curious.

"Not hoping, so much as-- accepting. Expecting."

There was no questioning the outcome when he surrendered his spark to the AllSpark cluster to fuel it, make it complete. He would be offline, and no longer animate. He would become a part of the Well of All Sparks, and join his autobot brothers and sisters in the afterlife.

He is not. He is here. This is a discrepancy not accounted for. It was going to be over; he was at peace with that. His existence for a world's salvation? A small price. Paltry, even. The math was sound. He knew it then, and he knows it now.

"I am not supposed to be operational. One might understand why I am a bit-- perplexed as to why I am here, then, instead of the Well of All Sparks."

The Well of All Sparks?

There was a strangely familiar sound to that, one that he felt the need to reference when he returned home. It had existed, he was sure...or it was supposed to exist, or would exist at some point.

Somewhere.

"Perhaps that was the reason you were brought here, then," he mused, glancing up toward the Lambda. "There may be something you are needed for. Some destiny you've yet to fulfill. There are certainly worse places to go, when you die."

"I think it would be arrogance to jump to that immediately," Prowl said, voice softening. He was one of many. A soldier in a war. Certainly, he had attained a level of discipline that was rarely seen in other bots, but--

That didn't make him special. He wasn't a leader like Optimus, he wasn't a savant like Bulkhead, he didn't have a bond like Bumblebee and Sari, and he certainly wasn't a healer like Ratchet. Part of his training had involved sublimating the self, to let go of pride, of self-interest...

Otherwise, he would never have been able to sacrifice his own operation for others.

"Do you know what this place is?" he asks, instead of pursuing through other thoughts.

"It could be," he agreed, knowing that it was dependent on the mech. "Or that could just be my roundabout way of asking for your help." He smiled. Prowl might not have considered himself significant to his world, but Alpha Trion had too many facts that pointed to most things happening for a reason.

It had been his job to record things happening for particular reasons, and he considered himself somewhat of an expert in noticing the destiny before he noticed the cause.

Or...perhaps he just wanted the company, again. So much of the surface still needed preparing for Primus.

"Of course I do." He answered, pleasant despite the depths of his thoughts. "It is my home. My Cybertron. Very likely not a Cybertron that you are used to, but...I hope that you won't find it unpleasant." He glanced around. "Once we leave the junk behind, I mean. I'm sorry if this is not the homecoming you were hoping for."

He also hopes the statement does not seem completely out of nowhere. It's your alt-mode...that is all. You were on Earth, and you were on Earth recently, if the condition of your tires is any judge.

Of course. Why had he not seen it? Recognized the sunless sky? The pulsating tear in the sky certainly mars his ability to read the stars, but does not make it impossible. He should have realize, should have known-- instead of being consumed with his own doubt at where he was supposed to be.

Something like wonder crosses his face, as he tilts his head, looking skyward, before he lets his optics track the heap again.

"A strange Cybertron it is," he admits. "But now. It is not-- unpleasant. Merely unexpected."

He is quiet a moment, and said, "I had-- made peace with never seeing seeing it again. It has been some time since I left, to pursue the truth of my master's words... to understand what it meant to not preserve the past, at the cost of the future."

And now he is here; in a past erased and a future as yet, unformed.

"What help do you need? I am Prowl. Late of a small engineering corp turned planetary guardians, and the Cyber-Ninja before that. I am at your disposal, sir-- though I would be honored if you gave me your designation."

"It is probably not what you are used to." He'd heard stories of the Cybertrons of other worlds, and they fascinated him in their familiarity. Buildings that covered the surface, towers that reached toward the sky, mechs that were so many in number they could populate and utilize all that they'd created...and war. He inevitably always heard about the war.
This Cybertron would go through that, some day.

"We have been tasked with developing it. You could say that what you're standing on is what Cybertron will someday be, rather than what it is...so perhaps this is an afterlife of sorts. A rebirth. I think that you will fit in well, here." He reached out, slowly, as if asking permission, and tapped the sigil on Prowl's arm. "Especially with this. It seems to be indicating that you and I have something in common."

"That is my glyph, and I am Alpha Trion." He inclined his head, just slightly. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

There's a brief pause, and a weighty, measuring look.

"Strange," says Prowl. "You're a bit tall for an aging Civilian Guild councilor."

Seriously, this is a bit odd. He knows that Alpha Trion's Protoform frolicked when Cybertron was young, but-- not embryonic young, okay?

"An aging what?"

His expression is one of surprise. He'd been called stubborn before, and also a recluse, but he'd never been called 'aging.' He was rather certain the mustache made him look distinguished, not old.

Didn't it?

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Figures on the horizon. Friend or foe? That's the question. And, captors, or fellow prisoners?

Friend or foe?

He drew a card. Upright, so... friend. Or, at least, not currently hostile. And... which card.

The Magician.

"Well and good, but I've no idea who you mean, of course," he murmured, twirling it between his fingers. He flicked it out, let it hover in the air... pointing towards that one.

"Being frank with me for once? That's convenient." Of course, in the end, it was all nonsense, random chance. Luck. But he'd always been lucky.

He slowed as he approached. This... creature? Person? Was colossal, bigger even than some of the largest Heartless he'd seen, and he'd encountered some behemoths in his time.

"Right," he says, slowly. "Either you're another refugee, or you're from this place. I've a wager on which one it is... and that wager says you're likely the one to know which world this is."

Alpha Trion let himself be approached, watching the card tricks with more interest than bemusement. He'd seen their like before, resurrected from the junk pile, or drifting through his consciousness with other Knowledge of what might have been.

He'd never seen them used like this, however.

It was fascinating, in its own right.

"A wager would require something to bet, my friend, and I've no interest in taking from you that which isn't free to give." Information, generally. "You have come to Cybertron, my home."

"You aren't? Well, that's hardly fun," said Luxord. "But then, it's always nice to not have to spend to win..."

Cybertron. Not a world he'd heard of then. Something... new.

"And is all of this 'Cybertron' composed of such... magnificent desolation, shall we say?"

He laughed, pleased at how easily this stranger was taking this. "I might be convinced to play a...'hand,' is it? If you would teach me the game." A lesson was always worthwhile, if there was something new to learn.

"Cybertron? Like this?" He chuckled. "Hardly. This is simply where the acolytes bring anything that falls through..." Glancing up, he noted the Lamba's location in the sky, centered almost directly over the junkyard. "I could bring you back to where I live. It's much more comfortable...although I do need to check something first, though. Formalities, I am sure you understand."

He reached up, and touched his shoulder. "To see if you have something here?"

"I'm always delighted to teach anyone games," he said, smiling. "And I do imagine your abode would be a far more adequate location in which to do so."

Anywhere but this place, anyway.

"And as for that, well, as a matter of fact I do. You wouldn't happen to have something to do with it, would you?"

And for the third time that day, he shrugged off the shoulder of his coat just enough to reveal the symbol.

"I have tables, for one thing." It was almost a joke.

Seeing the symbol was relieving, however. It had been worrying, at first, that perhaps some monsters had come through with this crowd. Those were often difficult to weed out, and it had always been even more difficult to explain to the Refugees why some Monsters didn't look any different than they did.

Even more difficult, if they'd already gotten attached.

"Technically, no. In a very roundabout way, yes. That is my name you have on you, there." He gestured toward it, acknowledging that he'd seen it and that the other could replace his robes if he desired. "It is not because of me that you wear it, though. It simply lets me know that you are not a threat...and that you might possibly enjoy some of the same things I do." He blinked out one eye--a wink--a gesture that he'd learned some time ago. "Learning, writing, divining...does any of that sound familiar?"

Luxord raised an eyebrow. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd been marked as part of a mysterious group without his knowledge or consent. It was almost uncomfortably familiar.

"Learning, certainly, though I'm not a bookish sort. I'm far more the type of fellow to prefer the field. Writing... ah, that's more the area of a... friend of mine. But as for divination..."

He fanned out his cards before him, let them float in the air, faces up--the Wheel of Fortune, the Magician, the Three of Wands, the Ace of Pentacles.

"I suppose you could say it's a hobby of mine."

It was ironic that his hobby was divining by cards, given the lack of "diviner" in his title; but on the other hand, as a master of Time it was his job to know the future. Even if, in the end, he knew his cards were merely sleight of hand and being terribly good at reading people.

It was a trick, perhaps, but it was still an impressive one. "Not the usual domain of humans, I've noticed. You seem to have picked up a number of skills in your travels."

He was using one of his own skills, paying attention to Luxord's accent and the unusual nature of his garment, the ease he had at being in a new environment, to make what seemed to him a reasonable assumption. This man had seen other places, Trion guessed. Many of them.

Reading people might have been another thing they had in common.

"I would greatly like to see this in action. Was it your livelihood before coming here?"

"It was not," he said. "In fact, most of my compatriots dismissed it as pointless superstition, a clever sleight of hand. No, my main occupation was research."

It wasn't a lie. He would scout planets, after all, and gather the materials to build Kingdom Hearts, and seek out the best ways to break a human heart. That was research. But now was not the time to mention such things; best not to reveal your hand, after all.

Research was good.

Research was very good, especially given that they needed assistance with the Lambda. Still, this man did not strike Alpha Trion as a scientist...which meant the research as probably in some other area. More fields than just science researched, after all.

"History, perhaps?"

"In a manner of speaking," he said. "History, culture, society, a little sociology too, I suppose...."

How else do you put 'scouting worlds to find weak points'? And no need to mention hunting Heartless with the Keybearer.

"Then you must have learned a great deal," Alpha Trion nodded, very curious about the societies this human had come across. "Especially to be already so comfortable with talking to me. Are there talking robots on your world, as well?"

This was always a good thing to know. The spread of Cybertronians across the multiverse never ceased to fascinate him...

...but then again, there were few things that he did not find fascinating.