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.))

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Weakly, she answers, "You could have fallen though...t-trying to catch me I mean." Even though she is not familiar with robots or Cybertronians, she has figured out that he should likely not have that fluid running out from the joints in his armor. It simply doesn't look right. As such, she didn't want him putting himself through any trouble for her.

She really wasn't worth the effort, even if she does appreciate it.

Not yet moving from his hand, she confirms that she herself is unharmed, "But...I-I'm alright."

"I wouldn't fall." He's not arguing, not with any real rancor. It would take more than a pile of junk and an incurable plague to take him out.

He...hopes.

"And I could take that fall better than you could."

See? Logic.

"What are you doing here, anyway? It's really not safe out here."

Annie certainly doesn't have enough courage to counter his statement that he could take the fall better than her, especially considering she had never taken a real tumble herself. She had no proof or reason to push, and thus let it drop. Everything had turned out alright for the both of them after all.

Straightening up slightly as he asks her about why she is there on the junk pile, she quickly drops her gaze downwards in a bashful manner and draws her hands back from his servo to instead clutch together against her chest. Briefly struggling to find the right words, she forces the sounds out, "I...I shouldn't be here. I-I know that. But...I have no where to go. I don't even know where I am."

He can handle a lot. Because he keeps throwing himself into dangerous situations. A simple fall? Not a problem.

"I'm not sure there's any place to go right now. But we can find something." Build something, if they needed to. He could do that much, he hoped, in the time he had left.

"I think finding a name for this place is less important than getting you some place safe." And he's bigger, so his opinion matters more. Also, he's oozing. You don't want to argue with the leaking robot, would you?

She won't argue with him unless trying to get her somewhere safe causes him trouble or puts him in any danger. Should that happen, she'll retreat and do her best to handle the fear she has at the possibility of being on her own in this strange place.

Reaching her hand over once more to touch flat against his servo, she looks up at him with an almost pleading expression. She wants him to tell her the truth when she asks, "...is...is it really alright for me to stay with you?"

"You need someone better," Drift says. Someone not infectious, at any rate. "But until we find them, I can at least keep you safe."

Not that he has any idea where to find 'them'. He looks over the grey jumble of the junk pile. "Any ideas where to start?"

Bowing her head forward, she frowns slightly at his answer but then nods. To her, she doesn't see anything wrong with staying by him while things are peaceful, but she is hardly about to say anything against it. He might be too tired to look after her for long.

At the request for ideas, Annie begins to look around as well. At a thought, she turns her gaze upwards to the top of the pile on which they stand and points with her hand in that direction, "Maybe we can see better from up there."

If he gets 'too tired' likely she won't notice until he collapses offline. He rides that fine line between hardcore and stupidity really, really well.

He nods. "Good thought." He hesitates, doing the obvious thinking. "Maybe you could stay on me somehow? I can climb faster than you."

Then with any luck, Drift will not reach that point.

Quite glad to be of some use at least, she tilts her head at the fact he points out. He is indeed faster at climbing, so it definitely makes sense. With a quiet nod, she takes a moment to look over his frame to figure out where she might be able to stay on him safely without getting in his way. She has never been carried around by anyone, but she will do her very best.

"I'll try... Would sitting on your shoulder be okay?"

He hasn't met anything yet that's stopped him. If sheer willpower can do it, he's there.

"That would work." He moves his hand a little slowly--he's not sure how much movement is too much or too fast--up to his shoulder. "Be careful. It may be a little wet. And if you start to slip, you have to tell me."

He feels he should apologize for the smell, too, but if she's willing to put up with it, he should maybe not make a big deal of it.

And once she settles herself, he'll start making his way to the mound of twisted metal.

After beginning her life in pipes dumping chemicals into the ocean and spending most of her existence in the streets of Gotham, she has no complaints regarding the smell. At worst it could be considered an inconvenience.

As Drift lifts his hand up to his shoulder so gingerly, Annie is able to keep her balance and shifts over to kneel with ease. Once close enough, she reaches out to plant her hands against his shoulder and pushes with her legs to carefully step over onto the plating there. Turning back around to face forward with him, she sits herself down with her legs tucked to one side.

With a single nod to show her understanding, she answers as she finds a point to hang onto without putting her hands where it might get pinched between armor plates and hangs on tight, "I will."

As Drift begins moving upwards along the discards, she wobbles, but maintains her balance. With time, she will learn the movements of his frame with climbing and adjust accordingly so as not to shift so much.

Wing skimmed the skies in his altmode, spiraling out from Pharma's location while searching the ground for any sign of movement. Soon he spotted what looked like another Cybertronian traveling on foot, frame dirtied presumably from the experience in this environment. Something in the cut of the helm registered as familiar even at this distance, but the idea of running across anyone he knew here seemed beyond unlikely.

In his excitement at finding someone so quickly, he lacked the consideration of approaching from the front. He came in directly, banking with an agile movement and transforming in one motion, thrusters allowing him to land gently some distance away, though behind and to the left of stranger.

It takes most of his focus to keep moving in the first place, and just about all of his concentration to keep his left shoulder as stable as possible.
"Just hang tight," he says, raising one arm carefully, to grab a handhold. He concentrates on nothing but the next move, the next shift of weight, the next testing of the foothold. Climbing becomes his whole world--pull, look for the next grip, pull.

He pulls himself slowly, moving up the pile till he comes to a small outcrop. He figures if nothing else, she may need a rest, and they could both use a look around, and hopefully some fresh air.

Rather quickly Annie learns that keeping her frame entirely rigid does nothing for her balance, so she loosens up to sway forward and back as needed while Drift climbs. It isn't obvious to her right away, but she soon realizes that he's reaching higher with that right arm than with his left. Were she able to find a better position on his frame, perhaps he would be able to climb more easily...

As soon as Drift takes a break there on the outcropping, Annie takes her chance to glance back over her shoulder as she releases her grasp on his armor. She had every intention of looking down over his back to see if there would be some points for her to hold onto in order to reduce the strain on Drift, but her attention is rather quickly diverted. Settled on that left shoulder, Annie is in an excellent position to see back and to the left of Drift when the stranger comes down from the air to land on the junk pile with them.

Flying robots. Being giant-sized wasn't enough...?

With a soft gasp, she reaches a hand to touch against Drift's helm and tries to alert him in a hushed voice, "Drift, behind you!"

Wing shifted slightly after landing, trying to get his footing on the junk pile. He realized his folly then, flanking an unknown from a rear approach, not the most peaceable of actions. He chided himself internally while taking a closer look at the mech now that he was on the ground.

Something about this mech nagged at him, and it was then that he noticed the sword. In this strange shadowy light and flanking angle it was hard to see, but the weapon's silhouette against the white and ruddy frame was very familiar. Another knight? His sword's resonance confirmed the presence of another of its kind but it was laced with a note of confusion, something Wing had never felt from the weapon before.

The white helm turned and a notion lanced through him, an attempt at recognition but one so confusing it nearly stalled his processor. Wing only got out one word of his greeting...

"Hello--"

At Annie's words, Drift whirls, drawing his short swords out in a smooth gesture. "Hang on tight," he whispers. "The Great Sword should be stable to hold on to."

He's not really sure, never having to do a sort of monkey-cling onto anyone else during a battle, but he knows that the sword that hangs between his shoulders, below his knees, was the safest thing he could think of to hold onto.

He blinks, red liquid seeping over his optic lenses. "Identify yourself."

With the quick motion, Annie snatches a grip on Drift's armor just fast enough to keep from sliding right off his shoulder when he whirls around to face the newcomer. The instructions given to her are clear and she doesn't waste time acknowledging them but rather immediately follows. Only standing enough to crouch, she steps lightly to get behind and between his shoulders to where the large sword he wears begins. The hilt, as long and thick as it is to her, would be a suitable place to cling. With a light hop, she wraps both her arms and legs around it at once. Crossing her ankles, she just hopes the sword will stay put if Drift has to move in response to a threat.

From her position on the side of the hilt, she she is unable to see much around Drift's helm, though a different point would not offer any greater advantage. Nervously, she tucks her head forward against the hilt of his and listens.

Edited 2012-06-25 12:43 (UTC)

A sharp intake, a garbled sound, the rattle of flight surfaces as a shudder courses through him. Wing stares, struck speechless, his processor trying to assimilate what his instincts already understand. The frame is different, so very different. The swords are different too. But the cut of the helm, the soar of the finials, so familiar. The stance, also very familiar, though more refined. And that voice...unmistakable. But something was horrifically wrong.

"D-Drift...? Is that...you?" The jet's words are soft, halting, laden with shock and disbelief. A sense of dread chases those notions like a predator, snatching at Wing as he takes in the damage to Drift's frame; the corrosion, red smears over the armor mottled with pits and wounds. Streaks of rust over the swordmech's worn face. Wing tries, but he can't prevent pain and fear from seeping into his next words.

"What's--what's happened to you?"

Drift prides himself on being ready for anything. Shambling plague victims attacking Pipes? Sparkeater stalking the ship? He's ready.

But this...he's not ready for.

It actually takes a few kliks for the voice to click into his memories--it had been so long; a lifetime ago, or two, it seemed.

"....Wing?"

He takes a step back, trying to think. Maybe Annie would be safer with Wing than him. Wing could fly, get her out of here, some place safe.

"You need to stay away." He gestures with his blades, to keep distance between them.

With the robot that came down from the air identifying Drift by name only to speak with such emotion regarding his condition, and for Drift to respond with a name in return, it is all too clear that the two know one another. Relaxing her grip on the hilt of the sword somewhat, Annie hears Drift instruct Wing to keep his distance much to her confusion.

Although she nearly starts to move back to Drift's shoulder, she decides to remain put until he gives her some indication that she can return to it. For now...she'll listen quietly, just hoping that Wing would be able to help Drift somehow.

Stay away? It was both plainly sensible and exactly the opposite of what Wing wanted most. He approached a few steps regardless of Drift's warning.

"Drift! By the Light we have to get you some help!"

The jet was too preoccupied to notice the small organic, looking over Drift's frame and worrying about the rust. The color and consistency seemed similar, perhaps it was related to the ailment the other mech had? Wing's resolve firmed and it was reflected in his voice.

"There's a medic a short distance from here, he also told me to stay away. He mentioned plague and said he needed a clinic. I was scouting to find him help when I saw you. We should go to him."

"I said get back!" Wing might remember the rougher tone in Drift's voice. He wouldn't sound so upset if he didn't know Wing's life depended on this.

If anyone didn't deserve to die for Drift's mistakes, it was Wing.

Because Wing had already done that.

Why Wing was here--wherever here was--was another issue Drift wasn't ready to deal with. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Sorry, but melting from the inside is kind of distracting.

"I don't need help. I'm beyond it. But you need to take her," he rolled his shoulder, in a gesture that to him meant Annie, "some place safe."

(deleted comment)

Wing twitched at Drift's words but held his ground just at the end of weapon reach. The roll of the shoulder drew his attention to the small organic clinging there, shying away, her body language full of distress. He brought forth a warm smile for her, nodding a greeting.

Before Wing could speak he received a ping from Drift over their private channel. It was just a data packet with a note, You'll need this. Like the other organic he'd encountered earlier, apparently this one did not know their language. He installed the provided language pack and switched to the recommended English.

That task complete he readdressed the issue at hand, Drift's words still ringing in his audials.

"Beyond help?" Wing shook his head, his voice steely and sharpened by emotion. "I won't accept that. And besides...It's not like you to go so quietly Drift." It was an accusation, clear and simple.

Wing knew where this was going and he wouldn't allow it. If Drift wasn't going to accept help then the knight would just have to find a different way. It was their usual game, vying to see who could be more stubborn, but this time Wing did not like the pieces in play. The options were few. One had to get creative.

"You're right that she needs safety, and I will provide it, with a condition." Wing paused, sparing a sympathetic look for the small female clinging to Great Sword, who's name he didn't even yet know. He turned back to Drift, audial fins and ailerons once slicked close to his body in distress now rose in challenge.

"You're on your feet, you're still able, and there's a medic who needs help. He also appears to have early stages of this plague so you are no danger to him. He was recently attacked, has no hands and cannot defend himself. He also seems to think he can come up with a cure for this thing." Wing's stance, both verbal and physical was firm, resolute, commanding. "It's in his and your best interests if you go to him." Wing digitally pushed the medic's coordinates over their link so there'd be no further excuse.

"Do this, and I will take your ward to safely."

((bit of planned hand waving here to fix a language issue))

If Drift had had any doubts that this was really Wing, if he'd thought it was some hallucination or impostor, the jet's words laid them to rest. The same attitude, the same 'I know what you need better than you do' tone.

He switched to English. It's not fair to have left Annie hanging for so long, without knowing what was going on.

"You don't set conditions on another's safety, Wing." That's what Lockdown had done, after all. Drift doesn't deal well with emotional blackmail. "And you don't understand. I'm trying to make sure you don't get this." There's a hint of something almost like desperation: being the cause of Wing's death--twice--would be too much.

"I'll find your medic." He tips forward, raising one hand so that Annie can step off. The movement's jerky, lurching forward and then stopping himself abruptly--the rust has been at work on his balance and motor control systems.

"Just take her. And go."

OPENING LOG: Awakening

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