Ultra Magnus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thehardway) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
re_alignment_logs2012-12-08 02:03 pm
thehardway) wrote in re_alignment_logs2012-12-08 02:03 pm
the world outside is dark. [NARRATIVE/OPEN?]
WHO: Ultra Magnus. Open if anyone wants to visit him for some reason.
WHERE: His office at the enforcer's HQ.
WHEN Sometime after the Glyphless are all dealt with.
WHAT: There's a lot on Ultra Magnus's mind, but the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord never rests. There's always a task to see to.
WARNINGS: Various mentions of character death in various ways.
There's still a tired ache in his joints.
Everything with Ultra Magus concerning things like attention to emotions, how to phrase certain things, how to consider a perspective and maintain a sense of being professional no matter how he might actually want a certain matter -- it boils down to the aspect that he needs to behave a certain way because that is what is needed of him. Ultra Magnus must remain a reliable constant.
That doesn't change what he is internally. Not as he silently handed off Drift's body to Wing. Not as he carefully cradled Tailgate's corpse in one arm despite how energon dribbled down to his wrist because of the shot in the head. Finding Swerve, tending to him, trying to not think of how Tailgate sobbed and apologized. Optimus asking him to keep watch over Smokescreen. Collecting Hot Rod's body from Solus Prime.
Or when he finally stood in Alpha Trion's quadrant, looking at Blurr's hard work, and began to arrange graves.
Alone, he allows himself a long time to just. Hold Rodimus in his arms for one last time. He'd tried to repair some of the external damage, because he couldn't bear to see what he had to do. It doesn't change the fact that the colors are faded now. He knows what he had with Rodimus wasn't meant to be very deep, but it didn't change how fond he was of the young, impulsive, potential-filled captain. For Rodimus, it was purely a good physical interaction. For Ultra Magnus, it got more complicated, despite his own attempts to stifle those thoughts and feelings.
In his silence, he calmly places Rodimus away with the others.
He should, logically, see to his own repairs eventually. He knows that. He doesn't tend to put that sort of thing off until the last minute, but this is different and complicated and he can excuse it. Repairs? No, he'll point the medics in other directions. There are others injured besides him, after all.
No, he wants to feel this for a little longer.
It's silent now that they're dead. Magnus slowly limps his way into the headquarters so carefully crafted by McCrane and his friends, finding himself in his office. A familiar, clean comfort zone where nothing changes.
So he sits, pulls up a datapad, and considers.
Right. He should maybe write a report. That would be suitable. Professional.
The enforcer gets to work, as always.
There is one constant that should never change. Ultra Magnus will be that constant.
WHERE: His office at the enforcer's HQ.
WHEN Sometime after the Glyphless are all dealt with.
WHAT: There's a lot on Ultra Magnus's mind, but the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord never rests. There's always a task to see to.
WARNINGS: Various mentions of character death in various ways.
There's still a tired ache in his joints.
Everything with Ultra Magus concerning things like attention to emotions, how to phrase certain things, how to consider a perspective and maintain a sense of being professional no matter how he might actually want a certain matter -- it boils down to the aspect that he needs to behave a certain way because that is what is needed of him. Ultra Magnus must remain a reliable constant.
That doesn't change what he is internally. Not as he silently handed off Drift's body to Wing. Not as he carefully cradled Tailgate's corpse in one arm despite how energon dribbled down to his wrist because of the shot in the head. Finding Swerve, tending to him, trying to not think of how Tailgate sobbed and apologized. Optimus asking him to keep watch over Smokescreen. Collecting Hot Rod's body from Solus Prime.
Or when he finally stood in Alpha Trion's quadrant, looking at Blurr's hard work, and began to arrange graves.
Alone, he allows himself a long time to just. Hold Rodimus in his arms for one last time. He'd tried to repair some of the external damage, because he couldn't bear to see what he had to do. It doesn't change the fact that the colors are faded now. He knows what he had with Rodimus wasn't meant to be very deep, but it didn't change how fond he was of the young, impulsive, potential-filled captain. For Rodimus, it was purely a good physical interaction. For Ultra Magnus, it got more complicated, despite his own attempts to stifle those thoughts and feelings.
In his silence, he calmly places Rodimus away with the others.
He should, logically, see to his own repairs eventually. He knows that. He doesn't tend to put that sort of thing off until the last minute, but this is different and complicated and he can excuse it. Repairs? No, he'll point the medics in other directions. There are others injured besides him, after all.
No, he wants to feel this for a little longer.
It's silent now that they're dead. Magnus slowly limps his way into the headquarters so carefully crafted by McCrane and his friends, finding himself in his office. A familiar, clean comfort zone where nothing changes.
So he sits, pulls up a datapad, and considers.
Right. He should maybe write a report. That would be suitable. Professional.
The enforcer gets to work, as always.
There is one constant that should never change. Ultra Magnus will be that constant.
no subject
But he considers the suggestion.
"I didn't know Tailgate enough to discuss his achievements. I know that he had more skills than one would predict at first glance. Hound was quite possibly more overlooked in his skills and reliability than most, but he never complained. Not a bit. Rodimus..."
There, he stops. He looks down at his own plating, how melted and off that it is. Worn and raw and aching.
"I can't." He shakes his head. "So. To those who died, and those left with the consequences."
There, Magnus focuses on his second cube, eager to finish it.
no subject
Even if he was, it's fine. (Hell of an image, though. Quite frankly, Maximus is just as glad Magnus isn't.)
Fort Max watches the commander for a long moment...then nods. "Sounds good to me," he agrees, shifting his cube- and then taking a mouthful of it.
Burns on the way down - just like he's gotten used to.
no subject
When the cube is done, he peers down at the empty glass, swallowing the leftover burn lingering in his mouth. The taste wakes up some older memories. Celebrations he silently attended. When he was, some might daresay, a slight bit more lenient.
Now he can't be bothered with things like rules.
Is it going to be like this everyday from now on, he briefly wonders. The misery, remembering what had transpired. Letting it haunt him. He's never let anything linger that closely before. Things are different now.
Did he make the mistake of getting too close? Maybe.
Who the hell knows.
Silently, he reaches for cube three and looks at it first, to dwell.
no subject
But Maximus knows damn well that strength can only take you so far.
Finishing his cube, he pauses, noticing Magnus's hesitation. "All right?" he asks, lowering the empty vessel.