re_alignment_logs | Much Needed Support

Entry tags:

Much Needed Support

WHO: Rung, Open!
WHERE: At his office in Alpha Trion's quadrant.
WHEN A few days after the Glyphless stuff went down.
WHAT: He knows that a lot of people may need his help right now, so he's spending a lot of time at his office.
WARNINGS: Um...well..who knows what might come up?

Considering everything that had been going on, Rung had decided that he was going to put in even more time at his office than he usually did. It only seemed right, all things considered, and he wanted to be able to help anyone and everyone that needed it. Sure they could very easily just contact him over the comm but something a little more personal seemed like a good idea.

Sometimes it was more comforting to, it just depended on the individual.

He had stepped out for a bit of a break from the office scenery, even if he was extremely use to it, spending a few minutes down by the lake's edge before making his way back inside. The therapist was honestly very glad he had taken the suggestion of setting up an office here because the quadrant was nothing short of gorgeous and very therapeutic in a way. There was a calm atmosphere that would be good for his patients and he wanted to make sure his office was just as calming and comforting of an atmosphere as possible; that sort of thing had always been his main goal after all.

The therapist made his way into his office to settle in, his thoughts briefly going to a few individuals that he'd spoken to as of late--like Fort Max, Ultra Magnus, and Whirl--the latter making him wince just a bit.

Not his best approach ever...

Rung shook his head a bit, optics dimming for a moment before he nudged those thoughts aside, collecting himself as he leaned back in his seat to start organizing some new data, wanting to have everything properly sorted for everyone he spoke to, just in case.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It was inevitable that eventually he'd speak to this Rung bot. Not only was the bot's office in the temple he lived in, but he'd been told by two people to talk to him. Both Autobots, but one of them actually mattered. So why not give it a shot?

Well, actually. He could think of at least ten good reasons why he shouldn't even attempt to talk to this mech. It was a terrible idea mostly. He'd probably be dead by the end of it. But his life was so...

He'd made friends with a human. A dead one at that, with some robotic skeleton, who was probably a husk thing soon to be taken over these evil reapers. He'd probably die from being friends with that guy. He was even crazy enough to let the guy use him to test his powers. He let him possess his tire for a few seconds. Something was clearly wrong with his processor.

And then to top it all off the only two bots in the entire place that were nice to him were Autobots. If the other Autobots didn't kill him for that then his fellow Decepticons would. Of course one of those Autobots was Wheeljack as well, and that was a whole other list of complications.

His life was out of control and luck would soon say it's over.

Yeah. Yeah talking to this mech couldn't be too bad, all things considered.

He'd still probably die however.

Sheepishly he knocks on the door, wings completely drooped, while doing his best to keep off to the side, and out of the way of the door frame.

In case he needed to bolt of course.

There was a brief moment when nothing came from the other side of the door before there was the sound of movement, something being set down before footsteps could be heard, all leading to the door being pulled open. Rung didn't honestly immediately recognize the bot on the other side of the door, someone with such bright colors rather hard to forget, but that didn't stop him from offering a warm smile in greeting all the same.

"Hello," he said politely, pulling the door open. "Please, come in." Then he paused, looking slightly sheepish. "Assuming you wanted to of course. I mean, you could be here for some other reason I suppose."

For a moment he thinks of turning, leaving while there's no sound and nothing happening. It'd be like he was never there. Talking to someone about things and problems? No, he shouldn't do it, he should just-

Oh the door opened.

Wings twitch as he looks from Rung to the floor. Maybe he should have covered up the Decepticon insignia on his shoulder before coming. Can't really miss the bright neon green, and bots always get so judgmental about Decepticons. Not that he can do much about it now.

"You're Rung, right?" it's a bit of a mumble, but it's there. "Whirl said I should talk to you."

Yup.

He shuffles awkwardly, uncertain if he should go into the office or not, despite the fact that he was just told to go in.

There was a flicker of surprise on Rung's face at the mention of Whirl, the therapist not having expected the other to really suggest him to anyone, all things considered. But the surprise was quickly gone as he nodded.

"Yes, I am--I mean that's me," he confirmed with a faint smile before motioning the other inside again. "Please, come in and have a seat. Make yourself comfortable."

Dead End nods slowly, quietly making his way inside as instructed. He can do this, no backing out now even if he wanted to. He just has to talk, and. Things. With a quick glance around the room the Decepticon gravitates towards the darkest corner and sits. Or rather pulls his knees up tight against his chest.

Chairs? Who uses chairs these days?

There's a quick glance at Rung before he musters up a voice to ask another question, "So, uh. How... How does this work?"

Decepticons don't really have therapists.

Shutting the door once Dead End had entered, Rung paused when the other spoke, having taken only a few steps away from the door.

"Well, it's up to you really. I'm here for you to talk at, talk to, ask questions and opinions..whatever you feel comfortable doing. If there's something bothering you, just..start talking. Sometimes that's the easiest way to do it," Rung explained, finally moving towards his desk, offering Dead End a reassuring look as he stepped around and sank down into his seat.

"The pace and what we discuss here is all up to you. Whatever you feel comfortable letting out, feel free to."

Whatever he feels comfortable doing. He can say whatever he wants. Whatever he wants.

Wings twitch as he attempts to grasp the concept, it's not really something that happens often. Not since joining the 'Cons anyway.

"So... Like at a bar?"

It's the closest he can relate it to. Customers coming in, getting overcharged on highgrade and then just telling him their life story as he serves up drinks to whoever orders. He could do this. Maybe.

"I, uh," he vents a sigh, he can do this at his own pace. Run said so and... this is harder than he thought, and he thought it would have been hard to begin with.

"I know I should be used to it, but it still bothers me that everyone hates me. I mean, I... I know I make a terrible Decepticon, not really being a fan of fighting and all that. And just look at me in this place, the only people that like me are two Autobots and a human. I'm lucky Megatron isn't here or I'd be shot on sight..."

That. That's a good start right?

"There's nothing wrong with being upset that others seem to hate you," Rung replied, lacing his fingers together and resting them on his desk. "The unfortunate thing about this place is while it is a neutral ground, there are still many harsh sentiments all around."

He was sincere about it being unfortunate, the therapist shaking his head a bit.

"It's not fair that anyone should be treated in any disrespectful way here."

"I guess not..." Although it was much less of seemed and more of outright stated. But, close enough. It wasn't like anything was going to change either way, so at least that was one thing spoken about and out of the way.

Take that therapy difficulties.

"Life's never fair," he sighs, shuffling a bit in his corner. "Although I guess it's not as bad as it could be. I'm not being beaten into fights here... I'm just waiting for my three. Friends, I guess, to start hating me too."

It's bound to happen sooner or later. Probably when he eats someone.

"That is the unfortunate truth about life, but that doesn't mean others have to add to it. There should a balance of fair and unfair, for all of us," Rung mused a bit, watching the other, trying to get a feel for him through his actions and just the way he was speaking in general.

Such an odd bot.

"Why would they start hating you? If they're your friends, I doubt they'll just up and start hating you."

Odd was really an understatement, but more on that later.

"That's too hopeful, it would never happen." Maybe for others, maybe, but never for a bot like him. If anything he'd be more likely to have things become worse rather than better. There won't be any fair and unfair balance.

"There's a good reason for it," mainly the eating other bots. "Once I have to stop myself from starving their opinions on me will change."

There was no way he'd still be liked once he has to kill someone.

The therapist's optics flickered a bit, a curious look crossing his face as he peered at Dead End.

"What do you mean..once you have to stop yourself from starving?" he asked, a patient note to his voice because he really wasn't sure what the other was going to think about him asking it.

Does he tell him? Not too many actually know about his diet, and he likes it that way, less bots out to actively kill him. If it were to get out, well he's doomed already, but his death would be far sooner. He might not be able to guarantee that his paintjob is flawless.

"I have a special diet..." It's no more than a quiet mumble. He isn't sure about this.

"So. You have to report to your Autobot commanders whenever a Decepticon comes to see you?"

Curious.

Rung just nodded though, not pressing the subject because the other clearly wasn't about to discuss it further so why would he attempt to get him to? Instead his optics flickered as the question that was asked, the therapist shaking his head with a bit of a reassuring smile starting.

"Here, to me at least, factions don't matter. You are a Cybertronian and therefore I want to help you, just as I would anyone else. My reports are my own and if anyone were to ask, I'd tell them what only what they needed to know, if that. At least, that's how I did things during the war," he explained, hoping to make it clear that he really wasn't the sort to just give away information like that.

Patient confidentiality was his number one priority.

That's a good start, although not completely comforting. His brows furrow in slight confusion, not with what Rung's said, but with himself.

Factions don't matter here, and the report on him would be Rung's alone, excluding some data if he was asked about... If Rung deemed it important to inform them at the very least.

"And what classifies as something they'd need to know?" he questions, wings perking up for once as he shuffles awkwardly in his spot.

"Generally it comes down to simple things like, whether or not I think an individual might be a threat, if I think they need further help, things of that nature. But, again, most of that happened during the war. Now..I suppose it would just depend on what I was asked and the situation itself, really. An extreme situation might call for a slightly more defined answer while a not so extreme situation might not get them anything at all," Rung answered honestly.

There was really only one bot currently in Haven that he would be more willing to tell things to--though even then it would only be on a need to know basis--and that was Ultra Magnus.

"A threat..." Doomed, he was completely doomed. There was no way his diet wouldn't raise alarm bells, even if he doesn't exactly have to kill to get the energy he needs. But frag if he didn't miss ripping a bot apart, cutting out their power core and gorging on it. Taking only some energy and not all of it, just wasn't enough. He can't really say that though, to Rung or to anyone.

Figures he'd never get what he wants.

"Then we'll just leave it at I have a special diet," he sighs."Energon can't sustain me, so I guess I talk about starving and dying more than most do... It's why Whirl told me to talk to you."

Dying and starving, always the main topic in just about any conversation with him.

Now there was concern in the therapist's expression, concern that he wasn't trying to hide.

"If..there's something that I can do..have you tried asking for anyone's help with it? Your diet I mean. There has to be something that can be done. You shouldn't have to starve yourself just because of a difference in your diet."

It really wasn't clicking with Rung that this 'special diet' may be something that's not so easy to deal with, his worry for the other outweighing any other concerns.

Well that's something new. He doesn't really get that kind of look. Ever.

"You can't really help with my diet." Besides he promised Whirl he wouldn't hurt Rung. He plans on sticking to that, unless there's some kind of emergency starving issue and Rung's the only thing around.

"No one's going to help me if I ask for it. I've tried before and got weird looks, a gun pointed at my head, called a freak, and I'm pretty sure I made Autobot medics hate me."

That was basically what happened anyway.

He vents another sigh. His life. He hates it.

Rung couldn't help but frown, a little, tiny bubble of irritation building inside him but he did his best not to let it show outright.

And failed a tiny bit.

"That's...well, you've never asked me for help before. I'm not going point a gun at you--I don't even have a gun," the therapist murmured, holding his hands out a bit in a gesture of 'Look, I'm weaponless and weak'. "I want to help you, if you'll let me."

Dead End simply stares at the therapist for a moment. Oh yes, he's never had someone react this way to him before. What the frag does he do? How does he respond to this?

"But you can't... Even if I wanted you to help."

Rung really doesn't strike him as the kind of bot capable or willing to do what he'd need to keep his systems full of energy.

"Listen, I know I'm going to die. It's fine. I've known that for a long time now."

"We're all going to die at some point, but there's no reason in helping it along if there's a possibility that it can be put off," Rung countered, giving the other a serious look because he wasn't going to let this go that easily.

It just..no. He didn't like the idea of anyone, former 'Con or 'Bot or other alike, being denied help for any reason.

"Please. There has to be something I can do."

"I try not to help it along. I like to live as long as I can... At least give myself enough time so that I'll leave a nice looking corpse. Make everyone see what they missed out on..."

His paint job still needed some work, it wasn't perfect enough for him just yet. If he could die looking nice, dying might not be so bad.

Dead End turns his gaze away from Rung and to the floor, a finger quietly tapping against his knee. How to say this? Does he even want to? He shouldn't have said anything, this was a bad idea. Rung's reacting all weird and... caring.

He doesn't know how to deal with this.

"You can't... I eat other bots, alright! Not that I chose this diet."

He's just going to avoid eye contact. Sounds good.

Eat other bots.

Out of all the things that he had been expecting to hear, that actually hadn't been on the list. But it didn't send him cringing or ordering the other to get out. He sat there for a long moment, watching Dead End, contemplating things before he slowly stood and moved around the desk.

There was no fear or disgust, nothing like that, as Rung approached the other, reaching out to touch his shoulder as he tried to get the other to look at him once again.

"..Have you tried talking to the Firstforged? Or perhaps one of the scientists? There...maybe there's a way to create a synthetic substance--a synthetic spark that could sustain you?" he suggested, not really a science minded mech himself but he was trying to throw out some possibilities. "There has to be something that can help you...and if you'll let me, I'd like to help."

At least he could say that he tried the whole therapy thing. It was nice (although that was being extremely generous) while it lasted, but so much for that now that his diet was out.

He merely continued to sit, focused on the ground as he waited for the yelling. It was usually yelling. Instead what he gets is the feeling of a hand on his shoulder.

What?

Slowly Dead End looks up, eying Rung, entirely confused.

Where was the yelling?

"I... What?" This makes no sense at all. He should be kicked out right about now.

"Power cores," he corrects, "never tried a spark before, but with the way everyone keeps talking about them, makes me feel like I'm missing something... But I like power cores."

No. No. This really isn't right here.

"Shouldn't you be kicking me out now? Or yelling? Particularly yelling offensive things at me?"

Like a normal bot.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject