re_alignment_logs | I felt like destroying something beautiful

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I felt like destroying something beautiful

Who: Drift and open
What: Catharsis
When Nowish
Where Outside Vector's place
Warnings Damage to harmless innocent geology and if you look slantwise, suicidal tendencies maybe?

It's morning--or what passes for it here. And there's a sharp, ringing sound, of metal on stone, and then another. They keep coming, sometimes a quick flurry, sometimes one, or two at a time, like the blows are calculated.

Drift's standing in a rough circle, blades drawn, in a loose version of an old Decepticon training ring. On the main vectors of the circle, at the perimeter stand rough pillars of stone: crystal and schist, nodules of manganese and pyrite.

Fool's gold. It's fitting.

There are sparks, as the metal of Drift's blades strike flint in the sedimentary stones, or larger sparks, as he slices into the strange quartz of this place. His style isn't like Wing's--Wing's bladework is elegant, almost dancer-like: Drift's is sharp and explosive, honed less on a pretty, underground practice floor than in the thick of combat.

He's fighting something here. Not enemies, but himself.

After a moment, he throws the two short blades aside, their blades ringing on the stone, and draws the Great Sword. There's a blaze of light, like sunlight or flame, from the golden gem in its hilt, and bright energy skitters down the blade, filling the glyphs like liquid light, as he moves to attack one of the mindless chunks of stone again, his face set and resolute.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Drift's moving slowly, in smooth, even strides, over the bridges toward Vector's palace proper, trying not to jostle her.

"Sneak out? Vandal. You're not going to get in trouble, are you?"

All this means is they're going to need to concoct a good cover story. And then...that matter with Skids.

"Probably. But I can probably make the big puppy eyes... eye. At Ambulon and he'll crumble." Hopefully. He can be kind of a hard ass.

"I'll take responsibility and tell them I coerced you into cooperating." She snerks.

"Does that work? On Ambulon?" Wow, he couldn't see it: not the way Ambulon huffed him around. "Maybe it's not something I can pull off, though," he muses.

"I think we should, you know, maybe try to get you back without him noticing." Not yet, though. He mounts the last ramp, leading toward his quarters.

"Wellllllllllll... I dunno really. Haven't tested it. But who can resist the. Adorable disgusting organic with the drinking problem, right?" If she jokes about it that makes it okay. Except not.

"You should try though seriously. Open your optics super wide and look like you're gonna cry." Mostly she just wants to see him make faces.

"I think that's doable."

"....you're not disgusting." Drift really takes the essential info out of that sentence. Sucks out all the humor, though.

"I...what?" He tries, for a moment, to do what she's suggesting, and ends up just scrunching up his face. "Kind of painful."

He sure focuses in there doesn't he?

"Thank you," Nice to hear you're not disgusting after getting sliced up and becoming a cyclops...

"Ahah, we'll have to work on that." She can't help but give a low chuckle.

Robots. (Drift).

He tries. He thinks it's helping.

"I mean, you're like the opposite of disgusting." That's even more helpful, right? Maybe he wasn't positive enough last time.

"....I'm not sure I could survive the attempt."

It earns a laugh from her and she pats him.

"Thank you, Drift." She admits, she likes giving him a hard time. He makes it easy, but she'd rather he be comfortable.

"Ahh I believe in you. But I suppose it is risky."

As long as she's laughing and happy, he's fine.

"I think I need more practice in that, too." Compliments hurt his face less than that other thing.

"...risky?"

"Hey, I won't say no if you want to flatter me," She jokes, wiggling to get a bit more comfortable.

"Don't you know if you keep making faces it might stick that way?"

"I'm not as good at it as Wing probably is, though." Damn you, Wing, with all that natural chivalry and stuff.

"Really? Then, uh, well. I mean I'm sure Ratchet...could..fix..." Uh. Yeah that'd be a hell of a thing to explain to Ratchet.

"Yeah but there's nobody quite like you." It's true, for all the occasional awkward, his strengths outshine it easily.

She barks a laugh.

"I was just joking. Your face won't actually stick."

"I could say the same about you. Except, you've already said it so it sounds...lame." You sure you've thought this through, Vandal? You want to be with a giant raging robodork?

"Oh. I didn't think it would. I mean, surely I'd've heard of it before now." Unlesssssss that's why mechs wore face masks? Suddenly Turmoil seems...even freakier.

"Well I appreciate the sentiment."

On the contrary, he's and incredibly cute dork. She reaches up to rub one of his finials affectionately with a soft snerk.

"Surely, you would have, yes." She grins.

"Good." A relieved sound. He ducks his head, trying to hide his reaction, because the finial touch...kind of tickles.

Right. She was making fun of him. "Well. I mean, I just don't think it would work for me. That's all." That's totally what he meant. Shush.

For once, tickling wasn't what she was going for, but she'll take it.

"Don't think you could puppy-face your way out of something?" He probably could with her, honestly.

Well, it 'kind of' tickled. Not entirely.

"No. Uh. Pretty sure that wouldn't work." He shrugs. "But you could."

"Ehhhhhhhhh. I dunno. I think I get by on pity more than anything else," She laughs, continuing her idle petting over his helm.

"But nice of you to have that much faith in me."

"Pity?" He frowns. "I don't pity you, Vandal. I don't think anyone does."

But right now, he's just going to tilt his head down into the touch.

"Thank you."

She grins and keeps rubbing and scratching.

"Damn why are you so cute..."

"I'm....not?" But she might want to give him a bit of a scritch break because he is trying to carry her and that's getting distracting.

"Ehh it's not up for debate."

She pauses to wag her finger at him.

"It's gotta be the ears. They channel it."

"Ears?" He moves the hand that's not holding her to rub his helm. "I think they're just, you know, decoration. Or something."

He turns the last corner, and enters the keycode to his room. "Do you, uh, need anything while we're here?"

"Nah. They're your secret weapon," She decides plainly with a nod.

"Just you." She'll be damned if they aren't going to cuddle.

"So secret I don't know about them." Lame joke time.

He looks a little startled. He's not quite sure what good he can do, but, whatever. "You want, uh, the window or the berth or...where?"

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