Drift (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sword_redemption) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
re_alignment_logs2013-01-03 10:36 am
sword_redemption) wrote in re_alignment_logs2013-01-03 10:36 am
Entry tags:
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.
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.
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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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"Your best weapons I think." Aside from the three swords.
"Wherever you're most comfortable. I just want to sit with you a while."
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"I guess they are kind of sharp?"
He nods, and then moves her to the berth, lowering her carefully down before moving to take the Great Sword off his back. "I like the view but you can see it from here, too." Best of both things or something.
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"Now... did you want to talk? Or would you rather just relax or play a game or something?"
She'll leave this choice for him.
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"I, uh, do you want to talk?" He has no idea what they'd talk about.
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"I'm here for you. That's all. Whatever you need, Drift. Just name it, alright?"
She's not usually the very patient, emotionally open person, but she's trying.
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So simple, right? Why is it so damn hard?
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She agrees, it has been nearly impossible to keep things peaceful.
She looks up, if he wants to go on. She'll listen.
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"It's, uh, I really, well, Wing." Maybe she can make sense of that?
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"I take it you two are having some issues?" Her fingers knit together.
"If you want to tell me you can, and I can either give you my best advice or I can just listen and hear you out. Whatever you need right at this moment."
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"It's not, it's just." He scrubs a hand over his face. He doesn't know how much he can tell her, that's his business to tell. "He, uh, he did something and didn't tell me and it hurts."
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"Well, it's definitely okay to be hurt." She;s not sure if he wants any advice, so she keeps it to herself unless requested.
"Did he apologize?"
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"It's not wrong to have feelings, Drift. It's what you do with 'em I guess. And that's only for you to decide. But what I'm saying is... basically. It's okay to feel that way. It's a natural reaction. I mean, at least by human standards."
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"And I should be happy for him, you know? That he's happy. That's what should matter, right?" He realizes that he's been standing, like an idiot, folding to sit on the berth, staring at his hands.
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She moves to lean up against him, over the red arc of his thigh plating.
"Your happiness matters too, Drift." Her tone is even, understanding. At least trying to.
She hopes she's doing an okay job at being a decent friend.
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He moves one hand to curve around her. "I don't know what makes me happy. I don't like being jealous." Childish and simple, but...truth.
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"You're worth it, Drift." At least to her, but she's less sought after in that department, so she's not sure if the words will strike home.
"This too, will pass. S'what my mom always told me. I think if you love someone enough, you can overcome. Like. Stuff and. Things."
Eloquent as ever, but her point stands, even if it is clumsy and poorly phrased.
"No matter what happens though, I'm here for you, okay?"
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He strokes a hand over her shoulderm, with a lopsided smile. "I thought peace would be, you know, easier." He almost misses fighting. At least that's clear.
"I hope you know the same, Karrie. If there's anything I can do..."
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She leans into the touch, smiling back at him.
"Things like this are a bit more complex than just knowing who to shoot, I imagine."
She shakes her head, chuckling.
"I know. You do plenty enough just putting up with my fat ass being a liability."
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There's a shadow over his face, thinking back to his conversation with Vector.
"And that hurts." He means to be the one surviving. He's lost Gasket. And Wing. He knows.
"Karrie. You're not a liability."
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She reaches up to take his hand in both of her's.
"Thank you. Just... try not to overthink things, okay?"
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"I don't want--" He shakes his head, curling his hand in hers. "Karrie. If anything happens to me, you have Wing. And he you. Right?"
It's not overthinking to worry about what happens if you die, is it?
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"Yes, of course. But don't talk like that. You're gonna be okay, alright? For sure."
She leans in a little more, pressing her eat to his plating and hearing all the clicking and whirring and humming that made up his vital functions.
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There's a long silence before he laughs. "I'm...really terrible at this caretaking thing, aren't I?"
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