Soundwave [shattered glass] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
inferiordude) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
re_alignment_logs2013-03-07 10:16 am
inferiordude) wrote in re_alignment_logs2013-03-07 10:16 am
emulation of a twisted calling | CLOSED
WHO: Fortress Maximus and Soundwave
WHERE: Borderlands of a haven
WHEN: Thursday afternoon
WHAT: For better or for worst, Fort Max and Soundwave end up crossing paths again with varying results.
WARNINGS: N/A, will update as needed.
Time seems to have slipped through his fingers somehow.
In the span of time throughout his wanderings, he's found himself edging closer to listen. Just to listen to the noise that echoes from the Badlands and into him. Everyone has their own brand of music. Without an outlet, it only grows and grows, and it is this song that he hears the most out of anything.
It doesn't occur to him what it might be.
But he is inspired, for all that it means. Soundwave has never composed his own music before, and he's hoping to start now.
Balancing a datapad on his lap, the musician sorts through scales and applies notes, his visor glowing to imply his intense concentration. In his hand, he clutches the device that Megatron had given him; it still has old entries to the network from Axiom, but it cannot upload anything.
It's sort of a nice comfort to have, someone who probably understands him more than anyone.
Shame he's dead. It's a shame a lot of people have come and gone.
WHERE: Borderlands of a haven
WHEN: Thursday afternoon
WHAT: For better or for worst, Fort Max and Soundwave end up crossing paths again with varying results.
WARNINGS: N/A, will update as needed.
Time seems to have slipped through his fingers somehow.
In the span of time throughout his wanderings, he's found himself edging closer to listen. Just to listen to the noise that echoes from the Badlands and into him. Everyone has their own brand of music. Without an outlet, it only grows and grows, and it is this song that he hears the most out of anything.
It doesn't occur to him what it might be.
But he is inspired, for all that it means. Soundwave has never composed his own music before, and he's hoping to start now.
Balancing a datapad on his lap, the musician sorts through scales and applies notes, his visor glowing to imply his intense concentration. In his hand, he clutches the device that Megatron had given him; it still has old entries to the network from Axiom, but it cannot upload anything.
It's sort of a nice comfort to have, someone who probably understands him more than anyone.
Shame he's dead. It's a shame a lot of people have come and gone.