Aʀᴄᴇᴇ [ ɪᴅᴡ ] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fugitrix) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
re_alignment_logs2013-07-02 08:13 pm
fugitrix) wrote in re_alignment_logs2013-07-02 08:13 pm
[ open ]
WHO: Arcee & anyone
WHERE: Mostly Leige's place, but she's going to be checking other places. Please note where they're at!
WHEN: Over the week
WHAT: Arcee scouting around, clinging to buildings, invading ceilings and vents, perching on roofs, and generally spying on people and being awkward.
WARNINGS: None currently?
[ 01. Leige's Temple ]
So this was Cybertron. Not her Cybertron, but a fresh, new one. Barely touched, not like their reformatted home. Arcee had listened to the drone because she had recognized for what it was, because she had little other choice but to listen if she wanted answers. But every answer just lead to more questions. Who were these Thirteen and what did this Leige want with her?
The branding she'd cut into her shoulder still hurt, but it was the other brand she picked at. If there was one thing that Cybertron had taught her, is that she had to fight to belong; it didn't come easy, and when it did, it generally it was never under favorable circumstances. She didn't trust easy, had no reason to trust Leige. Better to gain the advantage first before sticking out her neck. Times like this, she missed the simplicity of hunting Jhiaxus and the driving rage.
Leige's territory was cold outside of the tower. Much colder than she was used to on Cybertron; more cold like the brush of the Dead Universe. Her plating was tucked seamless against her frame, trapping in heat as she scaled the outside of the tower. What heat her plating let escape, the cloth she had covered herself in took care of the rest. A high point allowed her to get a better look at the area, get a better bearing of the territory. She needed to know her knew stomping grounds.
It was always easier to come into private places from the outside; nobody usually expected break-ins this high up. It wasn't just for fun. Arcee tried windows, crawled into vents, and slipped into rooms to sort through and read whatever information she could find. She tucked away items that looked dangerous, important, valuable. Whatever she could use.
[ooc: Arcee's p good at this. She probably won't be seen looking through junk unless she wants to be seen, but I'm k with working things out. ]
----
[ 02. Junk Pile ]
It was hard to miss the large pile of junk and debris in the middle of the Haven. The first time Arcee laid eyes upon it, she briefly wondered how it got so big. The population didn't seem large enough to produce that much waste-- it was like it all fell from the sky like she did, although she couldn't see anything dropping. She'd never say she wasn't a curious mech.
It took some picking through, but the pile of junk held some interesting finds. If she picked around long enough, sometimes she'd find something mostly undamaged and completely alien to her. She tugs down the cloth mask she wore, hunching over some tiny machine, trying to figure out the purpose of it. She pushes down the lever, her thick winglets tensing at the following series of clicks. When it dings roughly a minute later, her automatic reaction was to slam a hand down on it, crunching it beneath her palm.
Ah, well. How was she supposed to know it wasn't dangerous?
She vents, rolling her shoulders and scowls down at the broken machine. She still didn't really get the point of it. She pushes it aside, then starts sorting through the junk again.
WHERE: Mostly Leige's place, but she's going to be checking other places. Please note where they're at!
WHEN: Over the week
WHAT: Arcee scouting around, clinging to buildings, invading ceilings and vents, perching on roofs, and generally spying on people and being awkward.
WARNINGS: None currently?
[ 01. Leige's Temple ]
So this was Cybertron. Not her Cybertron, but a fresh, new one. Barely touched, not like their reformatted home. Arcee had listened to the drone because she had recognized for what it was, because she had little other choice but to listen if she wanted answers. But every answer just lead to more questions. Who were these Thirteen and what did this Leige want with her?
The branding she'd cut into her shoulder still hurt, but it was the other brand she picked at. If there was one thing that Cybertron had taught her, is that she had to fight to belong; it didn't come easy, and when it did, it generally it was never under favorable circumstances. She didn't trust easy, had no reason to trust Leige. Better to gain the advantage first before sticking out her neck. Times like this, she missed the simplicity of hunting Jhiaxus and the driving rage.
Leige's territory was cold outside of the tower. Much colder than she was used to on Cybertron; more cold like the brush of the Dead Universe. Her plating was tucked seamless against her frame, trapping in heat as she scaled the outside of the tower. What heat her plating let escape, the cloth she had covered herself in took care of the rest. A high point allowed her to get a better look at the area, get a better bearing of the territory. She needed to know her knew stomping grounds.
It was always easier to come into private places from the outside; nobody usually expected break-ins this high up. It wasn't just for fun. Arcee tried windows, crawled into vents, and slipped into rooms to sort through and read whatever information she could find. She tucked away items that looked dangerous, important, valuable. Whatever she could use.
[ooc: Arcee's p good at this. She probably won't be seen looking through junk unless she wants to be seen, but I'm k with working things out. ]
----
[ 02. Junk Pile ]
It was hard to miss the large pile of junk and debris in the middle of the Haven. The first time Arcee laid eyes upon it, she briefly wondered how it got so big. The population didn't seem large enough to produce that much waste-- it was like it all fell from the sky like she did, although she couldn't see anything dropping. She'd never say she wasn't a curious mech.
It took some picking through, but the pile of junk held some interesting finds. If she picked around long enough, sometimes she'd find something mostly undamaged and completely alien to her. She tugs down the cloth mask she wore, hunching over some tiny machine, trying to figure out the purpose of it. She pushes down the lever, her thick winglets tensing at the following series of clicks. When it dings roughly a minute later, her automatic reaction was to slam a hand down on it, crunching it beneath her palm.
Ah, well. How was she supposed to know it wasn't dangerous?
She vents, rolling her shoulders and scowls down at the broken machine. She still didn't really get the point of it. She pushes it aside, then starts sorting through the junk again.
no subject
Arcee's torn between horrified and fascinated, some sort of morbid curiosity gripping her. She wanted to get closer but at the same time she wanted to recoil. Her thoughts may have more clarity now, but the memories of the abuse, torture, pain-- those were still very fresh.
"That doesn't mean I don't know anything." She's already defensive, her hands clutching slightly at her sides.
"Elita." She doesn't recognize the name. "How did you..." How to put it into words? "You're different."
no subject
"If you listened to the Acolyte and actually afforded it the benefit of not immediately doubting it, you know more than some others who've recently arrived," Elita says, voice dry, and she stops with a length of a few frame-lengths between them - she can see the tension laced though Arcee's frame, and, not knowing exactly what it was due to, thinks it better to afford her some space.
They're close enough to talk relatively comfortably by now anyway, though the question makes her grimace a little. Why does it always come to that..? Though. If this is the mech, Arcee? that some from a particular reality have mistaken her for, maybe the question is just an extension of their confusion.
Not that she was sure what it was for, since from her point of view... she wasn't that different at all. Others were just as slender, and her curves were hardly unique... though admittedly both of that on the same frame kind of was.
"I was sparked this way, if that's what you're asking. So I'm... not sure I can explain." She spreads her hands, palms up, helm tilting and keeping a leash of the vague annoyance of being questioned about it yet again.
There's a difference here compared to the usual confusion.
Personal, perhaps.
"Why?"
no subject
Arcee's lips quirk up, just a little, visible only by a little twitch in the cloth covering her face. "I was never one to turn down free answers," she says just as dry. Why would she? Information given freely wasn't always correct, but it was still information. It was a start and much easier to poke holes in than nothing at all.
Elita's confusion is infectious. This wasn't about frame types; the frame she had now may be sturdier, but that isn't what made her unique. She'd started out the same, just like any other mech. The idea of being sparked like this was pretty unfathomable.
"I've never seen another. You're perfect."
She moves closer, her hand reaching out to cup Elita's face. She couldn't help it, it was a compulsive urge to touch, to help put feeling to what she was seeing.
no subject
Put on each other's lipstick.See who can tag a target first without being spotted while doing so."Information can always be double-checked and confirmed or denied later." Elita agrees with a quirk of the upper edge of an optic, keeping her helm tilted, dry amusement lingering even when Arcee comes closer...
But when she gets close enough to not just touch but cups her face, Elita... tenses, stance shifting a little, ready for... well, anything. This wasn't what she'd expected, and briefly, her optics widen a little.
But then Arcee doesn't do anything else, so she lets her hands relax at her sides and... stands there. She doesn't have all the information, and Elita, sometimes, can be too boldly curious than, perhaps, is healthy.
"... That's not what I'd call myself. Given, though, there's not been many like me... us, either here or in my reality." She says it slowly, partly because she's suddenly unsure if they're actually talking about the same thing... and partly because it was sort of odd to feel Arcee's fingers against her cheeks while she speaks.
"But none, really?"
no subject
Elita would look nice in blue.Might be more fun to tag each other.Elita gets what she means and that certainly was a relief. Sometimes the words failed her. Interacting in a world without war was... difficult. Her fingers stroke over the cheeks, feeling the seamless plating, then move to the helm, the audials, and then down over the neck cabling. She was just... petting, marveling at the feel of the metal under her fingers.
"You don't have the stain of his touch on you at all. I'd feel it."
She realizes, after a few moments, that Elita likely has no idea what she's talking of. That's a bizarre feeling and it makes an electric shiver run down her spinal strut.
"Do you know Jhiaxus?" 'Is he here' is a moot question. She'd know.
no subject
It would match her optics. Perhaps something in gold for Arcee... as a callback?Well, that certainly has potential.She doesn't, indeed, have even the smallest of inklings of what, or rather who, Arcee's talking about... Though, admittedly, she's a bit more busy being surprised at Arcee's method of exploration.
She manages to stand still, if barely, especially as those fingers wander out to the audial spines, the touch as much pressure as the sound of the movement.
"Jhiaxus?" She pronounces it slowly, nearly exaggeratedly - if either of them had known English and been speaking it, Elita's pronounciation would probably sound closer to 'gee axe us', than the name it actually was. "I... no. I think someone else here mentioned that name."
She pauses, then, optics flickering over Arcee's frame, putting together what she's had given to her so far by others here, presumably from the same reality Arcee's from, and what Arcee has said.
"... He has something to do with... you?" Her helm inclines just barely, the thought... unsettling, aware of Arcee's hand at her neck, though if anything happens now, she's still confident she'd be able to handle it.
no subject
"Jhiaxus," she repeats, and then suddenly the touching gets awkward.
The change in her body language is almost immediate. Ger shoulders raise slightly with sudden social awkwardness. Her hands pull away as she takes a small step back, folding her arms across her chassis.
"He did something to me," she clarifies.
She's not sure if Elita would understand. She wants her to understand, though. She desperately wants someone she can relate to.
"My name-- Is Arcee. Jhiaxus... made me like you. I wasn't always this way."
no subject
Not so much shocked, as protective.
"He did what!?" She can't really comprehend it, the thought of being in any way... changed, and, considering Arcee's reaction to her, to what she just said... unwillingly as well.
"I hope he paid for it." Her optics narrow and she takes the half-step she'd retreated forward again, but doesn't get closer even if she... wants to reach out, to just lay a hand on Arcee's shoulder or something.
But not knowing how that would be recieved, she doesn't.
"I didn't even think that could be possible." The only changes she's heard of are terrible, yes, but more like extreme reformats, forced changes too expansive for the spark to support, like the Decepticons' first spacebridge... "It's impressive you survived it."
Once again her hand brushes over her chestplates and the spark beneath, then she briefly reaches her hand out, offer as much as possible support. It's impressive, of course, not because this is some sort of confusing mess... if you're naturally as Elita is, but unwillingly, not prepared for it... having known something else?
She can't quite imagine.
no subject
"I killed him. Numerous times, in thousands of different ways. I enjoyed it," she says, her voice remorseless. She didn't hide how she felt. Her revenge had consumed a large portion of her life. It had meant so much to her. People who say that revenge doesn't fix anything are wrong. It made her feel so much better.
"Jhiaxus is a genius. Cybertron's most renowned and brilliant scientist. His accomplishments are as numerous as his atrocities. It's a youngling's work to him."
She finally reaches out, threading her fingers with Elita's hand, her touch unsure.
"I didn't measure up to his expectations, so I was discarded."
Mutilated, then thrown away like trash.
no subject
But then, considering what was done..? Her helm dips slightly, and despite the change in stance, there's no hesitation at all as she twines her fingers with Arcee's, when the touch comes. She squeezes it a bit.
"A bit excessive, maybe, but on the other hand, what price does something like that have?" She looks up again, deliberately meeting Arcee's optics. "Genius or not, some things shouldn't be done. And from where I'm standing, it looks like you surpassed those expectations, despite what he thought."
She can honestly not tell something is (supposed to be) off, but then, they're from different realities. Perhaps that makes whatever edge that's there lose some of its bite?