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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.
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