Kagerou | BP-500X (
thxforthememories) wrote in
re_alignment_logs2013-11-03 04:23 pm
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i can feel them always right behind
WHO: Warped!Kagerou and OPEN
WHERE: Trion's temple, the police HQ and the general hub area.
WHEN: After the Pillar's arrival, continuing all week.
WHAT: Having wiggled away from the other BPs, and faced with a strange new world to poke at, the bird starts prowling around to get the lay of the land, so to speak. Stalking people seems like a great way to accomplish this.
WARNINGS: Proooobably violence. Just in case.
Not Earth.
Some other world. Nothing like he was familiar with. None of the other Brave Police were acting as they should. Even their leader seemed altered, somehow. He was too gentle. Too weak. He hadn't even lashed out, when he'd been challenged. All the more reason to dismiss him entirely. Why should someone such as Kagerou listen to such a fool?
He'd survived. He'd won his place. He was strong, and they were weak.
But this world... this world was different. He needed to see more of it. To understand it -- if he were going to make his mark on it, to be remembered by it -- he needed to explore. To examine.
To stalk.
No one was going to keep him locked away now. Not when there was so much to see. So many to impress his existence upon. McCrane -- the strangely coherent, strangely intelligent, McCrane -- wanted him to see the world. Very well, then.
He made his way throughout the area he'd awoken in. He poked his head into every room, wove his way through every shadow. There was so much to see. Stacks of books bored him, so he moved on.
After that, he set his sights on the supposed "police station". On the headquarters of the other residents. Their little hub was quickly infiltrated. He still remained in shadow, however, observing, lurking...
... at least, until he saw someone worthy of notice.
WHERE: Trion's temple, the police HQ and the general hub area.
WHEN: After the Pillar's arrival, continuing all week.
WHAT: Having wiggled away from the other BPs, and faced with a strange new world to poke at, the bird starts prowling around to get the lay of the land, so to speak. Stalking people seems like a great way to accomplish this.
WARNINGS: Proooobably violence. Just in case.
Not Earth.
Some other world. Nothing like he was familiar with. None of the other Brave Police were acting as they should. Even their leader seemed altered, somehow. He was too gentle. Too weak. He hadn't even lashed out, when he'd been challenged. All the more reason to dismiss him entirely. Why should someone such as Kagerou listen to such a fool?
He'd survived. He'd won his place. He was strong, and they were weak.
But this world... this world was different. He needed to see more of it. To understand it -- if he were going to make his mark on it, to be remembered by it -- he needed to explore. To examine.
To stalk.
No one was going to keep him locked away now. Not when there was so much to see. So many to impress his existence upon. McCrane -- the strangely coherent, strangely intelligent, McCrane -- wanted him to see the world. Very well, then.
He made his way throughout the area he'd awoken in. He poked his head into every room, wove his way through every shadow. There was so much to see. Stacks of books bored him, so he moved on.
After that, he set his sights on the supposed "police station". On the headquarters of the other residents. Their little hub was quickly infiltrated. He still remained in shadow, however, observing, lurking...
... at least, until he saw someone worthy of notice.
Oooooooh, loving that soundtrack music!
Thundercracker wondered how long it would be before someone came out to stop him, to tell him "his kind" weren't welcome here, to arrest him for trying to enter. Or for existing at all.
He'd finally gotten the control collar off, though the damage to his systems would require a medic. Even without the accursed thing, he couldn't fly, his thrusters refusing to respond. Transforming was still out of the question, though that was a matter of physics as much as anything - too many transformation seams were warped and bent over one another, too impacted by the damage of vicious abuse to move over and around each other like they should. That would require a medic too.
And submitting himself to a medic required trust, something he'd been more than a little short on for eons.
The abused Seeker with the mismatched wings stood at the door of the bar. He was already too far in, too public, too close to walls, to windows, to doors that anyone could emerge from, recapture him, drag him back to Master, back to his punishment for having escaped yet again.
I didn't escape. It wasn't me this time. Master's . . . Master's NOT! HERE! fraggit!!
So why couldn't he make himself enter the bar?
Because no matter how many times he told himself he'd never fully bent, he wasn't truly broken . . . they'd managed to condition him deeper than he wanted to admit.
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Another robot. Not a model he recognized. Was it opposition? An interloper? Some other AI looking to claim Brave Police territory? No. That would never do.
Why was it hovering by the door? Didn't it know how to enter? How faulty was its programming?
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making himself stepstepping defiantly across the threshold. He shifted instantly to one side, putting his back to the wall. No one could come up behind him or even easily flank him that way. His gaze took in the room with a single sweep, finding it empty but for an obvious drone behind the liquor bar.Security . . . what kind of security do they have here?
Too-long habit made him want to know where the cameras were so he could avoid them as best he could. He looked up-
-and bucked back into the wall itself, flinching as he pressed scorched furrowed whiplashes, optics bright at the abnormal sight of a mech clinging to the ceiling.
"…the frag are you?"
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Damaged wings flicked. He hadn't repaired them after the fight with Power Joe. It didn't hurt his flying any. But it was irritating.
His grin only widened when it noticed him. And he didn't move from his hanging position.
"Hello," he all but purred. "What is it? That's the better question."
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An assumption, a wrong one? Mistaking exactly which of them that ceiling!mech was referring to? Yes . . . and he's not even aware of it, too used to being cut down and dismissed.
Still grimacing, he regarded the other with dark, narrow optics. "Are you the security in this place?"
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Well, this was entertaining, at least. This robot was reacting so well. It wasn't doing anything to hide it. What a pathetic excuse it was.
He started skittering down the wall, then, his optics always on the strange robot, the smile still firmly in place.
"No."
The word came out sing-song.
"I'm the law."
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Especially with Skywarp here, and alive. If he lost the wing, he still had his wingmate.
The grin turns to a grimace as he watches the other crawl unnaturally down the wall, he himself shifting sideways to put more space between them. And then . . .
Those words.
A hot spark goes through him, anger turning to
terrordeep alarm and wariness at the pronouncement. And it had been spoken with such . . . such glee. He'd had law enforcers quite readily tell him exactly who they were - and what they intended to do to him - before, in detail, but . . .. . . this was different. This mech's grin was too wide, his optics too bright. There was something . . . something not quite right about him.
Thundercracker edged away from him, hoping for the nearest door, the nearest escape. "You're police, then?" He spat the word, as if it were the most disgusting thing he knew. And under "master" . . . it was.
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It kept him alive, after all.
"So angry it is," he purrs, again. The word it comes out emphasized. Purposefully so. "But so impotent. It just stands there! Maybe it's scared, too!"
He had something to dig into now. He'd twist it. Gleefully.
As he touched the ground, he took a few prancing steps forward, spreading his wings and hands, grinning, laughing low in his throat.
"I am! Look at it! Being so bright, isn't it. Time to pay respect, hmm? To the law? The law -- the law -- the police."
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History Event Afraid? In a word . . . yes, actually. Despite what he'd told that mech Fracas, he did fear. More than he would ever admit. He'd been taught well, beaten and brought low, far too low, over too many eons. But fear always turned to anger, and it had been the anger-to-action that he'd had to learn to curb. To survive. He'd had to survive to keep from leaving Skywarp alone . . . and more recently he had to live to keep his wingmate's memory. And Starscream's. And Vos in general, in all her once-glory.
The police-bot dug into his inaction and his wings twitched, fists clenching. The mech was goading him, trying to make him attack. And if he wasn't careful, he would. He had before. And barely escaped the worst condemnation for it, a life sentence in the deep mines.
"Respect has to be earned. Master." The words came out in clipped growls even as he found himself retreating step by step from the other's advance. Optics darted for escape routes, impromptu weapons, anything. If this police-bot got hands on him . . . he pay, and dearly, he just knew it.
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It's as if some part of him can sense that fear. As if he's tasted blood in the water.
The light in his optics is too bright, by far. If he were human, he'd look as if he were fevered. A low, bubbling laugh pools on the edges of his words, refusing to be contained.
"Oh... oh I do so like that name," he says. Damaged wing panels flick. "Keep going. Keep talking -- scared little machine."
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Thundercracker retreated despite his best intentions. This apparently crazed police-bot had come down the wall between him and the door, cutting him off from easy escape. He could fight back, of course –he was still more than capable, gladiator that he was –but did he dare?
Could he afford not to?
This isn't home. Things are different here.
His own wings flicked in reaction to the motion of the other's, strangely shaped and jointed things that they were. He braced, making himself stop and subconsciously shifting into a defensive fighting stance.
"What do you want from me, police-bot?"
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He could live here.
His steps were slow, nonchalant. His hips almost swaying with the motion. Every single shift and twitch radiates sheer, unbridled confidence. He has one of these supposedly superior beings shaking where it stands. How glorious.
He walks -- no, struts -- right up to it, peering at it with not a single shred of shame or reservation.
"It amuses me," he drawls. "It really, really does. There's what I want."
Let me know if this isn't okay! =}
"Amusement? Entertainment? Is that it?" Each word comes out a deeper growl. Masters and other authority figures generally only mean three things when it comes to those and Seekers –a fight, so they can prove they're superior when they win (by any means necessary); a beating, so they can prove their superiority without having to risk injury themselves; or a forced spark-meld, as rape is always a sure way of asserting domination over the one forced.
Is that it, then? Frag you… "FRAG YOU!"
Thundercracker is moving before he's fully aware of what he's doing, defending himself with a sudden offense. He'll pay dearly and he knows it, but right at this moment . . . he doesn't care.
He bounds away from the wall, shifting around the police-bot so he's not feeling quite so pinned. But in the next instant, he's diving straight at the mech, intent on slamming him against the wall, aiming to stun him at the very least. Maybe hurt him.
Hurting him would be immensely satisfying.
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And continuing to purposefully do so. It's been so long since he had a good fight -- despite tangling with Power Joe, earlier. He's full of restless energy, an all-consuming need for validation.
Here it is.
When the robot charges, he merely laughs, thrusters kicking on as the rush begins. He kicks up into the air, clearing the headlong charge by the barest of inches. The laughter continues, ringing, triumphant. He hovers there, and lashes out with a sharp, sudden kick at the other robot's head.
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His hand finds something solid. Grabbing it - a chair from the nearest table - he turns and chucks it at the police-bot. He's aiming to slow the other down if nothing else until he can either figure out a way to bring his airborne opponent back down or can get to one of the tables designed for a shuttle-class, giving himself the needed height.
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Pathetic. That's hardly a challenge. He slips to one side, spinning, the mad grin still in place on his face. This is dull, actually. He'd have thought one so angry would be more of a challenge.
"What's wrong with it?" he calls out. "It can't even fight right!"
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Gaining the top of a massive table - and ignoring how his existing injuries were already slowing him down - he turned with a snarl.
"Get your aft over here, police-bot, and I'll show you fight!"
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This creature was going to make mistakes. Wasn't it? The madder it was, the less likely it was to be paying close attention. To fight smartly.
He just had to keep it mad, and the battle was all but won.
*/throws both her pups at CrazyBird bc why not =3*
Damn, was he tired.
Deckard had been making sure to keep fueled, but this past week-plus had been keeping him beyond busy and there'd been little time for real rest. Of course, it didn't help that he was trying to deal with a crisis in a place he'd barely understood before everything changed on him. Again.
Craving something familiar even if only for a moment, he'd made his way back to the police headquarters in a lull between incidents. The place wasn't an exact replica of the Decker Room, but close enough to feel like home in a place that very much wasn't. He'd been trying not to think too much about his own team, not give them priority over the rest of the populace - everyone had equal need and deserved equal treatment and aid - but now that he was here . . .
McCrane, he knew, was off dealing another crisis. Deckard had offered to meet him there, but the head of the Build Team had said he had the situation under control. He'd lost track of Power Joe. He'd still not heard anything of Drill Boy. And Kagerou . . . damn . . .
Wherever the ninjabot had disappeared to the past few days, Deckard just hoped he was okay.
...for a certain measure of "okay" when one was as obviously broken and insane as this other Kagerou was.
Deckard found a seat and wound up more or less collapsing into it, exhausted both physically and mentally/emotionally. He just needed a brief break, just five or ten minutes. Thirty tops.
Just . . . just a quick nap . . .
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Sneaking into the room, he'd stumbled across a recharging BP unit, and...
... stayed there.
Staring.
What did he do now? Did he keep watching? Did he rouse him? He claimed not to be the Deckerd he knew so well. How could that be true? The frame was the same. What more was there?
He took a few quiet steps forward. All but crab-walking closer, peering over the edge of the chair.
Was there enough room to hop up on the arm of it? Maybe. He could try.
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It took another moment or three, but something niggling at Deckard finally started to draw him back out of recharge. He felt safe here, so he'd not maintained any proximity sensors or other unnecessary scanners while he rested. But something itched at him, telling him that maybe he wasn't alone.
No one had come in. He was sure he'd have heard them if they had. Still, the cameras behind rich orange optic shields powered back on as he shifted to sit up and look around anyway.
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He rocked a little, on the balls of his feet, his optics narrowed.
And then the other seemed to begin to wake. The bored expression changed, and he went utterly still, lips curving in a smug little smirk.
He didn't even speak.
He just crouched there, peering closely. Right up in the other's personal space.
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He didn't actually mean it either.
No sooner had Deckard's cameras clicked on and begun to focus than he realized there was something - someONE - close. Far too uncomfortably close! With a startled cry, he brought his arms up defensively, striking out at his "attacker" and scrambling up and out of the chair into a more defensible position before he'd even registered who it is. Then the rest of his Super A.I. caught up.
He relaxed his stance but only marginally, gaping at the ninjabot. "K-kagerou!? Kagerou, what the hell was that?"
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His voice came out breathy, despite the lack of lungs.
"Hello," he said. "Were you hiding from me, hm?"
Their leader should have struck him for this. But there was no mark on him. No reprimand. Just shouting. Whatever happened... this leader was weak.
And he was utterly without fear.
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No.
He would not be like the other Deckard, the one Kagerou expected. He would not. Pretending for a little bit had been terrible enough.
Still, his hands were in fists as he stood his ground on the other side of the chair opposite this broken Kagerou. "Hiding? Why would I hide from you, Kagerou? As you might remember, it was you who fled from me." He straightened, not expecting much but he still had to try. "Have you learned anything since then? About this world and about the various realities that seem to intersect here?"
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Make his mark... And the thought sent a fresh rush of pleasure through his circuits. Like an addict getting their fix.
"Because you're weak," he purred. The triumph was thick in the words. "You aren't who I remember -- you said that. You said that." A laugh, his shoulders rolling. "He would have kicked me off by now."
Then he scoffed, still leaning into that personal space.
"Not important. None of it. Just a new world -- just more to rule, mm?"
At last, a wild tag appears! :D
Deckard reacted before he could catch himself, the intrusion and the words –the last especially –pressing and startling him into motion. He planted both hands on Kagerou's chest, intent on shoving him back even as he himself retreated a step or two before stopping and making himself stand his ground once more. "Back off! Sorry, if you want me to be a cruel bastard, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. But what do you mean, 'rule', Kagerou? You're some kind of conqueror, now? Explain yourself."
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... It's still not enough to wipe the smug, knife-edged smirk off his face.
"No," he says, brightly, simply. His hands spread in a gesture that can only be considered mocking. "You don't rule me, now do you? You said it so much. Why should I listen. Hm?"
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Kagerou has a point.
"Consider it for conversation's sake." A lame reply, maybe, but it was all he could think of. "Help me to understand, Kagerou. Because I don't."
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His damaged wings flick.
"Why do you want to understand suddenly? What does it matter to you, mm?" He claps his hands, suddenly. "Oh! I know it! He wants to become the leader, doesn't he? Wants to be the ruler."
His grin changes. Something dark and angry slips into it.
"He wants to know."
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"I am the leader, Kagerou. I have always been."
That's only half true. It was true back home, doesn't mean it is here. And even back home, he was never technically Kagerou's authority.
But if saying so keeps Kagerou talking until he says something Deckard can really use, then he'll say it.
"I do want to know. Tell me what I want to know."
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He sits that way, still rocking, still smiling that same, wicked smile. This version of Deckerd keeps flipping back and forth. One time demanding he obey, the next saying he isn't a leader. Which one is it?
He should make up his mind already.
He doesn't owe him anything right now. Unless he proves himself worthy of an answer. He lifts a finger, waggling it back and forth in a dismissive gesture.
"Make me."