re_alignment_logs | and what are you made of [closed]

Entry tags:

and what are you made of [closed]

WHO: FoC!Perceptor & Wheeljack
WHERE: Perceptor's lab
WHEN: Post-Pillar Expedition | Evening | Dec. 5th
WHAT: Perceptor returns from his expedition a little bit... changed.
WARNINGS: None

[It was... an adventure, to be sure. What else, he wasn't sure yet. Other than his newly acquired complete and utter inability to touch anything. Anyone. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to his lab and experiment. Both to understand the nature of his sudden condition, and to see if he could solve it.]

[Or... at least, make it so he could refuel at some point. That was what worried him most, right now. If he couldn't touch anything, if he passed through everything and everyone, then that posed a serious threat to his health, somewhere down the line.]

[The lab, therefore, seemed the most important thing.]

[He didn't bother informing anyone he'd returned. He was certain others would handle that aspect of things. Not to mention, he wasn't even sure if he could access the Link in his current state. Best not to worry anyone with an ominously blank message.]

[... another problem, he supposed, with his sudden attachments ...]

[He entered the proper temple, all but tripping through the door as he realized he was putting his feet through the decorative portions at intervals.]

[Great.]

[The approach to his lab was, mercifully, uneventful. He didn't even make noise as he walked.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

What would you have had me do?

[He doesn't shout. His voice is barely above a murmur. If he could, he'd have leaned against his table. He cant'. And as a result, simply stands there, head bowed and arms folded.]

[Tired. Defeated.]

It would have harmed the others... or the rest of you, here, if I'd done nothing.

[They'd all had to do something. And this was as nonviolent a solution as there had been.]

[He avoids Wheeljack's optics.]

Something.

[He doesn't yell either. It's more of an irritated growl. And as if momentarily forgetting the situation, goes to shove the scientist.

Only to go right through him, hitting the wall.

A small grunt of frustration and a punch to the wall follows, turning around. If he couldn't HIT something... No, he's not going to face it. He doesn't want to face that. The fact that this might be permanent.

Perceptor didn't just leave, he got stuck in limbo. Teasing him.]

Something.

[He keeps his head down. He doesn't even try to stop Wheeljack from trying to push him, or from punching the wall. Maybe he deserves the shove. The anger.]

[He wishes he didn't -- he wishes things were different.]

They would have died. And I would have known I was partially responsible.

[Or injuries. Deaths or injuries, he'd still blame himself. And, even though he'd tried -- there's still something here for him to blame himself for.]

[There was nothing to take it out on. He couldn't blind himself with rage and punch something. And it irritated him to his core.

There's a third attempt, hoping maybe the first two--somehow--were flukes.

But no, once again he's phased through.]

...NGH...

[He's defeated. It wasn't something Wheeljack ever witnessed, not without severe consequences. And it shows, in how he looks up at Perceptor.

Almost...confused]

I...You're right. You're right.

[He actually flinches this time, when Wheeljack tries to touch him. He flinches -- but it's not out of pain. It's regret. Shame.]

[He never wanted to make the Wrecker's life harder. Far from it.]

I...

[He still can't bring himself to look at him. He just stands there, with his head bowed, arms tight across his chest. Metal would have creaked from the tension in his grip, if it could have.]

... Primus, I never thought it would feel atrocious to be right.

I'm sorry.

[He can't look back anymore, slumping against the wall. He really needed thicker skin, like he had before he came here. He got too soft... too attached to everything.

Maybe he just needed to return to that.

The worst part was...he didn't want to.]

You better fix it.

Swear to Primus.

[He hates seeing this. He hates knowing he's caused it. When he arrived, he wouldn't have cared in the slightest. He'd been detached. Aloof. It worked better for scientific study.]

[But now...]

[Now it makes his spark ache to see what he's done -- that he's hurt the other bot, somehow. He knows why. He wishes he didn't.]

I will do all that I can.

You have my word.

[It takes a few more minutes before Wheeljack begins to move, to head for the door. He'd gotten what he came here for--the information about the pillar. It was more than he bargained for, to say the least...

but he got it.]

If there's anythin' I can do.

[call me.]

I...

[There's a slight half-step forward. An outstretched hand. As if he means to stop the other bot from leaving.]

[Or ask him not to.]

[But he restrains himself. He steps backward, arms folding over his chest. It would be wrong of him to ask that, after everything. This is his fault, isn't it?]

Of course.

[The 'I' is enough to stop him, to make him spin on his heels an look back. Was he needed? Something he could do to fix this? Because he'd do it, no matter how risky it was.

He was not losing one of the only two things keeping him sane here.

Not anymore.]

Sarge...

[Reporting for duty.]

... You don't have to leave, if you wish to stay.

[He doesn't know what else to say. Or do. He can't even use his equipment, like this. Anything he wants to try, to fix this, wouldn't be possible.]

[He slumps, where he stands, clearly defeated.]

[A rare sort of pose, for the big scientist.]

...I can't do much, Sarge. I only know fightin' and bashin' scrap.

[Which, from the looks things, is the most useless thing in this situation. What use could he be?

It irritated him beyond belief.]

I'm here.

... And I can't do anything, right now. Not even bloody refuel. My work is... impossible like this.

[What he wants to say, however, goes unspoken. He should have said it. But the words stick. They choke.]

[How can he ask this?]

[Help me.]

...

[Fortunately, his unspoken words are loud enough for Wheeljack to hear. He's a little slow at this, but he's got it.]

Where do I start.

[He seems to perk up at that, finally, his optics brightening, and his whole frame straightening up.]

[Grateful.]

There's a device on the shelf, to your left. It takes energy readings...

Start with that.

[And just that small gesture is enough to lift his spirits, even slightly. His posture remains hunched, more out of humbleness than anything, as he does what he's asked.

Now he just had to do things the right way.

For once.]

This thing?

[A rough grab for the scanner.]

Yes. That thing. Do be careful with it, it was the only one to survive Grimlock's... tantrum.

[He waves his hand, irritably, only to have it pass through a lamp. He yanks it back, staring at it.]

[And slowly lowers it again, a flicker of defeat on his face. His voice turns quieter.]

... You'll have to use it on my person. Then record the data into my console. And run a search for sympathetic resonances.

[Wheeljack almost lunged forward, in an attempt to grab that lamp, or to smack Perceptor's hand away. When...seeing it phase through, he slaps that hand across his face, dragging it down slowly.

He didn't see that. If he thinks it hard enough, it's sure to come true.]

No idea what ya just said, Sarge. I'm just gonna scan you with it and then ya tell me what's what.

[He squints at the console a moment, attempting to decipher it.]

Uh...

[Button press--it beeps.]

Whoops.

Yes. Scan. We'll... go from there.

[He's going to try and ignore the grab. Ignore the general frustration he's feeling, the anger he sees in Wheeljack's every motion.]

[It isn't constructive right now.]

[And it takes everything in him not to reach out and swat that hand away. He knows what will happen if he tries.]

Don't touch any button until I till you otherwise.

Right, right. I know.

[And he did. After a brief glance over, he finds the scan function.

Activating it and starting to run it on the scientist. He remains pretty stoic throughout all of it. Despite the probable need for conversation.]

Anything else happen down there?

[Omg u are a bitter bitch, WJ.]

[He stands perfectly still. As if that's going to make a difference. Who knows? Maybe it will.]

[Though he does shake his head.]

I told you everything. I... wouldn't keep imp--

...

I wouldn't keep anything else from you.

[The scan completes itself, with Wheeljack looking into it curiously. Not a snowball's chance that he knows what the meters say, but maybe if he tried hard enough, he'd figure it out.

He'd at least try.]

...I know.

[It was said with complete honesty, too. Deep down he knew Perceptor was someone he could trust.]

What's this scrap mean, Sarge?

[He huffs, before gesturing to the console. The honest response is appreciated. And so is Wheeljack's attempts. He's trying -- and the tank can tell.]

I need you to select the readout program I use, and input what the meter says. There are corresponding boxes ... match the data to the proper labels.

And then hit "search".

[Wheeljack's head turns towards the monitors, walking over as carefully as he can, as a Wrecker. Which in essence, is still rather clumsily.]

So. This'll tell ya what's wrong with ya?

[Because he just works here. No idea the rhyme or reason of the machine. Only that...Perceptor told him too.

And he trusted him.]

[Wheeljack, as big as he is, his equipment is a little more durable than that.]

[He stands behind him, but out of reach, watching.]

It will tell me if my energy signature has a match to a known article.

And... theoretically, the counter resonance. Which could be used to...

[He pauses.]

Yes. In essence.

and what are you made of [closed]

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