Ghosts of Battles Past: Part 1
Previous villans sneak up on the now worn out maximals, attempting to strike an ultimate revenge.
PART ONE
Gaul sat in his make shift office in the maximal barraks. He had fallen asleep there earlier that evening and was still leaned back in quiet slumber as the sun rose over the planet. The rest of the maximals had spent the night in the CR chamber or in a worried sleep.
Buckshot worring about Mimi and trying not to about Solarflare, Wraith praying for Rhapsody safety, Jungle planning Grapples final resting place and Gaul trying to figure out what to do next.
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Solarflare awoke in a scream blotted out by the noise of the CR chamber. Another night, another nightmare on wear Switchblade was. His body was still cold as he remebered last night. What had saved him from that damn Polarbear, he may never know. Solarflare pressed a button and stepped out of the CR Chamber and immeditaly sitting on the ground trying to get his bearings. He looked up to see Buckshot asleep on a bed next to another chmaber that contained Mimi.
The finch walked over and prodded his 'friend' to wake him. As the dog slowly awoke SOlarflare realized that they were the first to be up.
Catfish did not sleep.
After escorting Filch back to the barracks and making sure he wasn’t going to do anything impulsive like kill himself she left him to get some rest. He never quite understood how he’d gotten to sleep, but he should be waking up around now, she estimated.
She’d brought Rita to the CR chamber. Not that there was any thing that could be done, but it was where you generally put shells before they were disintegrated. Catfish put her on one of the tables and washed off her spear in the sink.
After that she had a short jog in the cool night air to find Rita’s equipment. The hoverboard was making wide, jagged circles around the ruined building. She located the rope at the bottom of a tequila bottle in a nearby bar. She brought them both back to the CR chamber.
She went down to Burnout’s room to make sure he’d gotten back. She didn’t wake him. She appropriated everything in the room that didn’t belong to him and brought it down to a terminal where she hacked around a bit and located a will.
She spent the rest of the night distributing items to rooms, a task that required a certain amount of breaking and entering. Catfish was good at that. Retro got a whole set of new computer games. Burnout got a note and the receipt from a restaurant on Endport where they’d eaten slugs a few years ago. A huge amount of old friends on Cybertron got varying amounts of money or packages, some of which exploded (this required a certain amount of account hacking, Catfish was good at that too). The rope received itself. Filch received credits and the hoverboard, given that it didn’t mind. It didn’t.
Once she was finished Catfish walked up to the roof and watched the sun rise. She’s there now.
Timber's chest heaved slightly under the sheets, her hair tousled slightly. A warm ray of light kissed her eyes, which she quickly shielded with a well-placed pillow.
"Shut the blinds, Querion."
"I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" the wolf-bot apologised, closing the curtains, plunging the room back into muted darkness. Querion heard the she-wolf murmur a "thank you" before the air regained the sounds of her soft breathing. The swordsman watched Timber from where he stood, his troubled eyes adjusting to the darkness.
Timber was not his worry. As usual, his torment was self-wrought. All of his misgivings and his fears were washing back into him; Querion was frightened. Funny as hell, it seemed the only thing that could frighten him was himself.
"What now?" the wolf-bot muttered contemplatively. Control. Control. Control. He needed to be in control. He had to fight. He had to win. Croak's presence had returned unpleasant memories, as well as that sinister throbbing in his head.
Querion's reversed-edge sword materialised beside him, floating obediently. The swordsman unsheathed it, and ran a finger along the blunted side, then pricked himself with the other edge. The pain was jarring; it served as a reminder.
He would cut himself down, with his own blade if need be, before he killed another.
The wolf-bot smiled slightly, wondering what Timber would say about that. The she-wolf had no qualms about slaying another, but maybe because she could deal with the guilt in a better way.
Querion looked down at the mech-fluid dripping out of his cut. He had taken a blood-oath, albeit silently, and he would honour it. It was his way.
"Cut me down if I ever lose control," the swordsman whispered to his sword. A beam of light escaped the blinds, and the sharp edge of the sakabatou gleamed briefly, as though in approval.
Querion strolled out of his room, looking for a morning drink.
Filch had slept for a short while, before morning rose and he had run to the CR chamber holding Rita, hoping in his spark she'd be awake, rising out of the nanite-permeated waters with a charred shell and grumpy expression, asking him to get her something to eat because she felt like crap and was starving to boot, and everything would be fine and back to normal.
Imagine his surprise when she was still dead.
Filch was hunched against the CR chamber, his palms against the glass, looking at her. His face shook slightly, and he tapped the glass.
"Rita. Come on. Wake up." he said quietly.
Her optics remained dark.
"Rita. No. Don't do this. Wake up." Filch repeated, knowing damn well she wouldn't reply. "Rita, wake up..."
He fumbled in his transporter buffer, and emerged with a handful of credits. Catfish had given them to him- they were Rita's. He looked at them closely, his hand folding around them. His optics closed. He suddenly cried out and threw down the credits, scattering them across the floor. Face contorted with rage, Filch overturned a table nearby, screaming with anger, and kicked a chair across the room. He slammed his fists against the CR chamber, and began beating on it furiously.
"DAMN YOU!!!" he screamed at Rita. "HOW CAN YOU DIE??!! YOU WERE MY FRIEND!!! HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO ME??!! TO CATFISH AND BURNOUT, HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO THEM?!! YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO DIE!!! YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO-to- t-t-t- die..."
He slumped forward, head inclined. His shoulders hitched as he laid his head against the cold, uncaring glass. He closed his optics tightly, and stayed that way for a long moment.
There was a muted whizzing sound. He slowly turned to see the hoverboard floating in. It stopped in front of him, hovering above the floor, and made a small whine.
"I know. She's gone." Filch said, voice muffled. "Gone forever. Oh Primus, Rita..."
The hoverboard nudged against him, and Filch sat back, putting a hand on it. He blinked, mouth trembling.
"Looks like it's you and me now." he told the board quietly.
It made a whinnying sound.
"I know. You'd rather be with Rita. I don't blame you. N-n-not at all..."
He wrapped an arm around the hoverboard and held it for a moment, before slowly standing up. He put a hand on the glass, looking into Rita's lifeless optics.
"I love you, Rita." he whispered. "And as far as I'm concerned, you'll never die. Never."
He turned to go.
"Goodbye."
And with that, Filch walked out of the room and shut off the lights.
The roof top…
If there are only two constants in the universe, they be that day will turn to night and night will turn to day. Rather symbolic of the struggle between good and evil – how neither can ever gain a permanent hold on the other…
During the Great War, things were so clear; the Decepticons were the bad guys and the Autobots were the good guys. Straight forward, no question. Though now, here in the aftermath, the lines are blurred. With corrupt politicians running all the factions, who can really say who the true heroes are?
Here’s a thought; perhaps it is no longer a question of Autobot or Decepticon, Maximal or Predacon, rather the deeds one does…
… like in the case of Rita…
Occasional glimpses to her right, allowed the fuzor dubbed Catfish to see the dark warrior, Jungle, shadow sparring on the other end of the roof top she occupied. Jungle’s black frame glimmered in these post-night hours - this planet’s sun brilliantly reflecting off it.
JJ performed difficult maneuvers with ease – form never breaking - pace never faltering. He’s been fighting all his life, since the moment he was brought online in that Maximal Secret Police conditioning camp. Combat and alcohol were the only two things that brought him peace it seemed… at least in the last several stellar cycles…
There was something almost magical about watching Jungle work out – his spark, mind and body were one…
Drifting from her thoughts again, Catfish notices a foreign shadow looming over her. Turning Catfish is quick to find it’s source; Jungle who was standing a yard or so away.
Visibly, Jungle is lost for words, but the fuzor can tell by the cat's mannerisms why he’s here; to provide some level of comfort in this hour of need...
Burnout waited for Catfish to leave, and opened his optics again. He didn’t want to interact with anyone. He didn’t want to do anything. He didn’t want to think about anything.
During the mission he and Retro were off gaining information, hacking and the sort. But he got back to base in time to see Rita being brought in. From then on he’d retreated to his quarters, getting all the information he needed through Retro, who’s business it was to know things.
Now Burnout knew all he needed to know. She was dead.
He didn’t feel hatred for Filch for the accident. He didn’t blame himself for not being there to help. He might feel that later, but all he felt now was cold numbness.
Of all his stellar cycles of gallivanting through the galaxy, he’d met many women, but he’d never truly loved anyone. Rita was different. He loved her, more than anything. More than money, more than power, more than anything he could imagine. He even had plans to ask for her hand in marriage.
He couldn’t think of a life without her, and now that’s just what he had. Burnout didn’t cry, he didn’t mourn, he didn’t think.
He didn’t want to.
Rubmur awoke slowly, still unsure of when he had fallen asleep, immediately the face of a conked out Weede, who at this time had some “really kicking breath”, greeted him. Before you get any ideas, let me explain the circumstances between Weede and Rubmur sharing a bed.
When they first arrived in their room, they did notice that there was only one bed. Understanding that while the bed would fit both of them quite comfortably, it was a mutual agreement that two beds would be better then one. They had placed in an order for a pair of beds, like a nifty bunk bed, but alas, have received no news about it yet. After coming ‘home’ from the battle, they were too tired to care and a hardwood floor is worse then sleeping in the same bed as your best friend, so they just went with it.
The reason Rubmur was unsure of when he went to sleep was because he had a difficult time getting there. This was unlike Weede who Rubmur had observed would sleep forever if he never woke him up to eat or fulfil his duties. What kept Rubmur from going to sleep was the battle. He was in the military before joining up with this crew, yes, but he never fought. While he was assigned as a combatant and had minimal training, he never had battled. The higher ups had always considered him more useful with chemicals and warfare of that nature. So teaming with Weede was the first time he had ever been put to the test, and while he was beat up and worn out, more exhausted then he had ever been before, he loved it.
Fighting was fun.
It was as like dancing, except connecting with your opponent/partner more often. Now awake, Rubmur hopped out of bed and started to go through the events of the night before. In his mind he saw the places where he could have done better, the openings he had. Rubmur went through the motions of pushing Weede into the procu-bot’s arms and then punching the TMII in the face. As he envisioned Weede falling to the ground Rubmur took his right elbow and jabbed at the air, swinging his right fist around to connect with the face plate of the invisible ‘bot. Continuing to spin Rubmur ‘connected’ using his left fist followed by his left elbow, and ended after a complete 360 degree turn and putting much force behind a second right elbow shot.
He stopped, excited by his ‘discovery.’ It was then that he realized he didn’t have any music on, but he didn’t care. Going through the motions in that room, with the only light coming from a small rectangle portion of the window that the curtain didn’t cover, was the most beautiful music he had ever heard.
Rubmur was anxious to fight again.
“Hi Jungle.” She said. The statement had the essence of Catfish’s tone in it, but lacked the exuberance with which she normally pushed words forward. “The sky is pretty colors.”
Jungle confirmed this assessment with a nod and there was silence.
“Are you alright?” The panther ventured when the pause grew uncomfortable for him.
“Of course not, don’t be silly.” Catfish drew her knees up and rocked gently back and forth.
“You are dealing with your loss well.”
“No I’m not. I haven’t even started yet. I have to wait and make sure other people deal well. Or at least don’t take it out on each other.”
“What do you…”
“Shhhh.” Catfish said. Her eyes were fixed on a patch of air a few yards away. They glowed a deep purple. After a few moments she sighed in a final sort of way as if something had been concluded. Two somethings actually, though she had no practical way of knowing about either of them. “There.”
Catfish’s eyes flickered. The violet glow faded away and the cheerfully intense red lights rekindled. The atmosphere around her changed as well. It was as if a weight you hadn’t been aware of was lifted and there was a noticeable drop in the level of maturity.
Catfish blinked and burst into tears.
Caska woke up early, in a grumblely mood. They were in even deeper than she'd thought. And though the team had held its own well against the Predacon onslaught, a whole lot of it was unreliable or unpredicatable. Case in point, the scene she passed of Filch crying by Rita's CR chamber. Something stopped her from saying anything. Something told her to either be comforting or just move along, and she certainly wasn't planning on saying anything comforting. More like something about not becoming too attached to anyone in this business. So, heeding the unknown impulse, she moved along towards breakfast.
It was cold outside. Querion re-entered the barracks, shaking off the dewdrops clinging to his fur. The crystal-like drops soared through the air, before breaking on the concrete floor. The wolf-bot strolled slowly to the pantry, where he picked up a mug, and proceeded to fill it with some hot chocolate. He'd have preferred some warm ale, but they didn't have any right now; he had checked before he left for outside.
Querion finished his drink, and walked slowly, purposefully, to the med-labs, a small flower cradled in his hands.
It was not a really pretty flower, not bright and beautiful like a rose, nor as delicate as a lily. The petals were tinged with blue, and there were only five petals, and the bud drooped slightly to a side. But it gave off a sweet fragrance, intoxicating and relaxing. The swordsman rubbed a finger along a petal, and briefly brought the lopsided flower close to his nose.
Querion was surprised to find Timber standing silently outside a CR chamber. He placed an arm around her, and rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.
"Just woke?"
"No. A while ago," the she-wolf murmured, her voice distant. Timber started to sob, burying her face into Querion's chest. She had not been particularly close to Rita, but they had been comrades, and had fought many battles together.
Wordlessly, Querion placed the flower at the feet of the CR chamber, and escorted Timber out of the room.
[Elsewhere]
Scars.
Even in the relatively dim morning light Grapple could see them plain as day. Scar tissue wasn’t a normal thing for Transformers, he knew. CR fluid usually took care of even the most grievous wounds. But not these. The superficial damage had been too much to completely erase through regeneration. In retrospect, he should have been glad the metal knit together at all. It saved on the costly and inevitable full body overhaul. The Predacon Military would have paid for that once. Not any more, though. He was on his own now, and that meant living with those bitter reminders.
One between his shoulder and neck, where a throwing dagger had once been completely buried. He had a badger to kill for that.
One across the whole of his head and upper body, where a bomb had literally exploded in his face. For that he’d kill a finch.
One wrapping around the left side if his neck, the result of a close shave with a slug and his frog-sticker. He hadn’t decided just how the panther would die yet, but it was enough to know that he would.
One scar in a precise circular band around his right wrist. The bastard responsible for that was already dead…but Grapple supposed he could still kill some of the others responsible for the situation bringing it about. It would be more difficult than the others…but, if anything, Cicadon’s death had done nothing but prove the mortality of the Tripredacus Council. Grapple remembered the pain involved in removing his monitor bracelet. Yes, they would most certainly die – for the pain, and for messing up his sweet deal in the Pred Military.
At the moment, however, there was someone else across the street that needed killing. For his own safety, if not his amusement, it was time that that special someone disappeared permanently. Grapple almost smiled as he imagined the texture of mech-fulid and blue feathers…
The tortoise stepped outside into the cold grey morning air. A slight breeze chilled his frame as he moved away from the small CR station toward a low almost dilapidated brick building. It would be cold in the cellar, he knew. That was good. He liked working in the cold. It only added to the process. Silently he wondered if Rhapsody would appreciate this nuance.
Not that she’d have time for that much thought.
Grapple entered the tenement quickly and went straight to the building’s dreary sub-basement. It was not much more than a storage room, and a run down one at that. Dust and dirt covered everything except for a small patch in the middle of the room. Disused furniture and the like had been swept roughly away from the spot, and the floor looked as though it had been swept by someone recently…and many times. One look at the Maximal song-bird, bound to a vertical support pillar in the middle of the cleared area, confirmed that she’d been used in place of the broom. Grapple smirked. You could always count on Rockslide to be Rockslide, even in a place as disgusting as this. It looked like the commander had put up a struggle, though. Good for her.
The Predacon moved to stand over Rhapsody’s limp form. He stood silent for a moment before slamming his boot into her midriff. The Maximal gasped, groaned, and opened a solitary optic. The other was swollen shut. “Wake up,” he said roughly. “I want you to be conscious for this,”
Suddenly there were footsteps from the back of the room. Grapple looked up in time to see Rockslide’s half drunken form emerge from the shadows. The LC ‘bot was grinning broadly. “Grapple, my man…” he stammered, “Where you been?”
Grapple only continued to stare at Rhapsody’s pained form. Dried brown streaks could be seen down across her cheeks. She had, at some point, been crying. “Resting up,” Grapple replied. “Bunch a Tripred goons busted in on the rally. Had us a knock down drag out before things got back to normal,” The tortoise snorted. “Not that your dumb-ass would know anything about it. Where were you?”
Rockslide grinned knowingly. “Hey,” he said palms up toward the other ‘bot. “I was preoccupied. Me and the lady were having too much fun down here. Must of lost track of time,” The grin widened. Grapple, however, did not seem amused.
“Had your fun, did you?”
“Most definitely,” Rockslide affirmed. “We going to finish it now?” he asked. One could almost taste the perverted excitement wafting off of the Predacon thug.
The ex-general turned his gaze once again to Rockslide. “Yeah, we’re going to finish it alright. Wouldn’t do to leave loose ends hanging around – if you know what I mean,” Grapple left the downed Maximal and moved over near Rockslide. “How much did you hurt her last night?” he asked, bringing his face close to the other LC. “Just out of ‘professional’ interest,”
“Good enough in the head I think,” Rockslide glanced over at the song-bird. “The rest of her…aint nothing that a day in CR won’t fix,” The repulsive LC ‘bot paused momentarily. “You know Grapp, when you got here, I admit, I had my doubts about you joining the Corps. But after this, there isn’t a doubt in my mind man. You’re LC through and through. A friend maybe even,” He looked at Rhapsody again in that same disturbing manner. “And friends take care of friends right? Like in the future , maybe, if a similar situation were to arise,”
Grapple nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he returned. “One thing though Rock…”
“What’s that?” the other asked.
The roar of four shotgun blasts deafened the room. A shocked and very dead Rockslide fell to the ground in a tattered heap. Blood mixed with dirt and grime to form something even sicker. “I’m not your friend,” Grapple finished. Fluid splattered and face stony he turned and moved back to Rhapsody.
“Loose ends,” he explained. “You understand, surely. I’m one, you’re one…old Rocky there was one,” Grapple reached out and graped the Maximal commander’s delicate jaw in one calloused hand. He tilted her chin upward so that she would be looking him in the eyes. “I’m not going to kill you,” he said. “Not today anyhow. The future…now that’s a different story. But not today. Right now I’m thinking that I let you crawl back to your precious Maxi’s with a little bit of a heads up. See, we’re all being @#%$ over here. Tell your friends they don’t have to look any farther than last night to figure that out. Ask ‘em who that team of Preds really wanted to kill. Ask ‘em if they really think it’s that jerk Jonas,” Grapple stopped for a moment. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, but your friends will. For your own piece of mind, though, let me tell you a little something about Endport, and why everybot and his slagging dog wanted you to take a fall…
Grapple told her the truth, and Rhapsody’s eyes widened with the implications.
“I’m letting you go,” he said after he had finished, “But understand that this isn’t out of the kindness of my heart. To borrow a phrase, ‘I’m buying something for my money. I’m buying my life back. Make sure yer boyfriend in particular understands that. With three exceptions, I’m going to leave all of you alone for the time being. In return, all of you are going to come to the realization that the bug hunt you been on is over. Got that? Over. Those are my terms. @#%$ with them, and none of you are going to leave this planet alive,”
Reaching into an arm compartment, Grapple removed a small knife and tossed it near the song-bird. “Your restraining cables are braided poly-steel. You should be able to cut through them with that…in time,” Without another word he closed the arm compartment and left. Rhapsody waited for the sound of his footsteps to recede, then pulled the knife toward her, and began cutting.
With Jungle and Catfish…
Jungle felt uncomfortable to say the least. The panther-bot you see had never lost anyone close to him, truly close to him. Sure he’d killed more then his share of folks, but none of them much mattered, just blood on his swords. ‘Bots he had known had died, but none of them much mattered, just one less resource to go to.
Thus he had no idea what Catfish was going through, nor did he know how he’d react if he was in the fuzor’s shoes. That’s a question that does roll through his mind as he stands there, looking at the, broken down into tears cat/fish ‘bot before him.
The dark warrior’s uncomfortness is quite apparent. Just as he didn’t know what to say before, he didn’t know what to do now. His MSP training was telling him to slap her silly for not acting like a soldier. Another part of him reckoned that, that wasn’t the appropriate course of action here. His military training was telling him to comfort her, but it wasn’t telling him how.
Inwardly Jungle cursed at himself for getting him into this mess. He didn’t have to come over to her, he could of just bypassed Catfish all together on go on his merry way. By the pit, he wasn’t even close to her, Burnout and Flinch however seemed to be. Thus, it was there job to be here now to comfort her, not his, Primus-damn-it!
…but…
They weren’t here and he was.
Jungle extends his hand, but quickly lowers it into a fist.
Jungle takes a step forward and freezes.
Ironic really. JJ is a fully trained, in your face bad ass operative. He’s been put through more physically and mentally in his 145 stellar cycles of life, then most will be in their entire life span. And yet he lacks the strength now to comfort a young fuzor. Seemingly, Jungle’s training didn’t prepare him for everything…
Inwardly, Jungle musters his strength and lets out a low sigh as he bends down to Catfish’s level. Saying nothing, he places a hand on her shoulder…
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
Catfish was a very loud and expressive crier. She didn’t sob quietly, when she wasn’t happy the whole base knew it. Volume helps get the negative emotions out. She took a moment to catch her breath and blow her nose on Jungle’s comforting hand, then continued for a while.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.” Breathe.
She eventually wound down, wiped her nose, and looked despondently at the roof in front of her. It was good to get back to her normal state, it made things simpler. She sniffed again.
“I need a hug.”
***CHARR SPACE STATION***
The station orbited serenely, quietly, over the face of Andronicus. The only sound coming from its hover engines was a quiet, relaxing, ambient hum. The "Charr" was an orbiting command center, ideal for keeping watch on the events below while also ready for attack or mobilization, if need be.
Ramhorn rubbed his chin, looking out the triple-plexiglass window. The planet looked so peaceful from up here. That was how he liked it. Going down to its surface seemed so...dirty.
Which the office certainly wasn't. He turned, feet brushing softly against the carpet, to watch Sea Clamp sip from the wine glass at the mini-bar. The engineers had spared no expense. Sea Clamp had just finished laying out his plan, and now finished his drink, looking at Ramhorn for his thoughts. Ramhorn finally spoke:
"She may actually be of some use to us." he conceded.
"She has been in the past, remember?" Sea Clamp replied. "She, admittedly, can be unreliable, but she is surprisingly effective when she focuses on the task at hand."
Ramhorn nodded. "The Elders have been taking far too many liberties with us. They think to take advantage of our less than enviable status right now. It's high time we slung a little mud at them."
There was a knock on the door and Sea Clamp turned, preparing himself.
"Come in." he called.
The door burst open and a rush of blue, pink, and tentacles shot towards him.
"LIKE, HI, UNCLE CLAMPY!!"
The young squid girl wrapped herself around her uncle's torso, hugging him tightly, and he patted her head uncomfortably. He managed to extricate his niece from himself and forced a smile down at her.
"Welcome, Calamari." he told her.
"This place is so RAD!! Ohmigod, my friends are gonna be SO jealous when I get back to Cybertron. So, like, why'd you call me here? Just to hang out? Does Androni-something have any malls? Or cute guys? Or-"
He shushed her with a patient wave of his hand. She quieted down, looking up at him with large, loving optics.
"We have an assignment for you." Sea Clamp started.
Trance woke up in his bunk, his left optic still cracked from the night's fight. As he sat up in bed, a pain shot through his back. Nothing serious, just another reminder of the battle and those he fought in the past. He sighed as swung his legs over the side, standing up as he rubbed his head. He needed a drink and he needed one bad. He made his way through the barracks, not really noticing the gloom faces around. He made a stop by the med bay to quickly repair his optic when he saw the CR chamber with flowers decorating the area around it. He looked at the faces of the few who were in there and finally saw the sadness engraved in the optics. He had seen the look before, numerous times in the past and he went by unaffected, but this time, something struck him and he left without repairs.
Death was something he experienced everyday of his life for the past 100 stellar cycles. Of course, he was usually the one killing, so he never developed the sense of comradery, except with Toothpick, the bastard who ditched him. He tried to cut off all his emotional feelings, but he was just smacked up with the realization that you can't sever your emotions from yourself. As he walked around, he eventually picked up the fact that it was Rita that was dead. He had never gotten to know Rita, but felt the emptiness that would follow on the road ahead.
"Damn I need a drink." was all he said as he exited the barracks to find himself a drink.
The dark warrior’s eyes visibly widen. She needed a hug? No, no, no; that was where he drew the line. Slag she’d already blown her noise on his hand. She had actually blown her noise on his hand. Frankly he wondered why he hadn’t decked her.
Some force held him back. In retrospect, Jungle was glad it did. He was the fuzor’s commander, thus this was all apart of the job, Jungle had realized. A leader isn’t just judged by what they do out on the field of battle…
But a hug? By the pit no. Not even if Primus himself commanded it – J would just spit in his face cause there was no way he was doing it.
Hard to really explain but this highly emotional period felt to the dark warrior like a raging hot blade being driven into his spark. Hard to really explain why, can’t really explain it all, but that’s the way it is.
The fates however were against Jungle. You see, Catfish elected to end this pause by hugging Jungle. Actually, it was more of a bear hug. Jungle even gasped from lack of air… Catfish seemingly wasn’t aware of her own strength…
Relenting, J briefly places both of his hands around her.
A pause in action.
“How about letting go now?” J asks.
Catfish sniffed, nodded, and released the panther. Who took a few deep breaths of blessedly oxygen rich air. Catfish blew her nose again on a blue, star patterned handkerchief that had probably been in someone else’s wrist compartment less than an hour ago. This sound, like the crying, was very loud and expressive. Reminiscent of a fog horn.
“You’re going to be a very neato person as soon as you stop being a silly goomba.” She informed Jungle. Then she took out a datapad that, against all odds, was a splitting image of the one Jungle had in a back compartment pre-hug. She scanned the mission review, turned it over, read it upside down, handed it back to him, and blew her nose again.
“I gotta go find the rope.” She reported. “It’s going to be depressed for a while, it’s used to having someone to be obsessively protective about. Wanna help?”
Once Solarflare cuaght eyes on Flich & Rita he felt his emtion core snap in two. Rita had saved his life and more importantly switchblade's during the fight with grapple and now she was gone.. just like everyone else he loved, or gave a damn about. He was losing everyone... slowly but surely. Solarflare turned on his heel and exited the room and headed straight for his bunk. Right now it was empty eveyone in different areas of the complex dealing with the loses in different ways. "Good." he thought. "No one to witness him leaving." He began to grab his things and pack them into his bag, he had had enough and couldn't take it anymore. He packed up his gear and headed for the door.
The door in front of him burst open just before he could exit, a bloody tortured form of Rhapsody falling down as soon as she entered. Solarflare looked down at the Songbird and began to cry in anger. He threw his bag across the room shattering a lamp. The finch gave out a scream of frustration as tears rolled down his face. "WHY DAMNIT!" He said scooping up Rhapsody, dried mech fluid crusting off and fresh taking its place, he turned around. "WHY ME!" He yelled at Primus. As he held his former commander, now counter part, in his arms. He turned and marched towards the CR chambers nearly kicking the door of the hinges on the way out. Rhapsody arose in a half consuisness for a moment as he carried her down the hall.
"Solarflare..." She said smiling and touching his face. "Thank you." She coughed resting her head against his chest as the Finch openly weeped about nothing imparticular. Just as he was about to seperate himself from the grief and misery his commander walked in looking as if she spent the night in a transwarp engine. Solarflare entered the medic room and kicked the door open denting it. Mimi whose was now recovering with Buckshot turned and were immediatly slack-jawed.
"Holy @#%$." was all buckshot got out. Solarflare set the song bird on the table and grabbed a tub full of swabs. He began to whipe the blood off and injected her with a seditive. He lifted her again and looked at Buckshot. "OPEN THE @#%$ DOOR!" He screamed at his friend. Buckshot quickly opened the door to the CR and Solarflare placed her inside shutting the lid. "It's gonna be ok." Solarflare said to Rhapsody as she slipped into the relaxation of the sedative. The trio stood looking at each for a moment and then Solarflare's Arua burst into flames. The finch punched a gurny with labs tools half way across the room, melting it at the same time. Buckshot put his hands on the top of his head and Solarflare slumpped down in the corner with his face in his hands for a moment.
He tapped his comm link. "Gaul come down to teh CR chamber immedatly." Was all he said replacing his face back in his hands. "WHy damnit." He whispered.
Roof: A few cycles prior…
“What is it Jungle?” Catfish innocently asked the dark warrior whose eyes had widened quite a bit and who was seemingly starring off into space, with a rather vague expression on his face – usually his face was void…
… I don’t know… Jungle inwardly responded. “Hold that thought.”
With the grace only a cat has, Jungle abruptly maneuvers for the exit. Catfish follows suit, electing to momentarily postpone her quest for the rope in order to see what was up with her commander.
Medical Center…
The very nano after Solarflare dispatches his message to Gaul, Jungle and Catfish enter. Without passing go or collecting 200 dollars, the panther brushes past everyone to the song bird’s CR Chamber. His eyes narrow to but slits. Rhapsody’s scent was intertwined with Grapple’s… the ex-general’s scent sickened the dark warrior… man oh man, is pay back gonna be a bitch…
“Buckshot, buzz Querion and Trance and run a perimeter sweep in case she was followed...” Jungle commands, eyes not deveating from Rhap’s frame. For once, the window into JJ's mind was closed; his thoughts were his own...
Once Dusty had returned to the barracks after the fight, she'd found an empty bunk out of the way of everyone else, curled up on top of it in beast mode and gone to sleep. It was sometime just past dawn when she finally woke up, stretched, and slipped out to have a wander around.
Compared to the activity at the fight the previous night, the area was surprisingly quiet. Prob'ly all lying low, lickin' their wounds an' sleepin' off headaches... heh. Of the few people who were out and about this early, Dusty managed to avoid them easily.
She'd just re-entered the barracks when a commotion in the medicenter caught her attention. Still in beast mode, Dusty raced in and skidded to a halt next to Jungle, eyes on Rhaspody's mangled form.
"Whoa... ouchies."
//Querion, Rhapsody's back. Jungle wants you and Trance to run a perimeter sweep. The panther's afraid she might have been followed by those sons-of-bitches. Primus, if you only saw what they fricking did to her...//
The wolf-bot's eyes widened slightly, and he started from his seat. Timber, who had had a head on Querion's shoulder, jumped slightly at her beau's reaction.
"Trance..." the Maximal swordsman called out.
"Way ahead of you," replied the security in-chief, from behind Querion, already standing and at the ready.
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