Difference between revisions of "2017-07-18 A Commanding Presence"

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(Created page with "{{Log |logtitle=A Commanding Presence |logdate=2017/07/18 |location=Command -- Incident Room |participants=Rodimus, Soundwave, Ultra Magnus, Penchant, Tailgate, Blast Off, Hou...")
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|location=Command -- Incident Room
|location=Command -- Incident Room
|participants=Rodimus, Soundwave, Ultra Magnus, Penchant, Tailgate, Blast Off, Hound, Brigade,
|participants=Rodimus, Soundwave, Ultra Magnus, Penchant, Tailgate, Blast Off, Hound, Brigade,
|plot=Topsy Turvy
|summary=Command is somewhat lacking in it, recently. Current events, and plans for the future. (Featuring various bodies.)
|summary=Command is somewhat lacking in it, recently. Current events, and plans for the future. (Featuring various bodies.)
|log=Come Unicron or body swap, there are still certain functions that need to happen for a ship to function in any kind of order, and one of those functions is the regularly scheduled meeting of command staff. And thus!
|log=Come Unicron or body swap, there are still certain functions that need to happen for a ship to function in any kind of order, and one of those functions is the regularly scheduled meeting of command staff. And thus!

Latest revision as of 15:42, 23 July 2017

A Commanding Presence
Date 2017/07/18
Location Command -- Incident Room
Participants Rodimus, Soundwave, Ultra Magnus, Penchant, Tailgate, Blast Off, Hound, Brigade
Plot Topsy Turvy
Summary Command is somewhat lacking in it, recently. Current events, and plans for the future. (Featuring various bodies.)

Come Unicron or body swap, there are still certain functions that need to happen for a ship to function in any kind of order, and one of those functions is the regularly scheduled meeting of command staff. And thus!

Soundwave must be feeling extra casual today, because he's there in a seat with his feet on the table and his chair tilted back at a dangerous angle. Frankly, those chairs aren't even supposed to tip. The effort it takes to put his feet on the table forces the angle of his legs to a stiff and sharp right angle that threatens to turn uncomfortably acute if his chair slips. OH WAIT. That's Rodimus. Thus the doodling on a datapad as he waits for the trickle of mismatched bodies.

It doesn't happen immediately. First there's a scratching sound by the door, then scuttling and the thunk of something landing against it in an awkward position. It takes a few moments for the door to slide open, and when it does, it's accompanied by the skittering sound of a certain buggy someone trying to get back down on all fours before the door he was leaning against slides away and drops him. When it's finally opened, it reveals a antenna-waggling Bob-- or rather, Hound-- hesitating in the doorway, a datapad clutched in his little secondary hands. After sniffing around the room and blinking his optics into it, Hound continues to scuttle forward, approaching his customary seat after a little friendly antenna-bob in the Captain's direction. Then he has to pause again when he gets to the seat, because... he hasn't exactly tried sitting in a chair since the swap started. This is going to be... interesting.

Hound starts by dropping the datapad into the chair, then backing up, and leaping at the chair with a running start. Using his large front legs, he pulls himself up, nearly overbalances, then corrects, shuffling carefully until most of his buggy frame is leaning against the table.

The overly relaxed Soundwave is admittedly weird. But weirder things have already happened, and Blast Off is trying to keep some semblence of normalcy even if he's body swapped with Trailbreaker. So not-Trailbreaker is here, standing at attention with several datapads in his hands. Ready for his report. Ready for anything (not really). When Hound comes in, however... OK, Blast Off really isn't ready, after all. He blinks. "....What the smelt?"

Penchant hadn't been aware of certain swaps. So he just... ends up staring at Bob holding a datapad, alongside Trailbreaker. Or Blast Off. It's easy to stare from Cosmos' height. "Wh'... Who-" His mouth clicks shut beneath his mask, and he forces himself to stand at proper attention beside Soundwave, wherever he ends up. Don't be rude.

Tailgate realizes he is going to have some issues with his chair when he stops in the open door and sees the tail end of Hound's buggy struggle. Chimera's frame is so much bigger, and when he looks down to his own seat on approach it looks a bit like a joke. But it's not, and he adjusts the height before carefully settling down onto it. His tail hangs over the side past his leg, the tip swishing about. There is no careful poise like Chimera, instead just a casual ease, posture very Tailgate. "How does she ever manage furniture..." He mutters to himself, head tilted as he adjusts the chair height more.

Soundwave arrives without flourish. Nothing unusual there, not for Soundwave. He's really not living up to the flames painted on his chest- he is living up to the faceplate he managed to get on his face, however. He's been rather scarce for a while but he's here now, taking a seat silently. Soundwave pauses just a moment to stare at Rodimus, unperturbed by Bob. His body really isn't meant to bend that way... Then he sets his hands on the table and stares at them instead.

With the visor in place above Rodimus's bared mouth -- Soundwave's bared mouth -- it's not easy to track his gaze, but he welcomes Hound with a delighted grin that fails to match the flat, "Holy slag, look at you," that he says. "Okay, hey guys--" He moves to drop his feet from the table, leaning forward, only for the chair and body dance to fall out of balance, causing him to bend forward too quickly in a fold -- and a fold, and a fold, and a tsche-chu-chu-chu-tsche. Rodimus's chair straightens upright without him in i as he clatters onto the table in brick form. He begins to swear: very quiet and very monotone.

Bob's antenna briefly dip, as Hound realizes just how many mechs in the room apparently didn't know about his current... situation. The staring may be getting to him just a little, and Rodimus's comment, monotone or not, doesn't particularly help. He starts a full-body shiver to resettle his armor, twisting his helm about to take in the others with all four optics. Hopefully they'll go around the room and do introductions anyway. Hound perks up when Rodimus starts to speak in Soundwave's monotone voice, then stops, cut off by the sound of transformation. He can't help himself, he lets out a amused chittering sound at the calm swearing from the little box on the table.

Penchant sits, belatedly. And watches Rodimus fold right up into a tapedeck. In light of all of the grim news lately, the ridiculous involuntary transformation is a welcome little burst of amusement. "Mech, we're a mess," he says with a vague hand-wave. "Did... did you need some help, Captain..."

Not-Rodimus but Soundwave ....he thinks?... over there warrants an almost concerned look from the Combaticon. Soon, however, Blast Off is back standing at attention and trying not to stare TOO much at the motley crew that has arrived here just now. Then not-Soundwave lurches forward, Blast Off staring as he transforms and... he couldn't possibly have *meant* to do that. Trail Off lets that soak in a moment before clearing his throat so he doesn't laugh, and tries to look reeeeally busy with the datapads in his hands.

Soundwave's optics flick up, watching Rodimus flop in alt-mode- his alt mode. His optical ridges pull together, spoiler dropping just a bet. Its unusual seeing his own tranformation and, well, he's never been one for second-hand embarassment but... This calls to the forefront of his mind the times he's done that. Its never an ideal or pleasant situation. "I warned you," he tells Rodimus as an 'I told you so.'

"No." Rodimus's voice is flat and curt. Except -- that's just what he sounds like all of the time. "I'm fine. I just -- I just gotta." He rattles on the table, plates shifting, rippling with attempts to force a transformation that just isn't coming. "You know what, fine. This is fine. This is great." He stills, clearly resigned to his fate, turned face-down on the table so that every word is muffled. Can tiny bricks glare? Can Soundwave FEEL the GLARE of the tiny break? No, probably not, because one of them has that outlier ability here and it's not Soundwave. He just rattles desperately once more before ... moving on. "Okay, so clearly we're all still kind of trying to figure this all out. Perceptor's deep in figuring out how it was done and how to undo it, but we're pretty sure this was an attack by the Unicron's Lost Light at this point."

Minimus Ambus, considerably fluffier than usual in Whetstone's frame, runs his fingertips over his helm and ducks his head. "An attack whose effectiveness we hope to minimize by organizing those among the crew who are ... least confused," he states. He is among those who have managed to acclimatize reasonably well, at least since he first managed to get the hang of the fire breath enough to not casually ignite things anymore. He has an unfair advantage in acclimatizing to new frames. Plus, now he gets to be a wyvern, so.

Tailgate is still adjusting his seat and keeping a side eye on Hound when Rodimus sounds like he wants to get down to business; Chimera's jade optics look up in time to see the involuntary transformation onto the table. "Ah! Oh no--" Everyone else is either laughing or staring, and Tailgate is nearly standing up to help when he says he doesn't need it. Aight, it's cool. He'll just-- Tailgate reaches out while Rodimus speaks to turn the other mech's alt upright. There.

"An attack? How does that even work?" Tailgate's confusion comes through easily, even in this voice.

"Our scientists seemingly work magic at times. Stands to reason theirs would be just as adept." Penchant shudders, rubbing his face with his... three fingers. Cosmos should totally have more than this. "Least confused meaning most acclimated?" His visor settles back on Rodimus, the upright brick, but he holds his tongue.

The mention of an attack by the !Lost Light crew has not-Trailbreaker's orangish visor flashing with an unusual rage. "Why am I not surprised." Rodimus/not-Soundwave may be able to feel the surge of emotion coursing through the Combaticon as he steps forward, the datapads in his broad hands creaking with pressure as Blast Off grasps them with more force than he is accustomed to having. "I had a run-in with them, with those... those *imposters*... during our scouting mission. We have to find a way to *attack them back*. We *can't* let them keep those other Decepticons enslaved like that!" The sights and sounds of his alternate self being abused was bad enough, and then to have to run away? Not acceptible.

Hound, for his part, has settled into his awkward position of half-sitting half-leaning. He's propped his larger forearms on the table in front of him and is resting his helm on top of them, his antenna twitching every so often as he listens. He's not planning on trying to talk, not unless it's really important, so his only response to the discussion of the alternate Lost Light crew is a rather alarmed cycling of his optics, and he begins to pull out his datapad in his secondary hands. He'll be ready to asks questions, the moment he has one important enough to peck out and make everyone wait for.

Being the speed demon that he is, Brigade shuffles into the room once the meeting has already started. He pauses in the doorway, optics skating over the motley crew of 'commanders' and barely suppresses a sigh at the sight. He's been making an especial effort to sort out who-is-who, and his handy list lets him know he's the only one who has kept his original frame. Not wanting to make a spectacle of himself (especially considering his late arrival), he steps into the corner and settles in to listen to the chatter. He hopes he can pick up the thread of the discussion from that.

Ah, and that would be his- well, Rodimus's now- t-cog jamming. Soundwave told him. He said he could fold up and get stuck. Hopefully another trip to the medibay will help him retain the advice. He vents before stiffening, hands tightening to fists at the mention of the !Lost Lighters. He doesn't flame on thought, so he's getting better at that at least. His spoiler hikes up aggressively. "Those who may have acclimated quickly and are still in combative frames are minimal," he states, running over the list of swaps in his head. This whole thing as them at a severe disadvantage. "Problem, not inability to fight back, Blast Off, but to do so effectively. There were issues before our... Current predicamnet."

Rodimus shivers under the gentle touch of Tailgate's REALLY WEIRDLY MASSIVE hand, but once upright he speaks much more clearly: "We don't know the how, but once they figure it out, I'll let you know. In the meantime, we're definitely at a disadvantage. Sunstreaker was in Whirl's frame and still got taken out fast. I've fought alongside both of them. They're both tough. It doesn't matter how good you are or how good the body is if you are still getting used to it. Brigade, I was hoping you had some good ideas on this. Magnus had some thoughts about a response team too, I think. We weren't -- ready to immediately deploy one. We should be in the future."

"We still have plenty of guns in the armory even if many of us are completely not conversant with the combat capabilities of our current frames. I believe I can be effective in this body," Minimus states, "although I have yet to test out its capabilities." He considers the room with a sweep of his glance, as if thinking about who in the room he might want to pick a fight with, and then /discarding all of them/, sorry. He resets his vocalizer and glances aside.

Tailgate falls somewhat quiet at Blast Off's words. He's right about that. He's sure that everyone else feels the same! They have to. He is quiet and scoots up to lean on the table beside Hound while he listens, resting his chin on one hand. "That's right, that trip was mostly supposed to be recon, right?" Something like that?

"Sounds like the right job for Brigade's department, the whole-- whipping people into shape? I mean, I know how claws and teeth work, but it's not like I'm any good at them." Tailgate looks at his much larger hands, running the edge of his glossa over a pointy tooth.

Penchant doesn't seem particularly confident nor willing to fight in his current frame. So he just hunkers down in his seat, rounded shoulders bunching as his glances over at Brigade.

Blast Off bites his lower lip in agitation, some of the kibble on his back and shoulders starting to whing and whir in his consternation. Those large hands keeps gripping the datapads until there's a faint *crack*, which snaps the not-truck out of his broiling inner rage and back into something more akin to a cool head. He frowns listening to both Soundwave and Rodimus, none of their words seem especially promising. And yet... He sighs, relaxing the death grip on the poor datapads.

One hand comes up to rub briefly at his temple before he replies in a slightly more calm tone, "...Understood. Believe me, I understand that it is foolish to enter combat, or engage in combat, without a stategy and enough firepower and skill to have a chance to defeat your enemy. I've been on the front line many a time, and you don't live through that by being stupid." He scowls at nothing in particular as he adds, "I.. just want to make sure we *will* do something to rescue those... other Decepticons." He glances at Rodimus. "I could ask Onslaught about it, too... he's a military stategist, he would have some ideas."

Tailgate's question brings Trail Off's attention to the ...well now quite large person over there. "Yes. I... uh, I have my report right here!" He holds up the cracked datapad, then sheepishly covers the crack with a thick finger. He glances at Rodimus- just give him the signal to report what he found. Well- if you can in that brick.

Hound glances over at Tailgate with a friendly chirp as the now-massive Security director slides over closer to him. They'll just ignore the fact that they got up to some ridiculous hijinks in the Botany Lab last night, though Hound finds he has to stop himself from twisting to search for the movement of Tailgate's tail. No, now isn't the time for that. Instead, he turns to his datapad, tapping at it while his optics squint in conversation. When he's done, he nudges it forward, allowing a shakily-written "use the races?" to be seen by anyone who cares to look at it.

Brigade isn't given his chance to linger in the corner quietly, giving a quiet grunt of surprise when he's called upon. For a moment the tank looks like a school child who doesn't know the answer to a test question. "We're talking about our combat readiness, correct?" he asks. Oddly enough, this is an issue he had been talking to with Fortress Maximus not long ago. "I'm afraid, sir, there's no simple answer. We drill, we prepare, we learn. It's all we can do. I'm sure I can come up with a few diversions to give us time, but none of that is going to make up for good, honest skill. Not this time."

"Sure, one part combat readiness, but also one part putting plans in place for dealing with them." It's Rodimus speaking, but it's in Soundwave's flat voice, so maybe that makes it less weird when he talks about plans. "The races are a good start, B--ut," Rodimus says, definitely not about to call Hound Bob, because that's ridiculous! Bob can't talk! "We need to do more. I don't know why they thought this was a great time to slow us down, but I don't feel like letting them steal a march."

Soundwave looks to Minimus and dips his head in agreement. Where frail bodies fail, a big gun can more than make up for that. "Once this situation is handled, we will have to speak with Brainstorm." The primary weapons engineer. They need bigger bang- and perhaps he can talk the scientist into a painful bang for one !Autobot in particular.

Lips beneath mask press into a thin line as Soundwave shifts, one shoulder pressing lightly against Penchant's now larger frame. "If we cannot engage them with confidence, we should be sure everyone knows a retreat is necessary. Minimize the damage they can cause against us." Because he does not care about the damage their doubles cause the organics. "But if we could overtake one of them, we could learn why they did this now and more about their operations." There's an almost wistful sound to his- Rodimus's- voice. Almost like he missed having prisoners to draw information out of.

Rodimus is silent a slightly awkward stretch after Soundwave's point, but he's a brick, so he's probably just listening intently to everyone's ideas and making mental notes.

Tailgate pulls the end of his tail into his lap, running fingers over it as it curls against his frame. "Has anyone talked to the cassettes we brought back?" He is uncomfortable calling them Rumble and Frenzy. Those two aren't the ones in medical. He has a hard time seeing them as that. "I mean, they might not know a lot, but..." Might be worth a try?

Brigade makes sense, and Blast Off turns in his much bulkier than normal frame to give the mech a nod. "Diversions are good. *Weaknesses*, if we could find any, would be good. The element of surprise..." He glances to Hound, tilting his head in a little confusion, then over to Rodimus. "Races?" Then on to Soundwave. Another tilt of the head, this time of interest. "A prisoner to extract information from could definitely be useful." Ohhh let him help capture one of those fraggers, yes. Vortex would have fun with them.

He then holds his datapad up again. "I have the report right here. We DID find something. Something Unicron is heading towards right now."

Something about hearing Soundwave say that in Rodimus's voice makes Hound's optics narrow ever so slightly. If he were in his normal frame, he would probably voice his caution, but now, in Bob's frame, he can only make a quiet, dissatisfied rumbling. Brigade's response similarly makes the bug-second-in-command huff, though he doesn't pull the datapad back toward him to start typing somethin out. Instead, his antenna twitch in curiosity as Brigade holds up a report.

Penchant is certainly good with being Soundwave's little (big) anchor of comfort. Though he's not super keen on the strange tone in Soundwave's voice as he talks about capturing someone. And it looks like he's not the only one. Pench clears his throat. "We can talk to Frenzy and Rumble," he says, slowly, looking to Soundwave. "Right? Or I guess Rodimus or Cosmos can attempt to read 'em."

Brigade goes quiet, leaning back against the wall and letting the others discuss different plans and methods. He's still of the opinion that the only real solution is time and training, but.... "What we need is allies," the tank says. Although, that is easier said then done. Many of the colony worlds have already been devestated by Unicron. But just maybe... "It's dangerous, but our options are quickly running out. Cybertronians have enemies, one that will never believe us or unite with us if we tell them that this thing threatens the whole universe."

He falls silent again. This suggestion is a lot more dangerous than a planet full of trobbles, and if they clean up the Unicron mess they'll be left with another. Still, it's better to have a messed up world than none at all. "There are certain forces in the universe that would be happy to crush us if they thought Cybertronians were coming to war again. The Galactic Council, for instance. If we can make them believe we unleashed this weapon on purpose, they might just fight our battles for us. Even that would keep Unicron busy for a while. But the logistics of it, and what would happen afterwards.... Perhaps there is a simpler solution. I realize this one is..." Almost insane? He trails off, but the implication is there.

Belated, but clear, Rodimus says, "I've talked to them. I haven't -- I mean, obviously I got some stuff. Can't help it. But they know less than you might think." He just kind of leaves it that rather than further explaining anything, words next addressing Brigade: "Unicron is currently chewing his way through Council planets, and the other Lost Lighters appear to be heading out ahead of him and honestly putting in a pretty bad word for us with the rest of the galaxy."

"Crazy?" Tailgate says out loud to Brigade, looking less than enthused about the idea of involving galactic power by making them hate Cybertronians even more than they had. "Fact is, it's just as much their problem as ours. Why couldn't we convince them of that instead?" The catlike optics in his face narrow slightly, and the tail on his lap gets a bit of a tug in his hands. He's uncomfortable, perhaps. "So what would happen if we did catch one? We have to remember that we're not them. We're better than them..."

Blast Off listens to Brigade's suggestion, his broad, open face managing to pinch inwards a bit into a frown. He considers what he said a moment, then pulls one corner of his mouth back into a half-grimace as he speaks. "I don't know... that seems to be solving one problem by creating another." He nods towards Tailgate, "Surely we'd have /some/ worlds willing to ally with us, at least against Unicron? Surely we should at least attempt to find them?"

He lifts his report even higher. "But speaking of allies, we might have found a few!" If nobody's giving him the go-ahead, maybe he's supposed to just blurt this out. "We found a new colony on our last scouting trip! One that Unicron is heading towards RIGHT NOW as we speak!"

Brigade tilts his helm towards Rodimus, nodding his helm slightly. "I suppose you have that point. The Galactic Council may very well intercede without any further prodding from us," the tank says. But then again, he wasn't hired for his diplomacy. That's what the others are here to advise about. He holds his glossa about trying to convince those other powers to aid them, though. To him, it feels like too much of a long shot. These people have too much reason to fear Cybertronians to believe.

He remains silent as Blast Off starts to give his report, though, leaning in to hear what the other mecha has to report. Maybe there will be something of use...

Soundwave tenses, scowling. !Rumble and !Frenzy don't need to be questioned. They have enough stress, do they need any more. Thankfully, Rodimus puts that all to rest before he can snap at anyone who suggested to do otherwise

Soundwave's stiffness melts away quickly to make room with disbelief. They want to interact with the Galactic Council? The Council who would love to find any excuse to kill them. He tries to recall how Wanted he just might be. "Any attempts to ally ourselves with the Galactic Council are futile. History dictates they would be more burden than boon." His spoiler twitches. "I know how to handle prisoners, Tailgate." Not to mention, he's sure the Autobot Code has a few lines on how to treat them- flexible lines, no doubt. He 'blinks' after Blast Off speaks "A colony? Do we have Unicron's ETA before he devours the world?"

"Galactic diplomacy is not historically a strong point," Minimus Ambus intones with a particularly bland look.

Brigade's suggestion of dealing with the Galactic Council only has the rumbling in Bob-Hound's chassis growing, a sound of clear displeasure at the idea which he emphasizes with a firm shake of his helm. If the Galactic Council assumes that they're the key to controling Unicron, they might just come after the Lost Light, or after Cybertronians in general, leaving the rest of the universe even more vulnerable to the threat of Unicron. As it is, the others bring up good points, and Hound's discontented sounds quickly die down again. The question of allies, though, makes him respond with a curious chirp.

"The Galactic Council -- and the BBC, actually -- are already, uh, interceding." Did you know that 'uh' sounds weird in monotone? Well, it does. Rodimus goes on, "By the millions. Billions, maybe. And dying. Often to people who look a lot like us. We've got some serious bad press to work against. We can't just get ahead of them to our own colonies, but we need to get between them and the targets in their way. Show them we aren't the same. The colony -- that might be why he turned. We need to find what's between here and there and get evacuations started, and we need people to make contact. I'm sure Starscream will be right behind us."

"You know how to handle prisoners, but do you know how to do it in that frame?" Tailgate doesn't mean to sound bold, and it's easy to tell that he's trying to tread lightly. He looks to the table where Rodimus still sits, quieting. "Never been this glad to have a space bridge nearby. Surely we could reach it with that, once we find a way there?"

Blast Off turns to Soundwave, his manner crisp and professional again, despite the usually much more casual body he inhabits. "I'm not entirely certain, unfortunately. I can let you know when we establish Unicron's location, however. We don't have much time, but from earlier reports I believe an advanced scouting party would have time to get there and make contact before Unicron arrives." Trail Off nods to Rodimus. "Yes. And there is time for that. Unfortunately, we didn't have much time to really make in-depth scans of this planet, but from what we DID get... I can tell you there's water. A LOT of water. There seemed to be scattered Cybertronian lifesigns and a planet comprising about 78% water on the surface. I can send you the report, it just came in."

Soundwave scowls again, more than a little irritated with Tailgate pointing out his predicament. It would... Cause some difficulties. He huffs and doesn't comment on it. Mostly becaust Tailgate is right. "If you had difficulties reaching the colony through space, bridging directly to it would seem the fastest and safest route," he agrees.

"Okay, we've handled like a billion--" Nine. Literally nine. "--colonies by now, so we'll go ahead and follow standard protocol with an extra side of disaster preparedness and possible evacuation," Rodimus says. "Maybe with a side of finding and scanning Unicron's whatever before he gets there and see if we can blow it up or something. We've done this before, so--" From there on, it's relatively standard issue, even if they aren't standard issue. Total normal command meetings on the Lost Light.

Hound chitters at Blast Off, nodding and bobbing his antenna eagerly. His entire frame seems to be wriggling in excitement, even. He may not be a water-suited alt, but it certainly sounds like a fascinating location to him, whether or not he's managed to get back into his normal frame by them. Rodimus's comments make Hound pull back on the noises for the moment, but he darts glances between the two of them with some agreeing nods. Seems like a good start to him.

Penchant leans back in his seat, with nothing immediate to add. There's a lot to think about, but they definitely need allies. The situation is obviously a lot larger than their crew. Thankfully his job is just to keep everyone stocked in supplies and rations, and the spacebridge (plus Drift-money) has been super helpful there. Rodimus eventually gets a thumbs-up.

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