2018-05-30 Do It For Them

From Transformers: Lost and Found

Do It For Them
Date 2018/05/30
Location Skystalker and Quicksight's Habsuite
Participants Quicksight, Skystalker
Summary Quicksight has been working on something...

Quicksight's side of the room maintains a rather spartan decor. The closest thing to a decoration is a large, grey metal box with the Decepticon symbol painted on the lid. It's locked. If shaken, something flat may flop around in it, and something small may roll around. Someone small may then demand that you stop shaking his things, you afthole.

Skystalker's side of the room is lined with potted plants and blooming flowers, his belongings locked away under his berth in an elegant box. Some musical instruments sit freely amongst the habsuite, and he makes sure to keep the desk and vidscreen of the room clean and organized. There is a fish tank on a shelf unit, green with plants and holding multiple fish; the largest is a beautiful white, with billowing fins.

It's been a while since the last battle against Unicron's forces, and even longer since Tempo first landed on Cybertron, and Quicksight still hasn't set foot on Cybertron. Not in a leisurley capacity anyways, and even when he was out fighting or scouting, he made an effort to remain airborne. Needless to say, this hasn't done much for his social life, but he's been busy with his own thing anyways. Quite busy. It's been taking up quite a bit of his attention, infact. These two things combined means he's fallen a bit out of the loop.

It was for a good cause though! Probably. Maybe. He's not sure, which is why he's looking for Skystalker. He's never done this before, not like this, and he could rally use some feedback. Plus, the spacer's been looking kinda down lately, and something like this might cheer him up. He tends to like it when Quicksight writes, doesn't he?

Once he was done with his shift, the scout started systemically searching Skystalker's usual haunts. Their shared quarters are the first on his list. He needs to grab his writing anyways. Poking his head in through the door, he calls out "Sky?"

As luck would have it, Skystalker is right where he is supposed to be; he has been sticking to only a few places-- quarters, lab, Drift's, maybe Swerve's, maybe the skies outside, maybe up on that spire on Metroplex's hide again. With the planets merging it's still a sight to see, but that's not why he goes.

But right now, he is here. Sort of.

The starfighter looks like he is somewhere else, given the way he is staring out of the window at Iacon's spaceport in the background of the Lost Light. A datapad sits by his side, still turned on but going unread. His hands are still filmy with a bit of dirt, but he doesn't seem bothered. The sound of his name tugs him back to reality, amber optics widening a little when he turns his head. "Oh, hey. Didn't hear the door..."

Quicksight spots his amica before the other speaks up, noting his demeanor. Once he's sure tha the other has noticed him and he won't startle him, he slips in past the door, letting it slide behind him "You alright?"

The uneasy twitch to Skystalker's features speaks before his vocalizer does. He looks down at his legs crossed on the berth, studying the sleek lines of his boots and the bottoms of his treads before answering.

"Not really." Wings flick and resettle, fanning slightly at Sky's back. There is a sigh to match, and he looks back up, expression a touch more sweet for Quicksight. "But it can't be helped. What's up?"

Quicksight's own wings - or the armour plates they become in this form, shift as well, flattening out against his arms. He hates to see his friend upset or 'not really alright'. Quietly, he moves up to him "I, uh, I wanted to show you something - get your opinion. Thought you might like it, or it might cheer you up, but if you're not in the mood, I can leave it for later and just - stay here, if you like."

"I don't mean to deter you." Skystalker doesn't move from the berth, but he does shift a little to look to the smaller mech, the shine of his face having gotten more attention than the dirt on his hands. At least he's staying fueled and self-aware, which is good. The same can't be said for others. "I'd be happier helping you, than making you sit here in quiet." His head tilts in question, mouth closed in a soft smile. What was it?

Quicksight says, "I wouldn't mind it, really." Quicksight pauses between the two berths. He'd only be too happy to sit quietly if that would help. "But if you're sure..." the scout moves to his own berth, disapearing behind it only to reapear again with his footlocker. A few moments later, he pushes aside the lid and pulls out several sheets of parchment, which he holds out to Skystalker."

The handwriting is a bit messy, but legible:

I wasn't born as a person, I was built as a weapon. The entire reason for my existence was to fight in the war. I wasn't expected to ever make it out alive, not from my first battle, let alone the war. Thus, I was given only what I needed to know for my mission. I was not expected to ever need anything else.

That first battle, I got lucky. I managed to survive. Many others were not so. I saw their bodies, countless, strewn about the battlefield, as I returned to the base. Many, as I later learned, were from the same batch as myself. Over half of our our original number never made it past that first battle, never learned what we were fighting for in the first place, and never saw the worlds they were fighting for. This outcome was expected. None of us were really expected to live to see any of that. We were just expected to die, and take as many enemies as we could with us.

The expectation was not lifted from those of us who had managed to survive. As far as some of our officers were concerned, we had simply delayed the time of our death. We were still expected to do nothing but fight, and end up as nothing but a pile of rust. The only skills that were deemed important enough to teach us were those that increased the numbers of enemies we could take with us. We were still disposable - nothing more than walking, trainable weapons of war. We were told what we were fighting for, but we were never expected to share in the results. We were told of Megatron, and his ideals, but we were never expected to partake in them.

We were barely told anything more than was needed to keep us fighting. The rest we overheard in passing, but no one explained it to us. We weren't expected to ever need it. Only our comms officer took an interest in us. He was a mech who liked to hear himself talk, and we were eager to listen, to hear of the meaning of these things we were fighting for, and of the universe beyond the little planet we were built to fight on. Eventually, we learned to tell our own stories, keeping our spirits up by imagining what we would do after the war, basing them on the mentions and tales of old Cybertron that we'd heard from our elders. Few of us really believed that we would actually live to make them a reality. War was all there was, all there ever was, and fighting was the only thing we knew. We weren't expected to ever need to know anything else.

Despite expectations, some of us did manage to survive to see the end of the war. It ended unexpectedly, and more so for us, who only knew war to be a constant. Yet, we still knew nothing but how to fight. We were built to fight in a war, and never expected to need any other skills, and thus, given no other skills. We did not know how to be useful in peace. We had never had an existence that did not involve fighting.

Time passed, and, of course, we began to learn. Here, several lines are completely scribbled over I could write pages more about what that was like for myself, as it had taken me a few years to even admit that the war, the only thing I had ever known, was truly over. Many of us are still not at the level that those who lived before the war are at. We are looked down on for that, for being what we are, for having been built as weapons, to fight in, and die in, and know nothing but war. But we are not the ones who chose this path for us. We are not to blame that we have know peace for only a fraction of the time everyone else has. What we are is capable of learning. We are learning. We are not just dumb guns capable of nothing but fighting. It was all we were taught, but it is not all we can learn, if we are given the opportunity and time that everyone else had. We can be more than we were built to be, we just need the chance to prove it, to ourselves as well as to the rest of the galaxy. ''

Skystalker turns his seated self around to face the other berth as his amica goes digging, watchful as he pops back up with his box and the parchment papers. The latter get a more earnestly curious look, which only sticks when he is offered them. Of course Skystalker accepts them, lowering his chin to read.

Though he reads slowly, it is a steady pace; after a point, Skystalker can feel his vents open up and his optics dim. The light at the edges holds back behind the curve of shuttered lids. When he finishes, he holds the gathering of parchment in his hands and looks up with an intake of air.

"I am so glad that you wrote this." Sky starts with a hush, pausing and searching for what he wants to say. He seems to waffle on words, but they come. "It's something that needs to be said now more than ever..." Sounds like he approves.

Quicksight's fingers dig into the edge of the berth as he anxiously watches Skystalker read through the pages. It's not that he expects anything harsh from his amica, perse, but this is - well, it's kind of an important step for him, and it's the first time he's done something like this for - well...

His shoulder plates perk up as Skystalker gives his feedback "You - you really think so? I - well- after talking to some people - you included, I got the idea to - to write something to - well, to put out - to publish - like, in the insider or something, where everyone could see. I dunno if it's good enough for that though. Never done something like this..."

"As much as I love our ship and our crew, the Insider is not exactly editorial material. But it's a first step." Skystalker starts in a bit of a tease, settling into a smile as he skims the first page once more. "You really should put it out there. For all the people just like you, trying to find some sense in everything. Knowing you aren't alone." He rubs at the bridge of his nose, still smiling.

"You should find someone in Iacon... I know there is live news media here, maybe there are people that publish these kinds of things, still."

At the mention of Iacon, Quicksight's plates flaten down again "I dunno... I mean I -" he turns to look out the window, at the spaceport beyond. His shoulders tense "I mean" he turns back to Skystalker, but now, he can't seem to get himself to look at him directly "I mean - I kinda got the idea - from someone - ta do this also kinda to encourage other people too and --" he looks towards the window again, and then down at the floor, as if not looking at Skystalker could somehow make it harder for him to hear his subsequent mumble: "And I don't wanna go out there."

The tension in his friend gets noticed right away. He knew Quick didn't like Cybertron, but... oh. That someone else was also encouraging him doesn't go unnoticed, but first Skystalker centers his attention and sets the papers down on the berth beside him.

"Not all warborn have been as lucky, to find a new crew, new friends, new homes... I know that they are out there, too." Amber eyes move back and forth to the window. "Wanting." Skystalker looks back to the minibot, searchingly. "Why don't you?"

Quicksight look sup at Skystalker as the spacer offers his oppinion, only to turn back down to the floor. Well, that's certianly one way to put it, and make him feel guilty.

"Warborn's just the ones who was forged" he mutters a correction. He shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot before adding "This planet ain't never done nothing for me but put me down. I don't wanna set foot on it." Which now sounds like a rather selfish excuse in light of the potential of helping others. Good Decepticons are supposed to think about the greater good, after all.

"Sorry. Constructed?" Which does he prefer? "It wasn't the planet that did that. It was the mechs on it." Skystalker's biolights glow with a rosy tint, despite Quicksight's mood. He stays demure in manner, yet. "I've been down there. The planet is its own ...entity. If you've got to be angry at something, maybe it ought to be something else?"

"It's not just New Iacon out there. Metroplex is too. Tempo, refugees, settlements on the outskirts of neutrals and others. New hotspots, new minds." Skystalker eases down from his berth, only to crouch down to a knee to eye level. "Aimless, lonely soldiers. If nothing else, would you consider going out there for //them//?"

"The mechs are still there. And here..." Quicksight mumbles, the conviction in his voice draining out with each word. It wouldn't be right to eschew his duty as a Decepticon just because being on Cybertron brings him bad memories. That sounds almost cowardly, now that Skystalker presses the subject. Thus, he finally gives a small nod "I guess..."

"You should think about it." Skystalker can't make him do anything-- he learned that before. He extends a hand down towards one of Quicksight's, idly seeking small fingers to hold onto. "I bet there are more than a few like you. But you can't meet any of them stuck in here, right?"

Quicksight turns his hand to accept Skystalker's without really thinking about it, relaxing a little at the touch. "I kinda did... but I guess there are others too, and they maybe got something to say..."

"Yeah. Like that." Skystalker affirms the thought, his grasp similarly reassuring. "I think you're just the guy to help them out. Or I might be a little bit biased on that, but--" He actually manages a small laugh, the first real one in weeks. "I think you already know that I'm right behind you."

Quicksight's optics are a little brighter when he looks up again "Thanks." There is a moment's pause before he continues "You really think it's good enough to put out? Honestly?"

The gratitude even in times like this is one thing that makes him, him. Skystalker lifts his other hand to lay it softly on his amica's helm as he stands back up. "I do, but if you want to, we can read it through together again? Maybe out loud, see if there's anything you want to change."

The light begins to fully return to Quicksight's optics as he looks up at Skystalker "You would?" well, ofcourse he would, he just offered "I - I mean thanks, really!" He's lucky to have a supportive friened like Sky. Why, he probably wouldn't be half at where he's at if it were for him.

With a small hop, he pulls himself up onto the cot, besides his amica.

There are only a handful of people that can bring Skystalker out of a ditch-- truly. Quicksight is one of them, despite any clashes and contests they might have. He sits back down as he jumps up beside him, pulling his legs in once more and settling opposite. They will definitely get something done like this-- and hopefully reach out in the process.

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