Difference between revisions of "2018-10-07 Wreckage"

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Revision as of 02:45, 8 October 2018

Date 2018/10/07
Location Lost Light - Command: Rodimus's Office
Participants Rodimus, Prowl
Summary Prowl isn't keen on the unrest between Soundwave and Rodimus following Tarn's assassination. Rodimus isn't keen on being told what to do. Prowl tries to smooth it over with rocky diplomacy.
Prowl (of Petrex): Do you know where your princess is?

Rodimus (of Nyon): fraggin princess LEAVIN ME READ SO OK

30 minutes later, Prowl sends Rodimus an image capture of Soundwave in the medibay looking like he came out of a woodchipper and is sad to have survived.

Rodimus (of Nyon): wat part of not answr me do u not get

Prowl (of Petrex): I don't understand anything you're saying.

Rodimus (of Nyon): DX DX DX DX DX

Rodimus (of Nyon): HE

Rodimus (of Nyon): IS NOT

Rodimus (of Nyon): ANSWERING ME

Prowl (of Petrex): Is this really over a few decals?

Rodimus (of Nyon): Fwd from Soundwave: Update your holoform avatar. I insist you avoid using the likeness of 'humans' if possible. Be back soon.

Rodimus (of Nyon): see nething missin???????

Prowl (of Petrex): So he doesn't like humans. Just make it into an elephant. Are you in your office?

Rodimus (of Nyon): y

Rodimus (of Nyon): ill make u in2 a n (elephant emoji)

Prowl spent a solid minute puzzling over Rodimus' "y". Is it a "why" or is it a "yes"!? "Rodimus," he gruffs as he steps into the captain's office. "They just got back from a very, very dangerous mission and were successful. I wanted to reward them."

Rodimus is sprawled on his belly on the couch at the small seating area that mirrors Windblade's. As Prowl BURSTS INTO THE OFFICE, he startles, rolls, and clonks to the ground between couch and table, jarring and rattling the two empty glasses and mostly full bottle of cheap engex. "Do you fragging knock, ever?"

Prowl watches the rube goldberg machine that is Rodimus as he topples down to the floor. "If officers are doing anything untoward, it's usually in their quarters... But I'll knock next time." He just waits at the edge of the table.

"Ugh." Rodimus rises in a grumpy pile of parts. As he stands, all of those unasked for decals are revealed along with the now-scuffed mirror shine of his finish. It's pretty tasteful, actually, so far as adding a bunch more flames to the already excessive existing flames goes. This was high quality unasked for bodily alteration. "What do you want, Prowl?" He doesn't look as miserable as Soundwave -- for one thing, he's not bleeding -- but Rodimus's shoulders are hunched inward as though he carries an inner bruising. Of idiocy.

Prowl is caught slightly off-guard by the alluring finish and stylish flames. He finds his optics traveling along contours that they probably shouldn't, and finally shakes himself out of the spell. "I'd like to smooth this over so I don't have to deal with it later."

Rodimus drops himself back into a seat and waves Prowl at his choice of chairs. He squints at the glasses, then gets up to get new ones. "Smooth this over, with your noted diplomatic skills."

Prowl remains standing. "Yeah, I've been working on them. He said he didn't respond because he didn't know how. I'm sure he didn't mean to... demand anything of you. Who do you think he is? You think it's a lapse, back to the other Soundwave?"

Rodimus eyes Prowl in his refusal to stand, then matches him. He sets down the glasses, but doesn't pour. His posture grows increasingly stiff and uncomfortable. "I don't know. It's not--" He hesitates, and breaks off, then says, "It wasn't an entirely clean break. But no, I don't think that's it."

Rodimus eyes Prowl in his refusal to sit, then matches him. He sets down the glasses, but doesn't pour. His posture grows increasingly stiff and uncomfortable. "I don't know. It's not--" He hesitates, and breaks off, then says, "It wasn't an entirely clean break. But no, I don't think that's it."

"Is Soundwave as controlling as you imagine over anyone else? You think his cassettes cannot make their own decisions? Where did this come from?" Prowl grows just as stiff, but he doesn't look discomforted in the least.

Rodimus growls: it's a low noise, one that knocks around in his engine as his hands flex and curl at his sides. "I'm not fragging imagining it, Prowl. I'm not imagining that message. I'm not imagining standing up and not recognizing my paint job."

Prowl hardens against the sound, doors hiking up. And then, with all of his practiced diplomacy, "Get over it. I was expecting one of them to die. I know that you know how lucky we are to have them both back."

Rodimus looks a little gutted by the bluntness of Prowl's answer and looks to the side. It's hard to maintain the self-righteousness that sustained him when it was already hollow. Prowl knocks the supports from beneath it in a single sweep. The forward, protective curve of his shoulders grows more pronounced, and his spoiler dips, winging back. "Yeah."

Prowl waits a beat, denta grinding, ready to lash again if Rodimus followed up with a biting retort. But it doesn't come. Prowl watches the spoiler dip. Ah, scrap. That didn't feel good at all.

"I told him to respond to you. He'd worried he would mess it up, and that would be that. I don't think you'd do that to him." Prowl finally finds a seat and looks over at the glasses.

"Why not? I've done it before. You're the one picking your way through the wreckage of the last time," Rodimus says, his words quiet, sharp, with edges turned inward. He draws one hand down the opposite arm, and visibly resists the urge to fold them over his chest. He doesn't sit. He turns away, and shifts, restless.

Prowl isn't entirely sure what he's looking at, at first. When the picture knits together, he grimaces and runs a hand over his chevron. "Rodimus," he begins. "Sit down." He'll just... start with that.

Rodimus's burst of temper, "You don't get to tell me what to do, either!" is a tiny sort of tantrum. He doesn't sit.

Prowl bites into his lip, hard. His palms turn up. "Fine. Stand. I just think you might be reading too much into Soundwave's request, where he failed to include a few question marks. You're not wreckage. You're just... a little singed. But hey, you're fireproof."

Rubbing at his helm, Rodimus says, "I meant -- frag, I should leave the metaphors to him." The aside is quiet, half-heard, and he's hardly louder as he goes on. "I meant Minimus. I that-would-be-thatted him. You're right. I'm fireproof. I leave the wreckage behind me. It's everyone else I hit with shrapnel."

Prowl looks indignant. "I'm not picking through the remains like some cryocondor," he mutters. "You didn't obliterate him. It just didn't work out. That's all." It's easier to downplay everything. "It happens. I didn't ruin Chromedome." ...

Rodimus gives Prowl an unfairly skeptical glance, then drags his hand over his helm. "Fine. I'm being ridiculous. You're right; I am. I'm not an idiot. I hate this, too."

Prowl is just going to pour his own glass. "I won't tell you to do anything but I'd urge you to just go visit. He apparently skipped out of the medibay so he could avoid dwelling on his text screw-up. This is why I say that everyone should use voicemail instead of text."

Rodimus glares at Prowl as he helps himself to the terrible engex. It's so bad, Prowl. It's so bad. Rodimus has no taste. "Yeah, great advice, obviously I'll do whatever you suggest, since everything's working out so well for you." Now he's just being mean.

"Hey, it's working out great. Minimus and I are going out. OUT. He's going to have a great time." Prowl struggles to navigate around gloating and then going too far in light of Rodimus' soul-bearing moments ago. "It's working out very well." Okay, thanks to Rodimus for those tickets, really. Prowl puts an exclamation point on this rant with a full swig of the engex, and nearly spits it out. He swallows and hacks and chokes and thumps his hood.

It's probably the total lack of dignity in Prowl's attempts to choke down the engex that allows Rodimus to be gracious enough to say, "Good," and "I'm glad," in a quiet but earnest sort of voice.

"Hfff-kk'hh," is Prowl's immediately response. When he gathers himself, he glares at the glass, then the bottle. "This is awful." He stands and sets the bottle down with a clank. "Alright, Prowl advice hour's over. That'll be all, Captain."

Rodimus waves Prowl off, weary but not ungrateful, then says -- with a friendly maliciousness, "You can take the bottle, if you want."

"I don't need to assassinate anyone, keep it," Prowl huffs, and stalks out, still wheezing.

It's not long after Prowl's left -- just long enough that Rodimus can be sure that he isn't lurking around any corners waiting and watching to see what he does -- that Rodimus rises, and heads down to medical.

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