2015-03-19 More Good Than Bad
From Transformers: Lost and Found
|More Good Than Bad|
|Location||Habsuites -- Chromia and Windblade's Habsuite|
|Summary||Rodimus drops off a note and talks politics and potential with Chromia.|
This room is really two rooms.
The outer room is smaller, much smaller, than the proper one beyond it. This spartan space serves as the living quarters for Chromia, outfitted with little more than a weapons rack, work station and a recharge station. There are no decorations though a small collection of personal items are tucked away at one side of that desk.
The room beyond belongs to Windblade and is closed off to all those that are not permitted to enter. What mysteries are to be found there are known to those select few as the room serves as the private sanctum for the Cityspeaker.
It would be nice and reasonable for Rodimus to comm ahead -- or, if he were really being responsible and properly delegating and everything, possibly get his communications officer to comm ahead. But he doesn't do that. He just shows up at Chromia and Windblade's habsuite, leaning on the buzzer and going, "Hey, Windblade!" at the door.
Well, the door opens at least.
In one hand she holds her axe. In the other is the sharpening buffer. It is not Windblade at all but rather the sentry that must be passed to get to her. Chromia cocks a brow as she looks to Rodimus. "She's recharging. Can we help you with something?"
When the door opens, Rodimus makes as if to step forward. Then he notices the axe. Fingers hooked in the doorway's frame, he leans back in a sudden reversal. Lifting his gaze to meet Chromia's, he offers her a room-brightening smile. "I wanted to give her an update. Pass it on? We're taking a detour. No seas, sorry."
This gives Chromia pause as she looks over her shoulder, past her meager little closet-entryway space to the larger room behind. There's a moment there where she considers waking Windblade but... well, there's worry on her face when she looks back. "I know she went to recharge hoping for one. So if it was here waiting for her when she gets up...," she reasons aloud. That might make Windblade happy. With her axe Chromia gestures in, towards her spartan desk. "Willing to leave her a note?" Yes, she's inviting him in, well, as 'in' as far as her room extends, which isn't much.
"Sure." Rodimus pulls himself forward by the fingers still hooked on the doorframe. Now that he knows Chromia's not going to be chopping any of his limbs off, he takes possession of the space with full confidence. He moves for her desk, glancing over it only briefly. His gaze does not nosily linger and pry at anything she might leave lying out, but he does say, "Wow, your desk is like /Magnus/ levels of clean. I'm filled with a barely resistible compulsion to make a mess."
At one end of that desk is a small space dedicated to the sum total of all of Chromia's personal effects - three; the hilt of a weapon, a vid-cap of Chromia and Nautica, and a crude model of Caminus. "If you must. It should be easy to clean up," Chromia notes. There's not much there to make a mess with. She's unsure if the Magnus comment is a compliment or not, but she thinks better of asking.
Since Rodimus has her desk, Chromia takes to the only other furniture in the space. She sits on her recharging chamber and resumes the sharpening of her blade. Hopefully she won't distract him too much from what he's promised to do. "So," Chromia puts out there without really looking up, "We've been on board long enough that I think I can ask. I get the searching for colonies and these Knights. I mean, I see the importance of that. But what do *you* get out of this Rodimus? What has *you* out here, leading this charge?"
"Nope. I'm resisting. I really deserve a medal for this." Rodimus scrawls a quick and lazy note to the effect of 'detour, no seas' and then starts doodling a picture of the planet that they'll be checking out: craters, mysterious tunnel and all. "You can see the importance of it, maybe, but a lot of people on Cybertron couldn't. I'm the only one who was willing to try to fix the problems there. I'm here because I'm the only one who could do it. Because Cybertron needs us to do it, even if they don't want to admit it."
"... kind of like us needing to leave Caminus," she admits with a sigh. "Maybe we're in the same boat for a reason." Chromia looks up here. "Not that *I* wanted to leave. Fortunately, I have Nautica," she smiles. Maybe more than she should. "I mean, I know the importance of why we had to leave but still... maybe all those on Cybertron that were unwilling to leave find security in what is known. That to be able to reach out and hold onto what they have, even if it is dwindling, means more than risking losing it. Foolish, but." Well. She thinks she can identify with them. "It's not just Cybertron that needs this." Once more her brows knit but this time because she thinks about sharing something that, thus far, she's made darned sure to not bring up. "Caminus needs it to. It's dying," she admits with difficulty. Pride, shame, maybe even a sense of not wanting to add to the burdens that Rodimus has taken on are in there, but Chromia does think he deserves to know.
Rodimus glances up at Chromia, and there's an old and heavy weight to his gaze that seems rather out of place given his general apparent youth and impulsiveness. "I'm sorry." He glances down, and when he looks up again, he's set the past to the side. "But dying isn't dead. As long as there's life left, there's hope." His expression eases, veiled by distance as he leans back. "Maybe even after. We'd almost killed our planet, you know. Cybertron was -- there was nothing left. Not really. But now it's vibrant -- wild, maybe, uncontrolled, but alive. I promise you, you won't have left for nothing. We'll find /something/ to help the Camiens."
Well, now it makes sense. *This* is why everybot that is on this ship is here.
What he says is so... foolish. Naive. Silly to hang a shread of hope on. Yet... it's *exactly* what she hopes for. And he's said it. The mech actually *believes* in what he says, doesn't he? In this moment Chromia has truly joined the crew of the Lost Light. Certainly in a way she hadn't before now.
She should say 'thanks' but that seems like it could almost be trite. Instead, Chromia decides to stay honest. "I was scared to leave. Caminus is all I have ever known. Everything I *wanted* to know. We were destined to head to Cybertron, which from what little we knew, I did NOT want to go to. Because of that history. This... where we ended up is better, I think. Even if we don't have a set destination we have a purpose." And that is all the security she could hope for.
One can doubt a lot of things about Rodimus, from his sense to his taste to his sense to his judgment to his /sense/ -- but the depth of his belief and the sincerity of his feelings are transparent. He believes. He cares.
"Cybertron would've totally been a bust," Rodimus predicts as he pushes his now-completed note across the table and leans back. "They're willing to throw out everything good from our past without even fixing any of the problems of our present. Maybe it's just me, but I think we can do better than that. You're not just helping find a better future for Caminus. You're helping every one of us. Every lost colony."
"It's daunting," she admits. Chromia is clearly in the mood to share, maybe because she hasn't in... well, ever. She senses it so tries to reign it in a bit there as she goes. "Facing not only a world but a whole universe when the world you knew was so small. It didn't feel small before. *I* didn't feel so small before," she laughs. She has to. It was silly of her, she knows - now at least. "There was the world, the one I knew, and what I could do about it. It wasn't much but it was ... something." She shakes shakes her head and has to chuckle again, wholly at herself. "Somehow I don't know that I'm going to be able to keep everyone onboard behind my shield when facing sparkeaters and hollowed out planets. It's an adjustment, that's for sure." And once more she is thankful to have Nautica, who is rather skilled with a wrench, so is good for making adjustments.
Chromia leans back here, setting the axe and sharpener aside, as she loks at Rodimus. Perhaps better than she has before. "You're restless," she assesses aloud. "Fortunately, Windblade is more ... mindful," she grins. Then it dawns on her. "Poor Ultra Magnus."
Rodimus smiles faintly as Chromia talks. Many of his expressions tend to tilt toward the smirkish, but in this case, he's a little less smug. For now. "Once, my whole world was a city. I can kind of remember what that was like. If I try really hard," he says with a laugh, because that was so long ago, and he definitely doesn't drag the memory of the city as an albatross. NOPE.
Restlessing to his feet, Rodimus grins. "Guilty as charged. What do you /mean/ poor Ultra Magnus?"
"I can't imagine how much it must take to keep you on task. Also, you clearly don't allow others to take risks, unless that risk is to keep up with you. So keeping you safe must be... well, impossible." If she can be honest! And she is, to a fault. Chromia grins. "So it must be a lot of following in your wake, making things tidy again. But the big bot must like it, clearly. Sometimes the work *is* the reward." Chromia isn't sure that Rodimus will understand that, so she adds, "You're giving him something to do, to keep *him* on task. So... good job?" Maybe she's starting to get a handle on how these Cybertronians operate!
"What? I'm totally on task! I'm on task right now!" Rodimus insists, spreading his hands wide to encompass his presence in Chromia and Windblade's quarters. He's suspiciously silent on the subject of risk, with no more than a grin that's contains a fraction of a grimace. Then he looks offended -- so offended! "I don't need anyone to keep me safe, and Magnus knows that. We keep everyone else safe." He glances at the walls of the ship, and adds, "Mostly." Because monsters, disaster, more monsters, HEY LET'S GO INVESTIGATE THAT WEIRD PLANET--. "But you're totally right. It's my responsibility to make sure he has plenty to do." That's what she said, right?
"I look forward to going to your funeral one day," she notes with a wink. There's some seriousness to that, sure, but she is also smiling. This is a bot that is going to do whatever he pleases and ... she can get that about him. "I also look forward to following you to the event that puts you there." She kiind of can't believe it, but it's too true to not express.
"I don't know that you keep everyone else safe. In fact, I would say that you steer them directly into danger, if not outright disaster. It's wrong to lie to them, or to yourself, that you are doing anything but." Chromia looks serious here. "Not everyone will make it back. It's foolish to think otherwise. All of us might not, in fact." But? Is there a 'but'? There is. "You're giving us a chance. A chance to do *something* about... well, anything. Everything. That's worth facing the unknown for. Speaking as someone who has devoted their life to protection, don't trick yourself." Just some advice here. "You taking on the risk, any risk, is maybe the best protection you can offer because that at least allows the rest of us time to run away... but to stand with you, even if it's behind you trying to keep up, that's a choice we get to make."
"My funeral's going to be amazing. Planets will weep," Rodimus predicts with a lazy grin. He carries himself with the confidence of one who believes himself eternal. "Not just mourning songs -- mourning /epics/." Taking a seat on the edge of Chromia's desk, he listens to her more or less seriously. "Let's agree to disagree. No one's dying on my watch," he says, speaking of foolish. "We already made it past one disaster okay, and we're back on course. I refuse to accept the idea that any loss is necessary or unavoidable."
"Oh, bots will die. This is space. Or does Cybertron now have those saying?" Chromia is a little curious about that. "Just ensure that Windblade isn't among the casualities and I won't have to add you to them." "So, we are agreed then because I disagree. I refuse to think that it isn't unfair to recognize what those behind you are willing to risk."
"On Cybertron we mostly have the saying 'Megatron is dead? Yeah, right, get back to me if he's still dead in another million years'," Rodimus says with a straight face. Rather hastily, he adds, "But -- uh, you might not want to repeat that one to the Decepticons."
Rather than immediately dismiss her objections (again), Rodimus hesitates, then says, "I'll think about it. I mean -- maybe they're risking it, but we're good enough that it's not going to happen." So basically they are all fucked.
Or, when it happens, Rodimus is going to snap. It will be a harsh lesson for him to learn but... Chromia is sure that it coming. She's not one to really let things go, but for now, there's no need to beat him up over it. Just... if he wants the crew's respect then he will have to come to respect the crew, not for being here but for what they are willing to give up to be here. "No, we definitely don't have that saying. We never had a 'Megatron'," she says with a 'must be nice' smile.
What? No. Rodimus totally deals with things head-on in mature fashion. It'll be fine. Not that it'll ever happen. Headed toward the door, Rodimus pauses, turning back to Chromia. "You're going to get a very different picture of him from the Decepticons if you ever ask. Make sure you get the whole picture before deciding anything, though."
"I've made up my mind. I'm decisive like that," she grins. "Amazing what some research can do. I just... it would be wrong of me to make any kind of stance before Windblade does." Formality and duty do define a great deal of her. "I met with Soundwave. He knows where I stand." Which for now will have to be enough? Since she feels she really can't say too much. "Megatron was not the only monster to come from Cybertron," she does share, thinking bck on what her studies uncovered. "I guess in many ways Caminus was sheltered from a lot. Including..." Well, THAT. It's left her somewhat unprepared for the greater universe that she now feels a part of.
"What Caminus does have is tradition. A part of that is someone who lights the way." A job fit for a Mistress of Flames, perhaps? Chromia smirks as she eyes the flame paintjob on Rodimus' chest. "So, thank you for that."
"I bet he does," Rodimus mutters with a touch of unease. "I bet he knows /exactly/ where you stand." Soundwave is creepy. The reminder that he skulks the ship's halls is just a little spooky sometimes.
Expression lighting (haha) with curiosity, Rodimus leans forward. "Really? Huh. I wonder if that's anything like the position of Prime. That's been so distorted over the millennia. So many false primes. I wish you could've met Optimus. We might have our monsters, but we've got a lot of good, too. I think it's important to remember that."
"And I guess, out here, we're bound to find more of them. One or the other." Chromia considers. "Let's try for more good than bad."