2015-04-15 Illegal Detainment

From Transformers: Lost and Found

Illegal Detainment
Date 2015/04/15
Location Constancy - Outpost 113
Participants Arbiter, Chromia, Grimlock, Rodimus, Slugfest, Tailgate
Plot Papers Please
Scene GM Sao, Roz

The containment room has left the party of Lost Lighters with some time to consider their predicament, and to consider the size of the vents versus individuals, and to watch the massive witness to whom they've been brought clutch tight to the pod he protects. Short-range communications are working okay; Ultra Magnus has radio'd in to inform them that he's being given the run around on that immediate hearing, and some clever Galactic Council legal clerk who thinks he's going to get away with defining 'reasonable time' in Cybertronian relativistic terms.

I.e., ha ha ha.

For now, the lights are on, the recycled air is a soft hush through the vents, and the temperature is neutral. No one has checked on them in the past few hours. The forcefields are still in place.

Rodimus answers this update with threats of explosions, fire, and mayhem which read to Ultra Magnus's practiced ear as less threats and more promises, promises which grow ever more certain with each minute of captivity. He does not do well in captivity. He has just recently finished unloading some /stunningly/ crude invective on one of their guards the last time they checked in. Some of it doesn't even translate.

Now he, uhm, sulks. For a few hours.


A naughty little stego tries pawing at the forcefields, but keeps getting shocked backwards!

Grimlock has sat down. Even dinosaurs get tired of standing sometimes. His wariness of the other bots seems to ebb and flow with a damaged mind; one hour he seems generally okay with the recognizable Rodimus, the next he's close to chomping the other bot's head off. (Literally.) The one constant is the pod: he keeps it close at hand at all times, if not /in/ hand. Right now he's kind of plopped on his backside with the pod between his feet.

Standing about, looking as rusty and mottled as always, is Arbiter, his arms folded across his chest. He faces Grimlock, somehow managing to appear to be staring politely. Every half an hour or so, he's repeated the question, "Orders, boss?"

Hour one: pushups. Hour two: sit-ups. Hour three: pacing. Time spent not doing those things: wanting to slap the paint off Rodimus. Chromia can't stand the lack of Bering able to do anything, but she had to do something or else she'll think about what she should be doing. On the Lost Light. Like Caminus, she shouldn't have left. Adventure only means headaches. When Arbiter asks his question, again, Chromia stops her pacing to chime in. "What's the name of the mech that's the master escape artist?" The one that probably should have been on this mission.

"You could start by knocking Grimlock out and finding out what the hell that pod is," Rodimus grouches to Arbiter.

"Alright." Arbiter's hands drift down to his sides, and he plants his feet, the cannon over his shoulder begging to slide into position next to his head with a lot of clanking and whirring noises. He raises a hand and places it on the side of the barrel, aiming for the dinosaur's chest.

Tailgate's curiosity when it comes to the large Grimlock draws a certain line whenever the dino is in a mood. Otherwise he seems as curious as he feels, yet doesn't get too close or say anything that might upset him. He's kept to the others instead, edging in here and there and being largely supportive of making negative moods into positive. He's a delightful mascot for it. At the moment he is sitting by his lonesome, watching the tiny stegobot attempt to push through the forcefield. That is, until Rodimus' joke is something Arbiter reads as literal. When the other large bot rumbles into motion as if to do just that, Tailgate pops onto his feet. "Hey!"

Grimlock lifts his head to peer at Arbiter. At the moment, he seems to be in one of his easier moods, although his gaze does narrow with a certain comprehension of the other bot's stance. Ho don't u do it.

That's enough to draw Rodimus out of his sulk. He leaps to his feet and springs toward Arbiter to grab his hand and drag it down. "No, what, are you kidding, you maniac? Did you see the size of his teeth? Have you /not/ fought with him, because let me tell you, you'd rather be on his side!" A little more loudly, he calls at all, "No one shoot Grimlock, okay?" His tone grows thoughtful as he says, "Although if we get him really mad and then turn him loose on the forcefield--." No, Rodimus.

The look on Arbiter's face is one of mild surprise, though it rapidly returns to its normal gruff scowl. The cannon slowly drains it's charge with a whine, before returning back to it's dormant state behind his shoulder. "I asked for orders. I assumed you had thought past step 1." His voice is it's usual, grinding rasp, and placatedly returns to his arm folding.

When Arbiter stops his stancing and almost-cannoning, Grimlock seems to settle again. So it's not quite /casual/, but at least not aggressive, when he asks Rodimus, "When escape?"

"That's terrible." Tailgate answers, when Rodimus brings up pissing Grimlock off for the sake of using him on the prison. He steps closer, looking between the captain and Grimlock. Is he asking when they're getting out, or how Rodimus purportedly escaped? "What do you mean?" The minibot questions Grimlock, hesitant only for a moment.

These kinds of things -nearly punching Dinobots- sulking leadership that still somehow makes it right in the end- whimsical innocence met with the most steadfast of cycnicism only to merge and meet and melt sparks- these are the sorts of things that could almost be hard to believe had one not been there to experience them firsthand. And these things are just one small slice of life of those who dwell on the Lost Light.

So many things that would be hard to believe- if not for a certain video camera attached to the helmet of a certain small mech. A mech named Rewind, who is also sitting here with the other captives. He hasn't said much. No, right now he's simply been recording all this. Oh, the tales he could tell- or better yet show. And he will. After all, Movie Night is coming up.

"Should have been hours ago," Chromia grumps. Maybe this ius why Caminus never dealt with the Galactic Council. "Though if we do, who will they round up to identify us"

Inspiration strikes! Rodimus says, "You know what might help us get out faster?" in a really casual kind of way. He sidles over toward a temporarily friendly Grimlock. "If you let us carry that, so that your hands are free to smash things."

"When we -- escape," Grimlock clarifies for Tailgate. It's very -- clear? Maybe. "Me Grimlock tired of waiting." His gaze narrows consideringly on Rodimus. "It -- important," he says, but he doesn't sound /entirely/ unconvinced.

Arbiter nods, arms still folded, adding, "It'll be safe."

"We're great at taking care of important things!" Tailgate backs up Rodimus' idea. "If you're tired of waiting, we can work together. Not that I'm advocating trouble with the law, but this waiting -is- getting hard--"

"We'll take good care of it, then," Rodimus solemnly promises. He puts his hand on Tailgate's shoulder. "See this guy? Primal Vanguard. Maybe you even knew each other! He's good enough to handle bombs. He can handle that."

Rewind refrains from lifting an optic ridge, instead simply nodding his head. "Yes, Tailgate's quite skilled- and Rodimus knows what he's talking about." See, Grimlock? You can trust them! That camera keeps recording of course.

"It very important," Grimlock impresses upon Tailgate again, eyeing the tiny bot somewhat skeptically. "You small."

"You're Grimlock," Rodimus points out, in case he forgot. "Everyone's small."

Arbiter begins to approach the field, remarking as he moves, "So...should we get started, then?"

Tailgate expertly does not comment on his resume, and instead puts his fists on his hips when he is inspected. "Being half the size just means I have to be twice as good." That sounds completely convincing! Right? "You can trust me! I'll guard it with my life."

Even on his butt, Grimlock is considerably bigger than Tailgate. He leans way over, trying to bring his head down event with the minibot. "Little bot fierce," he decides. "Must careful. Very important." There's no real handing over, but he does stand and leave the pod there on the ground.

Rewind lifts up a finger to make a point to Grimlock. "Size doesn't equate to value, though. Think of, say... a memory stick. Tiny thing, isn't it? And yet the information within can contain data that can inform decisions that affect entire worlds! Never, ever judge a book by its cover."

"Good! Great! Why don't you go, uh, bang on the shield and see if they've got an update on when we can get out of here?" Rodimus suggests to Grimlock, Arbiter, and Chromia -- the muscle, then -- while he hisses at Rewind and Tailgate: "Find out waht that is."

Nodding, Arbiter once again plants his feet, several meters away from the field, his cannon charging and sliding into firing position. He raises a hand to the side of the cannon, taking aim. "Ready to fire, boss. All together, then?"

Chromia frowns. She's really, really good at keeping bots and things safe. Yet, all Rodimus seems to want from her is her strength. She's more than just a buff bot. She's more than her frame. Next thing she knows, Rodimus will be asking her to open jars and step on spiders. She does as directed though and moves to follow Grimlock.

"Grimlock smash shield," Grimlock agrees with Rodimus, because shields are stupid. He lumbers over to the nearer of the two shields, considers it, and then smashes bodily against it. OPEN SESAME.

Arbiter Fires.

"To f-- okay, to fire. I was thinking maybe we could knock, but that'll sure get their attention." Rodimus puts his hands on his hips and faces the forcefield like this was his idea all along.

Tailgate assumes the spot where Grimlock had been sitting, standing and setting his palms protectively on the surface of Grim's pod. He'll protect it while he takes a closer peek; a quick glance goes up to Rewind before he does just that. Finding out. What is?

The shield takes the first smash of impact with a shimmer of rippling color. It fizzes against Grimlock in a prickle of energy, as if absorbing the kinetic force. The blast of cannon fire ripples energy across its surface in a glowing shimmer of rainbow light, spraying sparks back outward and raining them across the floor and across Grimlock nearby. Of note, a few of the sparks spray to the other side of the shielding.

Slugfest gets up to the edge of the forcefield and tries "digging" under it!

Rewind joins Tailgate in inspecting the pod. Glancing over at the other small mech, he gives a tiny shrug and whispers, "Not sure what this is. I'm checking my databanks. Don't suppose this looks like anything you've ever seen?" Rewind knows a lot, sure, but Tailgate's been in the PRIMAL VANGAURD after all!

The pod gleams, a smooth-surfaced dark eggshell of an object. Its design is not immediately familiar, but it almost looks like it could be a cargo jettison . . . or an escape pod. There are scratch marks down one side of the pod and some scorching showing across its trunk, partway obscuring what might have once been a serial number or other identifier.

The surface of the floor scratches metallic under Slugfest's little claws. The field prickles with energy when he gets near enough to touch.

"Meh, good try big guy but let a professional tasks a crack at it." Later, once Chromia learns who Grimlock is she might be embarrassed with what she just said. But for now she means to push the Dino out of the way, take aim and then PUNCH at the very spot he just hit with all of her Camien might.

Rodimus just supervises. All he needs is a desk so that he can kick his feet up on it and life would be great. TOO BAD THERE IS NO DESK. AND THEY ARE TRAPPED HERE. He supervises /intently/, then.

"Hmm." Tailgate keeps his gaze on the pod under his hands, considering it even as Rewind moves closer to examine it too. "It looks like it's been through a lot..." He doesn't try to open it, but he does search for any sort of view-panel. "It looks like it could be an ejectable."

Chromia's impact refracts through the shielding in another ripple of color. It prickles against her fist. This time, power surges outward more detectably from the door, running through the wiring and flickering through one of the lights above their heads.

The pod looks mostly opaque, shielded and a little scorched. When stared at very intently for a long time, it almost seems possible to begin to distinguish a shape through the hard shell, but it remains a mystery what that shape belongs to.

Arbiter charges his cannon again, the low-pitch whine quietly audible. as the smoking barrel levels for another shot. "Tough field. Let's give it another salvo."

The archivist searches through those databanks, coming up with: "Yes, looks like..." Rewind glances over at Hot Rod, "...some kind of escape pod? Or cargo pod. The serial number seems to be gone though." He stops and looks thoughtful. "I wonder where it's from?"

Slugfest gives up trying to dig through the metal floor, and scampers back over, nosing at the pod. "'scape pod? Where scaped from?" he wonders.

Grimlock frowns at the shield. How dare you, shield. DO YOU KNOW WHO HE IS. He smashes against it, harder this time.

Arbiter looses another shell, aiming for the same spot.

"I think there's still something inside." Tailgate finally asides to Rewind, looking up at Slugfest and gently making sure that stego-noses don't get too close for comfort. He -is- looking after it for Grimlock. He has a job!

With each successive impact, power seems to be absorbed directly into the walls. The lights flicker, and there's a moment where the broad stretch of the room is plunged into total darkness but for any light that might be generated by the bright glow of Cybertronian eyes.

When the lights come back on, several guards are approaching the force field at speed with weapons out, one of them riding something that bears some resemblance to a high speed hoverboard, or a glider he stole from the green goblin. "Stand down or face additional charges!" one of them shouts.

"We will use harsher means of containment if necessary," calls another.

Rodimus bounds for the exit when the lights go out only to find that they are met by ranks of jerkfaces. Guards. Whatever. Same thing. "Stand down," he says to the others with a gesture. He pastes on a smile to tell the guard, "Hey! I was just trying to get your attention, you know? You guys've left us in here without any fuel. Pretty sure we're due something by now. Aren't you kind of stretching out 'reasonable'?"

Arbiter's cannon recedes onto his back, and lumbers back away from the field, hands at his side, clearly showing a lack of weapons and perhaps a lack of caring for a show of force.

"Escape!" Grimlock argues with Rodimus, throwing up his hands. YOU SAID. YOU SAID HIT IT. He slumps with a grumble.

Rodimus gives Grimlock a complicated look that ends in a wink. WINK. WINK. PLAN. HE HAS A PLAN. (They are doomed.)

The two guards on the ground look at each other, and then up at the one on the hoverboard.

Hoverboard points his weapon vaguely in Grimlock's direction, clearly finding him to be one of the more intimidating of the Cybertronians present even though he's been held the longest (or maybe because). "Your requirements will be seen to," he says grudgingly after a moment.

Rewind looks back and forth between the pod and the path to escape... only to have the escape hopes dashed as the guards come filing in. The archivist is just getting to his feet when this happens and Rodimus says to stand down... so with a sigh the small mech turns back to the pod, running his fingers along it. At least he has a distraction.

Grimlock mostly looks confused by Rodimus' complicated look.

Rodimus mimes something: he brings his hands together, then flares his fingers out in a sudden burst. He looks at Grimlock expectantly. Over his shoulder, he says, "Don't forget he takes twice as much fuel as the rest of us!" with a point at Grimlock. Twice as much volatile, high-energy fuel. Yep.

Tailgate braces his arms around the side of the pod, completely prepared to try and tote it with him as the lights go. Unfortunately, it's not meant to be, and he is now left clutching onto it in a symbolic fulfullment of his word. See?

"No more power surges down here," Hoverboard says, and then his engines flare with energy as he circles in the air and zooms off down the hall with the others trooping in his wake.

Slugfest tries to grab edge of pod in mouf to drag it along with!

The guards at the other force field retreat more slowly, leaving the Cybertronians again alone in the room. While their captors are now forced to scramble to provide enough fuel to feed this many more mechanical life forms than they were originally holding, they are now free again to scheme in relative privacy with their mysterious but shiny pod.

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