From Transformers: Lost and Found
|Location||Arbiter and Swindle's Habsuite|
|Participants||Swindle, Blast Off|
|Summary||Combatibros have a Combatitalk. It's a family thing.|
Swindle seethed in his habsuite, barely containing the urge to throw his desk around, brutalise it within an inch of it's life. He'd already destroyed an Earth desk lap just for the catharsis. How dare Blast Off's pet maniac even approach him? HIM?! That blue clod should have been thanking him for not leaving him to die! HE HELPED CARRY HIM TO FUCKING SAFTY. "ARRGGGH! WHERE IS HE! PROBABLY SMOOOCHING THAT FUCKING HEADCASE! BLAAAAAAAAGH!" Aaaaaaaaand, yep, he was wailing on the desk again.
Actually, Blast Off has been wanting to have a talk with his teammate ever since they got back to the ship (Ok, actually long before that). When he received the message from the other Combaticon, the shuttle breathed an inward sigh of relief- and then took his time because he wouldn't want to look like he was anything other than aloof and unaffected by this. When in fact he's got a lot on his mind- and a lot of questions. Soon, Swindle will hear a light rapping of knuckles on his door. "It's me. Let me in."
Made aware of sounds other then his desk barley denting from his blows, Swindle props himself up against the wall for a minute, allowing himself a few moments to realign his thought process. It's okay. He was going to talk this out with a completely rational person, some he trusted. Blast off would see that Swindle was right that moronic, flying monstrosity was wrong. He could do this! He could be calm about this! "Coming." Swindle says with a put on sombreness. Opening up, he makes sure to highlight how much pain he was in. I mean, he was pain of course, but looking at his face, you'd believed he'd been squashed by a Metrotitian. "H-heeey bud... Come on in." He greets pitifully, making sure to drench misery in every word, to wince and strain each nuance and to make sure to move in just the right way that Blast Off could see the damage. Once back inside, he looks around feverishly. "Y-y-you havn't t-t-told Whirl about this right... oh primus, please tell me you havn't."
If this was Mercy or First Aid or someone like that, perhaps Swindle would soon find himself swaddled in the cozy blanket of sympathy and hugs and maybe rainbows and teacups too. Perhaps. But this is Blast Off and he's known Swindle a *very* long time. The sniper merely responds with an arched optic ridge- and crossed arms as he makes his way inside. Standing there, giving Swindle one of those /looks/ only he can do so well. That non-plussed, long suffering one of being teamed with that *unique and special creature of the universe* known as ...Swindle. It's all he can do not to siiiiigh.
There's a pause, like he's almost dreading the thing he knows he must ask next. He spits it out anyway, voice carefully measured and neutral. "....How are you?" Then he blinks as the subject of Whirl suddenly comes up. ".....Told him about what? What you said down on the planet? That's why I'm here." He leans in, violet optics stern and arms still crossed. Perhaps it's even his idea of an Onslaught impersonation. "What the smelt- EXACTLY- got you on the /LIST/?"
Course... should have known better then to ask Blast Off for any sympathy. He still shifts in pain, but now it seems actually relative to his actual damage. Setting up his desk chair again, Swindle selects to sit on his recharge slab, allowing Blast Off to take a chair. "One: I feel like shit." He pulls a his flask out and takes a long hit from it. "Two: about us meeting, cus he's an abominable savage and that tried to IMPALE ME for speaking ugly truths at him? Speaking of truths." He pops out a bottle of enerwine, setting down in the empty seat for Blast Off, leaving a glass for it on the floor. "You're favourite. Might make a little less angry with me. Sit down." He wearly takes another drink, lazily tapping his thigh.
Blast Off continues standing for a moment, still giving his teammate that look... but eventually he relents and sits down, taking the bottle and wine and pouring himself a drink. He is silent as he does so, taking time to note the vintage and olfactory scans and the way the liquid swishes in his glass. The hatch in his faceplate opens and he takes a sip, and only then does he turn his attention to Swindle.
Now he *does* sigh softly, contemplating his teammate and his actual damage. And despite his cold exterior, he does care... he's just not in the mood to make a fuss right now. Especially once Swindle mentions Whirl yet again. The shuttleformer's cool demeanor breaks a bit as his optics flicker and the grip on his wine glass tightens. "Why would I tell him about us me-.... WHAT?! What are you talking about? Tried to *impale* you?"
Swindle's lips curl in disgust as he listens to Blast Off's disbelief. It wasn't as if Swindle didn't know his reputation, but having your long time friend doubt you like that stung. "What. Am I. TALKING ABOUT?!" Swindle digs his finger into his dent, clearly wincing from the pain it's causing him as his drops his flask completely. "THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! YOUR PET AUTOBOT CAME MY WAY TO CONJOLE, THREATEN AND THE MURDER WHEN I DECIDED I'D ENOUGH OF HIS MORALE POSTERING!" Balancing on his tip toes, turning to light off on one optic and making pinching motions with his hands, he begins to mock out the seen. "OH LOOK, THERES SWINDLE! LET ME PASS OFF ALL MY ENTERNILZED QUILT FOR NOT HELPING THE PERSON I DON'T DESERVE BY BRUTALIZING HIS BEST FRIEND!"
As Swindle goes off on his *explaination*, Blast Off never moves, though it's definitely possible his optics go a paler shade of violet. That might also be more light filtering into them due to how wide they become. Once the rant is over, the shuttleformer just continues staring as if he's not sure what else to do. Then he glances down to his wine and takes a very mechanical drink from it, again because it seems a thing that he can do, that he knows. Then he places the glass down beside him, turning to study a suddenly fascinating spot on Swindle's wall. And only after he's done all the delaying tactics he can think of as his processor tries to process, only THEN does he respond.
His hand slams down next to his wine glass, nearly spilling it, though otherwise he remains fairly still. "MY PET ***WHAT***???!! Not YOU, TOO!!" Suddenly his optics are flashing. "WHAT *TRUTH* DID YOU *TELL HIM*, SWINDLE???" That hand clenches into a fist. "And what do you mean HE threatened to MURDER Y-" Then he stops because... oh yeah, given all that's happened..... THAT he could actually see Whirl doing. He tries to reset a little bit- just a little. "Wait, HE came to see you recently??"
Course would have carried on, but Blast Off had to go and ask a silly question "GHHGHGHAHHHHNNNNNNNGAAAAAAAAAFHHKIIIN". After holding back for 3 solid seconds, Swindle offers an answer In the highest, loudest screech that any cybertronion has ever heard aboard the lost light "OFCOURSE HE 'CAME TO SEE ME RECENTLY' YOU CLOD! Why else would I have this MASSIVE, SLAGGING, DENT IN MY ABDOMEN WHERE I AVOIDED FORKED ON HIS DAMN CLAAAAAAW! PRIMUS BE PRAISED!" Swindle slams his face in the wall, letting out another two muffled screams. After letting out his bout of impudent fury, he simmers down, head in hand. 'Remember why he wanted to talk Swindle. You owe him, he nearly died because of him.' HA! Thanks brain, thanks for reminding us all that Whirl was right about one thing. "I'm... sorry. That was fucked up." Taking a beat, Swindle allows himself a couple more moments before attempting a second run of explaining his altercation with Whirl. "Yeah, Whirl did 'come see me'" Still not over that. "He came to see me to threaten me into telling him why the DJD were after me. I didn't want to ofcourse cus it has nothing to do with him. Not like Tarn is even permitted Megatron's orders to lay a finger on him." SHIT, HE SHOULD TOLD WHIRL THAT. WOULD HAVE MADE HIM SO MAD. "I eventually told him... and told him a few other things after he told me the only reason i wasn't out the airlock and hurtling towards a distant star was because of you. So, there you go, guess you can be sure in the knowledge know that I suck and your boyfriend is precious little cinnamon roll." Swindle, obvious crestfallen and bitter, sits back on his slab and looks to the floor. "Makes me wish Tailgate did just let me go." He mutters under his breath.
"DON'T CALL ME A CLOD, YOU SIMPERING MOUNTEBANK!!" Blast Off's violet optics have turned a deeper shade of purple and his armor plates bristle as he raises in his seat, looking almost ready to get to his feet again. He almost does, but those same optics then fall to the claw damage Swindle points out- and yes, Blast Off can indeed recognize that as the unique mark of the Autobot's claws. Don't ask how. "..." Upon hearing Swindle's apology, Blast Off tenses- then sighs and settles back into his chair.
He listens and mulls all this over- and then turns back to that wine glass, finishing the thing and pouring himself another. This may be at least a one bottle night. Maybe multiple bottles. He cants his head slightly, studying his teammate and attemtpting to calm his nerves. Though one thing the other Combaticon says causes some brief tension and a finger wagging at his face. "Don't you *ever* tell him about Megatron's orders, that's supposed to be secret- you know that."
Ok, NOW he can try to relax just a bit. He has a serious urge to facepalm, and he does pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment before continuing. "Whirl is... not easy to deal with when he's upset, and if he came to see you.... then yes, I can imagine that went... poorly. But do you realize why? Not just me. I got to watch as they tortured him into unconsciousness. It was just Whirl and I against the DJD before you all showed up- it wasn't pretty." He pauses a moment, trying to think exactly what to say... and also feeling a mix of exhasperation at Whirl -and a little odd bit of... pride? At the Autobot's devotion.
"... I know, and I'm sorry. Why the hell did you think I wanted to turn my self in." A humourless chuckle inches it's way out of Swindle's throat as, now out of the public eye, the weight of his decisions can be seen in his face, an old, worn tired smile painting it. His trembling, weak willed smile. "You all nearly died because of me. I'm... an absolute waste of cybetronian refuse. Whirls right, I should be dead." No fishing for reassurance there, Swindle words it as a simple statement of fact. "I can't even do this peace thing right... I should really apologise to Punch at some point... He hasn't talked to me in a while, probably found what he needs... some friend i am." Swindle takes a deep breath, picking his flask back up to commiserate his sucking with another drink. Right, time to be a big bot and tell the truth. No delays this time "...Prion is all my fault Blasty. I sold the BBC thrusters, the same thrusters we used to beat the DJD. I damned us all for a fucking paycheck." Hmmm, that could use elaboration. "Banzaitron, y'know, the intel guy, he wanted the Constortium out of faces for a bit, any means necessary. I obliged, not knowing what the hell they'd do next, like the stupid loser i am." He looks away from Blast off, waiting for his response, only offering one last question, more of a harsh breath. "You hate me. Don't you?"
"YOU DID /WHAT/??!!" Blast Off stares, slack jawed (and thankfully still with a faceplate to hide it) at his teammate. "The BBC?! SWINDLE. I know you deal with some shady types but..." Then he stops. And takes a deep breath, as it were. And drinks from his second glass of wine. Yep. Maybe a three bottle night here. Then sighs. He thinks he knows a bit of what Onslaught must've often felt dealing with this team. Then speaks, pinching the bridge of his nose once more.
"No, I don't hate you. Am I annoyed? Why yes, I am annoyed with you." His hand drops down and he looks Swindle straight in the optic. "You DID nearly get us all killed, and you got all of us- all of us *Combaticons*- on that fracking *LIST*." Here he vents a sharper, louder sigh, and glances away. "But then again.... the DJD would've come after me anyway. What with my relationship with Whirl, so.... maybe it was inevitable no matter what." His fist clenches again and his direct stare returns- this time for an entirely different reason. "But we *are* Combaticons, you and I. We stick together- even if it's against the slag-eating /DJD/ themselves. We think for ourselves and we don't let anyone- including THEM- dictate our lives TO US. And I WILL be smelted before I ever let them lay their grubby, uncouth hands on my...my..." Suddenly he glances away and mubles, almost imperceptibly, "...family."
It feels surreal. By all accounts, Blast Off should hate him but... like he said. Maybe they'd just knew eachother too long. Bled and were healed at the same medical facilities. They had seen too much to just like something like 5 super strong murderers get in the way of bonds of the human emotion known as family (was family an emotion? he had no idea.). Crap, probably should say something, poor Blast Off probably needed an out from being sentimental, but he does give a look that acknowledges his gratitude for the words. " Command... I need to tell them. They need to know." Steepling his fingers, Swindle appears deep in thought. "You think they'll court marshal me? Magnus would want that, wouldn't he."
Yeah... this family thing, these bonds that tie you to each other.... they're more important to Blast Off than he's comfortable admitting- but they are there. Maybe it's all this time spent knowing that his Combaticon teammates were the only ones he could ever truly count on to have his back, and vice versa, for so long. Perhaps it's the shuttle in him- the desire to see that all his crew, the living cargo close to his spark that he feels responsible for in some odd way, the desire to see that they all get home. He will bring them home. It's what he does as a shuttle. Perhaps it's times spent like this, letting his guard down over a glass of wine or a mock combat. Perhaps it's all these things.
His fingers curl at the mention of Ultra Magnus, and his optic ridge furrows down. "I... he might. Hasn't he been looking for a reason to get you arrested- not to mention actually arresting you from time to time- for ages? I... uh..." He tries to think. "I wouldn't go to him neccessarily. I...I think he does actually try to be fair, but..." Still. It's ULTRA MAGNUS, who is practically Swindle's archnemesis. It's like saying they should seek help from a /Proetectobot/.... oh wait. Uh. ANYWAY. One person suddenly springs to mind- someone Blast Off actually SHARED minds with, briefly, once. "I.. you know, Tailgate is head of security... and I think he might be about as fair and balanced as you're going to find here. He wasn't an Autobot; he doesn't have the prejudices many of them still do. Perhaps seek him out?" Then he pauses. "And if they Court Marshall you then... then.... well we'll figure out what to do next." We.
"Oh, no no no." Blast off's understanding of Magnus, as is everyone elses for that matter, is rather charmingly narrow-minded. "Blasty, Magnus has enough reasons to put me away in a little bubble forever. This time though, i did violate the Tyrest Accord, he has more then enough reason to put me away this time." The mention of Tailgate does have Swindle thoughtful for a moment, then eventually shakes his head. "Tailgate's save me once already. We are combaticons, but this no war. Rodimus is my captian and... I owe it to him to admit my wrong doings... that sentence does begin to taste good on my tongue. When were done here, i'll message Magnus." He attempts to smirk in good humour. "Ha! Maybe since were such old acquaintances, he'll let me off a little easy, huh?"
The shuttleformer's black hands snap up in a *stop* gesture, waving around. "No. No, no no, alright, DON'T tell Magnus. NEVER tell Magnus." This is surely a great idea. "Just tell- who?" He stops and blinks, optic ridges narrowing again. "Well..uuuh, perhaps Rodimus, but he's... well he's...." he glances back and forth, "you know... /Rodimus/. And also extremely prejudaced about our kind. Tell Tailgate."
And yet... this may not be meant to be. Blast Off's hands come down and his shoulders droop a bit as he leans back into his chair for another sip on that wine glass. Maybe a four bottle night. Five? "If you *insist* on telling Magnus then...." Siiigh. "Just radio me if you need help, alright? Maybe I can convince Rodimus I still have that Get Out of Jail Free card and can use it on you."
"Well, thats simply the way it'll have to be Blast Off." Swindle laments, pocketing away his flask, he taps his recharge slab, contemplating just going to sleep here and now. "Look... I'm probably gonna have to tell them about the Whirl thing to. They'll more than likely understand why he did what he did and give him a slap on the claw." Swindle is trying his best not to sound bitter about that, insisting himself thats supposed comforting to... someone. "I'll uh, see you after i see our illustrious leader... maybe?"
Blast Off is already struggling with this, and the mention of Whirl just adds to that strain. His fingers twitch, as does one optic ridge, and he lifts his hands -then puts them down- the lifts them again.... "Well...ahhhh...um... only if you absolutely *must* mention Whirl, alright? Do me a favor. Try NOT to bring him up, or at least downplay what he did..." That *LOOK* he was giving Swindle earlier returns briefly. "You owe me THAT much, at LEAST. Actually a lot MORE." Then he sighs and leans back to finish his wine glass. "I'll... I'll have a talk with him, don't worry."
He then gets to his feet, placing the empty glass down- but taking the bottle. "Be careful. Let me know if you require assistance and yes, I will see you soon. I'll inform Onslaught about this and then maybe we can hatch a plan for the next time the DJD show up- and be certain that they *will*. So we have to be ready for them."
"Don't worry about me mate. I'll be fine." Swindle sits alone for a while, before taking his data pad out and preparing his message to Magnus. What a time to be alive.
Blast Off WILL worry anyway, but there's no way he'll admit it, either. He gives his fellow Combaticon a nod. His hand twitches as if he's contemplating a shoulder pat- but maybe that would be too much. So he turns and exits, still clutching that bottle.