2016-05-22 Not All There Is

From Transformers: Lost and Found

Not All There Is
Date 2016/05/22
Location Map Room - Science & Medical
Participants Quicksight, Skystalker, Whisper
Summary Three members of navigation talk duty, fighting, and solutions

The dark of the walls echoes the black of space, while focused lighting illuminates the pieced-together panels of metal that form the core of the Lost Light's Matrix map. A clever eye might note that those panels can be assembled to form a desk, which is a little strange, right down to the drawer-faces which have also been carved. Doodles cover every spare inch -- and not all of the doodles seem immediately map-oriented. The panels are arranged on stands at the center of the room.

The reproduction -- and it is a reproduction, the original still serving its function as desk -- has been filled in with holographic projections teased from the fading memories and lost minds of the metrotitans at each colony the Lost Light visits. An image of the galaxy can be projected down to match in a best possible fit, then adjusted to allow for navigators to study this sector or that in more detail. It's generally a dark, restful place.

Lit by pale bio-lights, Whisper is more than shadow in the darkened room: a splash of hue, white against navy, tall and lean as she drifts between panels. She has called up the galaxy on the holo-projector, but what she studies is the broad sweeping arc of their path, a whole sector of galactic starscape with the Lost Light's slightly crazed zigzag of a path connecting dots between systems.

The dimnes of the room is disturbed by a widdening rectangle of light as the door slides open to permit another visitor. Then it narrows again before finally vanishing, leaving only biolights, and two points of red. Like Whisper, Quicksight's dark blue and grey plating makes him a bit hard to make out, but he's not really trying to keep his presence a secret as he moves in to the room. Nor does he miss the fact that someone else is here, the active projector catching his attention "Just dropping something off" he announces, lest his arival disturbed something, not having yet gotten far enough in to the room to properly make out who the other occupant is in the reduced light.

Whisper looks up, wingspan lifting and arching with the tension of a startle as she does so. The flare of yellow hue that is her visored gaze turns toward the door, and she steps through the holo lights so that the star patterns flicker across her form as she steps out into better light. The gloom is not so complete that she is invisible. Identifying Quicksight with the sharper glance she makes, she tilts her head towards him in the inclination of an angled nod, systems whirring as her engines cycle up only to cool down again to a duller, quieter complacency.

Moving deeper in to the room, Quicksight produces a dataslug -- imagrey from a recent reconnoisance excursion. This he works in to the appropriate slot, and waits. With the data transfer in progress, he turns back to Whisper and her current activity. Now that his optics have had a chance to adjust to the dimnes, he can make out who she is -- not someone he's really interacted with, but not an Autobot, so okay to chat with "So what are you doing here?" he tilts his head at the projection.

"Thinking." Whisper's voice is low. She tips her head to the side, and then lifts a servo to spread fingers over a certain sector of the galaxy. Scira's blue-white star glows sudden and bright as the system grows, reactive to her manipulation of the holo-projector's field. She shrinks it again, sliding her fingertips all through the star-pocked path of the galaxy map. She drags the sector over until she hovers her hand above the Lost Light's current heading and course, and stares at it for a long moment, jaw set and lips thin.

"Thinking?" Quicksight watches as Whisper adjusts the projection. His optics narrow slightly as Scira's system comes up, and he can't help but make a small noise of annoyance. And then it's gone, lost in the sea of stars, one small, insignificant point of light in the grand scheme of things "About what?"

Whisper looks off ahead of her for a moment, sorting through her thoughts and perhaps trying to determine how to communicate them. There's no reason she need limit her concepts to those that can be expressed by mime, but still, she is slow and quiet. "Distance," she says, finally, at length. Looking back at Quicksight, her visor flares up in a blaze of yellow light, and she says: "You fought."

Imediately, Quicksight looks down, at his own plating. True, he'd recently spent some time in the practice rooms, and he had some dents and scrapes to show for it, but he's pretty sure that they got the worst out in the medibay. Did they miss something? Or is she talking about something else? "Well, yeah. I'm a soldier. A scout, technically, but I did do some fighting in the war!" or does she mean something else? The previous sight of Scira is enough to spark memories he'd rather not remember.

Whisper turns her head, glancing back at the galaxy map. She cycles through the vent of a low sigh and shakes her head. "As did I," she says. Her servo lifts again to touch the starkness of the Decepticon badge against the surface of her chest. Then she turns it out, looking down at her fingertips with the pinch of a frown deepening its etch across her features.

Quicksight tilts his head as he watches her reactions. He's pretty good at picking up when something's off, though as of late, he's been using that skill mostly to figure out how to best piss someone off. He has no grudge against Whisper, however, nor does he know what brought this about. Instead of simply standing around and staring, he tries to continue the conversation "I only got to see the end of it, but I did lure my fair share of Autobots in crashing in to trees!" that last bit is said with some amount of pride, and amusement.

Whisper's lips lift at the corners in a rueful smile as she returns her glance to Quicksight. She regards him steadily for a moment, and then says in a low, hushed voice: "I missed the end."

"Missed it?" Quicksight gives Whisper a questioning look "How'd you manage to miss --" he pauses as bits of blocked out memories still manage to worm their way through his barrier. He was more concerned about his own freedom back then. but he wasn't blind to everything going on around him either "--Oh. You were there?" he nods at the holo-map "For that long?"

Whisper nods. It's a slow inclination of her head, with a peculiar weight behind it. Her servo brushes across the blaze of the badge on her chest, and she glances aside again. She forms a fist, knuckles tight against the surface of her chest.

Oh. Quicksight's expression falters a bit as his head dips down. He'd only been there for a short while, and that was awful enough. To be stuck there for that long must have been something truley horendus. When he looks up again though, his optics are bright again, and he seems to be making an effort to at least sound encouraging "At least that fragger was brought down, so now no one has to deal with his scrap anymore!"

"Yes." Whisper turns back to face him. She reaches with two fingers from her servo to expand the starmap to a clsoe-up view of the Lost Light and its immediate course, dead ahead. Her voice is, again, a hush: "I owe you all a great debt."

"I don't think you owe us" Quicksight muses, abandoning his dataslug to its work as he steps closer to to the other Decepticon "We...were down there too. Some of us." his voice falters a bit before picking up again with a new energy "And, and it's not like we coulda just left you to him! I mean, it wouldn'ta been right!" he can't speak for the Autobots (The fact that they led the charge seems to escape his memory), but Decepticons don't abandon their own, or suffer such injustice towards innocent Cybertronians, at least not in his mind.

Whisper rests her fingertips a little higher on her chest, at the jointure of neck and chest, where a broad collar lifts around her throat. She tilts her head slightly. "You took him," she says. "Destroyed his work. Restored me. At least as much as was possible. Some hurts cannot heal. Some debts cannot be paid."

There's a look of sympathy in Quicksight's optics as he watches Whisper. It's hard not to feel bad for her, especially when he can very well imagine even a portion of what it must have been like for her "Yeah, but, I mean, you shouldn't feel like you have to stay here -- you're free now! I don't mean to say that you're not welcome here -- you totally are! I just mean that you shouldn't feel trapped here" there's a moment of pause, and then he speaks up again, cheerful sincerity in his voice "But I'm glad we could help you. I wish we, or someone, coulda done something earlier."

Whisper bows her head. Her fingertips rest lightly against her badge for a moment, and then her hand drops to her side, where it rests against the curving edge of one of the computerized panels that make up the edges of the holoprojector array. "Thank you, but I am not trapped," she says, grave and quiet. Her voice has a rasp in it, as though it is a rusty tool, still disused even through this point of the conversation. "Duty is not a trap."

There isn't much warning before the door to the map room opens again. Of course, Navigators belong here, and so Skystalker's presence is not entirely unwarranted. He is looking down to the surface of a datapad in his hand as he slinks inside, unknowingly walking in on something before him. There are some dents here and there, showing scuffs as if he went fist-first into something that hit right back. The remnant of a lingering voice and the subtle sounds of others lift his chin up. "Hu-- oh. Hello."

Ever observant, Quicksight follows Whisper's movements, taking note of her posture and gestures. He does give her an understanding, somewhat cheered nod "Yeah, I get that" a good, Decepticon mindset. At least it seems she's not unhappy here but... "You alright though--?" the end of the question catches a bit as the scout's attention is drawn towards the door as it slides open again "Skystalker!" it's cheerful, welcoming greeting, though he does turn to look back at Whisper, his optics finally punctuating his previous words with a questioning look.

Whisper's head cants to the side, almost avian in its gesture. She tilts it towards Quicksight next, not quite verbalizing her affirmative. She takes a half-step back from the holoprojector, eyes flaring behind her visor so that the brilliance of its yellow hue intensifies as she looks towards Skystalker.

The cheerful chime of his name from the scout has Skystalker giving him the bloom of a smile, amber optics narrowing with it as he steps inside. "Quicksight. How are you today?" Just as happy to see him-- it's reciprocated nicely, even as Skystalker tips his head in greeting to the other flier in the room. "Whisper, wasn't it?" He was not on Scira, but he was there to help in pulling them out.

Quicksigt's optics flicker from one taller mech to the other, finally settling back on Whisper "Hey, it's cool! He's cool" he tries to reasure the other Decepticon "He's a friend, and he helped deal with that fragger" he's not even going to digniffy Crazy 8 with his name. 'That fragger' is good enough for him. Everyone gets who he means, right? With that, he turns back to Skystalker "I'm, uhm, good. I'm good. Just came down to upload survey data" he glances back at the still plugged in dataslug, which makes for a brief pause before he's looking back at the spacer again "You?"

Skystalker doesn't have time to linger on the presence of the bot from Scira's pits before Quicksight is insisting he's 'cool'. "Oh, I'm cool, am I?" Skystalker gently heckles the scout as he moves around to the far side of the map to input some navigational changes to the course map. One browline arches to Quicksight. "Good. Aching. My knuckles feel like aluminum..." Sky's voice remains rather quiet and poised, for the sake of the room.

Whisper tilts her head, following Skystalker with a wariness in her gaze that bespeaks more prey than predator -- but then again, looks can be deceptive. The complaint brings a flicker of surprise to her expression; her head tilts slightly the other way. "Injuries?" she asks.

Quicksight hesitates, optics following Skystalker uncertianly "I - I meant" he meant that the spacer was okay, no need to be wary of him. Of course, he wouldn't argue against the other deffinition either. He'd be the first to agree that Skystalker was pretty awesome. But was Skystalker himself opposed to this terminology? "I meant that everything's cool -- okay, here" uhh... change of topic! Whisper is already on it anyways "Yeah, you okay? Something happen?"

Skystalker's wingtips tuck back, his teasing getting some conflict out of the little bot. Oops. Still, his smile is easy, and his shoulders give a small shrug. "I know." He knew what you meant, it's //cool//. He sets his sights on the map before he looks through the edge to Whisper, her voice something he seems to commit to memory. "I was sparring with the Captain. I am a terrible hand-to-hand combatant, apparently. But now I can throw a punch, I suppose." He pauses, smile tweaking a little more on his handsome features, lending him a look of mischief. "Knocked him in the chin, at least. He deserved it." His smile does fade, though a spark remains in his eyes.

Whisper's wings draw tauter, angling up with a shiver of tension that flattens the line of her mouth. She gives Skystalker a slightly wary nod. "To stay fit is good." She says it like it's a reminder. Her head turns aside, her frown pulling her thin mouth down at the corners as she stares, intently, at the holo projection. Her wings seem to wilt out of her stance as she lets a slow trickle of a vent course through her frame. "The fight is not all there is."

Again, Quicksight is stuck looking between the two older flyers. He has a pretty good guess as to what Skystalker's talking about. He might have even congradulted him, if it didn't sound like 'Awesome, you punched the captain, he totally did deserve it'. For what little love he has for the Autobot commnad, respect for authority is still ingrained in him at a base level. Instead, he turns his attention back to Whisper, taking note of her tension. "Well, it's what works. Hey, you sure you okay?"

Skystalker knows exactly where they picked up Whisper from, and yet he still wonders if there is something more than that on her mind. He studies her frame and face past the map, watchful but curious. "You're right. I use my practices as meditation, most of the time. I just ran into some concerns about my abilities without a weapon in the field." Normally he would not have worried too much over it, but that was the truth too. Skystalker is no good with wrestling or fisticuffs. His hands lift and sweep the map projection around, gracefully resizing and tilting with the curl of palms and the caress of fingers.

"Violence does... work." Whisper rests her fingertips against the panel again, looking up and across them both. Her gaze weights upon the much smaller form of Quicksight for a long moment, and then lifts to Skystalker. She steps towards him and stands straight, as though measuring her size against his by eye and proximity. "I find I have lost my taste for it."

"You have one built in though" Quicksight points out. He's seen Skystalker's cannon in action. The idea that the spacer, might want to reduce the damage he might cause doesn't even come to mind. For the scout, a good fight was one where his side did the most damage -- sparring aside. He doesn't argue the point, however, his attention drawn back to Whisper. Her continued reaction to Skystalker is rather confusing to him. Her words though... well, as much as he considers violence to be the solution to any problem..."Guess you could, after having to... after that" his voice cracks a bit there as the discussion breaks down more of the barrier of his memory. Scira is not an experiene he's fond of remembering, but it's a bit hard not to right now.

There's a faintness to the similarities that Whisper will find in Skystalker; he has the same sleek lines to him, the build of fast flight most of all. He turns his face to her when she nears, the arcs of his shoulders squaring a little as he slowly realizes that she may be --sizing him up? Hm. He makes no mention of it, and lets her observe him freely as he looks back to the map. It isn't as if being looked at is such a foreign concept for him, after all.

"I do have weapons built in." Skystalker looks up to the scout. "But you've also seen the damage I can do with them." He closes his lips more tightly when he comes around to the femme's reasons for forgoing the fight from here. A bitter taste. "Yours is a feeling that I understand." Skystalker turns his optics to Whisper before he looks down to fix some coordinates.

Lips parting like she is about to speak, Whisper lets whatever words she was going to say trickle away from her with the slight shake of her head. "I fought a long war before my team ever landed on that planet." She opens a hand, palm up, and then drops it again as she turns away, her step light as she walks a few paces beside the gleaming lights of the holoprojector, false starlight catching across her navy wingspan. Whatever measuring may have been happening behind her visor, she seems to have accepted Skystalker's presence now. Her wariness is not gone from her body language, so relaxed would be a wrong word. Still, there's been a change.

Quicksight gives Skystalker a confused look "Isn't that the point...?" now these two are losing him. How can weapons that do more damage be considered a bad thing? And being tired of war? Having come online at the tail end of a war to fight in which had been the purpose of his existance for most of his life, the scout never had time, nor cause to really tire of it. Okay, so he can maybe understand Skystalker's relucticance, but Whisper? For the young MTO, the idea that a soldier could tired of war was like the idea of a plane that tired of flying -- difficult to comprehend. Now he stands there, looking between the two of them with a confused look in his optics.

Incidentally, it is only Quicksight that can possibly link the two other fliers' experiences as alike; two slaves, but different reasons. Different lives. Skystalker keeps a passive visual on Whisper as she shifts elsewhere. The wariness is something familiar to him, in a way. "How I choose to use what I have is up to me." He turns his gaze to Quicksight, gentle in his lessons as always. "My body was blessed with guns, but also been blessed with interstellar wings, and a voice, and my hands." He even lifts them with a smile. "Violence isn't my first choice-- that's all."

Whisper's visored eyes burn a long and thoughtful gaze across Skystalker's features; her look on him seems to sharpen when he lists his voice among his blessings. Then she tilts her head, returning her steady gaze to Quicksight. For a long moment, she is remarkably still, and almost entirely silent. Then she says quietly in her low, rasp-etched voice, "I will fight, if honor requires it. But I do not love it. Not anymore."

Quicksight stands there, looking first at one flyer, then the other. He doesn't argue. Personal choice, he can respect. He might not understand it, but if that's how Skystalker wants to live his own life, he's not going to argue. Whisper's stance he can understand, kind of. The idea of a soldier being tired of a righteous (in his eyes) war is still nigh uncomprehensable to him, but he can respect what she had gone through on Scira, even empathise with it a bit. Yet he too has his own oppinion on the matter. His voice is low, nonconfrontational. Just an oppinion "It's still what solves problems though."

Skystalker continues his work with the map, a steady, graceful movement amidst the conversation taking place. He is used to talking to Quicksight like this, and it shows in his reception of the small bot's words, his answer casual. "Not always. I'm sure you know that, deep down." It can. Skystalker knows it can. He doesn't deny it.

"No," Whisper says, her voice a reedy hush with little more than breath to make it audible. She looks sad, rather than offended; her opinion is offered melancholic and quiet. "There would be no problems left by now." She bows her head, her hand resting over her collar again, knuckles to her throat. She tips her glance between them, before turning to start walking back towards the door again and the hallway beyond.

Again, Quicksight doesn't interupt, politely listening to both of the older flyers. There is doubt in his optics as he looks between the two, though the look falters a bit as it settles on Whisper. Frag, did he do something to upset her? That was not his intent at all. He doesn't try to go straight after her, lest he make things worse, though he does look a bit guilty as he watches her leave. Then he turns back towards Skystalker, before moving to retrieve his dataslug, the data transfer having being complete for a while now, adding along the way "It's better than anythign else. Talking sure aint ever worked. If anyone actually gave a scrap and listened, there wouldn't have been a war." he's not even going to start on just sitting and doing nothing.

Amber optics move up to the older Decepticon in the room, and for a fleeting moment, Skystalker wonders if he should say something more to her. He doesn't, lips pressing subtly as he decides against it. His own hand lifts in a faint mimic of her movement as she turns away, the drop of fingers at the collaring of his chest lasting only a few moments. "Goodbye. Take care." He says that much, polite and genuine.

Skystalker looks down to Quicksight with a bend to his browline, the angle of the crest over his face giving him a rather sad expression to go with it. He finishes up the map, closing it back down to the flat surface and stepping back from the console. He's finished too, drifting towards the door at a backwards pace, still facing Quicksight with an easy air. "Hopefully we can all learn from old mistakes."

Having pulled the slug out of its port, Quicksight looks back up at Skystalker, and then down, towards the floor "Now tell that to the Autobots" he grumbles as he moves to follow his friend out the door.

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