From Transformers: Lost and Found
|Location||Whetstone and Madrigal's Habsuite|
|Summary||That was easier than expected.|
While the habsuites are all shared, one can be reassured that each contains a workstation, a nice big monitor screen, space for bots in their alt modes, and recharge slabs for both individuals. They might have to fight over who gets the slab by the window, however.
Whetstone had spent the better part of the evening looking over the completed map, back in the city, and pondering artifacts. All of this has been pretty big news for the rest of the circle knights aboard the ship. Holy things! Visage of a Knight himself! Only it's just an AI, and he's a huge asshole.
So now Whetstone is back in their meager habsuite, perched ominously at his desk, slooowly sharpening one of his scimitars against his hand. In the dark. It looks like it would hurt.
There's the high-pitched squeal of some maintenance equipment in the hallway, as bots work to repair damage, but the traffic is low due to everyone being in Rigard.
Madrigal has been... Moping. His paint is patchy (at best), he's down about fourteen blades, and the first connection they've made with a Knight was to be insulted and told there's innumerable relics they'll have to find. Oh, and his recent... conflict. With Whetstone. Awful.
The tiny knight doesn't make a great deal of noise tapping down the hallway to their shared room, it isn't until he bursts through the too-slow door and signals the lights on in one fluid movement of mesh that he should be noticed at all. Madrigal doesn't waste time looking around, electing instead to tromp straight to his berth, pushing himself up onto it and flop face-first into the material. The lights were off so he's pretty sure the room wasn't occupied, and if it was, Whetstone can deal. There's dramatic laying to be done.
Whetstone is so startled by the entrance he fumbles with his blade, and drops it with a clatter. He stares at the face-down form on the berth across from him and vents a steady sigh. "Madrigal- are you alright?" he asks, careful and unsure in his tone.
Madrigal lifts a wing to make a rude gesture toward whetstone, except it doesn't really work with the number of fingers he has on those hands. The thought is there, though. "Everything is bad." He mutters into the berth, wing flopping back down to the surface.
Whetstone sputters indignantly at the half-gesture. "What did I do to deserve that!" Bad start. "...You should... meditate," he suggests, with little tact, apparently losing his nerve. He reaches back down for his blade, and continues sharpening. Shhhick!
"I'm meditating right now. Quietly. You should try it, dear." Madrigal shifts a bit to adjust his tail, bunching it up and tossing a bit of it off the side of the slab. Then the dark room he'd walked into registers and his head pops up, giving Whetstone a suspicious look over his arms. "Why in the pits were you in the dark?"
Whetstone mutters to himself, annoyed, and ends up slicing his palm from a too-hard pull of his blade. "Slaggit!" Wince. "I don't know. It's soothing," he glowers, looking anywhere but Madrigal now. It takes a minute for him to soften again, and he begins his second attempt. "Madrigal... I shouldn't have gone off on you like I did. That wasn't... fair of me."
Madrigal narrows his optics, still watching Whetstone over his arms. "No, it was. I do however appreciate the apology." It took him hours to get back to the ship, most of them spent next to the bench on a spot of ice. Not an experience he aims to repeat.
Whetstone looks up at the dual set of eyes. Madrigal's somewhat difficult to read, in general. "...I owed you a certain amount of trust, I feel. And it fell through. I don't understand what you endured, what you did, but you and I ought to stick together, now more than ever." He laughs dryly. "I'm fond of you! You're one of my very few friends here, after all..." Pause. "Are you still upset with me? You said things ice over when you're stressed. How about now?"
Madrigal works very hard to be as unreadable as he is. It's an effort. "I'm fine now. Irritated but there's little to be done about that until I can get the right materials for blade forging and Vortex is able to see about my paint." He vents, haughtily. "You're predictable. I was upset and you were yelling at me. You aren't anymore, and I'm not anymore." He levers himself up to sit, wing and tail meshes artfully draping for the moment.
Whetstone doesn't rightly know what to think of being called predictable. Or what Madrigal really meant. Is it good, bad? "I'm sorry. I'd like to make it up to you, somehow," he murmurs, barely audible. Every piece of kibble on him droops. He looks up again, at that strange tail this time. Maybe just for something to look at. Maybe it's aesthetically pleasing.
Whetstone is about to get out a datapad and write down the specific type of shrubbery, until Madrigal laughs. Whetstone looks unamused briefly, but his mouth tugs into a slight smile when he's seemingly forgiven. "I'll try not to be such an ass, for you. You sure you don't want your blades sharpened? It's kinda' my name, after all. Could inscribe them too. Helps to have incantations!"
Madrigal tilts his head, staring for a long moment before shaking no and tapping his fingers across his thigh. "When I've managed to get a full set again, sure. These ones-" He lifts a wing, solidifies the mesh for a moment, then lets it go back. "Wouldn't benefit from it. Thank you, though. Is your hand alright?"
"Fair enough..." Whetstone sheathes his blade and looks over his palm. "I'll get it fixed later. So that frozen power of yours," he leans forward with a squeak of his chair, "I'd bet you could slow an opponent greatly with that, if you tried. Think about some kind of mentorship? You're not alone here..."
Madrigal freezes, optics narrowing while he collects his legs toward his chest, arms wrapping around them. "Will you begin weekly appointments with Rung?"
Whetstone is all hidden smiles and perky wings until Madrigal twists the topic around. Or offers a trade. He's not sure. His cyan optics angle first in a sad droop, then mild anger. "Rung, again! What can he do... He doesn't know me, he doesn't know why I... lose myself," he scowls faintly. Then folds his arms, cautiously stubborn. How far can he press this with Madrigal...
"Talking, I find, helps." Madrigal tips his head, all four optics blinking innocently at Whetstone. "Another outlier can't know or understand my issues with powers. They wouldn't know why I dislike using them, no?" He keeps the innocent stare, but there's an edge of challenge to his tone.
Whetstone doesn't catch on to the bit of word play Madrigal whips up, right away. He's about to protest, but is made to pause, his usual vague expression pretty open down. It's clear he's cycling through a range of emotions, finally settling on resignation. "You're sharp in many ways," he murmurs. "I'll speak to Rung, if you think it's a good idea."
Madrigal lights up - insofar as someone with only four visible optics can, clapping his claws together and cheering. "Fantastic! I'm sure it will be useful having an unbiased party to speak to. If it fails to help after a few months, I won't argue for continuing."
Whetstone allows a soft 'heh', arms still folded. "What about you...? Do you really dislike using your frost? It's a Primus-given gift, you know!" He spreads his claws, animated now. "You were forged with a tremendous blessing! It is a damn tragedy that our society didn't see it that way."
"It's-" Madrigal looks like he's formulating a rebuttal or excuse, but that wouldn't really be fair to Whetstone. It's meant to be an equal trade of things they don't particularly want to do... "If you can find someone who can help me then." He ex-vents. "Sure. I'll try learning to use it." Better than what he's capable of now. A little frost for performances isn't the same as being able to avoid panicked ice-overs.
"I'll look around. Don't feel pressured though. Really...!" Whetstone smiles with his optics. "Wasn't great being on the receiving end, but to was impressive nonetheless. I didn't think my energon could even get that cold..." Another squeak of his chair, and his on his pedes. "Is everything still terrible? Want me to leave you to recharge?"
"I'd rather you not have to know how cold your energon can get." Madrigal huffs, shaking his head mildly. "Oh don't bother, I'm only wallowing in angst, you're welcome to stay." Uncomfortable situation taken care of, Madrigal kicks up his feet and flops back down onto his recharge slab. "You live here too."
"Suppose I do..." Whetstone looks over his side of the room. "Angst, huh?" The tip of his spaded tail tap-taps the ground as it sways. "Allow me to offer an open audial, or a shoulder to cry on," he says, cheeky at first. "You're troubled by other things, Madrigal?" he asks, sincere. The moment is ruined by another shrill whine in the hallway from welding equipment. "Blasted maintenance mechs, I'll drive them off!" He looks like he's actually going to do it.
Madrigal blinks up at the ceiling, startled for a few seconds after Whetstone yells. Then laughter, bright and verging on cackling bubbles up and he rolls to the side, optics pinching into crescents. "Primus! Whetstone come here, leave them be!" He holds out a wing, making matching 'come here' motions. "Stop attempting to placate and simply coexist with me for a bit, alright?"
Whetstone bristles as he is wont to do, but settles down when Madrigal beckons. "I am coexisting!" he insists, striding up to the berth. "I hate the sounds. It seems like we're going to be under repair for ages. I should just rent a place in the city. More pleasant to be there anyhow," he grouses. "I bet you don't like it though. You said you hated organic things. Theophany was organic, you know."
Madrigal scoots a bit, sitting up and patting the space next to him. "I'm not fond of the ones that... ooze, no." He shrugs a bit, shifting mesh out of the spot cleared for Whetstone. "Theophany was primarily stone and dirt. Very few things oozed." He does have an unfortunate habit of freezing the small creatures when they get too close, or decide to climb on him. "You'd prefer a flat without a roommate?"
Whetstone slowly finds a seat beside Madrigal. He seems pretty happy, suddenly. "Our energon oozes, my friend," he reminds. "Oh, no, I figured you'd... I figured I'd invite you to come along? May as well be closer to that spacebridge we're going to use, anyway. A lot of relic-hunting to do..."
"I dislike bleeding as well." Madrigal says primly, immediately flopping back down halfway in Whetstone's lap. Sitting isn't dramatic enough, gotta splay everywhere. "We~ell if you insist." He draws it out, looking disinterestedly at his fingertips for a few moments before shrugging carelessly.
Whetstone smirks. "It's not pleasant, yes, I'll give you that." He brightens further when Madrigal half drapes over his lap, and eventually settles his hand atop the minibot's side. "Hah, then it's settled! I'll scout around tomorrow. Apparently there's to be some kind of reception with Elita. I may attend." He lets a quiet moment pass, trying not to look too closely. It's hard. "How does your armor shimmer like that," he mumbles. "Even with marred wings, you're a sight."
Madrigal hums, shoving an arm over his face in the most dramatic, just-fainted way possible. He's fine, but it's all about appearances. Even when nobody's watching. "Alright. I'm on duty tomorrow, please be pleasant to Elita's people, she seems pleasant enough." And he shifts a leg slightly, peeking out from under his arm. "Just, so much glitter, Whet. So much. I'm not sure how Vortex can stand it." His optics hitch up into happy little crescents, antenna giving a wiggle.
Whetstone grins at the dramatic display. "I'm /often/ pleasant. But... I'll be on my best behavior, for your sake." He eyes the splayed bird at the glitter comment. "Your shine rivals that of Skystalker's." He lingers there, happy for the contact for once, until some strange sobriety catches up to him. With a final shoulder squeeze, he slides out from under, and gets back to his feet. The fluster that Chimera had worked him into returns to drive him back a few steps. "I'm up for the night, due for drills," he says. "I'll see you soon, alright?"
Madrigal pats Whetstone's chest, gracing him with a smile. "Biased sources, but I accept the compliment." He 'oof's when Whetstone's departure lands him back on the berth, pressing up onto two elbows to give the mech a look. "Oh. Alright, I'll see you later!" He chimes, giving a two-handed wave and flopping back to stare at the ceiling some more.