2018-02-11 And They Were Roommates
From Transformers: Lost and Found
|And They Were Roommates|
|Location||Blast Off and Dead End's Habsuite|
|Participants||Blast Off, Dead End|
|Summary||They're roommates now.|
Welp. It's moving time again. Moving time always seems to carry a bittersweet flavor, and this time is no exception as Blast Off finds himself doing it yet again. The Combaticon will miss living with his leader, Onslaught- it was the perfect situation as far as he was concerned. Hopefully, whoever he's paired up with next won't be *too* horrible. Standing in front of the assigned habsuite, the shuttleformer holds a box in one arm. After a pause where he vents in a cycle of air, preparing himself, he knocks on the door with his free hand. He has the code but it seems right to be polite. Might as well get this off to as good a start as possible. IF his new roommate is actually home, that is.
Datapads arranged neatly on his desk, a mirror on his wall, and a polish cleaner out with a buffer that was recently used. Dead End was looking forward to relaxing in his temporarily empty room after rivet duty and then training. However, fate does not grant him peace for long with the knock at the door. "Death knocking at Dead's door?" he mutters to himself, pulling out blaster just in case. With zombies walking around freely, you never know what could happen.
"Oh, Blast Off," Dead End says, relieved to see the mech. "Pleasure to see you, do come in."
It's a game of Russian roulette, is what it is. Blast Off braces inwardly as he hears steps drawing near the door, frame straightening, optics wavering because on this ship you meet people of all heights. His box is pressed in in an almost defensive manner, however subconscious, and he stops even venting in air at all as he hears the door click. And then....
Blast Off blinks. "Dead End?" Both optic ridges shoot up, though his demeanor remains pretty calm, even pleased, otherwise. "Well... thank you. I..." The Combaticon shifts the box he carries so that it might be all the more obvious to trhe Stunticon. "I've been assigned to be your new roomate, it appears." He takes a step in, beginning to scan the room around him. As he looks around, his gaze falls upon the blaster Dead End carries. The Combaticon stops short. "...Expecting trouble?"
"On this ship, you never quite know," Dead End replies with nonchalance, putting away the weapon. "So, roommate? I think I might be able to live with that out of all those here. After all, you have always been the most upstanding and poised Decepticon." Which is truly strange, but as a roommate, that seems like a great thing. At least the chances of him getting mocked by his teammates just went down significantly. Although, they may have disowned him now that he's chosen to stay on the Lost Light rather than with Megatron.
Blast Off just stands there, staring down at the weapon but not actually looking too fazed about it. A parade of weapons, paranoia, and possibly being shot just trying to get into the door of your habsuite... not all that unusual a thing in the life of a Decepticon. As the weapon is put away, Blast Off responds drily, "I see. Yes, I suppose that's true." The Combaticon's gaze drifts to the empty berth in the room and ...yes! The one next to the window, where he can see his beloved stars, is OPEN. The sniper begins making his way towards it. Placing the box down, he turns to face the Stunticon just as Dead End calls him *upstanding* and *poised*.
This encounter is hitting all the right notes, so far. Blast Off's armor shifts slightly, ruffling like a proud bird, as his chin lifts. "Ah. Well, thank you. Yes, I..." He clears his throat and wipes away some non-existent dust on the heat shield of an arm. "Yes, I do try to keep a certain sense of *class* and *decorum*. I'm pleased you noticed." His violet gaze fixes on his new roomie. "And I'd say you always seemed to embody that, too. No matter how dire the circumstance, you always looked put together. Looked right out of the paint shop. Well maintained and polished."
"Well if you want everyone to see what they will be missing, you leave a gorgeous frame behind when you're gone." Dead End clarifies, primly sitting on the edge of his berth. He rests a leg to overlap the other at the knee. "Perhaps it is one of those rare good fortunes that we are to be roommates after all this time. While the war has been over, I still prefer a Decepticon roommate as opposed to an Autobot. I do not know how you tolerated it for as long as you did. Although, there were whispers."
This makes enough sense to Blast Off, who nods his head. "Yes. And why not? Appearances matter. Representing oneself *and* one's team while impressing upon enemies that despite the chaos of war, you have enough sense and poise to maintain your pride... /that/ is impressive. At any time." His head nods again, quite firmly. Then his demeanor relaxes just a skosh and he sits down on his own berth, next to his box, placing his hands close to either side on the edge.
As Dead End speaks of Autobots, Blast Off's gaze falters and drifts to the side, out the window and towards the stars. His cultured voice is slightly lower and softer as he replies, "...I imagine there were." He sighs, then looks back at Dead End. "I can understand the suspicion towards Autobots, I still struggle with it myself, but..." He mulls it over a moment, thinking of various Autobots he's known, or knows. "There are some good people here on the ship. Even Autobots. I've found many of the Autobots here were simply thrust into the war, as many of us were, and it was more circumstance or personal ties that determined which side they were on, than any real hatred of Decepticons. Or rejection of the principles that /we/ fought for. I'd even say many of them *agree* with the things we fought for, they..." Now here he does start to sound a bit critical, "They just went about it *wrong*."
Dead End leans back to listen to Blast Off's soliloquy. The second Decepticon today to defend Autobots. Perhaps it's time he try to ease up on the red badged 'comrades' and accept them. He will try, but at least they can both agree that the Autobots were wrong. It's not something to focus on in the wake of Unicron anyway. "You do a better job than I with them, but perhaps I shall try to follow in your footsteps. I got put on rivet duty for muttering about Hound, and that was not worth the work." Ugh.
"Ahh," Blast Off winces slightly at the mention of rivet duty. He's been on that before. "Yes." The Combaticon's black hand comes up to rub at the dull gray faceplate he wears, musing. "Yes, I can see why that might happen." His hand drops down and he looks directly at the Stunticon. "It would be good to try, indeed. Respecting the chain of command is important to any military operation, after all." This is coming from a /Combaticon/, but then again, he did just finish writing a 5,000 word essay on the comportment and dignity of an officer. "Plus, right now, I do believe we *need* to come together to fight this Unicron." His head tilts and he can't help but add, "...However, don't get me wrong. I am not advocating blind loyalty, certainly. And I still find Megatron a more compelling and relevant leader than, say, Optimus Prime." Pfft. That guy. "But... I think it's a good crew here. For the most part."
"Well, they haven't backstabbed us- except that one guy who spied on command. And just Prowl in general is fishy." A shrug because that mech is just bad news all around. Dead End dismisses it with a hand wave. "Well you are a Deputy now. I suppose I must listen to you if I were to disagree with your point." He shifts back further into his berth to lie down. It's been a long day for him after all. "This is a better crew though."
Blast Off raises an optic ridge, then nods. "Well... yes. Prowl *is*... well, I think fishy is as good a way to put it as any." No love lost here for that Autobot, either. He huffs softly, then notices Dead End tiring. "Yes," His chest puffs out just a little bit, "I am. One of the few Decepticons still in Command." At least there's something right? The Combaticon heaves himself to his feet. "Speak your mind, just..." He pauses, "...with discretion. Of course, that goes for anywhere, not just here. While I'm here, though," he sweeps an arm around, "I am simply a crew member." There's a little glint on his optics, "Well, a *distinguished* crew member, but..." Ok, appears Blast Off's ego is still alive and well. He turns to the door.
Clearing his throat again, he finishes. "...But regardless. It is a pleasure to see you again, Dead End, and I do believe this will be far more tolerable than it *could* have been. I'll head back and get the rest of my things and then recharge as well. I have a selection of fine enerwines, perhaps we can enjoy a glass sometime." You can see his fancy golden goblet artifact! With that, the shuttleformer gives Dead End a nod and heads off to bring his wine rack and a few other items from his old habsuite. All things considered, things could be far, far worse.