Title: Decepticon Primer
Location: ++ Warrior's Hall <Forge> ++
Date: 28 December 2014
NPCs: Howlback, Garboil
Summary: Zephyr learns more about the Decepticons, while they learn a little more about the Insecticons.
-As before, Zephyr's wings are retracted because it's just easier to not be so, well, brilliant all the time. At least, not when you want to avoid being pounced on by people trying to capture you and use you as a pet. The /nerve/ of those surface dwelling....
But that's neither here nor there. What /is/ here, is Zephyr herself, accompanied by the same two drones that followed her here last time. She gave herself two cycles to decide on whether she would cast her lot with the Decepticons or not, so she is making use of that time now by returning to the place that she met with Soundwave.
-"We're here to take care of corruption in the government. What happens after that is up to Megatron," Barricade gruffs. "Now stop bothering me."
-Blast Off raises an optic ridge, but he's already seen the table flipping and temper and... no thanks. It just seems to be that yes, indeed, the Decepticons are as aimless as he thought. But he's stuck with them, for now. He lets out a small, annoyed huff then pauses to glance at the femme who just showed up. There's something just a bit... odd. Insecticon-ish, and it stirs some of the shuttle's newfound fear (thanks to Bombshell) of that group. He shakes his head and tries to go back to his enerbeer
That's when a group of three mechs enters the area as well. They swagger in, smirking and looking around. One of them spots Blast Off and might even *freeze* at the sight momentarily before slipping back into swaggering mode. They walk around like they already own the place. The lead mech, a Seeker type, looks down at Barricade. "So. This where's we sign up for the Pit Fights?" One of the other three, the tall one who appears to be some sort of truck, eyes Zephyr but doesn't say anything.
-Zephyr is far less...pokey...looking than a lot of the Insecticons. Without her wings, she actually looks very small and insignificant. Which is kind of the point right now. She, and her two drones, hang back slightly as the three mechs show up, letting them approach Blast Off and Barricade first and then coming in behind. When she notices a pair of optics on her, she returns the look coldly, appraisingly. While she recognizes her precarious position due to being an Insecticon, she is not naturally possessing of a great deal of humility and is not going to keep her eyes to the ground just because the surface world /thinks/ she should be kept in line and treated like a mindless creature. She mentally commands her two drones to keep a watchful optic on the three mechs while she turns her own optics towards Barricade. By the way the three addressed him, she is going to guess he has some sort of pull here.
-"Yeah, you can put your names in at the registry up near the bookie's window," Barricade replies, not bothering to look up at them or really respond in any way other than giving information. It's become routine to him - even the attitude. He goes back to his datapads.
Yes, he most definitely does, Zephyr - he's running most of the operation.
-Blast Off looks up at the three mechs, who give him the occasional glance but don't say anything. He looks slightly annoyed, then goes back to his enerbeer, still trying to get the feel of it. The shuttle is NOT used to beer, but right now anything BUT wine ought to do. He hopes. He looks at the glass again, then takes another gulp. Welp... again... it's Ok. He might get used to this.
Meanwhile the Seeker leans in towards Barricade. "Hey... aren't you a /Cop/?" The tall truck mech meets Zephyr's gaze and leers at her, then turns his head and focuses on Barricade. "He's a WHAT?"
-Zephyr notes Barricade's disinterest with interest. As for the accusation of him being a cop, this means almost nothing to Zephyr. Queens and seeders command their drones, the drones listen. That is the way of the Insecticon. When hives clash, it is one leader pitting its followers against another. Self-contained policing is not something that they need. Still, she had heard of such things with her information gathering. She keeps her optics on Barricade, wondering if he has anything to say about the question of him being a 'cop' or not. As for the leering, well, she ignores that. Until the mech actually does anything, she is content to tell herself that expressions harm no one.
-Barricade's burning red-violet optics lock on the mouthy seeker. "An' you think that cops don't fight here?" He smirks. "You got a lot to learn buddy. We got cops. We got Primal Vanguard. We got Senate Enforcers. We got medics, architects, waste management, racers an' even /Senators/ that come here. Stop bein' a -rube-."
-The Seeker frowns at Barricade. "Yeah, but Cops are the ones enforcin' most of the corrupt laws in this planet. How do we know you ain't a spy or somethin'?" The truck mech watches all this with the corner of his optic, but turns halfway towards Zephyr. "Hey babe.... what's a pretty little thing like you doin' in a place like this?" He gives her what he seems to *think* is a charming smile. The third mech, shorter than the others, just shakes his head and returns to watching Barricade.
Blast Off also glances up. There's a long silence, then he adds quietly, "They have a point." The Seeker blinks, looks at Blast Off, raises an optic ridge and then returns to smirking at Barricade. "Yeah, see, people got reasons not to trust so-called authority figures 'round here!"
-Well, the 'cop' mech is definately not a smooth talker. Zephyr isn't sure how she feels about that, but she also isn't up on the nuances of the way the hollows communicate. Sure, she has practiced her speaking many times, but there are little things she can only learn by interaction with the surface folks. At this point she has no desire to step in and say anything; she'll let these mechs finish their discussion first.
Then the one mech actually speaks to her. "I'm waiting," she says, giving a rather obvious answer with the sound of patience. Her voice is soft and clear; she speaks without hesitation. As for being pretty, well, her form now is nothing compared to her splendor when her wings are out. She's half tempted to spring them now, just for effect, but holds off. Still, the accusation of being a potential spy sounds like the beginnings of trouble, and she commands her drones to spread out a little, just in case. Finally, she peers at Blast Off. "I know nothing of /surface/ authorities, but the idea of authority itself is probably as old as Cybertron."
-"You think Megatron would have me runnin' this operation if he didn't trust me?" Barricade asks the mech flatly. "You here to fight or are you here to lubricate yourself at the first sight of black and white?"
-Oh ho ho. Authority. Now there's a sore subject for Blast Off. The arrogant Combaticon has never liked it, nor liked being told what to do. He looks up from his beer and stares at Zephyr a moment before replying, "Authority /itself/ often becomes the problem. I mean... do not get me wrong. There is reason for structure and command. Leaders- competent ones, at least- ought to be listened to by those under their command. You learn this in the military. But the problem is... authority itself often attracts the wrong type of mech. Anyone with some kind of inferiority complex, or axe to grind? Guess where they LOVE to wind up. Police and enforcers. Bullies who like to throw their weight around- and know that the general public can't fight back- legally, at least. /That/ is why it is important to ask questions like that." He looks over at Barricade, "And really listen to what their answers are... or if they have any at all." Then Barricade gives his answer, and Blast off doesn't look super-impressed. He just shakes his head and goes back to his beer.
The Seeker doesn't look super impressed, either, but he leans back, flicking his wings once. "You ain't very convincin'. "S'all I'm sayin.'" He glances over towards the sign up tables. "C'mon, let's head over there..." But the tall truck mech isn't quite done with Zephyr. "Weeell, wait no longer! The mech of your dreams is RIGHT HERE!" And he moves in to try and grab her by the wrist.
-Authority to a Queen means something different than authority among the Hollows. Zephyr knows this, but she won't let that change her own opinion on the matter. Of course, she had never really heard of a corrupt Queen or Seeder that she could think of. That might be the difference. Most 'leaders' among the Insecticons know the worth of their own people. "Things are different underground," she tells Blast Off. "As I said, I know little about your surface authorities. Only what I have heard, and what I have heard is not good. But, that does not mean that there are not those who know how to lead."
Then the mech tries to grab her. Suddenly the drones converge on him, spears out and pointed at the offending mech, though more like guards who are making a point than angry individuals ready to attack. Zephyr herself extends her wings and takes to the air, hovering somewhat out of reach. "I am not here to be grabbed," she says, optics narrowed. "I hope this is not the way of most who come here," she says, somewhat icily, towards Barricade, though the chill is intended for the truck mech, not Barricade herself. Rather, she's giving him the option to assure her that this is NOT the standard.
-Barricade is around from his table in the blink of an optic shutter. Using police restraint techniques, he grabs the truck mech's free arm, pulls him back, knocks his other hand away and has both limbs behind his back fast. He maneuvers the truck to the floor and then *crushes* the other mech's head /completely/ with one powerful punch straight down.
It's over before it starts.
"Welcome to the Forge," Barricade's raspy voice growls. "If any of you /tourists/ came here thinkin' you can do and say whatever you want? You're gonna end up like slag-bait here. You follow the rules or you go home in a harvester."
A couple of rather sketchy looking mechanics seem to slink out from the shadows to pick up the dead truck and drag him away to somewhere else. The blades and tools maglocked to their hips and thighs indicate where that body is going.
-Blast Off permits himself a small sigh. "Well, what you've heard: "not being good" ...is the truth. Which is why you've got places like this now." He glares over at Barricade, who has just NOT been responding to any of his questions hardly at all. "At least I *think* so, if I'd ever get some /answers/ around here."
The truck mech stops once the drones converge on him, blinking and staring at them in annoyed confusion. "What the slag? What is this? A tag team? Hey! I wasn't done yet, c'mere!" He leans in to try grabbing Zephyr again- and that's an act he soon comes to regret. Well, actually, he doesn't regret it, because he doesn't have TIME to. The Seeker and short mech stop and stare as their companion is swiftly killed. The leader of the group finally comes back to his sesnes, sputtering, "You- you piece o' SLAG!!" His hand looks as if he's about to draw a weapon- and then just as soon as he starts, he stops. Taking a step back, he just stares at Barricade. "C'mon, Shortstop." He gestures to the smaller mech, optics still blazing at the cop. "We should go." That stare could just BORE through Cade. "This... this ain't over, mech." The two of them start retreating, giving Barricade- and Blast Off- one last glance.
Blast Off looks up as Barricade leaps to action and is also just staring through the whole thing. He beer, still held in hand, drifts down onto the table into a stupified sielnce. He... doesn't know what to say.
-Zephyr will take Barricade's actions as a no. Her drones simply watched as all this happened; nothing in Barricade's movements brought a threat to their Queen. With the offending mech downed, they put their spears at rest and back away a few paces. Slowly Zephyr herself touches back down on the ground, feet daintily coming to rest. Since her wings are already out, she doesn't bother retracting them again. "Perhaps I should ask what the rules are then. I didn't come here just to be crushed," she states evenly. She watches the body go with curiosity, wondering how well the surface folk deal with dead bodies; she already knows her own people's efficiency with scrap to energy conversion.
The Butterfly Queen flicks her optics towards Blast Off, taking in his rather stunned look and silence. She cants her head to the side as she studies him, wings lazily folding and unfolding.
-Barricade is ready for the seeker and his friend to come after him. He's ready to put three of them into the freezer and his body language shows it, his right hand still greasy with bright pink innermost energon. When they finally back down and run he dismisses their threats as in consequential. "Fraggin' tourists," he mutters, shaking his head. "You fight t' the death here. They wouldn't have lasted a breem."
He looks over at Zephyr calmly, transformation plates settling and flattening back down against his body. "First thing's first. No one grabs a femme like she's a free drink. You come here t' fight, to train, to prepare to defend yourself against the Senate and their goons. Everyone's equal - no caste laws - but there -is- a chain of command, an' you show respect t' those above you. You don't cause trouble outside the arena, and you don't get in trouble."
-The Combaticon's stunned silence continues, though Zephyr's hovering - and wings- finally gain his attention. Blast Off suddenly flinches, already a bit unnerved and now struck with the sight of an Insecticon. Ever since meeting Bombshell and having his mind manipulated, he'd felt uneasy around them. He isn't even sure why, since Bombshell removed his memory of the details. "You're... an Insecticon." He shows a brilliant grasp of the obvious.
Then he turns to Barricade, his arrogance toned down a notch. It's still there, but he's not stupid, either. The stare resumes- and then interrupts as he takes a really DEEP swallow of that enerbeer. Plopping it down again, he mutters, "Some of us have no choice but to get in trouble, because trouble keeps finding US."
-Truth be told, Zephyr and her 'posse' don't seem to be here to fight. Her optics linger for a few moments on the pink energon left on Barricade's hand. Watching that she makes a mental note not to give the cop a reason to put those hands on her if she can help it. At least not with violent intent at any rate. She smiles faintly. "I am here to help, and in turn be helped," she says simply. "I haven't had need to follow others; I am usually the one being followed. But I know that the surface world has different rules than the depths and I can adapt." She doesn't say this with arrogance. She does not actually believe she is 'better' than those on the surface; merely different.
As she speaks with Barricade, her drones are moving about, keeping their optics alert in case the two mechs decide to come back and make problems. They look very tense, but Zephyr herself looks quite calm and even at ease. She can't help but smile when Blast Off states the obvious. "I am," she says, though such a confirmation is hardly necessary. "And you are not." She shrugs her shoulders to show that it doesn't mean much to her. "We both call this place home." At his mention of being found by trouble, her antennae move forward slightly; the equivalent to an animal perking up its ears.
-"Insecticon, huh?" Barricade says, a bit thoughtful over it. "We rescued a group of them from a state medical experimentation facility." A smaller robot, like a cobalt blue jaguar, is padding out from the medical area carrying a cleaning rag in her mouth, headed towards Barricade. "Still kind of a shock that you can speak. None of the 'bots living in a major polity ever heard an Insecticon talk like one of us. Hive workers always told us you weren't even sentient."
-Blast Off looks at Zephyr and rolls his shoulders in a form of stress relief. "Well... yes, more or less." He glances around. "Home, whether I like it or not." He can't leave the planet, can't see Combatron. That earns another swig of beer. Hmm, maybe this isn't so bad. He'd starting to even think it tastes GOOD. Of course, that could just be the beer buzz beginning to form. He's not USED to this stuff. He listens in to Barricade's converstaion but has nothing to add from last time.
-"I practiced before coming to the surface," Zephyr says to Barricade, although she had told herself she wouldn't mention that. However, Barricade seems to be very...up front...and perhaps that has influenced this decision. "We are...complicated," she begins slowly. "I am a Queen, and we are the central intelligence of our hives. Without us, the drones are mindless." She sighs, knowing how this must sound to the hollows. "It may seem like an even worse system than the castes, but the drones are more like extensions of ourselves than true individuals. I don't know what on the surface it might compare to." She flicks a glance at the feline with a rag in its mouth and smiles faintly. "The reason we don't speak is that we have our own way of communicating." She shrugs and doesn't go into further detail on this. "We are a very organized and efficient people when left to our own devices." And not hunted for food and baubles, but Zephyr doesn't speak this out loud.
Glancing at Blast Off, she offers him a smile. "You do not like the planet?" she inquires. The notion seems strange to her. Then again, it's all she's known, and for most of that time, she was cooped up underground. The thought of it makes her wings flutter faster for a few moments.
-Barricade takes the rag and uses it to cleans his hand. "Thanks Howl," he says with genuine warmth to the cat.
"It is beink no problem," Howlback replies as she sits on her haunches, curling her tail around her forefeet, sitting near her carrier to observe the goings on. She barks a short, sarcastic laugh. "I am hearink you took care of a fool? I am only beink sorry I was not hear to see it."
"Makes sense," 'Cade says, thinking over Zephyr's explaination. "Hmmn. If Insecticons can transform and are self-aware, they shouldn't be classed as mechafauna." His engine snarls from deep inside his chest, a grunt of disapproval. "Just one more reason t' tear down th' powers that be."
-Blast Off looks at Zephyr, and it's probably the beer that causes him to speak. "It's... alright, I suppose. But I am a space shuttle, I'm supposed to be up THERE." He gestures his chin up towards the "sky". The universe itself is supposed to be mine to explore. And yet because of our "brilliant" government leadership I am grounded and treated like I'm /obsolete/. Do you know how hard it is to even find spare shuttle parts anymore?" He shakes his head. "Slag, I'm not even FROM here. I'm from a colony world, and we don't even know how it is, what they're doing, if they even *exist* at all anymore."
Then the shuttle glares at Barricade. "And... you keep saying that, but you don't offer anything beyond slogans and cliches. I can also proclaim "let's tear down the powers that be!" I'd mean it, too. So... is that going to happen anytime soon? Is there some plan at work? Or do we just sit here and throw slogans- when we aren't throwing- or crushing- each other?"
-"That is exactly why I am here," Zephyr says to Barricade. "We have a useful function, and one that your failing system would do well to not dismiss." Her antennae twitch back and forth in irritation. "I hear that energon is tight, and we are excellent at salvage as well as coaxing energy out of places that would seem barren to those of you on the surface." She sighs. "From everything I heard, tensions are high enough that things are going to boil over into chaos. In that chaos, I want to find a place for my people, just as we had a place so long ago." She doesn't have the presence of Megatron, and she's never even met him, but she does have a great deal of resolve. "Many of my bretheren have turned to violence towards all outsiders. I see this as danger, because if we push the line too far, I can see the surface rulers order our extinction." Her hands clench slightly; this is something she will not allow to happen as long as there is power left in her spark. She's less calm now than she was early, that is certain. As much as she would like to come across as serene, there is a lot of resenement beating within her.
Her expression towards Blast Off softens considerably. "I can understand that a little, perhaps," she ventures to say. "I came to being deep underground. There is no room to stretch my wings down there; I found it cramped and dark. But I was meant to fly. So I wanted to come to the surface from my very early moments, but it was dangerous. I worked hard to learn what I could and I have been determined to do what I can to make this planet a place where I can fly freely." Her tone is wistful as she speaks of the sky. To her the sky is to what space is for Blast Off. As for his demands to Barricade, well, she's here to learn to, so she has no answers as of yet. Still, she looks to Barricade to see what he will tell the space shuttle mech.
-"Hmm. Yeah, that would be handy... I'll take that to Megatron, tell him what you said. It ain't right what's been done t' you, an' since we're gonna rebuild a better society once this one's in ashes, we need t' know what everyone can do. I'd rather see us all work together an' have another golden age. A -real- one. For all of us."
Howlback rises to her feet and pads over to Blast Off, sitting down near him and looking up at him. "I am thinkink you are expectink too much from zee boss." She flicks her tail tip. "Let me be askink you, shuttle: When you are goink into space, you are gettink map from astronomer, da? You are not askink for coordinates from mechs loadink shuttle bay with cargo."
-There's another glance towards the Insecticon, and Blast Off is especially drawn to the wings. They are actually kind of... beautiful. If they weren't attached to a creature he has a strange new aversion to, he might think she was almost pleasant to look at. And wings- he CAN understand that, at least. Blast Off nods, "Yes... that makes sense. I could not stand to be kept underground, " The shuttle has to stifle a shudder as he recalls his recent, claustrophobic entrapment and imprisonment. "Give me the sky any day. I do not blame you." He considers this, and adds, "It was wise to be cautious. When you fly, you soar above all- but that also makes you more conspicuous. And there are those who would wish to shoot you down and bring you to THEIR level."
Then Howlback pads over to him, and Blast Off looks at the cat. "..... Well, no.. but... Surely someone as high up as he is supposed to be has SOME ideas?" There's a glance around. "I'd /ask/ Megatron, but he hasn't exactly been speaking to many of us lately. And so, then who am I supposed to ask?"
-Zephyr takes a moment to admire the feline form. Although larger in root form, she recognizes that her people have more in common with this cat than they do with the other surface dwellers. But her words are for Barricade, since he does seem to be in charge. "We are not fighters," she says, meaning her and her drones specifically, not all Insecticons in general, "but we will help where we can. We will not give up easily." She looks so pretty, and delicate, but her words have steel in them. In her mind already, she feels she will not need those full two cycles. "I look forward to meeting your leader in the future."
She looks over to Blast Off. No, she can't picture him underground. Then again, most hollows don't make it down as far as her hive. They would usually get eaten up by the more violent hives closer to the surface. "Why do you think I kept my wings hidden when I came here?" she says to Blast Off. "I didn't want to make myself too obvious a target before I had a chance to find a place for us." Us, meaning herself and the drones of course. "Patience is a virtue," she adds when he mentions the lack of communication from the leader. Oh, if only the hollows were as efficient in communications as her own people. And to think they are seen as so inferior. Well, if she has any say in the matter, Zephyr will change this.
-"Zee boss is in charge of trainink those who haff never fought before, and installink discipline and loyalty. He is beink an enforcer. If you are wantink philosophy, there are mechs to talk to. My dockmate, for example, is very effective explainink zee full plan --" Howlback tilts her head and looks at Blast Off. "Haff you not read Megatron's writinks? That is beink backstruts of dis movement."
"Not everyone is a fighter," Barricade agrees. "And I'd prefer it that way. What we're gonna have t' do will be dirty an' ugly. You don't expose citizens t' that. Not if you wanna have a society left t' fight for."
-Blast Off nods. "Yes, that was wise to hide them... for now." He seems to almost be smirking just a little under the faceplate. "Yes... patience is a virtue. I agree. It is simply that.... some of us feel we've been waiting long *enough*." He glances towards Barricade, then to Howlback. "Well, yes, I get that he's not exactly a "motivational speaker"." In any way shape or form. "But still..." A wing elevon twitches. "Yes, I've read Megatron's works. And I... support them.... For the most part." More or less.
"It's certainly worth a read. But I come from a military background- what do Miners and Cops know about running a.... a well, what sounds like a more military organization, from what you're saying." Especially with Barricade over there talking about how things are going to get dirty and ugly.
-Tunk. tunk, tunk. A tall, broad-framed mech. Narrow, crimson optics sweep the room. Wings are eye catching but not what he was looking for. Someone duller, broader, maybe even squat... He seems to find his target in a table of hunched individuals, former or moonlighting laborers. His hand strikes off of one of their shoulders, a sharp sound of metal striking against metal. "Delivery, hump it in." he explains, a thumb hooking back over his shoulder. Energon, it meant first dibs. The table emptied with just a few, muted grumbles as the gathered filed out. The mech watches the backs of them, attention lingering for a few, stray moments before his hand trails down to the table as he passes and scoops up one of the abandoned drinks. He tips it to his lips in a measured sip before wandering on.
-"That is reasonable," Zephyr says to Barricade. "Willingness to fight and capability are not the same thing, so it is good you are here to train." She shrugs her thin shoulders languidly. "My hive's main function was sorting and reclamation, so our fighting ability is low. But we would fight to the last of us if necessary. Being part of a bigger system than ourselves would not change that." Discipline and loyalty will probably not be an issue with her, assuming that she speaks the truth about herself. She peers at the cat. "What is meant by a dockmate?" she asks, curious. They don't have carriers down where she is from. As for getting dirty and ugly, well, it would take a lot for Zephyr to be ugly...
"I don't intend to keep them hidden any longer than is necessary." She's reasonable in some ways, but she does have a lot of pride in those wings. And not just because they are pretty either. "I have not actually read these writings," she says.
There's a bit of a commotion as Octane graces the scene. She watches as the table is vacated, then flicks her optics back to the recent arrival.
-"The point of it all is that we have no need of Senates or Councils or Primes," says a smooth voice from up above. The blue condor in the rafters has opted to speak, lighting down onto the table near Blast Off. "You read the book but you seemed to have missed the point. Forgive my rudeness in not introducing myself, my name is Garboil and if you'd like to discuss the more weighty details of society building I'd be glad to help you."
Howlback turns her attention to Zephyr. "We are deployers, dear. When we transform, we become data slugs - cartridges - that are fitting into zhe body of Barricade. We beink Garboil and myself."
"I'm guessin' bugs don't have carriers," Barricade surmises simply.
-"And some of us are ready and capable of fighting- we'd just like to know why, what, when, where and why. Well- we know why." Another swig of his beer. Yep, he'd had enough of this strange new drink he almost thinks he could like it now. Speaking of drinks, Octane comes in. The shuttle raises an optic ridge as he watches the mech at work, then goes back to his beer. He asides to Zephyr, "Nor should you have to hide them. Fliers should be proud. That is something I DO hope the Decepticons will help bring about- a place everyone can take pride in who they are."
Blast Off then blinks up at Garboil. "Oh really." He studies her a moment. "So with no Senate, or Council, or Prime- then who WILL be in charge?"
-"Eventually? No one," Garboil says. "It will take some time, after all, there will need to be an interrim of -some- kind of law enforcement to manage the changeover and adjustment, but the goal is to free Cybertronians to pursue the goals and dreams they wish without being forced into something else. When you collect power into the hands of the few, it doesn't take long before that power is abused. The goal is decentralization."
-"If they have carriers, do you really want to see them?" Quizzed Octane as he intruded onto the conversation, just a good few tons of buttinsky as he stepped into the conversational range. "What'd they have, MicroMaggots, Target Ticks, Power Pillbugs, Head Lice?" Octane rattled off the possabilities and his utter ignorance of insectoid functions. "Hauling around insecticons inside of you seems like something you'd need treatment for. A scrape and a scour..." he gestures vaguely with his drink-bearing hand, the gleaming fluid within rolling against the sides of the glass as he speaks. His attentions lifts upwards, fixing on Garboil. "You think that's actually what's going to happen?"
-"We don't," says Zephyr simply; there's a reason they call a lot of the surface dwellers 'Hollows'. They have no compartments as such, especially not the kind that carriers have. She listens to the cat with interest. "That seems strange to me," she says. "But, at the same time, I imagine there is a closeness involved in this, and a need to work together as a unit? In that way, perhaps we are more similar than different, even if we Insecticons do not...fit...inside each other." She looks up at the condor and offers a nod and brief smile in greeting as he enters into the conversation.
She smiles slowly at Blast Off. At least, in respect to flying, they are in complete agreement. "Unfortunately, your communications are not terribly efficient. You do not instinctly act as one. Planning is more important to you." And even Insecticons have to plan between hives if occassion calls for it.
Garboil's words seem to make her frown. "Insecitcons have always had leaders," she says a bit flatly. "It is how we function and thrive. Is the intention to change this as well?" she has to know.
Deepening her frown, however, are Octane's words, and her optics glow with actual anger as he speaks so disparagingly against her kind. But she knew this would be par for the course when she came to the surface, and she keeps her anger in check. "Clearly you have little understanding of how we work," she says, her tone polite on the surface, but it isn't hard to miss the fact that she has a strain of anger beneath it.
-"Ease off the bug, mech," Barricade admonishes Octane. "We're gonna need all the help we can get. Don't go slaggin' off allies with that mouth." He smirks, understanding said attitude full well. He's salt of the earth to appreciate the crudeness, but just smart enough to know that it doesn't play well in every polity, so to speak.
Howlback nods to Zephyr. "Da, there is. We are aware of each other's thoughts and feelings. It is a bond dat can be considered 'freakish' to other frames."
"I think it because those were Megatron's exact words," Garboil notes to Octane. "Cybertronian society must be, like mishapen metal, /smelted/. Right down to its base materials. Only then can it be reforged in a working order." His head bobs as he addresses the Insecticon. "And why would we have any reason to change how your entire frametype operates? The point is to let you live as you see fit. If anything Insecticons have a better grasp on a unified society than the rest of us."
-Blast Off blinks at Garboil. "But... there's always *someone* in charge. There are rules in any society, who would enforce them? I am all for more choices, of course, but... in any civilized society there are... guidelines- and consequences for rule-breakers. And I don't want to substitute one corrupt power for another." He glares a bit, then thinks twice and adds, "...Not that I'm accusing anyone in the Dceepticons of being like that." He can agree to decentralization, though. "So... perhaps more like clusters of local government then?"
When Octane joins in, Blast Off looks at him a bit annoyed as he goes on about "micromaggots". "Excuse you, some of us are trying to *drink* here." To Zephyr, he says, "Well.... yes, I suppose. Planning is always vital. A good plan ensures a successful mission." Or so says Onslaught. "However... I don't *want* to "act as one"... I want to think for *myself*."
-"Don't worry about what I say, worry about what I can put in your tank." Octane retorted, free hand waving Barricade's admonishment out of the air. Sure, the copper-con had said 'Allies' but all Octane could think of when he looked at a Insecticon, even the lithe-frame of the one before him, was 'Cannonfodder.' "I figure I've got enough of a understanding already there,-" there is a pause as his optics drop down to her boot tips and then raise up to the top of her head. Plain alright..., "Skinny." it's a weak effort but all he could figure otherwise was something about her wings... and he wasn't looking for compliments.
"Oh, sure, right, those..." replied the fueler to the 'Condor. Sure, Octane believed that, everything would be hunkey dorey when the Decepticons took over. Octane might just start a half-way house for the empty and derelict... Hah, no. "Yeah, yeah, you're welcome." uttered Octane in turn to Blast Off. Now, he wasn't responsible for the Decepticon's entire stockpile of energon, but he could try and convince you otherwise. He could only offer a grunt to the rest, were he aware of the future, he might have laughed at the irony.
-"Or unions of laborers working together for the common good. Share and share alike. Everyone labors, everyone receives the same cut of the production," Garboil says cheerfully to Blast Off. "Imagine leaders that are -chosen- by the people instead of inheriting a position of power. Being able to pick those you feel are best qualified to help you, and being able to remove them when they become corrupt." The condor seems to sigh contentedly. "It will be a manual laborer's paradise."
-Blast Off glares a little at Octane's dismissive answer but doesn't reply. He becomes too busy listening to Garboil. Hmm. Ok, now THIS is new information. "I... I see." The shuttle places his hands together on the table before him, listening and lost in thought. "A sort of... democracy?" He's still not sure he trusts the general populace to actually rule wisely, though. "I hope the general public will make wise choices, then. I /do/ think that people who enjoy the fruits of their labors will be far more productive, contribute far more to that society than those who are oppressed. I just... don't know how much I trust the geneal public's... wisdom."
He looks back to Zephyr. He gives her a small, polite nod as she seems to compliment him. He ALWAYS likes that. "I see. Yes, your drones respond to those who have the intellect to guide them." He shakes his head, "It is a balancing act- freedom comes with responsibility, and sometimes not enough wisdom. I want that freedom, and I believe all should possess it. I just... hope they have the wisdome to use that freedom wisely in the end."
-"I'm going straight t' Megatron, let him know what you're lookin' t' talk to him about," 'Cade says to Zephyr. "C'mon." Who was that directed to?
Ah, the Deployers. Howlback and Garboil follow after Barricade without a second thought, as if they were connected him like Zephyr's drones are to her - and yet, they possess their own individuality and self-will. Curious, no doubt, to an Insecticon. "It will take time, but with education and hard work, I'm sure the populace will," Garboil calls to Blast Off as he flies out of the room.
-"Yeah, yeah, a full tank for everyone and a new set of tires to run it on." he was familier with the sentiment, maybe he had heard it when he was drawn into what looked like the next big payday underneath that sinister looking, purple badge. "Now take it easy, you're starting to drool." Do birds drool, do robot birds drool? Eitherway, the zeal was palpable.
His attention returns to Zephyr, ignorant of whatever insectigoons she might have milling about. His mouth gapes and the snide rests just at the tip of his tongue... only to halt. His maw shuts, you could almost hear the whine of the servos. Gears shift, his lips curl into something sincere, "You are absolutely right, I apologize. We're all marching for the same cause here." Of course, he'd likely prefer her and her ilk to be marching up front. "'Hang around with a rough sort and more than just paint might start to rub off." he offers a explination, a hand splayed across the obsidian-like plate at the center of his chest before it reaches out to drop it's weight upon one of her shoulders, "How about we start over here, the name's Octane."
-"The drones are extensions of us, more than they are unique people. Almost like they hold a trace of the spark from the Queen or Seeder, but it is not a fully developed and seperate unit." She doesn't mention that it is enough to allow them to become a full individual if the leader is destroyed. She certainly wouldn't want to give the rude Octane any information that may give him an advantage. "I have not met enough Hollows to know of the wisdom the general public does or does not have." She tilts her head to the side. "This world up here is still fairly strange to me. But, even if they are unwise, at least they have the freedom to be so, yes?"
She watches the deployers go. Yes, they are very interesting. Perhaps, if she understands them more, she can see about giving her own drones a little more...initiative. They might be less tractable that way, but they could be potentially more useful. High risk for a high gain? It's something to think about. Also, their forms are not a copy, like a drone's form is. Very interesting indeed. Her optics are thoughtful as she considers this.
At first she looks as though she's about to flit away from Octane entirely. It doesn't look as though she completely trusts the mech's sudden change of demeanor, but she allows the contact, knowing that a mere thought will bring her drones to her aid if needed. On the other hand, she had seen how quickly Barricade had crushed the truck mech, and she was much slimmer than him. "I am Zephyr," she says, finding no reason to withold her name. She knows that her ways are not the ways of the surface, so she treads carefully.
-Blast Off gives Garboil a nod as she leaves, then returns his attention to his enerbeer. After that is done, he looks once more to Zephyr. "Yes. I think so. As I said, choice is important to me. I have met enough mechs here who have never had any, that I can... I can see why they want that choice, too. And as long as it does not intrude on MY choice, I see no problem with it." He watches as Octane tries to "greet" Zephyr. Blast Off won't be crushing anyone's head, that's for sure, but he will still expect a certain amount of... decorum to be observed.
-Decorum? It's not like he's driving his tongue into her ear, the nimble, slick, little articulator wiggling and writhing against the sensitive receptors of whatever passes for her audial fixture. Still, it was just a passing gesture, the hand lifts and draws away. "I'm sure everything will be wonderful." utters Octane to Blast Off's little spoken-manifesto. "We'll turn our lasers into welding torches and rebuild this world anew. " It'll be dog eat dog, each and every energon-thirsty mangler of a mech that they're creating in the pits. How quickly will they be able to just become civilians again? Just as long as they march at the front. "Hey, maybe the galactric alliance will even wabt to be friends again, right?"
-Honestly, Zephyr is not used to being challenged. She's a Queen, and most Insecticons are not interested in destroying the queens and seeders. Subjugate them into their hive, perhaps, but they are recognized as having value by most. Especially since the surface dwellers seem to come down into their territories intent on abducting or destroying them already. If someone was to try to surpress /her/ freedom, she is certain it would not go well. "Perhaps, after the chaos, people will have learned the wisdom you fear they lack," she suggests to Blast Off thoughtfully. "Or those with the wisdom to lead will be elevated to such positions based on their merit." She doesn't know much about such things; either you're a self aware or you're attached to one.
At the moment, she's not sure what to make of Octane and her optic ridges go up. "I don't know about wonderful, but if we manage to make things better for everyone, even a little bit, then it is something of an achievement," she says. She doesn't know much about the Galactic Alliance, however, so she says nothing about it.
-Blast Off eyes Octane. "The Galactic Alliance? I doubt it. I've SEEN them, dealt with them, I know what they're like... not likely." Then he realizes maybe Octane was being sarcastic, or maybe he wasn't, and given that he, with his generally poor people skills, often doesn't know, Blast Off quiets down and goes back to his drink. He nods to Zephyr. "Yes, that could... happen. Perhaps. I'll accept taking a chance on that over having to deal with the status quo a moment longer, that's for certain."
-"Of course..." Octane mused, laying the glass down on a nearby table, fingers clasped along the rim before he lays it to rest with a quiet thunk against the rusted, battered surface, "There is a chance that this all goes aft-up and nose-down." he mused. "But, we're not going to jinx it right now, are we?" he allowed his attention to turn from the shuttlecon to the fluttercon. His optics sweep back and forth, gauging reactions, "It's all talk right now, a whole lot of it... Until someone sets the first fire under the first skid-plate, that's all it really is." he opines, "Sure, you've already got your own slice of paradise, sitting at the top of a bug heap." he regards Zephyr, his blank expression shifting to work a warm smile across his face, optics narrowing while the corners of his mouth pull away, "No offense, mind." he claims, "And you have a sort of Alt-mode priviledge going for you, I mean, not being made to bust rocks in the twisting guts of Cybertron or Primus knows where..." he claims as he allows his attention to settle on Blast Off, clapping him on the shoulder in a feigned, jovial manner, "But I'm sure that this will all be wrapped up by the time we all get down to the last quarter of a tank."
-"As long as the system is able to work changes in itself, then perhaps things will turn out positively in the end," Zephyr says, her wings fluttering. "But tell me, what do you think a leader among your people should be like?" she is curious to know. "If the choice was yours, what society would you construct?" She listens carefully to anything said about the Galactic Alliance, but maintains her silence about it.
"Granted," she says to Octane. "But being in one of the top spots of the lowest rung is still not very comfortable," she adds. "And I did come from the depths of Cybertron, but the work we did there was for ourselves rather than for the benefit of others while we languish from a lack of resources." And it seems she is willing to fight to make sure that never happens.
-Said "shuttlecon" gives a haughty little sniff. "Well, of course not, a shuttle should be up in *space*, not amongst the hardcsrabble and..." He blinks, realizing he's AMONG the hardscrabble and grime. "Well... I just meant... no, I never did. I... I'm not built for it." He stiffens though as Octane slaps him on the shoulder. Blast Off HATES random physical contact, and he huffs and leans away. Grabbing his beer again, he finishes the drink. "Yes, yes, fine. I'm sure we will. All the world's problems solved over a..." he stares at the glass, "Pint. If only it were that simple."
Blast Off looks to Zephyr. "Uh... well..." He has to consider this. "He would... probably be a lot like my Commander, Onslaught. He is thoughtful, wise, he thinks things out and plans carefully. However, he is also quite capable of turning words to *actions* when required. Not afraid to do the dirty work... well, if he can't get US to do it for him, that is." He adds. "Okay, perhaps NOT that particular quality."
-That's right, you're in the rust and dirt, A good number of the clankers in here would have given their left strut to have your altmode. Soon enough, they might just be mean and hungry enough to take yours instead.
Octane seems to consider the question for a moment, lips thinning as he thinls. "Well, Megatron's about the only one suited. He'll say otherwise maybe but if you try and install a beurocrat, this will all fall apart. As for a civilization? Well, that's all just supply and demand, isn't it? he muses, lips quirking. He would have the supply, he would make the demands.
"In the end though, whoever we put at the tip of this spear is goig to have to be strong enough and smart enough to take on a Prime... and Sentinel might be the hardest Prime they've hammered that damned Matrix into for as long as anyone can remember. Whoever our leader is going to be, they're going to have to be able to stand against him."
-"Where is this commander of yours now?" Zephyr wants to know. She's not really sure how the surface defines 'dirty' work. According to most of them the Insecticon's function of reclaming scrap and refuse would be considered 'dirty'. Yet it is what is completely natural to them. It might not be the most glorious function, but it is important for the planet's well being. Unfortunately, most surface dwellers have been taught, by now, not to see it that way. Zephyr hopes for the chance to...re-educate them.
The fluttercon listens to Octane. She still doesn't trust him, but their rough start seems to have been put in the back of her mind...for now. "Explain bureaucrat," she says, encountering another unfamiliar word.
-Yes, Blast Off is all too aware of it, which is why the shuttle has had to (slowly) learn to at least TRY to act a little less snobby. (A little less.) Blast Off's had to make many adjustments, the latest of which he just finished in the form of that beer. Not wine, beer. He listens and nods. "Yes, it seems most of the mechs here seem to think very highly of Megatron. He's also apparently done quite well in the Pits, proving he's got both the brawn and the brains. So... yes, he might be the best bet." Unless Onslaught wanted the job, of course. "But I am still waiting to see evidence of a real plan. You can't just go in blindly and try to kill a Prime. There needs to be a coordinated effort."
The shuttleformer turns to look at Zephyr. "My Commander? Onslaught is actually around here. All my old team is. We've conducted team fights in the pits, won all the important ones. Naturally, we're Combaticons. We excel in combat. We are currently housed together, too, though I DO insist on my own quarters."
-Zephyr nods her head to Blast Off. "I will eventually met them then, it is likely," she says. She doesn't seem in a rush to do so, but neither does she sound reluctant. "As for Megatron, I have not met him and I have no opinion of him. But I guess I will meet him too at some point." She smiles faintly. "You are a success at what you do then; made for combat and excelling at it?"
The femme's dainty face twists into an expression of disdain at the description of a bureaucrat. "That sounds inefficient. They perform no action of use?" Zephyr is a Queen, yes, but she leads by example. Everything her workers do, she does as well to some extent. Leadership is a responsibility, not an excuse to sit on her aft and watch others work. "In an efficient group every job is important because without it the others would fall apart. There is no room for someone who does not have a purpose." And since Insecticons are so good at communication, they have no use for someone who merely sets up and sends out orders. "What you say makes sense. A leader cannot just speak of leading, he must act?"
-Blast Off sighs, "Yes, the Senate is full of Bereaucrats... and almost every one is useless as can be. The further they are from what's actually happeneing, the more ignorant they are, too. I have seen it time and time again. Especially out in space- I would SEE wat things were really like, how they were really going... and yet some clueless higher-up would keep getting in our way and ruining everything with stupid orders. It's... it's very ineffecient.
He nods to the butterfly femme. "Yes! All of them come by. Onslaught is very reasonable, though he may be a bit busy. The others.... well, try not to anger Brawl, he has a bit of a temper. Vortex... actually, watch out for him, he's not quite.... all there, if you catch my drift. And Swindle.... actually, watch out for him too. Seek him him out if you need anything- he will find you the best deals this side of Cybertron, but it will come at a price." He pauses, then answers, "Why yes. Combaticons are well known as warriors and combat specialists. I manage the long range, very skilled sniper work and transporting my team. Which is... annoying, Brawl leaves mad marks inside my cargo bay ALL the time. But I am, of course, very valuable."
-Octane allows a easy smile to work along his features, so Blast Off was so high above the problem but he still saw it better? How does that mech not choke on his irony? He even insists on private quarters? The Triplechanger is down-right tickled. He smiles, he just smiles, optics gleaming happilyh as they linger on Blast Off, "That sounds terrible."
"If it worked, the Senate wouldn't be doing it." mused Octane to Zephyr's utter disgust in regards to the matter. "See, we had a whole lot of mechs that were really good at telling people what to do but were just slag-all at actually doing it. I think they like to call themselves Intellectuals. These guys get along with one another amazingly well. You get one of these greased up clankers in the right spot and he'll find a job for twenty of his buddies quicker than you can get your tires rotated..." he halted, attention shifting to Zephyr for a moment, he affords her a slight aside, tapping a finger to one of the treadded wheels that sprout from his shoulder kibble, "These things, makes sure they wear more evenly." and now back to the matter at hand. "Then these guys pull in their buddies and so on. You get a whole lot of jumped up pistons that know a lot but know nothing about how it's done. That's Government."
-Zephyr listens to Blast Off's assessment of the Senate. "They tell you how to do things that they personally have no experience with?" she asks, looking rather surprised at this. "How can that work?" She can order her drones because she knows exactly the processes and capabilities by which they function. The current system is completely baffling to her. "I do not intend to make anyone angry, though I may not hold back in the event that it might happen. And unless your team mates intend to harm me or mine, I doubt I will have a problem with them." She's not here to make enemies; the Insecticons are already not well thought of.
And then Octane expands on the problems with the Senate. "How did such inefficient beings become so powerful to begin with if they couldn't prove their mettle?" She acknowledges his explaination of tires with a nod. Insecticons, after all, do not have them.
-Blast Off looks over at Octane, not catching the irony. "I know, it was, wasn't it? You have no idea how many times I've had to deal with ignorant buffoons ordering me around." He huffs through his ventilation systems. The Combaticon listens to the rest, commenting, "Well... REAL intellectuals have a place in society. They help bring knowledge and culture to the masses who might otherwise remain clueless and uncivilized." The HORROR. "But yes.... the ...the nepotism you mention is rampant."
"Yes, they do." He responds to zephyr. "As I said, I am a space shuttle.... I flew to many a planet, yet had to carry out orders from people who had never even been there, seen them It was irksome at times." He nods to the rest. "I think you should be fine." Her question on the Senate gets a look. "Probably more of that nepotism- friends helping friends. And those in power making sure their power grows at the expense of everyone else."
-It's a joke, a joke. He's a joke, a fully assembled joke, all bolted and welded together. He wants to laugh, he really does, he can almost feel his mandible trmble with the supressed urge. If Blast Off hadn't joind, he's exactly the sort of mech thast would have been tossed under the wheels of the machine that was greased with the fluids of the fallen and those about to fall. Another 'mech that was lucky enough to be on the proper end of it all... Only Octane knew himself for the moralless, causeless aft that he actually is. "S'sure... yeah."
His attention shifts to Zephyr, "They got into power because they had the credits to back it up, they remained in power because they had the credits to buy the armies that keep them there. There are a whole lot of mechs that have never lifted anything heavier than a dataslate but for every one of them , there are five combat-kitted cybertronians that are on their payroll and are doing very well for themselves because of it." he explains, another sly look slipping across his features, "Like myself."
-"I would feel vulnerable in space," Zephyr admits. "My function is largely tied to the ambient energies of Cybertron and I would have little use out there. But, there is much out there that can be useful I imagine, and someone must be able to reach it." Seems reasonable, doesn't it? "I don't know much about intellectuals; perhaps there simply aren't any among my kind. We are meant to work, after all." She shrugs her shoulders. As for the power guarding power just to get more power to guard it with, well, that is just plain silly. "So much inefficiency. No wonder change is happening." She smiles faintly. "I was wise to come here."
"You work for these...bureaucrats...as well?" she asks, curious. "Isn't that self-defeating?"
-Blast Off doesn't realize everything Octane is thinking, or he'd be getting exceptionally huffy about now. Blissfully unaware, he glances at the other mech, "What IS it you do, anyway?", then goes to order another beer. Of course, he hardly even feels a part of any machine at ALL. No, he's a space shuttle, and thus he soars above everything. Or he should, at least. He nods to Zephyr. "Yes, and that was MY function. Now, because of the Clampdown, I am not *allowed* to do the very thing I was BUILT for. And there you have the insanity of our current government at work in a petro-nutshell." He agrees, "Yes, it is inefficent, and that is why it will not last."
-Artificial shortages, shipments that just so happen to be waylaid, routes that mysteriously travel too close to Insecticon territory, he couldn't really claim any of these... because some of it was a lie. He's not entirely smart enough to think of it himself but he is very good at following clandestine orders that lead to such things happening. "Triorian Guard." were he made of flesh, rather then cybertronian alloys, his chest would swell with pride. He was the upper crust of the upper-middle class. "A triplechanger that's been asigned to safeguard the shipments of our remaining energon to the areas that 'need it the most'." A glorified milkman that's on the take.
The smug pride almost radiates from his seams, he hooks a thumb over his shoulder to the spread laid out. Energon, plentiful and quality. "That's because of me." he explains... Because of him and serveral others.
"Y'see, sk- er, Zephyr, there's a whole lote of Mechs and femmes that like things the way they've got it. The ones that are either comfortable or have it good. All these happy, little tools make a little fortress for those that have it better off. They're the foundation of everything that raises those clankers that haven't even seen a rust spot in their entire, functioning lifecycles, live on... They'll fight hard to keep what they've got. Now they ain't the problem, they're a problem but not the problem. Just a bunch of clankers and piston rinders that found a place and don't mind staying there. Now, my duplicitous, little job is to be a door, a way past all the largely benign and harmless cogs and gears that will do just fine when it all gets torn down and built back up. So, I work for the men in the high towers and I wait. I wait, and when the time is right,-" he lifts a hand to his chest plating, his palm pressed over the smooth, black, glassy fixture that is affixed there. He rubs it, gently. Something emerges from the darkness, a shape, a symbol. His hand drops away to reveal his badge, it's narrowed, critical glare leering back at the pair of therm "I show my true colors. We don't have to be the only ones being deceived."
-"They want people to follow their function and yet they do not allow you to perform it?" Zephyr actually has to scratch her head at this one. "And yet, somehow, these people managed to accumulate enough power to be almost untouchable." Pfft. Maybe if they had had the intelligence to learn something from the Insecticons instead of using them up, they might not be in this predicament right now. "Hopefully you won't have to wait much longer," she says to Blast Off. As for herself, her waiting has just begun. Again.
She listens to Octane with a degree of awe. "That sounds quite dangerous," she admits. It occurs to her that it also is probably the cushiest place to be during a situation like this, but she doesn't say as much. Triorian Guard doesn't mean much to her, but it does sound impressive. The two mechs she's with are defintely not your 'average' Cybertronians. But this just means it is not only those on the bottom who are dissatisfied. In her optics, that lends even more credibility to the cause.
-As this is all revealed, the Combaticon looks down at the energon supply. His gaze takes it all in just a little bit hungrily before turning to Octane once more. "That is... impressive, I will admit." Doesn't hurt to compliment the one who brings you fuel, after all- even the elitist shuttle knows that. "You will probably never get called obsolete, that's for certain..." he mutters. As for the rest, he listens to Octane's quite descriptive soliloquy. His optic ridge raises at the reveal at the end, and the shuttle looks down at his own chest. His black hand comes up to rub at the purple plate there, and slowly a face emerges- his own Decepticon badge- purple on purple. A touch more subtle, perhaps, but it is there. Violet optics lift up to regard Octane. They may be quite different, but they are on the same team.
Blast Off turns to Zephyr. "Yes. It is ridiculous. I have been charged with a *crime* for trying to return to space. It is for reasons like that, that I wear.... this." He looks down at the badge, already fading again. "I had nowhere to go, and the Decepticons welcomed me in. They wish to restore logic and order to the world, and allow me to return to the skies. So I chose to join them. Just... recently, in fact." Basically after Starscream *insisted* he did, after the Seeker broke him out of jail not long ago. And by that point, why not?
-Oh yes, it is the cushiest of cush. He can oppress all of the untouchable dregs he wants and he doesn't have to worry about some upstart 'con trying to make a name forthemselves as a folk hero. He's just an asshole that knew which way the wind was blowing...
Don't think about that last statement too much.
"Don't worry about it." Octane answers Blast Off with a indifferent wave. He knows he's awesome, you can grovel and beg, oh yes, grovel and beg, later.
"It'll be dangerous if they ever start suspecting they're infilltrated, until then, I'm just another cog in their machine." he explained.
And as if on cue, the last of the enrgon had been offloaded, the last of the drudges trudged in with their laborious load and hefted it onto the pile. "Speaking of which, time to start turning again." he notes and offers a wave in parting before he turns away and heads towards the door.
-Zephyr has no symbol, but this doesn't bother her. She just tucks her hands behind her back. "Keeping you from the stars long term goes against everything that is natural," she states to Blast Off. "For a cycle or two because of repairs or atmospheric storms is a different matter, but that would be a matter of prudence, not law, yes?" Shuttles gonna fly, cars gonna roll, and Insecticons gonna recycle. It is the way of things. "Who are they to disrupt the order of things?"
Some might join the Decepticon cause for the sake of stiring up trouble, but she is interested in order. Just not the CURRENT order. An order that snubs and destroys her kind. Insecticons, by their nature, are partially Functionists. But, rather than discriminate based on function, they recognize that each function has its place in the larger scheme of things and are not to be denigrated.
The butterfly is quiet as she watches the last of the energon being offloaded. She'll have to watch Octane. His enviable position could be a source of trouble in the future. Perhaps not to her directly; she has her own resources to offer. "I will see you again," she says to Octane. Assuming he doesn't get caught before then.
-Blast Off is again fortunate that he has no idea what Octane's thinking or he'd be mighty huffy right now. He watches Octane leave, then looks to the butterfly femme once more. He nods, like YES, finally, someone understands. Never mind that she's an Insecticon, he doesn't even care right now. "Yes! It does. Indeed, I would always come planetside, and I enjoy some time on planet as well, but being away *this* long..." His shoulders roll once in stress relief, "It is...a crime against all that is logical. It is THEY who are the criminals to force my kind to ground."
Not too long after this, the Combaticon seems to receive a radio message. He looks over to Zephyr and gives her a polite nod. "Speaking of my Commander, he wishes for us to engage in some team practice for our fight next cycle." The Combaticon stands and turns to leave. "It was a pleasure." With that, he walks away, still managing to look rather poised and aristocratic despite everything he's been through.