thisavrou_log | Open || Closed || November Shenanigans

Open || Closed || November Shenanigans

Who: Tarn & OPEN || [Closed] Tarn & Riptide
When: November 1st
Where: around the ship
What: Tarn’s persistent bad mood reaches a boiling point
Warnings:Pissy robots || Gratuitous violence and robot gore

[OPEN]

[The past month has been a Disaster. Tarn can see his alliances dwindling before his very eyes, leaving him with only a scant few associates; only one of which he feels he can truly trust. But, the loss of Soundwave’s friendship has really taken its toll.

It started with depression. A crippling sadness so deep that the only escape Tarn saw was to bow out of consciousness and initiate stasis protocols for nearly a month. Upon awakening, he found that his grief had begun to morph into something more complex and dangerous. Anger began to boil just under the surface, threatening to consume him. It was really only a matter of time until he succumbed to it’s magnetism.

Why bother trying to play nice if nothing you do matters?

Tarn can be found prowling the corridors of Moira, desperate for something to destroy. His temper will be clear to anyone unfortunate to cross his path]

[CLOSED]
[Tarn has been stewing ever since he discovered where Ravage’s corpse had come from. Of course Riptide had something to do with it. How very like that wretched Autobot to seek to destroy what little of a life Tarn has built for himself here.

Deciding that they were in dire need of having a bit of a heart to heart, Tarn sets out to track down the Autobot. He scours the ship, searching all of the usual cybertronian hangouts with little luck. Systematically, he hunts through the Moira leaving no cybertronian sized corridor or room untouched. It’s only by mere happenstance that he catches a glimpse of his familiar frame, seemingly in a rush to get somewhere. There mere sight of him sends a fresh wave of rage through his frame.

Fists clench at his sides as he stalks up behind Riptide.]

Where are you off to in such a hurry? Have you more lives to destroy?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Tarn's optics go wide behind his mask as Ratchet's claws slice into his throat. He tries to thrash free from the medic's iron grip, vocalizer emitting his panicked screech of static.

Trying to regain his composure,Tarn grabs Ratchets claws in a nearly crushing grip.]

Let go.

[His voice is rough and distorted and downright painful sounding, but the only betrayal of his discomfort is the slight quiver in his fingers as he begins to twist]

Let go before I make you.

What use will you be then?

[The question ends with a wheeze as his damaged vocalizer begins sparking in Ratchet's grip.]

[Ratchet laughs again, cruel and cold and angry, refusing to flinch as Tarn's grip tightens on the claw.]

Go ahead. These I can repair. Your vocalizer... not so much. What are you without your ability? You're not Judge Advocate General of anything, not here. None of the Decepticons want you. I could twist the only thing that makes you any more interesting than a common bully directly out of your throat right now and not a single person on this ship would even question it. [Ratchet's voice drops, deadly soft.]

You can't stop me from trying to treat people, Tarn. But I can sure as hell stop you from trying to hurt them. Which of us is more dedicated to our life's work, do you think? Do you really want to take a gamble on that?

[Ratchet's claws don't give and Tarn's spark begins spinning quicker in his chassis. He lets go of one of the Autobot's hands in favor of slamming his fist into his abdomen. If he can just dislodge him...

He tries not to let Ratchet's words take hold, but part of him knows that it's true. Who would care if he were to disappear? No one would miss him. In fact, there would probably be a celebration.

Tarn shakes the dark thought from his mind. All the more reason to stay and spite them.]

I'll destroy you Ratchet. [A thin stream of energon begins leaking from the slit in his mask, smearing over his chin.]

But, don't think that I'll stop there. Perhaps I will finally cross Deadlock off my list. He's had it coming for such a long time, after all.

[Tarn drives his fist through the glass of Ratchet's windscreen.]

[Ratchet takes the blow to his belly with a soft rush of air from his vents and a slight, convulsive tightening of his claws in Tarn's neck.]

You can't. Losing my hands didn't stop me--what the hell do you think you can do to me that will frighten me more than that? You may have been able to push Pharma's buttons, but I am not afraid of you.

[He feels his windscreen shatter against Tarn's fist, straight through his Autobrand, and he yells as he's shook free without loosening his grip, his claws wrenched out of Tarn's throat by his own weight as he goes down. He can feel his spark pulsing wildly, the already-scratched surface of his spark chamber now that much closer to open air, but he's back on his feet in an instant, broken glass crunching under his boots, refusing to give ground between Tarn and Riptide's slab.]

His name is Drift. [Ratchet's voice wavers for the first time, so angry that the words clot in his throat, choked with static and half-processed sound data.] You don't get to call him that now. Don't you dare.

[A wet sounding wheeze is the only sound that Tarn makes as Ratchet's claws tear out a good portion of his throat. he backs away, eager to put distance between them as his hand comes up to inspect the damage.

His vocalizer clicks sickly as it struggles to engage.]

Y-you.... You'll regret that.

[Tarn tries to whisper but his mangled vocalizer can't reach the correct pitch. Distress and fury twist inside him as he blindly lashes out. It's clear that Tarn has found a sensitive topic and he fully intends on exploiting it.]

I c-can call him whatever I like. A traitor. A waste of s-s-sentience. Deadlock would be better off dead than whatever this farce is that he's become.

[he reaches out to grab Ratchet by the face, wanting nothing more than to crush his jaw and end his taunting words.]

[Satisfaction and no small amount of relief washes through him as Tarn tries to use his ability again and fails, his back straightening. He advances as Tarn backs off, putting more distance between them and Riptide's slab and trying not to slip in the glass and the energon on the floor.]

That's not his name anymore. [Ratchet jerks away, feeling Tarn's fingers close against his face, panic swelling in him as he feels that grip tighten on his already damaged cheek, the delicate, exposed mechanisms of his cracked optic. One claw comes up after that, gouging deep into Tarn's mask and trying to rip it from his face in a frenetic desire to do some sort of damage before he gets hold of himself again, bracing his boots on the floor. He wraps one set of claws around Tarn's wrist and presses the others hard to a point to drive it into the crook of Tarn's elbow, against the taut cabling of tendons there, loosening Tarn's grip enough to wrench his head back. His ventilations are stuttering and ragged as he glares up at Tarn, trembling with anger now.] You want to talk about a farce? A traitor? You want to talk about waste? You of all people should know not to call someone by their old name, Glitch.

[Ratchet's voice drops to a vicious, whipcrack hiss, delivering the nickname like a slap as his optic searches Tarn's for a reaction, his claws flexing creakily and his shoulders set.]

I know you. I know exactly what you are. You've always been pathetic and small and alone, and you always will be, no matter how much you fawn over your mentors or how many people you hurt trying to justify what a complete and irresponsible misuse of sheet metal you are. You're worthless.

[Tarn is stunned, optics blown wide and bright, mask hanging at a skewed angle from Ratchet's physical assault. The verbal lashing has him at a complete loss

How long has he known? How Long has he been laughing at him? Tarn takes a shaky step back, stumbling over some of the medical supplies littering the floor from his previous tantrum.

Suddenly he's utterly exhausted. The rage ebbs away leaving only raw insecurity and bitter hatred.

He has no come back, but he needs to at least say something.]

My...such strong opinions. One wonders how long you've harbored them.

[Ratchet's split lip curls, slow and disdainful, his chin tilting up as he watches Tarn stagger back. He doesn't follow this time, just keeps himself planted very firmly between Tarn and Riptide, his optic pale. His expression is smooth and opaque as frosted glass, giving away nothing.]

Get the hell out of medical bay, Tarn. Take your sad little mask and the tattered remains of your self-respect with you. Goodness knows you don't have anything else left, not anymore, and I don't have time to clean up the mess I would make on the floor if I killed you here today. [Sharpness edges into his voice, flexing across the sudden, weird silence and the ringing in his audials like a blade.]

And maybe this time, when I tell you that if you lay a single finger on any member of my crew I will make you regret it? You will pay attention.

[Tarn doesn't move immediately. He just stands there in a sprawling wreckage of his own making, hand trying to staunch the energon bleeding from his torn throat. His optics dim as he begins to realize how thoroughly this has backfired on him.

The wisest move would be to retreat and attempt to salvage what little dignity he may have left. Part of him wishes that Ratchet would just kill him. End this pitiful existence and spare him any further humiliation.]

You're weak. You should have finished what you started.

[And with that Tarn makes a hasty retreat, refusing to even look back.]

[So what are the odds of Tarn running into Drift during his escape huh?

Actually pretty good considering that's exactly what's happening. He really needed to stop running into Tarn, it was kind of the worst thing ever. It didn't take Drift long to notice the state that Tarn was in, and for a moment he was just confused. People don't usually leave the medbay bleeding. Considering this is where Ratchet worked, though, Drift's mind immediately jumped to the worst case scenario.

His hand was on his blade before he even realized it, but he didn't move to approach Tarn yet.]

What did you do?

[Tarn skids to a halt upon seeing Drift directly in his path. What terrible luck...

Bright energon streaks down Tarn's chest and smears across his mask. His vocalizer clicks and screeches static as he tries to get it to engage. He doesn't want to answer the question, Tarn thinks that he's had enough indignity for today.]

G-g-get out of my way.

[If this was anywhere but the medbay he'd be more that happy to give tarn plenty of room. Drift does step out of the way, but that doesn't mean he's going to let this issue go.]

Answer the question.

I mm-m--de a minor misca---ulation.

[Tarn's vision swims as he tries to shuffle past Drift, instead tipping and crashing into him. He's quick to right himself, spinning to keep Drift in his sights as he backs away, glaring bitterly.]

m-medi--c stronger than anticipat----

[his voice dissolves into static.]

[Drift doesn't shove Tarn off, but he does hop back as soon as Tarn moves away. It's through sheer force of will that he keeps himself from drawing his blade and going stabhappy once Tarn confirms that he had, in fact, just come from "visiting" Ratchet, but he doesn't do quite as good a job at hiding his expression. Which is clearly not a happy one. It's closer to barely contained rage really.]

You better pray that he's in better shape than you are.

[Tarn lets out a wet bitter laugh, a spray of energon escaping the gap in his mask.]

You don't give your medic enough credit. He fights dirty, that one.

[Tarn doesn't even look back as he staggers down the hall, desperate to find a quiet place to lick his wounds]

You're lucky this time.

[Ooooh Drift shouldn't trash talk.

But he's going to anyway.]

Am I, now? Big talk from someone who just got his aft kicked in by a medic.

[Not that he was underestimating Ratchet's abilities because he knows first hand just how tough the old bastard can be, but you know he really can't feel bad about rubbing a little salt in Tarn's wounds.]

[Tarn doesn't snap back a rebuttal, nor does he make any motion to attack. He just shuffles away, leaving a trail of of energon in his wake. He's done. He's done with this ship, and these Autobots, and this life. He has nothing left; not even his own self respect.

Tarn has no idea where to go from here. He's lost.]

And get thrown in the brig only to have you show back up in a week? No thank you!

[Ratchet calls after Tarn's retreating back, his claws curled into fists and his feet planted, shoulders set stubbornly as he watches Tarn leave the medbay, his nerves jangling and his remaining optic too bright.

[It's only after he's sure Tarn is gone that he starts to come down, pain blossoming slowly across his face and claws and along the side where Tarn had smashed him into the wall. He exhales on a hissing, helpless vent of air and turns around as he feels his knees go a little weak in the aftermath, turning around to lock his optic on Riptide, his tanks sinking.]

Are you all right? [His voice is hoarse with static now and he limps closer to the edge of Riptide's slab, the tips of his claws trembling.] Riptide, are you--?

[riptide is still on the slab, optic so wide it might be close to straight up popping out his head and the normal yellow of it bright white with fear. he's torn out anything that was attached to him, fully preparing to throw himself off the slab and... gnaw tarn's ankles or something, fuck if he knows.

he opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. like ratchet, riptide is shaking, though more through complete terror than robo-adrenaline, and his armour is clattering from the intensity of it. eventually, he just has to settle on shakily reaching out to grasp ratchet~~firmly~~'s wrist. he doesn't really know what else to do.]

Hey. You're all right. Come here.

[Ratchet lets Riptide cling to him, gathering Riptide in against his shattered windscreen, his claws steadying as the focus of having a patient to take care of punches through the lingering panic.]

I've got you. See? I told you you'd be all right.

[he hates himself for it, but he presses his face to ratchet's windshield, venting heavily. scrabbling slightly, he wraps his arms around ratchet's waist, pulling him in roughly and squeezing like tarn is trying to actively pull him away.]

D-d-don't wuh--wuh--want... [his vocaliser is glitching out worse because of the fear.] you to--to--ack!

[nope just pooped out entirely rest in peace.]

Shhhh, shh.

[Ratchet tries not to wheeze as Riptide puts pressure on his damaged side, leaning on his shoulders a little and just letting Riptide cling to him, his arms curled carefully around Riptide's shoulders.

I'm all right too. Promise. Nothing I can't repair. We're okay.

[he nods against ratchet's chest, then forces himself to draw back.

wordlessly, he reaches behind himself and grabs one of the painkiller lines he pulled out himself, holding it out to ratchet. that looks like it hurts, bro.]

[Ratchet watches Riptide hold out the displaced IV and smiles a little, crooked and fond.]

Yeah, let me reattach that, thanks. [He plucks it out of Riptide's grip with delicate clawtips and takes the crook of Riptide's elbow, refastening it to the line there.]

No more thrashing out of them, all right? You're fine.

Nuh-- No more trying to f-fist fight Tarn!

[he shifts, letting ratchet do what he has to. he can't take his, uh. optic of ratchet's claws.]

Do you n-need help fixing yourself? [he raises his hand and taps under his remaining optic.] Take it i-if you need it. Th-think you need it mo... more than me.

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split?

SPLAT

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split!

sploot

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