Burnt Out And Wasted
WHO: Ironhide and Open
WHAT: Venting frustrations. Or at least trying to.
WHERE: Roaming between Zones 7 and 9, and the Fighting Rings
WHEN: After all the deportations happened
WARNINGS/NOTES: None for now. Tag yourself in, and let it be known where your character is. And seperate threads, please!
In the rough places, the dirty, darkest holes of the low zones, it was not unusual to see the inhabitants darting out of the path of a larger, stronger being. It was, after all, how they survived to see another day, in some cases. What was unusual about this particular instance, was that most, if not all, those in the streets made way for the particular black form stalking along. Those that did not, were roughly shoved aside, and protests were silenced at cannon point. The antagonist said nothing--save for a few snarled curses.
Judging from the new dents and scrapes covering his exterior, he'd seen action recently. Hard action. In fact, he'd been in the arena since he'd seen Mikaela safely to her shop. And then returned after delivering her and the wrench-fanatic to the same place. How many hours he'd been there... he didn't keep count. How many battles... he'd forgotten. None of them were the release he wanted. None of it helped. He stumbled out of the rings just as angry and frustrated as he'd been before. The same thoughts still running through his processor.
Hypocrite. Murderer.
I have never killed an innocent!
And I've never killed.
He hadn't left of his own free will. He'd been forced out of the rings, due to a combination of time constraints, and too many matches fought in a row. Where these new regulations had come from, he wasn't sure, but he had his suspicions. Was there nothing these creatures did not have their claws in? Nothing they could leave alone? They just had to tamper with everything.
Which brought him to another reason he was wandering the lower zones, despite the core-deep weariness. The deportations... He'd promised to look after his human charges. To protect them. Even the boy. And what had happened?
... disappearing out from underneath your canons, aren't they?
And the Prime that is here just won't quite take responsibility for you... Perhaps he feels you've let him down, with your displays.
Snarling, he whirled on an unfortunate pile of scrap, driving a heavy fist straight into it. The sound and violence did little to drown out Megatron's words. He hit it again. And again. But nothing changed. He affected nothing by beating the shape out of some unfortunate pile of metal. It did nothing to drive the words from his thoughts, shake off the lingering pall of failure that seemed to haunt his every move here.
"No need to apologize to me about anything, though you do need to relax. I am not going to be scared away by anything you do." Even as he pulls away again without meaning to...
It seemed nothing was safe. He'd been so competent, so able before... Before Optimus had been killed. Growling, he hauled himself to his feet, continuing to stalk aimlessly through the zones, vainly trying to sort everything out.
WHAT: Venting frustrations. Or at least trying to.
WHERE: Roaming between Zones 7 and 9, and the Fighting Rings
WHEN: After all the deportations happened
WARNINGS/NOTES: None for now. Tag yourself in, and let it be known where your character is. And seperate threads, please!
In the rough places, the dirty, darkest holes of the low zones, it was not unusual to see the inhabitants darting out of the path of a larger, stronger being. It was, after all, how they survived to see another day, in some cases. What was unusual about this particular instance, was that most, if not all, those in the streets made way for the particular black form stalking along. Those that did not, were roughly shoved aside, and protests were silenced at cannon point. The antagonist said nothing--save for a few snarled curses.
Judging from the new dents and scrapes covering his exterior, he'd seen action recently. Hard action. In fact, he'd been in the arena since he'd seen Mikaela safely to her shop. And then returned after delivering her and the wrench-fanatic to the same place. How many hours he'd been there... he didn't keep count. How many battles... he'd forgotten. None of them were the release he wanted. None of it helped. He stumbled out of the rings just as angry and frustrated as he'd been before. The same thoughts still running through his processor.
Hypocrite. Murderer.
I have never killed an innocent!
And I've never killed.
He hadn't left of his own free will. He'd been forced out of the rings, due to a combination of time constraints, and too many matches fought in a row. Where these new regulations had come from, he wasn't sure, but he had his suspicions. Was there nothing these creatures did not have their claws in? Nothing they could leave alone? They just had to tamper with everything.
Which brought him to another reason he was wandering the lower zones, despite the core-deep weariness. The deportations... He'd promised to look after his human charges. To protect them. Even the boy. And what had happened?
... disappearing out from underneath your canons, aren't they?
And the Prime that is here just won't quite take responsibility for you... Perhaps he feels you've let him down, with your displays.
Snarling, he whirled on an unfortunate pile of scrap, driving a heavy fist straight into it. The sound and violence did little to drown out Megatron's words. He hit it again. And again. But nothing changed. He affected nothing by beating the shape out of some unfortunate pile of metal. It did nothing to drive the words from his thoughts, shake off the lingering pall of failure that seemed to haunt his every move here.
"No need to apologize to me about anything, though you do need to relax. I am not going to be scared away by anything you do." Even as he pulls away again without meaning to...
It seemed nothing was safe. He'd been so competent, so able before... Before Optimus had been killed. Growling, he hauled himself to his feet, continuing to stalk aimlessly through the zones, vainly trying to sort everything out.