Motormaster: the Practice Logs
Motormaster is now taken. I was uncertain going in about whether or not I could manage the appropriate level of gravitas that I thought Motormaster's character demanded, so I decided to practice RPing him with Trailbreaker-mun, who deserves endless thanks for helping me. Here are the practice logs; they haven't all "happened yet" ICly, but with time they will, and should be considered crack-canonical (as much as anything ever is).
Motormaster: :: DEAD END. ::
Dead End: *pause*
Dead End: :: Yes? ::
Motormaster: :: Drag Strip. I want his whereabouts. ::
Dead End: :: Location unknown. ::
Motormaster: :: That was not a question. ::
Dead End: :: .... ::
Dead End: :: He has not arrived yet. ::
Motormaster: :: He has not. ::
Motormaster: :: Tell me, Dead End... ::
Motormaster: :: Are my lackeys so worthless that I need to tighten your leashes? ::
Dead End: :: No. ::
Motormaster: :: No, and yet, Menasor should be behind me wherever I go. While you've scattered. ::
Dead End: :: The war is over. ::
Dead End: :: There is no need for Menasor anymore. ::
Motormaster: :: That is my decision. ::
Dead End: :: Of course. ::
Motormaster: :: Not an appendage's. ::
Dead End: :: I was merely giving you information. ::
Motormaster: :: Of course you were. That is how I'm always supposed to interpret a dead-panned contradiction? ::
Dead End: :: ... ::
Motormaster: :: I've been away too long if you've already run this wild. ::
Dead End: :: ...yes. ::
Motormaster: :: Better. ::
Dead End: :: .... ::
Dead End: :: Are you coming to Earth? ::
Motormaster: :: That depends. Tell me of Prime and Megatron. ::
Dead End: :: What do you wish to know? ::
Motormaster: :: If Prime is protected. ::
Motormaster: :: If Megatron is as soft as it seems. ::
Dead End: :: Prime is bonded to Megatron. ::
Dead End: :: I do not know for how long. ::
Dead End: :: Megatron is... different. ::
Motormaster: :: That word doesn't mean a great deal to me. ::
Dead End: :: He has let down his guard. Slackened his hold on the Decepticons. ::
Motormaster: :: Example. ::
Dead End: :: He organized a mandatory excursion to "Disneyland." ::
Motormaster: :: ... ::
Motormaster: :: If you've developed a sense of humor, I'm NOT laughing. ::
Dead End: :: I have not. ::
Motormaster: :: And as long as we're discussing your apparently carefree days, what did you do at Disneyland, Dead End? ::
Dead End: :: ... ::
Dead End: :: Nothing. ::
Dead End: :: As I said, it was mandatory. ::
Motormaster: :: But I don't suppose you bothered to complain. ::
Dead End: :: It was an order. ::
Motormaster: :: It was an order to visit Disneyland. ::
Dead End: :: Yes. ::
Motormaster: :: And Starscream hasn't thrown an insurrection yet? ::
Dead End: :: Not as far as I am aware of. ::
Motormaster: :: Soft, indeed. ::
Motormaster: :: Wildrider. Breakdown. ::
Dead End: :: ...yes? ::
Motormaster: :: If you've done nothing, what have they been accomplishing? ::
Dead End: :: I am not certain. ::
Dead End: :: Breakdown still has his hysteric periods, and Wildrider seems to be bored of the planet. ::
Motormaster: :: ...bored? Why. ::
Dead End: :: I do not know. ::
Motormaster: :: Find OUT. ::
Dead End: :: .... ::
Dead End: :: As you command. ::
Motormaster: :: You are the closest thing to a sensitive instrument I have, Dead End. ::
Dead End: :: Yes, Motormaster. ::
Motormaster: :: In fact, you are the closest thing to a decent conversation I can have. ::
Dead End: :: ... ::
Dead End: :: Does this mean you are coming here? ::
Motormaster: :: I'm satisfied that there is opportunity. ::
Dead End: :: I see. ::
Motormaster: :: I will be there, and each of you will be there to greet me when I arrive. ::
Dead End: :: Very well, Motormaster. ::
Motormaster: :: Including Drag Strip. ::
Dead End: :: ... ::
Dead End: :: And what if he is not there? ::
Motormaster: :: Then I will tear out enough pieces from each of you to remake him, Dead End. ::
Dead End: :: ...I understand. ::
Trailbreaker: *sits in the common room, nursing a half-full cube of energon that he'd gotten almost as soon as he'd walked through the door and not spied any tank waiting for him. But, as they were supposed to meet here he patiently waited, taking sips now and then as he watches the common room door*
Motormaster: *stalks in, glancing about darkly for any signs of his Stunticons. He tromps over to grab an energon cube himself, looking murderous as he drains it, and then peering at Trailbreaker with a look of amusement*
Trailbreaker: *optic ridges lift as a dark mech enters, looking ready to slag any who as much as talked to him. He keeps watching as the other empty a cube, snapping his stare away as the black mech looks at him. He really has no desire to fight with that one, he looks like he could crumble 'Breaker under one of his feet without any real effort.*
Motormaster: I know you. Trailbreaker. *tosses the empty cube aside to the floor, looking down at the seated Autobot with the traces of a smile*
Trailbreaker: *Oh slag. His spark twitches nervously, as the other speaks to him. If he knows his name he probably also knows about 'Breaker's weaknesses, and that does nothing for the autobot. None of this shows on his face though, albeit his stance reveals some of it if one payed attention.* ...I don't believe we've met? *smiles, though it comes across as a bit forced - which it is*
Motormaster: Of course we have. Mostly by reputation, but the siege of the Decagon? You were trying to put a force field around someone. Gatecrasher, Gearchanger... the name escapes me. I just kept hitting until it broke and I cracked him like an insect.
Motormaster: *smiles coolly, not even shifting his weight*
Trailbreaker: *expression turns stony, and he stares up at the other mech, anger and fear rushing through him in waves* ...
Motormaster: You don't recall? Well, it was a long time ago. Peacetime, eh?
Trailbreaker: ...I don't believe I caught your name. *voice comes across as slightly forced*
Motormaster: Motormaster. You've heard. *narrows his optics slightly on the last part, a challenge to say differently*
Trailbreaker: *the name clicks into place, yes, he's heard that name before - even encountered the mech himself, but always under circumstances too dire to take much notice of his appearance* I have.
Motormaster: And now, that all seems such a waste. *strides over to sit down across from Trailbreaker, his gaze never moving from him* I'm searching for a hobby to cultivate.
Trailbreaker: *glassy stare at Motormaster as he sits down, faceplates almost blank. No matter what Prime says about Autobots and Decepticons being one, he will not forgive this one.* What kind of hobby? *talks for no other reason than to keep the other from slagging him.*
Motormaster: I don't know. If I did, I wouldn't be searching. *leans back, getting nice and comfortable* Something creative. Dance, perhaps?
Trailbreaker: *is wondering what he has done during his lifetime to deserve this* ...dance? *flat tone, with undertones of incredibility*
Motormaster: Why not? It uses the body. It requires practice. It's a display - I suffer from vanity.
Trailbreaker: *doesn't have anything to say to that. But he wishes Warpath could get here soon, he doesn't feel confident enough to dismiss this crazy decepticon on his own.*
Motormaster: You look light on your feet. Care to give it a try? *breaks into an inviting grin*
Trailbreaker: *a horrified look flickers across his faceplates* No thank you. *words come out a rush, almost rudely so*
Motormaster: Come, come. *rises up, offering his hand forward in one smooth motion, and a hint of steel enters his voice* I won't take no for an answer.
Trailbreaker: *optics darts between the hand reaching out to him and Motormaster's face. He really, really doesn't want to do this, distress entering his systems rapidly, stunning him into inactivity*
Motormaster: What, are you worried that you don't know the moves? We can do something easy, if you like.
Trailbreaker: ...no. *his processor finally manages to get the vocalizer to churn out an answer, and he sends an upset message to Warpath on a private comm link to hurry up.*
Motormaster: *stares at Trailbreaker, looking skeptical for a moment before his features become somber. He withdraws the hand and rises to his full height* Well, if you're not in the mood, I can't insist.
Trailbreaker: *sees the gesture as threating, like Motormaster is trying to scare him into submission. He forces himself to stay like he is, neither shrinking nor straightening out like the other* ...my leg had a loose piston, it isn't working properly yet. *a complete lie of course - not that he lets Motormaster know that*
Motormaster: That sounds like a bother. Seeing as how you were able to walk your way here, though, I'll be satisfied with a raincheck if you just fetch me a drink. *remains completely still, closer to the bar but his gaze never wavering*
Trailbreaker: *realizes his mistake as soon as Motormaster speaks. Slag, but he should really have thought of that. To the mech he forces a smile - it looks almost real too, he must be getting good at it - and nods.* Sure. *gets up and walks over to the bar, carefully adding a limp to his steps.*
Motormaster: *only swivels his neck to watch him, a little bit of the frostiness in his stare fading as he gets compliance*
Trailbreaker: *gets two cubes, his own on the table still half-full, but hey, it doesn't hurt. As he returns he offers one of them to the stunticon, schooling his faceplates into a pleasant expression*
Motormaster: Thank you. *snatches it and gulps it down, keeping his eyes fixed on Trailbreaker the entire time. When it's empty, he shatters it in his grip, letting the pieces fall to the floor* I'll be seeing you, Trailbreaker. *turns without waiting for a reply and saunters towards the exit*
Trailbreaker: *appearance cracks as he watches the pieces of cube fall down, flickering his gaze between the other's face and his hand, unease sneaking its way across his circuits. He doesn't reply to the goodbye, but merely stands there, almost stunned, as Motormaster makes his way out of the common room.*
And finally, the log that convinced me that registering Motormaster was a good idea.
Motormaster: :: DEAD END. ::
Dead End: :: Yes. ::
Motormaster: :: My quarters. Now. ::
Dead End: :: As you wish. ::
Dead End: *starts to walk towards Motormaster's quarters*
Motormaster: *stalks as he waits, pacing through the space in a dark mood and almost scraping his head against the slightly too-low ceiling*
Dead End: *finally arrives, some 5 minutes after the comm. He knocks on the door, neither too hard nor too light, idly wondering what has put the stunticon leader into this bad mood*
Motormaster: *lunges over and pulls the door open with a slam, staring down at the arrived mech with his optics blazing an intense shade* For a Stunticon, you seem awfully slow tonight, Dead End.
Dead End: *usual neutral expression and tone* My apologies.
Motormaster: I don't want to hear them. *grabs Dead End's head forcibly in one hand, clutching hard enough to be painful for just a moment before using his grip to hurl Dead End to the floor in the center of the room*
Dead End: *optic ridges twitches in what may or may not have been a wince, stumbling forwards completely off-balance, ending up down on one knee with his back against the other*
Motormaster: *strides over without missing a beat, his grimace starting to soften into the beginnings of an even smile. He twines his fingers together and brings the resulting double-fist crashing down onto Dead End's back*
Dead End: *is sent sprawling to the floor with a pained grunt, back flaring with bad sensations from the blow. He tilts his head, only slightly, to give Motormaster a one-opticked glance*
Motormaster: I wouldn't mind the slowness and lack of discipline from one of the other wretches... *takes a step over and then plants his boot squarely on the Stunticon's back, forcing his considerable weight down to crunch Dead End into the ground with a look of disdain* ...but it's galling that you've forgotten what this team requires.
Dead End: *warnings pop up to inform him about the danger of the pressure, another one tells him that his armor is slowly becoming dented, unable to withstand the many tons of angry Motormaster. He sends them away after a clinical look, engine giving a soft whine against his will.* I have not forgotten, Motormaster.
Motormaster: Then why don't you get up? *eases his weight off the foot pressing down on Dead End and giving the other mech some wiggle room... ready to smash him back down against the floor the moment he tries to rise*
Dead End: *doesn't answer that in words, but slowly starts to get up, noticing that the stunticon leader's foot was still on his back, but not putting much thought into it*
Motormaster: *airs a cold, sadistic little chuckle as he slams his foot down again to crush the smaller mech's body against the metal beneath* Of course, you don't because I haven't ordered you to yet, Dead End.
Dead End: *winces as he hits the floor again, pain washing over him and systems beeping in distress. He cuts off a groan, instead opting for just lying there quietly, a passive look on his faceplates betraying nothing of his feelings to the black mech*
Motormaster: *watches as the pinned mech goes still, a look of mild amusement finally creeping across his face. He digs his heel in one last time before stepping off, moving over to pour himself a drink from a plain metal decanter stored on a small shelf. He doesn't even glance back* Now get up.
Dead End: *offers a grunt for that last effort, he remains still for some moments after Motormaster speaks, before finally getting up, now sporting a nice dent on his back. An unhappy grimace is stopped before it can reach his face, which is still stoically blank as he turns to face his commander.*
Motormaster: *finishes his drink without paying any attention behind him, having a fair idea from experience what must be passing over to Dead End's face. Only when he's set the vessel back down on the shelf does he turn around to stare back at the other Stunticon's face* I've been bored, Dead End.
Dead End: *meets Motormaster's optics levelly, but is careful to not make it challenging, he doesn't want another damn dent on his previously perfect armor. He ponders on what to say, in the end avoiding words completely and just nods once*
Motormaster: *walks over, taking slow, casual steps until he's looming right up against Dead End and raising an optic ridge. His hand claps down hard on Dead End's shoulder, but doesn't squeeze, just resting there* What are you going to do about it?
Dead End: *glances at the hand before turning back to look at Motormaster's face. What he's going to do about it? Preferably nothing but he knows that's a no-go, so instead he uses his standard calm tone of voice, knowing that it's a 50/50 shot of dire harm* What do you want me to do?
Motormaster: *snorts derisively and narrows his optics in a subtle warning* Get me off, you idiot, so at least I don't have to endure what seems to pass for conversation with you now. *rubs his hand across Dead End's shoulder plate, a long way from gentle but still not crumpling the metal yet under his fingers*
Dead End: *eyes the black mech, he knew that this would come as soon as Motormaster came to Earth. He puts one hand on the leader's hip joint, stepping closer and tilting his face upwards to give him a kiss, as affectionless as Motormaster's shoulderrub.*
Motormaster: *cups the back of Dead End's helmet in his other hand, holding him there for the kiss. His side of it is quite affectionate, practically muscling Dead End's lip components around with a fierce enthusiasm. His optics stay narrow and focused on Dead End's, however...*
Dead End: *dull stare back, he moves his hand against the hip, searching for an opening in Motormaster's armor. When he finds it, he digs his fingers into it, fingertips lightly scraping against wiring and cables*
Motormaster: *gives a small murmur of thought, as if weighing it carefuly, then pulls away with a snarl of disgust and lays a ferocious backhand SMACK across Dead End's face*
Motormaster: Is that it!?
Dead End: *entire upper body is thrown to the side with the force, system alarms shrieking before being quieted. He pulls himself back up straight, faceplates completely void of any expression. He stares at his leader, before bowing his head lightly in submission*
Motormaster: *quiets a bit, and settles his features to a look of composed irritation over flickering rage. He shakes his head* No. This is my fault, for expecting you to act appropriately without being properly reminded of our relationship.
Dead End: *remains silent, regarding Motormaster's features. His faceplates are still expressionless, his processor calm. He does not enjoy the prospect of what's coming, but in a quiet resignation he accepts it*
Motormaster: *leans in again to sneer into Dead End's ever-neutral face, then turns on his heel to stride back to the shelf. This time, however, he reaches behind it, and with a scraping hiss of steel, he pulls his broadsword free from its lodging. He gives it a test swing through the air off to the side before turning around to face Dead End again, now cradling the tip in his other hand. His body language is all menace and coiled strength, and the anger is starting to boil out again across his face* Anything you'd care to say?
Dead End: *watches as the other gets out his sword, optic ridges lifting slightly in alarm. He carefully schools his posture and facial expression into one of total submission, even if he can't do anything about it being beating to a pile of scrap still isn't much fun.* No, sir, I do not have anyhing to say.
Motormaster: Too bad. *strikes forward like lightning with an animal growl, throwing his torque into a downward slash at an angle that would carve deep into Dead End's chest, but for his twisting the sword to land the hit with the flat of the blade*
Dead End: *jumps back on pure battle-honed reflex, but still isn't fast enough to avoid getting hit, the sword putting a small dent on his chestplate, servos whining with the sudden move. He forces himself to stand still, easing his body into a forced relaxedness, giving the black truck a blank look*
Motormaster: So, in this part of the dance, we establish that you do care, at least about your own miserable chassis. *steps closer within arm's range to grab at Dead End's throat, keeping his sword at the ready in the other hand*
Dead End: *doesn't move, merely watching Motormaster to see what he'll do next.*
Motormaster: *finally just explodes into a roar of rage, clenching his grip around the other mech's neck like he was trying to crush every processor connection in Dead End's upper body to powder, physically lifting him up off the ground*
Dead End: *mouths open with the pain, but nothing but crackling static fills the air. He grabs Motormaster's arm, trying to hoist himself up. Warnings blink and screech at him, his processor starting to show early signs of malfunction, easily repaired if the pressure is stopped, devastating if it is not. Optics slightly widened he stares at his leader, hate and fear crawling across his circuits like a bad itch.*
Motormaster: *strides towards an unadorned wall and SLAMS Dead End's back up against it, his grip not slackening even though his own fingers sting with the force of it. He keeps Dead End at a full arm's length, holding up the point of the sword to Dead End's chest, right where his spark lies behind*
Dead End: *winces, fingertips digging into Motormaster's arm. His vocalizer crackles wildly before shorting out, leaving only the sound of air being sucked in through vents. He gives the black mech a dull stare, hate rearing up inside him. Of all the ways the cosmos could've had in store for him, this was not the way he wanted to go, not by the hand of that fragging excuse of a leader.*
Motormaster: *meets that dull stare with a savage contempt, and penetrates the sword into Dead End's gut just below his spark chamber, not particularly caring if he damages any less than immediately vital components along the way. Motormaster thrusts the edge in a stroke hard and clean enough to skewer the Stunticon through, burying the blade almost to the hilt and pinning Dead End to the wall before he withdraws his choking hand*
Dead End: *optics widen with the pain washing through him in mind-numbing waves, gasping sharply. His legs and arms twitch as he hangs there skewered against the wall, system going into a frantic panic as diagnostic notices pop up to inform him of the extent of the damage, optics changing to a subdued red*
Motormaster: ...and the second movement. *grabs Dead End's chin between his finger and thumb, yanking the other mech's head forward to force him into attention* This is when you remember why you've done what you have for me in the past. Because if you give me anything less than your best, if you DARE to withhold from your master what he wants from you, I will tear you into pieces like the broken thing you ARE.
Dead End: *stares on Motormaster's face, systems lagging enough from the onslaught of pain to have problems focusing. He tries to speak, only to discover that his vocalizer is offline, and has to settle for nodding instead, pure hate hidden behind his expressionless mask.*
Motormaster: Now. Kiss me. *slackens his grip on Dead End's chin to give him back at least that level of control, leaning in close enough to make the contact possible. His face is stony, however, with some furious embers still smoldering in those optics*
Dead End: *dismissing all the warnings begging for his attention, he stares at Motormaster, slowly reaching forwards till his lip components meets the black mechs', pouring all the loathing for the leader into it, making it rather more passionate then the last one.*
Motormaster: *softens his glare just a bit as he feels that energy, letting it last for a moment before he steps back and pulls the sword back out from the wall (and Dead End's innards) to let his subordinate drop to the floor again* Almost acceptable.
Dead End: *another gasp of pain, slumping down on the floor when he makes contact, grunting with discomfort. Another set of diagnostic warnings pop up and are sent away, and he remains unmoving, trying to get his processor up and running at full capacity again.*
Motormaster: *rolls his optics with an exaggerated sigh, stooping down on one knee to tend to the injured Dead End. He's had Stunticons injured on his hands enough times to give them the crude patch jobs needed to stay functioning for long enough to get the job done... Motormaster roughly pries open Dead End's chest plate where the sword wound remains, reaching inside him to start tying exposed wires back together*
Dead End: *winces at the rough first aid, but doesn't make any attempt to stop or shove Motormaster away. More warnings, he's starting to get annoyed by them by now, he knows what has happened and does not need further reminders. Leaning limply against the wall, he lets Motormaster do his crude work.*
Motormaster: *does Dead End few kindnesses as he works, delivering more than a fair share of rough jerks. Nevertheless, there's a moment before he finishes where his hand slides almost delicately along the cables bound to the Stunticon's spark, caressing for just the briefest window before he retracts his touch and stands up again*
Dead End: *relaxes where he sits, occasionally wincing from the no-love treatment. He can feel the other touching the wiring surrounding his spark-casing, not really caring anymore. His spark cringes away in disgust though, away from that abusive mech's hands. His eyebrows twitches at the caress, the only reaction he shows to the gesture. His self-repair systems are busying themselves with fixing his vocalizer, having been put on highest priority by the porsche*
Motormaster: Get up, Dead End. *has softened his voice considerably from the hard-edged aggressor of a minute ago, though the tone is still commanding and he doesn't bother to offer his Stunticon a hand to help him rise*
Dead End: *his voice is still a static, so he doesn't bother with a reply. He gets up in steps, first onto his knees, then - with a hand on the wall for support - onto his feet, slowly getting straightened out, back still against the wall, though not leaning against it anymore. His systems finally rebounding from the pain earlier he looks up into his commander's face, his own a neutral blank.*
Motormaster: All better, then. *takes a step closer, returning to their original positions before Motormaster fetched his weapon, looking down into that expressionless face with impatience* Let's try this again. Fail me a second time and I won't be so gentle.
Dead End: *resigned, he does as Motormaster commands, putting both his hands on the black hip-joints, stepping closer to fill the remaining distance, reaching up to place his lips against the other stunticon's, considerably more feeling behind it this time*
Motormaster: Mmm... *returns the favor with a strange, distracted expression. He waits a few moments before he clasps his arm around Dead End's upper back, being ginger enough not to dig into the wounded portions from before. Instead, Motormaster grinds up closer against him, dropping his sword to the floor with a clatter*
Dead End: *fingers grasps the metal joints, he is loathing this with his entire being, his spark twitching in its casing. He continues to kiss the commander, moving his lip components in a mock-show of affection*
Motormaster: *dips his head back to break the kiss, a smile of genuine satisfaction crossing his face* You may need tuning once in a while, but you are my most reliable, Dead End. *slides his fingers down into the crevice where Dead End's arms join to his chest, dragging along the seam with a surprising tenderness* My favorite.
Dead End: *shivers, hate and disgust swirling around in his processor. He could never understand how he could be Motormaster's favorite while being treated like this, the caress mocking both affection and his pain, but none of these thoughts registers on his face or optics, as he gazes into the black mech's face*
Motormaster: *moves his other hand up along Dead End's other side, but rather than dipping in to caress at the Stunticon's joints, he instead moves it up to take hold of the wheel at Dead End's shoulder. His fingertips drag gently over the inner hubcap and wheel well, searching for Dead End's sensitive zones and completely unconcerned with any of his subordinate's thoughts except obedience and compliance*
Dead End: *air intake increases as Motormaster finds several sensors, sending small waves of pleasure into him. He moves his own hands up Motormaster's sides, idly tracing ridges and seams with his fingertips*
Motormaster: *releases a deep, vibratory hum as Dead End's wandering hands come over some of his smaller grilles and finer details. He's not a mech of patience, though, and he abandons Dead End's tire to snatch one of his wrists and pull it to the exposed interior section near Motormaster's head where his chestplate doesn't quite meet with the armored cavity for his head*
Dead End: *doesn't need nor want another tuning, so he immediately starts to explore the area, the sincere curiousity normally found with this activity non-existant. Nevertheless he strokes and drags his fingers over exposed wires and cabling, the other hand ceasing its movements*
Motormaster: Ahhh... That's better. *remove his hand from its grasp on Dead End's once the Stunticon starts acting of his own volition, lowering himself at the knees ever-so-slightly to grant better access. Meanwhile, the free hand plunges down to the remaining cavity that the blade left. He can't resist reaching inside towards the warmth of Dead End's spark, his splayed fingers catching on some of the more sensitive wires and tugging at them by accident*
Dead End: *ignores the armor breach warning that blinks at him, gasping loudly as his innards are violated. A mixture of pain and pleasure crawls over his circuits, making him arch away from the touch and closer to Motormaster's chassis.*
Motormaster: *pushes through the wire tension to scrape his fingertips at the surface of Dead End's spark chamber. His whole body gives a little tremor as he feels an electrical tingle zap out from his subordinate's most precious component... he lets out a murmur of approval as Dead End comes closer to him, though, digging in the hand still at Dead End's seam to pull the mech even closer*
Dead End: *shudders with the sensation, it would've been enjoyable had it not been Motormaster administrating them, but as this IS the stunticon leader the act is offensive, sickeningly so. Even so, the close contact with his spark casing sends sensations throw his sensors, giving him disturbing flares of pleasure. The hand on Motormaster's hip clings to the mech, fingertips digging into the crevasses there*
Motormaster: *revs his engine into a growl of delight, almost drowning out the noise of the metal near his waist groaning faintly under the pressure* Awfully feisty from someone who pretends not to care much. *he grins wickedly, but it's hard to tell if he's mocking Dead End or thinks the affection is sincere. Whichever is the case, he grasps at the spark container as best he can get a grip and tugs on it from its rightful mooring*
Dead End: *ignores the comment, he isn't giving that fragger the satisfaction of an answer. His thought process is cut off abruptly by a pang of pain, system bugging down with warnings, diagnostic notices and pain. He screams, hands jerking as his body spasms, his spark almost stunned with fear*
Motormaster: *clutches piercingly hard at the Stunticon's shoulder as soon as he hears that scream, the pistons at this core firing more vigorously as soon as that scream reaches his audio receptors. With a lighthearted laugh, he picks up Dead End, carrying him to his (thankfully sturdy) table to slam him back down, which causes an even harder yank on the other mech's spark* You're hoarding the fun, Dead End... I want my share.
Dead End: *another scream, trailing into broken static, the sheer level of pain is making it impossible to think, all his processing power caught up in the rough abuse of his spark, his life-source. His optics start to flicker on and off, he is in too much pain to consider or even comprehend Motormaster's words.*
Motormaster: *bends across Dead End's writhing body to plant another feverish kiss on him and stifle any further broken cries. His engine is purring like a tiger, stoked to see his Stunticon worked up like this. He eases his touch on Dead End's spark chamber to a gentle caress to ease him down from the raw pain, fingering the scattered plugs and connections across its surface*
Dead End: *air circulation hitches randomly, his vocalizer only spewing out muffled static as Motormaster kisses him. He remains unresponsive, still too stunned with pain to move. As the amount of pain slowly decreases - or maybe he's just getting used to it, Dead End doesn't know - he starts to shake, his frame rattling against the table, as he lifts his hands to shove Motormaster away, far away from his spark*
Motormaster: *is caught by surprise, yielding a bit to the pressure of the shove but reflexively digging his fingers in tighter to the electric warmth of Dead End's spark. After a moment of narrowed optics, he lets out a sharp bark of laughter* Really, Dead End? Really? I hope you're revving like I am, because if you aren't, you're going to pay for that...
Dead End: *sharp gasp as the pain returns, albeit not as strongly as before - maybe he is getting used to it. He stares up into Motormaster's optics, realizing the potentially fatal mistake. Faceplates blank, with undertones of pain, he shakes his head, relocating his hands to Motormaster's sides*
Motormaster: That's more like it... *croons the words, and pulses the tortured spark chamber in his hand again, massaging gently with each finger length in turn. His other hand renews its work at that seam as well, but grinding it forcefully against the table surface, not planning on allowing that kind of resistance again*
Dead End: *does not enjoy the pleasure that Motormaster provides, finding it a lot more revolting than stimulating, and he hates it when he both hears and feels his engine reluctantly starts revving, more like a growled purr than anything else. Scraping his fingers against the black mech's sides, he gives in, there is no use to fight the Stunticon commander on this.*
Motormaster: *returns to the kiss he wanted in the first place, though this time around he bites hard on Dead End's lower lip. His fingers keep up their soothing caress over the texture of the spark container, pulling gently at each wire they come across in their course, his own engine groaning in reply to the murmurs of Dead End's*
Dead End: *fingers dig into the metal as Motormaster bites him, ignoring the pain to better feel the sensations coming from his spark chamber, voicing a soft moan, muffled from the kiss*
Motormaster: Further down, Dead End. Between the plates. *pinches hard on one of the thin cables feeding into the other mech's spark to emphasize the point. Motormaster is leaning steadily more of his weight onto Dead End, now, even with the table for support, but the hand at Dead End's shoulder refuses to give the Stunticon any room to escape from the burden on him*
Dead End: *does as the other instructs, jerking from the pinch with a gasp, mostly pain but also some pleasure at this point. Traces the opening in Motormaster's armor once before he pushes his fingers in, tugging and stroking the wiring he can find.*
Motormaster: Ahhhh... *cranes his head back as he vents in deeply, needing cool air to keep that throttling engine from pushing his system too quickly. He rewards Dead End by softening his touch even further, moving out from the spark to stroke up along the length of a fuel line*
Dead End: *engine revs up, moaning as his innards are fondled, and responds by digging his hands sharply into the other's armor. The good feelings almost overshadowing the pain, but not quite, and he shudders lightly, prepared to lose himself in the feelings altogether*
Motormaster: *groans aloud, at last getting his satisfaction, but it's muffled in comparison to the diesel snarl of his engine coming full to life. His anvil-heavy hold on Dead End's shoulder relaxes, those fingers writhing back inside the crevice of the joint in perfect synchrony with the now-rapid-moving massage of the other mech's fuel system*
Dead End: *wouldn't have even thought about fleeing, not now, as he has completely surrendered to the stunticon commander. Air intakes has sped up, and he moans again, this one low and static, Motormaster's touches wreaking havoc on his sensors. The pain from his abused spark casing and his sword wound mingles with the pleasure, making it so much more potent, and yet another system warning pops up, this one warning about rising temperatures.*
Motormaster: More, Dead End! More for me, and I want to hear your motor scream! *is practically cackling in his ecstasy as he says it, feeling the surrender to his touch and taking a predatory joy in it. No more time for softness - his fingertips dig in harder and his strokes along the fuel line start to feel more like up and down spurts even as he starts shifting between each wire and cable he can get a grip on*
Dead End: *manually fires up his engine till it makes a loud whine, near roaring into action. The vibrations carry through his entire body and into Motormaster's, and he shoves his hands deeper, tugging hard and clinging to anything he can reach. Groaning, he arches his body off the table, optics flickering before going offline, diagnostics pleasantly telling him to stop the activities*
Motormaster: *slams Dead End back against the table as he rises, not out of anger but instead a savage intensity, his own motor blasting into high gear with a shriek. He gives in to a full-body shudder of pleasure, the hand buried inside Dead End twisting around and catching a whole mess of sensitive cables with it, yanking sharply on each of them*
Dead End: *Pain flares through him, utterly dominating the previous bliss. He arches again, this time in agony, gasping and voicing a static groan. He grips Motormaster's wiring hard, pulling the other mech down as his systems starts to prepare itself for emergency restart.*
Motormaster: *lunges his hand over from Dead End's shoulder to clutch at the mech's face, splaying his fingers across his optics like a feral cat about to maim its prey - an impression that only gets stronger as he leans in and ROARS his ecstasy, a mix of his straining vocalizer and gunning engine. The wire-wrapped hand in Dead End's guts claws for the spark compartment again, straining every part around it*
Dead End: *As if all the pain Motormaster had already caused him wasn't enough, he had to assault his audials as well. He spasms from the burning in his body, arching and clanking back onto the table periodically. A sharp gasp is cut off mid-way, as his vocalizer goes offline, and shortly after his audio, then his optics, sensors stops sending data to his processor, and he goes limp as the rest of the mainframe shuts down, head lolling helplessly on the table*
Motormaster: *takes his time ratcheting down the gears again, seething low and loud to help him ease from his high. All the while he keeps his hand fastened tight around Dead End's spark chamber. Only when the last thrums of frenzied joy have left him does he disentangle himself, slowly rising and surveying the offlined Dead End with a superior smirk*
Dead End: *reboots, systems slowly coming back to life one by one. Sensors first - he winces at the soreness, pure agony still lingering in his wires. Audios, optics, yet another diagnostic popping up and telling him about the full extent of his damages. He actually takes the time to read through it before sending it away, and is non-too-happy about the suggestion about consulting a medic. He glances up at Motormaster, faceplates the normal neutral*
Motormaster: Don't ever be recalcitrant with me again when I demand otherwise, Dead End, or I'll rip out your processors one chip at a time until I have a version of you that understands obedience. *gives a smoldering stare into the other mech's optics, but his smile only broadens*
Dead End: *stares into Motormaster's optics, he knows the mech isn't making a joke.* I understand.
Dead End: *starts to get up, slowly, keeping his face carefully blank through the pain until he is finally standing on his own two legs again*
Motormaster: *turns to pick his sword from the floor, walking it back to the shelf to resheathe it again in its hiding place* And if my other Stunticons are unaware of my expectations when I call for them, I'll know who to blame.
Dead End: *his tone is as bland as his stare* Yes, Motormaster.
Motormaster: *suddenly pauses where he stands, a deep, hollow-toned laugh forcing itself out of him* ...I forgot to ask.
Motormaster: *turns back to Dead End, any traces of afterglow gone in a dagger stare* Do you have any QUESTIONS for me?
Dead End: *his entire appearance is blank, his processor working furiously. The right answer would get him out, the wrong answer would result in even more physical harm. Too bad he didn't know which was the correct one.* ...No.
Motormaster: *bows his head in the slightest of nods* Excellent. You may go.
Dead End: *relief wash over him, but on the outside he gives no response.* As you wish. *starts walking to the door to freedom, pain shooting through him at every step*
Motormaster: *watches without moving as he leaves, optics never departing from their laser-like focus on the details of Dead End's face and head*
Dead End: *finally at the door, the few steps there has brought him agony. He pushes the keypad, and the door hisses open, and he walks through it before Motormaster can order him to stay. He walks down the hall, limping lightly, pain churning in his circuits*
Motormaster: *waits for the door to slide shut again before he moves over to his shelf again to pour himself a second drink. He lets slip a single, thin smile as he thinks of his loyal servant under his orders once more, and then no emotion at all as he starts to sip*
Dead End: *keeps walking till he's far enough away from Motormaster's quarters, in a corridor he knows is rarely used. With a gasp of pain he leans against the wall, slowly sinking down onto the floor, head bowed.*
Motormaster: :: DEAD END. ::
Dead End: *pause*
Dead End: :: Yes? ::
Motormaster: :: Drag Strip. I want his whereabouts. ::
Dead End: :: Location unknown. ::
Motormaster: :: That was not a question. ::
Dead End: :: .... ::
Dead End: :: He has not arrived yet. ::
Motormaster: :: He has not. ::
Motormaster: :: Tell me, Dead End... ::
Motormaster: :: Are my lackeys so worthless that I need to tighten your leashes? ::
Dead End: :: No. ::
Motormaster: :: No, and yet, Menasor should be behind me wherever I go. While you've scattered. ::
Dead End: :: The war is over. ::
Dead End: :: There is no need for Menasor anymore. ::
Motormaster: :: That is my decision. ::
Dead End: :: Of course. ::
Motormaster: :: Not an appendage's. ::
Dead End: :: I was merely giving you information. ::
Motormaster: :: Of course you were. That is how I'm always supposed to interpret a dead-panned contradiction? ::
Dead End: :: ... ::
Motormaster: :: I've been away too long if you've already run this wild. ::
Dead End: :: ...yes. ::
Motormaster: :: Better. ::
Dead End: :: .... ::
Dead End: :: Are you coming to Earth? ::
Motormaster: :: That depends. Tell me of Prime and Megatron. ::
Dead End: :: What do you wish to know? ::
Motormaster: :: If Prime is protected. ::
Motormaster: :: If Megatron is as soft as it seems. ::
Dead End: :: Prime is bonded to Megatron. ::
Dead End: :: I do not know for how long. ::
Dead End: :: Megatron is... different. ::
Motormaster: :: That word doesn't mean a great deal to me. ::
Dead End: :: He has let down his guard. Slackened his hold on the Decepticons. ::
Motormaster: :: Example. ::
Dead End: :: He organized a mandatory excursion to "Disneyland." ::
Motormaster: :: ... ::
Motormaster: :: If you've developed a sense of humor, I'm NOT laughing. ::
Dead End: :: I have not. ::
Motormaster: :: And as long as we're discussing your apparently carefree days, what did you do at Disneyland, Dead End? ::
Dead End: :: ... ::
Dead End: :: Nothing. ::
Dead End: :: As I said, it was mandatory. ::
Motormaster: :: But I don't suppose you bothered to complain. ::
Dead End: :: It was an order. ::
Motormaster: :: It was an order to visit Disneyland. ::
Dead End: :: Yes. ::
Motormaster: :: And Starscream hasn't thrown an insurrection yet? ::
Dead End: :: Not as far as I am aware of. ::
Motormaster: :: Soft, indeed. ::
Motormaster: :: Wildrider. Breakdown. ::
Dead End: :: ...yes? ::
Motormaster: :: If you've done nothing, what have they been accomplishing? ::
Dead End: :: I am not certain. ::
Dead End: :: Breakdown still has his hysteric periods, and Wildrider seems to be bored of the planet. ::
Motormaster: :: ...bored? Why. ::
Dead End: :: I do not know. ::
Motormaster: :: Find OUT. ::
Dead End: :: .... ::
Dead End: :: As you command. ::
Motormaster: :: You are the closest thing to a sensitive instrument I have, Dead End. ::
Dead End: :: Yes, Motormaster. ::
Motormaster: :: In fact, you are the closest thing to a decent conversation I can have. ::
Dead End: :: ... ::
Dead End: :: Does this mean you are coming here? ::
Motormaster: :: I'm satisfied that there is opportunity. ::
Dead End: :: I see. ::
Motormaster: :: I will be there, and each of you will be there to greet me when I arrive. ::
Dead End: :: Very well, Motormaster. ::
Motormaster: :: Including Drag Strip. ::
Dead End: :: ... ::
Dead End: :: And what if he is not there? ::
Motormaster: :: Then I will tear out enough pieces from each of you to remake him, Dead End. ::
Dead End: :: ...I understand. ::
Trailbreaker: *sits in the common room, nursing a half-full cube of energon that he'd gotten almost as soon as he'd walked through the door and not spied any tank waiting for him. But, as they were supposed to meet here he patiently waited, taking sips now and then as he watches the common room door*
Motormaster: *stalks in, glancing about darkly for any signs of his Stunticons. He tromps over to grab an energon cube himself, looking murderous as he drains it, and then peering at Trailbreaker with a look of amusement*
Trailbreaker: *optic ridges lift as a dark mech enters, looking ready to slag any who as much as talked to him. He keeps watching as the other empty a cube, snapping his stare away as the black mech looks at him. He really has no desire to fight with that one, he looks like he could crumble 'Breaker under one of his feet without any real effort.*
Motormaster: I know you. Trailbreaker. *tosses the empty cube aside to the floor, looking down at the seated Autobot with the traces of a smile*
Trailbreaker: *Oh slag. His spark twitches nervously, as the other speaks to him. If he knows his name he probably also knows about 'Breaker's weaknesses, and that does nothing for the autobot. None of this shows on his face though, albeit his stance reveals some of it if one payed attention.* ...I don't believe we've met? *smiles, though it comes across as a bit forced - which it is*
Motormaster: Of course we have. Mostly by reputation, but the siege of the Decagon? You were trying to put a force field around someone. Gatecrasher, Gearchanger... the name escapes me. I just kept hitting until it broke and I cracked him like an insect.
Motormaster: *smiles coolly, not even shifting his weight*
Trailbreaker: *expression turns stony, and he stares up at the other mech, anger and fear rushing through him in waves* ...
Motormaster: You don't recall? Well, it was a long time ago. Peacetime, eh?
Trailbreaker: ...I don't believe I caught your name. *voice comes across as slightly forced*
Motormaster: Motormaster. You've heard. *narrows his optics slightly on the last part, a challenge to say differently*
Trailbreaker: *the name clicks into place, yes, he's heard that name before - even encountered the mech himself, but always under circumstances too dire to take much notice of his appearance* I have.
Motormaster: And now, that all seems such a waste. *strides over to sit down across from Trailbreaker, his gaze never moving from him* I'm searching for a hobby to cultivate.
Trailbreaker: *glassy stare at Motormaster as he sits down, faceplates almost blank. No matter what Prime says about Autobots and Decepticons being one, he will not forgive this one.* What kind of hobby? *talks for no other reason than to keep the other from slagging him.*
Motormaster: I don't know. If I did, I wouldn't be searching. *leans back, getting nice and comfortable* Something creative. Dance, perhaps?
Trailbreaker: *is wondering what he has done during his lifetime to deserve this* ...dance? *flat tone, with undertones of incredibility*
Motormaster: Why not? It uses the body. It requires practice. It's a display - I suffer from vanity.
Trailbreaker: *doesn't have anything to say to that. But he wishes Warpath could get here soon, he doesn't feel confident enough to dismiss this crazy decepticon on his own.*
Motormaster: You look light on your feet. Care to give it a try? *breaks into an inviting grin*
Trailbreaker: *a horrified look flickers across his faceplates* No thank you. *words come out a rush, almost rudely so*
Motormaster: Come, come. *rises up, offering his hand forward in one smooth motion, and a hint of steel enters his voice* I won't take no for an answer.
Trailbreaker: *optics darts between the hand reaching out to him and Motormaster's face. He really, really doesn't want to do this, distress entering his systems rapidly, stunning him into inactivity*
Motormaster: What, are you worried that you don't know the moves? We can do something easy, if you like.
Trailbreaker: ...no. *his processor finally manages to get the vocalizer to churn out an answer, and he sends an upset message to Warpath on a private comm link to hurry up.*
Motormaster: *stares at Trailbreaker, looking skeptical for a moment before his features become somber. He withdraws the hand and rises to his full height* Well, if you're not in the mood, I can't insist.
Trailbreaker: *sees the gesture as threating, like Motormaster is trying to scare him into submission. He forces himself to stay like he is, neither shrinking nor straightening out like the other* ...my leg had a loose piston, it isn't working properly yet. *a complete lie of course - not that he lets Motormaster know that*
Motormaster: That sounds like a bother. Seeing as how you were able to walk your way here, though, I'll be satisfied with a raincheck if you just fetch me a drink. *remains completely still, closer to the bar but his gaze never wavering*
Trailbreaker: *realizes his mistake as soon as Motormaster speaks. Slag, but he should really have thought of that. To the mech he forces a smile - it looks almost real too, he must be getting good at it - and nods.* Sure. *gets up and walks over to the bar, carefully adding a limp to his steps.*
Motormaster: *only swivels his neck to watch him, a little bit of the frostiness in his stare fading as he gets compliance*
Trailbreaker: *gets two cubes, his own on the table still half-full, but hey, it doesn't hurt. As he returns he offers one of them to the stunticon, schooling his faceplates into a pleasant expression*
Motormaster: Thank you. *snatches it and gulps it down, keeping his eyes fixed on Trailbreaker the entire time. When it's empty, he shatters it in his grip, letting the pieces fall to the floor* I'll be seeing you, Trailbreaker. *turns without waiting for a reply and saunters towards the exit*
Trailbreaker: *appearance cracks as he watches the pieces of cube fall down, flickering his gaze between the other's face and his hand, unease sneaking its way across his circuits. He doesn't reply to the goodbye, but merely stands there, almost stunned, as Motormaster makes his way out of the common room.*
And finally, the log that convinced me that registering Motormaster was a good idea.
Motormaster: :: DEAD END. ::
Dead End: :: Yes. ::
Motormaster: :: My quarters. Now. ::
Dead End: :: As you wish. ::
Dead End: *starts to walk towards Motormaster's quarters*
Motormaster: *stalks as he waits, pacing through the space in a dark mood and almost scraping his head against the slightly too-low ceiling*
Dead End: *finally arrives, some 5 minutes after the comm. He knocks on the door, neither too hard nor too light, idly wondering what has put the stunticon leader into this bad mood*
Motormaster: *lunges over and pulls the door open with a slam, staring down at the arrived mech with his optics blazing an intense shade* For a Stunticon, you seem awfully slow tonight, Dead End.
Dead End: *usual neutral expression and tone* My apologies.
Motormaster: I don't want to hear them. *grabs Dead End's head forcibly in one hand, clutching hard enough to be painful for just a moment before using his grip to hurl Dead End to the floor in the center of the room*
Dead End: *optic ridges twitches in what may or may not have been a wince, stumbling forwards completely off-balance, ending up down on one knee with his back against the other*
Motormaster: *strides over without missing a beat, his grimace starting to soften into the beginnings of an even smile. He twines his fingers together and brings the resulting double-fist crashing down onto Dead End's back*
Dead End: *is sent sprawling to the floor with a pained grunt, back flaring with bad sensations from the blow. He tilts his head, only slightly, to give Motormaster a one-opticked glance*
Motormaster: I wouldn't mind the slowness and lack of discipline from one of the other wretches... *takes a step over and then plants his boot squarely on the Stunticon's back, forcing his considerable weight down to crunch Dead End into the ground with a look of disdain* ...but it's galling that you've forgotten what this team requires.
Dead End: *warnings pop up to inform him about the danger of the pressure, another one tells him that his armor is slowly becoming dented, unable to withstand the many tons of angry Motormaster. He sends them away after a clinical look, engine giving a soft whine against his will.* I have not forgotten, Motormaster.
Motormaster: Then why don't you get up? *eases his weight off the foot pressing down on Dead End and giving the other mech some wiggle room... ready to smash him back down against the floor the moment he tries to rise*
Dead End: *doesn't answer that in words, but slowly starts to get up, noticing that the stunticon leader's foot was still on his back, but not putting much thought into it*
Motormaster: *airs a cold, sadistic little chuckle as he slams his foot down again to crush the smaller mech's body against the metal beneath* Of course, you don't because I haven't ordered you to yet, Dead End.
Dead End: *winces as he hits the floor again, pain washing over him and systems beeping in distress. He cuts off a groan, instead opting for just lying there quietly, a passive look on his faceplates betraying nothing of his feelings to the black mech*
Motormaster: *watches as the pinned mech goes still, a look of mild amusement finally creeping across his face. He digs his heel in one last time before stepping off, moving over to pour himself a drink from a plain metal decanter stored on a small shelf. He doesn't even glance back* Now get up.
Dead End: *offers a grunt for that last effort, he remains still for some moments after Motormaster speaks, before finally getting up, now sporting a nice dent on his back. An unhappy grimace is stopped before it can reach his face, which is still stoically blank as he turns to face his commander.*
Motormaster: *finishes his drink without paying any attention behind him, having a fair idea from experience what must be passing over to Dead End's face. Only when he's set the vessel back down on the shelf does he turn around to stare back at the other Stunticon's face* I've been bored, Dead End.
Dead End: *meets Motormaster's optics levelly, but is careful to not make it challenging, he doesn't want another damn dent on his previously perfect armor. He ponders on what to say, in the end avoiding words completely and just nods once*
Motormaster: *walks over, taking slow, casual steps until he's looming right up against Dead End and raising an optic ridge. His hand claps down hard on Dead End's shoulder, but doesn't squeeze, just resting there* What are you going to do about it?
Dead End: *glances at the hand before turning back to look at Motormaster's face. What he's going to do about it? Preferably nothing but he knows that's a no-go, so instead he uses his standard calm tone of voice, knowing that it's a 50/50 shot of dire harm* What do you want me to do?
Motormaster: *snorts derisively and narrows his optics in a subtle warning* Get me off, you idiot, so at least I don't have to endure what seems to pass for conversation with you now. *rubs his hand across Dead End's shoulder plate, a long way from gentle but still not crumpling the metal yet under his fingers*
Dead End: *eyes the black mech, he knew that this would come as soon as Motormaster came to Earth. He puts one hand on the leader's hip joint, stepping closer and tilting his face upwards to give him a kiss, as affectionless as Motormaster's shoulderrub.*
Motormaster: *cups the back of Dead End's helmet in his other hand, holding him there for the kiss. His side of it is quite affectionate, practically muscling Dead End's lip components around with a fierce enthusiasm. His optics stay narrow and focused on Dead End's, however...*
Dead End: *dull stare back, he moves his hand against the hip, searching for an opening in Motormaster's armor. When he finds it, he digs his fingers into it, fingertips lightly scraping against wiring and cables*
Motormaster: *gives a small murmur of thought, as if weighing it carefuly, then pulls away with a snarl of disgust and lays a ferocious backhand SMACK across Dead End's face*
Motormaster: Is that it!?
Dead End: *entire upper body is thrown to the side with the force, system alarms shrieking before being quieted. He pulls himself back up straight, faceplates completely void of any expression. He stares at his leader, before bowing his head lightly in submission*
Motormaster: *quiets a bit, and settles his features to a look of composed irritation over flickering rage. He shakes his head* No. This is my fault, for expecting you to act appropriately without being properly reminded of our relationship.
Dead End: *remains silent, regarding Motormaster's features. His faceplates are still expressionless, his processor calm. He does not enjoy the prospect of what's coming, but in a quiet resignation he accepts it*
Motormaster: *leans in again to sneer into Dead End's ever-neutral face, then turns on his heel to stride back to the shelf. This time, however, he reaches behind it, and with a scraping hiss of steel, he pulls his broadsword free from its lodging. He gives it a test swing through the air off to the side before turning around to face Dead End again, now cradling the tip in his other hand. His body language is all menace and coiled strength, and the anger is starting to boil out again across his face* Anything you'd care to say?
Dead End: *watches as the other gets out his sword, optic ridges lifting slightly in alarm. He carefully schools his posture and facial expression into one of total submission, even if he can't do anything about it being beating to a pile of scrap still isn't much fun.* No, sir, I do not have anyhing to say.
Motormaster: Too bad. *strikes forward like lightning with an animal growl, throwing his torque into a downward slash at an angle that would carve deep into Dead End's chest, but for his twisting the sword to land the hit with the flat of the blade*
Dead End: *jumps back on pure battle-honed reflex, but still isn't fast enough to avoid getting hit, the sword putting a small dent on his chestplate, servos whining with the sudden move. He forces himself to stand still, easing his body into a forced relaxedness, giving the black truck a blank look*
Motormaster: So, in this part of the dance, we establish that you do care, at least about your own miserable chassis. *steps closer within arm's range to grab at Dead End's throat, keeping his sword at the ready in the other hand*
Dead End: *doesn't move, merely watching Motormaster to see what he'll do next.*
Motormaster: *finally just explodes into a roar of rage, clenching his grip around the other mech's neck like he was trying to crush every processor connection in Dead End's upper body to powder, physically lifting him up off the ground*
Dead End: *mouths open with the pain, but nothing but crackling static fills the air. He grabs Motormaster's arm, trying to hoist himself up. Warnings blink and screech at him, his processor starting to show early signs of malfunction, easily repaired if the pressure is stopped, devastating if it is not. Optics slightly widened he stares at his leader, hate and fear crawling across his circuits like a bad itch.*
Motormaster: *strides towards an unadorned wall and SLAMS Dead End's back up against it, his grip not slackening even though his own fingers sting with the force of it. He keeps Dead End at a full arm's length, holding up the point of the sword to Dead End's chest, right where his spark lies behind*
Dead End: *winces, fingertips digging into Motormaster's arm. His vocalizer crackles wildly before shorting out, leaving only the sound of air being sucked in through vents. He gives the black mech a dull stare, hate rearing up inside him. Of all the ways the cosmos could've had in store for him, this was not the way he wanted to go, not by the hand of that fragging excuse of a leader.*
Motormaster: *meets that dull stare with a savage contempt, and penetrates the sword into Dead End's gut just below his spark chamber, not particularly caring if he damages any less than immediately vital components along the way. Motormaster thrusts the edge in a stroke hard and clean enough to skewer the Stunticon through, burying the blade almost to the hilt and pinning Dead End to the wall before he withdraws his choking hand*
Dead End: *optics widen with the pain washing through him in mind-numbing waves, gasping sharply. His legs and arms twitch as he hangs there skewered against the wall, system going into a frantic panic as diagnostic notices pop up to inform him of the extent of the damage, optics changing to a subdued red*
Motormaster: ...and the second movement. *grabs Dead End's chin between his finger and thumb, yanking the other mech's head forward to force him into attention* This is when you remember why you've done what you have for me in the past. Because if you give me anything less than your best, if you DARE to withhold from your master what he wants from you, I will tear you into pieces like the broken thing you ARE.
Dead End: *stares on Motormaster's face, systems lagging enough from the onslaught of pain to have problems focusing. He tries to speak, only to discover that his vocalizer is offline, and has to settle for nodding instead, pure hate hidden behind his expressionless mask.*
Motormaster: Now. Kiss me. *slackens his grip on Dead End's chin to give him back at least that level of control, leaning in close enough to make the contact possible. His face is stony, however, with some furious embers still smoldering in those optics*
Dead End: *dismissing all the warnings begging for his attention, he stares at Motormaster, slowly reaching forwards till his lip components meets the black mechs', pouring all the loathing for the leader into it, making it rather more passionate then the last one.*
Motormaster: *softens his glare just a bit as he feels that energy, letting it last for a moment before he steps back and pulls the sword back out from the wall (and Dead End's innards) to let his subordinate drop to the floor again* Almost acceptable.
Dead End: *another gasp of pain, slumping down on the floor when he makes contact, grunting with discomfort. Another set of diagnostic warnings pop up and are sent away, and he remains unmoving, trying to get his processor up and running at full capacity again.*
Motormaster: *rolls his optics with an exaggerated sigh, stooping down on one knee to tend to the injured Dead End. He's had Stunticons injured on his hands enough times to give them the crude patch jobs needed to stay functioning for long enough to get the job done... Motormaster roughly pries open Dead End's chest plate where the sword wound remains, reaching inside him to start tying exposed wires back together*
Dead End: *winces at the rough first aid, but doesn't make any attempt to stop or shove Motormaster away. More warnings, he's starting to get annoyed by them by now, he knows what has happened and does not need further reminders. Leaning limply against the wall, he lets Motormaster do his crude work.*
Motormaster: *does Dead End few kindnesses as he works, delivering more than a fair share of rough jerks. Nevertheless, there's a moment before he finishes where his hand slides almost delicately along the cables bound to the Stunticon's spark, caressing for just the briefest window before he retracts his touch and stands up again*
Dead End: *relaxes where he sits, occasionally wincing from the no-love treatment. He can feel the other touching the wiring surrounding his spark-casing, not really caring anymore. His spark cringes away in disgust though, away from that abusive mech's hands. His eyebrows twitches at the caress, the only reaction he shows to the gesture. His self-repair systems are busying themselves with fixing his vocalizer, having been put on highest priority by the porsche*
Motormaster: Get up, Dead End. *has softened his voice considerably from the hard-edged aggressor of a minute ago, though the tone is still commanding and he doesn't bother to offer his Stunticon a hand to help him rise*
Dead End: *his voice is still a static, so he doesn't bother with a reply. He gets up in steps, first onto his knees, then - with a hand on the wall for support - onto his feet, slowly getting straightened out, back still against the wall, though not leaning against it anymore. His systems finally rebounding from the pain earlier he looks up into his commander's face, his own a neutral blank.*
Motormaster: All better, then. *takes a step closer, returning to their original positions before Motormaster fetched his weapon, looking down into that expressionless face with impatience* Let's try this again. Fail me a second time and I won't be so gentle.
Dead End: *resigned, he does as Motormaster commands, putting both his hands on the black hip-joints, stepping closer to fill the remaining distance, reaching up to place his lips against the other stunticon's, considerably more feeling behind it this time*
Motormaster: Mmm... *returns the favor with a strange, distracted expression. He waits a few moments before he clasps his arm around Dead End's upper back, being ginger enough not to dig into the wounded portions from before. Instead, Motormaster grinds up closer against him, dropping his sword to the floor with a clatter*
Dead End: *fingers grasps the metal joints, he is loathing this with his entire being, his spark twitching in its casing. He continues to kiss the commander, moving his lip components in a mock-show of affection*
Motormaster: *dips his head back to break the kiss, a smile of genuine satisfaction crossing his face* You may need tuning once in a while, but you are my most reliable, Dead End. *slides his fingers down into the crevice where Dead End's arms join to his chest, dragging along the seam with a surprising tenderness* My favorite.
Dead End: *shivers, hate and disgust swirling around in his processor. He could never understand how he could be Motormaster's favorite while being treated like this, the caress mocking both affection and his pain, but none of these thoughts registers on his face or optics, as he gazes into the black mech's face*
Motormaster: *moves his other hand up along Dead End's other side, but rather than dipping in to caress at the Stunticon's joints, he instead moves it up to take hold of the wheel at Dead End's shoulder. His fingertips drag gently over the inner hubcap and wheel well, searching for Dead End's sensitive zones and completely unconcerned with any of his subordinate's thoughts except obedience and compliance*
Dead End: *air intake increases as Motormaster finds several sensors, sending small waves of pleasure into him. He moves his own hands up Motormaster's sides, idly tracing ridges and seams with his fingertips*
Motormaster: *releases a deep, vibratory hum as Dead End's wandering hands come over some of his smaller grilles and finer details. He's not a mech of patience, though, and he abandons Dead End's tire to snatch one of his wrists and pull it to the exposed interior section near Motormaster's head where his chestplate doesn't quite meet with the armored cavity for his head*
Dead End: *doesn't need nor want another tuning, so he immediately starts to explore the area, the sincere curiousity normally found with this activity non-existant. Nevertheless he strokes and drags his fingers over exposed wires and cabling, the other hand ceasing its movements*
Motormaster: Ahhh... That's better. *remove his hand from its grasp on Dead End's once the Stunticon starts acting of his own volition, lowering himself at the knees ever-so-slightly to grant better access. Meanwhile, the free hand plunges down to the remaining cavity that the blade left. He can't resist reaching inside towards the warmth of Dead End's spark, his splayed fingers catching on some of the more sensitive wires and tugging at them by accident*
Dead End: *ignores the armor breach warning that blinks at him, gasping loudly as his innards are violated. A mixture of pain and pleasure crawls over his circuits, making him arch away from the touch and closer to Motormaster's chassis.*
Motormaster: *pushes through the wire tension to scrape his fingertips at the surface of Dead End's spark chamber. His whole body gives a little tremor as he feels an electrical tingle zap out from his subordinate's most precious component... he lets out a murmur of approval as Dead End comes closer to him, though, digging in the hand still at Dead End's seam to pull the mech even closer*
Dead End: *shudders with the sensation, it would've been enjoyable had it not been Motormaster administrating them, but as this IS the stunticon leader the act is offensive, sickeningly so. Even so, the close contact with his spark casing sends sensations throw his sensors, giving him disturbing flares of pleasure. The hand on Motormaster's hip clings to the mech, fingertips digging into the crevasses there*
Motormaster: *revs his engine into a growl of delight, almost drowning out the noise of the metal near his waist groaning faintly under the pressure* Awfully feisty from someone who pretends not to care much. *he grins wickedly, but it's hard to tell if he's mocking Dead End or thinks the affection is sincere. Whichever is the case, he grasps at the spark container as best he can get a grip and tugs on it from its rightful mooring*
Dead End: *ignores the comment, he isn't giving that fragger the satisfaction of an answer. His thought process is cut off abruptly by a pang of pain, system bugging down with warnings, diagnostic notices and pain. He screams, hands jerking as his body spasms, his spark almost stunned with fear*
Motormaster: *clutches piercingly hard at the Stunticon's shoulder as soon as he hears that scream, the pistons at this core firing more vigorously as soon as that scream reaches his audio receptors. With a lighthearted laugh, he picks up Dead End, carrying him to his (thankfully sturdy) table to slam him back down, which causes an even harder yank on the other mech's spark* You're hoarding the fun, Dead End... I want my share.
Dead End: *another scream, trailing into broken static, the sheer level of pain is making it impossible to think, all his processing power caught up in the rough abuse of his spark, his life-source. His optics start to flicker on and off, he is in too much pain to consider or even comprehend Motormaster's words.*
Motormaster: *bends across Dead End's writhing body to plant another feverish kiss on him and stifle any further broken cries. His engine is purring like a tiger, stoked to see his Stunticon worked up like this. He eases his touch on Dead End's spark chamber to a gentle caress to ease him down from the raw pain, fingering the scattered plugs and connections across its surface*
Dead End: *air circulation hitches randomly, his vocalizer only spewing out muffled static as Motormaster kisses him. He remains unresponsive, still too stunned with pain to move. As the amount of pain slowly decreases - or maybe he's just getting used to it, Dead End doesn't know - he starts to shake, his frame rattling against the table, as he lifts his hands to shove Motormaster away, far away from his spark*
Motormaster: *is caught by surprise, yielding a bit to the pressure of the shove but reflexively digging his fingers in tighter to the electric warmth of Dead End's spark. After a moment of narrowed optics, he lets out a sharp bark of laughter* Really, Dead End? Really? I hope you're revving like I am, because if you aren't, you're going to pay for that...
Dead End: *sharp gasp as the pain returns, albeit not as strongly as before - maybe he is getting used to it. He stares up into Motormaster's optics, realizing the potentially fatal mistake. Faceplates blank, with undertones of pain, he shakes his head, relocating his hands to Motormaster's sides*
Motormaster: That's more like it... *croons the words, and pulses the tortured spark chamber in his hand again, massaging gently with each finger length in turn. His other hand renews its work at that seam as well, but grinding it forcefully against the table surface, not planning on allowing that kind of resistance again*
Dead End: *does not enjoy the pleasure that Motormaster provides, finding it a lot more revolting than stimulating, and he hates it when he both hears and feels his engine reluctantly starts revving, more like a growled purr than anything else. Scraping his fingers against the black mech's sides, he gives in, there is no use to fight the Stunticon commander on this.*
Motormaster: *returns to the kiss he wanted in the first place, though this time around he bites hard on Dead End's lower lip. His fingers keep up their soothing caress over the texture of the spark container, pulling gently at each wire they come across in their course, his own engine groaning in reply to the murmurs of Dead End's*
Dead End: *fingers dig into the metal as Motormaster bites him, ignoring the pain to better feel the sensations coming from his spark chamber, voicing a soft moan, muffled from the kiss*
Motormaster: Further down, Dead End. Between the plates. *pinches hard on one of the thin cables feeding into the other mech's spark to emphasize the point. Motormaster is leaning steadily more of his weight onto Dead End, now, even with the table for support, but the hand at Dead End's shoulder refuses to give the Stunticon any room to escape from the burden on him*
Dead End: *does as the other instructs, jerking from the pinch with a gasp, mostly pain but also some pleasure at this point. Traces the opening in Motormaster's armor once before he pushes his fingers in, tugging and stroking the wiring he can find.*
Motormaster: Ahhhh... *cranes his head back as he vents in deeply, needing cool air to keep that throttling engine from pushing his system too quickly. He rewards Dead End by softening his touch even further, moving out from the spark to stroke up along the length of a fuel line*
Dead End: *engine revs up, moaning as his innards are fondled, and responds by digging his hands sharply into the other's armor. The good feelings almost overshadowing the pain, but not quite, and he shudders lightly, prepared to lose himself in the feelings altogether*
Motormaster: *groans aloud, at last getting his satisfaction, but it's muffled in comparison to the diesel snarl of his engine coming full to life. His anvil-heavy hold on Dead End's shoulder relaxes, those fingers writhing back inside the crevice of the joint in perfect synchrony with the now-rapid-moving massage of the other mech's fuel system*
Dead End: *wouldn't have even thought about fleeing, not now, as he has completely surrendered to the stunticon commander. Air intakes has sped up, and he moans again, this one low and static, Motormaster's touches wreaking havoc on his sensors. The pain from his abused spark casing and his sword wound mingles with the pleasure, making it so much more potent, and yet another system warning pops up, this one warning about rising temperatures.*
Motormaster: More, Dead End! More for me, and I want to hear your motor scream! *is practically cackling in his ecstasy as he says it, feeling the surrender to his touch and taking a predatory joy in it. No more time for softness - his fingertips dig in harder and his strokes along the fuel line start to feel more like up and down spurts even as he starts shifting between each wire and cable he can get a grip on*
Dead End: *manually fires up his engine till it makes a loud whine, near roaring into action. The vibrations carry through his entire body and into Motormaster's, and he shoves his hands deeper, tugging hard and clinging to anything he can reach. Groaning, he arches his body off the table, optics flickering before going offline, diagnostics pleasantly telling him to stop the activities*
Motormaster: *slams Dead End back against the table as he rises, not out of anger but instead a savage intensity, his own motor blasting into high gear with a shriek. He gives in to a full-body shudder of pleasure, the hand buried inside Dead End twisting around and catching a whole mess of sensitive cables with it, yanking sharply on each of them*
Dead End: *Pain flares through him, utterly dominating the previous bliss. He arches again, this time in agony, gasping and voicing a static groan. He grips Motormaster's wiring hard, pulling the other mech down as his systems starts to prepare itself for emergency restart.*
Motormaster: *lunges his hand over from Dead End's shoulder to clutch at the mech's face, splaying his fingers across his optics like a feral cat about to maim its prey - an impression that only gets stronger as he leans in and ROARS his ecstasy, a mix of his straining vocalizer and gunning engine. The wire-wrapped hand in Dead End's guts claws for the spark compartment again, straining every part around it*
Dead End: *As if all the pain Motormaster had already caused him wasn't enough, he had to assault his audials as well. He spasms from the burning in his body, arching and clanking back onto the table periodically. A sharp gasp is cut off mid-way, as his vocalizer goes offline, and shortly after his audio, then his optics, sensors stops sending data to his processor, and he goes limp as the rest of the mainframe shuts down, head lolling helplessly on the table*
Motormaster: *takes his time ratcheting down the gears again, seething low and loud to help him ease from his high. All the while he keeps his hand fastened tight around Dead End's spark chamber. Only when the last thrums of frenzied joy have left him does he disentangle himself, slowly rising and surveying the offlined Dead End with a superior smirk*
Dead End: *reboots, systems slowly coming back to life one by one. Sensors first - he winces at the soreness, pure agony still lingering in his wires. Audios, optics, yet another diagnostic popping up and telling him about the full extent of his damages. He actually takes the time to read through it before sending it away, and is non-too-happy about the suggestion about consulting a medic. He glances up at Motormaster, faceplates the normal neutral*
Motormaster: Don't ever be recalcitrant with me again when I demand otherwise, Dead End, or I'll rip out your processors one chip at a time until I have a version of you that understands obedience. *gives a smoldering stare into the other mech's optics, but his smile only broadens*
Dead End: *stares into Motormaster's optics, he knows the mech isn't making a joke.* I understand.
Dead End: *starts to get up, slowly, keeping his face carefully blank through the pain until he is finally standing on his own two legs again*
Motormaster: *turns to pick his sword from the floor, walking it back to the shelf to resheathe it again in its hiding place* And if my other Stunticons are unaware of my expectations when I call for them, I'll know who to blame.
Dead End: *his tone is as bland as his stare* Yes, Motormaster.
Motormaster: *suddenly pauses where he stands, a deep, hollow-toned laugh forcing itself out of him* ...I forgot to ask.
Motormaster: *turns back to Dead End, any traces of afterglow gone in a dagger stare* Do you have any QUESTIONS for me?
Dead End: *his entire appearance is blank, his processor working furiously. The right answer would get him out, the wrong answer would result in even more physical harm. Too bad he didn't know which was the correct one.* ...No.
Motormaster: *bows his head in the slightest of nods* Excellent. You may go.
Dead End: *relief wash over him, but on the outside he gives no response.* As you wish. *starts walking to the door to freedom, pain shooting through him at every step*
Motormaster: *watches without moving as he leaves, optics never departing from their laser-like focus on the details of Dead End's face and head*
Dead End: *finally at the door, the few steps there has brought him agony. He pushes the keypad, and the door hisses open, and he walks through it before Motormaster can order him to stay. He walks down the hall, limping lightly, pain churning in his circuits*
Motormaster: *waits for the door to slide shut again before he moves over to his shelf again to pour himself a second drink. He lets slip a single, thin smile as he thinks of his loyal servant under his orders once more, and then no emotion at all as he starts to sip*
Dead End: *keeps walking till he's far enough away from Motormaster's quarters, in a corridor he knows is rarely used. With a gasp of pain he leans against the wall, slowly sinking down onto the floor, head bowed.*