(no subject)
Blackstar pays little mind to which direction he's pointed when he lifts away from the ocean's surface above the Decepticon base. He just wants to fly, and direction doesn't matter to him any more. Whatever sensors or radars or satellites these humans have, none of them would be able to pick him up now anyway, except for possibly as a blurry image on a dark and blurry photograph. Especially as fast as he is going now, no longer bound by the earthly constraints of physics and drag.
Above, the stars beckon, reminding him of lightless days and depthless night spinning out amoung the cold embrace of space.
She'd looked... good.
He was still having a tough time wrapping his processor around the whole "born organic" thing, though. Soon. Soon he'll find a way to get her alone and reveal himself to her so they can talk. Just not quite yet. He still isn't quite sure what he wants to say. Except for asking about that organic thing.
Overhead, the stars continue to sing their siren's song at him, so he sideslips into a lazy roll that slowly vectors up, arrowing for the comforting clasp of the dark heavens. Around him, the air begins to distort and flicker and glow with the soft fire of electrical discharge.
Above, the stars beckon, reminding him of lightless days and depthless night spinning out amoung the cold embrace of space.
She'd looked... good.
He was still having a tough time wrapping his processor around the whole "born organic" thing, though. Soon. Soon he'll find a way to get her alone and reveal himself to her so they can talk. Just not quite yet. He still isn't quite sure what he wants to say. Except for asking about that organic thing.
Overhead, the stars continue to sing their siren's song at him, so he sideslips into a lazy roll that slowly vectors up, arrowing for the comforting clasp of the dark heavens. Around him, the air begins to distort and flicker and glow with the soft fire of electrical discharge.