(no subject)
Dear Everyone: Blame
kirin_saga. No, seriously, it's all her fault.
Dear kirin_saga: You just had to ask, didn't you? Okay, so you didn't actually ask, but you did 'wonder'. Anyway, here's the explanation for why my Perceptor muse is so... jumpy.
General Explanation: Okay, so this requires a little bit of explaining. I'm working on the fanon here that Perceptor's a triple-changer, who's third form is a tank. Now, if this is true, than why doesn't he use it? After all, it's fairly handy in a war situation. But he never does use his tank form, so that leads to the thought that he either really, really doesn't like it or is scared of other's reaction (or he's a Decepticon spy, but let's ignore that one, shall we?)
Now, if one of those is true, than that leads to the question as to why he agreed to becoming a triple-changer in the first place. Unless, of course, one assumes that his first form was the tank and he didn't get the microscope form until he went through the triple-changer process. Which, naturally, leads to this story. Kinda dark, and he doesn't actually confuse anyone, but hey.
Oh, and for those of you who don't catch it, the 'voice' mentioned is his battle-programming. Cause that might have been a little vague.
Title: Unnamed (I really need one for this chapter, too...)
Characters: Perceptor, Unnamed Original Femme, Unnamed Others
Summary: Perceptor's past isn't all that pretty, but then, neither is his present. And his future isn't looking that great, either, actually.
Disclaimer: Me no own. *pouts*
This world was not what it used to be, and Perceptor’s okay with that.
Taunting voices, pounding away outside the door. Trying to hide, to get away like all the others, but there’s nowhere left to go.
They were in the middle of a war that had basically eaten their war alive, and Perceptor couldn’t help but feel thankful.
“There’s one of them.” Harsh hands, grabbing him, shaking him roughly. “It’s one of the tanks. What should we do with the thing?”
“Who cares, his creators abandoned him for a reason, obviously.” Fear, horror. The dark part of his mind telling him that he’d have to kill them to protect himself. Laughter as he begins wailing, crying for help he knows he shouldn’t need.
Before long, the Autobot’s could lose the tentative hold they still held on Cybertron, the last of their ever so small forces could be destroyed, and Perceptor had never felt safer.
The big ones -notsafe,shouldbesafebutnot - shoved him roughly towards something dark and menacing. “Go on. We need to know what it does to metal, so get in.” Whimpering, whining, trying to find one kind pair of optics as he struggled. Nothing, nobody, so run. Run and hide, grow and fight. Don’t acknowledge fear, whispered the voice he ignored so resolutely. Except for now. Now he needed it. So he screams, and they weren’t expecting that (he’s a tank, a warrior, shouldn’t show fear, they said ) and disappears.
He’d seen mechs and femmes die, pumps stuttering to a stop under his hands, when all he needed was just another astrosecond. Yet Perceptor’s happy here, for the first time.
Later, after, he’s on the streets. People look at him oddly, approach him with worried optics, frown when he flinches, gasp when they see his make. Then disappear, scared of him (but not as scared as he is, no, never that scared.) He scrounges, stealing energon and datapads, trying so so hard to understand what they say. All to often has to drop them and run, because he doesn’t have the strength to carry them. Because they say someone like him doesn’t deserve the chance to learn.
Watched as they all try to maintain some semblance of sanity in this hellhole, as they fight the worst kind of war - the guerilla kind. But Perceptor regrets nothing.
“What are you doing, child?” He starts. Glances upwards at a femme, one who’s lack of symbols tell her status as a neutral in the brewing war (other’s say it’s not a war, but that voice tells him it is, and the voice tends to be right about these things.) Try to skitter away, but she grabs his arm and he starts to panic but he really doesn’t want to fight… “You could really use some cleaning up. I can’t promise to help you, but I can promise to try.”
Lies, screams the voice, and he agrees, ‘cause nobody would want him. He knows that, and can see in her eyes that she doesn’t want him either.
“I’m working on a project. We need test subjects.” Abrubtly, he jerks away, but her grip is strong, stronger than he is right now (and here the voice works itself into a frenzy, because he’s a fighter and this should not be happening.) “You might be able to get another alternate mode. How does that sound? Would you like the chance to be something other than a war machine?”
He feels guilty about it, about how easily he welcomes this life style. How willing he is to hide himself from others, because he knows he shouldn’t have to. But Perceptor tries to brush it off. Like always.
It won’t work, because he’ll always be a warrior, down to his most basic programming, he knows this because he knows that the voice is integral to himself. But he knows that he can’t survive this way, not unless he joins the Decepticons (No!! screams the voice, they’re bad, they’ll hurt you, they’re worse than any of the others!) And, really, he doesn’t think he has much of a choice. So he goes with her, and hopes it doesn’t turn out as bad as everything else.
Because he needs this war. He doesn’t like it, but he needs this war. After all, there’s never been a completely stable triple-changer, and he certainly isn’t the first.
*is in desperate need of a sad Perce icon for these types of posts*
kirin_saga. No, seriously, it's all her fault.
Dear kirin_saga: You just had to ask, didn't you? Okay, so you didn't actually ask, but you did 'wonder'. Anyway, here's the explanation for why my Perceptor muse is so... jumpy.
General Explanation: Okay, so this requires a little bit of explaining. I'm working on the fanon here that Perceptor's a triple-changer, who's third form is a tank. Now, if this is true, than why doesn't he use it? After all, it's fairly handy in a war situation. But he never does use his tank form, so that leads to the thought that he either really, really doesn't like it or is scared of other's reaction (or he's a Decepticon spy, but let's ignore that one, shall we?)
Now, if one of those is true, than that leads to the question as to why he agreed to becoming a triple-changer in the first place. Unless, of course, one assumes that his first form was the tank and he didn't get the microscope form until he went through the triple-changer process. Which, naturally, leads to this story. Kinda dark, and he doesn't actually confuse anyone, but hey.
Oh, and for those of you who don't catch it, the 'voice' mentioned is his battle-programming. Cause that might have been a little vague.
Title: Unnamed (I really need one for this chapter, too...)
Characters: Perceptor, Unnamed Original Femme, Unnamed Others
Summary: Perceptor's past isn't all that pretty, but then, neither is his present. And his future isn't looking that great, either, actually.
Disclaimer: Me no own. *pouts*
This world was not what it used to be, and Perceptor’s okay with that.
Taunting voices, pounding away outside the door. Trying to hide, to get away like all the others, but there’s nowhere left to go.
They were in the middle of a war that had basically eaten their war alive, and Perceptor couldn’t help but feel thankful.
“There’s one of them.” Harsh hands, grabbing him, shaking him roughly. “It’s one of the tanks. What should we do with the thing?”
“Who cares, his creators abandoned him for a reason, obviously.” Fear, horror. The dark part of his mind telling him that he’d have to kill them to protect himself. Laughter as he begins wailing, crying for help he knows he shouldn’t need.
Before long, the Autobot’s could lose the tentative hold they still held on Cybertron, the last of their ever so small forces could be destroyed, and Perceptor had never felt safer.
The big ones -notsafe,shouldbesafebutnot - shoved him roughly towards something dark and menacing. “Go on. We need to know what it does to metal, so get in.” Whimpering, whining, trying to find one kind pair of optics as he struggled. Nothing, nobody, so run. Run and hide, grow and fight. Don’t acknowledge fear, whispered the voice he ignored so resolutely. Except for now. Now he needed it. So he screams, and they weren’t expecting that (he’s a tank, a warrior, shouldn’t show fear, they said ) and disappears.
He’d seen mechs and femmes die, pumps stuttering to a stop under his hands, when all he needed was just another astrosecond. Yet Perceptor’s happy here, for the first time.
Later, after, he’s on the streets. People look at him oddly, approach him with worried optics, frown when he flinches, gasp when they see his make. Then disappear, scared of him (but not as scared as he is, no, never that scared.) He scrounges, stealing energon and datapads, trying so so hard to understand what they say. All to often has to drop them and run, because he doesn’t have the strength to carry them. Because they say someone like him doesn’t deserve the chance to learn.
Watched as they all try to maintain some semblance of sanity in this hellhole, as they fight the worst kind of war - the guerilla kind. But Perceptor regrets nothing.
“What are you doing, child?” He starts. Glances upwards at a femme, one who’s lack of symbols tell her status as a neutral in the brewing war (other’s say it’s not a war, but that voice tells him it is, and the voice tends to be right about these things.) Try to skitter away, but she grabs his arm and he starts to panic but he really doesn’t want to fight… “You could really use some cleaning up. I can’t promise to help you, but I can promise to try.”
Lies, screams the voice, and he agrees, ‘cause nobody would want him. He knows that, and can see in her eyes that she doesn’t want him either.
“I’m working on a project. We need test subjects.” Abrubtly, he jerks away, but her grip is strong, stronger than he is right now (and here the voice works itself into a frenzy, because he’s a fighter and this should not be happening.) “You might be able to get another alternate mode. How does that sound? Would you like the chance to be something other than a war machine?”
He feels guilty about it, about how easily he welcomes this life style. How willing he is to hide himself from others, because he knows he shouldn’t have to. But Perceptor tries to brush it off. Like always.
It won’t work, because he’ll always be a warrior, down to his most basic programming, he knows this because he knows that the voice is integral to himself. But he knows that he can’t survive this way, not unless he joins the Decepticons (No!! screams the voice, they’re bad, they’ll hurt you, they’re worse than any of the others!) And, really, he doesn’t think he has much of a choice. So he goes with her, and hopes it doesn’t turn out as bad as everything else.
Because he needs this war. He doesn’t like it, but he needs this war. After all, there’s never been a completely stable triple-changer, and he certainly isn’t the first.
*is in desperate need of a sad Perce icon for these types of posts*