[Open!] - Memoirs of a Cassette...
WHO: Magnum and !you!
WHAT: Megatron attempts to get used to being a cassetibird, even while vehemently denying his attempts to get used to anything impermanent.
WHERE: Zones 3-6. Flight patterns vary, and he's still crashing into things a lot.
WHEN: Now-ish
WARNINGS/NOTES: In waiting for his new body to be finished, Soundwave offered Megatron a ( Read more... )
WHAT: Megatron attempts to get used to being a cassetibird, even while vehemently denying his attempts to get used to anything impermanent.
WHERE: Zones 3-6. Flight patterns vary, and he's still crashing into things a lot.
WHEN: Now-ish
WARNINGS/NOTES: In waiting for his new body to be finished, Soundwave offered Megatron a ( Read more... )
Comments 119
Such an anomaly intrigued the satellite. Enough to where he abandoned his post atop the radio tower, instead approaching the area his scans had last picked up the bird-bot--on foot, instead of by air.
There was something oddly familiar about it. Claws brushed briefly across armor, trailing over the damage, thoughtfully. Ravage's housing was empty, of course, given his death and disappearance, but others... they waited, secure within his own frame for their activation. There was a flight-capable creation. Wasn't there?
Which made him all the more curious about this faltering individual.
Reply
...this one was definitely simplistic, and looked more like a rocket-pack with wings, or a brick with a bird head. It didn't look particularly designed for maneuverability--but it should have been capable of flying straight.
Magnum was absolutely certain of this, considering he was running diagnostic scans on his form almost constantly to see if there were any clues to what he was doing wrong.
Both engines needed to be activated simultaneously, and with similar power output, or he crashed. His wings needed to be positioned for lift, or he crashed. They ALSO needed to be even, or he crashed. There wasn't enough runway to just floor it, so he couldn't put out too much power, or he crashed.
...it was a wonder there were any flight-capables alive in this city, at allBut it didn't stop him from trying again...this time lifting off, hovering successfully a few moments....spinning three times, and shooting straight towards what had to be a Tyran. A ( ... )
Reply
Pitiable.
He did consent to sidestep slightly when it flew at him, watching with detachment as it crashed once again. Only then did he approach it, towering over the creature, his head tilted, sensory fins fluttering idly.
He reached down to pick it up.
Reply
Even after 50 similar instances, it still hurt.
He could remember Dirge mentioning his wings were sensitive, and though he was fairly certain it was different in jets than in cassettes he was starting to get the picture. The wings were what he needed to stay airborne, and his were getting pretty beat up.
...it was a bad idea to stay down, though, especially if the wrong Soundwave was nearby...and so he hobbled to his feat, wings spread awkwardly as if trying to grab hold of the wall to steady himself and being unable to....
He wasn't fast enough. A hand was closing in around him, and all that was left to do...
Was bite.
So he bit.
Reply
Reply
He recognized that voice, and glanced over with a head specifically made for intense scrutinizing, double checking his suspicion...
...and wishing he could frown when it was confirmed.
Instead, he flapped awkwardly, kicking on rear engines, launching (sideways) into the air...and right into a wall.
Again.
Frag his life.
"...you could say that." His voice was still mostly the same, though that was largely a choice of programming (and having recordings of his previous vocal instances.) He was just annoyed enough to not care what Kang thought of this.
Reply
Reply
"Soundwave...did this to me." Beady red optics fixed themselves on Kang, almost in a warning. He wasn't interested in disclosing the full details just yet.
Reply
Dirge absolutely refused to admit this to himself- especially when the matter was brought to his attention by someone else. Fortunately [or unfortunately] the clone was now far too immersed in obsession to be able to even think about it.
At the moment, he was doing what had swiftly become a routine- flying around the city searching for something easy to dismember and a hiding place in which to devour it. His anntenae had been picking up something small and bumbling for a while now... Visual comfirmation revealed it to be a bird-shaped transformer, possibly casseticon judging by the size. There was something so incredibly ironic about a bug eating a bird that the clone couldn't help but crack a hideious grin.
"You look like you've flown into too many glass windows, little bird," he sneered, landing near the crashed avian with easy grace.
Reply
It was not a good day.
"Go Frag yourself." He growled, finishing off his earlier string of curses with a new one, kicking on both engines, steadying his wings, and GUNNING for the sky...
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
He positively cackled with (mostly) his own voice at the triumph of clearing the top of the wall he'd just crashed into and aiming (with absolute unsteadiness) AWAY from the grasshopper jet.
Reply
He watched with interest as his prey launched itself back into the sky, laughing like a parrot imitating a cartoon villain. Though his organic mode was no longer as fast as a jet, Dirge still had a ridiculous advantage over a small bird just learning to fly. He took off after the wobbly cassette, treating the pursuit like an amusing game. A game that ended in snacks!
"I wonder how you will taste? Much better than your flying, I hope," he remarked, flying side by side with the bird-bot.
Reply
Maybe...non-jet compensation? A shifting of the wings?
...well, now he wasn't heading towards the ground, but he was veering towards the bio-technical Malgian. Win some, lose some, he supposed...
...until the words took him by surprise.
"You actually intend to Eat me?" He laughed. "I fail to see what that accomplishes. I haven't any organic parts."
Reply
Though he slowed and eventually came to a stop when he saw a bird crash into the pavement. Well, that's ironic. And odd. It was a flier, obviously enough, so why did it seem to have a problem with that staying in the air thing? Not to mention that it looked awfully... small. Symbiont? He saved the question for later.
"I've heard the flying thing works better if you actually try to stay in the air," he rumbled, tone deadpanned.
Reply
If there was a god, Magnum got the feeling that he wasn't well liked. If there was a Primus, and especially if there was a transtech Primus, he'd have really prefered this dislike just be shown by expelling him to another universe. A living one. HIS universe would have been most preferable.
But that didn't really happen, did it.
Strange that THAT didn't happen, but that winding up millions of years, millions of miles, and millions of instances away from home in the body of HIS communication's officer's cassette...DID happen.
Frag.
Just...frag it all.
He even recognized this intruder...one of Malus's Tyrans. One of the Decepticons that used to follow him ( ... )
Reply
But he had a job of some sort and a roof over his head (which was the pay for his job), and that was important. And now he'd found a bird that was calling itself lame and giving directions. Here he'd thought two Megatrons would be the most bizarre thing he would encounter here.
Still, he could pretend friendliness. Maybe get something out of this.
Maybe just get taken for a ride. Hmm.
"Sounds like a Nigerian scam e-mail t'me," he proclaimed, cocking up one brow ridge. Still, he lowered his arm in offering. "Can the 'lame bird' climb any better than he flies?"
Reply
If nothing else, there was now an arm extended, and he carefully reached out a claw to get a grip, then started walking awkwardly up the arm using his wings to steady himself.
...that helped, actually, and the more he thought on that the more he started to realize what he'd been doing wrong up in the air. Part of it...was...just balance.
He looked at Barricade again, wondering what he'd been up to in the several months it had been since he'd seen him...
...and decided there were other ways to find out.
Cocking his head, he repeated the message:
"Congratulations! You are the lucky winner of the 'Find the Lame Bird' contest! To claim your prize, please return the bird to 111 North Metal Street, Zone 6, sublevel 4." And settled on the Tyran's shoulder. "I am not..." A pause, constructing his farce a bit. "...paid to say more than that."
Reply
It was busy today, as always, and by the time the doors closed and the last mech had left, Mikaela was exhausted. She was covered in grease, her hair tied back in a sloppy bun, although strands had worked themselves loose during the span of the day.
Rubbing her hands vacantly on her ruined jeans, she heaved the mech sized garage door shut, then flicked the human sized door lock and stomped up the stairs. Typical day, typical evening, she figured. Reclining on her bed, she rested her back against the wall with a content hum.
Wrong.
The crash she heard against the roof made her drop the cup of tea she'd made in her lap, and with a hiss of anger mixed with pain, she jerked up the gun she kept by her bed, and barged up the upper stairwell to the roof, cocking it with a click and a hiss.
"Who's there?"
Reply
Frag. Frag.
He couldn't see. Something must have jostled his optic sensors when he'd bounced off that layer support column, and now he'd just crashed through somebody's roof or...window...(he hoped window) and landed on....something soft? A bed? A couch? He couldn't tell. He'd bounced, whatever it was, and was now upside-down on the floor, wings splayed, and...
...finding it impossible to right himself.
Damnit.
Damn. It. All.
"NOBODY." He responded to the muffled voice he heard. "NOBODY IS HERE."
Reply
It was a tangle of wings and appendages that bounced off the couch and onto the floor in one of the spare rooms; the lights were off and glass smashed all over the floor. Mikaela was Not. Pleased. There is a distinct click of a gun as her boots crunch over shattered glass.
"Name yourself. Now." Mikaela's tone was very cold and firm, and the message was clear. Spit it out, or get shot in the face.
Reply
...wait.
He was hearing things, now, too, he had to be.
That...couldn't be Mikaela's voice there, could it? It wasn't possible.
He tried to look up, to look around...but his optics still weren't malfunctioning, and his joints had an odd pressure on them...
...oh.
Oh, this was wonderful.
His head was stuck inside the cushion of a couch.
Well, that explained the darkness, and the softness, too, though he wasn't sure how the hell he was going to get it off considering he was still flipped over on his back and unable to move.
"..." That tone didn't sound particularly forgiving, however, and so his head (cushion and all) finally swiveled around to face the direction it had come from. "...Laserbeak. I'm Laserbeak."
Reply
Leave a comment