When Wise Mechs are Banished -- Blaster (and Cassettes)
Woot! Finally, right! ^.^ The bunny ran away for a while, but it decided to come back for a little while. :)
Title: When Wise Mechs are Banished -- Blaster (and Cassettes)
Rating: T
Continuity: G1/Movieverse AU
BLASTER (AND CASSETTES)
The music he kept silent, playing in only his audios. He kept himself still, constantly batting down the urge to nod with the beat, or tap his fingers as though he were playing a keyboard, or bounce his pede.
Music, he had found, was frowned upon here.
Actually, pretty much everything he was, wasn't accepted.
He was a host; that, in all cities save for Polyhex, Praxus, and Kaon, if the rumors were to be believed, had been an indicator of a lower status. A “slave owner,” they called him and his kind, never mind the fact that the cassettes were his creations, adopted creations, dear friends, confidantes. Family.
He was a music mech. A DJ. A radio host, back before the war. A comms mech. They viewed him as a non-combatant. A wuss, some people called him. Yet they had never seen him in action, never seen the fierceness that came with the urge to protect his creations, never seen how he could use the music, the noises, everything around him, to get into an enemy's processor, twist it, hurt them.
Because he could do that. All hosts had some measure of telepathy; it came with having so many bonds. Most hosts had minimal abilities, able to, perhaps, scan emotions, intentions, but never whole thoughts. Then there were some like Soundwave, who could, at will, delve into the mind of any mech they chose, searching out thoughts, memories, ideas, intentions, anything and everything they wanted.
Then there were mechs like himself, who were just as strong as Soundwave, but could never turn it off.
It was why he needed the music. It drown out the thoughts, masked them behind a screen of tangible noise, unless he actively started to seek them out.
~It's okay, Blast,~ a quiet voice whispered through the rather dark thoughts. One of the voices that was always welcome in his mind, one that could always come in uninvited.
~I know, 'Jaw. Still...~
~It weights on you.~
~We can all see it, Boss,~ another voice joined in. Rewind.
~Yeah,~ said another; Eject. ~You're out, Boss. We need another round.~
~Not like anywhere else will be any different,~ yet another voice, this one gruff and low, added.
~You don't know that, Ramhorn.~
~Yeah, 'Horn. I’m sure we might be able to find somewhere where we won't be...~
Outcasts. Rejects. But none of them wanted to say it.
~Anyways,~ Blaster said after the moment of silence. ~Even if we don't, we'll survive.~
~Yeah, together. As a team.~
~Exactly, Eject. Together.~
And Blaster settled easier into his chair in the darkest corner of the Rec Room, the bubble of space around him doing nothing to dampen the thoughts of the crowds.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“I'm telling you, Sir, this mech is a traitor!”
The blue mech whirled to face Blaster, who had confronted him in the hallway after his five attempts at scheduling a meeting were rejected. “How do you know, Blaster? How do you know so certainly that one of my senior tactical officers is a Decepticon spy?”
“I...”
“And once again, you can't answer. Blaster, you can't do this. You can't just go around blaming mechs you don't like! Life doesn't work that way, and I can't have Vantage arrested on your accusations!”
“Sir, you have to trust me! He will betray you! Soon! He's been feeding the 'Cons information for vorns, now, and he's about ready to do something drastic! Please, listen to me!”
The blue mech just waved off the communications mech and continued down the hall, leaving Blaster behind him. His cassettes flooded out of one of the air vents where they had been hiding, surrounding him, pressing up against him.
~You tried,~ Steeljaw said, always one of the first to offer comfort.
~Yes. I wish it had worked...~
~It's all you can do, Boss. Take a shot and the rest of the players decide the game.~
Nothing more was said as they wandered back to their quarters, where they spent the night curled together on Blaster's berth.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Blaster was the only one who was ready when everything went wrong, and he only barely.
The senior tactician had decided, or had been ordered, to reveal himself, and to do it in the most destructive way possible.
So he did it in a battle. Started directing mechs into vulnerable positions, not sending backup, leaving flanks and backs open.
When the other tacticians noticed, they started to try to compensate, not realizing the cause was among themselves, but, slowly, their voices dropped out of the network, until Vantage's was the only one left.
Blaster wasn't a senior officer. He was only a junior, a subordinate. But he saw what was happening, was able to believe it.
~'Jaw, 'Horn, Rewind, Eject. In here now. I need your help.~
They spilled from their hiding places, surprising the other communications mechs, making them jump and curse.
“Blaster, what is the meaning of this? You know they're banned from this room!” a smallish, sleek, silver mech snarled, standing and doing his best to loom over the red frame of the host.
Blaster stood, too, actually succeeding in looming, a scowl on his normally jovial face. “Can't you see what's happening? Vantage is killing us!”
“He's a tactician! He obviously sees something we don’t! Blaster-”
“No.”
The word was growled, low and rumbling and threatening, shaking the other mechs to their struts. Suddenly, Blaster looked dangerous. They could feel him, an oppressive shadow, darkening their thoughts.
“Cut the transmission. Hand it all to me.”
“No! We can't do that!”
“Yes, you can. Do it, now!”
“No!”
“Steeljaw!”
The cassette leapt forward, snarling, and tackled the silver mech, claws extended, fangs bared.
“Now. Open up a channel to Iacon.”
“Don't-” the senior communications officer choked out, and the other mechs in the room glanced at each other, unsure as to what they should do.
“You would do nothing while they die?” Blaster snarled as he gestured widely, arm swinging to encompass the faraway battle.
“We don't know that he's doing anything wrong,” one of them said.
“How can you-” the red host started, then was interrupted when all turned to chaos.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
The blue base commander came to visit him in the brig. The other communications mechs had called base security, and he had been easily overwhelmed by the guards who had charged in. He could fight, yes, but when he was surprised, when he was surrounded by his allies and cassettes, mechs he didn't want to hurt, there wasn't much he could do.
So he had been taken to the brig, with his cassettes. They were all currently in his hold.
“How did you know?” was what he was greeted with. “How did you know he was a traitor?”
Blaster looked up slowly, optics dim. Because I’m a telepath, he thought about saying. Wondered what the reaction would be. Realized he'd probably have to get into the commander's mind and wipe the memory. He didn't want to do that. Didn't want to tell. Didn't want to be viewed with even more suspicion.
“I just did,” he said. “I can know things like that.”
“How?”
Blaster shrugged, and the commander vented heavily.
“Very well. I... was in a bit of trouble when trying to decide what to do with you. You did warn me... but you also disobeyed orders.”
“I was trying to save the lives of my comrades, which is more than I can say they would ever do for me,” Blaster interrupted.
“I know. But... they don't... And... rules are very clear...” The commander stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts. Blaster pulled back as much as he could. He didn't want to hear. Wanted to remain ignorant of his date of death as long as possible. “There was something like this that happened a long time ago. A junior tactician ignored his senior, raced out to the battlefield, and won the battle with minimal losses. He... Sentinel Prime didn't execute him. He sent him to a distant base, where he'd be out of the way. That's where I’m sending you.”
Blaster stared at the blue mech. “You are serious?”
“Very. I... I didn't trust you. Still don't. But... you did... you were... trying to help. I don't want you dead.”
A slow nod greeted that statement, and, slowly, the blue mech walked away.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
When Blaster walked down the ramp of the shuttle, the last thing he expected to see was a Praxian waiting to greet him. A Praxian. Praxian! There were so few of those who understood what he was left, and even fewer of this particular type.
“Welcome,” a soft tenor greeted him, doorwings dipping in the Praxian equivalent of a nod. “I am Prowl, commander of Moon Base 84G1-07MVE-VR5E.”
“An' Ah'm Jazz,” another voice announced, and Blaster glanced to the side, surprised at the accent. Polyhexan? Was he really that lucky? “Bondmate t' our CO, an' his person'l 'ssistant. Ah make sure he don' get too overworked. Anyways, what's yer name?”
“I'm Blaster. And these are Steeljaw, Ramhorn, Rewind, and Eject,” he said, introducing his cassettes as he let them out of his chest compartment. Prowl's doorwings twitched in surprise, and a wide grin spread over Jazz's face.
“Mini-mechs! Ah haven' seen any o' you guy in forever! Welcome t' base!”
“They only said one mech,” Prowl said, frowning.
Steeljaw's plating shuddered, but it was Rewind who answered. “Most of Cybertron believes symbiotes to be inferior beings, drones. They also believe hosts to be slave-masters, which does not make sense. If you believe that someone is a drone, how can they also be a slave?”
“Mini-mech, most people don' make sense,” Jazz said, crouching down, smiling softly. Then he stood again, smile widening. “Well, c'mon, we'll give ya th' run-down. An' they can run 'round if they'd like, once we finish. Nobot here'll hurt 'em or do anythin' like that.”
“Indeed,” Prowl agreed. “And as I said, welcome, Blaster.”
Title: When Wise Mechs are Banished -- Blaster (and Cassettes)
Rating: T
Continuity: G1/Movieverse AU
BLASTER (AND CASSETTES)
The music he kept silent, playing in only his audios. He kept himself still, constantly batting down the urge to nod with the beat, or tap his fingers as though he were playing a keyboard, or bounce his pede.
Music, he had found, was frowned upon here.
Actually, pretty much everything he was, wasn't accepted.
He was a host; that, in all cities save for Polyhex, Praxus, and Kaon, if the rumors were to be believed, had been an indicator of a lower status. A “slave owner,” they called him and his kind, never mind the fact that the cassettes were his creations, adopted creations, dear friends, confidantes. Family.
He was a music mech. A DJ. A radio host, back before the war. A comms mech. They viewed him as a non-combatant. A wuss, some people called him. Yet they had never seen him in action, never seen the fierceness that came with the urge to protect his creations, never seen how he could use the music, the noises, everything around him, to get into an enemy's processor, twist it, hurt them.
Because he could do that. All hosts had some measure of telepathy; it came with having so many bonds. Most hosts had minimal abilities, able to, perhaps, scan emotions, intentions, but never whole thoughts. Then there were some like Soundwave, who could, at will, delve into the mind of any mech they chose, searching out thoughts, memories, ideas, intentions, anything and everything they wanted.
Then there were mechs like himself, who were just as strong as Soundwave, but could never turn it off.
It was why he needed the music. It drown out the thoughts, masked them behind a screen of tangible noise, unless he actively started to seek them out.
~It's okay, Blast,~ a quiet voice whispered through the rather dark thoughts. One of the voices that was always welcome in his mind, one that could always come in uninvited.
~I know, 'Jaw. Still...~
~It weights on you.~
~We can all see it, Boss,~ another voice joined in. Rewind.
~Yeah,~ said another; Eject. ~You're out, Boss. We need another round.~
~Not like anywhere else will be any different,~ yet another voice, this one gruff and low, added.
~You don't know that, Ramhorn.~
~Yeah, 'Horn. I’m sure we might be able to find somewhere where we won't be...~
Outcasts. Rejects. But none of them wanted to say it.
~Anyways,~ Blaster said after the moment of silence. ~Even if we don't, we'll survive.~
~Yeah, together. As a team.~
~Exactly, Eject. Together.~
And Blaster settled easier into his chair in the darkest corner of the Rec Room, the bubble of space around him doing nothing to dampen the thoughts of the crowds.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“I'm telling you, Sir, this mech is a traitor!”
The blue mech whirled to face Blaster, who had confronted him in the hallway after his five attempts at scheduling a meeting were rejected. “How do you know, Blaster? How do you know so certainly that one of my senior tactical officers is a Decepticon spy?”
“I...”
“And once again, you can't answer. Blaster, you can't do this. You can't just go around blaming mechs you don't like! Life doesn't work that way, and I can't have Vantage arrested on your accusations!”
“Sir, you have to trust me! He will betray you! Soon! He's been feeding the 'Cons information for vorns, now, and he's about ready to do something drastic! Please, listen to me!”
The blue mech just waved off the communications mech and continued down the hall, leaving Blaster behind him. His cassettes flooded out of one of the air vents where they had been hiding, surrounding him, pressing up against him.
~You tried,~ Steeljaw said, always one of the first to offer comfort.
~Yes. I wish it had worked...~
~It's all you can do, Boss. Take a shot and the rest of the players decide the game.~
Nothing more was said as they wandered back to their quarters, where they spent the night curled together on Blaster's berth.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Blaster was the only one who was ready when everything went wrong, and he only barely.
The senior tactician had decided, or had been ordered, to reveal himself, and to do it in the most destructive way possible.
So he did it in a battle. Started directing mechs into vulnerable positions, not sending backup, leaving flanks and backs open.
When the other tacticians noticed, they started to try to compensate, not realizing the cause was among themselves, but, slowly, their voices dropped out of the network, until Vantage's was the only one left.
Blaster wasn't a senior officer. He was only a junior, a subordinate. But he saw what was happening, was able to believe it.
~'Jaw, 'Horn, Rewind, Eject. In here now. I need your help.~
They spilled from their hiding places, surprising the other communications mechs, making them jump and curse.
“Blaster, what is the meaning of this? You know they're banned from this room!” a smallish, sleek, silver mech snarled, standing and doing his best to loom over the red frame of the host.
Blaster stood, too, actually succeeding in looming, a scowl on his normally jovial face. “Can't you see what's happening? Vantage is killing us!”
“He's a tactician! He obviously sees something we don’t! Blaster-”
“No.”
The word was growled, low and rumbling and threatening, shaking the other mechs to their struts. Suddenly, Blaster looked dangerous. They could feel him, an oppressive shadow, darkening their thoughts.
“Cut the transmission. Hand it all to me.”
“No! We can't do that!”
“Yes, you can. Do it, now!”
“No!”
“Steeljaw!”
The cassette leapt forward, snarling, and tackled the silver mech, claws extended, fangs bared.
“Now. Open up a channel to Iacon.”
“Don't-” the senior communications officer choked out, and the other mechs in the room glanced at each other, unsure as to what they should do.
“You would do nothing while they die?” Blaster snarled as he gestured widely, arm swinging to encompass the faraway battle.
“We don't know that he's doing anything wrong,” one of them said.
“How can you-” the red host started, then was interrupted when all turned to chaos.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
The blue base commander came to visit him in the brig. The other communications mechs had called base security, and he had been easily overwhelmed by the guards who had charged in. He could fight, yes, but when he was surprised, when he was surrounded by his allies and cassettes, mechs he didn't want to hurt, there wasn't much he could do.
So he had been taken to the brig, with his cassettes. They were all currently in his hold.
“How did you know?” was what he was greeted with. “How did you know he was a traitor?”
Blaster looked up slowly, optics dim. Because I’m a telepath, he thought about saying. Wondered what the reaction would be. Realized he'd probably have to get into the commander's mind and wipe the memory. He didn't want to do that. Didn't want to tell. Didn't want to be viewed with even more suspicion.
“I just did,” he said. “I can know things like that.”
“How?”
Blaster shrugged, and the commander vented heavily.
“Very well. I... was in a bit of trouble when trying to decide what to do with you. You did warn me... but you also disobeyed orders.”
“I was trying to save the lives of my comrades, which is more than I can say they would ever do for me,” Blaster interrupted.
“I know. But... they don't... And... rules are very clear...” The commander stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts. Blaster pulled back as much as he could. He didn't want to hear. Wanted to remain ignorant of his date of death as long as possible. “There was something like this that happened a long time ago. A junior tactician ignored his senior, raced out to the battlefield, and won the battle with minimal losses. He... Sentinel Prime didn't execute him. He sent him to a distant base, where he'd be out of the way. That's where I’m sending you.”
Blaster stared at the blue mech. “You are serious?”
“Very. I... I didn't trust you. Still don't. But... you did... you were... trying to help. I don't want you dead.”
A slow nod greeted that statement, and, slowly, the blue mech walked away.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
When Blaster walked down the ramp of the shuttle, the last thing he expected to see was a Praxian waiting to greet him. A Praxian. Praxian! There were so few of those who understood what he was left, and even fewer of this particular type.
“Welcome,” a soft tenor greeted him, doorwings dipping in the Praxian equivalent of a nod. “I am Prowl, commander of Moon Base 84G1-07MVE-VR5E.”
“An' Ah'm Jazz,” another voice announced, and Blaster glanced to the side, surprised at the accent. Polyhexan? Was he really that lucky? “Bondmate t' our CO, an' his person'l 'ssistant. Ah make sure he don' get too overworked. Anyways, what's yer name?”
“I'm Blaster. And these are Steeljaw, Ramhorn, Rewind, and Eject,” he said, introducing his cassettes as he let them out of his chest compartment. Prowl's doorwings twitched in surprise, and a wide grin spread over Jazz's face.
“Mini-mechs! Ah haven' seen any o' you guy in forever! Welcome t' base!”
“They only said one mech,” Prowl said, frowning.
Steeljaw's plating shuddered, but it was Rewind who answered. “Most of Cybertron believes symbiotes to be inferior beings, drones. They also believe hosts to be slave-masters, which does not make sense. If you believe that someone is a drone, how can they also be a slave?”
“Mini-mech, most people don' make sense,” Jazz said, crouching down, smiling softly. Then he stood again, smile widening. “Well, c'mon, we'll give ya th' run-down. An' they can run 'round if they'd like, once we finish. Nobot here'll hurt 'em or do anythin' like that.”
“Indeed,” Prowl agreed. “And as I said, welcome, Blaster.”