(no subject)
“Oh, Blizzario, how could you do this to yourself? You have so much talent, so much creativity... and you chose to spend it tagging street corners and vandalizing public monuments with Predacon Rights propaganda?”
“Hey Prof, times're tough all 'round. You know most Maximal artists are starving as it is, being Pred and an artist is practically beggin' for a slow death. Don't gimme wrong, I'm grateful for all you done for me, but the streets ain't like the Academy. Ain't no amount've good grades or effort gonna make people respect you there.”
“Is it really that bad?”
“No. It's worse.”
~
“......Police recently discovered that the Predacons for starting a fire in front of the Council building last week were graduates of the Maximal Academy Predacon Outreach Program, making them the fifth group of revolutionaries with specialized degrees. As the program goes into its ninth scholastic cycle, members of the public are calling for its termination, saying it's doing nothing more than producing educated criminals.”
“In other news, lawmakers are working on a proposition to cut back Predacon rations by thirty percent. While some politicians have decried this as cruel and unusual punishment of innocents, the vast majority are quick to point out that there is no such thing as an innocent Predacon...”
~
“I don't think I need to explain why I called you here, Attache.”
“Another one of my former students has been arrested.”
“Three of them, actually. It was a Seeker Trine. From your very first class, if I'm not mistaken. Rumor has it that they've been active since graduation, too.”
“Ah. I understand...”
“Do you, Attache? You've been advocating Predacon Equality ever since your admission. This program has been your life's work and you've put yourself at great personal risk for it. I know you've been called a Predacon sympathizer more times than anyone can count, and I know how things look to the general public, but I also know you. All you want is for everyone to have an equal chance at education. There's nothing wrong with that, and you've given those kids more chances than any one of them thought they'd ever get. And you see how they've repaid you.”
“Which is why I am resigning. This is not their fault. All of my students... so few are willing to give them a chance, even among their own kind! They should have been great, influential members of their faction. They should have made a difference, should have given hope to their people for a better tomorrow. And instead, they are shunned for accepting Maximal aid. They know they deserve more than this. But it is the only option they have left.”
~
“Hey, Glasses! Word on da Axalon is dat yer th' CPU who's comin' 'long ta keep us gritty, manual-labor types from startin' wars.”
“While that may be the coarsest description of my position on the ship, my official title is Cultural Attache. However, if that is too much of a mouthful for you, I would prefer that you simply call me Professor.”
“Hyeah, whatever, Teach. Hey, ya wanna get drinks? First round's on me!”
~
Malfunction in life support system. Protoform Attache must be brought online or risk loss of spark. Initiate landing procedure and begin revival? Y/N...
...Y.
Beginning atmospheric reentry. All systems operating within acceptable parameters. Warning. Data corruption in long-term memory storage. Purged corrupted data? Y/N...
~
Inferno falls to the floor with a clatter, startled out of recharge. His optics flicker as he pushes himself up, looking around his quarters in confusion. Pillows have been strewn everywhere, some nailed to the walls and ceiling, and fluff and feathers are sprinkled over the floor. He's sprawled out in front of the door to the medbay and yet more pillows are tumbling from his closet. He's not entirely sure what happened, but somehow, it all seems very normal.
There's a sledgehammer lying next to him.
Oh, that's right. He was practicing using the hammer as a weapon and knocked himself out. Well, that explains the weird dreams.
He picks up the hammer as he stands up, eying a pillow dangling from a ceiling fan. Maybe if he got a running start off the couch, he could knock it down without bringing the ceiling down on top of him...
(( Inferno's “dreams” are just a little look into what he could have been before Tarantulas reprogrammed him. Their influence on him is minimal, at best, as they've been all but buried under Tarantulas' programming, Ant instinct, and corrupted data. And since the Axalon was originally an exploration, it makes sense that they would have a few scientists on board, right? And since the eggheads would only get in the way of the ship's crew during the flight, it's only logical that they stay safely tucked away in storage....))
“Hey Prof, times're tough all 'round. You know most Maximal artists are starving as it is, being Pred and an artist is practically beggin' for a slow death. Don't gimme wrong, I'm grateful for all you done for me, but the streets ain't like the Academy. Ain't no amount've good grades or effort gonna make people respect you there.”
“Is it really that bad?”
“No. It's worse.”
~
“......Police recently discovered that the Predacons for starting a fire in front of the Council building last week were graduates of the Maximal Academy Predacon Outreach Program, making them the fifth group of revolutionaries with specialized degrees. As the program goes into its ninth scholastic cycle, members of the public are calling for its termination, saying it's doing nothing more than producing educated criminals.”
“In other news, lawmakers are working on a proposition to cut back Predacon rations by thirty percent. While some politicians have decried this as cruel and unusual punishment of innocents, the vast majority are quick to point out that there is no such thing as an innocent Predacon...”
~
“I don't think I need to explain why I called you here, Attache.”
“Another one of my former students has been arrested.”
“Three of them, actually. It was a Seeker Trine. From your very first class, if I'm not mistaken. Rumor has it that they've been active since graduation, too.”
“Ah. I understand...”
“Do you, Attache? You've been advocating Predacon Equality ever since your admission. This program has been your life's work and you've put yourself at great personal risk for it. I know you've been called a Predacon sympathizer more times than anyone can count, and I know how things look to the general public, but I also know you. All you want is for everyone to have an equal chance at education. There's nothing wrong with that, and you've given those kids more chances than any one of them thought they'd ever get. And you see how they've repaid you.”
“Which is why I am resigning. This is not their fault. All of my students... so few are willing to give them a chance, even among their own kind! They should have been great, influential members of their faction. They should have made a difference, should have given hope to their people for a better tomorrow. And instead, they are shunned for accepting Maximal aid. They know they deserve more than this. But it is the only option they have left.”
~
“Hey, Glasses! Word on da Axalon is dat yer th' CPU who's comin' 'long ta keep us gritty, manual-labor types from startin' wars.”
“While that may be the coarsest description of my position on the ship, my official title is Cultural Attache. However, if that is too much of a mouthful for you, I would prefer that you simply call me Professor.”
“Hyeah, whatever, Teach. Hey, ya wanna get drinks? First round's on me!”
~
Malfunction in life support system. Protoform Attache must be brought online or risk loss of spark. Initiate landing procedure and begin revival? Y/N...
...Y.
Beginning atmospheric reentry. All systems operating within acceptable parameters. Warning. Data corruption in long-term memory storage. Purged corrupted data? Y/N...
~
Inferno falls to the floor with a clatter, startled out of recharge. His optics flicker as he pushes himself up, looking around his quarters in confusion. Pillows have been strewn everywhere, some nailed to the walls and ceiling, and fluff and feathers are sprinkled over the floor. He's sprawled out in front of the door to the medbay and yet more pillows are tumbling from his closet. He's not entirely sure what happened, but somehow, it all seems very normal.
There's a sledgehammer lying next to him.
Oh, that's right. He was practicing using the hammer as a weapon and knocked himself out. Well, that explains the weird dreams.
He picks up the hammer as he stands up, eying a pillow dangling from a ceiling fan. Maybe if he got a running start off the couch, he could knock it down without bringing the ceiling down on top of him...
(( Inferno's “dreams” are just a little look into what he could have been before Tarantulas reprogrammed him. Their influence on him is minimal, at best, as they've been all but buried under Tarantulas' programming, Ant instinct, and corrupted data. And since the Axalon was originally an exploration, it makes sense that they would have a few scientists on board, right? And since the eggheads would only get in the way of the ship's crew during the flight, it's only logical that they stay safely tucked away in storage....))