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Post by Drift on Mar 23, 2011 20:27:34 GMT -5
"You don't seem...happy to be needed." He's no master at reading body language himself, but the slump is a bit familiar.
He shrugs. "Risky's fine. No one else gets hurt if I frag up." No one will have to feel the pain of losing him.
"It...wasn't a promise, really. Fixing something I did wrong in the past." Trying to make up to Wing for the mission he'd ruined. Trying to make up to...the Universe for his life.
And then he'd ended up here. Was this...an answer?
"The rebuild...." His voice trails off, his optics dropping to stare at his armored legs.
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 23, 2011 20:29:53 GMT -5
"A second chance?" Perceptor guesses, remembering Drift's earlier words and echoing them back.
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Post by Drift on Mar 23, 2011 20:32:47 GMT -5
"Sometimes they come too late," Drift says, quietly. "And sometimes...it's never enough."
How could you repay for destroying an entire city's safety? How do you apologize for ruining their way of life? How do you ever, ever make up for betrayal.
His fingers drift idly to the Great Sword's hilt, an obvious gesture, seeking comfort.
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 23, 2011 20:40:26 GMT -5
Perceptor knows a little of that anguish, if only a little. He condemned both factions to continuing their war, after all, when he'd had the singular power to end it not once, but twice.
"What would you change, if you could return and alter anything? Do you think it would make any difference at all?" he asks softly, distantly, drooping under the weight of his own doubts.
These are not questions to unleash upon a friend just barely met, though, and Perceptor very much doubts that Drift is at all interested in enabling the scientist's self-pitying wallowing. He coughs, straightens a little, and flicks a little dismissive gesture, waving the questions away as rhetorical.
"Swords," he observes instead, thinking that he is changing the subject to a more pleasant one. "Not a common choice for armament. How did you come to their use?"
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Post by Drift on Mar 23, 2011 20:51:28 GMT -5
The answer that springs to mind is immediate and strikes Drift with such force that he flinches. He'd never betray New Crystal City. So much would change from there. Wing, still alive. The city--what he'd always wanted--still safe.
But he doesn't want to admit to Perceptor his crime. Because to him it is a crime. Borderline genocide. That's what he'd agreed to with Braid. There was no way to make that less ugly than it was.
"It would change...everything."
He's so wrapped up in the weight of his own despair that he drops his guard, simply retreating into something safe: weapons.
"I learned them...where I was."
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 23, 2011 20:56:26 GMT -5
Everything. Yes, it would change everything. Perceptor nods, his gaze perhaps meeting Drift's for a moment of perfect resonance, if Drift has not looked away. But that simpatico, acknowledged or not, is too much for him, even that small moment, and he jerks his attention back down to his hands where they cup around that small, fist-sized cube.
"I am making you uncomfortable." It's not a question. "I am sorry, Drift." He should learn to shut up. It's what everyone would really prefer.
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Post by Drift on Mar 23, 2011 20:59:29 GMT -5
Drift shrugs, forcing a smile. It's not convincing in the least, unless Perceptor's VERY easily fooled, but it's the thought, as they say, that counts.
"Don't need to apologize," he says. "It's not the mirror's fault if the reflection's ugly."
Wow. He...spent too long with Wing.
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 23, 2011 21:06:06 GMT -5
A quick, furtive glance; Perceptor notes the attempt at the smile, and his gaze is drawn back up so that he may attempt to return it. His success is only marginally better, but, again, it is the thought that counts, yes?
The smile fades quickly enough, though. "Ugly? I do not understand your meaning," he replies, shaking his head. He holds up one hand and begins to tick his points off one finger at a time. "By your own admission, you took upon yourself a task begun by another, because it was the right thing to do. Alone, you sought the rescue of Autobots unknown to you. You risked your own safety and function for one whose functional state you were not certain of. And if you mean to indicate pure physical aesthetics? I am afraid that your own form defies your assertion."
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Post by Drift on Mar 23, 2011 21:23:03 GMT -5
"It's nothing," Drift says. And he means it. "Compared to what I've done...." He shakes his head. "Sometimes I don't think I'll ever be able to make up for ....what I've done." A whole city, endangered. And all the Autobots he's killed. No wonder they keep their distance--it's like they can smell it on him.
He twitches at Perceptor's strange compliment, his mouth shifting, restless. "Not really...anything I had any control over."
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 23, 2011 21:37:06 GMT -5
Perceptor watches Drift as the white mech speak, one fingertip back to absently tracing abstract patterns into the energon resting upon his leg.
"More than a second chance, then, you seek a balancing of the scales?" Less a question than an observation, but a hint of inquiry, nonetheless. He looks away, attention swinging down to watch his fingertip, though he focuses too deeply to actually see that.
"It's a difficult path to take. One might even say dangerous. After all, from within, how can one see the scale, much less observe it's state? It is too easy to say, 'no, this is not enough. More still,' and keep pushing, long beyond any sane expectation of reparations."
He flicks a sidelong glance at Drift, trying not to put the other mech on the spot too much, though his question certainly will. "Will you share your burden with me? Tell me what it is that you have done that drives you so relentlessly?"
He's not expecting a positive response. Although, Drift is here, rather than hiding out somewhere alone, despite not really knowing Perceptor. Perhaps he can hope?
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Post by Drift on Mar 24, 2011 6:05:23 GMT -5
"Same difference." Drift wasn't a philosopher. All he knew was that he had done unimaginable wrong, compounding selfishness upon arrogance. And he had to do something to atone for, if not erase, his past. And he'd always pushed himself hard--too hard, harder than Decepticon protocols required.
Which had started the whole thing.... Because they weren't pushing hard enough. Turmoil was holding back.
He pushes to his feet, optics darkening. He's mostly mad at himself, but...there's plenty to go around.
"What I've done." He throws the cube he's been toying with at the barrier between them. He's not ready to tell anyone all of it. It's crushing him: no one else should have to bear the weight. "I'll give you one thing: I got the only mech who ever saw anything good in me killed."
A confession and a warning.
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 24, 2011 11:08:04 GMT -5
Perceptor is too tired, both body and spirit, to flinch at Drift's show of temper. Besides, the barrier that locks him in, also locks Drift out, and Drift cannot possibly know the codes to bring it down. It makes Perceptor, perhaps, a bit more reckless than he would be otherwise.
Which is what had landed him in the cell to begin with, ironically enough.
"You think that you are the only one?" he asks mildly as he meets that darkened glare with his own steady stare. "You think to own the patent on failure and pain?" Perceptor snorts, shaking his head at the folly of it all as he turns his gaze pensively down at his own cube.
"I am responsible for my Prime's death as surely as if I'd fired the cannon, myself. Tell me, Drift... have you ever had the opportunity in your hands to utterly and completely end the war once and for all?"
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Post by Drift on Mar 24, 2011 11:48:47 GMT -5
Drift isn't ready for that. It's too much. He's at that stage where he wants to, needs to, clutch his pain around him, as though it were the only thing holding him together. He doesn't want to be told it's not special, that he's not alone. He wants to be alone.
He slams a palm against the barrier. "No one death matters in all of this. Not Megatron, not Optimus Prime. It's gone on too long, gotten too big. Too many grudges." Like...oh...Turmoil. He gives a black laugh. "By now the war's a sentient creature, Perceptor. And no one is big enough to slay it." Arrogant to even think so, he adds, silently.
He counters: "And have you ever dragged an entire city of innocents into a war?"
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 24, 2011 12:12:49 GMT -5
"Every death matters," Perceptor refutes. "Every death carries us further from who we should be. Dooms our race more and more, regardless of what reality one comes from. Why else would you care to 'detour' for a broken husk, unless you were thinking, instead, to throw your own life away? I do not think that is the case."
He sets the cube aside and rises to face Drift at the barrier, face inches from the solidified energy. His voice is cool and hard, like the flat of one of Drift's own swords. "I have not, as you say, dragged an entire city of innocents into the war. I am, however, complicit in keeping an entire planet of innocents in the war, not to mention Cybertron."
"You lie to yourself, you realize," he continues, his voice softening. "You say that no one death matters, but obviously, one did. You said as much yourself. The only mech you claim that ever saw good within you, died, and you blame yourself. You seek redemption, seek another chance. Would you, if it were not for that death? And, truly, if no one is 'big enough', then why do you still bother? Why not simply hide yourself away and give up?"
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Post by Drift on Mar 24, 2011 12:35:54 GMT -5
He's heard that before. In fact, he said just about the same thing, to Turmoil. The Decepticons, Autobots--both had fallen from their ideals. Unrecognizable against what they had been at the beginning.
"No," he insists. "Every life matters." It's about as close to metaphysics as Drift gets.
"Fine," he snaps. Gracious in defeat as ever. "You want to win this one? You win. Happy now?"
Stupid thing to be fighting over, anyway. And he's pretty sure he could win the game overall. After all, he sincerely doubts Perceptor was responsible for killing as many Autobots as Deadlock.
He flinches, as though Perceptor had slapped him across the face with a shock rod. Getting punched by Dai Atlas had hurt less. Partly because...he'd deserved it.
And you deserve this, Drift. Every lick of pain. Every moment you have alive, thinking and feeling and doing, is another moment more than Wing had. "He didn't die. I killed him." As sure as if he'd shattered the spark chamber itself. Take that with your sympathy, Perceptor.
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