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Post by Rodimus Prime-3 on Jul 11, 2008 23:03:55 GMT -5
Rodimus sighs, giving the impression of long-suffering patience. "Swerve, I can do anything, and the sooner you and the rest of the universe figure that out, the better off you'll be." As he speaks, he strides confidently towards Swerve and catches the other up in his free arm, once more wrapping his arm around the ex-racer.
He looks down at Swerve, now so very close, and says softly, "My potential is limitless, Swerve. What I can't accomplish today, I can do tomorrow, or tomorrow's tomorrow, or tomorrow's tomorrow's tomorrow."
"But ensuring you have your proper drink? That's perfectly doable today." With that, his arm, already wrapped around Swerve, reaches for his mouth and the Prime forcefully pries the Constable's mouth open. Once it's open, the cube is be brought nearer, and he begins to pour the energon into Swerve's mouth.
OOC: All manhandling of Swerve-3 done with player permission.
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Swerve-3
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Post by Swerve-3 on Jul 12, 2008 11:53:24 GMT -5
Swerve shakes his head in denial again, backing away frantically as the Prime advances, trying to keep space between them; he's angry enough already, fans keening madly to circulate more air and cool his overtaxed systems. He doesn't know if he can maintain control should he be caught again. The thought that he can't is nearly as terrifying as the mech bearing down on him, piercing red gaze searing itself anew in his visual buffers.
"You – you deluded monst–!" His voice cracks, cut through with static, and he chokes back a panicked cry when the Prime reaches for him. He tries throwing himself clear; orange fingers catch at his shoulder, though, clamp down tightly around his arm and hold fast. He digs in his heels and fights to break away, straining, failing miserably. Rodimus always was too strong, and as he drags Swerve back, wrapping an arm around him, the constable screams – pain and rage surging up all at once, anger overwhelming his control in that instant of contact.
Swerve snaps. He curses, Velocitronian pouring thick and fast from his vocorder; he kicks and thrashes to his limit in the Prime's hold, aiming to drive his feet into one red knee. It might not bring down the Prime, but Swerve doesn't care. He just wants to hurt the other Autobot however he can, as much as he can.
"I'm not drinking that slop!" he snarls, voice full of venom and loathing, gaze far too bright, while he twists his head away from the Prime's hand, tries to bite down on those intrusive fingertips even as one jaw hinge wrenches out of line, warping. The energon burns enticingly in his mouth. It's sweet. It's the most vile thing he's ever tasted and he chokes on the stuff that makes it down before he stops himself from reflexively gulping any more. Overflow spills down his chin, his chest, the Prime's hand, and Swerve fixes a murderous glare on his captor, optics narrowed to slits of amber fire, a snarl grinding from his engine.
Just because it's there doesn't mean he'll swallow. He doesn't want the drink and he doesn't need the fuel that much. Prime can't make him drink it.
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Post by Rodimus Prime-3 on Jul 12, 2008 17:21:05 GMT -5
Swerve's foot kicks firmly into Rodimus's knee, eliciting a wince and a grimace in pain. The grimace turns into a snarl, and Rodimus's hand clenches tighter, more painfully on Swerve's chin, but otherwise he manages no reaction.
As the energon begins dribbling down Swerve's chin, Rodimus shrugs the shoulder of the arm holding the cube. "So be it. If you won't drink it, you won't drink it. But that doesn't mean you won't consume it."
The Prime is already standing close. One leg, the leg Swerve's been kicking, moves forward and behinds Swerve's legs, and Rodimus sweeps the leg towards himself as he releases the constable's chin and instead works to catch the other as the Velocitronian falls. Then he lowers Swerve to the rooftop with a surprising gentleness, laying him on his side and holding him down firmly with one hand.
Once the ex-racer is down, the Prime kneels next to him. His expression is, perhaps oddly, not angry, not mocking, nor sneering. Instead it is intent. Thoughtful. Considering. He sets the energon cube next to him, carefully out of the way of kicks and thrashes, and with his now-freed hand pries open Swerve's alternate-mode intake, which, in Swerve's case, rests on the outer side of his left leg, near the knee. Once that's been opened - and it's possible that damage is done in the forcing, but the Prime is being as gentle as he can, his touch as smooth and sure and professional as any repair technician's - Rodimus picks up the energon cube once more.
"You really should have just drunk the energon, Swerve," he says before starting to pour it in.
OOC: All manhandling of Swerve done with player permission.
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Swerve-3
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Post by Swerve-3 on Jul 12, 2008 19:38:25 GMT -5
The instant Rodimus lets go of his chin, Swerve spits out his mouthful, aiming for the Prime's face. It misses as he topples backwards instead and he snarls, twisting and writhing and kicking in a frenzied effort to get away again. All it gets him are scrapes and gouges in his plating, bands of red paint left on the rooftop by all his futile thrashing until he's pinned down. He still tries, but there's no leverage like this.
Then there's a sharp pain near his knee – latches being peeled open. Intake.
"No!" Swerve howls, furious. He can't get free and that garbage is being fed into his systems. "You – you torqueless, underclocked gear-cracked pile of smelter slag! Stop it! Stop it NOW!"
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Post by Rodimus Prime-3 on Jul 12, 2008 20:38:17 GMT -5
Rodimus gives another long-suffering sigh, as though he were a kindly benefactor whose attempts to help have been repeatedly slapped aside. "Swerve, you are a fool, although I suppose I should be pleased that you're so enjoying your stay that you'll hinder any chance of escape by turning down a refueling when you have the opportunity."
The Prime continues to pour the energon into Swerve's alternate-mode intake, and will do so until the cube is emptied. Of course, the cube was not completely full when he started, and a fair amount has been spilled in Rodimus's attempt to feed the constable by mouth.
"Come now, it's no worse than anything any of the others are drinking. And might be better than some." He chuckles. "I'm not sure. I didn't test it."
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Swerve-3
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Post by Swerve-3 on Jul 15, 2008 21:31:54 GMT -5
"Like I'll trust whatever sludge you hand me," growls Swerve, glowering at the Prime with laser-bright pinpricks of yellow behind bronze. Cutting off his fuel pump out of spite crosses his mind, but in all his rage and in the flurry of signals running through his systems, the command gets hung up in the queue. Low on fuel already and drained by his struggles of what little reserve he'd mustered, Swerve finds himself unwillingly, hungrily tapping this fill-up. He roars, engine screaming, in protest, and he twists his upper body in an effort to make the leverage he can't find so he can kick the Prime right in that smirking face.
Slowly, though, as the energon makes its way bit by meticulously meted out bit from tank to filters to pump and into his systems, his struggles die down and he grows still – not for any lack of energy, but an overwhelming lack of drive. The misplaced sense of complacency would be alarming if Swerve could make himself care about it. Additives in the fuel. He knew it. But with every second, he drifts deeper and deeper into a warm haze of… contentment? Yes, that's exactly what it is. He has fuel now, he isn't dead yet, the Prime doesn't have Emirate Xaaron back – he surely would've rubbed that in the constable's face right along with everything else already if he did – and he feels so much calmer now.
Those narrow points of light in his optics dilate and dim, and the tightness in his facial seams eases, and gradually, he relaxes. Something tells him he should be afraid, but it's a very small, quiet, muffled thing lost somewhere in the feverish giddiness, so he quietly stares at the texture of the rooftop.
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Post by Rodimus Prime-3 on Jul 15, 2008 22:47:36 GMT -5
Swerve's foot connects with the Prime's face with a "clang," but it doesn't seem to bother him. He finishes pouring in all but a small bit of the energon in the cube, and then finishes off the last bit himself.
He narrows his optics as Swerve seems to relax... in fact, he looks faintly happy? That wasn't in the plans! Rodimus glowers, then grabs the back of Swerve's 'backpack' and snatches him upright, forcing him again to look out over the ruins of the Autobase.
"Enjoying yourself?" he growls out.
OOC: Manhandling done with permission.
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Swerve-3
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Post by Swerve-3 on Jul 18, 2008 14:40:32 GMT -5
Swerve winces and yelps as he's dragged up, connecting struts and support bolts in his back pulling under his own weight and the Prime's grip. If his captor looks, he'll see the slightest of upward tilts at the corners of Swerve's mouth. Just barely enough to call a smile.
"Well… no, I'm not really," he answers honestly, voice low and faint, choked. He wants to be angry when he sees the ruins again. Angry, or horrified, or despairing, something other than simply relieved that he can't see any bodies – at least not from here – but that's all he has. He has no idea just how badly the other Autobots have suffered or where they are or who's hurt, and part of him is worried, but…. "But thank you for asking," he adds.
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Post by Rodimus Prime-3 on Jul 19, 2008 18:15:54 GMT -5
If Rodimus were in a cartoon, viewers would be treated to the sight of a little miniature thunderstorm of frustration brewing over his head. Alas, alack, Rodimus is a Marvel, and thus we are denied our rightful thunderstorm as the Prime realizes that the very drink he gave Swerve to torment him has now moved Swerve beyond torment. What's more, Rodimus can't destroy Swerve in his frustration, because destroying Swerve's body now will deny Rodimus the chance to destroy his spirit later, and, while Rodimus has never been one for delayed gratification, the payout for waiting is so much better than the payout for venting that even the Warchilde finds it in him to hold off.
"Fine!" he snarls angrily, a petulant child denied his play. "Then you may as well retire for the night, right?"
He roughly grabs the constable and leaps from the roof, retracing his path towards the make-shift cell. On the final leap, just before he hits the ground, he throws Swerve down roughly - roughly enough to hurt, perhaps roughly enough to do damage, but the damage shouldn't be serious. He lands heavily at nearly the same moment and straightens, towering over his captive.
"Don't think this is over, Swerve."
OOC: Manhandling, permission, etc etc.
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Swerve-3
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Post by Swerve-3 on Jul 22, 2008 2:18:40 GMT -5
Going back to his cell wouldn't be so bad, Swerve decides after mulling it over. He won't have to look at the decimation any longer, for one, or hang around the Prime. He might be able to cool down, too. That'd be nice.
"If you don't mind," he answers, only afterwards, with the Prime carrying him earthward, realising that maybe the question was rhetorical.
He hits the ground hard, landing on his bonnet and skidding until one side mirror catches on a gouge in the pavement and he's flipped onto his front. It's all noisy, a few dull sparks fly, he loses a little more paint – silver along with red, one wide scrape marring his Autobrand across an eye and down one cheek – and it hurts. Rather like getting punched in the ventral plate. He stirs, a bit limply, not getting much of anywhere.
"Of course it isn't," he groans. He can't help himself; the words just come out, thin with pain and stiff with the annoyance that seeps through his additive buzz, hinting at the anger he knows he should be feeling. "You're just going to keep picking and prodding… poking… pushing… like it'll get you what you want." The constable tries pushing himself upright and fails, only managing to turn onto one side. He fixes his flickering stare on the Prime and adds almost conversationally, "It won't, you know."
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Post by Rodimus Prime-3 on Jul 22, 2008 12:02:02 GMT -5
"Just like it didn't with Mirage?" Rodimus hisses, hauling Swerve up roughly once more before dragging him back to his cell. Then the Prime grins at the memory of that moment, the echo of those screams. Even if his torments now have been interrupted, he still has that. He looks down at Swerve, the smile on his face almost... fond. "Oh, yes. It didn't work quite spectacularly then, didn't it?"
The Prime opens the door and pushes the constable roughly into place. "We shall see, won't we? But you have in you a fury that's most... magnificent. And sooner or later, I will see it freed."
And with that, the door is shut and locked once more as the Prime heads off; there are other things to tend to.
OOC: Manhandling, permission, etc etc. Also, out of thread.
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Swerve-3
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Post by Swerve-3 on Jul 23, 2008 21:19:44 GMT -5
That little, muted part of Swerve that keeps telling him he should be afraid is louder than ever, because the Prime is right and knows it. As hard as the constable fights for control, he'd lost it; that monster the Prime wants slipped loose its fetters and Swerve had done terrible things. Horrifying things.
He can't make himself forget the things he did, either. Much as he wants to, he can't wipe the memories from his mind; they linger, never quite fading enough for him to not find himself mulling them over again in idle moments – moments of which he has many while he sits in his cell. Worse yet is that he's caught himself smiling at them, and more than once. It's a good thing the Prime didn't walk in on him then.
One more thing to be happy about even as he's being stuffed back into his cell. His only company will be those memories, but it might not be so bad. After all, the Prime doesn't know how he's been reflecting on them.
"You won't if I can help it," Swerve declares as the door shuts. He feels better for saying it even if he's the only one who hears it.
OOC: And I believe that's a wrap.
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