|
Post by Perceptor on Apr 5, 2009 2:04:49 GMT -5
Perceptor holds his peace until Springer has slipped away, merely nodding a polite farewell to the triple-changer before allowing his expression to shutter closed as he turns to face Swerve again.
"I was not aware," he replies stiffly and with great deliberateness, "that I was required to ask about such a subject."
Perceptor is... hurt. Angry and hurt and frustrated, and Swerve... has pushed his buttons.
"I have 'never asked' Rodimus Prime about the depth of his repair ability, either. Nor Botanica's. Nor First Aid's, nor anyone else who possesses even a modicum of repair or engineering ability. They have all been willing to volunteer that information so that we may all make the best use of our limited resources and skills."
"The repairs which you performed after our battle at the energy transmission plant led me to suspect that you were concealing a significant amount of skill, however, I could not intuit with any certainty precisely how much skill you possessed at that time. I had assumed that an honorable mechanism would have come forth with such a pertinent admission shortly thereafter, rather than continuing such deceptive behavior. I see what my trust has resulted in."
And he's not happy with what he sees. Nor is he trying to conceal that fact.
|
|
|
Post by Swerve on Apr 5, 2009 12:36:30 GMT -5
Swerve is willing to shrug off Perceptor's rambling in spite of how it grates on him and starts his ventilation to spinning up again. Anyone else might admit it, but he isn't anyone else; he's Swerve. But that admission of suspicion sets the racer on edge. The suggestion that he was hiding anything sets a spark to the rage and nudges his temperature higher.
And then Perceptor calls him deceptive. A liar.
"Frag you!" Swerve roars, snapping from quietly simmering to frothing mad in that instant. "I never hid anything! And I never lied! You smelting' think you can treat me like some smoke-blowing liar just because I don't share?!" He starts toward Perceptor with fists tightly clenched, then stops, then turns as if to leave, then rounds back on one heel. He can't even see straight, but he points an accusatory finger at the scientist. "I ain't a fraggin' matter of record!" he spits furiously. "And I sure ain't any of your slaggin' business!" He nearly grabs a table to pull it apart and throw it; he stops only because he's starting to shake and warnings frantically bleat at him. He spins again, this time storming for the exit. "Take a long drive off a short overpass and rust in the Pit!" he snarls over his shoulder on his way out.
OOC: Gone.
|
|
|
Post by Perceptor on Apr 5, 2009 13:13:08 GMT -5
Perceptor should be afraid when that sudden rage erupts and he finds himself the recipient of the full brunt of Swerve's ire. He can see the way the racer's body thrums with the tension of holding himself in check, of restraining his own violence, and any sane mechanism should be wary of those self-imposed bonds simply...
Failing.
Somehow, however, he manages to hold his ground, curbing the reflex to even so much as shift back a pace when Swerve turns back, stabbing one finger at him with fury. Methinks he doth protest too much, runs inanely through Perceptor's processor as Swerve curses him and storms off, ending the discussion abruptly.
"I cannot drive, Swerve," he intones softly to the empty room. "I lack the appropriate alternate mode. And a lie by ommission... is still a lie."
Except... Perceptor doesn't feel vindicated. Not in the least. He doesn't even feel validated. He just feels... hurt. Disappointed.
Sad.
He has never before driven anyone, especially a fellow Autobot, to true rage. Irritation? Yes, and often. Anger? Certainly, and especially upon the battlefield. But Rage? Never, and the image of that sudden transition from sullen resentment to true fury keeps playing itself through his processor, nagging him. After a few moments, the nagging finally settles into coherent observation.
Not just sullen resentment, but suspicion as well. Suspicion of... him? Given Swerve's anti-social tendencies, it is more likely suspicion of everyone, which is at least a little comforti--
Suspicion of everyone. Distrust. He has allowed himself to lash out at one who has not yet offered his trust.
"Oh... oh, no," Perceptor moans miserably, slumping back against the repair berth behind him. "I... I have made a terrible mistake." How? How could he have been so... so stupid?
He needs to warn Rodimus. Warn, and confess. And perhaps go hide in his own little hole until he can trust himself not to be so foolish again, before he hurts anyone else.
ooc: exit, stage gone. End thread.
|
|