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Post by Perceptor on Mar 25, 2011 17:51:36 GMT -5
Well, Perceptor has been picking at him pretty steadily, too. The fact that Drift has made it this long without storming out or telling Perceptor to simply shut up? Actually speaks well of his patience.
"What do you feel that it would take to 'earn' those markings, then?" Perceptor asks as he picks up that almost-forgotten mini-cube that Drift had passed him before their tempers had flared at each other. He takes a long sip and utters a soft sound of appreciation as he feels the energy flood his systems, even in that small dose.
"And what will it take you to earn your place back there? When will you be satisfied?"
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Post by Drift on Mar 25, 2011 18:16:33 GMT -5
Patience or latent masochism? Hard to tell. And the whole brig barrier between them: don't forget to factor that in, Perceptor.
"Earn?" Drift's mouth twitches. "Want to know that Autobots won't...fall." Like he did. "You have ideals, you're supposed to stick to them." It's harder than it looks: he knows from experience.
Drift scrapes his feet along the decking. "Nothing," he answers to Perceptor's second question. "That place...isn't for me."
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 25, 2011 20:17:09 GMT -5
Perceptor turns a mildly sardonic glance down on Drift as he toys with his half-empty cube. "I thought you said that ideals could get one killed?" It's... partially teasing. It's also partially serious, feeling out Drift's boundaries, his own ideals and ethics.
"I..." he pauses, hesitant, because Drift's concerns are part of the friction that Perceptor regularly has with certain members, including members of Command. And he still has not sorted out what he would do if he were ever presented with the whole Cosmic Rust situation such as he'd dealt with back home if it were presented to him in the same manner again.
Could he kill Megatron, the entire Decepticon Command? Stand by and watch them die, even though he had the cure for them, because it would be more expedient? He... still isn't sure, and so shakes his head and shuts up for once.
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Post by Drift on Mar 25, 2011 20:39:49 GMT -5
"Stupid ideals get one killed," he corrects. "Misguided faith. Trusting what doesn't deserve to be trusted." He's referring to himself. If he'd been...other than he was, Wing would still be alive.
"But it's easy to get lost in the violence. Caught up, and forget why you're fighting, what vision you're aiming for, or even consider if they'd ever open the gate for you."
Time to hit back. "What do you see, at the end of the war? If it's all over...what's your goal? Can you even see it anymore?" What's your New Crystal City, Perceptor?
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 25, 2011 21:06:58 GMT -5
Misguided faith. "Who gets to determine what is misguided or not?" he muses, leaning a little to the side, his shoulder resting against the very jamb of the doorway itself. After all, even Perceptor is starting to doubt his actions back those decades ago in the Decepticon's undersea base. But did he make a mistake? Or is his very doubt a symptom of the slipping ideals that Drift is wary of?
He jerks a little, startled out of his introspection by Drift's question. "I see...." He pauses for a moment; he's been in this reality long enough now, that the so very brief, hectic burst of energy during his equally brief time upon Cybertron after Unicron and Galvatron had both been dispatched, seems almost like a dream now.
"I see... Cybertron, being rebuilt. An end to factions. A return of the arts and sciences. The academies and universities opened once again. Open forums for discourse and discussion about all things. Cooperation, rather than conflict. I see Cybertronians exploring the stars, rather than merely traveling amidst them."
What would it be like to see Crystal City rebuilt, and the great halls of science and engineering opened once again? A wistful sigh escapes him, and he murmurs very softly, almost as if he is ashamed to admit this aloud, "I see our foes living amongst us as equals. Not as conquered and conquerors, but as partners."
His New Crystal City is a pipe dream of half remembered bits of Golden Age lore.
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Post by Drift on Mar 25, 2011 21:30:40 GMT -5
"Misguided. When you put your faith in something...hollow. When you fall for pretty language, cling onto hope and demagogues." Which is why Drift will never understand the spazzflail reverence the Autobots have for Optimus Prime. And yes, 'demagogue' is a big word. Guess where he learned it?
He grunts. Perceptor's happy little fantasy land forgets one thing. "And what about those who aren't scientists?Or artists? What about those who have no chance, no future. No fuel, no safety?" He snorts. "No place in your pretty little world, huh." Not everyone lives in their cortex, Perceptor. Some mechs live in the body and can't forget its lessons.
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 25, 2011 21:36:34 GMT -5
Perceptor jerks as if slapped, and the look he bestows upon Drift is one of hurt. "You ask me for my vision, and then you mock me for it?"
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Post by Drift on Mar 25, 2011 21:39:13 GMT -5
Oh, no, Perceptor. You have no right to act all hurt now, after all the little digs and swipes you've taken at Drift. Can't take what you dish out?
Drift snorts, pushing to his feet. "Wasting my time, Autobot. Wasting my...," he sneers at himself, "hope." He casts the most derisive look he can manage over his shoulder. "Weak. Just like all your kind."
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 25, 2011 22:01:36 GMT -5
Therein lies the fundamental difference between them: Drift attacks, while Perceptor retreats... as long as he is the one under attack.
"I do not have all the answers, Drift," he snaps. "You asked for my vision. Not the perfect vision. Of course I am going to be biased. But you tell me? If I, in my bias, have not managed to find a position for every individual, a slot for every mechanism - which is not my right to begin with, but we shall ignore that for the nonce - where are the scientists and artists and musicians and anyone who is not a warrior, anyone who is, as you say, 'weak', in your vision?"
"And just what, exactly, is 'my kind'? An Autobot, whose symbol you yet wear? Or a non-warrior? Or is it merely someone who dares to disagree with you?"
"I do not judge you for having been a Decepticon, despite the Autobot fuel that I am certain must stain your hands. I would kindly thank you not to judge me for dreaming of a time and a place where I may perform the function I prefer, rather than the one I have been forced to adapt to here," he retorts coolly. He aches too much, body, mind, and soul, to deal with this right now.
"For one who speaks so longingly of second chances," he adds as he turns away, "you are certainly loathe to grant them."
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Post by Drift on Mar 25, 2011 22:14:22 GMT -5
Drift gives Perceptor a look of unutterable contempt. "Where are the warriors in your Nerd Haven, Perceptor?And where am I in your little fantasy?" He doesn't let Perceptor respond. "I'll tell you: Unsafe, unprotected, starving. Because no one's thinking about food, or safety, or survival." That stuff doesn't go away, ever. "Even...there, they had warriors. In among their science and art."
He jerks his chin. "You're an idiot who talks about not pushing away, while you push away. Thinking you're so smart, and I'm too dumb to figure it out." His lip curls. "Hypocrite."
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 25, 2011 22:39:24 GMT -5
"I. Do not. Have. The right. To say. Where you are," Perceptor bites out. "I do not have the answers. What more do you want from me?"
He just wants to be a scientist again. He wants to go back to inventing and learning and studying the wonders of the universe, and not having to worry about keeping everyone functional and in decent repair. He's tired of failing at being Ratchet all over again; he just wants to be Perceptor once more, and retreat to his laboratory where no one there tells him to shut up or cut to the chase or stop being so soft or develop this weapon or repair damage from that weapon or any of the other several dozen things that he has taken upon himself since arriving here.
"...what more is it that you want from me?" he asks softly. "I am not the one who you want me to be. I am not certain that I could ever be."
"I am not even certain that I can be who I wish me to be..."
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Post by Drift on Mar 25, 2011 22:55:52 GMT -5
"Nothing. I want nothing from you. I need nothing from you."
Drift's optics rake up and down Perceptor's frame.
"If you're an example of what Autobots are...?" He doesn't need to finish that sentence.
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 25, 2011 23:34:54 GMT -5
"Pathetic and weak," Perceptor replies, hunching in on himself. It's true; why deny it? "You've made that imminently clear already."
To think that he'd actually allowed himself to hope, even just a little, for... for understanding or friendship, or something from the mech who had sought him out... At this point, he'll be happy for mere tolerance. The irony of it all is that they both seem to want the same thing: acceptance, just for who and what they are.
"...go away, Drift," he begs miserably. He's tired of being yelled at today. He's just tired, and the energon in his tanks, what little there is, feels cold and curdled and thick, and he's... he's... he is...
...an idiot.
"You're right," he whispers. "I don't think about those things. Fuel. Safety. Basic needs." Not for himself, at least, and, apparently, not in the big picture, either. It's just too easy to hide in his lab, away from everyone and the bored sighs and the rolled optics and the exasperated gestures. Much easier not to reach.
"I am a hypocrite. I'm sorry."
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Post by Drift on Mar 26, 2011 7:34:12 GMT -5
Drift could handle--kind of--getting beaten by Wing. That, he understood. He couldn't, though, deal with this. He tried to snarl to himself that this was just further proof of weakness, that all these Autobots were weak and pathetic and stupid but...if there was one thing Perceptor wasn't, that he'd already proved, it was stupid.
And Perceptor's hunched posture made him think of himself, all those years ago, huddled in the gutters, shoulders rounded, defeated by things he couldn't even name or put a face to. Defeated by his own inner voice that told him he must be nothing, that otherwise he'd have something.
Someone's an idiot here.
"Someone has to think of those things," he says and the tone is trying--possibly failing--to be gentle. You don't have a soft voice after megacycles of yelling over artillery. "Guess that's why there are teams." Or something.
Frag. Drift gives up. He drops to the ground, drawing his Great Sword and laying it across his knees. "Get some rest, Perceptor." The brig's probably the last place someone needs someone to watch over them to make them feel safe, but it's the only thing he can think of.
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Post by Perceptor on Mar 26, 2011 17:08:26 GMT -5
Perceptor is jerked out of his fugue partly by Drift settling back in, that massive sword now lying across his lap, but also - and really more by - that softer tone, lacking even a real note of chiding. For a moment, just a moment, Perceptor almost observes aloud that Drift had eschewed the notion of teams, had denied that he had any place in them, had felt like an outsider...
But common sense reasserts itself just before Perceptor actually opens his mouth to speak. It's a proverbial olive branch, and Perceptor notes to himself that he really does need to just shut up sometimes.
Instead of inserting his foot back into his mouth, he nods, watching Drift for a moment, watching how Drift takes that guarding stance. Staying... to watch over him... and perhaps another 'Bot would feel insulted by the presence of the presumed "babysitter", but Perceptor merely feels grateful that he is being given another chance. And also, that Drift would bother to waste his time for such a boring, self-appointed task.
"All right. I... Thank you."
He is still slouched upright upon the bunk, braced between the wall at his back and the jamb of the doorway against his shoulder, when his systems begin cycling down.
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