Mistwind
Major
Licensed flight addict, deepsea diving fan, mech-pilot rookie - Accepts food and play for services.
Posts: 531
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Post by Mistwind on May 10, 2011 23:05:39 GMT -5
Month 2 - Week 4 - Day 7 - Open thread.
A lot of things had changed. In the tail of it, one mech had made himself scarce. Mistwind was playing the rosters, even, ensuring that he encountered as few mechs as possible on transport runs, and holed himself up in the cargo holds during the busier hours unless need dictated that he move out. He wasn't sulking. He was working. His workload hadn't increased during the change, so he created work to stuff every hour of the day with. Effectively, he might've just become another appendage of Ship. Perhaps, he hoped, they wouldn't notice him being around.
First Dustcutter and Duskwing (among others) had returned from the Autobot attack, beaten up and injured. Then Shockwave disappeared. Scourge took command. Starscream was now waiting in line. Lugnut…. had been deactivated. By Autobots…. All because of them…
With a hitch of his systems, Mistwind grips the bolt he had been polishing so strongly he would dent it were he not small and diminutive. Teeth grit and grind, hatred surging before ebbing away as quick as it had come up. It leaves him staring at the screw in puzzlement.
These bouts of anger. Another problem. One he had to start understanding -and eliminating- with high priority. Still, they didn't change the situation he found himself in. With Shockwave gone, top of command no longer governed with a clinical emotional void. With Scourge, it now governed towards conquest of the Whole. Arrogant, Emotional, Greedy.
Mistwind is unsure whether Starscream is all too different, but he's fair enough to reserve judgment. It does not matter anyway. The only logical response to the both of them was to stay out of sight. To work and toil in labor, and if labor ran out, manufacture it. To become as unobtrusive as the ventilation system, as indispensable as Ship's engines.
"What're you staring at…. Not doing a good enough job, eh?" He spits towards the pink plush toy slumped against a cabinet's leg, black empty buttons-for-eyes staring back, "…don't see you lifting a paw…", before brushing the next bolt furiously. It's already blinking more than it should. Mistwind, on the other hand, got covered in dust and grime from the dark days down here. His systems reminded him to go and clean himself. Later, he can always do so later. He'd finish polishing these five thousand seven hundred-and-ninety-four bolts, first. He had to. They didn't shine like the rest of the room's storage. They hadn't been polished for the fifth time yet. Logical.
Mistwind was going to make everything here so clean that not even Hoo- Hook. ………! With a hitched cry, he send the bolt flying across the room as if it had burned him. "Damn them!"
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Post by Assault/Arthur Aldrin on May 11, 2011 5:22:56 GMT -5
Assault was not exactly expecting to find an angsting child when he opened the door. He observed the child's frustration for a bit, until a bolt was send flying, breaking the silence with a surprisingly loud clang. An optic ridge quirks up before he steps forwards, planting both feet solidly onto the floor as he crosses his arms, looking down at the child with a disapproving look. "Mistwind. Do not let your anger control you, lest you end up a berserker such as Bonecrusher."
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Mistwind
Major
Licensed flight addict, deepsea diving fan, mech-pilot rookie - Accepts food and play for services.
Posts: 531
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Post by Mistwind on May 11, 2011 5:56:05 GMT -5
"Gyaah!" Mistwind startles, caught completely off guard. In retaliation to that same reaction (and due to fierce Decepticon genetics heritage) he glares at Assault and cries out, "But they're the cause of everything!!" before realising how he's addressing a Decepticon; "Gyaaaah!". Mistwind stumbles back in utter shock and horror, sinking to his knees post-haste.
"Sir! This one begs forgiveness for speaking unbalanced and without permission, Mister Assault Sir!" He whispers, shocked, as he bows, adding just more than frightened: "this one doesn't want to be like Bonecrusher...."
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Post by Assault/Arthur Aldrin on May 11, 2011 6:42:44 GMT -5
The yelp, he expected. What comes after, he did not. It is good to see that Mistwind is not the meek and at times cruel child that Assault thought he was. It is almost a shame that he is so quick to apologize. Then again, now he doesn't have to physically discipline Mistwind for turning his anger on the Seeker.
"Forgiveness granted, unit." He lowers his arms while tilting his head a bit to the side, carefully considering the small Decepticon in front of him. "Unit, state your age along with the number of skirmishes you have lived through and the number of allies that have died." Let's see if his hunch is correct.
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Mistwind
Major
Licensed flight addict, deepsea diving fan, mech-pilot rookie - Accepts food and play for services.
Posts: 531
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Post by Mistwind on May 11, 2011 6:44:21 GMT -5
The words are a strange reassurance that his transgression did not cross this Seeker's line in this case. All too well is Mistwind aware that had it been a different Decepticon he would've been on the receiving end of the brute force capacity of their warriors. Not that Assault is weak, far from it! Assault is able to act beyond first impulse.
Mistwind stays where he is, speaking in clear voice a honest and relieved, "Sir, thank you, Sir". Assault didn't say he could rise, so he does not. The next questions have Mistwind confused, and he retraces memories, he states his build date, not very old if you would compare to the majority, and to the rest he answers promptly, "Sir, this one fought in [zero] skirmishes and encountered [zero] deceased allied forces, Mister Assault Sir."
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Post by Assault/Arthur Aldrin on May 11, 2011 7:14:07 GMT -5
The meekness is not a bad thing. The obedience that Mistwind shows pleases him greatly and he realizes that, if honed right, the little Decepticon could grow to be a valuable soldier. Though he will have to eradicate any sense of ambition.
"I see." Ah, so it is what he expected. "Rise." The Seeker relaxes his stance a bit, but he still stands tall over Mistwind, those burning orange optics gazing down at him, analyzing, considering his next move.
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Mistwind
Major
Licensed flight addict, deepsea diving fan, mech-pilot rookie - Accepts food and play for services.
Posts: 531
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Post by Mistwind on May 11, 2011 7:24:49 GMT -5
Swift and instantly, Mistwind stands, hands at his side, opened, not clenched. He looks up at Assault, not to defy, but to keep alert should there be anything he's required to do.
He can keep standing here staring up without word really untill his systems run out of fuel.
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Post by Assault/Arthur Aldrin on May 11, 2011 7:33:14 GMT -5
Assault waits patiently until Mistwind stands perfectly straight. Then, he gives the child a look, gets an exact estimate of how tall he stands...
And then backhands Mistwind.
"Incorrect. You have experienced one."
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OOC: Slap done with player permission.
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Mistwind
Major
Licensed flight addict, deepsea diving fan, mech-pilot rookie - Accepts food and play for services.
Posts: 531
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Post by Mistwind on May 11, 2011 7:52:26 GMT -5
Mistwind's only move against the slap is the recoil from its physical force. He stumbles and falls to the ground, optics pulse while he pushes himself back up. Right at the spot he was standing just a moment before, Mistwind assumes the exact same pose as if Assault never slapped him.
He's silent for a moment, then frowns, and then realisation sinks in, "Sir, this one did not include unit Lugnut in the statistics, Mister Assault Sir. Is this... correct?"
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Post by Assault/Arthur Aldrin on May 11, 2011 12:21:11 GMT -5
Obedient and intelligent, capable of recognizing and learning from his mistakes. The temptation to reserve a slot in his agenda for cultivating this little street rat/diamond in the rough/ enthusiastic rivet cleaner.
"Exactly." Assault's tone is formal, strict, but if he was capable of controlling the intensity of his facial expressions, the young Decepticon would have gotten a smile. "You lack first hand experience with grief, do you not? And you have chosen to process it in this manner. You hide yourself away, cut off all contact with your comrades and allies and in a desperate attempt to not get overwhelmed by your conflicting thoughts and emotions, you have turned yourself on menial tasks. You have wrapped yourself tightly in a thick veil of self pity and allowed it to obstruct your vision."
"You are processing grief like an Autobot would."
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Mistwind
Major
Licensed flight addict, deepsea diving fan, mech-pilot rookie - Accepts food and play for services.
Posts: 531
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Post by Mistwind on May 12, 2011 4:32:33 GMT -5
Silently, Mistwind stares at Assault as he finishes his scolding. Scolds his low profile under low morale. Insults his duties that keep the ship running. Teases that his subroutines are Autobot-like. In. Ex. Cuse. Able.
While the stare becomes cold and icy, his lips speak cunningly neutral; "Sir, this unit will instead shirk its duties and come crying to you next time one of our mightiest warriors gets permanently deactivated, Mister Assault Sir."
Seamlessly adding: "Like a Decepticon would."
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Post by Assault/Arthur Aldrin on May 12, 2011 5:11:12 GMT -5
Ah, so Mistwind does have a spine, even if he is still showing a bit of submission. A shame that he misses the point entirely and actually has the guts to snark at Assault.
Big.
Mistake.
A flicker of anger burns in his optics before he levels an arm cannon on the child, the weapon coming to life with a dangerous humming. But no blast comes. Yet.
"I advise you to watch your tone, unit. My experience vastly outweighs yours, on such a scale that if you were to be exposed to it, it would cripple your fragile young mind. So do not speak to me in such a way when I am generous enough to grant you knowledge."
"Now, should you ever come to me because you are deeply upset over the loss of a comrade, you will tarnish all Decepticons for such a pathetic emotional display while wearing that brand. Make no mistake, that is a crime that deserves a capital punishment and I will not hesitate to strike you down where you stand. Do I make myself clear?"
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Mistwind
Major
Licensed flight addict, deepsea diving fan, mech-pilot rookie - Accepts food and play for services.
Posts: 531
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Post by Mistwind on May 12, 2011 7:07:30 GMT -5
If he could, Mistwind would soil himself. Staring into the wrong end of a Decepticon's gun really should make you do that.
Instead, he trembles, shuts his optics and sends his last goodbyes, waiting for the inevitable…
That isn't happening.
Assault is talking to him. Lighting one visual sensor, Mistwind listens, abhorred, shaken, threatened. Scared. He doesn't know how fast to acknowledge a meek "Sir, very clear, Sir!" before his systems clamp down in an all-attention-all-submission state of alert.
Spine? What is that?
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Post by Assault/Arthur Aldrin on May 12, 2011 7:30:48 GMT -5
Good. Hopefully this will remind Mistwind of his place in the hierarchy. Assault nods approvingly and the humming dies down as he crosses his arms, though that stern look in his optics is still there. "Good. At ease, soldier."
"Now, allow me to enlighten you. I do not deny that losing an ally can be a tremendous blow. But you must not let it weaken your resolve, oh no! Instead, let it strengthen it, let it serve as a motivator. Turn your compulsive obsession not on cleaning duties, but instead on honing your skills and the missions that you take part in. But, most importantly, let every single loss you suffer be a reminder of why we fight the Autobots and do not rest until for every fallen brother, there is an Autobot wreck. An optic for an optic, as they say!"
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Duskwing
Major
"What the slag happened?"
Posts: 848
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Post by Duskwing on May 12, 2011 11:12:57 GMT -5
Distant jets thunder, growing steadily louder, followed by heavy metal footsteps clanging violent against the deck just outside the hold. The cargo door slides open, shuddering violently as someone impatiently shoves it open faster than its motors pull.
Duskwing steps through, one arm-gun raised and glowing, pointing straight at Assault. His narrowed optics glow like angry rubies and his face is twisted with rage. "FREEZE, you half-clocked, megaglitched fraghead! Step away from my partner 'less you wanna be a head shorter, NOW!"
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