|
Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on May 8, 2011 19:08:24 GMT -5
OOC: Month 2, Week 3, Day 3. Private thread. Warning for cannibalism and the associated gore.
It had been another productive day of filling in reports, reviewing collected data, getting his wits scared away by one ‘Con or another and successfully avoiding mortal danger. Other than that, it wasn’t a significantly peculiar day in any manner of speaking. Even for someone who didn’t believe in an average day, there wasn’t really another description that would really have befit it.
Looking on as the rock watch’s previous occupants exited the room, the black bike quietly settles in a chair, legs neatly crossed and a datapad in hand. His partner for the shift hadn’t shown up yet, but he didn’t terribly mind; it was a few moments of quiet he could enjoy and technically, they weren’t late as of yet.
A fact that wasn’t so true half a dozen minutes later. Looking up from a study on comparative study between Vector Sigma and a custom programmed mech, Phobia frowns slightly. He glances around the still empty room and then at the door. He then rechecks the duty roster to ensure the presence of a second mech’s name hadn’t been a momentary hallucination. A few more minutes later, the willowy bike begins to fret, idly fussing over the a dent in edge of his datapad.
Finally, finally, a full thirteen minutes after the start of the shift, the presence of another mech fuzzes at the very edges of his sensors...
Except it wasn’t the person listed on the roster.
Phobia clutches the datapad hard enough to make the metal squeal, visor over-bright with terror.
|
|
|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on May 9, 2011 13:50:06 GMT -5
Rampage has been planning this. He's been purposely avoiding Phobia as much as possible for weeks leading up to this, trying to stay outside what he suspects to be the bike's empathic range, just to try and build the suspense. And now, with a simple arrangement to swap shifts with a shipmate and he finally has Phobia in a position that the bike can't easily wriggle out of.
Just the two of them, alone together for an entire shift.
And he couldn't be in a worse mood for it. Over the past several days he's been feeling progressively more... drained. Tired. And hungry. He's certain that his energon rations haven't gotten any smaller, but surely someone must be tampering with them, watering them down so to speak. He's not sure how, but he hasn't noticed anyone else showing particular fatigue, and while 'Cons may be adept at hiding physical weakness, he at least would be able to taste the weariness on them.
It's frustrating to feel increasingly weakened while all those around him remain strong, especially when he already has to deal with a disadvantage of size, and he buries his own feelings of weakness behind a building layer of irritability.
So all-in-all, no, he is not in a good mood to continue the strange game he's started with Phobia. However, he's not going to give up the opportunity just because he's feeling inexplicably a bit under the weather, and as he enters the rock room to begin his shift, he draws resolve - and no small amount of pleasure - from the terror that's already wafting off the bike.
"Hello Phobia," he greets. "What a pleasant surprise."
|
|
|
Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on May 10, 2011 20:49:23 GMT -5
“R-Rampage,” the bike manages to force after a moment, fake polite smile forcibly nailed on to his face. Lost as he was in his fright, he doesn’t immediately notice Rampage’s fatigue. “I... can’t say I was expecting you.” This couldn’t possibly be happening. Surely the Predacon was just stopping by and his shift partner would be showing up any moment now.
Oh Sigma, don’t let this be happening.
Glancing quickly at the door, the the bike quietly dares to squeak, “Ch-chaa-change in the duty roster?” He could still get away. The bike tenses, waiting for that opportune moment to duck out the door. Rampage was a small mech, and for all that his presence seemed to fill up the room, he didn’t actually fill up a lot of the door. It was enough space for a panicky little bike to slip through and go hide for the rest of the shift...
… after which he was likely going to be taken aside and questioned about his very conspicuous and sudden exit. And if his superiors were very sadistic mechs, they’d just drag him in and give him another shift with Rampage as punishment. Phobia’s fingers crack the datapad screen.
|
|
|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on May 12, 2011 14:29:45 GMT -5
He should really make idle chatter, perhaps play innocent and pretend this encounter is as much of a surprise for him as it is for Phobia, but he doesn't really feel like it at the moment. Putting on an act of false cheer would take far more effort than he's willing to expend at the moment. Not even Phobia's fear is enough to lift his mood.
Instead, he snipes, "Oh no, I just positively adore this duty so much that I come here even when I'm off shift."
If only Rampage could literally feed on terror, then he'd be feeling a lot better now than he has in days. Unfortunately, that's not the case, and while he holds himself steady as he saunters from the doorway to a seat that's relatively his size, he can't help but slumping slightly as he sits. The horns decorating his head keep threatening to droop, but he forces them up as he leers at Phobia, his optics settling first on the cracking datapad then rising to the bike's face.
"So frightened," Rampage muses, settling heavily in his chair, crab-legs curled out of the way. "And I haven't even done anything!" There's a silent 'yet' here. "I don't know if I should feel insulted or flattered."
|
|
|
Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on May 13, 2011 17:22:23 GMT -5
Slowly, stiffly, the bike eases himself further back onto his chair, wedging his wheels against the wall as best as he could and trying to calm himself. Relaxation techniques would really work better if Phobia had a happy place, come to think of it. All he could really do was cling to the chair as he listened to Rampage talk and move, sight set firmly on the rocks.
“There are very few who don’t induce that reaction, Rampage,” he manages after a moment, voice almost squeaky. It was a blind attempt at trying to dissuade the crab; you are not the first and you are not special. Usually, it just annoyed previous stalkers into trying something more unique but Phobia wasn’t really thinking beyond his inability to escape at the moment.
But he does begin to notice something distinctly odd now that his panic has faded somewhat.
He doesn’t move his helm a single inch, but he does cast a curious glance sideways at Rampage, a small movement hidden entirely by his visor. The Predacon’s presence felt exhausted and... unnervingly hungry, a definite change from the presence he’d come to know from the smaller mech’s weeks of stalking. But there was also something... else.
|
|
|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on May 13, 2011 19:58:22 GMT -5
Rampage doesn't rise to Phobia's bait, either to be dissuaded or get annoyed. Instead he simply chuckles slightly and lifts a hand to rub his temple. Though he must admit he feels a stir of... something, at the thought of others menacing Phobia. Possessiveness, no doubt, like he'd felt for his old playmate Depth Charge when the Predacons had threatened his life.
"That sounds positively exhausting, my friend. Have you ever tried not being terrified of everyone?" It's much easier to keep his spikes from drooping when they're curving into a sneer. If he's lucky he might draw another one of those uncharacteristic flashes of anger from Phobia. The bike is an unending font of terror that he's drunk deeply from; he'd like some variety now.
|
|
|
Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on May 13, 2011 21:00:40 GMT -5
Rampage has no idea how hard he’s tried. Rampage also doesn’t need to know anymore about Phobia than strictly necessary. The crab already knows him far too well as it is and fanning the flame with knowledge is the last thing he wants to do.
So he doesn’t answer for a few moments, waiting for the flutters of the initial shock of spending the shift with Rampage to subside. After a moment, his mouth purses into a thin line and he slowly turns his head to fully peer at the smaller mech.
“You’re... unusually tired today,” Phobia notes quietly after a moment, voice still trembling. Much like his own facade of politeness, Rampage’s attempts at hiding his tiredness don’t work on another empath.
There is, however, something a bit more perturbing than simple tiredness going on here. There was something under it. If there’d been someone else in the room or even if Phobia had been just a bit further away, he wouldn’t have felt it. Something squirming and vague and hard to grasp under everything else, but there nonetheless.
|
|
Optimus Prime
Minor
Caution: Hero makes wide right turns.
Posts: 385
|
Post by Optimus Prime on May 14, 2011 13:03:34 GMT -5
There is suddenly someone on the rocks, impacting perhaps a little more forcefully than usual. The new arrival says "So this . . . is what it feels like . . . to be a hero," quietly, as if to himself, before beginning to turn grey.
|
|
|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on May 14, 2011 15:05:47 GMT -5
Perhaps if he was feeling more himself, Rampage wouldn't let Phobia get away with such an obvious change of subject. However, as Phobia said, he was unusually tired today. Leveling a dark look that wasn't quite a glare at the bike, he realizes the futility of lying to an empath about such a thing, and the fact that trying to cover up his weariness with words would just make him seem weaker.
So he admits to it with a nonchalant tone, "I suppose I haven't been eating as well as I should late-" He jolts upright the moment Optimus's spark enters this universe and quickly stands, striding towards the rocks. To the Pit with forcefields and safety regulations, he knows a dying spark when he feels one. This arrival isn't long for this world.
He also knows an Optimus Prime when he sees one, and as he looms over the fallen body he leers. Heroes? Bah! "How does it feel, Autobot, knowing that you'll die unfathomably far from anyone you knew or loved, so far displaced from your home universe that your spark might never find its resting place?"
He wonders if the dying 'Bot can even hear him at this point. So tragic if he dies before he can listen to Rampage's deathbed condolences.
|
|
|
Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on May 14, 2011 15:52:27 GMT -5
Phobia jumps in his seat the moment a third presence thuds into existence- a presence that immediately began to fade. The bike takes one glance at the distinctly Optimus-like color and build and scrambles to reach for the button. Dying or not, the bike isn’t about to trust an Optimus to stay dead.
Only, Rampage had gotten out of his seat and has made his way over to the Autobot. “Rampage,” he hisses in panic, visor bright with terror. If the had wanted Phobia to experience something other than terror, this really wasn’t the way to go. “Rampage, what are you doing?!”
There is a sinking feeling in the pit of his fuel tank that tells him that he might already know the answer to that.
|
|
Optimus Prime
Minor
Caution: Hero makes wide right turns.
Posts: 385
|
Post by Optimus Prime on May 14, 2011 19:36:02 GMT -5
The dying Transformer looks over at Rampage, turning his optics. He can't turn his head at this point. Of all the faces he was expecting to see, that was not one of them. His optic shutters close. If Rampage wants to continue his game with something other than a corpse, he'll need to provide very swift medical treatment.
|
|
|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on May 14, 2011 22:12:00 GMT -5
Alas, there are no medical staff on hand and this Optimus is bound to be dead before any got here even if Rampage felt inclined to call them, which he isn't. Rampage will just have to deal with his little game getting cut short. Such a shame, really. Such fun they could have had if he'd only stuck around longer.
Crouching down next to the greying body, he eyes Optimus's chest. "It really is too bad that I don't have time to claw your chest open before your spark extinguishes," he muses out loud. "I would have like to taste the spark of a hero." He sneers that last word.
He can almost taste it; the pure energy crackling down his throat. The thought brings with it a surge of hunger like he's never felt before, and if he had saliva glands he'd likely be drooling. Oh, he's eaten parts of people in the past, certainly, but always out of curiosity or amusement or pure will to hurt, never out of hunger. Transformers survive off of energon, not consuming others. And yet, now he craves. He craves all of it. The sweet liquid energy that no doubt lurks beneath that greying plating, the plating itself, the tender hidden circuitry. He wants it.
Just because a plaything is dead, doesn't mean it stops being useful. Especially when he has an audience. Reaching out, he attempts to pry open one optic.
|
|
|
Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on May 15, 2011 19:41:17 GMT -5
He feels Rampage’s surge of hunger. The emotion sweeps through him, making him double over with a surprised gasp at the strength of it. For a moment, he’s almost back on Charr again, starved to the point of immobility and staring up at the endless skies- but this wasn’t the same kind of hunger.
“Rampage,” he tries again, voice weak as he tries to free himself from the memory. He’d fallen to his knees at some point, hands clutched at his chest. No, it wasn’t the same sort of hunger at all; this was the hunger of someone about to feast.
“I am going to lock you in there,” he manages after a moment, attempting to struggle to his feet. The sick wave of nausea nearly overwhelms him, but he manages to get halfway up with the help of the chair.
|
|
Optimus Prime
Minor
Caution: Hero makes wide right turns.
Posts: 385
|
Post by Optimus Prime on May 18, 2011 19:54:29 GMT -5
Rampage starts prying open optics just as the light is finally fading from them for good. The new arrival is past caring what happens to his eyes or any other body part, or about the strange relationship between an enemy crab and motorcycle.
OOC: Skippable due to actual permanent deadness. Probably the only time it's ever happened to an Optimus.
|
|
|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on May 19, 2011 22:43:25 GMT -5
Rampage had almost forgotten the sensation of a spark extinguishing. Such a unique feeling, and no two deaths felt quite the same. It could be almost addicting, really. Bet you can't kill just one...
He presses his fingers into the dark optic, hungrily seeking the delectable prize. The flat lens just begins to crack when Phobia threatens to trap him on the rocks and he bristles. Rampage doesn't take well to confinement at the best of times, and this is far, far from the best of times. Hot anger surges up alongside his twisted hunger, an almost animal fury backed by a strange urge to protect himself, defend, destroy the threat-!
"You will do no such thing!" he snarls, spinning to face Phobia and abandoning his sought-after treat. Reaching down, he grabs hold of Optimus's corpse and slings it in Phobia's direction. It's not a proper throw, more just sending the body sliding and tumbling along the ground, however it will slam into the console with perhaps surprising force if nothing gets in its way. Rampage follows quickly after it, trying to stalk out of the range of the force field before Phobia can activate it. "His spark is already extinguished!"
|
|