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Too Close; Closed thread. [Whirl]
Topic Started: 13 Mar 2016, 05:22 PM (167 Views)
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After having spent the last few hours stepping in to help Swerve get through the busy hours, Cyclonus made his way through the halls, nodding at passersby he'd spoken to before, or those that had given him their condolences when hope for Tailgate seemed bleak. His mind had wandered to the nearest incident, replaying the events over and over. Initially, he'd been heading to his habsuite— their habsuite— for a rest, but with the numbers 1:13 flashing, piercing through and overpowering most of his thoughts, he decided against just turning in for the night. There was something else that needed attending to. Making a left, he walked past their suite.

He found his way back to Whirl's habsuite, lifting a hand to knock, but pausing. What would he say? What could he say? When he'd returned not long after seeing the helicopter's holoform, it seemed as though Whirl didn't even remember their conversation, barely minutes later.

Shhh! Leave me alone. I've got a headache. I'm not receiving visitors today.

But he had. And yet, every clock had been set to where Tailgate had gone--Megatron's hab. Cyclonus suppressed a shudder at the thought that perhaps Whirl's memory had been tampered with, he hadn't seemed to have been well— a headache, he called it— when Cyclonus had rushed to see what was going on, but then again... he hadn't stayed long enough to find out. Nor had he been planning to, focussing only on Tailgate's safety once he reached Megatron's hab. But now that the both of them were not locked up for attacking the Captain, nor were they millions of miles away from the Lost Light, Cyclonus supposed he should check on Whirl and make sure he was alright. It was the very least he could do after all Whirl had done for his friend.

After all he'd done for the both of them.

Cyclonus in-vented deep and slow, and after a few moments, knocked.

“Whirl?”
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A knock?

No, that couldn't be right. No one just knocked, not at Whirl's habsuite. He tilted his head, straining to hear that confirming sound of it coming from further down the hall - and instead, he got Cyclonus' voice, deep and familiar and entirely unexpected. He hadn't even goaded him today! And that was the only reason he could think of for him to drop by.

Well, if it wasn't for a fight, he probably didn't need a gun... though he was running low on them anyways. Rodimus had started actually paying attention to all the weapon stockpiles. It was actually getting challenging to lay a claw on them now! But it was Rodimus, so eventually he'd get bored, or a crisis would happen, and he'd have all the firearms he could ask for. The Lost Light was reliable like that.

Getting up, he pulled the door open just enough to peer through, and there he was, dour and grim as always. Or maybe he looked a tad more nervous, but then, this was Cyclonus. Presumably going to someone's room like this was a transgression of all his personal boundaries, and not being able to distinctively brood out a window probably made his plating itch.

"Cyclonus!" he warbled, opening the door after a moment longer. There was no real reason to hesitate, not really - and yet he had. He just wasn't used to people showing up like this. At least it finally let him break out some of that classic entertaining charm, whatever people used on friends and at dinner parties. Whirl did his best to make his optic twinkle in a welcoming fashion. "What brings you here at this hour? And at all, really." He cast a glance back, gaze settling on his clocks for the moment - one was still half-made, wires and circuitry scattered around it crudely. He already knew it wouldn't come out right, could feel it with every part he slid in place or wired in.

"...Sorry about the mess," he continued, gesturing him in.
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The door had cracked open, Cyclonus feeling the gaze of a single optic upon him (piercing.) before the door was opened the rest of the way, revealing Whirl and his rather large collection of homemade clocks. Cyclonus could see he'd been at work, an unfinished model on his desk, and felt a pang of guilt in his spark for interrupting Whirl in his work.

"What brings you here at this hour? And at all, really."

Cyclonus's words caught in his throat. But Whirl had gestured him in with a "Sorry for the mess," and Cyclonus simply nodded, stepping inside. He looked around the room, not much had changed since... Well.

Did you make these? Why so many?

Because I keep making mistakes.


There were more clocks now. Cyclonus decided against asking why again, instead, reaching into his subspace and pulling out a bottle of engex. Strong, something that Swerve's didn't carry. Cyclonus had bought it during shore leave some time ago, and never really got around to drinking it himself. Cyclonus supposed being in the Wreckers, Whirl had gotten used to drinks that could very easily substitute for paint stripper. He placed it on the desk with a dull thunk.

"I apologize for coming unannounced like this."

He wondered then, wether he'd truly bought it for himself.

"I would like to talk."
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Whirl watched him take out the drink and set it down with more intensity than he himself had expected. He was just - well, not nervous. His nerves were honed adamantium, forged and purified. Being nervous was something other people did, just like fear and regret and doubt. He was... what was the word? Alert! Ready for anything! And alright, maybe a little jumpy, because it wasn't like he entertained every day.

Or ever.

Still, it being Cyclonus helped. Cyclonus was many things - dour, grumpy, irritatingly unswayed by Cool Ideas - but he was reliable. That reliability had skewed a little when they got through that whole grudge thing, but he'd found his footing afterwards. Now they were... they were something. Battle buddies, maybe - because buddy felt overly warm and vaguely condescending. He was sure he'd get a disgusted scowl if he called him that.

For all that, though, he wasn't sure if he would have ever considered Cyclonus generous, or friendly enough to just drop by. Snatching up the bottle, he gave it a brief inspection.

"Oooh, this is good stuff. So is this a gift or a bribe?" Neither option made much sense, really. He could barely imagine Cyclonus wanting something from him - but handing out engex also didn't really fit the bill. He carefully set the bottle back down and waved the apology away.

"But whatever you want to say must be pre-tty important, for you to come all the way here. So pull up a chair and spill!" True to his words, he yanked one over and collapsed into it, though his pedes tapped on the floor impatiently.
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Perhaps he had set it down a little too hard. But, nevertheless, Whirl picked up the bottle, checking it out. Cyclonus stepped back, allowing him room. While still an odd, spindly thing, Whirl's chest kibble required a wide berth. He caught himself staring at Whirl's claws-- for such large and few servos, Whirrl had surprising dexterity. Enough to be able to make shelfful upon shelfful of clocks.

But not enough to truly avoid mistakes, and make clocks to the standards he once upheld.

"Oooh, this is good stuff. So is this a gift or a bribe?”

The warrior spared him the details, he figured Whirl wouldn't care too much where it came from, engex was engex. Cyclonus simply shrugged, replying with a soft, “It's a gift.”

He said nothing though, as Whirl nonchalantly waved off his apology, putting the bottle down. Still, guilt for interrupting nagged at him, but the old jet remained silent. He looked away from Whirl's claws as the helicopter spoke, catching Whirl's optic.

“But whatever you want to say must be pre-tty important, for you to come all the way here. So pull up a chair and spill!”

The helicopter tugged a chair over, planting himself into it. A pede tapped the floor, reminding him that Whirl wasn't the most patient bot, so, not wanting to waste more time than necessary, Cyclonus pulled a chair over as well. He settled into it after unclipping the greatsword from his back, leaning it on the desk beside him, vents sighing.

“I wanted to thank you. For all that you’ve done for Tailgate.” He paused, casting his gaze over to his greatsword (So why not use that excess energy?), and then to the clocks (1:13), and finally, to Whirl.

“...And for all that you've done for me, as well.”
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Normally, Whirl might have shied away from being given a gift - another thing that didn't happen, like knocks and people showing up to his habsuite without trying to punch him - but as Cyclonus spoke, Whirl had the sinking feeling that some really strong engex would be desperately needed after this conversation. Or, sure, during it too.

The trouble was that he didn't do being thanked. Gratitude had a way of worming past all his defences in a way that threats never could. Violence and vitriol and hatred had carved their own pathways in his spark - they were old friends, familiar and not really harmful. He'd been through them all, seen every way they could be turned on him. There was nothing new there.

Gratitude, though. That was uncharted territory. It blunted the edges of his anger, sank in despite all the insulating walls between him and what he did, and left him cold with the knowledge that no matter what, he didn't deserve it.

Who could actually think to thank him, after everything he had done?

So he fidgeted - couldn't help it really, pede tapping again and claws flexing and head tilted just so, as if looking at Cyclonus at a slightly different angle would change his words. Besides, it didn't make sense. What'd he done to warrant such a serious gesture? A few words in the right place, what, one time? There was more he hadn't done, or had done cruelly.

"What, all this -" with a wave that encompassed the engex and greatsword both, the room and this entire strange situation - "just for that? Are you going to thank me for locking you in with a bomb that one time, too?" He laughed, a burst of staccato sound. "I knew you took things seriously, but this is too much!"
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Whirl looked confused, nervous. Fidgety. Cyclonus understood, it was certainly odd of him to just drop in with a gift and a mouth full of apologies, but... it was genuine. No tricks, no smoke and mirrors, just two mechs, a bottle of engex, and over two years' worth of awkward interaction (Much of which was snarled threats and silent dares directed at each other). He supposed it had been time, long past time, really, to truly make amends, instead of a simple "We're 'cool'.", and leaving a flightless Whirl leaning over a giant smelter.

"What, all this- just for that? Are you going to thank me for locking you in with a bomb that one time, too?"

Whirl laughed, but Cyclonus' expression did not change much past a small smirk. Perhaps this may have been ridiculous, but if he'd done so any sooner, it wouldn't have felt right. And besides...

This was the second time Whirl's advice had saved Tailgate's life. And that was a more important matter than the advice had been. Tailgate, as far as Cyclonus knew, would have meant little to Whirl. Their life was not important to the spindly mech, nor did Tailgate go out of their way to interact with Whirl so much as for Whirl's last thought when ill and knowing the little one may have been sent to their death, was to retrieve Cyclonus. Whirl had clearly gone much out of his way to help Tailgate. And that was not going to go unacknowledged.

"I knew you took things seriously, but this is too much!"

"This is the second time you've helped save Tailgate's life, of course I'm going to take it seriously. You have no obligation to them, yet you've gone out of your way to assist me in keeping them alive, and safe. And for that, I am thanking you, and offering this gift, as well as an... admittance."

Cyclonus paused, letting his words sink in, while gathering up the nerve to continue speaking. The warrior looked everywhere, around the room, to the clocks, the floor, even the ceiling, and finally to his sword, the crystal on the hilt thrumming with the pulse of his spark, the shared connection soothing his nerves. At least he was getting better at swallowing his pride.

"I have misjudged you. And I am sorry."
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There was a long moment after Cyclonus finished talking where Whirl tried, in vain, to sort out his thoughts as if they made sense, as if they were all parts of a greater whole. That was a joke. He was a mess - it wasn't as if his thoughts and feelings could click together, become something that worked.

But this wasn't a situation where anger would help. He almost wished it was. Whirl had a feeling that right now, Cyclonus would even have borne any number of attempted attacks, endured him at his most offensive without even a flicker of rage in return. He was solidly set in this belief that Whirl deserved this apology, this gratitude, any of this - and shouldn't it have been obvious that he didn't?

"Well," he said at last, more because the silence had been getting heavier and he knew he had to say something. He sounded abrupt, but he always sounded like that, didn't he? If he was talking a little faster now, well... Cyclonus had just caught him off guard, that was all. "Must feel good to get all that off your spark. Didn't think I'd ever hear an apology from you." There. He was handling this, wasn't he? Full sentences were a good indication of things being handled.

He leaned back in the chair, head tilting. "I hate to break it to you, though - okay no, that's a lie - but you've gotten your math wrong. I only helped them once, way back when you first picked up that sword, remember? Maybe you were thinking of some other handsome empurata victim?" He couldn't help another nervous laugh.

"Too bad you went to all this effort, though. But I'm still keeping that engex."
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The silence that settled between them both was near-deafening. The old warrior had an inkling of a feeling that Whirl was not oft apologized to, let alone given any sort of attention that didn't involve the words 'don't touch that gun!', or 'please don't kill me!'. Given that, Cyclonus allowed the blue mech time to respond, being in no rush himself. And he was certainly not here to beg for Whirl's forgiveness. He truly, just wanted to set this all aside. Possibly even start over.

Start better.

"Well, must feel good to get all that off your spark. Didn't think I'd ever hear an apology from you." Whirl's voice broke him away from his thoughts, the other's words somewhat faster than usual. Tense.

"I hate to break it to you, though - okay no, that's a lie - but you've gotten your math wrong. I only helped them once, way back when you first picked up that sword, remember? Maybe you were thinking of some other handsome empurata victim?"

So he truly couldn't remember what happened, what he'd done. Cyclonus gathered his words as his processor raced, the events of that night replaying over again in his mind. It had all happened so fast--but he supposed being in a state of panic himself during it all, simply following his set plan just in case things were to go horribly wrong, it would all be fast, barely splt-second decisions and a sort of violence that was likely rather frightening to his friend. He'd never attacked anyone so aggressively like that around Tailgate, and yet... it wasn't aggressive. Not for a moment. It was carefully controlled and reigned in and orchestrated, so as to not kill the Captain, only subdue him long enough for them to escape.

"Too bad you went to all this effort, though. But I'm still keeping that engex."

"You can't remember it, can you?" He returned his gaze to Whirl, knowing what he was going to say now. "A few cycles ago, I came to your hab like I did today, and asked you for advice regarding Tailgate. You gave me an honest answer, one I wouldn't have recieved from anyone else on this ship, because if anything, you are going to tell the truth, wether or not it will hurt. And, I left. Not minutes later, you came searching for me-- Your holoavatar-- came searching. Outside a window. When I returned to your habsuite, you complained of a headache, and you seemed to be suffering from some sort of short-term amnesia, but all of your clocks were set to a certain time."

1:13. He'd seen the number in his dreams lately. The implications of them (What if he'd been too late? what if Tailgate had truly been hurt, if not by Megatron in blind panic, but by Ravage? What if Getaway had set the little one up for worse?) had perhaps been a little... unsettling to the old mech.

"That time happened to be the same number as the one on Megatron's habsuite, and I found Tailgate there, having attempted to perform amateur mnemosurgery on Megatron, with Megatron in a state of panic. You knew, somehow, that Tailgate might be in danger, and while you owe nothing to them, and certainly nothing to him, you alerted me, even while in pain and clearly struggling with your memory."

That was more or less the gist of it. Cyclonus silently berated himself for having not come to check on Whirl sooner than this, but held off on apologizing again.

"They found out that Getaway had constructed this plot, to oust Megatron and rid the ship and universe of him for good. He's being held in the brig for now, until his trial."

Cyclonus flexed his fingers, wondering-- no. Briefly craving the feel of Getaway's transformation seams beneath his talons, how they'd give and tear beneath his strength. He forced back the fires of his anger, primal and fierce. Forcing his biolights to cool, and swallowing back a snarl, he remained composed, even through his anger, but it was clear he was not entirely pleased that there was to be a trial.

As if Getaway deserved to feel as though he had a chance to prove he was innocent.
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"You can't remember it, can you?"

Whirl froze, as if his joints had all seized up at once, age settling in a single inexorable moment. Couldn't remember? Hah, his memory was perfect! Except - exceptexceptexcept everything Cyclonus said felt blank, completely disconnected from anything he recalled. Talking about Tailgate? Saving them from Megatron's lethal wrath and warning Cyclonus at the same time... it all might as well have been done by someone else. It certainly didn't feel like something he was capable of.

But Cyclonus was here, and would likely have willingly removed his voicebox rather than tell an actual lie. Spinning a story to fool him was something Swerve would have done - a slightly suicidal Swerve, maybe. Cyclonus was too dour to prank, too serious to pull one off for this long.

And there were the clocks. He remembered seeing them all fixed on the same number - and had reset them all in frustration, head pounding and fighting an urge to smash them all to pieces. That had been true enough. He just... hadn't given any thought as to why...

Again, that empty hole of memory. A clean shot right through - no entry point, no exit wound. A loose end all wrapped up, and who cared if Whirl had a headache, was off for a little while?

Well, Cyclonus had, enough to check on him, to apologize, to explain. That didn't bear thinking about. But he could think about Getaway - oh, he could definitely think about Getaway. This was just his style, wasn't it? The Wreckers, with less marks left behind? He'd show him a little of what the Wreckers were like. But beyond that rage was another, more shameful set of thoughts - if he had known long enough to warn Cyclonus, that meant he had known about the entire plan. He'd let Tailgate be used, acted only at the last moment for... whatever reason. It wasn't as if he could remember why now.

"A trial? That's too bad, that's really too bad... it means Magnus will care if he goes missing before it happens." A pause. He tried to sort out his priorities, shunted killing Getaway a rank lower for a moment. "He must've gotten me with one of those -- the memory guns. Nudge guns? Whatever." His tone was conversational, his claws didn't tremble. It took more than killing rage to get them to shake.

"So... thanks for telling me. That's that favour repaid, huh?"
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"A trial? That's too bad, that's really too bad... it means Magnus will care if he goes missing before it happens."

Cyclonus nodded, a sort of relief? Kinship? Something. Flooding through him upon the realization Whirl seemed to share his desire to murder the escapologist. "If... by the odd chance he doesn't get due justice," He wouldn't, at least... not by Cyclonus' standards The Autobots didn't know exactly what sort of beliefs they allied themselves with, let alone their own laws, aside from a thin masquerade of 'freedom is the right of all sentient beings.', which, ironically enough, was used to justify all manner of things. Cyclonus was unable to convince himself that Getaway would get much more than imprisonment. Certainly more than what he deserved.

The warrior let his words hang in the air, a suggestion of sorts. Unfinished, but given Whirl's response, he might not have to elaborate. Be it one way or another, he was going to make sure Getaway paid for what he'd done.

"He must've gotten me with one of those -- the memory guns. Nudge guns? Whatever."

The warrior could only nod in understanding. At least Getaway was locked up for now. He wouldn’t be altering anyone’s memory any time soon, hopefully. Whirl seemed calm, but Cyclonus had noticed over the time they'd spent together, that Whirl's rage was calm. It was natural to him at this point. It was part of him, a part he was afraid to be without. (If I got myself "fixed", maybe the anger would leave me— then I really would be screwed.) It wasn't the most healthy of ways to deal with oneself and their actions, but Cyclonus was not going to judge, he himself was certainly no model of good coping methods.

"So... thanks for telling me. That's that favour repaid, huh?"

Cyclonus shook his head. "Not a favor, really. You deserve to know what happened. Without your help, I worry that it could have been a much worse scene to happen upon."

Not that he believed that Megatron had meant to hurt Tailgate, but being preyed on in recharge, and having one's trauma toyed with was certainly not something anyone would be glad to wake up to.
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"You know, though... if that happens..." A tilt of his head, optic boring into Cyclonus' face. "If someone found out, or caught us in the act... we'd get thrown off the ship. Murder is murder." And Getaway hadn't managed to kill anyone in the end, but he'd tried. He'd made bots into pawns for it - and not just him, but Tailgate, who well and truly didn't deserve anything like this happening to them. "Good thing this is all hypothetical, right?"

But it wasn't. They both knew that. Sure, Getaway would be imprisoned for a while, maybe even roughed up, and he wouldn't earn himself many friends - but then again, trying to get Megatron executed wouldn't earn him many enemies, either. He wouldn't get anything close to what he deserved.

And when he did, well... Whirl'd just have to make sure he was the one caught doing it. Cyclonus actually had a reason to stay here, after all.

"Anyways!" he exclaimed, ditching former pretense and going for volume, voice only crackling for a moment. "I don't usually say this, so I'll give you a moment to prepare and let it really sink in. Really... thank you, Cyclonus." Not just for telling him - for thinking of him, for checking on him. Though he had a feeling if he tried to express that, words would fail him entirely. Best to play it safe, and cling to dreams of murderous revenge. That was easier.

"That's more fair, isn't it? A thanks for a thanks. And don't think you're getting another - gratitude is sort of rare, for me!"
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"You know, though... if that happens... If someone found out, or caught us in the act... we'd get thrown off the ship. Murder is murder."

Whirl's optic stared at him, and Cyclonus met his gaze, holding fast to his previous suggestion, even with the possibility of being thrown off the ship or otherwise punished, Getaway's death would well deserved. As for Tailgate, Cyclonus wondered briefly if his friend would be okay with this plan.

...Likely not, but it was better than the chance of Getaway trying to use them again, or anyone else for that matter.

"Good thing this is all hypothetical, right?"

Cyclonus only gave a shrug, idly drumming his claws on the armrests of the chair. "Of course," he lied. They both knew it. Whirl was not stupid, Cyclonus had known it since the moment they met. Sure, that moment had quickly descended into a fight, but... unlike what so many of the crew believed, Whirl was certainly not out of his mind. Being on the wrong side of the mech's rage and frustration certainly proved that to the old warrior.

"Anyways!" Whirl's voice rang out, crackling. His own vocalizer throbbed at the sound. It reminded him too much of trying to speak with a throat full of energon, painful and thick. Whirl continued, voice less harsh, "I don't usually say this, so I'll give you a moment to prepare and let it really sink in. Really... thank you, Cyclonus."

"It's the least I can do." You've done so much. He smiled ever so softly, gone just as quick as it came.

"That's more fair, isn't it? A thanks for a thanks. And don't think you're getting another - gratitude is sort of rare, for me!"

"I'll keep that in mind, Whirl. And... thank you. For hearing me out."
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That flicker of a smile - it made Whirl tip his head back, banking on how inexpressive his own face was. There was no point in scrutinizing him for surprise, for a returned smile - unless he deliberately squinted, he might as well have had no expression at all. Which was good, because the last thing he wanted was Cyclonus suspecting he was... getting soft and mushy and actually caring about any of this.

But as far as he knew, Cyclonus only ever smiled at Tailgate, and they weren't anywhere nearby.

That was... huh. It made this - all of this entire situation - feel strange and unfamiliar and fragile, wound tight with the tension of the unknown. He knew how to break it. If he dug down, he could come up with something to say that would be offensive and charged enough to put Cyclonus back on edge, bring them back full circle to their old feud. Anger, disgust, grudges... that was more comfortable. Whirl wouldn't have to feel off-kilter then, and all that gratitude would ebb away. Breaking things was all he was good at, anyways - and yet, he couldn't convince himself that he wanted to break this. Whatever this was.

If he was another bot, he would have called it friendship. But he didn't - couldn't - have friends.

He sprang from his seat, perhaps a little more abruptly and clumsily than normal. "Well! I could have just shot you in the face and thrown you out, but that wouldn't have got me anywhere. It's not like I have visitors, anyways." His optic skimmed past the sight of the clocks, settled once more on the engex, brightening. "Here, do you... want some of this? I've got a second glass somewhere in here."
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"Well! I could have just shot you in the face and thrown you out, but that wouldn't have got me anywhere. It's not like I have visitors, anyways."

And Cyclonus was certainly glad he hadn't. Somewhere in him, he doubted that Whirl would have done that anyways, unless there was something severely wrong.

"Here, do you... want some of this? I've got a second glass somewhere in here."

The warrior waved it off, shaking his head. "Oh, no. I'm fine. I really should be going, however. I... apologize again, for keeping you from your work." He stood slowly, picking up his greatsword and clipping it to his back plating once more. After a moment's hesitation, he extended his hand, in hopes the other would shake it. He was truly thankful, for everything that Whirl had done, for everything having worked out the way it did, for Whirl.

Cyclonus didn't know where he and Tailgate would be without him. Certainly not here, that was for sure.

Wether or not Whirl shook his hand, the purple jet would head for the door, turning only to say "Good night.", and leave Whirl to his business once more.
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