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Acclimation; Open RP
Topic Started: 22 May 2016, 05:52 AM (45 Views)
Krok
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Dadformer
[ * ]
The Weak Anthropic Principle, even with all of its faults and broken bits, sounded like a dream right now. Like an impossible heaven. He'd been tossing left and right all night, and he had no doubt he'd chafed his paint along the edges because of it. He hadn't requested any berth coverings because he didn't think he'd need them. He was accustomed to a traditionally metal berth, he was, however, not accustomed to insomnia.

It was like an alien world here, there was hardly any scent to this ship or its rooms, nothing but the hum of the quantum engines in background either. He supposed it was normal conduct for most mechs to have seperate habsuites, it was reasonable and kind of command to offer them so much personal freedom amongst themselves. Not that he had any doubt Misfire and Fulcrum ditched one hab to share. Nothing quite like Misfire for some good background noise. That, and the lack of Grimlock to keep Misfire up at odd times of the night cycle was probably weighing on him.

He gave into his restless processor with a sigh, tossing his legs over the side of the berth to stand. He moved before he was readily coordinated, a feeling he was familiar with. Similar in comparison to those long nights on the WAP when he stayed up plotting courses and planning pit stops with Crankcase or Fulcrum. He steadied himself with a servo to the wall before looking over his gutted hab- it looked gutted anyway, compared to his hab on the Weak Anthropic Principle it was barren. Krok stood there for a moment, a little lost. He hadn't decided where he'd stood to go, there wasn't anywhere to go. There was a bar, yes, there were bars, but he didn't know their hours or locations on board. There was a stack of data pads he could chip at, but that was what he'd been doing before he tried to recharge.

He was grateful for the servo on the wall when his original Scavengers came to mind like they had been so frequently recently. He had Fulcrum here, he tried to remind himself, healthy and safe, or as healthy and safe as Fulcrum could be on a ship full of big rowdy Autobots. It was painful to come to terms with the reality of it. Misfire, Crankcase, Spinister and Grimlock, all alone out there on some distant timeline with no Krok or Fulcrum. Or Misfire's timeline, the Scavengers with no Misfire, Grimlock with no Misfire.

Krok decided the wall would suite him well for the time being, at least until he was able to stop thinking. He pressed his shoulder into the surface for support, exventing the tension holding him until he was slouching. His servo clenching weakly, there was some anger there, but as soon as he reasoned with himself that there really was nothing to direct his anger at it passed like it always did. Completely useless, he was completely useless. He'd never be able to keep his team together, not even now.

He slumped more, really slumped. He followed the motion until he slid down, sitting against the wall between his berth and the door. He wouldn't cry over it, he'd never been one to cry, but the frustration of it all was so much, too much. He pressed his optics into the base of his palms, closing them to nothing for a moment. Not crying, but to try and abate the pressure of emotions he could feel swelling in his intake.
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Misfire
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Taste Test Master
[ * ]
If Krok was right, he sure was right. The absence of Grimlock was really weighing in on the jet, keeping him up and his schedule out of place. He had tried to take a nap, more or less tossing and turning uncomfortably half in recharge. Without really coming fully out of the hazy state, Misfire had gotten up, wandered down one of the many halls and ended up stumbling into a supplies closet. It wasn’t until there was no indication of a tail thumping impatiently to the floor, letting Misfire know he was late for a feeding, that the magenta jet finally broke down. He spent quite sometime in there, cycling air through broken vents, trying to hold back the anguish that set in. Grimlock was gone and it wasn’t likely that he would ever see him again. Krok had Fulcrum, but he had no one. No Grimlock, no Fulcrum of his own, he was isolated. The word bounced around his head, making him feel small and insignificant.

By time Misfire had found Krok’s habsuite he was a mess. While he had stopped crying, there was a deep sadness to his optics, a dimmer red illuminating his wet cheek plates. Bottom lip had been worried between his teeth, sore as the rest of him. Wings and posture drooped, he had nowhere else to go, no one else to talk to. It would be unfair to cry to Fulcrum. Especially to this Fulcrum. Hands rubbed together nervously before knocking his signature knock on Krok’s door, his way of separating himself from the Scavengers. It wasn’t until he was finished until he realized that, well, this Krok would not realize the significance of it. This wasn’t his Krok to go cry to, to seek comfort from, he wouldn’t even know half of the troubles this Misfire was facing. He had his own Misfire to worry about.

Figuring that Krok had probably been out with Fulcrum, exploring the ship or maybe making friendly with some Autobots, Misfire pressed his wings and back to the wall, letting himself slide down until his aft hit the floor. At that point he tugged his knees in close, letting his helm rest uptop. No family, nowhere to go, no ability to comm. It was isolating. He had never been good at anything. Not even good at being a Decepticon, only passing because the damn place was destroyed so he was forced to pass. The only thing he was half good at was siphoning and when was that ever helpful outside of Clemency? He was still waiting on that skill to be somewhat helpful in getting him back to his home.
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Krok
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Dadformer
[ * ]
He heard a quiet knock, thinking little of it when nothing followed. The Scavengers wouldn't idle outside of one anothers doors, and Krok didn't like the thought of some stranger seeing him all curled up against the wall like a sparkling. His Scavengers, from his timeline wouldn't wait to enter.

He stared without looking at the mute room surrounding him, it felt heavy, swallowing him in a space he knew was at least twice as big as his hab on the WAP. When had he grown so attached to the idealism of having a home?

He willed himself to calm down when he felt an em field a little ways away, familiar, but only a tickle of it, it was recently familiar. He stood, forcing himself not to wobble. He opened the door with a slow press of buttons on the key pad, a pattern he'd only recently memorized. He hissed at the flash of the brighter light of the hallway. The Weak Anthropic Principle never blinded him when he left his room, he thought with childish spite.

"Misfire?" The magenta mech sat against the wall, his legs folded up to his chest. Misfire was bulkier than Autobot flyers and well armored for a jet, but he looked small folded up on the ground like that. Krok sighed, resigned, probably more fond than he had any right to be with one of the Scavengers huddled up on the floor by his hab. He stepped aside, offering Misfire entrance with a weak flap of his servo.

Maybe this wasn't his Misfire, but it was still Misfire. Still lost and missing from his own Scavengers.
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