Verboten

[crackofthunder.livejournal.com]

WHO: Thundercracker and Arcee
WHERE: A bar far from the MAC.
WHEN: Some days after this and after the drunk talk with Blackarachnia
WARNINGS: Alcohol
SUMMARY: Conversation between Autobot and Decepticon
FORMAT: Paragraph



Being in a research position is helpful when trying to learn the landscape of an alien city. Particularly when one wants to set up a remote rendezvous with one's sworn enemy for a completely neutral meeting. Thundercracker has no idea if Arcee will actually show up, much less what their conversation will actually entail. Slag, it might even be an Autobot trap.

But he'll take the risk of trusting an Autobot - especially after that talk with Blackarachnia where she seemed completely misguided on her vengeance kick because of one mistake after untold centuries of loyalty and... friendship. She said she preferred Decepticons because they don't even foster the illusion of friendship. That was a bit unsettling.

He's sent an encrypted message to Arcee with these unfamiliar coordinates, far away from any optics interested in prying. After millions of years of savage conflict... it might be nice to actually just sit and talk with an enemy. And drink, which is fast becoming Thundercracker's preferred method of dealing with being stuck in this weird human shell...

Comments

[turbofox-hunter.livejournal.com]

Her eyes dipped to the table, the faint blue light flashing as she looked at their hands, listening to his explanation... and not that far from understanding, at least at a barebones level.

"He was a revolutionary, then." She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, spanning her fingers across the breadth of his wrists. "Huh... I think I'd prefer that to a murderous warlord... at least that, I can understand the reason for fighting." Still not looking up, she shook her head. "An idle government is plenty reason to rebel, if it's not looking after it's people."

"I don't think Autobots would condone that kind of bureaucracy... at least, not the ones I'm used to..." She raised her head again. "Or is that why the war started? Were the 'bots in your world defending a failure of a government?"

[crackofthunder.livejournal.com]

Her fingers moving over his wrists causes him to suck in a quick breath, and he doesn't know why. A moment, and his breathing is steady again. Steadier, at least.

"As..." Ahem. "As far as I understood it, the Autobots were fighting less for the incompetent leaders as they were for the basic system of government, which they thought was basically sound... although if it could be so dominated by corrupt mechs, I question their certainty of that notion."

His own hands stretch to her wrists as well, longer fingers brushing over her forearms, feather-light. Taking the moment to lift his head while hers is down, so he can look at her face, even for a brief moment.

"Of course, it took them so long to mount an effective resistance to Megatron's revolution that, by that point, they might have just been fighting against Megatron than for anything, like your Autobots seem to be doing. He was a revolutionary, but he was still absolutely ruthless. Some of us who were a bit put off by that wrote it off. It's war, and there are no rules, and there's not much place for concepts like compassion without being hypocritical."

[turbofox-hunter.livejournal.com]

"The fact that it got to the point of war is the worst part of it all." She lifted a hand to her forehead, rubbing gently. "I've heard rumor of a greater force at work, one that brought us to war. I hope it isn't true; finding semi-divine excuses for a conflict is just a way to try and pretend we have no responsibility in the matter."

A moment of silence, and she let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Thunder, what is it about us that invites war? Are Cybertronians destined never to get along? Will there always be something that divides us, no matter what part of the universe or, Allspark-willing, the multiverse that this place proves to exist?" Her hand returned to his, her fingers bracing against his more than before. "Or are we just the unlucky few, so to speak?"

Another sigh. "I'm a soldier, but... I don't like war. I really don't."

[crackofthunder.livejournal.com]

That tone in her voice. That quiet desperation and the weight of dreams killed and desires suppressed, when combined with the more urgent touch of her hands shakes something loose in the back of his mind. His fingers curl around hers and tighten into an actual clasp with them. Whether it's meant to comfort her or steady himself is open to interpretation.

"I've heard theories," he starts in a voice much shakier than he wants it to be, prompting him to pause and make an effort to collect himself before continuing. "About our origins that are entirely divine and some that are disturbingly mundane. Suggesting that we may not even be as sentient as we believe ourselves to be. That we started our existence as products to be sold. The Decepticons were modeled for war, the Autobots were modeled for maintenance and protocol. Basic programming differences that render us completely unable to ever be reconciled, even with our renowned abilities to adapt."

He shakes his head, wishing he knew why this touch was so important to him.

"But I've done some research now on human history, and much of it is defined by war. Given their frailty, their wars are much shorter, but they seem to be frequent, usually over land and resource disputes. So I'd bet that the real challenge would be to find any society anywhere that truly values peace over progress. And if you do - search their eyes and see if you can spot the one plotting to overthrow the leaders and take control for themselves."