rekindleme | Not before I see this justice done

Entry tags:

Not before I see this justice done

Who: Krok, Ultra Magnus, other Autobots and/or Decepticons as interested; Krok and Chromedome (that one's private)
Where: Building 1; streets of the residential area (Chromedome only)
When: 5 July, evening.
Summary: Krok confronts Ultra Magnus about what's happened to Fulcrum. Chromedome, meanwhile, takes another step in dealing with the Decepticon infestation.
Warnings: Angry words, angst, memory tampering.

"ULTRA MAGNUS!"

Krok has never been imposing. He's neither tall nor bristling with weaponry, and his position as a strategist doesn't afford him many chances to practise being terrifying. But he has a voice, and it booms through the corridors like cannon fire as he storms toward the door of Tyrest's Chosen. If he holds onto his anger and his outrage, he can keep moving. If he holds onto the anger, he doesn't have to think about the way his spark aches and how he's inches from falling apart.

Fulcrum doesn't even sound like Fulcrum any more. It's like when they first found him. It's like the Fulcrum who made the leap for them is gone. And Krok knows who took him away. Krok knows who's responsible and there will be accountability or he will make his own justice.

He's pounding a fist on Ultra Magnus' door – the hand not clutching a plunger switch that he presses obsessively and repeatedly even as he stands there – before he even realises he's standing in front of it. He can barely see what he's doing; his optics are too bright, filaments overheating, light spilling from the corners in trails that follow him as he moves.

"ULTRA MAGNUS, ANSWER ME!"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's instinctive -- the way he draws himself up, arms folded across his chest. Like some vast, immovable object. He doesn't do it on purpose, doesn't do it to intimidate the clearly distraught Decepticon. It just happens. Like the way his optics narrow at the accusation.

"Magnus said we were all playin' nice," he growls. "You--"

His head tilts. Real surprise and confusion flickers over his face.

"Hold on. Just. I dunno, cool your vents a second here."

His arms unfold, hands held up in what he sincerely hopes looks more placating than threatening. Because, hell, even he noticed there was something extremely weird with things. "The scrawny little bomb guy? He's yours? He didn't seem like he was damaged or nothin'. Not all there in the head but..."

There hadn't seemed to be anything physically wrong. Which is what Ironhide presumes this guy means by "attacked".

Edited (i hit enter too soon) 2014-07-07 20:06 (UTC)

Krok can't afford to be calm. He needs to stay angry, stay focused. Fortunately, Ironhide keeps the discussion on point; it gives Krok more than enough fuel.

"HE DOESN'T REMEMBER US!" Krok howls. The switch in his hand cracks, he squeezes it so tightly. "He went out the door just a little while ago and now – now it's like he never knew us at all!" He points accusingly at Ironhide with the hand holding the switch, arm shaking. "And there's only one mnemosurgeon around here."

At least that proves his nagging little doubts wrong. Something was off about the scrawny bomb. And... and it sounds ugly.

His hands stay put, that same vaguely, attempted placating gesture. He doesn't move. This one really doesn't seem anything like afraid, but, since he's finally getting answers, the last thing he wants to do is have this guy run off.

"Yeah, I sorta noticed..." He mumbles that much. And then scowls. Heavily. "There is? Who...?"

Once again, the lack of four million years worth of memories gets all kinds of in the way. He shakes his head.

"Magnus said --" And he's all too aware of how weak an excuse that sounds like. "No one's supposed to be messin' around with each other. We -- Bots wouldn't do that!"

... at least he hopes.

"Then you're a liar or Chromedome–" Poison, that name. Krok spits it out like the vile word it is. "–Isn't an Autobot. Which one is it?" he demands. Ironhide is less the wall he expected and somehow, that makes him even angrier. Like nothing is going the way it should and the world is slipping away from him like sand through his fingers.

The casing of the switch splits as he tightens his grip.

"Tell me, then!"

"I don't know!"

He gestures more or less randomly at the Decepticon, his own voice rising. Somewhere along the line, the frustration at his situation boiled up. He didn't have any idea who this offending party was. The name wasn't even remotely familiar.

"I don't have any clue who you're talkin' about! I barely know what's happened the last couple days! I don't even remember the damn war! So I don't know!"

That brings Krok up short. Honestly, for a moment, he actually thinks Chromedome must have done something to Ironhide, too.

But then he remembers that time isn't linear here, somehow, and maybe this is an Ironhide from before the war. Which is… strange and sobering. And it throws him off enough that the anger falters. Momentum slipping away with every second, Krok's shoulders slump.

"You–" he stammers, then stops. What does he even say?

"--Don't remember scrap," he finishes, hotly. He's tired and frustrated, and tired of being tired and frustrated. It comes out in those three words.

To his credit, he doesn't advance on the Decepticon. He just stays put in the hall, though his hand clenches into a fist, and he has to lean it against the wall for lack of anything else to do with it.

"There's four million years missin' out of my memory banks. So. I got no idea who this guy is, or what's even happenin' here." He grinds the words out through his teeth. "I do know that war's apparently done and Ultra Magnus is sayin' play nice."

One finger jabs toward Krok before he loses his own momentum.

"And. I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but. I don't like this mess either. So..." He scowls and shakes his head. "I dunno. That was... it sounded a lot better in my head."

Wait, so Ironhide has missing memories, too? Krok flounders, torn between the rage that Chromedome might have attacked someone else like this – even an Autobot – and the shock, the despair that if Chromedome did this, too, then Ultra Magnus doesn't care at all. He's drowning in it.

He sinks under the weight of it all, dropping to his knees right there in the hallway, shoulders bowed. The broken switch hits the floor with a clatter and rolls a couple of feet towards Ironhide. Krok doesn't even look up at it.

"…I'm sorry," he says quietly, and he isn't even sure who he's apologising to any more.

That... isn't the reaction he expects to get. Not at all. It actually sends him rocking back a step. He blinks, looking down at the thing rolling across the floor.

It doesn't feel good. Any of this.

Broad shoulders heave in a sigh, and the big bot kneels, scooping the object carefully into one hand. He shuffles forward a bit, until he can offer it to the Decepticon.

"Uh... Here."

The apology, he doesn't comment on. He doesn't know how to, really. Short of brushing it off, because, for once, this isn't a Decepticon's fault.

"You got somewhere to stay...?" Because leaving a collapsed bot in the middle of a hallway doesn't sit right -- Decepticon or no.

Edited 2014-07-11 23:00 (UTC)

"Our hab suite," Krok says softly, looking up and staring at the switch in Ironhide's hand. It looks so tiny, he thinks dully. So tiny to hold every fear and anxiety he feels about losing his crew. "The others are there… I- I wanted to speak with…" But he trails off there. He didn't want to speak with Ultra Magnus so much as he wanted to make demands. To be angry and hurt and try to make someone else hurt.

Because, he tells himself, afraid, they won't help.

"I wanted him to do something about… Chromedome. For hurting us. For taking-" he can't finish the sentence, sobbing instead.

"Maybe... you should get back anyway," he says, quietly, still offering the switch. He doesn't mean for it to sound threatening, or angry, or anything like that. He honestly just... doesn't know what to do here. What to say or do.

"I dunno if he's in, I mean." He shakes his head. "I ain't gonna force you anywhere, just... dunno if it'd be better to sit out here or what."

And he looks away, sighing.

"I'm sorry. For what it's worth. We... it ain't supposed to be like this."

At least, he'd never thought it was.

No, Krok thinks, it wasn't supposed to be like this at all. He and his crew were supposed to be safe for once – it's a strange city in a strange world, yes, but they don't risk being stranded should the ship run out of fuel, or break down; they don't have to be wary of DJD or Autobots or any of the countless galactic races who wouldn't think twice about wiping a few pathetic Decepticons off the map. They were supposed to be safe and happy. And now…

"…I need to speak with him," Krok says. With a trembling hand, he finally reaches up to take the switch back.

"... All right."

He doesn't move his hand, or try to jerk it away or... anything. Just keeps it steady until the Decepticon takes his item back. Only then does he straighten, and, creaking in the joints, press his back to the wall, arms folded.

He glances up and down the hall a few times.

"Used to be a bodyguard, y'know?" he drawls, seemingly out of nowhere. "Go on. Wait for 'im. I'll play furniture."

It takes Krok a second or two before he catches on to what Ironhide says, and then he just stares at the big red Autobot for a moment, speechless, too stunned even to finish standing. It's a gesture he certainly never expected.

"You… you don't have to," he murmurs, humbled, looking down to the broken thing in his hand. After all the shouting and the accusations, Ironhide still intends to stand by? For him? It's like Ironhide and Ratchet have some plan to completely dismantle Krok's long-held opinion of Autobots by treating him with decency. "Stay, that is. I'm…." Fine on his own? Able to defend himself? Really, he could argue self-defence until the sun burns out and he's still relatively certain he'd be found at fault. Finally, he just says, "I don't want to impose."

"I know I don't."

He says it flatly, but does his best to keep his tone from turning harsh. He's still... trying to sort this all out in his head. Without much luck. He leans back against the wall -- a solid weight -- his optics still flicking up and down the corridor.

"But Autobots're supposed to be lookin' out for the little guys. Protectin' people," he says, barely glancing down at the Decepticon. As if doing so is going to shatter his resolve. "Supposed to, anyway. That's what I signed on for."

A beat passes, and the big shoulders lift and fall in a shrug.

"That ain't changed. Not for me. I'll stay."

"I–" Krok is at something of a loss for words. He's never been good with them, so now he just fumbles even more. Anxiously, he worries the broken switch between his hands for a moment.

It isn't as though he can make Ironhide leave… not even if he wants to.

"…Thank you," he says as he climbs unsteadily to his feet, and he means it. His knock when he goes back to Magnus' door is more circumspect.

"Yeah."

He doesn't know what else to say. He... really doesn't. Words aren't his strong suit, anyway. Never have been.

He'll do better, acting. Even if acting is just staying put, standing guard.

At least it's something.

Krok waits… maybe an impolite length of time, knocking periodically, before he finally gives up. Maybe Ultra Magnus really isn't in, and now he's too tired to go searching. He just wants to snap his fingers and make everything… not horrifying again. Of course, he can't do that.

But he can try and put a bandage on something. He turns back to Ironhide when he lets his hand drop to his side.

"Thank you… again. For staying," he offers, very quietly, awkward. He's still not used to thanking Autobots for anything. Nothing sincere at least. The next part is even more uneasy. "And I'm – I want to apologise. For shouting at you."

He really doesn't expect anything else. Standing guard -- it's familiar. He doesn't mind it. To say the least. Anything familiar at this point is a bonus. Though he does blink when he's addressed again.

"Huh?"

A... thank you? Really? He can only stare for a long minute, dumbfounded. His jaw works, and he shakes his head.

"It's the right thing to do," he says, simply. "An' don't worry 'bout the rest. I got a temper on me, too. So... yeah."

"Not many would do the right thing for someone like me," Krok says, unabashedly bitter for a moment. Ultra Magnus and the other Autobots couldn't be bothered to step in and stop Chromedome, and now look what's happened.

But Ironhide doesn't seem to be part of that. In some ways, Krok needs that little bit of decency right now as much as he wants justice.

"War's over," he grunts. "None of your guys ever did nothin' to me."

That, and memory loss is a touchy subject for him. But -- really. Fighting amongst each other after everyone says things are said and done? It makes no sense. They wanted things to end. They wanted the war stopped...

... why keep fighting?

"Don't really see why I shouldn't do somethin'."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Not before I see this justice done

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject