OPEN |

[aurable]

CHARACTERS: Drift and YOU
LOCATION: Various—Infirmary, Sunlight Room primarily with individual prompts in other locations
DATE: Dec. 1-5th
CONTENT: Several people have told Drift to remain in the infirmary for a few days after SEAL Team Hot Girl Shit fed the orb. Spoiler: He does not do this.
WARNINGS: description of (robot) severed limbs + odds-on mentions of suicide and substance abuse

INFIRMARY

The last thing Drift wanted to do now was dream— every memory or random sensation his subconscious attempted to catalog and make sense was a deafening echo chamber and the last place he wanted to be. Pulling himself out of the shallow grave of an artificially sedated rest made his vision blur. Everything he saw was like photographs burned with double exposure; the real overlayed with the imaginary. He thinks there was a hand over his chest—he imagines a voice over the drowned-out words of whoever was really at his bedside. ("You can't keep doing this to yourself, kid")

Only one person ever called him that, and they were long gone. That sharp pang of reality made Drift redouble his efforts to make sense of the oily stains that made up for the outlines of people moving around—rousing himself until he was pushing himself upright. His greatsword was propped against the wall at his (comically large) bedside. The amber siphoning gemstone inlaid at the hilt was visibly cracked—nearly cloven in two and only held together by the handle itself. His already aching spark stuttered at the sight of it.

(Take care of her.)

Drift frowned as he recalled Remi's words—drawn up at the sight of what it cost to bring the orb back. Drift was a mess. His color was dull, and his eyes barely a flickering blue light as he took stock of what damage he had taken by feeling alone. Some of his injuries were internal, but most had been just exhaustion from the strain.

Turning to the first person he sees, Drift voices the only question on his mind: "Is everyone okay?"

SUNLIGHT ROOM

Popular opinion was that a holoform was only a means of subterfuge—play-acting at being something more palatable for the sake of others. Drift saw the logic there but disagreed and found the idea limiting. Here, on a station designed with a crew manned by organics in mind, a holorform was just convenient. Drift took a more metaphysical approach to the whole concept of his human guise. Some of his fellow 'bots likened it to piloting a tiny suit, others to sleepwalking without real sensation. Drift, on the other hand, felt himself wholly like this. As close to a human as he could be, he was unburdened by the constraints of his massive frame still laid up and healing.

At least here, Drift could stand by the brook and feel the artificially winter-chilled water just starting to frost at the shoreline flow over his fingertips. Anyone who had met Drift before like this would note his appearance was more drawn with an impressive landscape of unkempt stubble on his face. He rises from the brook and sits back on a large boulder—idly twirling a sheathed sword by its hilt in his hand with its end poking into the frosted grass.

"Nice, isn't it?"

WILDCARD

( ooc: please feel free to hmu at bretons or bitchard#0228 for starters )

Comments

[aurable]

One hit was all swift and sudden reminder of why Megatron had kept the Decepticons under his thumb for the last four million years. Even a tempered blow from Megatron would have broken most mechs, and it was likely only Drift's relatively new frame that cushioned the worst of the force behind it. Nothing could stop the cry of pain torn out of him as Drift crumbled in on himself before being shoved aside.

"Desperate," Drift gasped as he pushed himself to his feet, venting hard as tremors of pain wreaked havoc through his frame. "I was desperate. And for perhaps far too long, I really thought you were the answer to everything wrong with Cybertron. With us." That 'us' was nebulous and carried several different meanings—all of them personal and something that couldn't be resolved throughout one screaming match.

"You were better before you wanted a killer from the gutters at your side," Drift pushed himself to the opposing wall and steadied himself with one hand against it. "Now look at us."

[flickerandfade]

"You think I wasn't desperate?" Megatron snapped. His anger, now stoked, reached out to catch at any fuel that it could.

"The whole reason for the movement was desperation. We knew they wouldn't give us what we asked for so we had to take it!" Drift wasn't pushing forward so Megatron takes a moment to lean against the opposite wall. He aches. He is old, old and worn down from centuries of imprisonment and eons of war. He wasn't anything like who he used to be in physicality, but he could still summon it. At least some of it.

Us, Drift said and it was like a physical blow. So many different shades and meanings of that word. Which did it mean? Did it matter what it meant?

"Old mechs. With only ourselves for company," Megatron said, a grim, mirthless smile on his face.

"The difference is one of us has a choice."

[homeostatic]

"That's enough."

McCoy's voice slices through the lull in fighting, a broad bellow of tightly-leashed, seething anger. He strides quickly down the corridor to them, as if he's about to separate children in a schoolyard fistfight, not inserting himself between two nine-foot beings that could take his head clean off.

"I have," he begins, quieter now but no less sharp, turning his steely glare between both Cybertronians, "An infirmary full of patients who've had to listen to you two thick-headed numbskulls duking it out for the past ten minutes. Whatever this is, it ends right now. I thought better of both of you."

[aurable]

Drift whipped his head around in time to see McCoy on the warpath barreling straight for them. And just like that, all the fight was knocked out of Drift quicker than another round with Megatron could have accomplished. Brought to heel by a few choice words, Drift flinched before slumping back against the wall and dropping to a crotch. His entire demeanor went from wild, corned animal to scolded child in an instant.

"...It was my fault, Dr. McCoy." Drift responded, keeping his head down and gaze firmly focused on the ground. Afraid that if he looked now, all he would see was a ghost. Why did he even have to sound like him?

"I'm sorry."

[flickerandfade]

Megatron hadn't wanted this fight in the first place and having someone arrive to intervene sent a wave of exhausted relief through him. He slumped himself, then nodded his head towards McCoy.

For a moment, he was on the Lost Light again.

"Of course, Doctor McCoy. My apologies," he said. "We had a disagreement. It got more heated than was necessary. On both our parts."

[homeostatic]

For a second, he just breathed out, letting the heavy silence fall.

"I don't care whose fault it is. Don't apologize to me," McCoy told them frostily, "Apologize to each other."

[aurable]

"That..." Drift shook his head and withered under the disappointment radiating off of McCoy. "That might take some time, doctor."

Managing one fleeting look at Megatron before he found himself unable to meet the other mech's gaze, Drift forced himself to look at the doctor instead.

"I know this is out of the blue, and you have every right to be upset with us, but there's a foot locked sized container in my room, could you uhm—" Drift trembled but forced himself to be steady as he continued.

"It's medical waste. Could you destroy it for me?" The phrasing of that question alone nearly undid him, but he couldn't think of anyone else to ask. Megatron certainly proved not to be an option.

[flickerandfade]

For his part, Megatron seemed to have no difficulty with an apology.

"...My words were ill-considered. I apologize, Drift." Was it a little humiliating to be asked to apologize like this? Yes. Did Drift deserve that apology? Also yes. Regardless of the things he had said to hurt Megatron, he deserved that. As Drift asked about the 'medical waste' Megatron looked briefly stricken. He opened his mouth as if he might protest--it wasn't his right, though was it? Instead, he settled for looking glumly on as he waited for an answer from Doctor McCoy. He could feel the ache in his joints and the places Drift had hit him.

Hopefully it didn't look too horrid.

[homeostatic]

While McCoy expected defiance, the halting request from Drift came as a surprise. To Megatron as well, he noted, something unspoken. A little of his ire muted, he gave Drift a quick nod, and kept his tone neutral.

'Medical waste'?

"I'll take care of it."

To Megatron, he also nodded. "Thank you."

[aurable]

"Thank you."

Drift staggered back to his feet and leaned heavily against the wall. No internal alerts were promising. Likely, the only thing Megatron knocked loose was his stubborn pride, but he was still out of sorts.

"If it's alright, I'd like to return to the infirmary for a while. I won't cause trouble, I promise." Drift knew he was being pitiful and looking to recuperate as he was trying to hang around McCoy's familiar presence before this day got any worse.

[flickerandfade]

"I think that would be best," Megatron said in a stiff, unhappy tone.

"You need rest. I'll be by later to check on you." He looked towards McCoy for a moment, tired, worn and battered from the brief scuffle.

"After I take a moment to myself."

[homeostatic]

Exhaling slowly, McCoy nodded again, and broke from his stiff stance to go to Drift. He laid a hand on his wrist.

"You're with me. Megatron," he glanced back at him, "We'll talk later. I want to see you in a bed too, if it comes to it."

[aurable]

Ordinarily, Drift would have flinched away from being touched out of the blue but now he only relented. Peeling himself off the wall as he followed direction and followed after McCoy with the proverbial tail between his legs.

"Yes, doctor."

[flickerandfade]

"Of course, Doctor McCoy. I think I'll retire for now. If you need me, you'll find me in my habitation suite," Megatron said stiffly, watching as Drift sedately moved to follow McCoy.

"Get more rest, Drift." He felt the ache where he had been struck, but it feels dull and distant. Nothing serious, as far as he knew. What he needed was rest. Just rest.