Roleplay

(( IT'S. A L I V E. again- ))

Trying to hold back a grimace at being called boring was tough, but Match pulled it off fairly smoothly. Instead, he settled for a mild frown, and crossed his arms.

He wasn't boring... was he? The thought circulates through his processor for a long klik, but Blackjack's voice snaps him back to the real world.

The Seeker's rambling again, any semblance of what he's talking about going right over Match's helm. Something about it being "not fun," like him, and something about Darkshift knowing... something, before the flyer's words drifted off.

This is your fault, his spark reminds him, yet again. YOU did this.

Match blinks, as if coming out of a haze, and he stares at BJ for a moment. "... I'a uh.. suppose so, seein' as y'er gonna need t' be guarded."

The others would definitely want somebot supervising the 'Con, at the very least. And besides—these canyons were like a maze, for grounded bots. Anyone who didn't know them well enough, or anyone without a flyer's eye view, could easily get lost.


Darkshift pauses, servo pressed against the rockwall, as he watches the Boss and Blackjack. He holds back a shudder, processor wandering. Would something like this happen to him, if he were stuck underground for half an orn?

Would he lose all sense of who he was? Ramble about nonsense that only mattered to him?

... Probably, now that he thought about it.

“Aw you don’t trust me?” The seeker’s shoulders sagged and he said in an annoyingly exaggerated disappointed voice, “You’re hurting my spark. If I have any.” Blackjack clutched at the armor where his spark would be under, feigning as if he was in pain.

He then immediately cackled.

The ‘con seemed to have now realized the other’s actually going to just stand his own nagging. Blackjack didn’t know why the other wants to do that. Sure, there were mechs who think they can stand him or those who simply did it probably out of pity. He didn’t really care- they always get tired and annoyed eventually. Always.

Eyeing the flier who’s standing by the doorway, he gave a look at the other. Blackjack thought “the kid” as he calls the flier would know. He seemed like the kind who would know. A lot of fliers know, especially because of the war. If they don’t, they’re probably offline. Kinda sad really, but what can you do?

Humming lightly in thought of what he’s going to do with this time, he muttered to himself, “Well fantastic then. I suppose you’re going to stand there like a rock or somethin’ -get it, grounder and rocks- so uh-” Blackjack’s smirk bled into his words before the ‘con suddenly flipped backward..

For such a heavy mech, he was surprisingly agile. Well, Blackjack knew it was more of a matter on knowing where to put his weight, but his captors didn’t need to know that. Easily doing a backflip -and transforming rapidly in and out of his alt form in mid-air- he landed with a satisfying thud. The seeker was delighted to find even though his head still feels … messy, he didn’t lose any instincts.

Then that means if he didn’t lose any instincts, then his head will untangle itself again.
((Yeets post))

Well, Match didn't, but the accusation still makes him flinch. Why exactly, he's not exactly sure. Usually, he'd smirk and nod, but... after this morining's... rough start...

He pushes the thought away, for the time being.

The mech blinks, a bit taken aback by the cackle that comes out of Blackjack's voicebox, and he finds himself staring for a nanosecond. Seems BJ's still in there, if that sarcasm was any kind of sign.

"Well, uh—" he fumbles with his words for a klik, as he tries to re-gather his thoughts. "—No, I'a won't be... these 'ere canyons are huge," he nods. Great start. "You'll.. need some company, if y'er gonna be wanderin' around, so's ya don't get lost."

And then, of all the things that could happen, the flyer does a transforming back-flip.


Dark seizes up, optics blowing wide as he witnesses the display. How did BlackJack even do that with stasis cuffs on?! Match jolts, and Darkshift fully expects him to turn hostile.

But... instead, the mech just stares, and begins to... grin. Within only a few nanoseconds, the bulky mech is laughing.

"You little showoff!" Match snickers, before turning toward the younger flyer. "Dark! Why don't cha show BJ some real fancy stunts, while we're tourin' the canyons?"

Blinking slowly, Darkshift can hardly belief his audios. Match wasn't usually this... jovial with prisoners. Granted, they'd only had a small servoful of actual prisoners, but the point still stands.

Then again... none of them snapped like Blackjack, had...

His spark feels a little more at ease, oddly enough. The thought of doing some laps, and showing off some arial tricks... sounds like fun.

Really, it was kind of amusing to watch the other mech’s face. He’d be more concerned about what comes after this, but he didn’t. For whatever reason. Oh well. Probably just lost a few screws here and there- nothing that won’t pass by.

Besides, he may be a strategist when he’s tucked safely in the Nemesis’ war room, but he relies more on his improvised wits when it comes to actually do the dirty work. Although, eventually he’s certain a plan will come to him. Eventually.

Snorting, he chirped, “Lighten’ up. Yea yea ‘m sure I’ll need some company. It does get awfully lonely…” Blackjack sighed dramatically, “You know, you don’t need to be all secretive ‘bout keepin’ watch on me.”

Blackjack snickered loudly at the flier as he gave a look over, noticing their face. Ah, still too young. Honestly, he’s been in a hostile world for most of his life. The seeker was fascinated as well when he saw someone do it.

It’s a neat trick to learn, and the seeker has a natural advantage in that his forearms function as gun pods, and aren’t a part of his insides. Even with this advantage though, it wasn’t easy to get right, as it involved deviating from normal transformation. A few mods may have also come into place as some parts aren’t really meant to come apart…

And the other two didn’t need to know it’s painful to stay in his alt form for long while still being cuffed.

However, the flier gave a scornful look at the one who- primusdamnit why couldn’t the other stay kinda dumb sounding which is so much more amusing than him laughing. The same laugh that poked annoyingly at Blackjack.

“Ain’t a showoff, just ya know, an easy flex, give the boys some stretching.” He snorted, wings fanning out. Despite his feigned humbleness, however, his genuine pride was barely hidden by a heavy veil of sarcasm. “Hey that ain’t fair. He ain’t cuffed.” Blackjack almost sounded like he was… pouting?

He feels a little guilty about stepping around the subject, but it doesn't really matter. Match rolls his optics a little, and holds out a servo in the go ahead gesture. "'M serious 'bout that gettin' lost thing, though."

He glances away as he hears the sound of a T-cog whirring to life, and sees Dark flipping up into the air, before the kid is shooting up into he air. Match smiles gently, glad to see the young flyer was willing to get back to his morining flight.

Match gives a rough chuckle, at BJ's complaint. "Sure, sure, BJ," he replies, a somewhat playful tone in his voice. "I'a believe ya."


Blackjack's processor was back to normal, within a few cycles, but Match didn't go back on his word. For the next orn onward, every other morining, Match would take the prisoner out to stretch his legs and wings, and keep an optic on him.

At first, he would trail behind the flyer, at least by a few feet, following him and directing him around the canyon. Sometimes he would mess with Blackjack, and cause them to just go in circles, to see how long it would take for the flyer to catch on.

Darkshift would occasionally tag along, often disappearing after a while, to go do his own thing. Sometimes he'd shadow the two adults for a long time, idly listening to them. Other times he'd simply take off, first thing.

At some point, Match found himself walking beside Blackjack, instead of behind him. The mech isn't sure when this happened, and he only recently realized just how close he stayed to the flyer.

He walks behind Blackjack, for a cycle, but it feels... lonely, back there. Sure, he got a nice view when walking behind Blackjack, but being beside him was... nicer.

It hits him like a landslide, one morining, when he's just coming out of recharge, still not fully awake.

He's falling for the snarky razor-snake.

He's already fallen for the stupid flyer.

Match stares at the cloth-covered opening to the cave, an odd sense of dread coiling around his spark. Part of him doesn't want to get out of his berth. Part of him wants to just stay in his cave, and try to talk himself out of being in love.

He can't be in love with a Decepticon! They've caused the Rogues more pain than anyone could think possible, and they were honestly worse than the Autobots—A bunch of goody-two-pedes they may be, but they're still a big nuisance, hogging up all the resources they can find.

The mech finds himself pacing, a nagging feeling poking at his spark.

He shouldn't go out, today. What's one other cycle going to do to the stupid 'Con? He lasted six cycles, so two cycles in that cell was simply going to make him grumpy...

BJ was pretty cute, when he was grumpy, though...

It didn’t take long for his CPU to rework itself back into working order, which was already lucky enough. However, Blackjack certainly didn’t feel lucky when he woke up with error messages everywhere and what felt like a hangover, only worst. His memories files were somewhat defective as well, but the flier took one peek before cheerfully filing it away. Forever.

Primus it was like, like when he was barely even out of sparklinghood again-

The seeker was secretly delighted to find that indeed the soft-sparked neutrals kept their promise. Of course, typical neutrals. Really, it would’ve been quite nice if his first time getting imprisoned felt this disgusting pity too. Maybe his face wouldn’t be so messed up then, and nor would his processor be so messed up as well.

Does something to ya. It really does.

Anyways, the flier was surprisingly pliant on going on the walks, and not quite disobeying anything. Yet. He just, he didn’t feel the chance was right yet. Walking around was nothing compared to flying, but hey, it was better than nothing.

Blackjack supposed… he supposed it was kind of enjoyable at times, that match one’s company. Well, frustrating most of the time, but…oh, whatever. Probably just what the squishies call Stockholm or something. The stupid groundpounder was just like the rust that the glitch probably has on him, just growing on and not getting off the longer it is-

And he keeps coming too. No one else. Sometimes that kid, but always him. Primus just thinking of him makes the seeker surge in hate-

Nevertheless, he was disappointed -no, why was he disappointed? Blackjack was annoyed to find that morning is rolling by and the idiot isn’t showing up.

He’s been, primus, what an idiot he is. Letting himself be tricked by neutrals of all cybertronians, the worst of them all- To believe that they’d- that he still had a chance-

Well just great. Now he’s stuck here, potentially never having a chance to escape now, having wasted it all because he wanted the right chance and may have somewhat enjoyed that glitch’s talking.

Just wonderful.

Grumbling in irritation and boredom already, Blackjack resulted to getting up from the disgusting ground that he was also horrified to find he was getting used to, and try to look past the corner of his little makeshift cell. He’s already considering drinking ...

Part of it doesn't feel right. How could he have a... crush on the prisoner? (The prisoner that he's been getting to know for the past orn.)

Match stops somewhere in the general center of his quarters, distress written clearly on his faceplate.

It's probably just a spark flicker, nothing more. He's admiring the flyer's build, and the feelings he's been getting while walking beside BJ is simply based off previous relationships from cycles long gone.

The name Lunarshot comes to mind, for an instant. He'd spent orns admiring the sleek two-wheeler from afar, before spending two cycles with the charming mech, and then they parted ways on good terms. Match never saw him again, after that.

That's exactly what was happening here, but Match wasn't about to act on his feelings. Unmaker take him, if he was going to do something foolish like that.

Blackjack was—is—a Decepticon. So long as he bore that tacky purple emblem, he would always be a stupid, lying, 'Con. And he would use whatever means nesacary, in order to make an escape.

... The Seeker was taking his sweet time, though.

Match casts another glance at the covered mouth of the cave.

He feels ridiculous.

He's going to stay in the cave, for today. Seemed like a fine cycle to just relax, and drink some high grade. Maybe drink a little too much high grade.


Usually, Darkshift was on guard duty, but the kid had jetted out earlier than usual, this morining. Counterstrike figured he was just getting twitchy, and needed a change of scenery. He'd be back in a cycle or two. Maybe three, depending on where he wanted to go.

Kickbeat, Blazer, and Metal, were all preoccupied with patrols, and Hook was hanging out with Requiem. Probably talking about science and medical garble. Match was nowhere to be found, but a quick check of her scanners said that he was still in his quarters. Must've had a rough night, or something...

Counter's optics narrow, at the glaringly purple blip, on the far side of the main chamber.

Looks like she was up for guard duty, today.

The thought makes her spark crackle irritably.

Making her way across the main chamber, that huge crystal glowing steadily overhead, Counter's thoughts drift. Darkshift had been acting... a bit different, ever since they'd captured this Blackjack joker.

Sure, he was recharging longer, and seemed to be acting more like his age—which was a good thing, if you ask her—but it was still... weird, to such a rapid shift.

Counter stops in the entrance way to the cell-caves, the holo-barrier humming diligently. She can see a figure sitting behind it, as she steps closer. She fights the urge to frown, but looses the struggle rather quickly.

"I'm still not sure why the Boss is even keeping you around," the sniper grumbles loudly. "Or why he's been taking you out on leisure strolls..."

Seeing as no one seems to be coming, the flier returned to his stupid aft rock with exasperation. Honestly, this is what he should be expecting. And it wasn’t as if he’d set his alarm to a closer time of when the idiot comes pick him up to bring outside- Primus now that he thinks about it, Blackjack feels more and more like some pet- Some toy of the neutrals-

Speaking of the Unmaker himself…

The flier’s mask snapped up from staring at some spot on the ground to look straight into the eyes of- *oh you.* Blackjack did quite want to smash that face into itself. And look what a delightful mouth the brat got as well.

“‘Cause I’m a perfectly sweet lil angel sent by Primus himself to bless all of you and chew you all out one by one like a swarm of scraplets until there’s nothing left~” He chirped rather cheerfully, in a mimic of a sparkling’s voice. If it wasn’t for the sound to be coming from a towering seeker, one might’ve even thought it did come from a sparkling.

Blackjack was proud of the voice.

“Anyways, hello brat who shot me! Your boss or anyone here can try to offline me all they want, but I don’t think it’d be very fun for you guys.” The seeker had already decided he’s offlining this one first. He’ll save the flier last- at least her brother has a more respectful spark. He never would’ve been in this miserable pit if it weren’t for her anyways- he hated dealing with snipers; they are just too much of a bunch of parasites.

Also exactly why he is one.

“Now, I think we can both agree that you can just let me stay here, and we can have a nice, long chat.” The way he spoke made it clear it was not going to be nice at all. One could hear the sharp cold grin behind the mask.

@roguishcrow