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 Posted: Sun May 30, 2010 10:48 pm
 Dad had attained an enemy only after many stellar cycles of service of the Decepticons, when he determined that Megatron didn't have the best interests of Cybertron at heart. He had been fighting his foe for millennia, and (unless his family had some say in the matter, of course) was set to continue battling against that oaf Megatron for millennia more. It therefore felt anticlimactic for Reb to find himself with an archnemesis after barely a month after his appearance in the universe.
And an organic, at that! One that would last what, 100 stellar cycles at most before choking and dying? Rusting and deteriorating into uselessness long before that? Mind you, Scout was a fiendishly clever one, a ruthless, determined individual that took all of Reb's processor to defeat in...verbal combat. There was no possible way he could make her sound as threatening as he perceived her to be, but suffice to say, he could just as easily imagine Scout losing her mind to organic senility as he could imagine himself becoming the next Prime. That is to say, with extreme difficulty.
To be honest, Reb was beginning to worry that he was getting obsessed over her, distracted from the mission at hand. That was alright for now--Decepticons were well on their way to outnumbering the Autobots, so he wasn't needed that much for now--but it could become...distracting later. Why can't I get Scout out of my head?! he thought one day, lounging on the couch at the shop and staring at the ceiling. He'd had to get away; trying to work with the computer was useless with his enemy on his mind. He needed to think, slaggit!
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Posted: Mon May 31, 2010 9:52 am
 Deryn sat idly at the window of a one 221 Baker Street, toying with the key that hung from her collar and fogging up the glass. Her fathers had left her here only recently, going out to the opera (of all things), leaving the house empty save for her thoughts. Watson, for his part, seemed wary to do so at first; but they all knew he would follow Holmes wherever he went. Even if it was on a date to the opera? Even then.
Flicking her tail back and forth, she realized in a bout of frustration that she was bored. Again. Apparently that wasn't a good thing, because on more than one occasion she'd overheard Watson complain in his entirely affectionate manner that 'My god Holmes! She's just like you, and it's completely terrifying.'. That, of course, translated roughly to the solid fact that when she was bored, s**t tended to blow up and people often got their faces punched in. A productive outlet was becoming harder and harder to find. Sure, her aim could use work and her writing was coming along as slowly as a child's but... She wasn't bored with the way things came along slowly in either of those areas. She wasn't terribly impatient for something exciting to occur when she was shooting or writing, but rather when she was around the shop.
Why would that make a lick of sense? Oh right, because of him. Deryn sighed, hopping down from the windowsill and padding across the wooden floor with a grace even she could recognize through the haze of mental frustration and stagnation. Pulling her hat off of the rack and her cane out from inside the umbrella stand - she almost took Watson's instead, and wondered with frown why he had forgotten it - she was out the door and headed for the very same place she had cursed for not having a dozen raw potatoes just yesterday. To be quite honest however, she was really heading for Reb.
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Posted: Mon May 31, 2010 11:07 am
The truly disturbing thing was that yesterday--just one orbital cycle ago!--he had been just about ready to not fight against her, but fight...with her. That is, they were going to have some fun, apparently...She had suggested they blow something up. It would have turned out alright but for the odd lack of the root vegetable known as "potatoes" in and around the shop. Before they could have gone off to find some, Gremlin had shown up, and Reb had realized that letting his mother's dragon see him not slagging an organic would have been a very, very bad idea.
Some part of him, independent from the sensible part of his processor, had idly gone looking for some potatoes. A farmer's market somewhere in town had been selling some, and when the organic wasn't looking, he'd snitched a few. Admittedly, that was theft, but technically wasn't the conquering of a planet theft? Wasn't taking its resources? He was a Decepticon, and thus a thief. Besides, where would he get money to buy some of these..things? Nowhere, that's where.
She won't be coming here--she's probably busy being nosy and finding things out. She's a detective, just like her father. He'd taken the liberty of researching her family. Seriously, why not? She'd done the same, discovering his plans to be a spy when they first met. I wish I had the skills at information gathering she has! he thought as he sat up and juggled the potatoes.
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 3:20 pm
Just treat it like another experiment, she told herself, not for the first time. While it was more than obvious that relationships weren't the same as her everyday experiments, this wasn't really a relationship and often the same procedures could reap the same results. Huffing quietly to herself, she walked along the nearly-deserted street and dragged her cane along the sidewalk as a few dreary cars blew by. She ignored them, partly because she hated them and partly because she didn't understand them. (Though, that may have been the same thing entirely, she ignored them all the same.) Problem, Rebel's Ambition. Hypothesis... none. Come now, it's more than obvious that she was well learned in the art of NEVER THEORIZE BEFORE DATA.
Alright then, she skirted the corner, cane swinging around and nearly taking some unlucky human out just above the knees; research comes next. She had more than enough of that, did she not? After all, Deryn remembered with a smug smile - one that she was well aware made her fathers uneasy - she had the upper hand in this way at least. They'd met, and she'd deduced the s**t out of him. He threw the first punch, which was always a good sign, to be sure.
Almost to the shop, she did her best to mentally sum up what knowledge she had gained without 'romanticizing the results' as Sherlock often claimed she did. That frustrated her, immensely, so she tried to avoid it by using tables; or, when that wasn't practical, a list. A mental one in this case, to prevent incrimination.
On Rebel's Ambition:
- Prefers to be called Reb, and apparently dislikes any other nickname. Including 'Little Toaster'.
- His family is a nuclear one, but only in that sense are they "normal".
- They are Decepitcons (which does an excellent job of making them seem like bad guys, not that I'm one to judge).
- He wants to be a spy, or something useful like that.
- Being a robot, he possesses no brain, heart, ect. Feelings? Probable, though it's a 7% chance they were merely feigned.
- Thinks computers are superior, is passable in a fight, learns only what suits him, is entirely frustrating and... he wants me dead, before my time if possible; though he's patient enough to wait for it, I'm sure.
With that accomplished and her mind feeling more clear, she shoved away the brief pull of emotional response to such a thing, and darted around the shop. An entrance through the back door wasn't for surprise so much as to take the opportunity to look as if she owned the place.
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Posted: Thu Jun 03, 2010 10:21 pm
Alright, soldier, what do you know about this organic, this "Scout"?
One: She is a member of a family traditionally involved in detective work; her father is known as one of the more clever and devious organics ever. She will possess great stretches of intellect.
Two: She has a short temper and a tendency towards violence. Her opinions on technology? Unknown, but she hardly uses it (though it would appear she is familiar with toasters). Her main weapon seems to be her fists; obviously no match for me.
There was more, but Reb was continually being distracted. She was just...different, and any attempt to explain her sprouted tangents like some Preds sprouted webs. His fascination with her could never end, and every attempt to analyze it only agitated him and made him more restless. Finally, no longer able to take it any longer, Reb stood up, stuffing the potatoes and half-empty bottle of hydrogen peroxide he'd pilfered from a medicine cabinet upstairs into a sack stowed away in the couch and checked his nullrays. Fully charged, as was he; it never hurt to be prepared. He still remembered his humiliating first encounter with her, when his energy was so low he hadn't had the opportunity to slag her.
Mind you, life would be really boring right now if not for her. She makes life...fascinating. I'd probably be bumming around with Commie right now, blowing my cover by blowing up organics. That's fun, but that's not work; Cybertron isn't served by letting a few organics know who's boss. He found himself walking out the back door in the kitchen--not the kitchen with the humans running amok, making bowls...which always slightly disturbed him...but the kitchen for the noodles, where, except for yesterday, it seemed, potatoes and all other manner of rations for organics could be found.
He wondered if they tasted as good as the energon he was sipping on; a tangy fuchsia blend in a can made of reinforced steel and lined with a special substance that kept the can safe, the sort that was as common on Cybertron and her colony planets as aluminum cans were here. It gave him something to concentrate on besides that pesky organic.
Which he should have been paying attention to, as, at that moment, he nearly tripped on her. "Slag, look where--!! Oh, it's you." He stood up straight and shook out his tail, shuttering his optics and allowing them to take on a slightly more violet blue hue than normal.
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Posted: Sun Jun 06, 2010 8:21 am
(Guh, it's short. Dl Also, I keep seeing double meanings in your posts that are probably not there. /don't ask)
Of course, her affected superiority was fairly well ruined when just who she was looking for apparently wasn't even looking out for her. Quick as she was known for, her cane was shoved into the door frame, not only keeping her balanced but also creating an impromptu wall between them. It was for that reason that she left it there; sliding the top half onto her side of the door so that she could easily draw the blade if at all necessary, although that was quickly proving a pointless move.
"Oh, it's you." She replied, huffing in agitation. "Glad to know we're not in attack mode, but changing the color of your eyes is generally more foreboding than not. Also, you absolutely reek. What chemicals have you been playing with lately, little toaster? Wouldn't have named that among your strong points."
Of course she knew it was hydrogen peroxide, what else would he have been getting into? Not that she knew much about his 'profession' to be sure, but he didn't usually smell like this and- she wasn't going to ask herself how she knew what he normally smelled like. A bit desperate for a distraction, though her face certainly didn't show it, she loosened her grip on her cane and slid a paw between the many layers of her coats, pulling her watch out, its silver chain making soft metallic sounds. "Not yet lunch time." She mumbled to herself, putting it away once more and directing the sharpness of her eyes towards his face with a trademark scowl.
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Posted: Sun Jun 06, 2010 9:08 am
Amusement crawled across Reb's metallic features at the way Scout slammed her cane into the door. Note: Why does she carry a cane? Organics carry canes to compensate for faulty legs. She has no such disabilities! He tried not to allow his confusion at this anomaly show as he leaned against the door casually, taking a long, slow slurp at his can. His dignity was lessened, to some extent, by the fact that the can was almost empty, forcing him to tilt his head all the way back in order to get the last few dregs.
Feeling tingly, he grinned and gave a little bow, crushing the can with surgical preciseness--dent the sides, crush the ends--saying in a cheerful tone of voice, "But the fact that I allow my eyes to not be pure blue is a compliment to you, dear..." She'd used that nickname again. He wouldn't let it anger him, he wouldn't let it anger him...The energon was putting him in a violent mood. "...Deryn." She hated that name as much as he hated being accused of crisping bread. "It means I trust you enough to know that I am not all that I pretend to be. As for the smell..." He sniffed at himself theatrically. Not even a robot's auditory sensors could detect its own smell. "I suspect the hydrogen peroxide. Either that, or this delicious can of energon I just finished.
"Speaking of hydrogen peroxide, are you still interested in yesterday's experiment? I managed to locate some potatoes." He tilted his head on the side, irritatedly noting that she didn't seem to be interested anymore. And what was lunchtime, anyway? Some organics started eating it thirty cycles before the zenith, others waited until sixty cycles had passed from the zenith. Did they have no consistency?
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Posted: Sun Jun 06, 2010 10:03 am
She watched him slurp down some sort of liquid sceptically. Did robots usually need such things? She didn't think so... unless it was motor oil. But that would only offend him, she could imagine his face if she asked, and had to stifle a giggle by coughing loudly. Feigning that as an attempt to gain his full attention was easy, and glaring at him even more so.
"Damnit, fine! You be Reb, and I'll be Scout. I mean, really, I can be anything you like; my middle name is Marlow, my last names are Holmes and Watson. Not. Deryn." Taking a deep breath that really didn't help to clear her mind so much as give her an opportunity to growl she added, "You ******** frustrating piece of scrap metal."
Ignoring him for a moment she leaned against her cane, waiting for the moment when his position would allow her to dart inside. He wasn't deducing her thoughts so much as assuming she knew what he had been up to, which was rather complimentary actually, but she ignored that too. Energon? Whatever the hell that was, it clearly wasn't motor oil, yet he found it delicious. Did robots have taste buds? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he was frustratingly complex. Worse than a person even. Ah, there was her chance.
Sliding past him through the door frame, her side pressed up against him for a half a second and she stiffened, but then she was past. Hopefully he wouldn't have felt the bandages wrapped around her middle, professionally wrapped by her father after a miscalculation left her badly burned. Holmes had been through worse anyway, and even if Reb did feel it, he wasn't going to worry about her anyway. He might, however, press the weakness. She strode into the main room of the shop, knowing instinctively where he'd been sitting, but ignoring that and glancing around. It was a slow day.
"Hmm? No, that's child's play. Simply an example of chemical reactions on a small scale, nothing important enough to steal for." Humming to herself, she turned back to face him, smirking at his confused expression. "What? I've lost you so soon?"
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Posted: Sun Jun 06, 2010 10:18 am
That was an odd choice of words. But then, surely "slag" seemed odd to organics? Why was copulation an insult? Unless it's with an organic. Best not to ask questions. What captivated him even more was the giggle she hid with a cough. Was she amused by the way he energized himself?
Reb rolled his optics back, though it had no effect on their color, lacking a distinctive sclera. "So, you've finally figured out that I don't enjoy being compared to a kitchen appliance? Well done. Good for you," he replied with a hint of sarcasm. "I am aware that you do not enjoy your forename, just as you are aware that I do not enjoy being called a 'little toaster.' I am as tall as you are, and older as well--hardly 'little.' And I do not burn organic food." A little twinge in his emotional circuits was duly ignored.
Luckily for her, Reb hadn't been paying enough attention to notice the slight bulge under her clothing, and even if he had, he would have taken no note of it. Organics wore all sorts of cloth, why should a little more be unusual? Besides, the amount of energy he now had was starting to interfere with his senses. His vision had blurred slightly and his courage had grown. Following her, he felt like doing something rash and destructive. It took a good amount of willpower to resist the urge to start blasting things and turn his optics that distinctive shade of crimson that was so similar to blood.
He shrugged. "Chem'cal reacshuns..." He was slurring, Primus! How strong was that energon?! "Chem-i-cal re-ac-tions," he said, slowly to ensure that he was fully enunciating, "are worth steal-ing ov-er. That's how we De-cep-ti-cons surrrrvive. We have to steal--so stealing a few potatoes is nothing." He wasn't even surprised that she knew. Nothing surprised him much about her, he was certain.
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Posted: Sun Jun 06, 2010 10:44 am
She eyed him a bit warily, giving him a once over. Eyes... weird. Tone, sarcastic. And did he just visibly cringe, or was that just her? He may have noticed her wound, which was rubbing against the bandages and making her remember Watson's command to not leave the house. One which she had promptly, and obviously, ignored. Scout doubted that he was paying that much attention to physical contact however, he wasn't the type.
Still, Reb was acting a bit weird. It wouldn't have been too noticeable to someone who hadn't spent as much time fighting with him as she had, but it didn't look good at the moment. Especially not for her. Instantly stiffening, exercising a control over her body that was normally reserved for organized fights or an important fencing match, she shifted slightly, preparing.
Because now his voice was off, and her brows knitted together, curious and frustrated and worried all at once. If she knew more about him, perhaps this wouldn't be the case. If I wasn't such a fool, thinking he was my friend, treating him as a human. I can't possibly stand a chance against him when he's like this.
"Re-eb?" She questioned, injecting a bit of amusement into her voice. "Never would have suspected you of sinking down to the level of a common street urchin either, actually." Insulting him probably wasn't the way to go, especially because he probably wouldn't pick up on the double meaning and self deprecation in that, but she couldn't help it. She wasn't about to walk up to him and put a paw to his forehead, ignoring all the warning signs and just be helpful like Watson did for Holmes. She wasn't that confident in their relationship, especially not at this moment.
Shifting slowly, she skirted towards the front door of the shop, doing her best to be in a position that would help in escape, without being painfully obvious. Most likely she wasn't doing very well at being subtle, but it was also probable that he wouldn't notice anyway; through the haze of his robot brain malfunction, or whatever the hell was going on. She calculated the mental possibly of him noticing her worry and preemptive escape maneuvers at about 7%.
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Posted: Wed Jun 09, 2010 4:20 pm
He was going to get so much slag later from his parents about overenergizing! He could feel some of his logical circuitry starting to break down and he had the overpowering urge to grin and start laughing. It was intolerable! This was a serious situation, not a game! He shook himself out to settle out the energy that was powerfully coursing through his circuits.
"Why are you drawwing out the wooords?" he asked, aware that he, too, was. Pretend not to notice. "I'm no simpleton, Scout--don't make me prove it to you." He noticed that she was starting to edge towards the door; he followed her casually, pretending not to notice. "As for your attempt to accuse me of being a dimwit, poor, organic child? Alas, theft is what keeps Decepticons alive--an unnecessary measure, for the time being. Luckily, it's just energy, a resource I'm not certain you care too much about.
"You know, I've been wondering--what are your opinions on machines?" He tried to keep his voice sounding casual and not prying, and for this, he allowed his optics to shift to a more bluish hue. Maybe it'll work? Maybe it'd work if she knew about optic colors. Note to self: tell her it has to do with emotions. That's partially correct. He had no way of knowing how much his actions were disturbing her; all he knew was that she was running away, and he didn't like that. He had much more to learn, he needed more time with this puzzle! Besides, we've got explosions to make! Pow, blam--why am I thinking like that one idiotic Autobot, Warpath?!
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Posted: Wed Jun 09, 2010 5:02 pm
She didn't like this one bit. Resisting the urge to shout, she listened as patiently as she could as he rambled on, looking one moment like he was going to roll on the floor with laughter and the next like he was going to hit her. This was ridiculous, and she didn't appreciate that his loss of control made her feel a loss of it as well. "Not all poor organic children are dimwits, though you're doing an excellent job of seeming to be one lately. Seriously Reb are you... are you drunk or something?" Her voice slipped into an incredulous measure, paw itching to draw her blade even though she knew that it was useless against him. What a fool I am.
"Energy is not something I underestimate it... not sure if you can overestimate it but..." She shook her head, already unruly hair falling into her face. Scout didn't bother to fix that at the moment, keeping her eyes trained on him and making sure each step was silent and weightless. "What kind of machines?" She added, curious as to his pressing the matter. Was he asking her opinion of him so blatantly? No, no, of course not; don't be ridiculous.
Drawing her gun made her feel more reckless, more defended, despite the fact that it was useless right now. That thought kept gnawing at her, but she brushed it aside, twirling her gun carelessly in one paw. "This is a machine, don't you suppose? A killing machine, like you." She'd impressed herself with that one, and smiled smugly for a moment. Thinking aloud wasn't all bad, unless she was alone and Mrs.Hudson heard her, or if she started to fall prey to those pesky emotions again. Right now though, it helped. He was a killing machine, and he could kill her. She'd already decided that he wanted to, so why was she sticking around when he was so high off of energy or some crap? Jesus, Mary and Joseph... You know why.
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Posted: Wed Jun 09, 2010 5:46 pm
"But urchins are dimwits, at least in the connotations of those who are not urchins. As for drunkenness?" Condition brought on by the overconsumption of ethanol. Symptoms are similar to overenergization. "Not...precisely. More like...overexcited." Because I'd rather have an interview with Optimus Prime and Megatron simultaneously than admit a weakness to Scout. "It's...too complicated...And I don't think you want to hear." Speaking of hear, he was hearing a buzzing in his auditory sensors and felt his limbs relax as the energy seeped in and set like whiskey into a wooden barrel. Not that he would have understood that reference.
Reb shook himself out again, more as an attempt to use some of the excess than anything else. "You know, any kind of machines," he replied. "Automobiles, computers, jets...you don't seem the machine type. You seem more...old-fashioned. That's not bad. I think. It means you won't abuse machines. As for guns?" He have a smile, not daring to laugh. "They are certainly killing machines, and I suppose the two of us are on par. My killing is done with nullrays, and what's that more than a fancy gun?" he added, glancing at one of his own. Granted, they fired very different missiles, but his logic circuits were starting to short out. His mind was now lubricated with ideas, wonderful ideas that he had never thought of. Like the similarity between different types of weapons.
That was one of the ones that was surfacing. The rest were being hurriedly shut away by some part of his processor that wasn't completely buzzed. He just had to concentrate. Like on her gun. It couldn't affect him--well, except for his cord. Tech had had hers shot off before--it was his one weakness. Instinctively, he wrapped it around his leg to keep it safe.
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Posted: Wed Jun 09, 2010 6:18 pm
(For some reason I was like "Aaww" to that seventh sentence.)
While before she had been inching away, now she was inching closer. She had better than a seven percent chance of success this time, with him distracted by his own thoughts. It amused her, but she huffed with impatiences outwardly. She did want to hear, but she wasn't going to tell him. In fact, she had felt personally insulted by that earlier comment, and was going to show him just how much.
His short and illogically sequenced rant about machines and weapons was buzzing in the background of her whizzing thoughts. None of her weapons worked on him, he'd learned how her sense of humor worked, and combated tactlessness with polite replies. It infuriated her, realizing suddenly that she didn't have the upper hand here. Still spinning her gun, she could tell by it's weight that Watson had forgotten to steal the bullets from it as soon as he was out of the house. Perhaps Holmes had noticed again and teased him for it, but in any case he had forgotten. She could always test his words, right? What harm, she smirked just slightly, could there possibly be in that?
If he wasn't merely bragging, which she doubted for some odd reason, then he would live. And... she wasn't going to try and kill him anyway, just to be sure. It would be an experiment, a shot meant to graze and leave no lasting wound. She could do it, Deryn hummed to herself in satisfaction of that, even when he was fidgeting like she did when there was no work to be done. Her eyes flashed to the only fully controlled moment his body was making, it stood out and spoke well written paragraphs to her instantly. Not the tail then, he would probably be more than happy to use his extra energy to kill her in a moment if she went for the tail. So she crept closer, the beginnings of circling him, in a way. Her gun twirled effortlessly, a killing machine. But it didn't have to be. Just have to get the right angle and...
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Posted: Thu Jun 17, 2010 1:45 pm
Little serpents of thought were biting impatiently at Reb's processor. They were nothing compared to the dragons of observation, however, who screamed loudly, SHE'S MOVING CLOSER!! SLAG HER!! He couldn't slag her, though. To take her down after knowing her for a mere two months? How anticlimactic! Besides, it would blow my cover, I could get into all sorts of trouble. He instead decided to allow her to come closer, pretending not to notice it. That would probably turn out to be a mistake, though he didn't yet realize that.
"You haven't answered my question, Scout," he purred. "Automobiles, airplanes, computers...robots...You're a mystery, and I'm sure you don't mind my probing into you it--after all, that's what your father does. What do you think of people--of machines like me?" He didn't truly expect an answer. Scout countered his inquiries with evasions, his civility with discourtesy. Probability I'll get an answer out of her from this inquiry? 7 percent, or so. She's up to something. She'll probably try to shove me out of the way.
The movement of Scout's weapon concerned only a part of his processor, and it wasn't a part that was being listened to. He watched it a little, but only absently; he wasn't really paying attention to it, just seeming to. Too much was going on for him to be able to concentrate on any one material thing in particular. In short, he was open for an attack.
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