[[You get Jetfire because I am logged in as him.]]
Time...passed.
It refused to stop, or slow, or succumb to any constant but its own, weaving in and out of a reality that could not be a reality.
Grass grew.
Grass died.
Grass slid past human shoes as he walked, bent, crunched, and endured even after he had moved on. And he...barely recognized the figure growing out of the tangled mess of green until his feet came to rest before it.
He stopped.
In front of him was metal, and flesh, and colors, and wings.
Behind him was grass, and fields, and broken runways.
Jetfire is always goodloltraitorlolAugust 12 2010, 03:55:35 UTC
It took him a while to wake up, to move. The sight, the sound did not register at first.
White...
He knows this face and he doesn't. And that makes his spark twist up inside him. The pain is clear on his face - he's still waking up, he has no chance to hide it.
He doesn't speak at first, he simply gapes and he wrestles with the not-knowing as he tries to move. He feels... decayed. Rusted. Misused, out of date. He tries to speak, and at first he can't. He coughs, a harsh sound that shakes his whole body, and tries again. The sound is like a rusted hinge, a grating screech from disuse.
"I don't remember."
It hurts him to admit this. It hurts him every time he remembers that he doesn't remember. He is himself, or he should be. Why isn't he here?
So many questions. He's almost entirely certain this is his dream. Or a dream. Or a between place. Why now, after more than a million years of being alone, why here?
Re: He will pretend he did not hear that, so he does not have to pretend to not blush.loltraitorlolAugust 13 2010, 04:03:39 UTC
He reaches up to touch that hand, and... cries. Not hard. Not loudly. Just a few stray tears, wandering down his cheeks.
When was the last time he cried? And how simple an action. He doesn't remember the first time, but he does remember not understanding what his body was doing at the time, and being enraged. His optics were leaking, slaggit, and he was in distress and this was not the time for this sort of thing to be happening.
But here and now, it came somehow as a relief.
"Don't leave again," he says. "Not again, please."
Ice. Ice, and calling. Calling, calling; and the darker changes afterward. Standing alone in the halls of Crystal City and knowing. And then everything changing.
There are things he wants to remember. That... isn't one of them. Or, he's not sure, now. It's part of who he is.
And yet with this one here, this pale skyship, he's... not sure what he wants to remember, anymore. And what he wants to forget.
Comments 6
Time...passed.
It refused to stop, or slow, or succumb to any constant but its own, weaving in and out of a reality that could not be a reality.
Grass grew.
Grass died.
Grass slid past human shoes as he walked, bent, crunched, and endured even after he had moved on. And he...barely recognized the figure growing out of the tangled mess of green until his feet came to rest before it.
He stopped.
In front of him was metal, and flesh, and colors, and wings.
Behind him was grass, and fields, and broken runways.
He looked down.
"Who....are you?"
Reply
White...
He knows this face and he doesn't. And that makes his spark twist up inside him. The pain is clear on his face - he's still waking up, he has no chance to hide it.
He doesn't speak at first, he simply gapes and he wrestles with the not-knowing as he tries to move. He feels... decayed. Rusted. Misused, out of date. He tries to speak, and at first he can't. He coughs, a harsh sound that shakes his whole body, and tries again. The sound is like a rusted hinge, a grating screech from disuse.
"I don't remember."
It hurts him to admit this. It hurts him every time he remembers that he doesn't remember. He is himself, or he should be. Why isn't he here?
So many questions. He's almost entirely certain this is his dream. Or a dream. Or a between place. Why now, after more than a million years of being alone, why here?
He closes his eyes and hangs his head.
Reply
Reply
When was the last time he cried? And how simple an action. He doesn't remember the first time, but he does remember not understanding what his body was doing at the time, and being enraged. His optics were leaking, slaggit, and he was in distress and this was not the time for this sort of thing to be happening.
But here and now, it came somehow as a relief.
"Don't leave again," he says. "Not again, please."
Ice. Ice, and calling. Calling, calling; and the darker changes afterward. Standing alone in the halls of Crystal City and knowing. And then everything changing.
There are things he wants to remember. That... isn't one of them. Or, he's not sure, now. It's part of who he is.
And yet with this one here, this pale skyship, he's... not sure what he wants to remember, anymore. And what he wants to forget.
For now he clings to that hand, and he asks.
"What do you remember?"
Reply
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