http://niyazi-a.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
niyazi-a.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
shadow_vector2011-02-01 12:37 am
niyazi-a.livejournal.com) wrote in shadow_vector2011-02-01 12:37 am
Entry tags:
Mabaya ch 8 Tangled
PG-13
IDW/G1 Mabaya AU
Drift/Deadlock, Perceptor, Turmoil
Previous:
Only the Strong (Perceptor, Drift, Turmoil)
In Darkness (Turmoil, Drift/Deadlock)
Caught (Turmoil, Perceptor)
Coming to Light (Perceptor, Drift)
Disconsolate
Visit
Decompensating
“Deadlock.” Turmoil let his feet scrape on the decking, making noise deliberately to startle the two prisoners awake where they lay tangled together.
Deadlock swore, viciously enough that Perceptor, underneath him, stiffened. He rolled clumsily off the red mech, keeping himself between Turmoil and Perceptor. “What do you want?”
“This question again?” Turmoil cocked his head. “Really. I expected so much more of you, Deadlock.”
Deadlock pushed to his feet, favoring his missing hand, holding the limb out, clumsily. “Sorry to be such a disappointment,” he said, sharp, red optics wary.
“Ah, that’s better.” Turmoil purred, the sound reverberating in his chassis. His optics flicked over Deadlock’s frame, lingering for a moment on the interface hatch, before sliding meaningfully over to the sole occupied sheath. “You could never disappoint, Deadlock. I have never taken that away from you.”
“Drift,” Perceptor said, sitting up. “His name is not Deadlock.”
“Has he told you that, Autobot?” A dark amusement, one under which Deadlock could easily see the threat. “Is he still playing that pitiful charade?”
Perceptor saw—or sensed—the danger, too, and hung, at a loss for the right answer. The correct answer, the truth, was something Perceptor himself did not want to admit.
“No,” Deadlock said, stepping between them, closer to Turmoil. “I haven’t.”
“I admit to some small dismay, Deadlock,” Turmoil said, letting the name roll from his vocalizer slowly, as though savoring it. “I had thought you could play better at betrayal. Or has the fun gone out of it for you?”
“It was never fun.”
A tsk. “Lying, now, Deadlock?”
Deadlock felt his mouth twitch.
Turmoil leaned down, the massive shoulders tipping, soundlessly, closer, blue lights from his internal engine glowing with power. He tapped the hilt of the short sword with one finger. “You didn’t enjoy pinning me in the engine room with these? Not at all?”
Deadlock turned away. “Should have killed you.”
“Yes,” Turmoil said. “You should have. And Deadlock would have, wouldn’t he? But you run with Autobots now, and Autobots…,” he let the sentence trail suggestively.
“…are weak.” Yes. Deadlock knew. How many times had he said that?
A purr of satisfaction. Turmoil straightened up. “Why don’t you redress that error, Deadlock?” He tapped one broad hand on his chassis. “Kill me.”
“What?” Perceptor’s voice was stunned, confused. Yes. His logic was not…their logic. But Deadlock understood, all too well, his good hand drifting toward the hilt.
Turmoil nodded, beckoning, encouraging him. “I’m unarmed,” he said. “Take your shot.”
“You’re never unarmed,” Deadlock muttered.
“True.”
“Then how come you didn’t fight back in the engine room?”
“You know why.” The optics glinted with delighted malice. “Yes,” Turmoil said, running one thumb too familiarly under Deadlock's jaw. He tilted his head. “You know,” he added, conversationally, “I like this redesign you've done. Pretty.” The word seemed noxious coming from him. His gaze flicked over Deadlock's shoulder. “I think your little scientist would agree.”
He must have seen something on Perceptor's face. Deadlock didn't dare look. Perceptor’s word, ‘beautiful’ hovered in the back of his cortex. Like a curse.
Turmoil's gaze sought out Perceptor's—Deadlock remembered the sheen the optics would take when Turmoil let his vision shift to the periphery like that. He braced himself, knowing what was coming, dreading it, and dreading even more that he would probably succumb.
“Have you told him?” Turmoil said, abruptly, his voice sweet and toxic as glycol.
“No,” Deadlock said—a negation, and a denial. Wing's words came back to him—don't fight reality. You'll always lose.
But this time, either way, no matter what, he lost.
“Told me...what?”
Deadlock's optics closed, nearly a wince: Perceptor playing right into Turmoil's role.
Turmoil gave that sensual purr of his, the one that still, still vibrated against some dark corner of Deadlock's psyche. “Deadlock and I, in our time, were...quite intimate.” In case there was any chance of Perceptor missing the point, Turmoil glossed one of his large hands over Deadlock's shoulder.
“I had...guessed,” Perceptor said, and Deadlock could hear a strain of forgiveness in the voice, aiming at him.
A dull anger stirred in Deadlock's cortex. Who was Perceptor to judge him? To hold or grant forgiveness? Who were any of them to judge him? “The past,” Deadlock said, jerking his shoulder away. “A lot’s changed.”
“You haven’t,” Turmoil said. “Not that much.”
Deadlock almost heard a wistfulness in Turmoil’s tone. A hope. His optics flared. “I have.”
“Oh?” Turmoil tilted his head. “Show me. Deadlock would kill me…what would this…’Drift’ do?”
“Kill him.” Perceptor’s voice thrummed through the air, with that same laser focus he had before he took a shot. Sure, solid, certain.
Deadlock wasn’t that sure. “Don’t push me, Turmoil,” he said, a warning and, in a way, a plea.
“Why,” Turmoil said, stepping forward, bumping his chassis against Drift’s shoulder. “not?”
“You know why.” It was an old game, throwing Turmoil’s words back at him, and Deadlock hated that he’d already fallen back into it. It felt like a fall, like a descent, where his old patterns, his old identity, was a flimsy outcropping he grabbed onto to stop from falling entirely into the abyss.
He heard the contented purr from Turmoil’s engine, and knew that the larger mech knew it too, and could feel the faint swirl of old desire stir up from some depths.
Turmoil nodded, almost a bow. “I’ll leave you two alone, now,” he said, mockingly gracious. “I presume you have…many things to discuss.”
And he turned on his silent heels, the force barrier rippling around him, and left them alone, knowing he’d won.
Deadlock desperately, desperately, did not want to turn around.
IDW/G1 Mabaya AU
Drift/Deadlock, Perceptor, Turmoil
Previous:
Only the Strong (Perceptor, Drift, Turmoil)
In Darkness (Turmoil, Drift/Deadlock)
Caught (Turmoil, Perceptor)
Coming to Light (Perceptor, Drift)
Disconsolate
Visit
Decompensating
“Deadlock.” Turmoil let his feet scrape on the decking, making noise deliberately to startle the two prisoners awake where they lay tangled together.
Deadlock swore, viciously enough that Perceptor, underneath him, stiffened. He rolled clumsily off the red mech, keeping himself between Turmoil and Perceptor. “What do you want?”
“This question again?” Turmoil cocked his head. “Really. I expected so much more of you, Deadlock.”
Deadlock pushed to his feet, favoring his missing hand, holding the limb out, clumsily. “Sorry to be such a disappointment,” he said, sharp, red optics wary.
“Ah, that’s better.” Turmoil purred, the sound reverberating in his chassis. His optics flicked over Deadlock’s frame, lingering for a moment on the interface hatch, before sliding meaningfully over to the sole occupied sheath. “You could never disappoint, Deadlock. I have never taken that away from you.”
“Drift,” Perceptor said, sitting up. “His name is not Deadlock.”
“Has he told you that, Autobot?” A dark amusement, one under which Deadlock could easily see the threat. “Is he still playing that pitiful charade?”
Perceptor saw—or sensed—the danger, too, and hung, at a loss for the right answer. The correct answer, the truth, was something Perceptor himself did not want to admit.
“No,” Deadlock said, stepping between them, closer to Turmoil. “I haven’t.”
“I admit to some small dismay, Deadlock,” Turmoil said, letting the name roll from his vocalizer slowly, as though savoring it. “I had thought you could play better at betrayal. Or has the fun gone out of it for you?”
“It was never fun.”
A tsk. “Lying, now, Deadlock?”
Deadlock felt his mouth twitch.
Turmoil leaned down, the massive shoulders tipping, soundlessly, closer, blue lights from his internal engine glowing with power. He tapped the hilt of the short sword with one finger. “You didn’t enjoy pinning me in the engine room with these? Not at all?”
Deadlock turned away. “Should have killed you.”
“Yes,” Turmoil said. “You should have. And Deadlock would have, wouldn’t he? But you run with Autobots now, and Autobots…,” he let the sentence trail suggestively.
“…are weak.” Yes. Deadlock knew. How many times had he said that?
A purr of satisfaction. Turmoil straightened up. “Why don’t you redress that error, Deadlock?” He tapped one broad hand on his chassis. “Kill me.”
“What?” Perceptor’s voice was stunned, confused. Yes. His logic was not…their logic. But Deadlock understood, all too well, his good hand drifting toward the hilt.
Turmoil nodded, beckoning, encouraging him. “I’m unarmed,” he said. “Take your shot.”
“You’re never unarmed,” Deadlock muttered.
“True.”
“Then how come you didn’t fight back in the engine room?”
“You know why.” The optics glinted with delighted malice. “Yes,” Turmoil said, running one thumb too familiarly under Deadlock's jaw. He tilted his head. “You know,” he added, conversationally, “I like this redesign you've done. Pretty.” The word seemed noxious coming from him. His gaze flicked over Deadlock's shoulder. “I think your little scientist would agree.”
He must have seen something on Perceptor's face. Deadlock didn't dare look. Perceptor’s word, ‘beautiful’ hovered in the back of his cortex. Like a curse.
Turmoil's gaze sought out Perceptor's—Deadlock remembered the sheen the optics would take when Turmoil let his vision shift to the periphery like that. He braced himself, knowing what was coming, dreading it, and dreading even more that he would probably succumb.
“Have you told him?” Turmoil said, abruptly, his voice sweet and toxic as glycol.
“No,” Deadlock said—a negation, and a denial. Wing's words came back to him—don't fight reality. You'll always lose.
But this time, either way, no matter what, he lost.
“Told me...what?”
Deadlock's optics closed, nearly a wince: Perceptor playing right into Turmoil's role.
Turmoil gave that sensual purr of his, the one that still, still vibrated against some dark corner of Deadlock's psyche. “Deadlock and I, in our time, were...quite intimate.” In case there was any chance of Perceptor missing the point, Turmoil glossed one of his large hands over Deadlock's shoulder.
“I had...guessed,” Perceptor said, and Deadlock could hear a strain of forgiveness in the voice, aiming at him.
A dull anger stirred in Deadlock's cortex. Who was Perceptor to judge him? To hold or grant forgiveness? Who were any of them to judge him? “The past,” Deadlock said, jerking his shoulder away. “A lot’s changed.”
“You haven’t,” Turmoil said. “Not that much.”
Deadlock almost heard a wistfulness in Turmoil’s tone. A hope. His optics flared. “I have.”
“Oh?” Turmoil tilted his head. “Show me. Deadlock would kill me…what would this…’Drift’ do?”
“Kill him.” Perceptor’s voice thrummed through the air, with that same laser focus he had before he took a shot. Sure, solid, certain.
Deadlock wasn’t that sure. “Don’t push me, Turmoil,” he said, a warning and, in a way, a plea.
“Why,” Turmoil said, stepping forward, bumping his chassis against Drift’s shoulder. “not?”
“You know why.” It was an old game, throwing Turmoil’s words back at him, and Deadlock hated that he’d already fallen back into it. It felt like a fall, like a descent, where his old patterns, his old identity, was a flimsy outcropping he grabbed onto to stop from falling entirely into the abyss.
He heard the contented purr from Turmoil’s engine, and knew that the larger mech knew it too, and could feel the faint swirl of old desire stir up from some depths.
Turmoil nodded, almost a bow. “I’ll leave you two alone, now,” he said, mockingly gracious. “I presume you have…many things to discuss.”
And he turned on his silent heels, the force barrier rippling around him, and left them alone, knowing he’d won.
Deadlock desperately, desperately, did not want to turn around.
no subject
heh. in a new relationship, there's always an old one behind... Perceptor doesnt seem like not understanding this simple rule. He's kinda... intelligent XD
Poor Drift is so cornered now. He is trapped, proved wrong in so many ways as a warrior and he never was quite straight with his changing ways of being a what: Decepticon, Autobot or neutral? Now he has to fight Turmoil and to free Perceptor and to die a honorable death. At least, he thinks thats the only way out...
no subject
no subject
On to the writing aspect of this piece. You did a fabulous job with the dialog. You kept everyone in character while also keeping the flow of dialog even and natural. The only line that seemed slightly off was, "Kill him." Perceptor's voice thrummed through the air. I normally don't see Perceptor promoting violence but after thinking about it, given the situation, that would probable be his reaction. Fabulous job.
no subject
Turmoil is so devious. I can't wait to see what happens next.