04-28-15 - Hello, Goodbye

Things are a mess, but then what can you expect when a Prime has gone power mad and a city has been blown up.

Conflict means casualities. There is a steady stream of them, unfortunately, that comes from Nyon as more of the rubble is sifted through. Megatron has dispatched Decepticons to comb through the smoldering debris to find survivors, or more commonly - return with the death so that they can be properly mourned. Zephyr in particular has been placed in charge of such things, so the bodies that make it past her return here to Kolkular. The destruction in Nyon is consuming, widespread and so what is found is not always easily identifiable.

Farcry, the Seeker-framed recruiter that had been in Nyon seeks out Hot Rod and asks for his help with one such identification. She knows that she was unwelcome in the rebel's base but Farcry remembers the kindness shown to her, a kindness that ultimately lead to her survival. "It's ... a large body. Black," she describes. "I can't tell but if you might then... well, we'd know." If Hot Rod is willing she'll lead him to what she means, a large slab of a form under a white sheet.

The grim business of it all wears at Hot Rod as little else has in his (admittedly short) life. A moment's impossible decision, at least, is over in that moment, but this--.

It's never ending. First, shock barely worn off, it's giving Blast Off and the other Decepticons information to help them look for survivors, weighing in on search grids whose logic is centered on the bombs /he/ detonated. Then it's trying to find words to explain to others, like Moonlight, or the ragged refugees who managed to evacuate in time. Strangely absent from his explanations is the simple fact that he detonated the bombs. He finds ways around it. Then it's /coordinating/ them, and that he dumps on Slinger, one of the brighter voices of Nyon's citizens. Now ... this.

Is Hot Rod willing? Yes. He goes. But he's reluctant, every step dragging, and the brightness of his paint is a lie that's easily read in the droop of his shoulders. "Sure," he says as he agrees to go with her. It's an easy word, delivered heavily.

The bombs didn't plan themselves! Not only did Hot Rod detonate them, he had them planted.

Arsenal knew this. Scrap, she was the one that say to many of them being placed. Thus there really was no excuse for her to be where she was when they went off. After she told Hot Rod to go she left to do what she could, to fight against Zeta's army to try to help others to get away. Unfortunately for her, the position she had to take up to allow many holed up in a clinic to get out was atop the old police station that one of the devices she planted was in.

Farcry lifts the sheet, once Hot Rod is there. It's certainly the right size and shape, though many of the joints are fused. Something searing and something hot swept over this bot. Distinguishing features are lost and the dome over the heal is welded shut. The big shoulders have barely legible, faded and scratched white lettering that (barely) reads: 'SP--IAL FOR-ES'

NOPE. THE BOMBS JUST SHOWED UP ONE DAY. And the detonator just ... appeared in Hot Rod's hand. Willed into being, when they were needed most.

Hot Rod tries to look, he really does, but his gaze slides past the dome and anything that might settle identity. In doing so, however, his gaze falls on the poor bot's shoulders -- at which point his expression lights with an inappropriate relief. "It's not Arsenal," he says, voice hushed with the fall of tension. But then he remembers that just because she's not here doesn't mean she might not be under some other rubble, somewhere else. His frame tightens again. "I'll give Slinger this bot's description to circulate."

"Oh, okay," Farcry sighs, sounding... disappointed. "I hate the not knowing," she shares. She still remembers how Hot Rod was when she was brought to his base and she doubts his feelings towards her have changed. He likely doesn't care what she thinks. "I was in Nyon and talked to enough bots that..." Well, she looks out over the other sheets. "I best get to it," she apologizes as she scoots away.

Thus, Hot Rod is left. Will he linger? On the way back however is a medical tent. From inside there's a familiar voice. "Watch it! Hey, I need that. Well, putit back when you're done. I don't care if there are mechs in better condition that can make use of it, it's \*mine\*. Of course I can verify it. Every gun on me is registered in my name," she assures her doctor.

Hot Rod's feelings toward Farcry are ambivalent at best, given that she represents, now, the last argument he had with Arsenal, who is missing. --or, maybe not so missing? Although he does linger a moment among the dead, looking for -- and finding -- too many other familiar faces, the sound of a familiar voice arrests him in a sudden stop. He closes his eyes, listening a moment more.

Unusually cautious as he approaches the medical tent, as though reality might disappoint him and prove he's simply imagining things, Hot Rod ducks inside after tapping at the tent's frame to announce himself. He doesn't say anything, not yet, not until he /sees/.

And there she sits. Being tended to a doctor that is much, much smaller than her.

Arsenal looks up as Hot Rod enters and... that old smile is there. The same one she had for him when she first met him. After lowering the dome. After escaping from the Special Forces unit in those tunnels under Nyon. She's \*glad\* to see him. "I heard you made it out alive. I was meaning to come find you after I got cleared to."

She tries to stand but the doctor gives her a little swat sos he settles down again. She looks, well, not so great. What would you expect though? Her face still has that crack across it. Depsite all the bangs and bruises though... the only bandage platings are on her shoulders. "So... that happened."

Hot Rod sits down rather heavily next to her, with a shift of his knee to cover the way it buckled beneath him. "I was--." He breaks off and ducks his head. He draws a breath and steadies himself with obvious effort. "Should've known you were too tough to go down!"

His attempt at lightness fails almost immediately as Hot Rod intently studies her features. "I've been studying every group that comes in, every load they bring back. Scrap, Arse, your comm better be broken!"

"That and about everything else. I couldn't walk, not on my own. But they built me to be easily repaired though, so I have that working in my favor. Besides, my dome spared me from taking any damage to where it really would matter most, right?" She makes a sweeping gesture to lovely face which is... remarkably untouched. It's only that crack that is there, but that was there before the explosion. "I still have my beauty."

There... she falls into a sad silence. She can't help it as she looks to him. They can't go back. Hell, they were already far from where they started before the detonator was pressed. "Hot Rod, I... we should talk."

"No, shut up. Not talking yet." First, Hot Rod reaches over, makes sure he's not going to aggravate any of her injuries, and then pulls her -- okay, pulls himself, more like, since he's being careful not to move her -- into a hug. "Just -- let me be happy about this. For a few minutes. Okay?"

There was a time when that's all she ever wanted. It really, truly, honestly was. She wanted to make a difference, to feel connected to something greater than herself, to be united with someone who felt the same way. She had thought that someone was Hot Rod. She had really.... really REALLY ... wanted it to be Hot Rod.

So for a moment she leans into that. She can't help herself. It feels really good. But...

"I don't blame you," Arse says softly as she gingerly tries to untangle Hot Rod from her, and yes, push him away. "What you did was the right thing. I honestly don't blame you. I need you to know that." He might not wish to talk but she needs to. She had days of being pinned under rubble to think this through. "You did the right thing."

What is this untangle. What is this push away. Hot Rod looks confused, at first, but it settles when she says nice things. Good things. He soaks up her words with parched thirst, and he's almost desperately attentive. "Zeta was killing them. I know." There's a 'but' that he doesn't quite say, yet it lingers in his voice and haunts his gaze.

Can he see it? The look in her eyes? Against her he might not of felt it. There's Arsenal then a thick layer of guns and then her armor, so she's buried under allt hat somewhere. Her eyes though, those optics are a direct line to her. Can he \*see\* how badly she wanted this to be different? How badly she wanted... Well, there's that but.

For over twenty thousand years she was at his side. She never once asked. She didn't beg, nor whine, not plot and plan. She was patient, hopeful. The but is that there comes a time when patience can no longer be enough.

Her lips make that funny little squiggle. It's bad news. She hates giving him bad news, even now. Especially now. "I'm sorry."

Behold, the point, sailing over Hot Rod's head. "Yeah, me too," he says, glancing down. His fingers curl to form fists at his side. He looks up. "Zeta will answer for it. For everything. I'm just -- I'm so glad you're back, I really am," he says with a relief that melts again the lines of tension from his shoulders. His spoiler droops with it, and he vents heavily. "I'll introduce you to Slinger, if you haven't met him. He worked the bar down the street, worked with us. He's been helping coordinate--" Read: Slinger's actually doing it. What is this 'helping'. "--everyone from Nyon here."

She'll even forgive him for replacing her so immediately. Hey, he thought she was dead. She gets that. She might not like it but... again, a but. She gets it.

"I'm not going back." That starts soft but builds, stronger at the end. Since this might still go over Hot Rod's head she reaches up to her shoulder. The doctor swats her hand but she swats him right back. She peels off the pate to show the purple emblem that's there, and presumedly, on the other shoulder as well. "Damned right Zeta's going to answer. So will any other bot that tries anything like that ever again. I'm done watching the weak suffer, for feeling guilty about what I did, for all of it. I can't be weak any more, Hot Rod." Does he understand? Can he?!

Arsenal bows her head, letting her hand fall. Every step forward is a reminder of how much she wishes she could go back to the beginning of all of it. For all her past there's only been one decision she's never regreted and she looks up to that decision again. Her path now, the choice she's made, she'll have to make due with it as well. Even if he believes her or not, "I still fight for Nyon. I always will. I just can't do it in your way any more."

Hot Rod shouldn't be so surprised. In fact, he should start counting the days until Backdrop shows up with a Decepticon emblem, next. But he's not. He's shocked. He's /disappointed/. But it's dulled, as they sit in the heart of Decepticon territory, with Nyon's last few fed from Decepticon reserves. How outraged can he really be that she goes Con?

"So you're just /leaving/?" Oh, wait. It's not about where she's going. It's that she's leaving him behind. Hot Rod's dismay flashes to anger. "How long have you been waiting to do this?"

He doesn't get to be angry, not about this. Arsenal talked to him - or TRIED - to talk to him about it for a really long time. She frowns as he asks her these questions. He \*knows\* the answers. What, does he need her to actually say them only so he can be more mad at her? Should Arsenal let him assign the blame on her like that? She weighs this, being his target or not.

Instead, she sighs.

"I'm not leaving so much as ... asking you to come with me. I've \*never\* asked you for anything, Rod. Ever. But..." She knows what he'll say. She \*knows\* it. That's what's tearing her up. So maybe she's the one that needs to make him say something.

Arsenal isn't sure she can take that right now, so she offers him an out. "Think about it, please."

Hot Rod looks more tempted than she might expect. Nyon is gone, after all. Finito. What else is there for him? "I-- I'll think about it," he says, and it sounds like more than empty words. He shifts, starting to stand, but pauses, reaching for her hand to squeeze. "I will, okay? I'm not just saying that. Come and find me when you can, yeah? Whatever else, we're still friends." Right?

"I'd like that." She lies. It's an easy one though since it's the one that she's been telling for the better part of twenty thousand years. Arsenal moves to stand, thinking to offer to go with Hot Rod now. Instincts, you know. Habits. The doctor swats at her and she slumps back down. Slumps. "Hey," she says as Hot Rod leaves, "I should be able to find you. You're pretty easy to spot," she has to smirk.

"You know all this--" Pausing just inside the medical tent, Hot Rod gestures at the red, orange, and yellow. "--was really just camouflage to blend into all the rust in Nyon, you know. It was never my intion to stand out." It's a better tease than he's managed in a while, returning her smirk with a flatering, mirror copy. "Get your comm fixed sooner rather than later, convenient as it might to avoid people. I'll remember that one."