ask-smokescreen:

In retrospect, asking Megatron about Optimus was probably a bad idea. “So- you’re just mad ‘cause you didn’t get to be the one to take him out?” A small, disappointed sigh. Though, to be honest, he’s not sure what he was expecting as an answer here.

While Smokescreen’s doorwings are drooping from Megatron’s very intimidating display, he’s still holding his ground, though, taking another sip of high grade. He’s not sure if he’s more startled from the yelling, or worried about Megatron collapsing from overheating.

“Seriously- Should I get a medic here? Maybe we should both go back to the med bay.”

A different conversation probably would be best- he’s not sure he wants to hear Megatron go on about his wish to offline Optimus. If it’s something else he wants to talk about, that’s what Smokescreen can do.

“Distraction… You never got that far into organic culture, did you? They have a lot of superheroes that they love- you probably would’ve been like one of them. They basically wear masks, and work secretly to solve injustices- my favorite’s Spidey, but you’d probably enjoy Batman?”

And he’s going to go on about different superheroes, giving the medics that have been taking care of him a ping of his location- sure, he’ll have to go back, but he doesn’t want Megatron to suffer.

“Yes! 

N͈o̼͓̳̹̭͉̘͜!͈̠” The warlord panted, fighting to organize his thoughts. His pumps sent the high grade zipping through his systems with the coolant, blurring the world. It made things easier. He propped himself up on the table, locking up the joints in his left arm to do so.

”No medics! They don’t know. Cannot know.” Those who had traveled with him knew that Megatron had infected himself with dark energon, but he was in no hurry to advertise that fact to the newly arrived. Even fewer of his current subjects knew of his vulnerability, and the warlord was going to keep it that way. He tried grasping at the new subject, but the fuel made it difficult. He nodded at the ones he recognized, Batman he knew very well…

“… It isn’t right.”

ask-smokescreen:

mighty-megatron:

The warlord scoffed. “Stories to remember him by- don’t you have enough of those, from the ‘legendary tales’ spread through Autobot recruits?” Megatron reaches for another cube, batting the servo away. A large, heavily built mech always runs hot, but he’s definitely letting off more heat than usual. He keeps cancelling the order to start up his vents. 

“This coming from the mech who’s snuck out of his recovery room with fresh welds. Don’t concern yourself.” Before taking another drink, he pauses. “…Be more specific.”

“Sure, but I’d like true stories- and I feel like you’d be less likely to lie about this than Squealy McAft of the Elite guard.” He’s wincing some at at the slap, but won’t push it too much for now. “Did something get caught in you? You’re burning over there.”

Well, now his doorwings are drooping some, “You’re not gonna make me go back now, are you? But of course I’m gonna concern myself, I care ‘bout you for some reason.” And he’ll take another sip. “I was thinking about- maybe- a memory of him that you like? One that makes you happy?”

“The Star Saber,” he replied flatly, draining the rest of his second cube. He crushes the empty shell, already feeling a buzz to his lines. It only perpetuates the burn. Riotous laughter bursts from him at the question.

“Happy!? Oh so many wonderful memories of blasterfire, clashing swords and unprompted naive speeches! However am I to pick a single one!?” Megatron leaned in, optics dim, pauldrons flared. “I dreampt of crushing him in battle. I relished the knowledge that one day I would crush his spark and claim victory over the Autobots and their oppressive ideals! Victory over the mech who betrayed me, proof that he was NOTHING-!” 

Searing agony shot through his chamber, the fracture unable to keep up with the rapid whirling of his rage. The warlord fell against the table, dentae clenched as his fans clicked on high in an effort to cool him down.  It was nothing compared to his episode earlier, but so soon after a collapse like that, Megatron knew that he’d be in danger if he couldn’t calm down. His claws dig into the table and for a moment he can swear it’s made of wood, but it’s not.

::Something else… Talk about…

ḓi̪̲̭͙̪s͙̼̤̫ṭ̻͚̜͍͞ra̶͙c̹̙̖͓͖͘t̥̘͚̬͇̜i̢o̠̮̹ṉ̴, anything…::

ask-smokescreen:

mighty-megatron:

He lacks the energy to give Smokescreen a suspicious glance at the acquiring of these cubes, easing into a seat across the table without looking at him at all. So far, so good. His core was burning again, but so long as he remained seated, it would cool eventually. The high-grade however, would ensure that he stayed hot. Megatron decided that, as always, he could deal with the pain.

The cube is quickly drained without acknowledging the concern. It burns going down and his spark flares in angry protest. “… What did you want to ask me?”

Smokescreen’s taking a cube for himself, downing it about as quickly. Med grade was getting really boring, if he’s honest. “I wanted to ask you about Optimus- I don’t know. Any stories to remember him by? But just drinking is good with me, too.” Any kind of distraction is welcome, really.

“Seriously, are you okay?” He’s going to put a servo nearby to feel for heat- he doesn’t even need to touch Megatron to figure out that something’s wrong. Is Megatron running that hot? Should he really be drinking high grade?

The warlord scoffed. “Stories to remember him by- don’t you have enough of those, from the ‘legendary tales’ spread through Autobot recruits?” Megatron reaches for another cube, batting the servo away. A large, heavily built mech always runs hot, but he’s definitely letting off more heat than usual. He keeps cancelling the order to start up his vents. 

“This coming from the mech who’s snuck out of his recovery room with fresh welds. Don’t concern yourself.” Before taking another drink, he pauses. “…Be more specific.”

ask-smokescreen:

mighty-megatron:

If Smokescreen’s taking his time, Megatron’s downright stalling. Granted it’s mostly because he has to move slowly to keep his temperature down, but it is also partly because what awaits him will not be pleasant. He doesn’t want to talk about Optimus, especially not to someone who idolized him.

However, the mess hall is closer than he remembered it being. Megatron doesn’t have the spark to lecture Smokescreen on being out of the medbay too soon when he should be laying on a berth too. “…Where did you get all of that?”

And there he is. Smokescreen’s perking up once he hears footsteps, giving a slight wave, watching, trying to figure out why Megatron’s moving so slowly. Did he get injured, too? Maybe he should help him to the medbay after this.

“You know, places- trading stuff, nothing too weird. Bots here are pretty nice.” Talking again feels so weird, and he may be a little more quiet than usual, while trying to adjust to speaking again. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He’s still offering Megatron the first cube. He probably needs it.

He lacks the energy to give Smokescreen a suspicious glance at the acquiring of these cubes, easing into a seat across the table without looking at him at all. So far, so good. His core was burning again, but so long as he remained seated, it would cool eventually. The high-grade however, would ensure that he stayed hot. Megatron decided that, as always, he could deal with the pain.

The cube is quickly drained without acknowledging the concern. It burns going down and his spark flares in angry protest. “… What did you want to ask me?”

ask-smokescreen:

mighty-megatron:

The coolant feels like ice and it hurts at first, but at least his systems are cooling down enough to function properly. His vents slowly cycle down, his joints no longer burn. The wound on his spark still throbs, as it does for days every time he exacerbates it. He is at least able to stand up straight, after leaning against the wall of his washrack for a good long while.

::I’m in my quarters, though here is not a good place for guests at the moment.:: He glances around to the remains of his desk, the fresh dents on the walls and floor. ::The mess hall is closed during these hours. We may take advantage of that.::

::Mess hall? Works for me- I’ll meet you there.::

Smokescreen’s taking his time getting over there- he has to rest on the way due to how little he’s been walking most recently, as well as issues with carrying all the high grade with him. But he gets there, and is going to set the drinks down before sitting down himself, resting his helm on the table until he sees signs of Megatron.

If Smokescreen’s taking his time, Megatron’s downright stalling. Granted it’s mostly because he has to move slowly to keep his temperature down, but it is also partly because what awaits him will not be pleasant. He doesn’t want to talk about Optimus, especially not to someone who idolized him.

However, the mess hall is closer than he remembered it being. Megatron doesn’t have the spark to lecture Smokescreen on being out of the medbay too soon when he should be laying on a berth too. “…Where did you get all of that?”

ask-smokescreen:

mighty-megatron:

::I’m 

F͛ͩͦ̔̄͞I̶̾̄Ņ̾͌͗̃ͨ̉̽E͂ͦ͒̿̔͝.̍̃ͣ͗̀̚ :: He can make it to the washracks. Set it to coolant only. He doesn’t particularly want to talk about Optimus right now, but high-grade is too good to pass up.

::…Give me… a few kliks.::

::Are- are you sure? You’re worrying me, Megatron.::

If Megatron doesn’t want to talk about Megatron, that’s fine, as well. Either a distraction or a chance to mourn is welcome.

::Alright. Ping me your coordinates when you’re ready, I’ll try to grab some high grade.:: He’ll go back to the med bay eventually to finish his repairs, but a night of high grade couldn’t hurt that much. His vocalizer’s pretty much all healed up already!

For now, he’s going to get as much high grade as he can afford.

The coolant feels like ice and it hurts at first, but at least his systems are cooling down enough to function properly. His vents slowly cycle down, his joints no longer burn. The wound on his spark still throbs, as it does for days every time he exacerbates it. He is at least able to stand up straight, after leaning against the wall of his washrack for a good long while.

::I’m in my quarters, though here is not a good place for guests at the moment.:: He glances around to the remains of his desk, the fresh dents on the walls and floor. ::The mess hall is closed during these hours. We may take advantage of that.::

::Okay, fair enough- like I said, there was a dark energon barrier there, so figures you couldn’t do much. They said he was caught in an Earthquake, but that sounds like a load of slag to you, too, right?::

::I’m gonna just sneak out of the med-bay and see for myself. I’ll let you know if I see anything.::

Megatron doesn’t respond, crossing his arms in his quarters. It’s not possible. Nothing so mundane should be able to end a mech he’d tried for so long to annihilate. Smokescreen will find nothing.

…It’s not possible.