Funeral for a Friend

Graveyard

What first seems like piles and piles and piles of more debris becomes, on closer examination, dead turbo-rats, foxes, wolves, plus many that haven't been seen on Cybertron for millennia: fierce turbo-hawks, insatiable turbo-shrews, even a goodly number of Transorganics. All these creatures are long dead, their still bodies silent testimony to slow starvation. Why they came here to die is unknown. Perhaps, like lemmings, they all suddenly decided to commit mass suicide. Surprisingly few of the bodies have been disturbed by living predators; most still lie untouched as they have for ages, their darkened optics still glinting with reflected sunlight.

Here, amongst the dead animals of times past ... is Backfire, glory of the EMPIRE and scourge to all Autobots, well ... kinda. The Seeker simpleton strides forward, carrying what looks like a handmade book of Primus and a couple of items slung over his back, held in a rough burlap TF-sized sack. Gumbies of all shapes and sizes are collected here, either milling about shuffling their feet or preparing the graves. "Attention Decepticons, I ... BACKFIRE has arrived. The service will proceed very shortly, to your places curs!!"

 Impudent Fool Backfire says, "Decepticons, the funeral procession will commence shortly!"

 Artifice says, "I can't believe we're really doing this."

 Impudent Fool Backfire says, "We must Artifice, they are gone ... their memories shall forever more beat in our lasercores."

 Tremor says, "You aint even sure a that. Yer glitched."

 Scrapper says, "We don't even have bodies! How am I supposed to make a monument to fallen Harrow without her body?"

 Impudent Fool Backfire says, "Just take that dumb statue in Harrow's room ... should suffice."

 Tremor says, "Scrap that. I'll make it."

 Tremor says, "HEY!"

Amongst the dead bodies there lies another, seemingly broken and dejected, apparently tossed thoughtlessly to the ground, with one slight difference the optics still burn with a dull yellow glow, perhaps not long till they grow as dull and dark as the others. Dreadwind apparently got here early or he was here all along, it's hard to tell really, especially when no one ever notices if he's around or not.

A Golden pyramid jet descends from the sky and Photon transforms into his robot mode before landing near the other decepticons. To be honest he doesn't give a piece of slag about Harrow or Catechism but being seen at this ceremony was, in his opinion, a good political choice, especially if it can increase his prestige among the other members of aerospace.

Mecha Wolf  simply sits on his haunches and paws at some scrap metal. "Help with digging the graves, I can!" he abruptly offers. An ear swivels as he listens to the frequency. "Wait, no bodies? No bodies, no graves," he laments. "No bodies no graves no bodies no..." he trails off aimlessly to himself, smiling.

Artifice shuffles in, sagging, his expression dour. His optics are nearly black. "Decepticons holding funerals," he sighs, his tone lugubrious, "And without corpses! Since when?" He doesn't look at anyone as he finds a spot to lean.

Scrapper is here because Harrow was technically one of his minions, even if she wasn't green and purple. He suggests, "Maybe Harrow will return, rebuilt by Unicron, with a sand-castle on her head. Then we'll all feel a bit foolish, won't we?" He puts his hands on his hips and looks around the gathering.

"Silence fools, I shant have your pathetic whining sully my CEREMONY!" Backfire barks out loudly, sending out a shot into space ... somewhere, it snaps a trumpet in half. Approaching the shoddy podium set up in haste, the Seeker rests the book of Primus on the stand and places the sack of items beside his foot on the ground. The gumbies digging the shallow graves stop in their work, the job accomplished ... and rush off camera to get something.

"Decepticons, we are gathered here today ... to lay to rest our dear friends. Mistress Catechism and Dominatrix Harrow, may their lasercores find solace in the great oblivion of beyond!"

Photon glances towards Artifice and whispers, He mutters to Artifice, "... it... make those... cost... obey." Then the golden seeker looks back at Backfire with a mocking grin on his face.

Dreadwind tries hard to ignore the arrival of so many others that barely even notice his existence but for some reason he can't, perhaps the annoyingly cheery chatter is keeping him here and now. "No bodies, no lives, only pain and suffering. Return or not, it all ends the same, one final moment of mind numbing agony and then you are gone and finally forgotten."

Scrapper taps the ground, opens a panel, and reveals a secret hideaway. From the hideaway, he retrieves a trumpet and plays a short fanfare after Backfire finishes speaking. Trumpets are perfectly fine for funerals! If you are in Louisiana.

Artifice folds his arms over his chest and smiles a bit. "Hmm. You may be right about that." He looks to the graves and wonders what, if anything, will be put into them. When he hears Backfire refer to Catechism he's a little confused. His jaw slackens, leaving him gaping, as he realizes that 'Catechism' is the femme he's been calling Inquisitor all this time.

Mecha Wolf  perks right up. "Mind numbing agony," he cheerfully repeats, tongue lolling out. At the trumpeting, he leaps up excitedly until Monzo tells him to settle down, because it's a funeral, damnit! "Mistressss? Dominatrixxx?"

Giving the emocon a nasty sneer, Backfire clears his vocal processor before continuing. "The Seeker femme designated as Harrow, the Dominatrix. She was a fiesty Decepticon, one who would give you a headache the same time she was working on your internal injuries. An odd one, I must admit. Many times over did she bring life back to this busted frame, and for that ... I must commend her. One thing I regret ..." he sputters, looking down solemnly. "I always spurred her advances, in truth ... I believe she was fond of me. If ever we meet in the afterlife Dominatrix, I shant be so cruel."

Some gumbies in the front row start mumbling about recent memories of the Decepticon lost. "If any of you have memories of the fallen to share, please ... do so." Backfire yelps out, digging through the sack at his feet.

Windshear is wandering around drinking an energon slurpie and happens to head into the graveyard. He sees Dreadwind and Backfire and Arty -- what the slag is going on? He strolls up to Backfire not quite catching what he said about Harrow. "Whats going on?" *sluurrp*

Artifice considers stepping up to gloat about not having to pay Harrow what he owes her after losing his bet regarding Catechism, but he decides at the last second that this wouldn't be appropriate. What to say about Catechism? There's so much...and so little. He realizes that he knew nothing about her. He frowns and keeps to himself.

Dreadwind the crumpled pile, is as always mostly ignored, his pearls of wisdom lost to the ages as only the most damaged of Decepticons listen in. Though for him it is a step up as when others do notice him they tend to start using feet and fists to do the talking, unfortunately it doesn't ever stop his moanalogue. "Solace, there is none, there is only ever more suffering, even after we are done here there is but a single moment of rest before it starts all over again... Memories of them are few and fleeting, blurred and distorted through the eternal haze of suffering that is our continued existence, they are both no doubt glad that they are finally dead and rid of us."

Scrapper puts the trumpet back into its secret hiding place. He stares at Backfire and wonders why the Seeker creation factories had such low quality control standards. Advances? What, was Harrow a loan agent? That is disturbing news, indeed. He keeps to the facts, "Harrow was a medic. She wasn't green or purple, but she didn't let that impair her work too much. That's all I got."

Mecha Wolf  looks to be falling asleep on his feet until a 'slurp' sound draws his attention. He stares hungrily at Windshear's slurpie until Dreadwind effectively lulls him into an upright slumber again.

Photon hovers above the ground so everyone can see him, "Let's not forget our brothers Decepticon my friends but they died like the true warriors they were, while fighting and killing Autobots. We will not forget them but let's not forget who we are and what should be done to honor their memory : Avenge them."

Rising back to a standing position, Backfire makes a questionable glance around at the procession's occupants before continuing. "Yes, well put comrades. *AHEM* Catechism, my Mistress ... grand inquisitor of the Decepticons. She will be missed amongst our ranks, her line questioning was never too far astray from the hidden truth she meant to uncover. Serving her was..." the Seeker pauses, wiping a lone tear of coolant leaking from his optic. "...the best experience of my existence. If we meet in the afterlife Mistress, I only hope to serve you as well in death as I did in life."

Windshears constant slurping suddenly hits a speed bumb and with a squalck he pulls the drink away, "What? Catechism is dead? This is a funeral?" he glances around and sees Dread and smirks. Perfect place for him, bet hes sad its not him. He looks at Arty, "What happened exactly? When did Catechism get killed?"

Artifice snorts at this. What a goon Backfire is. Catechism would have scraped him off of her boot. He has no doubt in his mind that the lone tear is faked. This he thinks in his jealousy and his grief. The latter he hides even from himself, lest he have to admit to personal weakness. He looks to Windshear. "She's not officially dead. No body. Just technically dead, since she disappeared. Harrow, too, along with Astrotrain and...someone else."

Scrapper supplies helpfully, "Blueshift! Blueshift's gone, too. Though he might have just gotten stuck in a giant bottle of glue." This is plausible, Scrapper thinks.

Photon lands and smirks at Scrapper, "Will someone really miss Blueshift? I mean the guy wasn't exactly the Decepticon's finest."

Mecha Wolf  violently snaps awake, and looks over to Backfire. Who happens to be 'crying'. Weirdwolf busts out laughing, and barks, "Crying, the Seeker is! What kind of Decepticon sheds coolant! Hahaha!" His laughter is spurred by the image of Blueshift stuck in glue.

Dreadwind sighs heavily, "Yes they died, atomised perhaps, but what was the point? A futile struggle that in the end resolved nothing and ended with them dead and soon to be forgotten. A pointless stand against the pain and suffering that is existence, if they had only listened, seen the truth and given up on our unreasonable task, a task that we will never be complete. Their suffering here is over, whilst we are forced to carry ever onwards towards greater agonies."

Scrapper is a comedian! But perhaps he should not give up his day job. Making a coyote laugh cannot be hard. He asides to Photon, "Uh.... maybe Redshift will miss Blueshift? Maybe?"

Artifice says, "Cheery, Dreadwind, as usual."

Windshear takes all this in and is a bit shocked, "Harrow is dead -- presumed dead as well? What was the mission?"

Photon shurgs at the constructicon, "Maybe... he will have to find someone else to compte against.... but again that's not something hard to find." Then the seeker looks at Dreadwind, "I wasn't expecting any less from you but Artifice has a point. They're missing in action...though I doubt we will ever hear of them again."

The off-camera gumbies return, pulling a red wagon with two large headstones in it. "Ugh, this crap is heavy. Why are we lugging around two headstones for two people who ain't even dead?" Gouge asks his companion up front, doing half of the pulling. "Why do you think? Cuz we owe that lugnut a favor after losing our rations to him in that poker game!" Rout replies, finally hefting the wagon into place. A quick breather is taken before they place the headstones in their proper positions in front of the holes dug. They exit stage right just as swiftly as they showed up.

"Yes, well ... let us proceed with the ceremony." Backfire grumbles, carrying four rather unique items in his arms. Approaching the 'graves', the Seeker places half of the items in subspace before straightening back up. "The Dominatrix gave this hand puzzle to myself, one of the -many- prizes she departed to me upon a routine repair. Alongside this shard of the Monolith, I bury them in her honor ... in lieu of a corpse." he remarks, tossing them into the hole. In truth, he stole the object from her room not two breems prior to the burial ... it was easier than lugging that statue out here.

Artifice looks at Windshear with a mixture of surprise and pity. "Where've you been? Just...find a place and look mournful, all right? I'll fill you in later." Bad form gabbing at a funeral, especially to someone who doesn't even know who's dead or why. He watches as Backfire dumps the puzzle into the grave. Departed...backfire means imparted, right? Hmm. Art supposes that such a slip is not unusual at a funeral.

Scrapper tsks, "Ah, but Blueshift and Redshift matched! I guess Fragment could get a rebuild, but that isn't really the same. Then there is that mysterious Blackshift..." He explains to Windshear, "Harrow's been AWOL long enough now to be officially considered dead. Not as interesting as if she'd left a corpse, of course."

Dreadwind finally makes a move struggling painfully to his feet, no need to encourage the other Decepticons to kick him while he's down, which is always. He turns his cold dark stare on Photon, "There is always less, if only i was left to discover how little interaction was possible, but no i am eternally called to action, forced to mourn those that are happy now with their final lot in life. Besides with our luck they'll be back just like Scrapper said only they'll be wanting to torture us into a glorious new future under whatever sadistic creatured saved their miserable lives."

Mecha Wolf  skitters to the edge of a grave, optics following the items as if he intended to retrieve them. He wags tail, looking back to Backfire, waiting for him to toss more things.

Windshear stares at Arty then stares at Scrapper. Wow where /has/ he been? Hes at a loss for words right now and numbly he finds a seat, sub spaces his slurpie and stares at what Backfire is doing. He glances at Darkwind but says nothing. Not much he can say to that, really.

Photon ponders Scrapper's comment, "Indeed. Perhaps we should search for that mysterious Blackshift... I mean look at Snapdragon and his crew...or Scorponok and his... we could have forgot him on a lost space station somewhere and everyone forgot about him..."

With that shallow grave soon covered, Backfire turns his attention towards the other hole ... grabbing out two items from subspace. "Mistress Catechism gave me this award, for bringing her the radio from that Junkion annoyance ... silencing him forever more." he states matter-of-factly, proud of his service. It looks like something you make in the first grade, horribly held together by ductape and elmer's glue. "Alongside this I also place a shard of the Monolith, in her honor." Backfire places both of the items in the shallow grave, he remains crouched low and stares at the ground.

Windshear stretches his leags out, crosses them at the cankle (seekers have cankles not ankles) and folds his arms. This is just sureal to him. He tilts his head as he watches Backfire and Weirdwolf. How can Harrow be dead? He glances around suddenly looking for Tremor. Why isnt he here? If she was dead he should be here. He speaks up suddenly, "I dont think Harrow's dead at least and if her and Catechisn were together -- as more experienced as Catechisn is, then I doubt shes dead either. Why havent we sent out search parties instead of wasting our resources on a funeral?"

A lone figure weaves it's way through the corpse-ridden graveyard, and while draped in a black cloak with faint silver threads, the sillouette of high-peaked curved wings and glinting red eyes makes it plain that this is none other than Redshift. He approaches the crowd, drawing his cloak tightly around his frame as he approaches, his face obscured except for his eyes, and silently he takes a place near the graves.

Photon's comments on those forgotten and lost in space turns Dreadwind's mind back to when he was incarcerated with the others on a dead planetoid in a decaying prison, constantly tortured by the guards and inmates with their cheery outlooks and misplaced hopes. At least he was eventually proved right, it is much worse being free. "Take a long look, for before long we shall all be nothing but shallow graves, trinkets of ours tossed into a hole and then buried and forgotten, it won't be long now, for the lucky ones anyway."

"We have as far as we know," Artifice responds to Windshear, "or maybe they got cannoned. It happens." He then bends down and pats his knees. "Hey," Artifice calls to Weirdwolf, trying to keep his voice low. "Hey you, Weirdthing. Come here!" He produces an energon goodie. "Get away from the graves."

Scrapper makes a mental note to go dig up the graves later and steal the monolith shards. Look, mysterious alien technology is totally more important than funeral rites. He mutters, "Speak of the red devil," as Redshift arrives, looking quite stylish. The optics and wings are give-away, however.

Mecha Wolf  looks ready to leap into the grave after the trinkets, until Artifice distracts him with an energoodie. "Where I please, I go," he sings, padding over to snatch away the snack. "Nothing to say, you have? Of fallen comrades?"

Redshift's costumes are more about STYLE than disguise, he is far too proud of his distinctive wings to discard them in favour of concealing his identity. He draws the black fabric tighter against himself, the silver threads standing out in the starlight. "Ashes to askes, rust to rust..." He comments in a low voice, eyes boring into the gravesite. "I do wonder if Blueshift would bother to show to my funeral, or if he would be too busy eating paste to show up?"

Artifice frowns again. He tosses Weirdwolf another goodie to keep him occupied. "Well maybe I ... I do." He pats his palms - as if even being in Weirdwolf's presence makes him feel a bit dirty. Then he steps forward, meek and fidgeting, and starts to speak. "I'm gonna say something. I, uh...I didn't know Harrow all that well. But I think this guy's misrepresenting her just a little bit. Either way, I'm here cause of Catechism. She was a better Decepticon than me." He stammers, stuck for words, feeling pretty stupid. "Yeah, that's it. Whatever. I liked her. Bah." With this, he retreats back to Windshear and Weirdwolf. "Thanks a lot," he frowns at the wolf, "I shoulda kept my mouth shut."

Backfire stands back up, his hands balled up into fists at his side. "With that, the ceremony is finished. I thank you all for coming, for paying your respects to the lost."