Never Alone

Blast Off's Silo 

Blast Off's home on Earth is a big cylindrical space recycled from an old missile silo. It's fairly sparse considering how little time he actually gets to spend there, but curiously enough it's surprisingly homey. He has decorated it with photographs of himself and the other Combaticons, commemorating their many adventures, so that he doesn't feel so alone. Though will heavily insist they are only to document past missions and deny any sentimental value they may truly hold.

Contents: Vortex

Vortex can be found sprawled out on whatever seating arrangements Blast Off may have decorated his quarters with. One foot is propped up on the couch arm, the other on the floor, and surrounding it metallic shavings and one of his chopper blades. Seems he's been trying to shape his thoroughly melted leg armor by himself. Clearly he gave up at some point as he's gazing absently at the ceiling with a datapad flat on his chest.

Blast Off enters his Silo, looking exhausted. The shuttleformer's face is still completely bandaged up, thanks to Vos "sharing" faces with him earlier, and all he wants to do right now is come into the safety of his Silo and *crash*. His Silo is the one place he can get away from all the annoyances and riffraff and just have a little peace and quiet. His sanctuary. The frazzled Combaticon takes a few steps in, then stops ... and stares at Vortex. ".....WHAT are you DOING?" He blinks through the bandages. "How- how did you even GET IN here?"

Vortex scrambles in alarm when Blast Off starts shouting. "Get out of my-! Oh right. This is your place. Hee..." He straightens up and tries to appear innocent. Nothing could be more hopeless. "Mech! Sorry about your face... I would've decked that fragger if I weren't being smelted alive." He fidgets. "I love the little drill idea. Why didn't I think of that!"

Blast Off groans in tired annoyance, rolling his optics. He stares at Vortex a moment longer, then sighs and heads over to a wine cabinet placed neatly along one side. Opening up a bottle, he takes a glass and begins pouring a nightcap for himself. He *doesn't* offer Vortex any. "Maybe next time we can trade places, then. You can have a nice, up close look at dozens of little drills boring holes in your face..." He mutters unhappily, "Somehow *I* find it hard to appreciate the ..."cleverness" of it all."

There's a slightly sullen silence as he takes a sip from his wine. Then he looks downward and rubs at his face. "That.... wasn't exactly my idea of a good time. We BOTH had a rather narrow call. YOU especially..." He glances over and despite himself, there's a hint of concern in his expression- or what can be seen of it from under all those bandages.

Vortex props his chin in his hand, watching. He doesn't expect wine from a cranky Blast Off. "Yeah, can't blame you there..."

"Nah it was a shitty time, but it was a decent challenge. I'm not worried. Onslaught always has a plan." There is no escaping Tex's prying eyes, though he needn't see any expression, he can /hear/ it. "That it was! Whuff. Y'know, being so close to death makes me wonder if it's anything like the detention cells. I mean... that's as much our hell as anything else." He becomes lost in thought for a moment, then snorts. "I was worried about you too, who else would I annoy the slag out of! Brawl just hits, Swindle's too smart. You're right there in the middle. Easy mark."

Blast Off nods. "Yes... I... admit I am not looking forward to our next encounter with them, but... Onslaught will see us through. He always does. .... Well, usually." Well, there was that ONE time when Onslaught's plans failed and the DJD captured and imprisoned them, but Blast off will try not to think of that too much. "But we must face them, or they will just keep coming after us."

Another sip of wine, and Vortex's comment on the Detention Center leaves the shuttle deep in thought as well. "....Yes. I... do not know. I hope that death, when it comes, is not as.... constricted. That perhaps our sparks can at least ..." He shrugs, "I don't know. Fly free. I can't remember anything akin to flying free while we were... in there. It was only... a vague feeling of being trapped, and... nothing one could do about it." His optic ridges furrow down. "....Could you?" He doesn't talk about this very often, but since Vortex brought it up....

Then he's sputtering again. "I am not an EASY MARK! And who says Swindle is smarter than *I* am? He hasn't touched up on ANY of the classics, nor do I think he even knows the finer points of Kaon opera, or any other subject than a sophisticated, intelligent mech ought to know..." He sniffs.

"That's IF it comes. I dunno' about you, but I plan on living forever, heh! It'll be real nice when we enslave the rest of Cybertron. Livin' like kings." Vortex thumbs his jaw idly, then slumps somewhat, looking gloomier. "Eh, about the same. I wish a lot of pain on a lot of mechs. The worst pain, even the pain I was dealt a day ago! But... I would not wish a trapped mind on anyone." He stares at the shavings on the floor a moment longer, then appears to brighten up. "But like I said, I'm not worried. Onslaught always knows what to do. He /did/ save me from certain death despite things not going according to plan."

The chopper cackles when Blast Off becomes flustered. "Maybe not. He's still incredibly smart. Perhaps a better word would be witty. That sounds like culture slag, not wit. You think you're smart? Why aren't you in intel then? Psh."

Blast Off takes another sip of his wine. "Well, yes, so do I. I would like to live long enough to win this war... and then be free to do what I *choose* to again." He shakes his head. "Not be TOLD." The talk about trapped minds makes the shuttle look gloomy(er) too. "...Indeed." The Detention Center changed Blast off in many ways... none of them good ones.

Then he blinks and looks over at the helicopter. "....Too much work. Too much... dealing with *people*. Where I am at, I am mostly expected to shoot things... from a distance. Keep to the air- or above it. It... suits me. Intel would require I actually get close, and CARE about getting inside people's heads.... which I don't. If they leave me alone I am perfectly happy to reciprocate." Pause. "Well, unless of course Onslaught paints a big target on their backs. In which case.... I get the job done."

"Mm, yeah, I really gotta' envy the lucky sobs that don't have anyone tellin' 'em what to do. I mean it's always /some/one. If it's not Galvatron or your combiner leader or division command it's Rodimus and his sorry lot, or your city-state's governer... Why does everyone end up taking orders...? Maybe we're just built like that. Built to follow, I mean. I hate to think it's in my programming..." He shakes his head. "Mech I didn't come down here to get bummed out!" He slumps back onto the couch. "Yeah I think you work best right where you are, with us. A'ight, I'm rechargin' here. Don't try to wake me!"

Blast Off hufffs. "It is NOT in MY programming." Indeed- he even basically says so in his motto! "I did wind up working for Onslaught since he was the only Leader I could even SEE myself following, but... still, I at least CHOOSE that, and I intend to continue CHOOSING my path whenever possible. And someday... I will have NO leaders. And *I*, Vortex, shall be just fine with that." He swishes his wine glass, then looks at Vortex. "I..uh,.... yes. You too." Blink. "Wait, what?? VOrtex, go to your own room!!!" Blast off will insist... for awhile, then get tired of it and just ignore Vortex and crash on his recharge berth. Oh well, Sleep at last. ~