Slow Night

Blast Off walks past the Planning Room, holding a glass of wine in his hand and sipping almost absently from it. He's had a strange couple of days, and some wine is just the thing to help him relax a bit. First he spent time inside Scorponok's mind (and Zarak's... which was even weirder/more disconcerting)... then he spent time in Florida at the Kennedy Space Center "chatting" with Sky Lynx about his alt mode origins... and now he's had a rather unusual night at the Opera. It's been... a bit much. And that's not even including his responsibities as CO of Aerospace. There's a lot on his mind. He pauses as he walks past the doorway, and peers in, seeing if Onslaught's out and about.

Onslaught is always out and about. Looking into this room will show there are at least fifteen different holoscreens going at the same time. Each of them have been split into dual screens that are showing different things from blueprints to layouts to whatever else. And any particularly observant optics would be able to realize that not one of those visuals is of the same thing. That means there has to be at least thirty different plans being visualized at this exact moment.

Slow Night.

Onslaught is in the middle of the room, looking from one screen to the next and barely registering the fact that Blast Off is nearby. His sensors do that for him. "If you have something to say, come in and say it. Otherwise, I'm busy." Onslaught doesn't even look in that direction, though he knows that Blast Off is likely capable of hearing him.

Blast Off stops, looks at all the screens, Onslaught, back out the hallway. He takes a sip of his wine glass, then leans up, his back against the doorway and he tilts his head, looking at the Commander. Who he studies for awhile, as if not sure he should even bother him with such things. He gazes back down at the wine and takes another sip, finding courage in the enerhol, then looks back to Onslaught. "....Do you... ever wonder if this is all real?"

"You are a fool." Onslaught says this while opening up another holoscreen and throwing up a couple more visuals onto it. The night might be getting less slow as he continues to work on way too many things at once. "Considering how big of a fool you are, I would have to say that I have it on very good authority that this is all very real." There. He's managed to both answer and insult Blast Off in the same moment. That is a skill that Onslaught is very good at using.

Blast Off gives Onslaught a deadpan look and huffs slightly. He stares at him in silence some more, takes another sip of his wine, and asks, "But how do you know for sure? How do you..." His voice trails off a bit and he looks off again, uncomftably. "I...I recently had the unpleasant experience of going inside Scorponok's mind. It was part of a recovery mission, and we successed- unfortunately. It was not... a pleasant place. Some odd... things happened. Reality and ...non-reality seemed to be a little confusing sometimes. It..." He trails off again, then looks back to his Commander. "How do you know we're not still just bodiless cerebro-cortexes hooked up inside the Detention Center, made to *believe* we escaped? What if we... " He seems to withdraw slightly. "...What if we never did? What if it's all just part of an...illusion. Just another.... program we had installed, to mess with our minds?"

"If you believe that, then I should deactivate you now because you will no longer be of any use to me." Onslaught finally turns away from all of his screens to peer off in the direction of Blast Off. "Is that something you want me to do or would you like to take a moment to rethink these idiotic notions and beg my forgiveness for having to put up with your asinine foolishness for yet another night?" Onslaught narrows his optics.

"If you are seeking someone to hold your hand and tell you that everything will be alright, you have come to the wrong place. I am busy. I am working. I am doing what you should be doing." His optics cut over to the enerwine. "Yet, here you are. My greatest nuisance. Inebriated and questioning the reality that we have known for as long as we can remember." He almost sneers. "Indeed."

Blast Off 's optics also narrow and there's another long, low venting from the shuttle. He glares at Onslaught for a long moment, still slightly hunched away... as if debating whther to storm off in a huff. He doesn't though. "No, I am not. And what do you mean? I've been hard at work. I've swept the skies of Autofools and helped cement our victory at Nova Cronum." He stands there a moment longer, then leans in, still braced against the doorway. "But how do you KNOW it? Do you really know reality vs. illusion? Do any of us? If we were back in the Detention Center... I mean, really, how would we ever even know? Maybe this is Virtual reality. Maybe we're in a... a training room. One that seems endless, but we're all just back in... back in that box. We've had our minds messed with before, who's to say it's not still going on?" He taps his head. "I'll tell you one thing, you plug into Scorponok's mind... and it's all a dreamscape. You THINK things are one way... and then you find you're wrong. And by the way, do NOT ever listen to that stupid Space Chest..." He mutters and takes a sip of his wine, looking back out of the hallway.

"I'm not an idiot." Onslaught feels that answers each of those questions that come from Blast Off. It really is as simple as that and that's why Onslaught is paying attention to his screens again, leaving Blast Off in a fit of whining desperation for something real to cling on. "Furthermore, even if what you were saying was true, which it is not, then it certainly would not matter in the long run. If we are, indeed, still trapped and this was all a figment if your stupidity, then I believe we'd owe a great thanks to whomever provided us with something to do while we lay dormant and inactive. Otherwise, we'd be bored." There is always a silver lining in Onslaught's playbook.

Blast Off just glares some more. "It would matter to ME. *I* should be the master of my own Destiny, not some... nameless sadistic medic, or scientist, or... who knows. And how can you be so Ok with that?!? The Onslaught I remember always had a cunning plan, and he did not take kindly to being ordered around by idiots... or having such idiots manipulate him." Blast Off clenches his fist. "He FOUGHT the SYSTEM. He got ME to FIGHT the SYSTEM. Why are /you/ so compliant now??!!" The shuttleformer looks at his Commander, as if daring him to prove that he really is who he says he is. Ok, maybe Blast Off HAS had a little too much to drink by now... but after a trip through Scorponok's mind, and his experiences in only BEING a bodiless mind for 4 million years, perhaps he can't entirely be blamed for questioning reality every once in a while. Call it an existential crisis.

Onslaught rolls his optics as Blast Off begins with the ranting. He cannot concentrate like this. Not when this idiot is attempting to make every thing he says into something that doesn't solve this issue. It is like talking to a brick wall. No, actually, talking to a brick wall would be extensively more productive.

Onslaught makes a movement that puts him over in Blast Off's personal space quicker than he actually should be able to move. How he manages to move that fast is probably an animation error or Blast Off is just too drunk to notice. Either way, Onslaught can do nothing more than speak. Again. "You are going to listen to me because I will not repeat myself. You, unfortunately, are real. As a unit, the Combaticons, are real. I do not know or care what has brought this idiotic notion to the forefront of your feeble little mind, Blast Off, but I refuse to let it interfere with my plans. I am currently in the process of not only securing out place at the top of this pitiful excuse of an army, but I am also hard at work attempting to rectify the loyalty situation that goes on in each of our heads. So, for what it is worth, yes: I do have a plan. A plan that will be acted upon when the moment arises and not a cycle sooner. If you would like to sill be functional when the time of our victory is upon us, then my suggestion to you would be to relinquish your enerwine dependency, increase your value as a capable warrior within the Decepticon Order and, most importantly, continue to prove you are worth the headache you give the rest of us Combaticons. If I ever hear of you questioning me, our existence or anything even remotely related to this circular topic of pitiful discussion again, what happened in Scroponok's mind will be the least of your worries and fears."

Onslaught tilts his head in that moment, which reveals that his Sonic Stun Gun is pressed right up underneath Blast Off's chin.

"Do I make myself perfectly and absolutely clear?"

Combat: Onslaught compares his Intelligence to Blast Off's Courage: Success!

Blast Off crosses his arms and continues to glare at Onslaught, until he glances off at the hallway again, then back to Onslaught- who is suddenly UP in HIS FACE. The shuttleformer flinches slightly and stares up at his rather unhappy-looking Commander. "I... I simply..." He starts to stammer, then the fact that Onslaught's working on all these... things, including the Loyalty Program, leaves him asking, "Really? I.. I didn't.." Another start. "Enerwine dependancy?" He huffs, pulling his wine glass away as if worried Onslaught would grab it or something. "Hardly, I am merely relaxing a bit after a long day's... I prove myself ALL the-" The rest of his protests are brought to a halt as he's suddenly aware of Onslaught's stun gun pressed against his chin. SLAG. The shuttleformer really flinches this time, jumping backwards and spilling what's left of his wine. It's possible some of it falls on Onslaught's foot. He blinks and stares at him, the mess, then back to him. "I... I did not mean to..." There's another step back. "I-I mean..." Finally, his shoulders slump just a little, and he looks down and away, avoiding Onslaught's gaze. "....Yes. Understood."

Onslaught's Sonic Stun Gun is no longer a threat as it has been retreated back to subspace. Onslaught's demeanor returns to its usual distracted by at least capable of tolerating his Combaticons state, as he turns to move back to his circle of holoscreens. "Excellent." And as he steps back into the middle of his Holoscreens, he turns to cast an optical gaze back at Blast Off. "Go. Now. I have work to do and you have an Aerospace to run and make the Decepticons proud." That last part is dripping with sarcastic tones as Onslaught sounds as if Blast Off getting promoted was part of his plan all along.

It was.

Blast Off stands there, looking at Onslaught as he goes back to his plans. The shuttleformer looks away, again down the hallway (there must be something really fascinating down there...except... no, there's not). Then he takes a step back, returning to the doorway, and leans in again, speaking quietly. The shuttle has regained most of his composure again, most of the aggrivation has been replaced with his usual quieter demeanor. "Very well. I will. And I *do*. I do more work than you realize, and I've done the best I can with the resources I've been given. And a Command position I never /asked/ for." He waves a hand. "Do not worry, I am not foolish enough to complain to anyone who might take that away. A Command Position is power, and I agree, any Combaticon having any such power is ulitmately a good thing for all of us. (Well, maybe not Brawl...Primus help us if he ever gets a Command Position...) It gives us... access and control we wouldn't have otherwise. Like... the drones, for instance." Well, provided this is all real, that is. (Though...hmm, funny how he wasn't willing to try and find out just then with Onslaught and the stun gun?) He looks at his hand, and the empty glass. "So... do you have any other plans I should be made aware of? Or do I just keep doing what I have been doing?"

Onslaught is back to work. He's barely registering whatever it is that is coming from Blast Off at this point. He's managed to shut him up from his insane ramblings and now he's focused on making sure that the plans he's creating are going to be foolproof. Which is a lot different from Autobotproof. Still, though, he figures he can at least bless Blast Off with some more words to keep him on the edge of his wing.

"In due time, Blast Off. In due time you will know all there is to know." He almost grins. Almost. "And that, my friend, is when we will strike the final blow." But to whom?

Dun Dun DUUUUUNNNN!

Blast Off listens, and is left wondering (as he often is left wondering) if Onslaught is even listening to him. But he's poked and pushed his Commander just often enough to know that yeah, he does seem to hear... at least when it counts. ...Or when he wants to "gently" remind Blast off why he's named ONSLAUGHT. The shuttleformer sighs, heading inside and grabbing a cloth from a nearby drawer so he can wipe up the mess he's made, then he returns to the doorway where he looks back at his Commander. "That is good to hear. I am ready for some... change. There are some new threats, and old ones. I have been fighting this Dogfight mech who seems to be the current Autofool spoiling for a fight with me, and attempting to gain resources and weapons..." (Not always successfully, but he's not going to mention that). "But, regardless of whatever may... be..." He looks at his hand again as if pondering it, then back to Onslaught. "...I expect we shall have the last laugh in the end. Because no matter WHAT they throw at us, no matter WHAT twists and turns life takes, we... we always survive. And that's one thing I know that NO ONE can ever take away."

Onslaught is quiet for a long moment. In fact, it is a moment that might as well be leading up to a commercial break or something of that nature. Because by the time he looks up from his work and actually notices Blast Off, his optics even widen for a half moment and he flickers them in a blink of surprise motion.

"... You're still here?"

Blast Off gives an exasperated huff, turns sharply on his heel, and stalks off. Another wine bottle opening somewhere down the hallway can soon be heard.