| abstract
| - Cyclonus's Quarters(#1295RtJN) The private domain of Cyclonus is a rare sight for most, with good reason. It gives a glimpse at Cyclonus that many won't often get. The first thing seen is a large holo emitter that sits centered in the room. A large chair similar in design to Terran highbacked armchairs sits in one corner, with a small, single-drawer table on the left side. Hanging from the ceiling arrayed in a semicircle are a number of screens, each arrayed to face Cyclonus' chair. On the right side of the chair is a terminal access to the Main Computer. In each of the other corners are chairs similar to his own, though without the terminals beside them. In a small alcove, screened by an alien fabric emblazoned with the Decepticon Sigil, is a recharge bed. In there also are several monitors set in the ceiling. Hanging on the back wall of the alcove is a large Decepticon sigil, a silvery metal used in the shape, with a deep true royal purple to fill in the outlines. In the main room there is a second such Sigil, hanging to the right of Cyclonus' chair, the eyes in this one seem to glint with a life of their own. Full-Tilt has arrived. Cyclonus sits at the ornate chair in his office, a large table in front of him. His hand idly raps at the table in a tap-tap-tap-tap fashion, again and again as he waits for Fleet, his form straight and alert Fleet walks down the hall outside with a quiet metal "clack-clack." His arm-mounted weapons are missing, and there are gaps on the underside of his fore-arms. He stops at Cyclonus's door, hesitates just a moment, then knocks quickly on it, just loud enough to be heard. "You'll be an emissary, he said to me. You'll be the most important guy we have, he promised," Full-Tilt not so silently grumbles as he steps towards the room, clipboard held tightly in his hands. "Tch. I should just throw myself off of Trypticon's snout and be done with it." Cyclonus is silent, and then suddenly his door opens and his voice booms through the corridor. "ENTER!" In the room is a spare chair in front of Cyclonus' table, and a little stool in the corner, with the name plate 'Full Tilt' on it "But I'd probably survive, which would only serve to make my life more miserable.." Full-Tilt continues, taking a seat at his personalized and SUPER SPECIAL AWESOME stool (which is barely big enough for him to sit on. He kinda hangs off a bit). Clipboard and pen in hand, he's PRIMED and READY TO RECEIVE any noteworthy information. Fleet inclines his head briefly towards the grumbling Full-Tilt as he arrives, but does not remark on the words themselves. When Cyclonus gives the command, he enters. He salutes Cyclonus and stays standing. "Wing Leader Fleet, reporting as ordered, Lord Cyclonus." Cyclonus nods his head stiffly to Full Tilt, and then focuses on Fleet, his baleful optics staring at the seeker. "Sit" he intones simply. "Trooper, you have been... lost on an alien world for over two Galactic Standard Years. This is a world that Galvatron himself has taken a /personal/ interest in." He leans forwards slowly. "You will tell me of your time on this planet, you will tell me of the Cybertronian-speaking civilization and you will tell me HOW you survived." Fleet sits down, then considers Cyclonus's orders. "I blacked out during the crash, Lord Cyclonus, and only woke some time after it. At that point I was already repaired of any damages taken during the crash. I've never been able to make certain who it was that repaired me, but as I came-to near the hut of one of their more isolated hermits, I tend to assume he was the one who did it. Questioning him directly proved fruitless, as he was quite mad - a common condition on that world. Eventually, I gave up, and hunger forced me to gut him for his fuel." Full-Tilt sits uncomfortably on his stool, jotting down various tidbits of the conversation. Between bullet points, he adds more detail to the T-Rex drawing at the bottom right corner of the paper. Cyclonus nods slowly at every word Fleet speaks, looking across at Full-Tilt as he makes notes. "I see Fleet. Very convenient. To have been repaired so well and so expertly by a complete madman, who is now dead by your hand." He pauses, bringing up a report. "The priest that the drop team encountered. He said 'he is coming back'. What does that mean Fleet" At this point, Cyclonus leans over the table, and almost hisses, it seems to have struck some chord with him. Fleet shrinks down in his chair and looks up at Cyclonus, clearly fearful. Despite this, his voice is steady. "I don't know. As I said, madness is common on that world, and one of the forms it takes... doomsday prophesies abound. But they're not consistant. Like those Books of Primus Catechism required I read, they often contradict each other from one so-called prophet to next... sometimes a single prophet will contradict himself several times in a day." He shrugs. "Perhaps there's truth in parts of it, but sifting that from the madness would be impossible until it's too late." As is true with every proper prophecy. If Fleet shrinks, then Cyclonus rises, his hands gripping the table as it slowly cracks under his grip as hee slowly stands. "He said the /DEVIL/ is returning Fleet. Tell me what you know that you are NOT telling me. Are you intel gathering skills really so weak after /TWO YEARS/ on a world? Is there really NOTHING to be found?" Though Fleet does not push back, nor does he shrink further. Instead, he glares up at Cyclonus. "Sir, those TWO YEARS were spent, largely, just fragging surviving! Between radiation, magnetics, magma, ice storms, hunting for fuel, and everything else, I very much had my hands FULL. I didn't have TIME to be fretting over predictions of devils that the locals had apparently been making well before I ever arrived!" "Very well" Cyclonus slowly sits down, and taps on his data pad silenly for a while, ignoring Fleet. Then he slowly looks up. "Please note trooper, that we are Decepticons. We do not /just/ survive. That is the Autobot way, do not give me any more reason to think that." Fleet narrows his optics, a frown playing at the edges of his expression. "So noted. Sir," he answers. Full-Tilt is still writing notes, except now his picture takes up most of the page. Cyclonus nods slowly, returning to his pad. And then suddenly, without warning, he stands, his arm swinging out to SMASH the table away in the direction of Fleet, his face curved into an unsightly frown, optics burning red. "Do NOT talk /back/ trooper, the only reason you are alive at this moment is because your recovery and performance has thus far been cause for celebration and increased morale. But you walk a thin line. *I* am the right hand of Galvatron, and his will is fickle." His face twitches. "And if I discover that you are daring to lie to me, that you would stop that which is the will of Galvatron, then I will have you TERMINATED" You evade Cyclonus's Table! attack. Fleet is out of his chair the moment the table goes flying, the force of his sudden departure upsetting his seat before the table smashes into it. The Seeker stands direclty upright, wings held at a slightly higher, more tense angle, feet barely touching the floor. He stares at the spot he had been sitting in for almost ten full seconds before he finally says softly, the fear once more in his voice, "Understood, Lord Cyclonus." Cyclonus stares into Fleet's optics as he stands straight, his face snapping back to a blank emotionless slate as he regards him. Then, once more, his voice breaks the silence. "You may leave Fleet, but you must prove your loyalty AND your worth. Everyone lies trooper, but it depends on /what/" He turns round, arms behind his back and staring at a monitor screen. "Full Tilt, I want you to organise an excursion to /Unicron's Head/. That will be all" Full-Tilt stands to attention when he hears his name, his pens and clipboard clattering to the ground. "Unicron's Head? Yes, sir! On it, sir!" he says with a salute. Fleet does not argue. He does not protest, either the implication that he is lying, nor the command that he must once more prove loyalty and worth. If that's what it takes to survive, he will do so, but words mean little at this juncture. He bows forward, nodding his head as he does. "As you command, Lord Cyclonus." When he straightens, he turns towards Full-Tilt. "Do you require a pilot? Granted, I've already been tasked for this evening, but if it's some other time, I may be able to assist." Full-Tilt picks up his clipboard and scribbles down on it, "Maybe. We should talk about it later." He turns his clipboard around to Fleet and the words 'CYCLONUS=BATSHIT' or plainly seen in purple ink. He tries to wink, but he has a visor so it's completely lost. Fleet been allowed to leave, and now he moves to do so. As he passes Full-Tilt, the right corner of his mouth quirks up for the briefest of moments - it's all the indication he gives that he sees what Full-Tilt has written, and is amused. "All right. Later, then." And with that, he is out the door.
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