This is Starscream, the one previously indisposed.
I'm writing a text on Seeker culture. While it's still primarily based off my own world's... I've already asked our silver counterpart to contribute, so I figured I better ask you too; if there's anything you could give me on your own Seekers' cultural practices and associated history, I'd like to add it to my notes.
[ He just hopes that this isn't another case of a world without. ]
I commend you for undertaking such a thing. While fate has made me a soldier I will always be a scholar at spark, and history was my first true love. A topic that has largely been considered taboo and forbidden on Cybertron for most of my life. The Senate and the Autobots do enjoy scrubbing traditions and individualism and histories they deem dangerous from the memory of the public.
Slowly books are banned and disappear from record entirely. Historical data is editted, subtle at first then insultingly blatant before being purged in entirety.
One by one even Cybertron's great cities were dismantled both just before and during the war. I was a very young mech when the grand spires singing crystal gardens of Vos were toppled and leveled. So much was lost. So much purged.
But not all is forgotten. The Seekers are few in number now but we love freedom more then anything and we are brothers and sister all. I suppose that's why most of us joined the Decepticons, and why there is barely a handful of us left.
I suppose I am rambling now, it is my curse. And I haven't quite answered your question... But 'What is culture? What is your history?' Questions both vague and vast that could spark endless conversations. I could fill a thousand times a thousand datapads with words if only I had the time, and still want more.
...Why is it that it always seems we end up being the last?
[ Get a hold of yourself, Starscream. You barely know this mirror.
But- This one... Meeting him in Maccadam's was one thing. But the way he speaks here, the way he dropped this ramble clearly without a second thought, it's all more at place in the University of Iacon (in another time, another place) than from a counterpart's mouth.
For a moment it's like seeing a window directly into the past.
(He's got almost the same white wings. The same ones. Starscream, where his counterpart can't see, shivers at a nonexistent cold.) ]
Our own history had been mutilated by those Senate fraggers too, but not to the same extent. The fact of the Winglord position's revival where I'm from is testimony to that. If they'd done that to my Vos, we would have all fragging rebelled a lot sooner!
I need anything you can give me. I need the culture. Practices, traditions, trines, all of it- Assuming you even have trines, considering me and our silver counterpart's worlds seem to be the only ones so far who do. And if there's any variants, as well; we had most of the population in Vos, course, but Kalis and Tarn also had substantial groups of us, and culture variations to match.
History-wise, yes, what they did to your people. Our people. Anything that survived. Anything at all.
Well I'm not quite the last, not yet at least. My brothers are in hiding.
[ Though Soundwave is working on contacting them. A special favor to him. ]
I think I would love discussing these things with you, for as long as you want. But wouldn't such things be better in person? There is only so much passion one can convey over text.
[ There is a long pause. Grief still surges in the once-Winglord, its taste still bitter. He needs a moment. ]
…Assuming you're talking about who I think you are, I would not recommend telling that to silver. We have both lost our trines, not that they were our siblings. Both of us are last. [ It’s probably a good thing that his counterpart can't see his bitter expression. It's unfair. All of this is unfair. ]
We could meet face to face, if you think that would be more helpful. You're only the second counterpart of mine that hasn't pissed me off on first meeting though, so I hope you'll understand my initial caution. And the other one I like is a lot fragging younger than the both of us, so he barely even counts…
How about you meet me at the Brigade labs? They're the ones nearly directly in front of the space bridge's room.
[ He pauses. Though it's been a long while since last he saw dear Skywarp and Thundercracker he can scarcely imagine a world where they're not alive. Of course it's been a long time... but Starscream feel certain that if anything were to happen to them he'd know. ]
Brothers but not siblings. Brothers by the unbreakable bond of flying wingtip to wingtip for cycles near uncountable. Brothers by our united desire to see Tyrants fall and the skies free and safe. Brothers because...
I fear I might be at the beginning of another ramble. I'll be at your lab shortly, so long as it isn't an imposition. I would hate to give up such a lauded title as the only non-toddler alternate who has not infuriated you at first site.
Sone time shoryly thereafter there's a polite but insistant rapping at the entrance to the lab in question. ]
[ That's all that needs to be said on the matter. To sum it up. While Starscream would never outright call his own 'brothers' - it wasn't the right word - he still understands what his counterpart is trying to convey.
Even if it does make him suspect that such a formation doesn't exist in this Starscream's world.
The door is quick to open, Starscream standing there whole and unmarred from his little stint as a ghost. There's a pair of goggles hanging around his neck, a light dusting of soot over his frame, and he's sipping energon through a frankly ridiculous curly straw. He inclines his head and steps to the side, a clear indication to come in- And with the flick of his wings that brings, revealing he is now completely bereft of his Decepticon symbols.
The lab of course is as messy as ever, with blueprints everywhere and weapons in progress lying in their designated spaces. He's got another prototype of the HOPE incendiary launcher on a table, propped open. Probably the source of the soot. ]
I got you a drink. No use talking over empty cups.
I do hope you have a spare crazy straw for that drink. Do you know those have been outlawed on my Cybertron for ages? Some ridiculous rumor about one being intrinsic to the start of the Decepticon movement or something of the sort. Utter fantasy but they've been deemed highly illegal because of it.
[ And there are a great many illegal things Starscream has done and possessed under the tyrannical rule of the warlords... But he's not about to risk life and limb for a straw. ]
And congratulations are in order I suppose too? You're looking considerably more corporeal. Why the dust is settling on you instead of passing strait through! It must feel nice to be sorted back in a body.
[ He gestures to the seats and waiting unclaimed energon, moving off to rifle through one of his cupboards for said curly straw. It wouldn't hurt to give one up temporarily... As long as it's not one of the fun ones. No bitch-straw for any other Starscreams. But he pulls out a fairly standard hot pink specimen, and tosses it to his counterpart.
There's a shrug as he drifts back over, claiming the one and only spinny chair. It's even been modified to accommodate his wings! ]
Definitely nice to be able to actually pick things up again. Had to possess my corpse for a couple tests there. Eugh. But it's all for the research. Not what you're here for, regardless.
[ Cue Starscream spilling all of his datapads out of his subspace, spreading them across the nearest desk. He'll keep his own personal one to the side, but Starscream wordlessly slides the one containing what he's got written down currently - both from his own world and from Silver's - towards his double. ]
[ But as his counterpart says, not what he's here for. It's also a bit too much to unpack without proper preparation. Instead he settles his straw in his cube and chuckles a bit (delightful) and pulls the datapad towards him. His instinct is as ever to pour himself into it, read every detail but he shows restraint for the moment, flicking through screens and skimming the content just to see the general topics he'd gone over. ]
On my walk over I was thinking what would be best to begin with and it hit me. What about the story of the First Flight? It's more legend, more fable now then true history, and often reserved only for amusing the young... but I think there are some merit to myths, don't you?
[ He grabs his personal datapad and pulls up a new note document, pulling his stylus out with a flourish.
He might not outright admit it, but Starscream's collection is perhaps somewhat scant on the legends. Oh, practically everything else from his world (and what he could get out of Silver about his) is detailed meticulously, but most of the legends are Kalisian-specific, not Vosnian. Never mind the fact he never was able to get any from Tarn's Seekers... ]
Of course there is. Again... Anything you can tell me.
[ He smiles fondly and takes a sip of his energon as he gathers his thoughts together. He leans back in his seat and spreads his arms out grandly. He loves talking and he loves drama and recounting an old story gives him ample opportunity for both. He's in his element so to speak. ]
A long time ago when Cybertron was very young and Titans still walked the lands, the ancient ancestors of modern Cybertronians set out across the planet. One by one groups began to settle and build villages and towns and cities. There was one group however that never could find a place to set down foundations.
They wandered without end, without satisfaction. Others began to refer to this group as the 'Seekers', as they constantly sought but never found. They were often out in the wilds of Cybertron, far away from any other civilization in their long journey to find their home.
Among them was a young mech, who's name has been lost to the ages. He was a whimsical sort and claimed the wind would come running to him like a cyberhound whenever he whistled. The other members of the group wished he'd stop whistling so much and do a few more chores. There was no helping it though, he was a dreamer.
There came a time though when their happy days of wandering came to a halt. Their chief had fallen where he stood one morning, overcome with Rotting Rust. One by one more members of the group began to see the symptoms. Back then the only cure known was oil from the great crystal springs. It was so far away though, even their fastest would never make it there and back in time before the plague killed the whole of them.
The young dreamer though... he was hit with an idea, a plan so absurd that had he shared it with the group they would have laughed at him. No Cybertronian had ever done what he planned to. So he told no one. He stripped every piece of bulky armor plating from his frame until he was left with the barest minimum. And the plating he had stripped? He used it to construct himself a pair of grand wings.
He had never felt such determination in his spark as he stood at the edge of a nearby cliff. He took a moment, to vent, to prepare himself for what he was about to do.
[ Starscream's voice lowers in that moment, almost reverently as the tale is recounted. It grows louder then as he continues. ]
He whistled. He whistled louder and harder then he ever had in his life. A moment passed, and then another. And then... the wind came. Roaring across the plains it charged and enveloped him, embraced him like a long lost brother finally coming home. It pushed on his new wings and lifted him, higher and higher. The Dreamer had thought he'd be afraid but he felt no fear. All he felt was joy the moment he touched the sky.
He couldn't allow it to distract him for long though, he knew he had save his people. It felt as if barely any time at all had passed be the time he got to the crystal springs to retrieve the oil, and but the time he returned the sun had only begun to set.
His people were overjoyed that they were saved when all hope seemed to be lost but they asked him: How did he make it all the way to the springs and back so quickly. Excited, he told them of his journey and the glory of the sky.
One by one he began to help his people craft wings of their own so they too could experience what he did. It was then the Seekers realized why they could never find a place to call home. The'd been looking in the wrong place. Their home was not on the ground, it was in the heavens.
They celebrated and danced in the air and called the young mech who had saved them their new leader. They gave him a new name that day, one befitting of his role, and of the gift he'd given them. Winglord.
[ The entire time his counterpart speaks, Starscream doesn't interrupt once. Instead his stylus moves, quick and sure, everything being recorded word for word. He has to be meticulous. This has to be perfect. But the reveal at the end... He pulls a bit of a face, the exact emotion behind it hard to read.
There's almost a bit of sadness in it. ]
And therefore it explains the existence of the Seekers, and the first Winglord. ...I will admit, most Vosnian legends were completely eradicated, so I have no idea if this story matches ones that would've been found in my own universe. There were other groups of Seekers, of course, but the Tarnish myths weren't for outsiders, even me. So all I've got in any substantial amount are the Kalisian ones. This should help round out my material.
Though the wording of this implies to me that you may have a somewhat different method for handling the choosing of your Winglords. [ He taps his stylus against the screen, then double checks his work. Makes sure it's saved and then sent to the other datapads he maintains. ] Not that our reinstatement of the position lasted very long. But I always got the impression, from my own and the previous Winglord's investigations, that turnovers could be quite violent. Legal assassination, and all that. Thankfully, all I had to deal with was a face to face challenge. [ There it is. Starscream, Winglord, Air Commander, once leader of all his people. ]
Is Winglord still a position where you're from? [ Starscream watches his counterpart as he asks, almost cautious. This one isn't a threat to him and his ambitions as far as he can tell at such an early date, but all the same... It's one ex-Winglord looking for the signs of another. ]
[ He steeples his fingers before him and leans forward, a smile playing at his mouth. ]
Wouldn't it be interesting if it was and I was.
[ He leans back again and shrugs. ]
For better or for worse there hasn't been a Winglord for a very long time. And even the last few generations of them were little more then figureheads with no real power chosen by the senate instead of the traditional way.
The traditional way being the current Winglord choosing a successor when he or she felt the time right. They would act as an advisor to the new Winglord for a while to ensure inexperience did not cause any harm to the community. They would then retire to the ancestral estate by the great crystal springs. It was a reward for a life of service.
Of course things didn't always go smoothly. There were challenges and those who usurped, and mechs that should not have been put in charge of anything. There was the disastrous and violent twenty three day reign of Winglord Winglord for instance. I did not misspeak either he a bit mad and decided it should be both his title AND name.
[ He allows himself to trail off. He's spinning a tangent again, as he tends to do when given the opportunity. ]
You shouldn't give up on your own world's history you know. It's ever truly and completely wiped out. You just have to know the right places to look and eventually you'll have enough bits of scrap to mend together into a fine new pair of wings. The oldest members of society of course always seem to know at least a few tidbits. Tax and property records are one of the few things most governments don't want destroyed and they can be a wealth of knowledge if you know what to look for...
[ He frowns a little then, thinking to the reality of his own world. ]
Though I suppose if the War has ravaged your world even half as badly as mine those methods might be difficult as well. There are more... drastic measures.
[ There's an expression of disgust pulled at the very idea of the Senate controlling the Winglords. The Vosnian Senators had been bad enough, puppets that lazed around their glorious estate while the people they were meant to take care of starved and bled underneath them. ]
I got the impression from the records I could find that the stamping out of the position, in my world, was not done so peacefully. The Seekers fought. Fought, and were broken for it, even if they remained afraid enough of us that we were 'allowed' to keep a bit of ourselves!
As for the transferring of the role... [ Starscream rests his chin on his hand, the other still writing down his counterpart's words. ] There probably was something like that. Comet, my... My predecessor, gave me the impression he never wanted to hold onto the role forever. Just until the end of the war. Course, Comet was the most private fragging mech I've ever met, so I've got no damn clue as to whether he actually intended for me to be his replacement. It could have been Novastrike. Perhaps it should have been Novastrike...
That was part of the idea, though. A new candidate had to be approved. Not by some corrupt council that could be pulled with money. Not by the nobles. But the people, as a whole- If you could prove you were smart, if you could protect them, that you could handle both the political and the martial, then you could stay. If not... There are surviving records of one mech being ripped to shreds by the Seekers he abused, an entirely legal activity in the Vos before the Senate. I wonder if he was anything like your Winglord Winglord.
Challenges were expected, I know that. Not all of them duels, but most of them. I even had to field a few myself.
[ But at that last part... Starscream looks up, and meets his counterpart's optics. Red locked onto blue. He will be blunt, and he will be truthful. ] ...I may be the last Seeker left alive, Starscream. This... This project of mine, this saving all the pieces, is not for home. Not any more.
[ Though the Seeker population has been devastated by the War, Starscream knows he's not the last. He ordered the few handfuls of survivors into hiding himself. The Static Zone was dangerous but there were a few small pockets save from the devastating electric storms.
It's painful living without them. He can't imagine the pain of knowing he would never live with them again.
He's silent for a moment or two, carefully pushing the clutter of data pads and light pens and his drink to one side of the table. ]
I would like to give you something else then. Something more of our culture.
[ Satisfied that it was as tidy as it was going to get he reaches across the table to his double. ]
[ A flash of confusion and wariness blinks across Starscream's face, and for a moment he hesitates. It's well ingrained, that instinct to distrust; he watches his double's hands, as if expecting a trap even from the one he's already categorized as the 'boy scout'.
...It's a testament to how far he's come aboard this ship that he does nod at last, and reach to take them. It's awkward. It's clear Starscream still isn't used to such easy contact, even if Slipstream has become an exception.
[ It’s clear his double is dubious, wary of his intentions. He can’t blame him really, he’s still a stranger in a strange place. So he give his hands one small squeezes before holding them light enough that they can easily be pulled away. ]
We’re going to do a bit of play acting. You in the part of the Winglord, myself the hierophant. Well… [ He chuckles softly] Perhaps a bit less play acting for you.
I’d like for you to picture, imagine, that we’re standing at the end of a long runway. It’s night time but at either side of the runway dozens, hundred even, of tiny lanterns are lit up, illuminating the ground so it looks like a mirror of the star filled sky above us.
[ His spark gives an uncomfortable pang at the squeeze, Starscream suddenly reminded once more of other times, other places. This one… A mirror to himself, perhaps, but also…
He shivers for a moment. As if an ice-chilled breeze had just stolen across.
But he takes a vent and smooths it all over. Instead he straightens, easily and reflexively falling into his old authority. It’s a similar shade to the kind he used on his counterpart before, a sort of thing that demands respect and attention from his people- Even now, it fits him like a glove. ]
Good. Keep that in your mind's eye. This is an ancient duty always overseen by the Winglord, or by necessity, a symbolic stand in.
[ He exvents slowly, shutters his optics, almost as if to give his other self a moment of perceived privacy as he steadies himself. He's had to mentally prepare himself too, many times, more then he'd like to think about, over the course of the war for the ritual he's about to share. ]
I've already told you the story of the First Flight. Now, as long as you're willing, I'd like to teach you the Rite of the Final Flight.
[ He doesn't explain, but he feels he doesn't have to. Final Flight, the name says it all. The seeing off of a lost seeker to the All Spark. He gets the impression that his double has not had the time or opportunity really to mourn and hopes that with this he can give him some small comfort.
He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't want to push him into something he's uncomfortable with, and silently waits for a confirmation. ]
[ For a moment, silence reigns. Starscream... Starscream understands. A death rite. A funerary custom. There- There is a weight here, a gravitas he hasn't experienced in a long time. It's not as if he's unfamiliar with his Seekers' own, but... This feels different. This is different. It's more than just a cremation that they couldn't even pull off by the end of the war and a few muttered words. It has an importance that he has not seen for a long time.
But, all through his own thoughts, Starscream does not lose his Winglord's composure. When he finally speaks, his words are a soft, subdued sort of thoughtful. ]
...I... I am not a religious mech. If this rite requires belief... I believe in very little.
[ And yet, it is not a rejection. He does not let go of his counterpart's hands. ]
The only belief it truly requires is the belief in whom the rite is for.
[ He smiles gently. There's no opposition here though so he continues. ]
I've given you the setting, sometimes improvisation must be used...
[ More times then not the ceremony was held in the barracks or some battered hanger, the lights cut and the lanterns replaced by strips of emergency light. It was the thought the counted, the sentiment, the comfort. ]
Let's begin. Repeat after me, the Hierophant guiding the Winglord through his rite.
[ The words come easy to him then. He's recited them plenty. He goes slow, with meaning. Even if he's called it 'play acting' such things need to be treated with proper respect. ]
Endless sky and boundless wind, be our lost Seeker's guide.
Return them home so they may receive their Winglord's last command.
Seeker you have flown well. Seeker you have flown far.
Your Winglord gives you his blessing, to go forth on one final flight.
Fly swift, fly high, snd may you never touch the ground.
[ Starscream may not be the last, from his world at least, but certainly there were many lost. He takes a moment, names, faces, flashing in his mind's eye. ]
The Winglord, then takes flight from the runway, and one by one those who have gathered follow. There's no order or flight plan. Some believe that the spirit of the deceased is there with them, and they're seeing them off to the All Spark. Some just take time to reflect on them, remember the time they spent with them. Whatever their reasoning though it's... a way to have, at least symbolically, one 'Final Flight' with them.
[ He will write this down, when he can. Commit memory to datapad, preserved electronically as best as he can, for all the future Seekers that may or may not stumble across this ship. But for now, Starscream repeats his mirror's words as steady as his voice will allow him.
Nova would have been better at this than him. But Nova's not here. No one is. No one will ever be again.
He nods, slowly. With the information absorbed, he repeats the other Starscream's words again, twice: once, in Vosnian. Another in the Kalisian variant. Testing it on his tongue, how natural it feels to say them in both dialects. It belongs there. Maybe they had shared this rite, after all. ]
...Allspark. That's not a concept that exists in my universe. Not that I haven't heard it spoken before, but... Interesting. [ His voice is level; Starscream may be effected by all of this, but he won't let it show. ]
[ He gives him time to repeat it, to engrave it to memory and take what time he needs to keep it with him. ]
The idea of it being a sort of afterlife is certainly more faith based, more hope based then anything rooted in science. But the All Spark is real. It's to Cybertron what our sparks are to us. Without it the planet is simply... not living. To think of a Universe where it doesn't exist seems impossible to conceive.
[ He knows the All Spark can be removed, potentially extinguished. The All Spark of his Cybertron was lost sometime in the war. A string of errors and tragedy he still despises thinking on. Though that does give him a thought. ]
I wonder if your universe had one at some point. But it was just lost or stolen long long ago. If you had it... well you could bring forth a new generation on Cybertron.
The ways we have? The hot spots, extinguished. I suppose they could have returned, but the Autobots control Cybertron now, while the Decepticons are forced off our very home. Vector Sigma, now impossible to use unless you’re an Autobot- Which wouldn’t have been the fragging case if our leader hadn’t been such a damn idiot! There is of course that last method, the one used to create the Dinobots, but if anyone thinks I’m going to do that-
[ He hisses low and slightly pulls away. Doesn’t let go of his counterpart’s hands still, somehow, but his wings have flared outwards in this well-used anger. He won’t look his counterpart in the optic. ]
There isn’t even anything left to bother taking over. I can’t even blame the Autobots for all of it. Isn’t that terrible? All that fragging effort, all this fighting, all those deaths! And for what!? The extinction of my Seekers!? And now all that’s left is me and- [ A sharp in-vent. More even, but tight, ] It’s just me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
text; $winglord
Date: 2022-04-20 03:23 pm (UTC)I'm writing a text on Seeker culture. While it's still primarily based off my own world's... I've already asked our silver counterpart to contribute, so I figured I better ask you too; if there's anything you could give me on your own Seekers' cultural practices and associated history, I'd like to add it to my notes.
[ He just hopes that this isn't another case of a world without. ]
text; $seekfreedom
Date: 2022-04-21 04:14 am (UTC)Slowly books are banned and disappear from record entirely. Historical data is editted, subtle at first then insultingly blatant before being purged in entirety.
One by one even Cybertron's great cities were dismantled both just before and during the war. I was a very young mech when the grand spires singing crystal gardens of Vos were toppled and leveled. So much was lost. So much purged.
But not all is forgotten. The Seekers are few in number now but we love freedom more then anything and we are brothers and sister all. I suppose that's why most of us joined the Decepticons, and why there is barely a handful of us left.
I suppose I am rambling now, it is my curse. And I haven't quite answered your question... But 'What is culture? What is your history?' Questions both vague and vast that could spark endless conversations. I could fill a thousand times a thousand datapads with words if only I had the time, and still want more.
no subject
Date: 2022-04-21 05:30 pm (UTC)[ Get a hold of yourself, Starscream. You barely know this mirror.
But- This one... Meeting him in Maccadam's was one thing. But the way he speaks here, the way he dropped this ramble clearly without a second thought, it's all more at place in the University of Iacon (in another time, another place) than from a counterpart's mouth.
For a moment it's like seeing a window directly into the past.
(He's got almost the same white wings. The same ones. Starscream, where his counterpart can't see, shivers at a nonexistent cold.) ]
Our own history had been mutilated by those Senate fraggers too, but not to the same extent. The fact of the Winglord position's revival where I'm from is testimony to that. If they'd done that to my Vos, we would have all fragging rebelled a lot sooner!
I need anything you can give me. I need the culture. Practices, traditions, trines, all of it- Assuming you even have trines, considering me and our silver counterpart's worlds seem to be the only ones so far who do. And if there's any variants, as well; we had most of the population in Vos, course, but Kalis and Tarn also had substantial groups of us, and culture variations to match.
History-wise, yes, what they did to your people. Our people. Anything that survived. Anything at all.
no subject
Date: 2022-04-26 12:09 am (UTC)[ Though Soundwave is working on contacting them. A special favor to him. ]
I think I would love discussing these things with you, for as long as you want. But wouldn't such things be better in person? There is only so much passion one can convey over text.
no subject
Date: 2022-04-26 12:31 am (UTC)They're still alive?
[ There is a long pause. Grief still surges in the once-Winglord, its taste still bitter. He needs a moment. ]
…Assuming you're talking about who I think you are, I would not recommend telling that to silver. We have both lost our trines, not that they were our siblings. Both of us are last. [ It’s probably a good thing that his counterpart can't see his bitter expression. It's unfair. All of this is unfair. ]
We could meet face to face, if you think that would be more helpful. You're only the second counterpart of mine that hasn't pissed me off on first meeting though, so I hope you'll understand my initial caution. And the other one I like is a lot fragging younger than the both of us, so he barely even counts…
How about you meet me at the Brigade labs? They're the ones nearly directly in front of the space bridge's room.
>>>action
Date: 2022-04-27 02:07 am (UTC)[ He pauses. Though it's been a long while since last he saw dear Skywarp and Thundercracker he can scarcely imagine a world where they're not alive. Of course it's been a long time... but Starscream feel certain that if anything were to happen to them he'd know. ]
Brothers but not siblings. Brothers by the unbreakable bond of flying wingtip to wingtip for cycles near uncountable. Brothers by our united desire to see Tyrants fall and the skies free and safe. Brothers because...
I fear I might be at the beginning of another ramble. I'll be at your lab shortly, so long as it isn't an imposition. I would hate to give up such a lauded title as the only non-toddler alternate who has not infuriated you at first site.
Sone time shoryly thereafter there's a polite but insistant rapping at the entrance to the lab in question. ]
no subject
Date: 2022-04-27 11:10 am (UTC)[ That's all that needs to be said on the matter. To sum it up. While Starscream would never outright call his own 'brothers' - it wasn't the right word - he still understands what his counterpart is trying to convey.
Even if it does make him suspect that such a formation doesn't exist in this Starscream's world.
The door is quick to open, Starscream standing there whole and unmarred from his little stint as a ghost. There's a pair of goggles hanging around his neck, a light dusting of soot over his frame, and he's sipping energon through a frankly ridiculous curly straw. He inclines his head and steps to the side, a clear indication to come in- And with the flick of his wings that brings, revealing he is now completely bereft of his Decepticon symbols.
The lab of course is as messy as ever, with blueprints everywhere and weapons in progress lying in their designated spaces. He's got another prototype of the HOPE incendiary launcher on a table, propped open. Probably the source of the soot. ]
I got you a drink. No use talking over empty cups.
no subject
Date: 2022-04-28 03:43 am (UTC)[ And there are a great many illegal things Starscream has done and possessed under the tyrannical rule of the warlords... But he's not about to risk life and limb for a straw. ]
And congratulations are in order I suppose too? You're looking considerably more corporeal. Why the dust is settling on you instead of passing strait through! It must feel nice to be sorted back in a body.
no subject
Date: 2022-04-28 12:54 pm (UTC)[ He gestures to the seats and waiting unclaimed energon, moving off to rifle through one of his cupboards for said curly straw. It wouldn't hurt to give one up temporarily... As long as it's not one of the fun ones. No bitch-straw for any other Starscreams. But he pulls out a fairly standard hot pink specimen, and tosses it to his counterpart.
There's a shrug as he drifts back over, claiming the one and only spinny chair. It's even been modified to accommodate his wings! ]
Definitely nice to be able to actually pick things up again. Had to possess my corpse for a couple tests there. Eugh. But it's all for the research. Not what you're here for, regardless.
[ Cue Starscream spilling all of his datapads out of his subspace, spreading them across the nearest desk. He'll keep his own personal one to the side, but Starscream wordlessly slides the one containing what he's got written down currently - both from his own world and from Silver's - towards his double. ]
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Date: 2022-04-29 02:34 pm (UTC)[ But as his counterpart says, not what he's here for. It's also a bit too much to unpack without proper preparation. Instead he settles his straw in his cube and chuckles a bit (delightful) and pulls the datapad towards him. His instinct is as ever to pour himself into it, read every detail but he shows restraint for the moment, flicking through screens and skimming the content just to see the general topics he'd gone over. ]
On my walk over I was thinking what would be best to begin with and it hit me. What about the story of the First Flight? It's more legend, more fable now then true history, and often reserved only for amusing the young... but I think there are some merit to myths, don't you?
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Date: 2022-04-29 10:02 pm (UTC)[ He grabs his personal datapad and pulls up a new note document, pulling his stylus out with a flourish.
He might not outright admit it, but Starscream's collection is perhaps somewhat scant on the legends. Oh, practically everything else from his world (and what he could get out of Silver about his) is detailed meticulously, but most of the legends are Kalisian-specific, not Vosnian. Never mind the fact he never was able to get any from Tarn's Seekers... ]
Of course there is. Again... Anything you can tell me.
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Date: 2022-05-09 11:31 pm (UTC)[ He smiles fondly and takes a sip of his energon as he gathers his thoughts together. He leans back in his seat and spreads his arms out grandly. He loves talking and he loves drama and recounting an old story gives him ample opportunity for both. He's in his element so to speak. ]
A long time ago when Cybertron was very young and Titans still walked the lands, the ancient ancestors of modern Cybertronians set out across the planet. One by one groups began to settle and build villages and towns and cities. There was one group however that never could find a place to set down foundations.
They wandered without end, without satisfaction. Others began to refer to this group as the 'Seekers', as they constantly sought but never found. They were often out in the wilds of Cybertron, far away from any other civilization in their long journey to find their home.
Among them was a young mech, who's name has been lost to the ages. He was a whimsical sort and claimed the wind would come running to him like a cyberhound whenever he whistled. The other members of the group wished he'd stop whistling so much and do a few more chores. There was no helping it though, he was a dreamer.
There came a time though when their happy days of wandering came to a halt. Their chief had fallen where he stood one morning, overcome with Rotting Rust. One by one more members of the group began to see the symptoms. Back then the only cure known was oil from the great crystal springs. It was so far away though, even their fastest would never make it there and back in time before the plague killed the whole of them.
The young dreamer though... he was hit with an idea, a plan so absurd that had he shared it with the group they would have laughed at him. No Cybertronian had ever done what he planned to. So he told no one. He stripped every piece of bulky armor plating from his frame until he was left with the barest minimum. And the plating he had stripped? He used it to construct himself a pair of grand wings.
He had never felt such determination in his spark as he stood at the edge of a nearby cliff. He took a moment, to vent, to prepare himself for what he was about to do.
[ Starscream's voice lowers in that moment, almost reverently as the tale is recounted. It grows louder then as he continues. ]
He whistled. He whistled louder and harder then he ever had in his life. A moment passed, and then another. And then... the wind came. Roaring across the plains it charged and enveloped him, embraced him like a long lost brother finally coming home. It pushed on his new wings and lifted him, higher and higher. The Dreamer had thought he'd be afraid but he felt no fear. All he felt was joy the moment he touched the sky.
He couldn't allow it to distract him for long though, he knew he had save his people. It felt as if barely any time at all had passed be the time he got to the crystal springs to retrieve the oil, and but the time he returned the sun had only begun to set.
His people were overjoyed that they were saved when all hope seemed to be lost but they asked him: How did he make it all the way to the springs and back so quickly. Excited, he told them of his journey and the glory of the sky.
One by one he began to help his people craft wings of their own so they too could experience what he did. It was then the Seekers realized why they could never find a place to call home. The'd been looking in the wrong place. Their home was not on the ground, it was in the heavens.
They celebrated and danced in the air and called the young mech who had saved them their new leader. They gave him a new name that day, one befitting of his role, and of the gift he'd given them. Winglord.
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Date: 2022-05-10 05:05 pm (UTC)There's almost a bit of sadness in it. ]
And therefore it explains the existence of the Seekers, and the first Winglord. ...I will admit, most Vosnian legends were completely eradicated, so I have no idea if this story matches ones that would've been found in my own universe. There were other groups of Seekers, of course, but the Tarnish myths weren't for outsiders, even me. So all I've got in any substantial amount are the Kalisian ones. This should help round out my material.
Though the wording of this implies to me that you may have a somewhat different method for handling the choosing of your Winglords. [ He taps his stylus against the screen, then double checks his work. Makes sure it's saved and then sent to the other datapads he maintains. ] Not that our reinstatement of the position lasted very long. But I always got the impression, from my own and the previous Winglord's investigations, that turnovers could be quite violent. Legal assassination, and all that. Thankfully, all I had to deal with was a face to face challenge. [ There it is. Starscream, Winglord, Air Commander, once leader of all his people. ]
Is Winglord still a position where you're from? [ Starscream watches his counterpart as he asks, almost cautious. This one isn't a threat to him and his ambitions as far as he can tell at such an early date, but all the same... It's one ex-Winglord looking for the signs of another. ]
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Date: 2022-05-13 04:16 am (UTC)Wouldn't it be interesting if it was and I was.
[ He leans back again and shrugs. ]
For better or for worse there hasn't been a Winglord for a very long time. And even the last few generations of them were little more then figureheads with no real power chosen by the senate instead of the traditional way.
The traditional way being the current Winglord choosing a successor when he or she felt the time right. They would act as an advisor to the new Winglord for a while to ensure inexperience did not cause any harm to the community. They would then retire to the ancestral estate by the great crystal springs. It was a reward for a life of service.
Of course things didn't always go smoothly. There were challenges and those who usurped, and mechs that should not have been put in charge of anything. There was the disastrous and violent twenty three day reign of Winglord Winglord for instance. I did not misspeak either he a bit mad and decided it should be both his title AND name.
[ He allows himself to trail off. He's spinning a tangent again, as he tends to do when given the opportunity. ]
You shouldn't give up on your own world's history you know. It's ever truly and completely wiped out. You just have to know the right places to look and eventually you'll have enough bits of scrap to mend together into a fine new pair of wings. The oldest members of society of course always seem to know at least a few tidbits. Tax and property records are one of the few things most governments don't want destroyed and they can be a wealth of knowledge if you know what to look for...
[ He frowns a little then, thinking to the reality of his own world. ]
Though I suppose if the War has ravaged your world even half as badly as mine those methods might be difficult as well. There are more... drastic measures.
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Date: 2022-05-13 10:50 am (UTC)I got the impression from the records I could find that the stamping out of the position, in my world, was not done so peacefully. The Seekers fought. Fought, and were broken for it, even if they remained afraid enough of us that we were 'allowed' to keep a bit of ourselves!
As for the transferring of the role... [ Starscream rests his chin on his hand, the other still writing down his counterpart's words. ] There probably was something like that. Comet, my... My predecessor, gave me the impression he never wanted to hold onto the role forever. Just until the end of the war. Course, Comet was the most private fragging mech I've ever met, so I've got no damn clue as to whether he actually intended for me to be his replacement. It could have been Novastrike. Perhaps it should have been Novastrike...
That was part of the idea, though. A new candidate had to be approved. Not by some corrupt council that could be pulled with money. Not by the nobles. But the people, as a whole- If you could prove you were smart, if you could protect them, that you could handle both the political and the martial, then you could stay. If not... There are surviving records of one mech being ripped to shreds by the Seekers he abused, an entirely legal activity in the Vos before the Senate. I wonder if he was anything like your Winglord Winglord.
Challenges were expected, I know that. Not all of them duels, but most of them. I even had to field a few myself.
[ But at that last part... Starscream looks up, and meets his counterpart's optics. Red locked onto blue. He will be blunt, and he will be truthful. ] ...I may be the last Seeker left alive, Starscream. This... This project of mine, this saving all the pieces, is not for home. Not any more.
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Date: 2022-05-16 01:01 am (UTC)It's painful living without them. He can't imagine the pain of knowing he would never live with them again.
He's silent for a moment or two, carefully pushing the clutter of data pads and light pens and his drink to one side of the table. ]
I would like to give you something else then. Something more of our culture.
[ Satisfied that it was as tidy as it was going to get he reaches across the table to his double. ]
Take my hands.
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Date: 2022-05-16 08:42 am (UTC)...It's a testament to how far he's come aboard this ship that he does nod at last, and reach to take them. It's awkward. It's clear Starscream still isn't used to such easy contact, even if Slipstream has become an exception.
But if it's for their culture... ]
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Date: 2022-05-19 11:38 pm (UTC)We’re going to do a bit of play acting. You in the part of the Winglord, myself the hierophant. Well… [ He chuckles softly] Perhaps a bit less play acting for you.
I’d like for you to picture, imagine, that we’re standing at the end of a long runway. It’s night time but at either side of the runway dozens, hundred even, of tiny lanterns are lit up, illuminating the ground so it looks like a mirror of the star filled sky above us.
Can you see it?
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Date: 2022-05-20 08:02 am (UTC)He shivers for a moment. As if an ice-chilled breeze had just stolen across.
But he takes a vent and smooths it all over. Instead he straightens, easily and reflexively falling into his old authority. It’s a similar shade to the kind he used on his counterpart before, a sort of thing that demands respect and attention from his people- Even now, it fits him like a glove. ]
…I see it.
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Date: 2022-05-21 03:41 am (UTC)[ He exvents slowly, shutters his optics, almost as if to give his other self a moment of perceived privacy as he steadies himself. He's had to mentally prepare himself too, many times, more then he'd like to think about, over the course of the war for the ritual he's about to share. ]
I've already told you the story of the First Flight. Now, as long as you're willing, I'd like to teach you the Rite of the Final Flight.
[ He doesn't explain, but he feels he doesn't have to. Final Flight, the name says it all. The seeing off of a lost seeker to the All Spark. He gets the impression that his double has not had the time or opportunity really to mourn and hopes that with this he can give him some small comfort.
He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't want to push him into something he's uncomfortable with, and silently waits for a confirmation. ]
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Date: 2022-05-21 09:19 pm (UTC)But, all through his own thoughts, Starscream does not lose his Winglord's composure. When he finally speaks, his words are a soft, subdued sort of thoughtful. ]
...I... I am not a religious mech. If this rite requires belief... I believe in very little.
[ And yet, it is not a rejection. He does not let go of his counterpart's hands. ]
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Date: 2022-05-23 01:02 am (UTC)[ He smiles gently. There's no opposition here though so he continues. ]
I've given you the setting, sometimes improvisation must be used...
[ More times then not the ceremony was held in the barracks or some battered hanger, the lights cut and the lanterns replaced by strips of emergency light. It was the thought the counted, the sentiment, the comfort. ]
Let's begin. Repeat after me, the Hierophant guiding the Winglord through his rite.
[ The words come easy to him then. He's recited them plenty. He goes slow, with meaning. Even if he's called it 'play acting' such things need to be treated with proper respect. ]
Endless sky and boundless wind, be our lost Seeker's guide.
Return them home so they may receive their Winglord's last command.
Seeker you have flown well. Seeker you have flown far.
Your Winglord gives you his blessing, to go forth on one final flight.
Fly swift, fly high, snd may you never touch the ground.
[ Starscream may not be the last, from his world at least, but certainly there were many lost. He takes a moment, names, faces, flashing in his mind's eye. ]
The Winglord, then takes flight from the runway, and one by one those who have gathered follow. There's no order or flight plan. Some believe that the spirit of the deceased is there with them, and they're seeing them off to the All Spark. Some just take time to reflect on them, remember the time they spent with them. Whatever their reasoning though it's... a way to have, at least symbolically, one 'Final Flight' with them.
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Date: 2022-05-23 03:48 pm (UTC)Nova would have been better at this than him. But Nova's not here. No one is. No one will ever be again.
He nods, slowly. With the information absorbed, he repeats the other Starscream's words again, twice: once, in Vosnian. Another in the Kalisian variant. Testing it on his tongue, how natural it feels to say them in both dialects. It belongs there. Maybe they had shared this rite, after all. ]
...Allspark. That's not a concept that exists in my universe. Not that I haven't heard it spoken before, but... Interesting. [ His voice is level; Starscream may be effected by all of this, but he won't let it show. ]
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Date: 2022-06-07 01:49 am (UTC)The idea of it being a sort of afterlife is certainly more faith based, more hope based then anything rooted in science. But the All Spark is real. It's to Cybertron what our sparks are to us. Without it the planet is simply... not living. To think of a Universe where it doesn't exist seems impossible to conceive.
[ He knows the All Spark can be removed, potentially extinguished. The All Spark of his Cybertron was lost sometime in the war. A string of errors and tragedy he still despises thinking on. Though that does give him a thought. ]
I wonder if your universe had one at some point. But it was just lost or stolen long long ago. If you had it... well you could bring forth a new generation on Cybertron.
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Date: 2022-06-07 08:25 am (UTC)[ He hisses low and slightly pulls away. Doesn’t let go of his counterpart’s hands still, somehow, but his wings have flared outwards in this well-used anger. He won’t look his counterpart in the optic. ]
There isn’t even anything left to bother taking over. I can’t even blame the Autobots for all of it. Isn’t that terrible? All that fragging effort, all this fighting, all those deaths! And for what!? The extinction of my Seekers!? And now all that’s left is me and- [ A sharp in-vent. More even, but tight, ] It’s just me.