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.
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voiceofrevolution) wrote2022-04-19 07:09 pm
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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.