sunchime | [ open post: drift ]

"With that broken optic and those fresh welds? Not great, I'd imagine, but hopefully a little better than an hour ago."

Drift suppresses any reaction to that nickname, a mostly-involuntary smile, and he wonders with just a touch of secondhand embarrassment if this is what Wing had felt like, when they'd first met. But that just reminds him that Wing might be alive again, somehow, that he might have been captured by the slavers, and Drift has to force himself to focus on the now. He tilts his head to the side with a slight, noncommittal shrug.

"Enough for now. Don't worry about it." Drift leans back against the wall and crosses his arms to mask the growing restlessness in his mind. He needs to talk to Deadlock, Deadlock needs to talk to him, so he can start unraveling all this, get the answers he needs, but it means sharing some of his own, too. He doesn't think lying to Deadlock would pay off in the long run, but then...he's not sure how his past self will react to the truth, either.

But he can't dance around it forever. He takes a moment of stillness to center himself, watching Deadlock with quiet, unreadable optics, and then finally asks, "So, do I get a name yet?"

Deadlock grunts a affirmative; the closest he'll get to a thank you, hand ghosting over the new welds on his side. He still aches all over, his back especially, and he silently regrets the show of bravado when he threw himself into this chair. Moving a little more gingerly might be wise given he's only got battlefield triage and autorepair to rely on as far as getting himself fixed up.

"Don't worry about" Deadlock rolls his optics; it's far from reassuring. His autorepair will burn through fuel plenty faster than normal though, and that logic fights with his paranoia as he stares down at the second ration packet.

Speaking of paranoia, he's still not loving the idea of giving his name. But if he's known at all, if there's any bounties, he'll be loving the outcome of that even less.

"Drift." He finally grates out, same as he did for the other white and red mech, his voice harsh from an underpowered vocalizer. As much as he hates to admit it, the name is true again; he's on his own, cast aside, with dim prospects for his future. As if to wash the taste from his mouth, Deadlock takes another draw from his ration packet.

Maybe he shouldn't be surprised that his younger self introduces himself as Drift -- after all, that's what he'd done when he'd met Wing -- but it shows on his face nonetheless. He realizes now, in this moment, that he still doesn't have any idea exactly how to break this to Deadlock, or just how quickly it might go south.

"Drift, huh?" He tries giving Deadlock a faint smile, but it comes out awkward, and he wonders if a serious approach would be better instead. Right now he just looks...a little uncertain. "Funny thing, you know...that's my name, too."

Well, now it's out. He's going to have to explain it to Deadlock now.

He rolls his optics a little at his rescuer's initial reaction; yeah sure it's a dumb name, he knows, but all the good ones are--

Wait.

What?

Deadlock chokes on his energon, fuel flecking against his chin as he looks wildly up at the white and red mech.

"--THE FRAG YOU JUST SAY!??"

Drift's not really sure what he was expecting. No, actually, this is more or less what he was expecting -- he remembers how he was back then, how hostile and defensive he could be, and how very quick to anger he was. He raises both hands in a disarming gesture, still smiling.

"Calm down," he says, trying to channel soothing energy into his voice. Is it working? He hopes it's working. "It's alright. I'll explain if you want -- as much as I can -- but I need you to understand that I don't mean you any harm."

Is smiling all this cybe ever does? It's entirely unsettling, most mechs either quake in fear or rise up and challenge him when Deadlock gets aggressive. This experience is utterly alien and disconcerting to him. But then, so is meeting someone with his same name. Despite the unsettling circumstances, he doesn't escalate, and his optics flick suspiciously over the white mech instead.

"Why not?" he asks, as if it's down right foolish not to mean him harm. Most do, and not all of them Autobots. Is it too late to change his name? He's pretty sure he doesn't want to share one with this weirdo.

"Because..." The smile slips off of Drift's face as he tries to find a way to answer that question delicately, but nothing really comes to him. This is just inescapably awkward. But he has to keep things disarming, has to react like water, not stone, leaving nowhere to strike. "Because...you're me."

Well. So much for not making himself a target.

Inescapably awkward is one way to put it.

"I'm WHAT?!?!?"

It's a good thing they aren't hiding or fleeing pursers or anything of the like because Deadlock definitely would have just given away their location. "Are you high?!? Brain module fried??" And Deadlock would certainly know what that feels like, even if he's been clean for ages. He'll never go back to being the the wretch he once was, drug-addicted, impoverished and full of self-loathing. If this mech's name is Drift, maybe he's just as messed up.

"What makes you think we're anything alike??" He demands, rising from his chair regardless of how the shuttle lurches, except that's his balance, his injured hip gimble giving way and he flails a hand out to make a grab for the back of his chair with a frustrated curse.

[ open post: drift ]

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