Taggon
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Post by Taggon on Jul 31, 2021 4:03:19 GMT
Evening provided uncanny escape from the sun’s hateful beams, and the extensive shade caste by the trees expanded by the second. A humble shack composed of wood and rock remained peacefully wedged between the mountain of the island and the small jungle, though in total the abode measured less than a kilometer from the stone-beach. Large, yet soft and even footsteps bibrated their way towards the shack as a twenty foot tall being returned to his quiet estate. He stepped from the confines of the forest, his knees covered in dirt while his plating mirrored a worn down use. The mech softly hummed a tune as he inspected the entrance of his home for any remaining clay pots. His muddy serves settled for a moderate sized container, causing the mech to grunt as he gently tucked some of his new seeds into the soft muck within the pot. Satisfied, the mech sunk into his chair.
Days had turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, from when his commando-like frame had seen action. Truthfully, the former soldier didn’t mind it. Everything was quiet now. Before his only remaining functional optic closed to soak in the romantic sunset, a small shine caught his optic. It came from within his quarters. Leaning farther back in his chair, he found himself eye to eye with a small shelf. Standing upright the mech approached it. “The wind must’ve misplaced you.” He muttered, speaking to three insignias resting on the shelf. Stacking the three of them, he paused to consider which insignia should remain ontop of the other. Avacon? Decepticon? Autobot? He found himself almost scowling. What does it matter? I was never on the right side. Despite a clenched fist, he managed to gently tuck them behind his other belongings. Doing his best to avoid looking at any of the pictures his former friends, he went outside again to gaze outward. Nostalgia had no right to destroy another moment of his now quiet life.
“To think that I was concerned the planet would be glassed by now.” He shook his helm lightly. “With all the relics and technology wasted, High command likely resorted to just tossing bodies at the other side until something occurred.” The soldier began to chuckle, “Ah, just like old times.” On that he sported a smile. Though I certainly didn’t have my best moments either. He recalled.
Pouring himself a bottle of high-grade energon, He raised his glass to the sky as if old friends did so from their higher place. “To memories, both good and bad…and to all the afts I kicked for each of you, and you me.” He managed another laugh, downing the beverage in one gulp.
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Backbeat
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Decepticon
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Gender: Male
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Post by Backbeat on Aug 3, 2021 6:01:39 GMT
There was a beach, miles from the comforting shade of the forest and the solitary figure regretfully reminiscing of days gone by. Tropical birds hung on the trees that dared to encroach on the wave's sandy domain. The waters receded, preparing for another crash onto the sand. On this solitary beach alone, a seam of reality loosened and a solitary figure emerged. The warped break in reality quickly snapped back, closing instantly.
It was a nasty way to travel, and while better made teleportation options existed, Backbeat had always found it easier to "warp" than use a ground-bridge or acquire a better method. He'd put up with it's eccentricities, because in the hands of a master could easily outpace all other methods of teleportation. But it was unstable tech... All of that extra performance at the cost of safety. Most teleportation has stabilizing features to ease the user into flouting reality. The "warp" method Backbeat used? Not so much... When reality snapped back to normal, it tended to snap back at the user as well...
Usually this wasn't noticeable, one could use a warp once or twice and there'd be no visible ill effects, just a microscopic amount of corruption to one's personal reality. Repeated use? It'd stained his very being. He'd maybe noticed it years ago. His warping power seemed to change it's mechanics and effects without warning. As well, he'd found that his hold in reality wasn't as strong as it once was. Because of that, that details such as his history, appearance and personality seemed to be more malleable and muddy. Not that that really bothered him. He'd been well known for his need to seek out the new and exciting to hold his short attention... It was one of the few unchanging things about him. This "warping" of his role in reality only gave him an excuse for new experiences. Or he'd be unmade completely as reality finally snaps back hard enough to completely displace him...
He didn't mind that either.
Backbeat looked around the beach, Earth... The planet had always been a favorite. Things happened on Earth, there was always something unexpected or strange on the planet. Cybertron lacked that variety, that spice, that made Earth so appealing. It sparked his imagination better than a planetwide junkyard. He noticed the birds flew away from him, startled. His plan was to use his shuttle's meager scanners to locate anything remotely cybertronian on this planet he could use to stage a comeback. But he'd quickly realized how little there was that remained here, a bit of Energon here, a bit of easily salvageable tech there. Not enough for a villainous scheme sadly, but he could probably live off it for a while. This was the last stop on the list, and he could feel an air of finality to it all. Like the universe was waiting on the last of the bar's patrons to finish their beers before the light are turned out.
' Well... Let's get this done with... '
Backbeat walks the into the island as the waves crash onto the beach. while the details are fuzzy, he remembers the feeling and excitement of the battles he fought. Unconsciously he checks the laser pistol he had in his left side's holster. All his other weapons had either been lost or broken down years ago, but he still had that. He places it back in it's holster, old habits he supposed. As he makes his way into the trees, occasionally glancing at the energon scanner in his hand.
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Taggon
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Post by Taggon on Aug 4, 2021 4:50:32 GMT
As he rested in his chair, the mech continued to enjoy his drink Earth still contained many reserves of energyon, and before his withdrawal from combat, The soldier was sure to take as many resources as he could. Most of them rested in his basement along with a plethora of other equipment he refrained from using. It was the skeleton in his closet.
Taggon eyed the bottle, shaking the energy left in it. He still had plenty left. Then his audios perked, and his optics darted to the treeline. Birds flew upwards, and something felt amiss. Arching his brow, Taggon blinked, letting his built in HUD seek energy signatures. A familiar one appeared upon his scanner, causing him to stare at it. The former warrior felt his spark toss and turn between befuddlement and caution. He eyed his house, the glint of a large curved machete catching his gaze.
No. He sighed, My days of wielding blades are over. He winced as his servo twitched. The muscle memory still echoed in his reflexes, as rusted as they were. The mech couldn’t recall the last time he’d been in a scrapping. If Backbeat was in the area, there was an off chance the mech came for some world-ending tool, or some mad plan which gave Backbeat some edge over everyone else. That was the pattern with the Decepticon afterall.
Taggon entered his cabin, shuffling around his items until he produced a second glass, where he filled it generously to the brim, before dragging a second make-shift chair beside his. Taggon then set the second glass down on a small table between the chairs, and waited patiently. He’d replaced the high grade with medium grade, since the former Decepticon knew he’d likely need his wits about him if the encounter occurred.
He might be here to finish the job or to make sure I’m not in the way…regardless, as long as my island stays in tact, I can count on some ‘noble hero’ from the other side to thwart the scheme. Or perhaps the decepticon command will just fold in on itself again. Not much my problem these days.
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Backbeat
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Decepticon
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Post by Backbeat on Aug 4, 2021 7:33:36 GMT
Backbeat trudges into view of the shack. the sun mid day sun hanging behind him, making him appear only as a rather featureless outline of a Decepticon to the bot a short distance away in the chair. Backbeat stops of a full minute... Processing what he's currently seeing. To be blunt, this one of the few things he had not expected. He'd expected some more scrap from one of the old warships, or some weapon cache long forgotten... Heck, he'd even gotten his hopes up a little for a strange artifact or other such strange object. Earth used to be crawling with the damned things. These days it seemed like the place was picked clean. So, when he saw a what looked like someone's retirement villa... He mentally fumbled a second. Throwing his hands up in the air, exasperation and a brief flash rage possessing him. Not the old nostalgic "you've foiled my plans for the last..." rage, but the more the depressing "why did no one tell me this was an option" self directed rage.
' What. But the... WHAT!? '
As soon as those words left him, he slumped, like all the air had been let out of his proverbial tires. He walked towards Taggon. Once he's close enough to the shack and it's occupant that he didn't have to shout to hold conversation, Backbeat would give a rather dejected wave of his hands showing for the most part he wasn't here for a fight.
' So this is what getting out of the game looks like huh? '
Backbeat looks down at the bot in the chair. It seemed a lot of his old manic energy had deserted him a long while ago...
' Honestly should have gotten out when NeVor did. Maybe went with her? After the ship went up and that ghost thing went... '
He sits himself down on the empty chair, kicking he legs up unto it's leg rest. Backbeat's head drifts upwards as he stares into the blue sky.
' Heh. You know... Upon reflection, this war was so god damned weird. Like, what was up with that? '
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Taggon
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Post by Taggon on Aug 4, 2021 15:21:28 GMT
Sure enough, the familiar Silhouette made his appearance. From a distance, the figure looked no nearly as equipped as Taggon remembered him to be. Yet here was something wiser and more learned as the form approached, held a stance and—
Taggon barely managed to keep the energy he was sipping from spewing out of his mouth as Backbeat’s exasperated shout echoed towards him. Apparently the other mech expected something more from the former espionage specialist. A smile began forming on his outtake, curling until a few chuckles exited.
“Yes. No ancient temple, no sacred relics—-no advanced shielding and coding system waiting to be cracked by a nut job like you or me.” He replied, raising his glass to Backbeat in the hybrid of a greeting and salute. Taggon listened to Backbeat, and for once during their encounters, Taggon felt he could actually sympathize with the other. Normally, the former leader of the Decepticons was keen to blowing something up. Or something obscenely crazy.
“I know the feeling. What I would’ve given to have left with Astrinal—not that I could ever tell if she left “the game” in the first place.” Taggon nodded. “But here we are. Good job for not bringing an entire platoon of trigger-happy soldiers. They would’ve trampled my garden.” Taggon more or less grumbled during the last part of his sentence. He’d seen his fair share of new recruits from both sides.
“It was.” Taggon furrowed one brow and arched the other as he picked the second glass of energy up, offering it Backbeat passively. “I think it was because we no longer had our original leaders to guide us—“ Taggon paused, considering his words. “No, it was because our factions were run by lunatics. We never capitalized on any real opportunity. And when we did it always went south because every grunt suddenly thought their opinion mattered, or they were the main protagonists of the war.” He gestured to the distance.
“As for you, I’m surprised you don’t have a plethora of followers accompanying you. You were (likely still are) insane, but you at least had a clear vision of what you wanted to do. You at least had the processor to win. Why didn’t you?”
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Backbeat
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Decepticon
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Post by Backbeat on Aug 5, 2021 4:46:55 GMT
Backbeat waves his hands, creating a small warp he could pull what looks like a bottle of glowing green liquid. Nightmare fuel... one of the older vintages. He chuckles softly.
' Nah, been basically on my own and relatively broke since the the Faithless Looter went down. Which considering that that happened right after we stole the ship and broke off from the other Decepticons... Is currently why I'm on my lonesome. '
He quickly unclips his faceplate and takes takes a large swig. Then quickly slams the faceplate back into place.
' The ship's crimson armored first mate went off and last I heard got some privateer gig. NeVor's apparently gone into the murder for hire business and Primus knows what ever happened to Kick-Start. Although considering how her and NeVor constantly seemed like the prelude to an elaborate murder mystery... I have my suspicions. '
He leans in on his chair. Pointing the bottle of nightmare fuel at Taggon like it was a knife in a mugging threat. Then slams the bottle down on the table.
' And here I am, hoping to find something I can ransom into a shot at the spotlight... That was the problem, we all got addicted to the spotlight. You know I told NeVor... I'll call you when I'm back in business! But it's clear everyone either died or moved on... War's cancelled due to low turnout! '
Backbeat rests back in his chair as he retrieves the glass from Taggon. He unclips his facemask again and takes a sip. His tone relaxes.
' I didn't try to win... Because, to me at least, that wasn't the game. '
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