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Where have been? It been a full month since you last posted?

[Hello! Long story short, some personal stuff happened and I've been having some issues, and I have rather lost my muse for RP at the moment. ;_; I am 100% sure this won't be a permanent loss, because I know what my muses are like, and I was kinda hanging on to see if they'd come back quickly - but it doesn't look like that's going to be happening, so I'm going to bite the bullet and declare this blog and my others to be on hiatus for now. I will check in now and again but won't be active with replies/posting/writing on any predictable schedule until otherwise announced. Apologies for any disappointment and thank you for checking in, I appreciate it!]

- Rath]

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Louise Glück, From Descending Figure; “Epithalamium”

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No, they don’t have cookie tins, but they also don’t have crystal flowers. “I was looking at the illustration,” Galvatron clarifies. “Who came up with the idea of painting organic growth to look crystalline? I rather like it!” It’s certainly nicer than thinking about the horrible squashy actually-organic kind, that’s for sure.

And then Fulcrum flails in response to his question, somewhat surprising him. He'd spoken on reflex, really - he’s developed something of an instinct to intervene when people seem to be belittling themselves, blame it on all the time he spends with Rodimus Prime - but Fulcrum’s explanation isn’t quite what he’d been expecting. “What do I care?” he repeats. “You’re a Decepticon, even if you’re not one of mine! If your talents are being unappreciated - or wasted entirely! - then someone should be concerned about it.” 

He tilts his head, processing what Fulcrum actually said. “Not that there’s anything wrong with starting fights, of course! - but if that isn’t what you want to be known for, then...”

He trails off, thinking. “Maybe you just need to keep making cookies for people until it’s the first thing they remember about you,” he suggests at last, with a wry smile. It’s serious advice, in its way - being himself as hard as he can and refusing to bend to other people’s preconceptions has always worked for him, after all. “It’s certainly what I’ll remember you for, now!”

Really, sometimes Galvatron feels like the only person in the galaxy whose brain module functions logically. “What would be the good of that? If I pretended I didn’t like them, you might stop offering them to me!” he says, with a laugh. “You’re correct, though. In my universe, we have a few different grades of liquid energon and very little else! All this business of solid fuels with variable flavours is a novelty.

Surprised, Galvatron accepts the tin more or less on reflex as it’s pushed into his hands and looks at it curiously. It’s so… decorated, in a way that nobody really bothers with in the Decepticons he knows. The imagery is alien to him, too, nothing like the barren cityscape-ruins of Charr or the devastation that is most of Cybertron. The closest thing the pattern reminds him of is Earth, but the inorganic crystalline designs of the flowers say it’s not from there either.

“Thank you!” he says, and stashes it in his storage - careful, as directed, not to shake it too much in the process. Then he looks up, giving Fulcrum a questioning frown as something the other mech said a moment before catches up to him.

“What do you mean, someone like you did something good for once?” he repeats. “Are you so unused to being acknowledged?!” He doesn’t know Fulcrum, but the mech’s wearing a Decepticon badge - even if it’s not the right colour for some reason - and Galvatron’s command instincts have kicked in at the suggestion that someone’s talents might be getting undervalued. What’s going on here?

Fulcrum’s spark light brightened, his kibble flapping. He should not be getting a fuzzy feeling of joy mixed with pride over giving someone a tin of cookies, but he was— Galvatron seemed genuinely happy, and that wasn’t a feeling he instilled in people often, not since the days he’d embraced the role he was built for.

He noticed Galvatron’s curious gaze, and tilted his helm, his own curiosity being piqued. “Wait, was there something off about it? Or are your reality’s cookie— wait, no, you guys don’t have cookies and wouldn’t have cookie tins. Scratch that.” He waved his hand, dismissing the topic.

Though, he still wondered why Galvatron seemed to be looking at a painting of flower fields like it was something wholly alien. Unless Flyhigh had painted on something psychedelic, it shouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary. Did Galvatron’s reality not have that sort of flora?

Fulcrum was jerked from his thoughts as Galvatron abruptly brought up his offhand comment, seeming quite upset about it. Fulcrum’s plating flared out in surprise. What did Galvatron care about him? He wasn’t even one of his Decepticons!

“Whoah, whoah, slow down there. I didn’t mean it like that— you see, where I come from I don’t exactly have the most stellar of reputations. I’m the guy who starts fights, and fires, and trouble in general. Not the guy who comes out of the kitchen with a plate of sugar cookies and bright optics. Not the guy who likes to cook for people— which is a crying shame ‘cause I’ve loved cooking since before I loved flying. Sadly, a warm smile isn’t as memorable on my face as bright blue blood. And what do you even care, for that matter?”

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Surprised, Galvatron accepts the tin more or less on reflex as it’s pushed into his hands and looks at it curiously. It’s so... decorated, in a way that nobody really bothers with in the Decepticons he knows. The imagery is alien to him, too, nothing like the barren cityscape-ruins of Charr or the devastation that is most of Cybertron. The closest thing the pattern reminds him of is Earth, but the inorganic crystalline designs of the flowers say it’s not from there either.

“Thank you!” he says, and stashes it in his storage - careful, as directed, not to shake it too much in the process. Then he looks up, giving Fulcrum a questioning frown as something the other mech said a moment before catches up to him.

“What do you mean, someone like you did something good for once?” he repeats. “Are you so unused to being acknowledged?!” He doesn’t know Fulcrum, but the mech’s wearing a Decepticon badge - even if it’s not the right colour for some reason - and Galvatron’s command instincts have kicked in at the suggestion that someone’s talents might be getting undervalued. What’s going on here?

“Would anyone here like to try snickerdoodles?” Fulcrum asked, the smell of warm, sugary Energon cookies wafting through the air around him.

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“Ah.” He hopes rose a bit, he wondered what he meant when he mentioned Trypticon, and he grew a bit worried, seeing as he had wanted to go out and look for the citybot before. “Well I hope things get better.” He kicked at the ground a bit, not sure of what to say next. “Since this.. place thing is different from mine, I was wonderin if you were still Galvatrons second in command? Is that other guy with the beard still workin with you too?”

“Of course I am,” Cyclonus says. “And I take it you mean Scourge, and yes, he is.” At least this Octane isn’t from one of the timelines where that’s different. “Lord Galvatron remains Emperor of the Decepticons, and Scourge and I remain his loyal servants.” Just so there’s absolutely no room for doubt on those points, ahem.

(@leftrummaging) Octane glanced at Cyclonus skeptically. “Hello,” he said through gritted teeth, “how- how are you?” He smiled, although it seemed strained and a bit awkward. He hadnt seemed to notice that this Cyclonus wasn”t from his verse.

@leftrummaging

Cyclonus snaps alert, optics narrowing. “Octane? You should know better than to be here - wait.” He sighs, resigned. “You’re not our Octane, are you?”

The lack of an Autobot triple-changer tagging along behind him is a dead giveaway, as is the fact that their own Octane isn’t quite lead-headed enough to have forgotten that Galvatron banished him.

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Crimson optics as hot as Rodimus’s own flash at the sound of his voice. “Rodimus!” Galvatron roars, engines surging in a heavy bass pulse under the higher steel-shriek pitch of his vocaliser. “Void’s sake, what happened to you?!” He’s torn between alarm at their ally’s state and ferocious appreciation for the way Rodimus seems to have dealt with matters so far. By the dark above, the black Prime is magnificent with that look on his faceplate and that much oil and energon dripping down his armour at the same time - not to mention those broken cuffs. Galvatron’s always been a believer in taking your freedom back by force whenever necessary, and it’s viscerally satisfying to see someone he likes having apparently achieved it.

“I have to know what the other guy looks like,” Scourge chimes in from behind his wingleader, sounding distinctly awed. “Did you get pictures?”

“More pressingly,” Cyclonus says, ever the pragmatist, “do you need either repairs or backup?” The way he steps forward with his hand outstretched suggests he’s quite willing to assist either way.

There was a sound of a revving engine and a revving saw blade. It appeared the mech was nothing but a buzzing bundle of noise and static and blood. His ashy black plating was covered in dents and a silver spoiler had a hole right through it. Dentae grit through the pain, Rodimus smirked. He was fairly fucked up, but alive. And if the broken stasis cuffs on his wrists say anything, he’s escaped from prison. And if the gun in his servos says anything, he’s picked up a new weapon.

“So what the hell’s been goin’ on over here in the time I’ve been outta commission?”

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“You just seem like the type to pull something like that,” Fulcrum said with a smile. “But I’m glad! I put some real effort into these, and had to keep Flywheels from snatching ‘em right off the cooling rack. And I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume that these are the first cookies you’ve had.”

Fulcrum laughed as he saw Galvatron stuffing the rest — he was sure these were his best snickerdoodles yet. “I’ve got a few plates of extra cookies, if you’d like more for a later date, or for friends. And some proper tins to put ‘em in.”

Really, sometimes Galvatron feels like the only person in the galaxy whose brain module functions logically. “What would be the good of that? If I pretended I didn’t like them, you might stop offering them to me!” he says, with a laugh. “You’re correct, though. In my universe, we have a few different grades of liquid energon and very little else! All this business of solid fuels with variable flavours is a novelty.

“But by all means, if you have more you can spare, then I’d be delighted to unburden you of them! Cyclonus and Scourge will enjoy these as much as I did, I’m sure...”

He’s appreciative, he sincerely is. But “please” and “thank you” don’t come entirely naturally to him, to say the least, so hopefully Fulcrum can pick up his gratitude in his tone.

“Would anyone here like to try snickerdoodles?” Fulcrum asked, the smell of warm, sugary Energon cookies wafting through the air around him.

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Fulcrum flicked his kibble happily, his smile only broadening. He was quite proud of his cooking — and he was swiftly growing prouder. His spark light flashed in a burst of joyful blue.

“See why I was so taken aback that you hadn’t tried any, Galvatron? And don’t you dare deny it, I can see that you like them!” Fulcrum practically chirped with excitement. It wasn’t often that he got to give people their first taste of something — unless that something happened to be a recipe measured in teacups and written before Krok’s blueprints were drafted up. Fulcrum practically glowed with pride.

“Who’s denying?” Galvatron demands playfully. “These are good!”

He’s just going to munch down a few more of them, before stashing the rest in a pocket to share with his lieutenants later. Both Cyclonus and Scourge will appreciate these, for certain.

“Would anyone here like to try snickerdoodles?” Fulcrum asked, the smell of warm, sugary Energon cookies wafting through the air around him.

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“Thank you!” Galvatron accepts the plate and picks up a snickerdoodle from it, fingertip chemosensors checking its makeup to be sure that it’s at least theoretically going to be compatible with his systems.

Then again, he’s still Unicron’s Herald, apostate or not. The ability to eat damn near anything and get away with it really ought to come with the territory. He shrugs, lifts the cookie to his mouth and takes a bite...

...his optics go wide and bright, and there’s a rather muffled noise of approval as the rest of it vanishes into his mouth. All right, yes, that’s definitely fuel, and very tasty fuel at that.

“Would anyone here like to try snickerdoodles?” Fulcrum asked, the smell of warm, sugary Energon cookies wafting through the air around him.

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Fine, apparently this is just what’s happening tonight. Galvatron steps up, both curious and - as always - hungry. “Certainly, since you seemed so taken aback that I hadn’t already!” he says agreeably.

“Would anyone here like to try snickerdoodles?” Fulcrum asked, the smell of warm, sugary Energon cookies wafting through the air around him.

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@servusendura started following @of-fire-and-light

This was missed by the Unicronians, busy as they’ve been with various other things, but not by their ship. The Dis examines the source of the notification, and really isn’t sure what to make of what it sees. If that’s an alternate of their Cyclonus, it - she? - is a very distant one indeed.

Then again, is that very distance perhaps the reason why she’s apparently curious about them? The Dis has no way to know, but it adds the notification and accompanying thought to its datafiles, just in case.

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“Overall? Not very good. At all. The Autobots have taken over Cybertron and have more combiners then us and they still have their Titan, Trypticon went missing like a month ago. They also have a lot more bots then us, weve only got like fifteen bots or so.” He frowned, “thought they havent found out where our base is, so thats a plus I guess.” He didnt say anything about Galvatron, seeing as this was, well, Cyclonus and he kind of doubted there was any version of him who wasnt loyal to Galvatron. “My days actually been pretty okayish. Got the day off earlier so I was just kinda wandering around before this.”

Cyclonus nods. He remembers the Decepticons of his timeline being little better off than that, when they’d only just recovered Galvatron and were still scrambling to rebuild from the ruin Unicron had reduced them to. Apparently Octane is somewhat adrift in time here, as well as dimensional space.

“That sounds familiar. If your timeline runs closely parallel to ours, things should improve for you, if it’s any consolation. Trypticon should reappear, though I advise not getting too closely involved in that when he does, and we have two powerful gestalt teams that you may not have acquired yet.” The Predacons and Terrorcons may not be the sharpest tacks in the tin overall, but their combat prowess is nothing to scoff at.

(@leftrummaging) Octane glanced at Cyclonus skeptically. “Hello,” he said through gritted teeth, “how- how are you?” He smiled, although it seemed strained and a bit awkward. He hadnt seemed to notice that this Cyclonus wasn”t from his verse.

@leftrummaging

Cyclonus snaps alert, optics narrowing. "Octane? You should know better than to be here - wait." He sighs, resigned. "You're not our Octane, are you?"

The lack of an Autobot triple-changer tagging along behind him is a dead giveaway, as is the fact that their own Octane isn't quite lead-headed enough to have forgotten that Galvatron banished him.

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Galvatron huffs through his vents at this. “By not taking a constant interest in humans, apparently!”

“It probably doesn’t help that your typist isn’t American,” Rath concedes rather sheepishly, from her current perch on his shoulder. “I’m still not completely sure what’s in a snickerdoodle and I am human.”

“How do you not know what snickerdoodles are?!”

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“Oh no. Eating human food would destroy my fuel tank integrity.” Roddy assures Galvatron, solemn. “We have our own versions of things now. Some of them taste really good, too.”

“Ah, I see! I wondered if you’d been turned organic at some point, like your alternate in our timeline... and like us, for that matter.” Some of the human food he ended up eating during that incident did taste quite good, he’d have to concede, but overall, it really wasn’t worth it and he certainly wouldn’t do it again just to try a new flavour of cookies. “But mecha-suitable versions sound preferable, though I have no idea whether they’d be compatible with my systems or not!”

He's curious now, though. He should probably look into that.

Galvatron frowns.

“What in the galaxy is a snickerdoodle?”

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“You’ve found a way to ingest human fuels?!” Galvatron asks in surprise. “Or have your people come up with some sort of equivalent?”

He cannot get used to how many forms energon and other raw materials seem to be available in, in other timelines. All these strange solid-form delicacies and flavoured energon variants and more... it’s bewildering in its complexity. Mineral-based cookies wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’s heard of anyone eating, at this point.

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Galvatron frowns.

“What in the galaxy is a snickerdoodle?”

“It’s a kind of cookie. Danny really likes them.” Hot Rod pipes up. 

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And once again, the answer to a question of the “what in the Pit is this nonsense?” variety turns out to be “something involving humans”. Galvatron chuckles, unsurprised, and nods to Hot Rod. “I see!”

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Galvatron frowns.

“What in the galaxy is a snickerdoodle?”

“It’s a kind of cookie. Danny really likes them.” Hot Rod pipes up. 

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Galvatron frowns.

“What in the galaxy is a snickerdoodle?”