Even with the convenient little shuttles for getting around this place easier, this ship is far too damn big for a Leaguer. After more walking than Gold Arm thinks he has ever done in his life (he would have run it, but if Ratchet was like any of the mechanics back home, best not to risk any mechanic wrath), he's finally followed some advice and found Security. Only to scowl again at the two different heights for door controls.
One for humans and one for these Cybertronians, huh? The human one was usable, but a little short... Maybe it's spite, maybe he's just too frustrated by this ship, but with a leap that would have put basketball Leaguers to shame Gold Arm slams the one for mechs and lands back on his pedes slightly in the door. He's still got it.
Alright. Time to find someone to report that little 'incident' to.
Starscream's on duty at the moment, with he and Ultra Magnus usually rotating shifts. With the Security team as depleted as it was, they were stretched thin to make sure there was always someone present. Thankfully, things had been relatively quiet of late.
Hearing the door open, Starscream is greeted by a diminutive inorganic he isn't familiar with.
The size of the mech on the other side only barely gives him pause. He strides in, helm wings fanned high, and makes yet another leap up onto the nearest desk to better get on Starscream's height. He crosses his arms, and cocks his head to one side.
Many many centuries of dealing with organics has very gradually brought Starscream to a tolerance of conversing with essentially ground level. In fact the organics of this world, being relatively the same size as mechs, were a refreshing change even if he hated pretty much all of them.
So as someone from one of the taller represented groups of Cybertronians aboard, Starscream appreciated Gold Arm so easily bringing himself up to an actual reasonable height on his desk without being asked.
"You should," Starscream affirmed. "What is the issue?"
"The issue, is that when I first got aboard some tall antlered fragger tried to turn me into a steel pancake. I've been told by one of your mechanics - Ratchet - he wasn't the welcoming committee. So here I am."
Claws flex, briefly. His shoulder drill is still snapped off at the tip, and even with the damage warnings shut down, the constant reminder of it stings.
"Ratchet also said you don't do direct memory file pulls here." That's definitely a note of relief under the words. "So I'm willing to give you a description."
Starscream's red optics narrow at the description. Of course it had been him. Possibly the most Megatron after the one from his world who enjoyed being a problem for everyone else.
"Ratchet is correct on both counts. The mech in question unfortunately has a history of such behaviour, which has gone on long enough. Tell me what happened, with the caveat that you do not need to justify reporting this, that was the correct decision."
"I'd just come out of that thing - a space bridge, right? - and he was there." He grits his teeth, curls his claws into fists. "He was there, mocking me, telling me that my brothers-" He cuts himself off. This Starscream doesn't need to know, and Gold Arm doesn't want to tell him.
"He. Grabbed me." The humiliation still stings, the anger still seething under the surface. "Grabbed me, and when I fight back he calls me a fool. I had to have Ratchet hammer the dents out from where he fragging squeezed me half to scrap! And-" He gestures angrily to his shoulder drill. "He threw me to the ground. I'm lucky your mechanic is so damn good at his job."
"If I hit him right though..." A cruel little grin snakes its way across Gold Arm's face. "He should have damage too. I dug my claws into his hand joints, and he might have optic damage. If not, damage somewhere, like a Leaguer-grade baseball hit him at high speeds. Genocide Screw doesn't miss."
"Medics," Starscream corrects mildly when Gold Arm pauses. "Ratchet and the others are medics here, not mechanics. And you wouldn't be the first to retaliate in such a way for being grabbed up without permission like that. I take it you wish to press charges?"
The anger (and any wondering about the difference between medic and mechanic) falters in the face of sudden choice. The look of surprise on the Leaguer's face is almost comical. It's strange; here he was, a free mech, and still getting blindsided by what freedom means.
"Yes?" Starscream answers with just a touch of skepticism. But then he remembered how the Seekers of Acid Storm's universe thought so lowly of themselves because it was all they had known, and wonders if perhaps Gold Arm has come from a similar situation.
"Yes, that is something you can do," he elaborates. "It is a right which everyone aboard the ship have."
He nods when Gold Arm says he wants to press charges. "Very well, I will take care of it."
He shuffles a little there, awkward in the face of how... Easy this felt. Too easy. Back home this would have been a struggle, he feels it in his circuits. But- He trusts Ratchet, and Ratchet trusts this, so Gold Arm thinks maybe he can trust this security mech too.
"If you need anything more from me," because this is what you did, right, "My name is Gold Arm. I'm 'goldprince' on the network."
Another mech might have given him odd look at the thanks, but Starscream was use to fighting for what others took for granted, especially since the New Cybertronian Parliament came into power. So he merely tilts his head in acknowledgment.
"This should be everything, but I'll contact you if something comes up. My name is Starscream, and my network ID is $aircommander."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action
One for humans and one for these Cybertronians, huh? The human one was usable, but a little short... Maybe it's spite, maybe he's just too frustrated by this ship, but with a leap that would have put basketball Leaguers to shame Gold Arm slams the one for mechs and lands back on his pedes slightly in the door. He's still got it.
Alright. Time to find someone to report that little 'incident' to.
no subject
Hearing the door open, Starscream is greeted by a diminutive inorganic he isn't familiar with.
"Yes?"
no subject
The size of the mech on the other side only barely gives him pause. He strides in, helm wings fanned high, and makes yet another leap up onto the nearest desk to better get on Starscream's height. He crosses his arms, and cocks his head to one side.
"I was told I should report any problems here."
no subject
So as someone from one of the taller represented groups of Cybertronians aboard, Starscream appreciated Gold Arm so easily bringing himself up to an actual reasonable height on his desk without being asked.
"You should," Starscream affirmed. "What is the issue?"
no subject
Claws flex, briefly. His shoulder drill is still snapped off at the tip, and even with the damage warnings shut down, the constant reminder of it stings.
"Ratchet also said you don't do direct memory file pulls here." That's definitely a note of relief under the words. "So I'm willing to give you a description."
no subject
"Ratchet is correct on both counts. The mech in question unfortunately has a history of such behaviour, which has gone on long enough. Tell me what happened, with the caveat that you do not need to justify reporting this, that was the correct decision."
no subject
"He. Grabbed me." The humiliation still stings, the anger still seething under the surface. "Grabbed me, and when I fight back he calls me a fool. I had to have Ratchet hammer the dents out from where he fragging squeezed me half to scrap! And-" He gestures angrily to his shoulder drill. "He threw me to the ground. I'm lucky your mechanic is so damn good at his job."
"If I hit him right though..." A cruel little grin snakes its way across Gold Arm's face. "He should have damage too. I dug my claws into his hand joints, and he might have optic damage. If not, damage somewhere, like a Leaguer-grade baseball hit him at high speeds. Genocide Screw doesn't miss."
no subject
no subject
The anger (and any wondering about the difference between medic and mechanic) falters in the face of sudden choice. The look of surprise on the Leaguer's face is almost comical. It's strange; here he was, a free mech, and still getting blindsided by what freedom means.
To have that kind of right.
"…Yeah. Yeah, I want to press charges."
no subject
"Yes, that is something you can do," he elaborates. "It is a right which everyone aboard the ship have."
He nods when Gold Arm says he wants to press charges. "Very well, I will take care of it."
no subject
He shuffles a little there, awkward in the face of how... Easy this felt. Too easy. Back home this would have been a struggle, he feels it in his circuits. But- He trusts Ratchet, and Ratchet trusts this, so Gold Arm thinks maybe he can trust this security mech too.
"If you need anything more from me," because this is what you did, right, "My name is Gold Arm. I'm 'goldprince' on the network."
no subject
"This should be everything, but I'll contact you if something comes up. My name is Starscream, and my network ID is $aircommander."