Touchdown

[Deleted]

Characters: @sundown, Open
Location: Nevada, Canyons
Content Warnings: Words may or may not be involved...Words of violence!
Plot Summary: After a long journey through the cosmos, the latest one-mech wrecking crew touches down on the ugly dirtball of a world called Earth.

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Rocketing down from the night sky in a characteristic blaze of glory, Sundown landed. Well, landed is generous. Perhaps slammed or crashed or…cratered? Meteored? With a grunt, he shifted out of his travel mode and into robot mode, glancing around. Well, he was coated in some powdery substance. Rust maybe? Probably dirt. This planet looked like one of the organic ones, judging from atmospheric composition and how soft the ground was. Also how sizeable the crater was.

Sundown nodded to himself, pleasantly impressed. It was a fairly sizeable crater. He’d give it an eight.

“Well, anyway,” he grumbled, setting his focus on ambling his relative bulk out of the crater. Once at the top, Sundown pressed a claw to his forehead, trying to see what he could see in the darkness. A whole lot of dirt. And some drops. Some kinda canyons then? Shaking his head, he pressed the tip of his claw to an audio.

>>”Hey. Any Bots in the vicinity? Hellloooooo. Anyone read me?”<<

Dusting himself off a bit, his solitary blue optic rolled about, scanning for any movement on the horizon whether friendly or otherwise. He gave his wings a brief shake and rolled his shoulders, stretching them out. He might have to see about attempting to have a high altitude scout if no one answered.

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'Just had to set down here, didn't you, fragger?' Oxid thinks, slamming his hand against the side of his ancient shuttle. It answered with a deafening clang. Oxid pauses, listening to the noise echo through the canyon walls, but the only answer is the chirp and buzz of insects. If he had to set down somewhere for repairs, he would have preferred someplace a little wetter. How he managed this godforsaken desert on a planet that was mostly water is anyone's guess.

Oxid kicks at the ground, scowling at the puff of dust that rises up and settles over his pedes. By the time this is over with his pristine, white paint is going to look as rust-colored as his designation implies. "Suck it up, you whiney turbofox," he mutters to himself.

The best way to get out of here is to get to work. Stomping back to the shuttle's ramp, he makes his way towards his bunk. Stored underneath, right next to his boxes of datapads, is a small toolbox turned red with age. His joints creak in protest as he stoops to grab it. While no expert mechanic by any stretch of the imagination, he may patch it long enough to get a civilized planet with real resources.

Oxid is standing back up when his shuttles comm equipment gives an unexpected burst of noise. He pauses, glancing at the ancient machine with narrowed optics. It could just be picking up feedback (as it so often does), but if it isn't...?

Crack! He unceremoniously drops his toolbox on the berth and makes his way to the control panel. Fiddling with a few dials and leaning towards the mic, he says, ::This is Oxid with the Canker. Please repeat.::

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There was some movement below; Filch had taken it upon herself to do her own little scouting mission. The best way to keep stealth at this moment would be to be in her corvicon form. She glided through the air, soaring like a quiet raven at this moment, rather than the chattery magpie she resembled.

She had caught the sight of something streaking downward during her flight and gave a small flap of her wings. A glimmer--something shiny? Could it be a Decepticon? Or an Autobot? It was quite curious what they were doing at this moment.

The glint was a bot. She spiraled down closer, mimicking the cries of the large birds of prey in the area. She would then land, just behind him. Though she had tried to stay silent, she couldn't help but do something she knew would be slightly noisy. Within the next moment, the tell-tale sound of transformation could be heard and in place of a large bird, a femme with wings at her elbows and a fan of feather-like plating at her rear could be seen, her gold-rimmed cyan optics staring to the odd mech in front of her.

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Just as he was about to stretch his thrusters, just then and only just then, did Sundown hear a response back over the comm. Now, that response might not have taken all that long. Frag, it hadn’t taken long at all to be honest, but he’d sort of already set his sights on having a bit of a fly around. Test the gravity as it were. But he supposed now he’d have a fly to this Autobot.

Presumably.

The comm had come across an Autobot channel, for sure, but…eh. That wasn’t always trustworthy. In his experience, at least. Oh well, better give the mech an answer.

>>”Yeah, hey. This is Sundown. You one of the ‘Bot crew stationed here?”<<

That was when he heard it. The very distinctive sound of transformation. Sundown didn’t turn around immediately, but sort of turned his head halfway, solitary optic rolling to the feathered Decepticon. Well, the mech on the other side of the comm was likely not a Con. He turned to face the femme now.

“Well, well, well. This is perfect. I wanted an excuse to really stretch out my aching servos,” he said to her, extending a claw lightly.

>>”Oxid, right? Send me your coordinates. Might be coming in hot with a little surprise in tow. Wreck n’ Rule!”<<

Absorbing some of the heat from the ground, Sundown clenched one of claws so that it came to a narrow point and jabbed it forward at the Con with all due force. “Let’s see whatcha got, ‘Con!”

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There's no response for a few seconds, leaving Oxid to think that the noise he heard was just a fluke. The trawler shrugs to himself, sending a stab of discomfort through his shoulder. He is about to head back for his tools when the voice blasts over the radio again; he leans towards the mic. ::There's Autobots stationed on this dirtball? Poor fraggers,:: he answers. It doesn't even cross his mind it could be what remains of the Autobot troops. Certainly, if it was, they would have more of a... presence?

Oxid is robbed of the chance to disparage earth more, though, by the message that follows. His optic ridges furrow in consternation; A wrecker saying? Here? Why? Is he dealing with one? Not a designation he recognizes. ::What are you talking about a surprise, Wrecker-Wannabe? Your tone makes me think it's the kind of surprise that'll make me want to shove a crowbar up where the sun don't shine.::

Needless to say, despite his groaning Oxid follows through and pings his coordinates. He's at the bottom of one of the nearby canyons. The trawler moves to pull his sniper rifle from his gun rack, getting a sensation he's going to need it. He might have just invited an enemy into his house. That's a chance he has to take, though. If he can establish contact with someone on this dirtball his repair situation looks a lot less dire.

This planet is not a place he wants to spend the next few thousand years trying to hitchhike a ride.

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She flared her arm wings wide. Her clawed pedes spread out wide and a smirk spread on her face. She took a bouncing movement back, flipping and transforming once more. She then soared in his direction.

She then veered and did a quick aileron roll, as though having tried to use a feint. "Mine..." She hissed darkly. She did not let it echo in her throat like normal, giving a deep growl. She wasn't going to answer him so easily.

No, she wanted to test him. Test him and relay the information to both Steeljaw and Megatron. After all, both required this kind of information. Both required her to be at her best.

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Bouncing away from his strike, Sundown got the space he had wanted. Not quite the impaled Con he had wanted but then the other mech would be deprived of his surprise! And what fun would that be? Sundown had promised and everything. As the Con transformed into a surprisingly avian alternate mode – he had expected flying, not bird – she uttered something. Mine.

Sundown would have quirked an eye ridge if he had one. As it was, he just stared with his one optic. “Yours? Hey, at least buy me some energon first, sweetspark,” he taunted as he pushed off of the ground to make a transformation of his own.

After a moment, his parts ground to a halt and his afterburners kicked in, jettisoning him skyward. Sundown knew flying Autobots could be something of a rarity. Lotta groundpounders in the ranks. They were good at what they did, sure, but nothing beat a little aerial superiority. Spinning in midair, he angled around to fire a few missiles at the Deceptichicken before switching course to the coordinates that the mech on the line had sent him.

Wait.

>>”Wrecker wannabe?! I AM a Wrecker, fraggit! That tears it! I’m comin’ over to rip your aft a new one,”<< Sundown snarled over the comm.

He said that. Meant it too. But he had to make sure the Con kept tailing him. Seemed like this Oxid character didn’t know anything about the other Bots stationed on this Primus-forsaken dustheap. Slaggin’ great. Just great. Seems like everything was just turning up buffs and oil baths, wasn’t it?

Making an abrupt dive, Sundown shot down toward the bottom of one of the canyons. At least it would give them some kind of cover, though with how this planet was made up, he wouldn’t be surprised if they just got crushed. Transforming mid-descent, Sundown crashed down beside the Canker, rust bucket of a ship it was, and looked to the sky for his avian friend.

>>”Don’t tell me your ride here is busted. I’m gonna be very upset if your ride is fraggin' busted.”<<

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Approaching Oxid's shuttle, the name is painted on the side of the ship. It reads C ANKER in capital letters, a conspicuous space between the C and A that has been painted over sometime in the recent past. Click, click, click, click. On the inside Oxid is too busy loading up his rifle to reply to the other's angry squawking. He wants to be ready for trouble when this stranger arrives. Just in case.

The trawler goes to wait at the exit ramp of the Canker, peering out with his rifle at the ready. He hears the roar of approaching engines moments before the overly-dramatic landing, another cloud of dust raised by the impact. Oxid swears quietly under his breath. He squints through the reddish haze as he tries to catch a glimpse of the idiot he just invited to his doorstep.

Inside the shuttle he can hear the crackle of the radio, probably the mecha trying to contact him again; he's too far out of range to hear the words. Instead, he shouts out, "What's that you said?! If this surprise you brought me is your pretty, little Wrecker face, I'm already disappointed! It's damn ugly," he snaps.