| abstract | - Goa walks instead of skating to his berth like he usually does, a slow, but confident pace with his back plates straight. Any other Decepticons taking note of this -- that is, so much as glancing at the roller -- get a long, got-my-optics-on-you glare in return. Upon reaching his destination, he collapses sitting onto it, then looks aside toward where Slipstream's bunk ought to be, an exasperated, but undefeated half-smile on. Slipstream is in the barracks taking what little recreation time she has for some research, namely what was done in previous Great Games that may give her ideas for what part she may take in them. She scrolls through her data pad directories, trying to hack into any public domain library files. The sound of Goa hitting his bunk, which is next door to hers, draws her attention. she states over the link, while verbally she says, "Welcome back." "Cycle." Goa takes a data pad similarly, but his target is the Decepticon profile database, curious to see just how the charges affected his standing. Then Firestorm's. His expression doesn't change much at the results, though his smile had started to falter the moment he spoke -- he just sighs and tries to find something to ... keep his mind busy. Catching up on new intel, perhaps, like he'd neglected to do from day one. That'd do -- he changes the pad's view. Slipstream saves what she was looking at on her data pad, then gets up and leans against the divider between their bunks, peering over it at you. "Firestorm sulking huh?" she asks. Slipstream regards you with concerned magenta optics, the worry over wondering what would happen to you and Firestorm finally leaked over the link. Relief that you got of 'so easy' is the next sensation sent over the link, followed closely by her love and support. she agrees, a little nod to the spoken words, "I'll grab you a ration, be right back." she moves from the divider to head over to the cooler. Goa's optics flicker slightly as you move off so quickly. A ration won't fry a mech's circuits to an incoherent junk heap, and certainly she knew what he meant from his habits ... but help is help. A reprieve a reprieve. And he senses -- and broadcasts this sense -- that he should get used to accepting them, the way his record is going. The sentiment, combined with this realization, manages to cut through his bitterness about it -- Megatron should've handled Depth himself, Goa would've been better off if he'd really performed the act he tried to play -- and the grounder just smiles blankly. Attention back to paging through the data, he finds a report of Shark having engaged in some kind of aerial duel with ... Rogue? He smirks, recalling the name. Recalling he hasn't seen her in a while. Wonders what became of her and her demeanor. Perhaps her gung-ho approach didn't sit well with him at the time, but he could not deny it was Decepticon, that it was effective. Slipstream gets the ration, in fact two of them, one for herself and one for you. She walks back to where you are seated on your berth, offering you a ration as she sits down next to you. The sense that you offer her makes her smile a bit, offering back a sort of 'you're welcome' as she sips on her ration. Looking at the data pad and seeing you are finally looking in on Autobot warriors, specifically the toothy one. Oh yes, she remembers seeing that last fight between you two when Trypticon fell to the Bots thanks to those well placed bombs that Prime put in the beast. She reaches over to touch the filled in marks on your neck, she notes. "You catch on quick." On the link, his processes reveal he's referring to making the connection between his scars and his search. Goa takes the ration, and a hurried few gulps of it, then leans his cheek into your touch. "So, they're sending me back to the academy for COC training." On this note, his attention abandons the data pad and his nose turns squarely to you. "Anything I should know, ma'am?" The additional title is playful. If Firestorm could take this sort of thing without seriousness, he could try. Slipstream smiles a bit more to the comment and even that little jab of honorific doesn't make her lose the smile, she just continues to softly caress along the neck then up to your cheek. Nodding to the question over the link, she says, "Just pay attention and apply what you learn." One of Goa's antennae flops down before he smirks sardonically. is the thought he can't quite prevent letting slip. "Paying attention wouldn't kill me, mm?" He always paid attention, or so he thought. He just slipped up on the other half. Frequently. He leans further into your hand, savoring the attention as if he expects it to be the last for a while. Not that he believes as such ... fully ... but it is respite, and that is itself. "You know, Slip, your goals here, I'd expect you to stay away from the mech leaving his nose where it doesn't belong." Both antennae twitch inquisitively as he finally relaxes enough to lean a tire on your shoulder, after glaring out suspiciously from the bunk cell. "Just saying." Slipstream shakes her head to the question you pose, "It shouldn't no. The boredom though.. oh it might kill you." a little smirk at the end of her statement and the feeling of that's exactly what she expects you to be.. just bored beyond belief as some tie rod up his aft plating teaching drones on and on about COC protocols and such. Perhaps pretending something comical was occurring to the teacher would make it seem less boring... that's a slight suggestion she provides. She strokes your cheek and jaw line, then idly fingers your beard. Magenta optics lit softly. Goa picks up the suggestion and considers it. His optics cross to look down at his chin as you fiddle with it ... his train of thought pauses. "Nothing new." He hears the talk of bond mates, quietly, his own optics dimming to a bit of a brick red. Then Goa shifts to one side and ... throws his arms around you in a hug? A trusting, non-independent motion, unusual for how stiff and trustless he's tending -- for him in general, really. Slipstream smirks a bit at that reply, she muses over the link, finishing messing with your beard to drop her hand in her lap. The hug is welcomed and returned, pressing the side of her helm against yours then nudging a soft little head butt before pulling back to peer into that brick red dimness, Goa's engine manages a weak purr. "I'm not gonna be who I used to be on this planet," his optics look off to one side, "I came back here, landed, different. I remember that, stop it, maybe I'll catch up, right?" His optics light up slightly, looking back at you, then dim again as he realizes he's thinking aloud, revealing things. His crest remains butted against your helmet, optics now unfocused in thought. About that, maybe, or speaking aloud like that. Or still worrying where he went wrong and let information slip earlier -- that thread of thought is clear. His jaw goes slightly slack as his mental state continues to degrade, focus wandering off, somewhere between the magenta right in front of him and miles away.
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