liesdontfindyou | Open Post

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Connie survives Longshore and either a) is the CT at Sandtrap b) ends up in Blood Gulch c) disappears until another point in time, canon event related or not.
Connie never defects from Project Freelancer.

They don't actually see a lot of direct combat with the ship, let alone with the Covenant considering their assignments, Connie thinks, but... she supposes if there ever was that any help would be useful.

So she nods, "Yeah, sure. That's suitable."

"Then it's a deal. How do you humans say it? 'You'll scratch my back, I'll scratch yours'?" He smirks and nods. "Perfect."

Honestly, Connie has no idea exactly what deal she just made and on behalf of who. No one else knows this... Cybertronian (wrapping her head around the word and all its implications is still a little difficult) even exists, let alone that she's talking to him, telling him things. She hopes it isn't a mistake.

"That's the saying, though I think I'd struggle to ever literally scratch your back." Oh, and she's joking with him now. Maybe she's been up too long. Maybe she'll wake up and somehow this was all a strange dream, provoked by Wash talking about some old cartoon or something.

(It isn't, she knows that really, but that'd certainly be simpler.)

To her credit, she does get a snort out of him, though he tries to cover it with a sound that's remarkably similar to a cough. "Well- Height issues aside," Starscream don't be rude, "I am looking forward to learning more about what's gone on in my... Absence."

"I can leave you with a few... less confidential, files, but I should not be down here this late." She's tired and she still has to keep to her standard project schedule in the morning, no matter how little sleep she actually gets. "Anything else, I'll have to show you... whenever I'm next down here, I suppose."

Starscream huffs, muttering to himself something about 'slagging organics and their short cycles' before turning back to her and nodding. "Fine. I will hold you to that!"

Starscream, you don't even know her name. You didn't even ask.

"What, do Cybertronians not sleep?" Connie asks, half an actual question, half a retort to his huffing.

She decides to leave him with a few basic encyclopedia-style descriptions of humanity's expansion since the Shaw-Fujikawa engine was first discovered; it's not everything, it misses out a couple centuries, but it's a start.

"Our recharge cycles are different!" And he's mostly been doing it during the ship's 'day' - when he has to - anyway.

He's going to just... Settle down there with the info and read, the expression of scrunched concentration on his face almost comical.

Connie bites back a slight amused smile that gets quickly swallowed by a yawn as she stands up and stretches out, trying to keep herself awake enough to make it back to her bunk.

"If you try and get past that AI again... keep note of how it acts?" She's... curious. Wants to know if F.I.L.S.S. is really all he's coming up again.

"Very well. If you wish." Grumble grumble. At least he looks as comfortable as he can be there, datapad in hand and still hunched over. Poor thing, the hangar really isn't big enough for him.

Connie heads back to the hangar exit, turning around at the door to give a vague wave before wondering why, exactly, she's doing so—not that she doesn't finish the gesture.

She's not going to get nearly enough sleep, assuming she manages to sleep at all before the inevitable wave of 'oh my god what just happened' hits and she's forced to confront the fact that she just met a sentient, alien ship in Project Freelancer's hangar. A sentient, alien ship that no one else knows is anything but a strangely colour sabre.

What in the universe just became of her night?

So, this was his situation. A tenuous deal with an organic of all things, refueling with subpar rocket fuel (did they still call it that? He thought it was a bit like their rocket fuel, anyway), and having to hide constantly. At least the squishy was tolerable, even being nice to him.

He couldn't even go out for a fly. That was going to be a problem.

And the worst part... More than five hundred of their years had passed, they'd reached the stars and beyond, and yet there was no sign of his fellow Decepticons. No sign of the Autobots. Cybertron was from outside their dingy little galaxy, of course, and he would admit it was fortunate that the organic didn't recognize the threat he could be, but... Why would his kind completely abandon their presence here?

There was something very strange about that, government cover up or not. And there was only one way to find out. So Starscream dug into this datapad, back into the ship's systems, and got to work.

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And that's a wrap (for now)!