The Gap Between a Tragedy and a Comedy

Trite, tropes, traits, traumas, trinkets, and treats

     Starscream was more than embarrassed. Not only had the Autobots successfully apprehended him - they were able to knock him out and take him back to their base!

     He took in the sights before him, a sneer across his face. He looked around the large room they were in - he assumes it's their main room of operations, judging by the display screens and general access to their ground bridge which they had just dragged him through.

     Starscream struggles against the cuffs holding his arms together, across his chest uncomfortably. He pulls his arms as hard as he can muster, kicking his pedes and shaking his bound wings against the bot behind him (Bulkhead, he remembers his name,) who is lazily looming over him after setting him on the floor. It's a last ditch effort as he grunts and wriggles intensely, running off of pure desire to escape, as he kicks and throws his head back, clucking against the Autobots leg.

     Standing a few feet away, Optimus' eyes flicker over to the loud clanging from their new prisoner. He takes a step towards Starscream, his large pedes scraping against the hard concrete floor, high pitched and loud.

     Starscream yelps fearfully. His eyes clamp close as he cowers, all movement ceases save for his arms snapping to protect his face. The room becomes silent. Tension fills the room as Starscream's eyes reopen to find horrified, concerned looks from his captors.

     Optimus's eyes are locked onto his own, distant. Though he is wearing his battle mask, there is obvious emotion in his eyes as he assesses what just occurred. Neither make a move. What is there to do in this situation? Optimus glaces at the bot behind Starscream, then to the others around him, as if to see if everyone else had seen what he had.

They did.

     To Starscream, they are all silent. He guesses that they are discussing their plans over text, rather than let him hear it.

     Optimus' register comes over text first, 'We need to place him into one of our empty rooms. Not the brig.'

     The others individually send agreements over the communications system.

     Ratchet is the first to move, grabbing Starscream by his wrist and lifting him to a standing position. He has a grimace on his face as he leads him down the hallway. Their base is small, only a single main room and a long hallway. He takes him to the furthest room down the hall, silent as he does so. He opens the door, revealing a bland but shockingly furnished room. A berth, for one, is new for Starscream - assuming this is their prison.

     He smirks like he didn't just rattle all the Autobots to their core, "Really? This is your prison? I should've let myself be captured by you all eons ago." He says, stepping in. Ratchet doesn't respond, locking the door behind Starscream and returning down the hall.

     "Not even a snide remark? Really?" He asks, a little more genuinely this time. What is with these bots?

Ratchet just shoots him a glare and continues walking.

     As he disappears from Starscream's view, he huffs. He turns around in his 'cell', still soaking in the pleasant surprise of an actual bed and decor. An analogue clock embedded into the wall, and some other random things: a table, a chair (which is truly shocking, as it would have to be custom built - presumably by their human comrades.) He wanders his cell, carefully and thoroughly inspecting each area, each nook, each cranny. Surely this is a trick? A tactic to lull me into false security?..

     Though as his search continues, he finds no obvious indicator that this room is anything but that: a room. Obviously, the door is capable of being locked, but who is to say that is not a function of every room in this horrid place? He can only theorize, but he finds himself more and more confused the longer he stands in this room.

     After a few more rounds of scanning the room, he finally subsides and sits. His back and wings are killing him - "Curse these clamps. So very uncomfortable," he mutters to nobody in particular. He shakes his wings angrily, but the clamp is not moved in the slightest, still pinning his (highly sensitive) wings in place. He groans, letting his head fall.

     "If anyone's outside: for the love of Primus, take these clamps off my wings! I don't care about these cuffs, but my wings hurt! Please!" He calls towards the door, vaguely hoping one of the 'Bots are listening to him. "It's not like I can transform anyway with these cuffs on! It's just cruel."

     Those he knows he sounds dramatic, it's the truth. It's cruel to lock up a seeker's wings - like putting a clamp on a cat's tail or clipping a bird's wings.

     By some stroke of luck, he gets a response, though he doesn't recognise the voice (and it does not particularly sound like a response to his question. It's a small shocked gasp from beyond the door, then the hall quiets again.

     "Hello?" He asks, standing and moving towards the door. "Who goes there? Here to interrogate me so soon, Autobots? And here I was thinking I was living the good life here." He playfully sneers and makes a dramatically upset expression, though he knows whoever is out there can't see him. Hopefully.

     He peaks through the plexiglass, peering down to the floor and locking eyes with one of the Autobots' organic companions. He sneers.

"Why, hello.. little girl?"