Summary- Cyclonus continues to have no social skills.


The chance to return was not as easy coming as the first visit to Viianta had been. It didn't matter. That first visit had occurred naturally, through fate. It had been a message. Now, he would follow through with that message and the means were fatefully allowed to be artificially produced.

As Team Chaar had no reason to return to the distant planet, Cyclonus would have to find a different option. For some time, he mulled over what options those might be. In time, he realized that he was really only left with two; leave unexpectedly or leave with a warning. The latter played to protocol. It acted as though he adhered to the chain of command he himself rather considered himself outside of in regards to the decepticons of this world.

It was the more appealing option, all things considered.


When he had tracked down Strika, it was to find her in her office. The general held far more jobs than just bashing helms in combat. It was a cost of rank. The responsibilities of officers. He remembered handling many of those duties that Galvatron could not seem to bother concentrating on (at least before he was satisfied in Firefly's ability to handle some of that drab work). It was not a responsibility he considered himself willing to commit to with the decepticons here. Strika most often handed filework off to Blot (a surprisingly competent person in that regard, despite what one might think) or Scalpel (who complained over getting the additional workload whilst at the same time obviously relishing the chance to find any blackmail material at all amidst the files being sorted through) when she either couldn't get to them herself or else was choosing not to. Cyclonus was never given the work. He'd made it clear the first time she'd thought to bring it up with him.

The office lay on one of the upper floors of that dome. It was easier to merely fly to that level's open flight bay and walk to her from there. He did so after a cycle spent investigating those shuttles and streamlined vessels free to be taken out to voyage through the galaxy. There hadn't been many choices in that regard, but one was enough for him and there were, at least, more available than one.

Having determined that he would be capable of traveling out to Viianta without needing to take Team Chaar's favored ship (something that would undoubtedly go frowned upon), he decided it was time to go inform his general that he would be taking leave.

With perhaps a bit too much confidence in getting his way and a tenseness attributed to worry that he wouldn't get it smoothly, Cyclonus entered the office. His presence silently demanded attention and Strika's obliged, glancing up from a desk far too cluttered with multiple databoxes and cylinders to be multitasking on at once.

He informed her stiffly that he planned to leave for a few orns. It received no confrontation. Strika shifted a few of the boxes and cylinders around to reach for what seemed to be a schedule. There was a slight hum while the general looked it over.

"Go ahead. Mindwipe can take your spot," she dismissed. "He's due to come in soon anyways."

Wonderful.

He planned on leaving that cycle. Why not? He would use his presence with Team Chaar to demand a ship out of those he'd scouted already and he hardly had possessions to bring with him outside of his weapons and fuel.

"You've never bothered to get leave before," Strika noted, not exactly sounding surprised but still looking over the data with interest. "Impressive, really. That's vorns of uninterrupted dedication."

Yes. Though not to the cause or to the warlord she herself devoted such uninterrupted dedication for. It hardly mattered.

"Where are you planning on going?" the general glanced behind herself at him.

Cyclonus, unsurprisingly, didn't bother to change his flat expression.

Strika's optics narrowed, but she did nothing more than growl as she turned around. "Of course."

They had, as she'd already said, spent uninterrupted vorns together by now. She should have known better than to think he would answer personal questions.


The first visit was very similar to that off time the team itself had spent there. He paid to recharge inside the ship he'd brought and docked in the city and thus avoided the hassle of hotels (that it cost more to convince the dock owner to let him stay in a parking spot was not considered much by him).

Then he approached Tailgate's shop to the distance of the same street from before and stopped there.

He offered his support from this hidden distance. It may have been more support for himself and his purpose here than it was for an autobot who, in this world, had no way of knowing he existed.

There were a few instances that made him bristle- a few passersbys that made him feel a danger was present- but none ever forced him to reveal himself. Yet. He would, in time. He would not wait and then leave the autobot to live on without ever interacting, just comforted in getting to see him and see that he was safe. The purpose here was to- ...to- ...in time, at least-. In time.


The second occurred half a stellar cycle later and Strika had shown piqued interest once again when he went to arrange leave for himself.

"Learned what you were missing out on, did you?" she teased as she signed off permission for him to go.

Cyclonus didn't answer. He felt the question was rhetorical.

The visit itself passed as those earlier had. There was a peace to them. A hungry peace, a still happiness. Seeing Viianta- that shop especially- offered such to him. It just felt so...picturesque, perhaps. Undisturbed by threats like those he'd known in another world.

It surrounded this place. It surrounded that mech. Skywarp had thought him naive, almost dense, for it. A little odd. Fearless, but Skywarp couldn't understand fearlessness and so he thought it odd.

Claws wrapped on a wall that he half stood behind, Cyclonus stopped trying to put words to the feeling and merely let himself note the undisturbed picture out there.


Strika was not the only one to notice. As his visits remained around a half a stellar cycle apart (with the travel times to Viianta, he was forced to space them out), his allies seemed to realize that they were no longer the only ones who rotated through their active spots on Team Chaar and away for themselves.

By far, his most unhappy incident had occurred when he reached the vessel he had confiscated that cycle and nearly jumped when a different mech stepped around the boarding ramp. Upon noticing who it was, he was almost regretful that he hadn't jumped afterall. Striking out and accidentally impaling Oil Slick could have been easily excused if he had. Whatever the case, Cyclonus had too good a grasp on his own nerves and the chance came and went.

The chemist, after wasting time with greetings, had made himself comfortable up against one of the extended poles of the ramp in an effort to crowd him and then got far too friendly for the flyer's taste. There was the usual comment on him leaving, like those the rest gave when they saw the schedule was rotating him out. Why Oil Slick talked so casually around him was a mystery. It could not have been hard for him to note that Cyclonus glowered at him, and the threat that had been issued over a clenching embrace earlier upon his arrival here could not have gone forgotten. Perhaps his slip about the chemist's death during his first cycle awake here had never gone forgotten by Scalpel. Perhaps, even, the scientist was putting Oil Slick up to this. If so, he was somewhere currently unseen rather than in his usual place on the tall mech's shoulder.

"Am I keeping you waiting?" Oil Slick tilted his head after some time of idle chatter. Cyclonus had not moved from the spot he'd been ambushed in. He stood there stonily. "My apologies."

The words practically oozed.

Cyclonus remained stony.

"Well, don't let me keep you. Surely you're trying to get some time away from us. Understandable. We all need breaks."

They all took breaks quite commonly. All but Cyclonus. He had a credit built up for this after vorns of never rotating off of the roster.

"So, wanna tell, hm? You got a pretty con waiting for you out there?" the chemist leaned closer. It was unwelcome. As was the curiosity. There was a very uneasy sense to Oil Slick digging in this regard. He and his companion both could keep their claws out of Cyclonus's business. Especially Viianta. Especially Tailgate.

Whether or not there was truly menace and implied threat there, Cyclonus had been left angry and unsettled over the interaction. The soured mood followed him the entire flight, no matter how he considered that he ought not feel as defensive over a situation based in interactions he had not yet introduced himself to begin.


Perhaps it was that which gave him a push. Or perhaps it was just watching Tailgate carrying loads that he should have had help with one too many times from the shadows.

But on that trip, Cyclonus had not remained in the adjutant street. It was a stagnation of its own kind, doing nothing but watching and waiting.

There was no harm in at least introducing his existence.