tisnotthehouse (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tisnotthehouse) wrote2023-11-23 09:00 pm
tisnotthehouse) wrote2023-11-23 09:00 pm
Entry tags:
New World, New You
Tarantulas thought long and hard before accepting the white-haired woman’s offer.
It wasn’t as though he didn’t wish to go on living, by whatever means he could manage it – it was, in fact, that he wished for that so desperately that, upon hearing it offered, he couldn’t help but feel suspicious of the person doing the offering. It sounded much too sudden and much, much too good to be true – and he couldn’t settle in his own mind whether it was concerning and reassuring, how smoothly she was able to meet his questions and objections.
Although it felt as though they’d talked for hours, later he would only be capable of clearly recalling a few of the things she had told him. He would be going somewhere else, if he accepted her offer – somewhere with minimal oversight, where he’d be able to conduct his research as he pleased. Although the other residents of that place might object if his research harmed them, nobody would have the power to compel him to work on weapons – or anything else. He’d have the freedom to choose his own course of study. Oh yes, and there would be other people there too. He could interact or ignore them as he chose – but some of them could surely use help from someone of his expertise.
He knew what Springer would have to say about that; it seemed the white-haired woman did too, although she politely – or wisely – refrained from pressing her point. Springer would want him to say yes. He’d want Tarantulas to find out who needed his help, and with what, and so long as it wasn’t a war crime and didn’t involve brainwashing anyone…Springer would want him to help.
Tarantulas had had a long and dismal year to think about all the things Springer seemed to want, and how they differed from the things Tarantulas himself had always wanted. ‘You make the impossible obsolete’, had transformed from treasured compliment to a painful falsehood, as Tarantulas could see no way to bridge that gap. In the end he’d given up entirely and turned his attention back to the Specimen and pleasing his dear departed rebound – only in his final minutes had he realized just how hard he himself had labored to widen that gap ever further. Prowl might have torn them apart and made Ostaros forget him – but if Springer hated him now, Tarantulas only had his own actions to blame.
He’d died knowing it was too late to fix it; he’d always been a committed empiricist, believing only in things that could be directly measured even as he’d pushed back the limits of Cybertronian tools and senses. He’d never believed in Cyberutopia or the Afterspark or any of those old legends – but now it seemed he’d been wrong. Existence did continue after death – and that meant there was still a chance he’d see Springer again. And when that day came, would he present himself once more as a vicious monster? Or would he be someone Springer might actually want in his life?
It was an easy choice to make after all. There was just one little problem…
“If I’m going to agree to your proposal – and I am rather inclined to say yes, just for the record –” Tarantulas pauses to delicately pour the last of the hot cocoa down his throat. “But this magnificent body of mine just wasn’t designed for peaceful co-existence with other people. Certainly not humans, hyeh hyeh. I’m afraid I’ll need to do a little work on myself before I’m fit to be seen. After all, I would so hate to frighten people.”
The white-haired woman smiles slightly, her head tipped to one side. “You wish to reinvent yourself? I think I can help with that.”
***
Tarantulas is very different when he steps off the boat.
He’s smaller now, and softer. His body is almost entirely organic, except for certain parts of his processor and around his spark chamber. His setae has grown longer and thicker, almost like a mammal’s fur, in a charming shade of purple as it obscures the more alien details of his body. He has proper hands again, and his face –
A gust of wind blows off the water, startling Tarantulas into a hard shiver. He reflexively wraps both arms and all eight of his alt-mode’s legs – still protruding from a shallow hump on his back – around his torso, shaking harder. It seems his body is also more vulnerable to the elements this way…
“Oh dear me! You poor thing, how did you end up like this? Here, take my coat –”
For the second time in as many seconds, Tarantulas is startled as a thick leather coat is wrapped around his shoulders and belted close to his waist. He looks up – straight into a grinning human’s eyes.
You can’t study Earth’s biosphere without learning a few things about humans and their cultural mores. He knew that humans like small, furry things, with lots of neotenous traits, and had adjusted his body to match. Fluffy setae, hands instead of claws, a pair of large lidded eyes in place of a visor, with the other six arranged like decorative jewels on his forehead – in a sense, this is the very outcome he was working towards. He just didn’t expect to get results so immediately, or so well.
Well, Tarantulas didn’t live so long by wasting opportunities.
“Oh, thank you,” he says in a quiet, husky voice, and smiles with his soft, human mouth. “You’re really too kind.”
It wasn’t as though he didn’t wish to go on living, by whatever means he could manage it – it was, in fact, that he wished for that so desperately that, upon hearing it offered, he couldn’t help but feel suspicious of the person doing the offering. It sounded much too sudden and much, much too good to be true – and he couldn’t settle in his own mind whether it was concerning and reassuring, how smoothly she was able to meet his questions and objections.
Although it felt as though they’d talked for hours, later he would only be capable of clearly recalling a few of the things she had told him. He would be going somewhere else, if he accepted her offer – somewhere with minimal oversight, where he’d be able to conduct his research as he pleased. Although the other residents of that place might object if his research harmed them, nobody would have the power to compel him to work on weapons – or anything else. He’d have the freedom to choose his own course of study. Oh yes, and there would be other people there too. He could interact or ignore them as he chose – but some of them could surely use help from someone of his expertise.
He knew what Springer would have to say about that; it seemed the white-haired woman did too, although she politely – or wisely – refrained from pressing her point. Springer would want him to say yes. He’d want Tarantulas to find out who needed his help, and with what, and so long as it wasn’t a war crime and didn’t involve brainwashing anyone…Springer would want him to help.
Tarantulas had had a long and dismal year to think about all the things Springer seemed to want, and how they differed from the things Tarantulas himself had always wanted. ‘You make the impossible obsolete’, had transformed from treasured compliment to a painful falsehood, as Tarantulas could see no way to bridge that gap. In the end he’d given up entirely and turned his attention back to the Specimen and pleasing his dear departed rebound – only in his final minutes had he realized just how hard he himself had labored to widen that gap ever further. Prowl might have torn them apart and made Ostaros forget him – but if Springer hated him now, Tarantulas only had his own actions to blame.
He’d died knowing it was too late to fix it; he’d always been a committed empiricist, believing only in things that could be directly measured even as he’d pushed back the limits of Cybertronian tools and senses. He’d never believed in Cyberutopia or the Afterspark or any of those old legends – but now it seemed he’d been wrong. Existence did continue after death – and that meant there was still a chance he’d see Springer again. And when that day came, would he present himself once more as a vicious monster? Or would he be someone Springer might actually want in his life?
It was an easy choice to make after all. There was just one little problem…
“If I’m going to agree to your proposal – and I am rather inclined to say yes, just for the record –” Tarantulas pauses to delicately pour the last of the hot cocoa down his throat. “But this magnificent body of mine just wasn’t designed for peaceful co-existence with other people. Certainly not humans, hyeh hyeh. I’m afraid I’ll need to do a little work on myself before I’m fit to be seen. After all, I would so hate to frighten people.”
The white-haired woman smiles slightly, her head tipped to one side. “You wish to reinvent yourself? I think I can help with that.”
***
Tarantulas is very different when he steps off the boat.
He’s smaller now, and softer. His body is almost entirely organic, except for certain parts of his processor and around his spark chamber. His setae has grown longer and thicker, almost like a mammal’s fur, in a charming shade of purple as it obscures the more alien details of his body. He has proper hands again, and his face –
A gust of wind blows off the water, startling Tarantulas into a hard shiver. He reflexively wraps both arms and all eight of his alt-mode’s legs – still protruding from a shallow hump on his back – around his torso, shaking harder. It seems his body is also more vulnerable to the elements this way…
“Oh dear me! You poor thing, how did you end up like this? Here, take my coat –”
For the second time in as many seconds, Tarantulas is startled as a thick leather coat is wrapped around his shoulders and belted close to his waist. He looks up – straight into a grinning human’s eyes.
You can’t study Earth’s biosphere without learning a few things about humans and their cultural mores. He knew that humans like small, furry things, with lots of neotenous traits, and had adjusted his body to match. Fluffy setae, hands instead of claws, a pair of large lidded eyes in place of a visor, with the other six arranged like decorative jewels on his forehead – in a sense, this is the very outcome he was working towards. He just didn’t expect to get results so immediately, or so well.
Well, Tarantulas didn’t live so long by wasting opportunities.
“Oh, thank you,” he says in a quiet, husky voice, and smiles with his soft, human mouth. “You’re really too kind.”