Cinderblock is parked near a pile of wreckage.

Catechism is simply out to see Cybertron. She spent a long time in cold storage, and her planet changed greatly while she slumbered. The coneheaded Seekers has always been busy with one thing or the other, and has never really had a chance to take in all that has transpired. She drops down from the sky in robot mode to look at the ruins.

Cinderblock's slumber, hasn't stopped him in the millennia of perpetual active service he's had. Amidst the smoke of the ruins, and some new blast craters, he lays in his A-10 form, apparently dozing.

The A-10 splits apart, revealing the Decepticon Cinderblock!

Cinderblock shifts and transforms, stifling a yawn, "You shouldn't disturb an old mech's down cycle...decreases our effectiveness."

Catechism looks startled and takes a step back. The scrap beneath her slides under her feet with a screech and nearly unbalances her. After a moment of failing her arms wildly, she regains her balance. Catechism mimes dusting herself off and looks a bit embarrassed. She excuses, "Well, I just wanted to see what you were doing over there. For all I knew, Autobots had shot you down and you were slowly leaking to death out here."

Cinderblock smirks, "Good girl." He shakes his head, "Vilnacron isn't exactly anybody's territory lately, from what I've heard. The planet has plenty of rubble for people to fight over, they don't need this particular piece of bad luck." He looks back to her, and smirks, "...what are -you- doing here though?"

Catechism gestures vaguely, spreading her arms wide. "Just getting reacquainted with Cybertron on a personal basis. I've been on it, but I haven't really been on it on it, if you know what I mean." The glint in her optics says that she doesn't expect that he will. The conehead is used to being incomprehensible.

Cinderblock clears his throat and spits a glob of acidic grease on the ground, "...blech." He looks back to her, "Don't matter if you've been on it. Its been in you. Cybertron is a rotted, piece of garbage careening through space, with transorganics, mutants, and freaks crawling beneath your feet, not much energon available, and everything...and I mean -everything- is broken. But its still home."

"That which is ruined can be rebuilt," Catechism recites, her optics unfocused. Then, they focus quite sharply, and a feral smile slides across her face. "Then again, there's something to be said for letting the dead die."

Cinderblock hrms and looks around the planet, "...Cybertron ain't dead. Its just old. In a few more vorns, you might understand that, kiddo." He walks over to the wreckage, and looks down at it. "It started out all bright and ideaological like you...now its all broken, disgusting, and rusted like me."

Catechism snorts and tilts her head skyward. Her tone vaguely teasing, she replies, "Did I say Cybertron was dead?" More careful in her footing, she takes a step backwards, picks up a small shard of rubble, and slashes it through the air, cutting at nothing. "It's a fair sight better than Earth."

Cinderblock climbs up onto some of his own rubble, frowning, "...debatable. The fleshbags haven't royally screwed up their planet the same way we've." He sits down on his pile of rubble, and then produces a small rolled piece of semi-converted energon, and lights it. "...admittedly, we're a damn sight -better- then they are."

Catechism looks at Cinderblock questioningly and says, tone almost sickeningly light for what she is saying, "I could take off your arms, your legs, your wings... all of that now, with this rusted old shard, and MSE could have you up running as good as new in less than a week. Why should our planet be any different?" She reverses her grip on the piece of metal, as if for a pommel-smack. "Then again, leaving the injured and weak behind has its merits. For now, this planet has its uses."

Cinderblock exhales a plume of acrid grey smoke. "You'd do that in a few moments, kid. It took us over a million years to craft this devestation around us. It'll take more then waving the constructicons at it to fix things." He produces another energon cigar, "Want one of these? Blitzwing used to smoke them like a damned factory."

Catechism smiles thinly and tosses the shard up and catches it, nicking her hands. If she notices the nicks, she doesn't react to them. Catechism notes brightly, "A good torturer could make it feel like it took millions of years!" She lets the shard drop. "I'm not one, though." The Seeker glances at energon cigar, her expression a bit dubious. "I'm not sure I even know what that is."

Cinderblock grins, "Its fun and its bad fer ya, what else do you need to know?"

Catechism leans back on her boot-jets, making the rubble go crink-crink-crink. She grins devilishly and snaps her fingers. "Fun and bad for me, eh? Ever heard of storm tag?"

Catechism's grins gets wider, and she nods. "Yup, flying... flying during storms. It's fun. Used to play it over the Razor Hills."

Cinderblock smirks, "I'm glad you enjoy it. I wasn't built for that kind of thing. Back in my day, just getting up in the air, was an accomplishment."

Catechism looks disappointed and chides, "You've got wings, don't you? Surely, you can stand a bit of lightning, acid rain, and other planes trying to crash into? Used to play it over the Razor Hills." This Seeker has a rather violent idea of what constitutes fun, in general.

Cinderblock smirks, "I'd be banging off the walls while you flew around me. I know my limits, kid."

Catechism glances back up at the sky, twitching her wings. Still sounding a little disappointed, she says, "Good that you do. No need to get scrapped over something avoidable." Well, cross Cinderblock off the list of Decepticons she can drag off on crazy games of storm tag. Unless she can convince him otherwise later.

Cinderblock chuckles, "I'm old, kiddo. I get my thrills from still being able to activate myself in the morning."

Catechism snorts and shakes her head. She bends down and picks the piece of rubble back up. "No reason not to aspire to higher goals." With that, she tosses the shard straight up in the air, as hard as she can throw it.

Cinderblock snickers, still puffing slowly, "...I don't have any goals...thats how you stay alive."

"Then I'd say that staying alive is one of your goals, which rather defeats the purpose of having no goals," Catechism notes. She tilts her pointed head to one side, optics glittering. With no mention of her own goals, if she indeed has any, she excuses, "I really ought to get going. There's a lot of planet to cover and only so much break time."