To be absolutely honest, it was somewhere inbetween those two extremes, while adding a dash of grandiose egotism with a tyrant flavour. Though while he was certainly a murderer, insane he wasn't.
Dim optics falling down to refocus on his very unwilling audience, Megatron cocked his helm. Digging his hand in again, nearly too harshly, a restrained drawn-out jerk traveled through the powerful frame.
This time, however, he kept his gaze on Orion, a knowing, mocking grin somehow lingering despite his frame reacting to and busy with the rising charge laying heavy around his spark.
"Others... have tried other methods. Gentler. More fair---" Briefly, Megatron gasped, static fuzzing out his words and his helm tipping backwards to expose his neck and yet he managed to stare. "Hmm. More fair ones, I suppose. They've failed. I'm rectifying the situation, and will get us where we should be."
His engine working on a pitch low enough the vibrations were adding to the sensations, Megatron slowly uncurled his other hand from where it was clutching at the armrest of the chair... throne, honestly, and first dug a finger down along the seams on the inside of a thigh, then moved to press the heel of the hand down against his pelvic armour.
Another twist of the hand nearly buried - dangerously so, but he didn't have the patience at the moment for anything else - in his spark and at the same time redirecting the deeply thrumming feedback from the engine vibrations to the sensor nodes around his spark chamber and finally...
Orion would thus be witness to something few got to see, despite the warlord's nonchalance over baring his spark in the presence of his soldiers or a chained down prisoner; the Lord of the Decepticons twisting around his own hands, overspill charge manifesting as licks of blue lightning at joints, his (perfectly normal) spark heaving and flaring out around the hand so "abusing" it.
Megatron jerked, ground down both against the seat he was sitting on, and into his own hand and then suddenly slumped against the back of the seat. Optics completely dark as his helm was tilted back and the black hand falling away, for a moment, he was... still.
no subject
Dim optics falling down to refocus on his very unwilling audience, Megatron cocked his helm. Digging his hand in again, nearly too harshly, a restrained drawn-out jerk traveled through the powerful frame.
This time, however, he kept his gaze on Orion, a knowing, mocking grin somehow lingering despite his frame reacting to and busy with the rising charge laying heavy around his spark.
"Others... have tried other methods. Gentler. More fair---" Briefly, Megatron gasped, static fuzzing out his words and his helm tipping backwards to expose his neck and yet he managed to stare. "Hmm. More fair ones, I suppose. They've failed. I'm rectifying the situation, and will get us where we should be."
His engine working on a pitch low enough the vibrations were adding to the sensations, Megatron slowly uncurled his other hand from where it was clutching at the armrest of the chair... throne, honestly, and first dug a finger down along the seams on the inside of a thigh, then moved to press the heel of the hand down against his pelvic armour.
Another twist of the hand nearly buried - dangerously so, but he didn't have the patience at the moment for anything else - in his spark and at the same time redirecting the deeply thrumming feedback from the engine vibrations to the sensor nodes around his spark chamber and finally...
Orion would thus be witness to something few got to see, despite the warlord's nonchalance over baring his spark in the presence of his soldiers or a chained down prisoner; the Lord of the Decepticons twisting around his own hands, overspill charge manifesting as licks of blue lightning at joints, his (perfectly normal) spark heaving and flaring out around the hand so "abusing" it.
Megatron jerked, ground down both against the seat he was sitting on, and into his own hand and then suddenly slumped against the back of the seat. Optics completely dark as his helm was tilted back and the black hand falling away, for a moment, he was... still.
Not frozen, merely utterly relaxed.