TF Meta: The Drabbleverse
|05-18-2013, 04:50 AM||#1|
Dr Pepper Fan
Join Date: Nov 2011
Location: UK! :D
Collection Count: 15
TF Meta: The Drabbleverse
Note: Hi all! Meta here, bearing with me a fun shenanigan based on the main TF Meta fic!
Welcome to the Drabbleverse, where any and all random shenanigans featuring the characters of TF Meta can be posted! Whether funny hijinks, or dark musings, or simple casual chatter, they can all go here! And don't worry, the main Metaverse won't mind how out of canon any of these drabbles get
Well, if you ever feel like adding a random drabble, a question or anything really, here's the place to do it! Enjoy
Drabble 1: Wheeling for feeling
There was a monster behind him.
Bumblebee's systems were revving with exertion, spark desperately pulsing, Energon racing through his valves, as he darted through the canyon as fast as he could. His wheels whipped up dust in his wake, and the reddish rocks blurred by him, such was his speed, but deep down, he knew it was all in vain.
He glanced back. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was still following him. It would keep following him until it caught him or died trying. And he certainly would not prefer the former option, considering he kind of enjoyed being alive, you know?
His systems begged for rest, and, since overexerting himself wouldn't benefit him at all, he decided to indulge them; stopping by a large outcrop, he threw himself behind it, curled behind the hiding place and took a moment to rest, his systems cooling down and his wheels clicking slightly to relieve the ache in them.
Even though he needed the break, Bumblebee figured he probably shouldn't be resting right now. It would just give time for that thing to catch up, but still, he needed to make sure he didn't get overexerted, which would be even worse. Lose-lose, as they said. But he decided that at least this kind of lose was better than the other.
On the bright side, at least his Energon flow was readjusting itself, and his neurals weren't relaying the awful sensations of stressed hydraulics and gears anymore. Cybertronian metallogy was always quick to recover once provided the chance. But he still needed to keep going, less the monster found him hiding here and, well-
Nervously, he peeked from the outcrop, looking towards the way he'd come from. Still no sign of it. Had it given up? Or was it just a case of the fact it hadn't caught up yet?
Either way, this was his chance to make good on his escape. If it was nowhere near here even now, then he could easily get to safety!
Satisfied, pleased, hopeful, Bumblebee revved his engine and got up, ready to keep on rolling-
A pebble tipped down the side, clattering against the stone wall, before coming to a rest just by the base, attracting his attention. He stared at it, perplexed, before tracking its trajectory to see where it had come from, and when he followed its path of descent upwards, towards a high ledge-
There it was.
Crimson optics narrowed in malicious triumph. It had been above him the whole time. Waiting for his dawning moment of horrified comprehension.
He didn't have time to scream, or fight back, or even try to run; it leapt down the moment his optics widened, cracking the ground under clawed feet and even as he tried to dodge, its huge form knocked him down, the rookie helpless against the monster, and as he desperately tried to struggle back to his wheels, he was pinned down under its foot.
Struggling was futile. Escape was impossible. He had lost the game of life and death.
The monster leaned down towards its victim, bearing teeth sharp enough to pierce even the strongest of armours in a titanic, hungry maw, a cruel growl that distorted the air with a wave of heat, and those terrifying crimsons eyes glaring down at him.
Bumblebee hoped it would at least make his end quick.
And then, its jaws opened further, leaned in, and-
The monster then burst out into laughter, and stepped off the rookie, who sat up and pouted, folding his arms like a sulky youngling and grumbling: "Not fair, you set me up with that pebble."
Grimlock finished his bout of laughter and fondly noted: "Well, let this be a lesson, Bumblebee; when faced with uncertain circumstances, prepare for fighting or fleeing, not standing around bewildered."
"Grimlock, we're playing Theritron Hunt, not combat exercises!"
His crimson optics flashed with amusement: "Young organics, most often predatory examples, can learn valuable skills by play-fighting with their siblings or friends."
Bumblebee rolled his optics, but he nevertheless started grinning and replied: "Alright, I'll give you that one. But still, if Hound found out you were using playtime to try and teach me things, his processor would implode!"
"That's not exactly an incentive to stop." Grimlock noted, rather excited at the concept. Bumblebee laughed again, before darting over to the larger Autobot's leg and clambering onto his back, before he continued: "Grimlock suppose we're going back to the ship now?"
"Yep, times up! And since you cheated, old buddy of mine, you have to carry me back!"
Grimlock tilted his head for a bewildered look at the smiling scout: "Grimlock did not cheat."
"Yes you did, you turned into a truck and drove up the edge of the canyon to catch up with me 'cause I'm a faster robot mode than you!"
"Grimock did not do that!"
"Yes you did, your optics are telling me!"
"No, not really, I just figured that'd make you give yourself away!"
His smile got even bigger, and he started laughing again as Grimlock huffed in defeat and started the trek back to the ship, grumbling: "Rookies. Can't live with them, can't throw them into black holes...."
But if he could, he'd be smiling right now.
|05-18-2013, 08:13 AM||#2|
Join Date: Jun 2012
Collection Count: 11
D'aawww, that was beyond awesome. You had me, Meta, I thought Bee was in actual danger. Then I saw "crimson optics" below where I was reading and thought that he was being chased by Barricade.
Anyways, for the sake of it, I'll just put up the one that I already published on fanfiction for now. Oh, but there will be many more to come.
Word Count: 2,832
Summary: Trapped in a cell together by an outside mutual enemy, Bumblebee and Barricade have nothing to do but talk.
This was inspired by an X-Men fan fiction where Gambit and Cyclops were stuck in a room together. A bit of useful information: in the events leading up to this, Barricade was drugged, which is why he starts acting really weird in the end. Be prepared for OOC.
With only a singular grey beam in the ceiling to act as a light for the small expanse, the room was dimly lit. The cylindrical bulb blinked incessantly and buzzed every time it did; it was the only acoustic phenomenon to break the utter silence of the otherwise barren cell.
The silence should have been disconcerting to anyone that would have better known their company, but Barricade couldn't care less. His mind was jogging in the far reaches of his habitually perturbed psyche, actively contemplating his widely distributed anger. Anger at everything. Foremost anger at Soundwave for failing to prevent Barricade getting into this predicament in the first place since his strategic skills and lack of competence in combat was so laughable. Encircling this was the anger at Starscream for calling the farce mission that got him into this mess. Anger at Grimlock for swatting him earlier. Again. Anger at Slipstream for reprimanding him for something or another before they left. Anger at Hound for being sparked.
Barricade abruptly flinched out of his reverie. In a second's notice, he was easily able to find an outlet to redirect his anger in looking at his company. Had a metal chain not bound his wrists behind his back, the little yellow insect he was forced to sit there with would have been dead at Barricade's claws by now. However, he was forced to endure sitting there with him helpless to engage, so much being true for his fellow prisoner as well, as his servos were tied in a similar fashion. Barricade scowled at him for a moment, longing to sink his claws into just about anything, and the yellow guy fit the bill. Such a happy, giddy, stupid little thing.
Just being with him was irritating, but the cringe-worthy presence managed to significantly increase. So far the yellow guy had kept quiet, but just as of seconds ago, he started to make noise. Barricade raised an optic ridge at the phenomenon. The bug was rhythmically vocalizing, but not opening him mouth. What in the name of Primus could be the purpose of practicing such an inefficient exercise? Although he questioned himself this, Barricade couldn't bring himself to care enough to actually propose the inquiry.
"Would you shut up?" he snarled, narrowing his crimson optics.
It got the little guy to stop, at least periodically. But now that he had his attention, a tinge of regret started to germinate within Barricade when he saw the scout prepare to speak. The last thing the con wanted was to hear the scraplet not only vocalize, but actually make words too. At first, the bugger just looked at him and Barricade could only try to intimidate the latter with the eye contact. However, his efforts seemed to turn out farce.
"It's too quiet in here," the scout eventually replied after looking at Barricade for all but a minute with bug-eyed optics.
"It's not too quiet," Barricade quickly snapped, leaning forward to hear the chain around his neck that was attached to the wall snap straight. "It's never too quiet. Quiet is good. Quiet means I get to think."
For a moment, Barricade faltered; the scraplet actually seemed genuinely curious. The cartoonish level of naivety only encouraged Barricade's infuriation. At first he intended to not reply, leaning back into the wall and turning his vision to the ceiling, but he had peaked out of the corner of his peripheral vision to find the scout still staring intently at him. "About ways I'm going to kill you when we get out of here, for one thing," he quietly sneered, as if to satisfy his company.
The Autobot's face contorted into a reflexive look of repugnance at the tart response. "You're not going to kill me," he deadpanned despite being able to note Barricade's lack of desire to continue in conversation. "The Autobots are going to get here eventually. Then you'll be outnumbered, and you'll be sorry."
Barricade snorted. "So reliant on your Autobot friends. You're all a bunch of wallowing idiots. You think you do good for everybody. I'll be so smug when you're all dead and the Decepticons finally won this Primus-forsaken war." Leaning back, he added, "Besides, we'll see how the odds turn out. You think you're the only one who's got a team who's looking for you?"
"I think the Autobots will get here first." The remark was innocent and simplistic, as if Bumblebee were honestly speculating. "Hound has amazing tracking skills-"
Barricade grimaced. "Hound. That pit-roaming fragger. You know, I hope you're right. I hope the Autobots do get here first. Then I can rip out Hound's spark single-handedly-"
Bumblebee lurched forward, growing abruptly defensive. Barricade nearly jumped at the uncharacteristic gesture. "Not before I beat you into the ground and shove my tire back in your face where it belongs, you big stinky slag pile!"
Barricade was honestly surprised, but recovered flawlessly from the initial shock and readjusted to lean in as close to his adversary as possible. If only he could kill this little thing and make it shut up forever. In spite, his chains however restrained him. The two were just out of each other's destructive reaches. "Believe me, if I find your fragging tire in my face ever again, I'll personally make sure to rip you in half and give your pieces of armor bit by bit to Starscream to burn down and use as scrap metal!"
"Ooh, I'm so scared!"
"You will be, Scraplet. Against me, you don't have a prayer."
"Against me, you don't have a Grimlock."
"You're dino-friend isn't always going to be there to help you. Besides, he's not so tough."
"He only kicked your sorry aft."
"Ugh!" Barricade gave out an exasperated cry and shoved himself back into the wall, inwardly belittling his processor for having allowed him to actually get into a petty argument with a childish Autobot runt. He'd be sure to reopen any wounds he'd already inflicted on the scraplet and then some as soon as he got these chains off of him.
A long stretch of silence had passed, Barricade returning to his sinful musings, Bumblebee's mind elsewhere.
"...Hmm-hmm, hm, hm,..."
"Eugh! Shut up!"
"It's either this, or we talk! I can't stand the quiet! ...Not that I wanna talk to you, you mean dirt-encrusted scap-metal slag-bowl."
"What are you doing, anyway?! What is that noise you're making?!"
"It's called humming!"
"Why the Pit would you ever do that?!"
"Would you rather I sing out loud?!" Succeeding his outburst, Bumblebee nearly recoiled from the unforeseen volume his own voice to, his youthful intonations bouncing off the walls in a progressively more frequent echo. He had a tendency to get loud when he was excited, but never had he recalled genuinely yelling at anybody before. He had heard a couple of the older bots yell at each other on rare occasion when things got particularly rough, and it was a vivid memory, how unsettling it was. Whether or not Barricade had noted this fluctuation of attitude, Bumblebee couldn't rightly tell, but the Decepticon had taken on an intimidating jest, leaning back into the wall and gritting his denta in an insane-looking grin.
"You have no idea how badly I want to crush you right now," Barricade had said quietly, riding on an exasperated giggle. The snide remark was exhaled, barely audible.
Bumblebee just stared at him with an entirely undeterred expression, one of his optic ridges raised indifferently, his mouth hanging ever so slightly open. He had leaned back for a moment, but suddenly his face fell and he leaned forward once again to get a look at Barricade, whose optics were by now squeezed shut and his face somewhat scrunched, combating a processor ache.
"Hound says it's not good to hold in your anger." Bumblebee inwardly questioned himself. He wasn't sure why he had said that to Barricade. The scout noticed when his adversary flinched at the mentioning of the former's mentor. Somewhere deep inside, the scout felt bad.
At first, Bumblebee thought Barricade wasn't going to reply as the latter continued to grit his denta. After an unsure pause, however, the Decepticon defied these expectations and murmured, with hesitant volume, "I'm not angry."
The yellow Autobot withheld a good-natured chuckle. Instead, he said, "Yes you are. You're always angry. Now that I think about it, I don't think I've ever seen you not angry. You're angry at everything. That's not good."
"What, are you some kind of morale officer?" Barricade sunk further into the wall as he inhaled and exhaled. His words continued to be reluctant. "I'm not angry. I just want to get the frag out of here and spill some energon." The crimson Decepticon as well as Primus that his words were deceptive; of course he was angry. The world is composed of idiots and inferiors. What was there not to be angry at? Stupid teammates, stupid plans, stupid organics, stupid planet, this whole stupid war.
The little scraplet's voice came back to the Decepticon's audio receptors, quieter, more investigative this time. "You're like Grimlock a little bit," the youthful student said with caution. "Sometimes you say things just to say them, but you don't mean them. Sometimes we don't know why we tell lies. We just tell them. Maybe to make ourselves feel better. But, Hound says the last person we'll ever fool is ourselves."
Barricade deeply cycled his vents. By now, his processor had already swam with intense frustration, and it had escalated to the point that he was honestly just tired of this. He hadn't been with the Autobot for even half an hour yet, and his desire to maim him seemed to pique nonetheless. That little innocent voice rang in his audio receptors like a loud, agonizing doorbell.
Something in the back of his processor genuinely contemplated Bumblebee's words.
"Primus," Barricade thought, denying himself the possibility that anything the scraplet said could actually mean something to him. "Not one day in this room, and I'm already losing my mind."
Barricade only turned his optics to look at Bumblebee, lacking the drive to accompany the gesture by turning his head. The scraplet suddenly took on a sympathetic intonation, and the con could read the compassion on his face. Such childish naivety.
"The Autobots are coming. They'll rescue us. I know they will."
Barricade stared back at the ceiling and tried shutting his optics to get peace. "Us?" he thought. "Does he know what he's talking about? Why would he ever want for me to be rescued? Why doesn't he realize that there's war between us?" A few things about the yellow runt occurred to Barricade as he continued to run through the analysis. The distraction was a welcoming change of the buzzards that had, shortly ago, clogged his processor; suddenly, subconsciously, Barricade didn't feel like killing the yellow youngun.
"There's so much you don't know," Barricade breathed yet again at a volume that was just barely decipherable. He wasn't prepared to say it; he was surprised when he heard the utterance from his vocoder.
Bumblebee wasn't sure at first what to make of his adversary's remark. Notwithstanding, he hadn't spent too much time contemplating it, quickly inferring the intent behind the words. "I know what you're thinking. But I've learned a little bit since I first battled you Decepticons in the forest a little while ago. And what I say has nothing to do with that." Bumblebee shook his helm and looked down at his pedes, which were sprawled before him. His left one still bore the faint scars that Evac's welding job had produced from Barricade's clawing-induced damage. "I'm willing to help you get out of this. Even if we're against each other, even if you're a jerk, you don't deserve to remain stuck in this place any more than I do. You're sentient. That's a word that Optimus Prime used a lot. It means that you can be angry and sad. We all get angry. Even if some us are angry more often than others."
A moment of silence passed as Barricade tried to sort through the jumbled rambling. He made a little progress before the youthful voice spoke up again;
"It's not your anger that makes you a Decepticon."
"You're saying that-"
"I'm saying that there's more to you. Nobody's just angry. Or happy. Or sad."
"Is that something Hound told you?" Barricade all but spat.
"...No. That's just something that I know."
"That's pretty insightful for a little pouch of slag like you."
"Insightful. I don't know about that," Bumblebee said, pretending to know the exact meaning of the word. "But it's easy to see just by looking into your optics. Optics say the darndest things. It's always easy for me to read Grimlock's optics. I told him that they say things he'd never actually say."
"You look into people's optics and know everything about them?"
"Only the stuff that they want for others to know, but don't know they want others to know. Does that make sense?"
"You know something?"
Bumblebee stared with wide, questioning optics to verify Barricade's potential continuation. The latter glanced back and hesitated for a moment long enough for Bumblebee to break his eye contact with him. As if with failed expectations, the scout lowered his sight to his lap and tried to readjust to a more comfortable position against the stone wall, stained with mildew and water damage. It only then occurred to him, in the silence, how dark and cold the unwelcoming expanse really was, a reflexive foreboding forming in his spark. He wondered how long it would until he could see Grimlock. Until he could hear Jazz's smoothly delivered commands, how long until he could be in Hound's comforting presence. He had virtually never been separated from his team before; the grim sense grew into a sad longing at the thought.
In the short distance between them, Bumblebee could hear Barricade rustle.
"You're not like the other Autobots," Barricade murmured.
"Don't get me wrong. I hate you with every circuit of my being and will kill you the first opportunity I get."
Bumblebee cocked a lip.
"But...there is something different about you-"
Bumblebee inwardly mused, cynicism fluid in his spark at hearing the uncharacteristic drawls of the crimson-clad Decepticon. There was a slight slur to his words, a kind of slowness and quietness that reminded Bumblebee of what he was under the impression a slightly intoxicated Cybertronian would sound like. He guessed Barricade might have grown exhausted and didn't know exactly what he was saying which was, for some reason, more perturbing than it probably should have been. He was about to point out the oddity before he heard Barricade continue;
"If every Autobot was like you..."
The con trailed off. Bumblebee eagerly awaited conclusion. It hadn't taken an abundance of silence for the yellow scout to appropriately determine that none would come, Barricade now slumping lifelessly against the wall, his chasis rising and lowering softly from somber ventilation. His face plates were twisted and looked pained; the foreboding in Bumblebee's psyche escalated in spite of his usually unflappable nature. The curiosity jotted on the incompletion of his adversary's remark quickly subsided, an unsure predominance silently taking over as it questioned the odd behavior of his company.
"Don't worry," Bumblebee repeated, with an uncharacteristic lack of volume, his voice echoing in the silence nonetheless. "...The...Autobots will get here. Soon."
In the darkness next to him, he heard the buzzing of the flicking light and the progressively more asinine Barricade humming something lightly.
|05-18-2013, 11:26 PM||#3|
Join Date: Jun 2012
Collection Count: 11
Drabble 3: No title. :I
This is a follow-up of the latest episode, Cloak and Stinger.
Hound rested his head on his hand, leaning heavily into it as he peered down wearily at the data pad before him. Tiredly and with indifference, his thumb would swipe the screen to move to the next image, and his mind droned quietly in contemplation of the photography, pictures of Earth's nature, a variety of organic animals and insects. The Internet provided explanatory captions complete with paraphrased information about each creature, and though Hound would ordinarily study the content with piqued interest, he was simply too tired to care much at the moment. He allowed his optics to be periodically mystified by the bright colors of the pictures more so than any of the information he might be able to obtain. The perverse depictions of furry animals and bugs from regions all over the planet intrigued him, but his examination was worn down to no more than a silent and lethargic observation.
The events of the day wore him out, his armor still baring the fundamental repairs that Evac had done to stop the energon leaks and pound out the dents. Marks all over his frame indicated the still-healing damage done by Barricade's claws, particularly his shoulder, which ached at the slightest movement. Evac has advised for him not to exert it too much, but other than that he and the others "would be fine in no time." Wheeljack had had a few simple repairs similar of his own, and Grimlock had received substantial patching on his back to seal up the deep tears left by Barricade. Hound allowed himself seethe for a moment at the inward mention. Barricade.
He peered to the left for a moment, taking his site away from the data pad and glancing into the nearly pitch black nothingness in the confines of his room. The only illumination was the source of light from the slideshow that his hand was now resting lifelessly on as his mind began to conjure images of what had happened previously today. He tried not to allow himself to go back to entertaining these notations; he usually tried to be rational and reframe from thinking about things that made him so angry...which wasn't necessarily difficult very often, since hardly anything made him angry.
If there was one thing that boiled his energon, though, it's exactly what those cons had done. Messing with his family, his pride. Hound's fist clenched over the datapad for a moment, his optics narrowing in spite of his desire to forsake the repugnance. He wished he could gain more control of his dread, as it's likely the main reason that he was up and straining his optics by looking at a data pad monitor rather than laying on his berth and getting some recharge like everybody else. If he tried, he could probably fall into a light dormancy. But he hadn't even climbed onto the berth to endeavor it. He just didn't feel like sleeping.
Hound's optics began to wonder in the darkness and he drug a hand down his face, inhaling and exhaling deeply in an attempt to calm his inner systems and relax him a little bit. He looked around at nothing that he could see with the lack of useful illumination, though something in the corner of his peripheral vision had caught his optic. A thin slab of yellow light intruded on the floor from underneath the closed door in the room, being conspicuous enough to be a bright essence in otherwise darkness, but still not bright enough to actually provide a visual aid. Ordinarily the light coming through from the corridor was a solid yellow, but the customarily unwavering lambency was disrupted. A bit of black moved over the cast of light, a shadow with origins behind the door that would probably be inconspicuous to anybody but Hound. Somebody was out there, and it brought a muse of befuddlement to the elite scout. It was pitch dark out in the middle of the night...nobody should be awake.
Hound waited in suspicion, uncaring enough to not open his door and see who it was, though in the back of his processor, there was a faint idea. It might not have been quite so significant to him if the shadow wasn't quite so unmoving, which insinuated that it was actually waiting there. If it hadn't been worthy of consideration, the shadow would have walked away by now. On the contrary, it seems to be there for a purpose that it was awaiting to execute.
Hound cycled his vents and turned back around to his desk. Whoever it was, he didn't want to open his door or call to them or do anything to encourage them to actually enter; he was too tired to deal with other people right now. He would rather go back to allowing the endless images on the internet drown out his contempt. He stared back down at the data pad, went back to thumbing it, but lighter and less frequently than before.
With a nearly imperceptible volume, he heard a slight click and felt the smallest adjustment of the atmosphere around him, like a small draft kicked in. Out of the corner of his optic, he could perceive the yellow light expand to reach and dimly illuminate the wall next to him. He treated the adjustment as though nothing had happened, however. His spark alerted him to another sense of dread as he was reminded that he would probably have to deal with this again, at this time of night when he was so exhausted. The lieutenant cycled his vents a second time, though lighter and more quietly. It couldn't just end.
The expansion of light had stopped abruptly and froze for a minute. Hound suspected that the entity standing in his doorway probably wasn't suspecting for him to actually be awake; perhaps they were alarmed to find otherwise. Inasmuch, the light receded slightly and he could see the light begin to shrink away for just a moment.
"Bumblebee," he said, or more like deadpanned, still facing the other way, looking down at his data pad. Though, he stopped interacting with it.
The entity hesitated again, the light resisting adjustment, the door remaining stock. Hound thought that he might have heard a small gasp. To fill the inevitable silence, and to make things move faster, he vocalized, weak with fatigue but still every bit as authoritative as he wanted it to be, "Why aren't you recharging?"
Bumblebee inched in, the door opening to allow his entry, but closing again to only allow a small slit of light. "Hound?"
The green mech continued to look at his data pad, perturbed at Bumblebee's voice. It was unsteady and weak and sad. It had been similar earlier, but not quite so tired; and more frantic than sorrowful.
Hound didn't respond, barely moved. He didn't feel like dealing with this right now, he lacked the energy. He barely had it when it was light out. He would wait until Bumblebee said something more, and if he didn't, then it mustn't have been that important.
"...Are...are you still mad at me?"
Hound hesitated again when he heard the young scout's voice crack with sadness. It was so bizarre to hear it like that; unnervingly so. It made Hound's lingering spirit sag a little bit, made him wish that Bumblebee just hadn't been so stupid, and then the two wouldn't have to go through all of this scrap. With a heaving sigh, Hound let his hand fall flat on the desk and sat more erect, turning his head once to look at the scout behind him, standing in the darkness, silhouetted against the small yellow light that the crack in the door provided. He couldn't see his face in the blackness, but the sadness radiated off of the youngun regardless. It hurt the lieutenant to have to be honest with him.
He turned around fully to face his protégé, sagging in posture, folding his hands over his lap. "Yeah, little bit," he said coldly.
The silhouette of Bumblebee's helm sagged. "I'm really sorry, Hound..." Bumblebee's voice was desperate, cracking more. "Please don't be mad."
"I still am a little mad," came the reply, despite that Hound preferred silence. He had said nothing earlier when Bumblebee came out with a similar apology. He might as well go ahead and get it out while he had the opportunity. "But I'm more frustrated, Bumblebee. Frustrated and confused. I can't believe somebody like you would do something stupid like that. You didn't act like the Bumblebee I know by doing what you did."
"I just...I just wanted to..."
"It doesn't matter," Hound snapped, getting up and starting to walk toward his student. "You left without consent from anybody. You had three--no, four Autobots come after you and we had to engage Decepticons in a highly avoidable situation. Then poor Evac was tied up for hours having to patch us all up. And you got out lucky, Bumblebee. I don't know why Barricade didn't just kill you," he said with a voice that had risen, and then added after a moment, "and you have no idea how relieved I am that he didn't."
In the darkness, he saw Bumblebee's blue optics, which were dim, shift around and then look up at him hesitantly with a furrowed expression. The light in them fluctuated levels of dimness with despair. "I'm sorry," he murmured again, apathetically.
"I know you are," Hound said feeling his voice lose volume and let up. He hated having to do this, but he couldn't deny the anger that was brought on him by what happened. He couldn't remember a time before in his life that he ever felt so worried, so enraged at any Decepticon. "But you know how you can prove it? You can behave like a soldier instead of an irrational infant."
The lieutenant wasn't quick to switch topics, a cavalier effort to prompt his apprentice, as the humans would say, "back to bed." "Why aren't recharging, Bumblebee? Your body needs to rest, especially after everything that happened. Do you know how late it is? Or I should say early."
"I can't stop thinking about it," Bumblebee said, his voice uncharacteristically soft and still wreaked of childish desperation and dissatisfaction. "I wish I had never ever gone off by myself. Now everybody hates me, even I hate me. I knew it was a bad idea," he said, his voice rising with exposed frustration. "I'm so stupid," he cried, his voice giving way to his being upset. It cracked and wavered incessantly and showed its exhaustion, similar to the weariness Hound was feeling.
The elite scout's entire posture softened as he listen to the yellow bot derail himself. This wasn't his Bumblebee, he thought. He hated having to watch and hear this, it was almost like listening to an alter-ego.
He knelt down to Bumblebee's level and inferred where his shoulders might be relative to where he could see his protégé's optics. Clasping a hand on one of them, he finally allowed his voice to soften, though it was still a bit cold with lingering anxiety. "Bumblebee. None of us hate you. We would never hate you or each other. But we've been around longer than you have, quite a bit longer in most cases, and we know what's best. So when we've made it apparent one way or another that it's not okay to engage the enemy without consent and back-up, we know why we say it. It's to avoid dangerous situations like these."
"I just...I thought I could..."
"So you directly disobey a clear rule...why would that have been a good idea, anyway, disobedience aside. What would you ever think to yourself that would make it seem like a good idea?"
Bumblebee hesitated, fiddling with his hands, wondering to himself how explicit he should be about it and the benefits that would come about either providing details or being vague. He didn't want to sound even more pathetic...but he didn't want to withhold any more from Hound for the sake of his peace of mind. "I didn't want you to think that...that I was..." his optics shifted, "I didn't want you think that I was useless," he stammered, not awake enough to make it any more cryptic.
"What?" Hound said, genuinely surprised. "What would ever make you think that we thought you were useless? You came along with us to help fight Decepticons more than once, heck, even Starscream."
"I guess it was a...I overreacted to something I heard."
Hound shook his head. "We can talk about that later. Here's what's important: do you understand why we're angry about this?"
"Because I did something really stupid."
"Because you did something really stupid...and you almost gave me a spark attack. You got Jazz and Grimlock riled up. Wheeljack got mixed in. Don't you realize how valuable every single one us, including you, is on this team? We're Autobots; we're supposed to stick together, and we should be able to trust one another. Then I see you've run off, your distress beacon sends a signal, I can't contact you...Primus, Bumblebee. I was so worried. I'm not mad for the sake of being mad. I'm mad because I care and I don't know what I would do if something had happened--"
Bumblebee lightly touched Hound's hand on his shoulder, his optics getting wide and still sad, but in them Hound detected comprehension. "Do you understand?" the older mech inquired, looking deep into the eyes of his protégé.
"Yes sir. I'm sorry, sir. I'll never do it ever again." and then, with reluctance, he added, "...how long will you be mad?"
Hound shook his head again and smiled in spite of himself. He knew that his student was being genuine, and a sympathy came over him as he interpreted the intonation of the youngun with more ration than he had before. He told himself he was willing to forgive; he was telling himself not would be a good time implement trust. He was sure that by now Bumblebee had gotten the message. "I'm not mad any more, Bumblebee...at least not at you," he said and his mind flashed to a visual of the blasted Decepticons. "As long as I know that you understand."
Bumblebee's voice had grown to a consistent rasp and his optics dimmed with piqued emotions. He looked at Hound hesitantly and then shifted his optics shamefully to the ground. He never meant to cause anybody else distress. He never meant to do everything wrong like this. Hound stood before him, waiting patiently as though expecting his student to do or say something else, but a short silence continued as Bumblebee contemplated his options and tried to work through his processor for tactically sound things to say...then again, his throat hurt like mad with emotional distress and his voice was tired and held back by his despair. He looked up from his peds to Hound's optics again, the latter's calm but anticipating...and forgiving.
Bumblebee felt his systems rev in a soothing relief. He felt a pique of emotions and didn't know what to say. Instead, though with a bit of hesitance, he fell forward and wrapped his arms around Hound's neck, burying his face in the latter's chasis, infinitely thankful for him. It was half an attempt at showing appreciation, half an attempt at endorsing reassurance. With little delay, as though he were expecting the gesture, Hound invitingly returned the embrace, wrapping his own arms around Bumblebee's back, easily enveloping the smaller shell.
"So you're done being mad?" Bumblebee spoke without looking up, sinking tiredly into the hug.
"Yes," Hound said, resting his chin on Bumblebee's helm. "but you're not getting off this easy you know, buddy. It's going to take a little while to build back up some trust."
Bumblebee said nothing, just accepted the reality and cycled his vents, his grip growing weak with the exhale. With the burden lifted a great deal off of his processor, he felt the fatigue that was masked by sadness earlier finally settle in and beg for recharge. Hound had noticed the lethargy and smiled meekly to himself, sharing the tiredness. Regardless, he readjusted his arms to hold Bumblebee in a more secure position and lifted himself to his feet, holding the young scout in his arms. Bumblebee hadn't moved at all on his own with the adjustment, his arms still wrapped loosely around Hound's neck, his head resting against Hound's chasis. For all the older mech knew, his student had fallen into recharge already.
Hound carried Bumblebee to his room, resting him gently on the berth and running a hand affectionately over his helm before preparing to exit. "'Night, buddy," he said quietly on his way out, though unsure if Bumblebee was conscious enough to actually hear him.
Stepping out, taking one last look at his peacefully charging apprentice, and closing the door behind him, Hound all but dragged his peds to get back to his room. He had gone up to the data pad and shut it down, having no hesitance to resist continuing looking at the images as a decoy to distract his mind. His processor finally begun to relax, a sense of welcome relief allowing his systems to beg for recharge. As he weakly fell onto his berth, he flipped through a slideshow in his processor of the day's previous events through his processor as if to comprehend it all.
He sighed and lied down, offlining his optics. As much he hadn't felt like dealing with the conundrum even more tonight, when he was so exhausted, he was happy that it had happened. He was happy to let go of the anger, and he was happy that in the very end, Bumblebee was okay. That was what was most important.
His consciousness faded out along with the contemplation of these notations as he fell into a recharge, his light satisfaction being the last thing that would come to mind that night.
|05-19-2013, 04:53 AM||#4|
Dr Pepper Fan
Join Date: Nov 2011
Location: UK! :D
Collection Count: 15
Oh wow, this is a fantastic drabble, and a nice interpretation of a missing scene!
I love the description throughout the piece, from Hound tiredly overviewing the datapad and the light/shadow from the doorway, and I liked that note of reminiscence from Hound, regarding the episode's events! Nice
And the conversation itself was very well done. Hound's not happy, yet desperate to make Bee understand the severity of the situation, firm but fair, and Bee's just very sad, realising his previous justifications just don't cut it, and it's very well portrayed!
Excellent work, my friend! This was a great drabble
|05-19-2013, 12:51 PM||#5|
Join Date: Jun 2012
Collection Count: 11
Drabble 4: Pulling the Strings
Hound usually wasn't an indifferent person; he usually applied his habitual intrigue and curiosity in unfamiliar situations to continually show at least some level of passion about whatever it was he was endeavoring, especially in the presence of other people. He had always said to Bumblebee, that if you have the determination and confidence, there was virtually nothing you couldn't do with appliance of effort and practice. The consistent charisma in the lieutenant's nature wasn't usually forced, nonetheless; it ordinarily came naturally.
The green mech heft a sigh and felt his posture sag even more in his sitting position. If he wasn't usually indifferent, then today would surely be a primary exception. His optics hung lethargically so that they were nearly closed with disinterest and when he heard the voice of his company begin to speak to him directly, he never physically addressed it with some kind of casualty like eye contact. He was too frustrated for that. He tried to remember how he got in this mess.
"Alright, this next thing is easy, you'll get this," Hound heard the insistent voice press on, repeating the same kind of stuff that he had been saying for far too long, now. "Just adjust your hand like this and move the other one lightly over the first three strings..."
Jazz demonstrated by adjusting his hold on the neck of the mechanism and fluently gracing his other hand over a bunch of coercing strings, creating a light and soothing acoustic phenomenon like it was no problem. Observing with a conspicuously disinterested facial expression and lethargically attempting a similar motion, Hound deadpanned the attempt--the one thousandth one--to create a short burst of sound completely unlike Jazz's that wreaked of unintended articulation and incorrect notes.
Hound looked up at Jazz in hopes that the latter would realize that this was completely apathetic, but was furthermore exhausted to find no such indication on the Lieutenant's face plates. Rather he just raised his brow, lowered the corners of his mouth to create a "not bad" face, and nodded as if approvingly at the pitiful attempt. It was times like these that Hound wished Jazz's patient side wasn't so painfully apparent.
"Okay, okay, not bad, not bad. Now try and create a rhythm with it, be a little more consistent, ya know, like," and the silver bot began to strum at the chord again and create a basic rhythmic tune that was way out of Hound's league.
"Jazz--" the lieutenant said, interrupting the former's short demonstration, finally ready to draw the line with his limited patience. "I can't do this, I'm sure that there are other--" but as he motioned to remove the strap that held the instrument around his neck and nearly got up to his peds, he was counter-interrupted as Jazz reached up and clasped a hand on Hound's elbow, prompting him to sit back down. The green mech wore a listless expression on his face that seemed to bear warning; not that it phased the Lieutenant.
"Nah, come on, you were just starting to get it, now just try and do this with me, okay, ready--"
"Jazz, no, this kind of thing wasn't cut out for me--"
"Oh sure it was, anybody can do this with practice, it's easy--"
"Look at this," Hound said strumming at the instrument still strapped around his neck, blatantly allowing wrong and ugly notes to break the atmosphere, "look at this, my hands are too big for this."
"That doesn't matter--"
"Yes it does, look, does this look right to you? Look at your hands compared to mine--"
Jazz was holding up a good-natured, almost amused smile the entire time, and with a wave of his hand had said, "You're just makin' excuses."
"No I'm not, these are legitimate hindrances, Lieutenant."
"I got Bumblebee to play this thing--"
"Of course you did, his hands are small like yours!"
"If he could do it, you could do it."
"Are you not hearing this?" Hound asked, and by now a smile, contradicting his genuine frustration, had lit up his face plates in the midst of the goofy argument. He placed his hands over the bed of strings and broke out with more disturbingly inaccurate notes. "I am not the musical type."
"Everybody's got the music in 'em, Hound!" Jazz gleefully exclaimed, pounding his lieutenant lightheartedly on the back, causing the latter to grunt in pain. "We're just gonna do this simple thing, okay, just watch me, you'll do fine, okay? This is easy, alright, herewego--" Before Hound could react, Jazz already had his hands repositioned on the instrument and was strumming away at it, creating a rhythm out of a series of basic chords played in different intervals. Hound rolled his optics, and knowing that he wasn't getting out of this any time soon, botched the endeavor and sprawled his hand limply over the strings, layering over Jazz's melodic composition with a louder, more inconsistent bounty of noise.
"Yeah, yeah, you're getting it!" Jazz had shouted over the sound with a smile, looking at Hound who was also grinning but with the same indifferent sarcasm in his optics.
"Sounds like a dying animal."
Hound stopped abruptly, his processor alerting to a voice that certainly did not belong to Jazz. Looking up with a grin that grew half out of embarrassment and half out of amusement, he spotted two unwelcomed entities in the doorway. Jazz saw that Hound had stopped, halted himself, and followed the latter's vision to the other side of the room.
Bumblebee smiled widely in embarrassment, probably not intending to have been heard when he made the jibe remark. Leaning above him was Wheeljack, who stared back at Hound with expansive amusement clouding in his optics.
Hound nodded placidly, his grin unstirring and he shifted his sight back and forth between the car and the tow truck. "You two," he said with intended intimidation, embarrassment inducing a sense of payback way in the back of his processor. "I bet you think you're cute."
"Wheeljack leaned in a little more and his optics flashed with playful indignation. "If 'cute' means we're witty and now have something to tease you about, probably for the rest of your life, then yes, we are adorable."
Hound's smile grew to the point where he squinted his optics, the devil glowing through in it. Slowly, he began to remove the instrument to place it next to him, and this time Jazz didn't stop him. "Mm-hmm," was all Hound had said as he set aside the guitar.
There was a short, a very short and tense pause that hung like a wet cloth in the atmosphere and nothing moved except for Bumblebee and Wheeljack, whom had adjusted their helms to look at one another knowingly.
In a blur, in a second faster than Jazz could calculate, Bumblebee and Wheeljack had vanished, followed by Hound merely half a second later who had leaped up like a petro-rabbit and was out of the room at top speed, following his prey down the corridor. Jazz listened to their footfalls as they ran hard down the hallway, a series of yells and laughter echoing back to where he was sitting in the room. After a moment he could hear Wheeljack's voice yell, "Split up, he can't chase both of us!"
Jazz chuckled as the noise fluctuated outside. He could hear the shriek of Bumblebee's laughter and Hound's playful taunts. Taking the two instruments and replacing them back in their respective stands, he leaned forward and folded his hands into his lap, shaking his head, bemused. It was times like these that he was reminded of how much he loved being on this team.
Plot bunny came to mind from asking my cousin about playing the guitar. I guess they were using whatever the Cybertronian equivalent is to one?
|05-22-2013, 04:47 PM||#6|
Dr Pepper Fan
Join Date: Nov 2011
Location: UK! :D
Collection Count: 15
Drabble 5: Nighty Night
It was a habit she could never break, and she doubted she ever would break it anyway, and the other Decepticons had grown used to it over time. It was just what she did, what she'd always do, and in a way, it was the kindest thing she could ever do for them.
When the time came to recharge, for the Darksyde's crew to retreat to their quarters, settle in their berths and settle down their systems, her ritual would begin.
She first visisted Barricade. His door slid open to admit her, and she hovered into the dark room, easily locating the shock trooper settled on his berth, deep in charge, before fluttering over to him, optics analysing every inch of his frame.
When he was awake, Barricade always wore this look of distaste and anger around him. His optics flashed with cruelty, his mouth twisted into cruel grimaces, his claws flexed and his body seemed tense. But when he was recharging, the hatred that defined his mind seemed to vanish, and all that was left was a gentle Decepticon, his features smooth and his body slack.
It was as if the cruelties slipped away at night, leaving behind this image of peace behind; a gentle slumber, soft and almost serene. It was if as Barricade became a whole different Cybertronian when he recharged.
Nighttrace was satisfied, and she tilted her head, acknowledging Barricade's peace, and left him to his dreams.
Soundwave was next on her tour. The Communication's officer was slumped over his desk, his doors folded over his back, arms curled under his head, and his vibrational amplifiers pulsed gently in his sleep. Nighttrace fluttered over and examined him, noting how eerily dark his visor was when not active. But still, though he had fallen into recharge whilst going over some datapads, there was a sense that no thoughts of work or duty were in his processor.
It was the way he was quite slack, she figured. Legs stretched out, his torso slumped and his head lazily resting on his arms; there was no trace of the sardonic and often mechanical Lamborghini here; just a hard-working Decepticon who had earned a chance to just relax.
Nighttrace was satisfied, and she tilted her head, acknowledging Soundwave's relaxation, and left him to his dreams.
Into the med-bay to see Slipstream now. The medic was curled up on one of the large berths normally used to host a patient, and there was an expression of happiness to her recharging features, as if an entertaining thought stayed with her even now. Her tailfins occasionally fluttered even as Nighttrace moved over for a closer look, and her ray arm glowed slightly with the energised power within it.
Slipstream was often very amiable and open-minded, though occasionally snide, and it appeared that sense of friendliness to her remained with her always, whether awake or recharging, and to be honest, it was a rather beautiful concept.
Nighttrace was satisfied, and tilted her head, acknowledging Slipstream's kindness, and left her to her dreams.
She visited the Seeker's quarters; all eight of them were stood up by the walls, locked into position and inactive. Drones did not recharge as true Cybertronians did; they lacked the ability to dream or rest their sparks (since they lacked a spark anyway), and even now, their rigid postures spoke of the duties they were designed to carry out.
But still, there was at least a stillness to them that was oddly reassuring, compared to their constant working during the time they were awake. All of them now resting, now free of their duties for at least a few hours.
Nighttrace was satisfied, and tilted her head, acknowleding the Seeker's freedom, and left them in peace.
And finally, she opened the door and slipped into the quarters of Commander Starscream.
Starscream was always so dramatic and active and exuberant when awake, so to him so still and peaceful in recharge was honestly a tad shocking. His arms were crossed over his chest, and a small smile remained on his face, perhaps dreaming of the glory he was so fond of wishing for. He fidgeted a little, now and then, as if whatever thoughts of glory remained in his processor were inspiring imaginations of grand battles and divine celebrations.
She fluttered over and examined him curiously. Starscream might feel indignant, to know a soldier saw him in such a gentle and non-commanding state, but to be honest, it was endearing to know that, in this state, he was more than just the oh so grand commander of the Darksyde; he was as Cybertronian as the rest of them, a Con with hopes and dreams.
It was quite a nice thing, really. Nighttrace's optics glowed fondly, and she gently patted his recharging head, the jet shuffling slightly at the contact, but remaining offline, remaining in the thoughts that kept that small smile present.
Nighttrace was satisfied, and tilted her head, acknowledging Starscream's cybertrality, and left him to his dreams.
At last, there was only her quarters. She fluttered in, slung her tail upwards and locked the claw around a curved perch on the ceiling, her wings ceasing their motion, leaving her to hang in mid-air. She detested the ground, so recharging in a similar manner to the creatures they called bats suited her well.
She curled up slightly, readying herself for her own recharge, and noted that tonight had been very nice. Her fellow Decepticons were peaceful, relaxed, kind, free and truly Cybertronian when they recharged, away from the War they would see again tomorrow, and she hoped the gentle traits of their recharge would never leave them.
Nighttrace was satisfied.
And she fell asleep.
|05-23-2013, 12:20 PM||#7|
5 hearts 1 body
Join Date: Oct 2011
Collection Count: A Few
Drabble #6:Music is a great connector!!! :D
Slipstream was ecstatic!!!!
Slipstream was going too see her old friend again and was tidying up the Med-Bay. I mean sure it was neat already but.....she likes to double check. She was humming a little diddy that she heard on the "internet" as the humans call it. As she was humming she didn't hear the door's opening. In walked a red bot with a sneer on his face. His expression changed as he heard Slipstream humming a tune he liked himself.
"So your a fan of Linkin Park?"
Slipstream took that as her cue to turn around and look see where the new voice came from. She then noticed a red bot leaning on the door smiling eye's filled with slight surprise.
"Oh Barricade I didn't hear you enter!!"
"Well maybe I'm just that fragging epic now about that little song you where humming there?"
Slipstream tilted her helm and then remembered Barricade's question. "Oh that I heard it on the web one day. I was bored and decided to look at human culture. I decided too have a the music aspect of there culture." Barricade nodded at this.
"I see well that song was made by a group named Linkin Park a rock band never would've took you for the type?" Barricade had a sly smirk on his face, Slipstream simply shrugged at this gave her own sly smile.
"What can I say.........it was surprisingly good. I never did remember the name of it just the melody"
Barricade then nodded his helm and then walked up to her. "Mind humming it again I can.......help yah if you want?" Barricade cringed a bit at this. He was a fan of the music only reason he'd help her. Slipstream saw his discomfort and giggled a bit.
"The mighty negative "sailor mouth" as the humans call it, help little old me.......heh heh heh"
"JUST HUM IT SLAG YOU........tch can't ever do something nice!!!" Barricade kicked the air in response. Slipstream again giggled at his antics finding them cute as those pouting babies she saw online.
"It's just kinda out of character of you.....but very well." Slipstream then hummed the song the parts that where familiar. Barricade listened and recorded her humming and then went through his music database. His eye's opened as he found a match. Barricade then played the song.
Slipstream stopped and then gave a big smile. "THAT'S THE ONE!!!!.......thanks Barricade mind telling me the name?"
"It's called Iridescent Slipstream.........by the way what where you doing in here anyway?" Barricade asked as he had a questioning look. Slipstream waved her hand at the question in a bored like manner.
"Oh just doing a double sweep of the place before Airachinid arrives and as you heard humming"
"Do yah.............need any help?" Barricades optic's darted to the floor as he asked this. Slipstream was surprised at this and then gave a small smile. "As long as you play the music and change when I tell you."
"Tch........whatever." Barricade said with a smile and then played the music from his speakers. Slipstream smiled and kissed his helm. "Thanks Barricade now.....let's clean." Slipstream then turned her back to look in her cabinets to make sure everything was organized.
Barricade however was caught off guard by the kiss. He stood there and rubbed his helm. The spot she kissed and smiled a bit. Just as Slipstream started too turn around Barricade caught this and then but his regular look back on. His usual glare and frown.
Barricade then started looking around and Slipstream helped him and guided him on what to do. All the while both didn't notice the black kiss mark on Barricade's helm.
I honestly have NO CLUE what type of music Slip's would like. Barricade does strike me as a Three Days Grace or Linkin Park lover though. Movtivation for this.........don't have one
|05-23-2013, 02:41 PM||#8|
Dr Pepper Fan
Join Date: Nov 2011
Location: UK! :D
Collection Count: 15
Ha, that was pretty funny. Barricade's such an awkward sucker, way too crude yet trying his best to look good in front of the medic. And what's this, he's a fan of Linkin Park?! I love Linkin Park! Huzzah, Barricade just got a bit cooler
Aw, Slippy's so sweet. She's surprisingly tolerant of the hater in her med-bay, and works so hard to make sure all is well for her buddies arrival.
And ha, she kissed him and he's getting all like: "WHOA AWESOME.", and then quickly hides it before she notices. Good old Barricade
Not bad, RoadRage. Grammar could use some work, and don't forget a Drabble title next time, but it was funny
|05-23-2013, 07:59 PM||#9|
Join Date: Jun 2012
Collection Count: 11
Drabble 7: The Cup Game
Notes: Awesome drabble, RoadRage.
The Cup Game is a real thing. You can look it up on YouTube (I recommend you watch the Zoom video) or any of the many songs that were covered with the complement of the cup rhythm. It originated in a song called Screen Door by Richard Mullins.
"Okay! Is everybody ready?"
A small groan of unintelligible verifications emanated out of the group, whom was sitting knee-to-knee in a large circle in the center of the floor. The room was dim and any white noise that may have germinated from various functions on the ship were utterly silenced to cast a dingy atmosphere over the still and dark air. There was just enough illumination to reasonably detect the environment, but it was provided by the relatively feeble lights of a emergency plasma lanterns, kept in the storage compartments for situations similar to these; when the power went out.
It was typically unheard of on a Cybertronian ship, especially when it was unaffected by the electric resources that organics commonly relied on, but something in Wheeljack's lab made a popping noise that radiated to everybody's audio receptors through out the entire ship and before anyone had time to react, the place went dark. The scientific minds of the group, Ratchet, Hound, and Jackie himself had assessed the situation and deduced that with some tinkering with energon induction for fuses, the power would eventually recharge and the lights would come back on. How long that would take, nobody said for sure; but by now, night had fallen and the darkness inside was matched with the darkness outside.
It was by chance that there happened to be a storm disrupting the normally subtle environmental conditions outside, a loud clap of thunder rattling the ship every so often.
Bumblebee sat with his legs crossed, leaning forward with a beaming smile on his face, either genuinely not noticing or pretending not to detect the discontent in his teammates' faces. Though it wasn't that they were necessarily unhappy with entertaining the scout's tactics, but with the time that it had taken to get the gist of the game he had taught them, they could have all found something genuinely useful to do; at least they all thought so, particularly Wheeljack. Regardless, the scout in training looked at his teammates each in turn with a wide grin and bright optics. The hues of blue, crimson, and green were all brightly contrasting to the general darkness, almost to a comedic extent; they all looked like floating orbs, all different sizes and shapes.
"Okay! We're going to start off slow," Bumblebee had said gleefully and with heightened bravado. "Rules are that if you fumble, you're out. The person who lasts the longest wins the game." He looked behind him and exchanged a short, good-natured glace with a much bigger entity standing with little distance relative to him, then turned back to the team. "Grimlock only has little stubby arms, so he can't play. But he's gonna be the referee."
Grimlock snorted. He would watch if that's what would make Bumblebee happy. But there was no way he was going to commentate.
"Does anybody need to go over it again?" Bumblebee asked, eagerness radiating off his shell. It took at least a half an hour to teach everybody how to play the game, some getting it much fast than others. Now he wanted to play.
Another melancholy murmur in unison coming from everybody in the circle indicated what Bumblebee took as a no, and his smile grew wide again as he anticipated the start. He looked around at the group again to find nobody providing quite the same amount of enthusiasm that was natural to him; the closest was Jazz, who appeared to be bearing the smallest of grins, though otherwise most of everyone was distracted or indifferent. Each person had a cup in front of them, all the same size, stolen from the corner of the same closet that the lanterns had come out of. It was when he spotted the stack that Bumblebee thought up the idea to entertain everybody with this lighthearted jest that he had learned about on the Internet. Nobody was really sure what the cups had been for previously, but when Bumblebee happily suggested they use them for some sort of activity that he knew of, nobody had reason to say no.
Evac examined his cup with a bit of apprehension, trying to run through the motions of the game one last time before they would get started, lightly clapping and airing what he seemed to remember having to do. He peered down at his servos as he did so, feeling a small wrack at his nerves when he did, not believing he would be able to last long. His hands were considerably bigger than everybody else's...fumbling with a little cup was going to be hard for him.
Bumblebee hunched over and perched his hands on his cup, the smile still beaming. "And....five, six, seven, eight!"
Hesitantly, the circle erupted in performing in-sync gestures that were required to play the game properly; it had sounded stupid, most thought, when Bumblebee explained it. It involved a series of motions like clapping and interacting with the cup to repeat a beat in a cycle, passing the cup to the next person in the circle once the series of motions was complete. Wheeljack and Ratchet felt especially silly doing it; clapping their hands together like what the Internet had defined as a seal. Hound and Jazz didn't show quite as much embarrassed contempt, but neither one was exactly elated either. As for Evac, he was expectantly happy to go along with anything that his fellow rookie had proposed.
The challenge of the game was keeping up as the tempo increased; the ways in which the participants were obligated to move the cups did grow relatively convoluted, and the difficulty increased with the inward struggle to match the speed of the mind with speed of the hands to complete the gestures without a fumble.
The speed increased with a natural pace, though Bumblebee goaded it somewhat by making the noises louder than his comrade as an act of the ring leader. At first it had started out at a tempo that was almost painfully slow, giving the newly-educated players time to refresh their recently learned knowledge with an actively competitive application. Grimlock watched from outside of the circle, still standing behind Bumblebee.
Evac was fine at first, but began to struggle as the tempo sped up with the issues that he had predicted. The motions were easy to get through, even with his relatively big hands, but in the second half of the rhythmic cycle the player had to twist his wrist to aim his grip in a way that made it difficult for him in particular; if he wasn't careful, he would squeeze the cup out of his grasp or his fingers would just bump it away. Then when he tried to attempt the other gestures, he embraced the danger of simply not being able to maneuver the cups between his two hands.
After about a minute, Evac's fears became reality and he lost hold of the cup, the flatware tipping and rolling away from his hands toward the center of the circle.
"Evac's out!" Bumblebee chimed when he noticed, then sympathetically added, "sorry, Evac."
The latter edged backward so at to allow Wheeljack to fill the place that he once sat thus condensing the circle so that the cups could still be passed around. The medic in training, while his optics were bright with good sportsmanship, crossed his arms and faked a pout. "Next time," he said.
Hound began to struggle soon afterward, when the motions began to escape his mind. Within two minutes after Evac's mistake, he made his own mistake in endeavoring an incorrect motion and messing up the routine, his reflexes not quick enough to catch himself before it was too late. He sighed in defeat as the cycle came to its end and the cups were passed on again, the elite scout succumbing to the inevitable withdrawal.
Bumblebee saw and smiled at his mentor; "You're out! ...Sir;" the meekness of Bumblebee's addressing of him produced a submissive smile on Hound's face.
The circle condensed again and was now made up of four; Bumblebee, Jazz, Wheeljack, and Ratchet. Grimlock, Hound, and Evac all watched intently from the outskirts.
The tempo had risen substantially enough for Bumblebee to be inwardly impressed that so many people had kept it up for this long; he must have been a good teacher. Pining to throw more players out, he probed the game along with a pace that increased at a faster rate than it had for the first few minutes.
"Oh--" Ratchet vocalized as the cup escaped his grasp on the first move of the second half of the routine and slid away from him. Jazz caught the mistake before the medic could recover and smirked.
"Hah! You're out!" the Lieutenant vociferated and Ratchet obediently scooted backward so that the circle could condense even more. As the latter watched the game continue, he couldn't help but grin at how funny it looked--three soldiers sitting in a circle, tapping on cups and clapping their hands like young female organics. Though he couldn't help but a feel a lighthearted amusement come of the experience.
"Alright, alright, let's go," Jazz said through a denta-exposing smile, sounding perhaps more optimistically competitive than he initially intended. His first intent was simply to humor his friend; but he found himself genuinely getting into the game.
The trio sped up so that Bumblebee was impressed with the pace for playing with people who were beginners to the game, and the others watched with optics that widened in equal awe. Hound began to smile and Evac's optics brightened with intrigue.
"Aw!" The suspenseful pace was momentarily interrupted as Jazz jerked his head back and interjected his proclamation of disappointment with a playful smile. He found himself being unable to recover from a fumble in which, in attempt to grab the cup, it got away from him. Submissively backing away from the circle and taking his cup with him, Bumblebee and Wheeljack were now the only remaining competitors, who adjusted and moved closer to one another while still in motion.
"Too bad, Lieutenant," Grimlock had mockingly said from the behind Bumblebee, interjecting something for the first time since the game began.
In response, while on other days he might be more annoyed from hearing the snark from a certain individual, Jazz forgivingly crossed his arms and merely smirked as Hound gave him a taunting pat on the back as though he had just dropped out of a major competition.
"It's just you and me, Wheeljack!" Bumblebee had said in the meanwhile.
"Nah," Wheeljack said, looking up from his hands, moving faster still as the pace continued to climb, the cups making a series of different noises and clambers with the gestures. "It's just me."
"Alright...come on, Bumblebee," Jazz goaded, emoting with an encouraging clap of his hands. He rooted for the younger of the two competitors both out of recognition for an extensive comparative lack of innocence on Wheeljack's part, and a subconscious desire to see the less haughty underdog come out on top. The last thing Wheeljack needed was another thing to brag about.
Hound smiled and joined in for what it was worth. "Yeah, win it, Bee!"
"Grimlock agrees," the berserker interjected and allowed a short pause before concluding his remark with a shortly-put, "smoke his aft."
Succeeding the input, the entire group had deadened whatever silence had hung in the atmosphere and erupted outward with a series of encouragements and remarks that egged on the progress of the game, all insisting Bumblebee's victory with logic similar to Jazz's.
"You're going to let it all go to your head," Wheeljack had said among the noise.
"You're just jealous because they're all on my side."
The pace had reached what seemed like a maximum tempo, neither Bumblebee or Wheeljack making any attempts at trying to goad further a faster pace; both of their hand moved at an impressive speed, both not daring to remove their optics from the rapidly switching cups in front of them, their sadistic remarks silenced in favor of intense focus. Especially now that there was a group of cheerleaders encouraging the epic result of the highly-escalated engagement, the stakes for championship was much higher.
The room erupted into a series of laughs, applause, snide remarks, and cheers as the victor emerged in full stride, his arms thrown over his head as he realized his conquer.
"It was luck."
Bumblebee leaned forward and smiled, beaming at Wheeljack genuinely, but somewhat tauntingly. "It was skill," he countered, reveling in his fair-and-square win against the mad scientist, an especially prideful feat after all those times Wheeljack had reiterated his veteran experience made him the best of the best.
"I'll getcha next time, kiddo."
Grimlock bent his neck down so as to be at Bumblebee's level and said quietly, though not indiscreetly, "He never had a chance."
"Alright!" Jazz interrupted, a smile lighting up his face plates in recent events, only to accompany everybody else's. "Let's do it again!"
Bumblebee's grin couldn't widen any more as he witnessed everybody, even more uptight characters like Ratchet, eagerly reform a circle, placing their cups like obedient dogs in front of them. Certainly they were much more eager to play this special game than they were when Bumblebee first tried to get them to cooperate...oh, what wonders the Internet could bring upon just a short bit of browsing.
"Okay!" Bumblebee said, once the circle was formed, looking again at each of this teammates in turn. Wheeljack, Evac both eager for redemption, Ratchet, Hound, and Jazz, all content. Turning to look at Grimlock, Bumblebee saw that he was just as happy to watch.
"And five, six, seven, eight," the yellow beetle cued and the ritual restarted.
The sound of the cups complemented the sound of rain beating over their helms, and they were happy to sit beneath it in the dim illumination of lanterns, all gleefully in each other's company.
|05-23-2013, 08:27 PM||#10|
5 hearts 1 body
Join Date: Oct 2011
Collection Count: A Few
AWWWWWWWWWW this has to be the sweetest thing I ever read!!!!!
..................DO A DECEPTICON VERSION!!!!!