We interrupt our irregularly-scheduled program...
Ratchet: Get some anesthesia! We need to operate at once. This author's writage is severely blocked up.
*sigh*
I'm sorry I'm taking a while with the first chapter of my fic. School just started, and all... *pitifully spews excuses*. As consolation - the first bit of the part I've managed to write is funny (or intended to be). We'll see.
To pacify my impatient audience of exactly four (and that's probably overestimating), I present a smallish, weirdish, unbetaed (*wince*) little thing that I came up with when I dropped the bunny I was feeding into the carrot bag.
Title: The Mirror in the Waves
Rating: PG
Summary: He was known far and wide as the finest artist in all of Cybertron... However, the golden mech had a fatal flaw: his great vanity.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once upon a time, there was a golden young mech whose pride and armor shone like a streak of the sun. He was known far and wide as the finest artist in all of Cybertron. His paintings seemed so real and so intense that no mech who looked upon them could distinguish between the picture and the true object. In fact, some said that he had the power to actually create things by simply painting them.
However, the golden mech had a fatal flaw: his great vanity. He said to himself, “Surely, I am the greatest of all my kind. Does not even the Prime send his messengers to bow before me and beg my skills to brighten the dreary walls of the palace? I must produce a masterpiece, so that all the universe shall know of my vision and talent."
The golden mech pondered, even as his fingers traced images of greater and greater beauty. The noblemechs who could afford to buy his art slowly became entranced with the pieces he churned out so carelessly. One by one, the noblemechs would neglect their duties to simply gaze in wonder at the golden mech's wondrous works. And still, the vain artist desired a piece greater than all the others. He did not care that the planet's leaders had nearly all fallen prey to the spell of his paintings; he desired only to glorify himself till none could deny the majesty of his gift.
At last, the golden mech decided upon the subject of his masterpiece. "Every piece that I have created depicts buildings, or landscapes, or wonders of nature. I shall paint one last piece, and the last piece shall be a portrait. No other mech alive deserves to be the subject of my last and greatest painting, so it shall be a painting of myself!"
The artist immediately took his supplies and left his home. He bought a drone ship and sailed across the Rust Sea, in search of a lonely island where he would be undisturbed and free to pour his image upon the canvas. At the Sea's exact center, he found such an island, dropped the ship's anchor, and settled upon the shore to paint.
As the golden mech planned the composition of his masterpiece, Primus beheld him and wept. He had given the golden mech his art to beautify Cybertron, and his pride to keep him strong during the times in his life when all about him was only ugliness. Primus knew that the vain artist would never match Primus' own artistry; though his paintings were indeed great wonders to mortal mechs, they were but a shadow of Primus' creative powers. Reaching out to the vain artist, and silently begging him not to spoil the many gifts he had received, Primus bestowed upon the fingers of the golden mech the inspiration for one last piece.
The golden mech painted and painted, but each draft was rejected and angrily shredded. Finally, the mech took dark paint and a thin brush, and traced the outline one more time.
As the sketch emerged, the golden mech grew baffled. His masterful fingers were betraying him! The mech who looked out at him was as handsome as himself, but it was certainly not him. Dismayed, the vain artist decided to set aside his quest for a masterpiece until the day his fingers would obey him once again and turn the dull canvas into a shining mirror of gold.
Reaching blindly for the paints, the golden mech slashed at the sketch with his brushes. Tears clouded his optics as he lamented the sudden loss of his skills. When the last drop of paint had settled upon the canvas and the brushes had been cast aside in despair, a crack of thunder caused the golden mech's head to turn in alarm. Snatching the finished painting, he realized to his horror that in his rage and sorrow, he had seized the wrong color of paint. Instead of the sun-bright color of his own armor, the mech in the painting radiated the pure, deep red of the Rust Sea.
The golden mech abandoned his materials and leaped for the ship. Just as he had wrapped the painting in a tarp to weigh it down and hurled it unceremoniously into the sea, a great spear of lightning stretched from the heavens and cleaved the ship in two. The wild waves carried the vain artist from the island, and he soon lost consciousness.
Unicron watched as the golden mech was swept further and further from the island. Though Unicron and his brother Primus were often in opposition, the god of destruction was furious that the vain artist had abused his brother's gift. Instead of inspiring others, as Primus had willed, the foolish young mortal used his gift to belittle his fellow mechs and gain their worthless flattery.
Yet Primus still did not wish the golden mech to die. His two Purposes, the reasons for the creation of his spark, had not yet been fulfilled. Gazing into the future, Unicron smiled with delight to see that the golden mech would one day sow great destruction and strike terrible fear in the sparks of his enemies. Pleased, Unicron guided the waves of the Rust Sea to wash the vain artist and his masterpiece to safe shores.
The golden mech's processor onlined, and he jerked upright with a strangled scream. He was haunted by the memory of an angry face snarling at him from the sea's surface, eerie green optics glowing horribly from just beneath the rust-red waves. Turning to survey the shore, he was astonished to see that the tarp containing his last painting had survived the storm with him. Unwrapping the canvas, he laid the tarp aside and leaned the painting against a nearby rock. With a thoughtful frown, the golden mech touched the tip of a single finger to the center of the red mech's forehead.
Suddenly, a high, sweet sound pierced the air. The artist leaped back with a cry as the blank painted optics lit with a flash of bright, pure blue - the exact shade of his own optics. Mesmerized, he watched as the red mech lifted his hand and stretched it pleadingly toward him.
Later, scientists would hold endless debates arguing what had happened to the artist's various paintings. Some claimed that he had simply been mad and placed some sort of booby trap in each one as he painted it, while others suggested that molecular instability had resulted in a sudden reaction between the canvases and the paint. However, no scientist could come up with a suitable explanation for why, mere moments before the famous artist Sunstreaker was discovered with a stranger on a desolate beach, every one of his paintings mysteriously shimmered and faded like a memory of a dream.
The first of the golden mech's Purposes had been fulfilled.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Hey! Hey, you! This is a private beach, you can't... Hang on, aren't you that one painter? Sidestreaker, or Sunswipe, or something? No, wait... Sunstreaker! Oh my Primus! I'm sorry, you're welcome to stay if you like. I love your work, I'm a big fan... And who's this?"
"I... he... this is... my brother. His name is... Side...swipe. Sideswipe. My... brother. My twin brother."
The end. Yes, I know I said *two* Purposes, but I'm not writing a second part. I don't even know how this happened.
Edit: EEEE! ink_in_hand made a pretty pretty picture for this fic! Lookee!
Isn't it gorgeous? Go tell ink_in_hand so yourself here.
*sigh*
I'm sorry I'm taking a while with the first chapter of my fic. School just started, and all... *pitifully spews excuses*. As consolation - the first bit of the part I've managed to write is funny (or intended to be). We'll see.
To pacify my impatient audience of exactly four (and that's probably overestimating), I present a smallish, weirdish, unbetaed (*wince*) little thing that I came up with when I dropped the bunny I was feeding into the carrot bag.
Title: The Mirror in the Waves
Rating: PG
Summary: He was known far and wide as the finest artist in all of Cybertron... However, the golden mech had a fatal flaw: his great vanity.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once upon a time, there was a golden young mech whose pride and armor shone like a streak of the sun. He was known far and wide as the finest artist in all of Cybertron. His paintings seemed so real and so intense that no mech who looked upon them could distinguish between the picture and the true object. In fact, some said that he had the power to actually create things by simply painting them.
However, the golden mech had a fatal flaw: his great vanity. He said to himself, “Surely, I am the greatest of all my kind. Does not even the Prime send his messengers to bow before me and beg my skills to brighten the dreary walls of the palace? I must produce a masterpiece, so that all the universe shall know of my vision and talent."
The golden mech pondered, even as his fingers traced images of greater and greater beauty. The noblemechs who could afford to buy his art slowly became entranced with the pieces he churned out so carelessly. One by one, the noblemechs would neglect their duties to simply gaze in wonder at the golden mech's wondrous works. And still, the vain artist desired a piece greater than all the others. He did not care that the planet's leaders had nearly all fallen prey to the spell of his paintings; he desired only to glorify himself till none could deny the majesty of his gift.
At last, the golden mech decided upon the subject of his masterpiece. "Every piece that I have created depicts buildings, or landscapes, or wonders of nature. I shall paint one last piece, and the last piece shall be a portrait. No other mech alive deserves to be the subject of my last and greatest painting, so it shall be a painting of myself!"
The artist immediately took his supplies and left his home. He bought a drone ship and sailed across the Rust Sea, in search of a lonely island where he would be undisturbed and free to pour his image upon the canvas. At the Sea's exact center, he found such an island, dropped the ship's anchor, and settled upon the shore to paint.
As the golden mech planned the composition of his masterpiece, Primus beheld him and wept. He had given the golden mech his art to beautify Cybertron, and his pride to keep him strong during the times in his life when all about him was only ugliness. Primus knew that the vain artist would never match Primus' own artistry; though his paintings were indeed great wonders to mortal mechs, they were but a shadow of Primus' creative powers. Reaching out to the vain artist, and silently begging him not to spoil the many gifts he had received, Primus bestowed upon the fingers of the golden mech the inspiration for one last piece.
The golden mech painted and painted, but each draft was rejected and angrily shredded. Finally, the mech took dark paint and a thin brush, and traced the outline one more time.
As the sketch emerged, the golden mech grew baffled. His masterful fingers were betraying him! The mech who looked out at him was as handsome as himself, but it was certainly not him. Dismayed, the vain artist decided to set aside his quest for a masterpiece until the day his fingers would obey him once again and turn the dull canvas into a shining mirror of gold.
Reaching blindly for the paints, the golden mech slashed at the sketch with his brushes. Tears clouded his optics as he lamented the sudden loss of his skills. When the last drop of paint had settled upon the canvas and the brushes had been cast aside in despair, a crack of thunder caused the golden mech's head to turn in alarm. Snatching the finished painting, he realized to his horror that in his rage and sorrow, he had seized the wrong color of paint. Instead of the sun-bright color of his own armor, the mech in the painting radiated the pure, deep red of the Rust Sea.
The golden mech abandoned his materials and leaped for the ship. Just as he had wrapped the painting in a tarp to weigh it down and hurled it unceremoniously into the sea, a great spear of lightning stretched from the heavens and cleaved the ship in two. The wild waves carried the vain artist from the island, and he soon lost consciousness.
Unicron watched as the golden mech was swept further and further from the island. Though Unicron and his brother Primus were often in opposition, the god of destruction was furious that the vain artist had abused his brother's gift. Instead of inspiring others, as Primus had willed, the foolish young mortal used his gift to belittle his fellow mechs and gain their worthless flattery.
Yet Primus still did not wish the golden mech to die. His two Purposes, the reasons for the creation of his spark, had not yet been fulfilled. Gazing into the future, Unicron smiled with delight to see that the golden mech would one day sow great destruction and strike terrible fear in the sparks of his enemies. Pleased, Unicron guided the waves of the Rust Sea to wash the vain artist and his masterpiece to safe shores.
The golden mech's processor onlined, and he jerked upright with a strangled scream. He was haunted by the memory of an angry face snarling at him from the sea's surface, eerie green optics glowing horribly from just beneath the rust-red waves. Turning to survey the shore, he was astonished to see that the tarp containing his last painting had survived the storm with him. Unwrapping the canvas, he laid the tarp aside and leaned the painting against a nearby rock. With a thoughtful frown, the golden mech touched the tip of a single finger to the center of the red mech's forehead.
Suddenly, a high, sweet sound pierced the air. The artist leaped back with a cry as the blank painted optics lit with a flash of bright, pure blue - the exact shade of his own optics. Mesmerized, he watched as the red mech lifted his hand and stretched it pleadingly toward him.
Later, scientists would hold endless debates arguing what had happened to the artist's various paintings. Some claimed that he had simply been mad and placed some sort of booby trap in each one as he painted it, while others suggested that molecular instability had resulted in a sudden reaction between the canvases and the paint. However, no scientist could come up with a suitable explanation for why, mere moments before the famous artist Sunstreaker was discovered with a stranger on a desolate beach, every one of his paintings mysteriously shimmered and faded like a memory of a dream.
The first of the golden mech's Purposes had been fulfilled.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Hey! Hey, you! This is a private beach, you can't... Hang on, aren't you that one painter? Sidestreaker, or Sunswipe, or something? No, wait... Sunstreaker! Oh my Primus! I'm sorry, you're welcome to stay if you like. I love your work, I'm a big fan... And who's this?"
"I... he... this is... my brother. His name is... Side...swipe. Sideswipe. My... brother. My twin brother."
The end. Yes, I know I said *two* Purposes, but I'm not writing a second part. I don't even know how this happened.
Edit: EEEE! ink_in_hand made a pretty pretty picture for this fic! Lookee!
Isn't it gorgeous? Go tell ink_in_hand so yourself here.