tfic_contest entry - 'Everything I need to know about life, I learned from Humanity.'
I wrote this for tfic_contest's July to September challenge.
Title: Lessons by Humanity
Rating: PG-13
Universe: 2007/09 Transformers
Pairing/Characters: No Pairings. Ensemble.
Warnings: TF cussing.
Floating about the Cybertronian-Human Alliance base was a list, known only to the Autobots. It was passed from bot to bot, locked behind every security measure known to the Cybertronians, and every new arrival was briefed on its contents as soon as they were in any condition to remember them.
These are stories behind some of the items on that list.
= = =
Lesson #09: Even grown ups need to play. Giant, ancient sapient robots from outer space count as grown ups.
It was a rare occurrence, though by no means was it unwelcome (except perhaps by the initial targets of said occurrence), and soon most of the Autobots knew what to expect when the humans charged through their midst, shrieking at the top of their vocal range, laden with the particular ammunition of such altercations.
They did not expect to be roped in as ‘fortifications’ (Optimus was in great demand here, due to utter square mileage). Though they eventually got used to that too. But they never, in all their millennia of existence, expected to be dragged into the battle.
Particularly when said battle involved water balloons.
No one could say who actually started it, but the smart money was on Optimus (not that anyone dared to ask him, and so collecting on that bet was a hopeless endeavour), who’d been seen hefting one of the bright objects with a considering look in his optics.
Next thing anyone knew, Skids and Mudflap had been pelted with a hail of liquid destruction, and they’d bounded enthusiastically into the playful skirmish, the humans who’d taken shelter behind them cackling just as eagerly.
Soon, every bot and human on base was either picking a side, or hiding in the one safe place to be found in the complex, Ratchet’s med bay (note that Ratchet being in residence did not stop Jolt from staggering to the door while dripping wet, shouting ‘Medic!’ with appropriate drama, then running for his life when the CMO winged a wrench at him).
Sadly, Autobot participation in these events was brought to a halt by the Earth landing of Wheeljack, as all the bots knew that if the engineer were allowed to enter the fray, the next wave of balloons would be impacting their targets at 100 kmph, and might quite possibly be rocket powered too.
But another diversion was soon found for both bot and human, one that quickly overtook the water fights with regards to the fervour with which it was pursued.
MMORPGS.
= = =
Lesson #12: Even if you’ve known someone forever, they can still surprise you. This is applicable even if the individual in question is yourself.
The announcement of who the next arrival would be was met with both joy and groaning. Joy, because it meant that one more of their number still lived, one who was a valuable asset to the Autobot cause. Groaning, because the mech was known for being strict, stern, aloof, and having no sense of fun whatsoever.
So it was with some trepidation that someone slipped into the room currently occupied by Prowl, laptop in his arms. The tactician looked up from his work in surprise, and Sam cringed sheepishly before gathering his nerve and approaching the reclusive mech.
“Can I set up here?”
“Of course.”
The young man didn’t know why the Autobot let him stay, but he didn’t want to question his good fortune and soon settled in an out of the way corner with his computer, focusing intently on the screen. For a while, all was the sound of mouse clicks and keyboard taps.
Prowl looked up again when the human hissed under his breath, leaping up from his seat to pace back and forth, arms folded tight across his front. “Samuel, what upsets you?”
“Nothing. I’m just being childish.” Sam sighed, slumping down in his chair once more. The tactician tilted his helm curiously, then moved closer to look at the tiny laptop screen.
“You’re playing the same game as the other humans on base.”
“‘Playing’ is a generous description. I suck at it. And everyone’s too busy either killing me or making fun of me to show me the ropes. They even rag on me when I so much as crack my laptop around them.”
“And thus you sought refuge here. With me.” Unspoken was the sentiment that Prowl knew exactly why the young man had chosen his company wherein to orientate himself with the basics of the program’s gameplay. Few sought out tactician needlessly, and thus few would accidentally come across the human here. Sam flinched.
“… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply…”
“You only implied what we both know to be true.” There was a brief flicker of the doors that sat on the mech’s shoulders, almost like a shrug, and Sam found himself repeating his apology.
“I’m still really sorry. They shouldn’t push you away like this.”
“I believe the gesture is mutual. I am not the most gregarious of individuals, and over time, the rest of the Autobots and I have simply become accustomed to the way we interact with each other. Which would be infrequently.”
Not knowing what to say to that, Sam just nodded and turned back to his screen, where his newly resurrected character was once more ready for another humiliating defeat. Prowl watched the unfortunate cluster of pixels expire again, and again, and again, before reaching out to gently rest a fingertip on the boy’s hand, stopping him from continuing.
“Wait.”
“Why? I need the practice. I suck so badly, ‘Bee’s died every time he’s tried to help me. He’s started looking into cheats to keep me alive.”
“You do not ‘suck’, as you put it. You just need a moment to think. Your character is disadvantaged against the others because you do not make use of its strengths.”
“What strengths? I tried to spread everything out so I’d be an all rounder, but all that’s made me is weak across all fronts. I can’t match up to the others, or even the lower level NPCs, so I have to train up. And that’s going to take me forever as it is.”
“Samuel. A desire for balance is not a bad thing. True, you should have focused on a few stats instead of all of them at once, at least at first, but that does not mean you can’t win.”
“… How do I do that?” The young man looked intrigued, and the mech delicately tapped a few keys on the laptop, calling up a different screen.
“Your character’s species is naturally fast and agile. You can outpace these particular opponents; hit them repeatedly in the span of time it takes for them to respond to your presence, and avoid being hit in return. I’d suggest you use them to build up points in those qualities, then go from there.”
“Oh… Thank you.”
“My primary function is that of tactical analysis. While admittedly I’m more used to planning for my fellow Autobots, I’d be a poor tactician if I couldn’t adapt.”
“Aw, crap, I’ve gone and taken up your time and skills for something trivial. I’m sorry.”
“Do not apologise. It has been a long while since I was last able to use my tactical programs and battle computer for something other than sending my people to war, pain and suffering.” Prowl fell silent, then continued, hesitantly. “This is… a refreshing change. One that I find myself enjoying.”
Sam was silent, pondering the mech’s words. Then, he turned a sly grin upward at the doorwinged mech, and asked.
“Prowl, how’d you like to play too?”
= = =
Lesson #20: Bravado can get you places, and is a perfectly effective and valid tactic.
Bad day.
Maggie scrambled across the deserted industrial complex, cursing whoever thought it’d be a good idea for her to accompany the Autobots on one of their search and neutralise missions. This particular Decepticon had been tricky, avoiding most of the human level scans and detectors, and only her personally ‘tweaked’ equipment had been able to pick up anything in this zone.
The data was nothing distinct or concrete, but nevertheless, Maggie had been dispatched to assist, and had been tucked away under Chromia’s guard when Hound chirped a warning at them, his own highly specialised sensors picking up what no one else had. As Ravage lunged at the human, Maggie’s guardian leapt between her and the attacking Decepticon, and the hacker had immediately run for cover.
“Maggie!”
The sound of her name had her looking back, only to whip her head ‘round and pour on the speed. Ravage had ducked Chromia’s attacks, and was bounding after her, the blue motorcycle hot on the symbiote’s tail. Maggie scrabbled over a heap of discarded scrap, then skidded to a stop; she’d wound up in a dead (Ack, bad choice of words!) end.
Very bad day.
Backing away from the growling ‘Con, the woman scanned her surroundings for anything she could use as a weapon. Finding nothing in reasonable grabbing distance, she rubbed her hands nervously on her slacks, trying to get rid of the sweat that pricked her palms.
Something was in her pocket.
She pulled it out, blinked, then looked at the still advancing Ravage. Looking back at the object in her hand, she shrugged, and triggered it. As the cat-like drone roared at her, she hauled back and flung the quickly expanding portable water balloon (Wheeljack had been disappointed to find out that he couldn’t play, and had made the things for the humans so they could have instant ammunition should there be an impromptu water balloon war) at the Decepticon’s head.
Ravage stopped dead, stunned (Maggie’s brain unhelpfully giggling at the similarity between Earth and Cybertronian cats regarding their responses to water), and the hacker took the opening given to dart forward, snatch up a sharp looking metal thing and jam it into the drone’s one optic.
Ravage was not happy, and would have taken Maggie’s head off despite being visually blinded if Chromia had not burst over the barrier of scrap to tackle the ‘Con. As the two fought, the pile disintegrated, leaving Maggie to stare at the mech glaring at her from the other side.
“What are you waiting for, Madsen? Get your aft here now!”
She ran as Ironhide strode towards the battle, cannons humming as he joined Chromia in reducing Ravage to its basic atoms. No repairs for this ‘Con, not this time.
Lesson #20 corollary: Regardless, if you are smaller and more squishable, it is much better (and safer) to have BravadoTM backed up with a big beating stick and the ability to use it. Said beating stick being an Autobot (and being named Chromia or Ironhide) is entirely dependant on personal preference.
= = =
Lesson #28: Puppydog eyes can get you almost anything.
Bumblebee stared into the room, Bluestreak standing behind him, wondering why the scout hadn’t gone in. The scout glanced back at the sniper, then moved so that he could see what Bumblebee saw. Specifically, the human male currently settled atop Prowl’s knees, talking quietly and sedately with the mech, though his movements across his laptop keyboard were anything but. Suddenly, the young man paused and looked up at the tactician with an apologetic expression.
“‘Kaela’s just reminded me. I gotta go. If we’re late for family togetherness time dinner again my mom will kill me, especially since we moved out to base. Worse, she’ll guilt trip Bumblebee.”
The mech chuckled softly. “Then you had better hurry, should you not?”
“Heh, see you, Prowl.”
The mech nodded, and Sam slid down and made for the door, passing Bluestreak (who smiled at him before walking into the room) and his guardian, who fell into step beside him.
“Sam?”
“Yeah, ‘Bee?”
“… How did you manage to do… that?” The scout sounded like he’d discovered his charge had built a nuclear reactor at the age of three out of his building blocks.
The young man shrugged, smiling easily. “All I had to do was talk to him.”
“Evening, Sam. Bumblebee.”
They stopped, and looked upwards at the Autobot leader. Sam waved. “Hey Optimus.”
“Sam, you forgot your bag in Prowl’s office. Good evening, Prime.”
As the human accepted his belongings from Bluestreak with grateful thanks, the Prime looked at the two mechs and human.
“Sam, were you bothering Prowl?”
“He’s alright with it, I checked. Heck, I didn’t stop checking until about last week. I leave when he tells me he needs to focus on work, I swear!”
“Nevertheless, I have to ask you to stop. Prowl is a busy mech, and while he may be willing to accommodate you…”
Optimus stopped at the pleading look Sam gave him. “Sam, please, I must insist. Prowl does not need the-”
The Peterbilt stopped again. Sam had only met his gaze briefly, but that quick look had transmitted a flash of emotion that made his spark pang. The young man’s posture drooped, very slightly, and when he next spoke, his tone was almost dejected.
“Yes sir.”
Bumblebee watched in wonder as Optimus stalled and shifted awkwardly as Sam snuck another glance up at the red and blue mech. Bluestreak chose then to add his two credits.
“Sam isn’t disturbing Prowl. I’m sure of it. You know how he is; he’ll kick even me out if I’m getting in the way.”
The Prime crumbled. “… Very well. Then I suppose I have no good reason to stop you.”
“Thank you, Optimus!”
The Autobot leader escaped, and Sam winked at Bluestreak, who smiled back conspiratorially before heading back down the corridor.
= = =
When news got out that Prowl was helping Sam with his gameplay (and consequently helping him beat the pants off all his opponents), there was a clamour for the tactician to join the next ‘raiding party’ that the players on base threw together. The mech declined, and remained unmoved, no matter how hard they bargained.
So Skids and Mudflap went looking for Sam (having heard of his feat from Bumblebee), and found him with the scout, Mikaela and Bluestreak, all four of them playing a strategy game from Cybertron that Bluestreak and Bumblebee were trying to teach them.
“Hey Sam, you’re tight with Prowl, aren’t you?”
“We’re friends, why?”
“Ask him to play with the gang. We got a big event coming up, and having him on our side would be a big help.”
Mikeala raised an eyebrow at them. “Why don’t you ask Prowl yourselves?”
“We did, he said no, so we’re tapping the heavy artillery, namely, Sammy boy here.”
“Yeah, you got the magic look, kid. Heard you got Prime to let you keep your game time with the mech.”
“So… Please?” The twins wheedled, hands clasped pleadingly as they pulled off a remarkable puppydog look of their own, in stereo to boot.
“But… That’d be an abuse of our friendship… I can’t do that to him!”
At Sam’s counter look and quaver, they gave up, chuckling.
“Right, ease up, we know when we’re beat.”
“Yeah, if you start crying, ‘Bee will have our plating.” The aforementioned mech flicked his battlemask down, and Mudflap took a step back in mock fear.
“Frag, he’s doing the angry eyes already!”
“Flee! Flee!”
The young man smirked as the two luridly coloured mechs trooped out to give their comrades the bad news, just as Mikaela toppled over from holding her laughter in.
Lesson #28 corollary: Puppydog eyes do not work on those who are better at it than you ever will be.
= = =
Looking at the file that had just been handed to him, Red Alert felt his processors ache with the probability of locking up. A sympathetic hand patting his shoulder diverted his attention long enough to avoid a full systems crash, and he thanked the mech standing beside him for the assist. The security mech groaned as he scrolled through the document.
“ ‘Carwashes are a gift from Primus, so are the ones who are willing to give them’, ‘Ratchet is always right, don’t argue’, ‘Bravery is a universal concept, so is Pit slagged recklessness’, ‘Decepticons don’t care for road laws, but you had slagging well keep them’, ‘Never get between a human female and the substance known as chocolate, especially when Ratchet sounds the warning’, ‘Never tell any human female about Ratchet’s warnings, but the human males will thank you for the heads up’, ‘Advanced firepower means nothing to a cockroach’, ‘Wheeljack does not run, but when you see everyone scatter, you’d better do the same’, ‘There is nothing more determined to climb a bot than an eight year old, Primus help you if she falls’, ‘Glitter is permanent’, and what the frag is this ‘silly string’, and why is it indestructible?”
Red Alert rubbed his helm. “Prowl, how have you withstood this insanity without fritzing? By the Cube, just reading this makes my circuits act up.”
The tactician smiled, and simply pointed to the last line of glyphs in the file.
Final lesson: This world and its inhabitants will not always make sense. Accept this and go with it. The other way madness lies, and Ratchet does not need the additional work.
Title: Lessons by Humanity
Rating: PG-13
Universe: 2007/09 Transformers
Pairing/Characters: No Pairings. Ensemble.
Warnings: TF cussing.
Floating about the Cybertronian-Human Alliance base was a list, known only to the Autobots. It was passed from bot to bot, locked behind every security measure known to the Cybertronians, and every new arrival was briefed on its contents as soon as they were in any condition to remember them.
These are stories behind some of the items on that list.
= = =
Lesson #09: Even grown ups need to play. Giant, ancient sapient robots from outer space count as grown ups.
It was a rare occurrence, though by no means was it unwelcome (except perhaps by the initial targets of said occurrence), and soon most of the Autobots knew what to expect when the humans charged through their midst, shrieking at the top of their vocal range, laden with the particular ammunition of such altercations.
They did not expect to be roped in as ‘fortifications’ (Optimus was in great demand here, due to utter square mileage). Though they eventually got used to that too. But they never, in all their millennia of existence, expected to be dragged into the battle.
Particularly when said battle involved water balloons.
No one could say who actually started it, but the smart money was on Optimus (not that anyone dared to ask him, and so collecting on that bet was a hopeless endeavour), who’d been seen hefting one of the bright objects with a considering look in his optics.
Next thing anyone knew, Skids and Mudflap had been pelted with a hail of liquid destruction, and they’d bounded enthusiastically into the playful skirmish, the humans who’d taken shelter behind them cackling just as eagerly.
Soon, every bot and human on base was either picking a side, or hiding in the one safe place to be found in the complex, Ratchet’s med bay (note that Ratchet being in residence did not stop Jolt from staggering to the door while dripping wet, shouting ‘Medic!’ with appropriate drama, then running for his life when the CMO winged a wrench at him).
Sadly, Autobot participation in these events was brought to a halt by the Earth landing of Wheeljack, as all the bots knew that if the engineer were allowed to enter the fray, the next wave of balloons would be impacting their targets at 100 kmph, and might quite possibly be rocket powered too.
But another diversion was soon found for both bot and human, one that quickly overtook the water fights with regards to the fervour with which it was pursued.
MMORPGS.
= = =
Lesson #12: Even if you’ve known someone forever, they can still surprise you. This is applicable even if the individual in question is yourself.
The announcement of who the next arrival would be was met with both joy and groaning. Joy, because it meant that one more of their number still lived, one who was a valuable asset to the Autobot cause. Groaning, because the mech was known for being strict, stern, aloof, and having no sense of fun whatsoever.
So it was with some trepidation that someone slipped into the room currently occupied by Prowl, laptop in his arms. The tactician looked up from his work in surprise, and Sam cringed sheepishly before gathering his nerve and approaching the reclusive mech.
“Can I set up here?”
“Of course.”
The young man didn’t know why the Autobot let him stay, but he didn’t want to question his good fortune and soon settled in an out of the way corner with his computer, focusing intently on the screen. For a while, all was the sound of mouse clicks and keyboard taps.
Prowl looked up again when the human hissed under his breath, leaping up from his seat to pace back and forth, arms folded tight across his front. “Samuel, what upsets you?”
“Nothing. I’m just being childish.” Sam sighed, slumping down in his chair once more. The tactician tilted his helm curiously, then moved closer to look at the tiny laptop screen.
“You’re playing the same game as the other humans on base.”
“‘Playing’ is a generous description. I suck at it. And everyone’s too busy either killing me or making fun of me to show me the ropes. They even rag on me when I so much as crack my laptop around them.”
“And thus you sought refuge here. With me.” Unspoken was the sentiment that Prowl knew exactly why the young man had chosen his company wherein to orientate himself with the basics of the program’s gameplay. Few sought out tactician needlessly, and thus few would accidentally come across the human here. Sam flinched.
“… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply…”
“You only implied what we both know to be true.” There was a brief flicker of the doors that sat on the mech’s shoulders, almost like a shrug, and Sam found himself repeating his apology.
“I’m still really sorry. They shouldn’t push you away like this.”
“I believe the gesture is mutual. I am not the most gregarious of individuals, and over time, the rest of the Autobots and I have simply become accustomed to the way we interact with each other. Which would be infrequently.”
Not knowing what to say to that, Sam just nodded and turned back to his screen, where his newly resurrected character was once more ready for another humiliating defeat. Prowl watched the unfortunate cluster of pixels expire again, and again, and again, before reaching out to gently rest a fingertip on the boy’s hand, stopping him from continuing.
“Wait.”
“Why? I need the practice. I suck so badly, ‘Bee’s died every time he’s tried to help me. He’s started looking into cheats to keep me alive.”
“You do not ‘suck’, as you put it. You just need a moment to think. Your character is disadvantaged against the others because you do not make use of its strengths.”
“What strengths? I tried to spread everything out so I’d be an all rounder, but all that’s made me is weak across all fronts. I can’t match up to the others, or even the lower level NPCs, so I have to train up. And that’s going to take me forever as it is.”
“Samuel. A desire for balance is not a bad thing. True, you should have focused on a few stats instead of all of them at once, at least at first, but that does not mean you can’t win.”
“… How do I do that?” The young man looked intrigued, and the mech delicately tapped a few keys on the laptop, calling up a different screen.
“Your character’s species is naturally fast and agile. You can outpace these particular opponents; hit them repeatedly in the span of time it takes for them to respond to your presence, and avoid being hit in return. I’d suggest you use them to build up points in those qualities, then go from there.”
“Oh… Thank you.”
“My primary function is that of tactical analysis. While admittedly I’m more used to planning for my fellow Autobots, I’d be a poor tactician if I couldn’t adapt.”
“Aw, crap, I’ve gone and taken up your time and skills for something trivial. I’m sorry.”
“Do not apologise. It has been a long while since I was last able to use my tactical programs and battle computer for something other than sending my people to war, pain and suffering.” Prowl fell silent, then continued, hesitantly. “This is… a refreshing change. One that I find myself enjoying.”
Sam was silent, pondering the mech’s words. Then, he turned a sly grin upward at the doorwinged mech, and asked.
“Prowl, how’d you like to play too?”
= = =
Lesson #20: Bravado can get you places, and is a perfectly effective and valid tactic.
Bad day.
Maggie scrambled across the deserted industrial complex, cursing whoever thought it’d be a good idea for her to accompany the Autobots on one of their search and neutralise missions. This particular Decepticon had been tricky, avoiding most of the human level scans and detectors, and only her personally ‘tweaked’ equipment had been able to pick up anything in this zone.
The data was nothing distinct or concrete, but nevertheless, Maggie had been dispatched to assist, and had been tucked away under Chromia’s guard when Hound chirped a warning at them, his own highly specialised sensors picking up what no one else had. As Ravage lunged at the human, Maggie’s guardian leapt between her and the attacking Decepticon, and the hacker had immediately run for cover.
“Maggie!”
The sound of her name had her looking back, only to whip her head ‘round and pour on the speed. Ravage had ducked Chromia’s attacks, and was bounding after her, the blue motorcycle hot on the symbiote’s tail. Maggie scrabbled over a heap of discarded scrap, then skidded to a stop; she’d wound up in a dead (Ack, bad choice of words!) end.
Very bad day.
Backing away from the growling ‘Con, the woman scanned her surroundings for anything she could use as a weapon. Finding nothing in reasonable grabbing distance, she rubbed her hands nervously on her slacks, trying to get rid of the sweat that pricked her palms.
Something was in her pocket.
She pulled it out, blinked, then looked at the still advancing Ravage. Looking back at the object in her hand, she shrugged, and triggered it. As the cat-like drone roared at her, she hauled back and flung the quickly expanding portable water balloon (Wheeljack had been disappointed to find out that he couldn’t play, and had made the things for the humans so they could have instant ammunition should there be an impromptu water balloon war) at the Decepticon’s head.
Ravage stopped dead, stunned (Maggie’s brain unhelpfully giggling at the similarity between Earth and Cybertronian cats regarding their responses to water), and the hacker took the opening given to dart forward, snatch up a sharp looking metal thing and jam it into the drone’s one optic.
Ravage was not happy, and would have taken Maggie’s head off despite being visually blinded if Chromia had not burst over the barrier of scrap to tackle the ‘Con. As the two fought, the pile disintegrated, leaving Maggie to stare at the mech glaring at her from the other side.
“What are you waiting for, Madsen? Get your aft here now!”
She ran as Ironhide strode towards the battle, cannons humming as he joined Chromia in reducing Ravage to its basic atoms. No repairs for this ‘Con, not this time.
Lesson #20 corollary: Regardless, if you are smaller and more squishable, it is much better (and safer) to have BravadoTM backed up with a big beating stick and the ability to use it. Said beating stick being an Autobot (and being named Chromia or Ironhide) is entirely dependant on personal preference.
= = =
Lesson #28: Puppydog eyes can get you almost anything.
Bumblebee stared into the room, Bluestreak standing behind him, wondering why the scout hadn’t gone in. The scout glanced back at the sniper, then moved so that he could see what Bumblebee saw. Specifically, the human male currently settled atop Prowl’s knees, talking quietly and sedately with the mech, though his movements across his laptop keyboard were anything but. Suddenly, the young man paused and looked up at the tactician with an apologetic expression.
“‘Kaela’s just reminded me. I gotta go. If we’re late for family togetherness time dinner again my mom will kill me, especially since we moved out to base. Worse, she’ll guilt trip Bumblebee.”
The mech chuckled softly. “Then you had better hurry, should you not?”
“Heh, see you, Prowl.”
The mech nodded, and Sam slid down and made for the door, passing Bluestreak (who smiled at him before walking into the room) and his guardian, who fell into step beside him.
“Sam?”
“Yeah, ‘Bee?”
“… How did you manage to do… that?” The scout sounded like he’d discovered his charge had built a nuclear reactor at the age of three out of his building blocks.
The young man shrugged, smiling easily. “All I had to do was talk to him.”
“Evening, Sam. Bumblebee.”
They stopped, and looked upwards at the Autobot leader. Sam waved. “Hey Optimus.”
“Sam, you forgot your bag in Prowl’s office. Good evening, Prime.”
As the human accepted his belongings from Bluestreak with grateful thanks, the Prime looked at the two mechs and human.
“Sam, were you bothering Prowl?”
“He’s alright with it, I checked. Heck, I didn’t stop checking until about last week. I leave when he tells me he needs to focus on work, I swear!”
“Nevertheless, I have to ask you to stop. Prowl is a busy mech, and while he may be willing to accommodate you…”
Optimus stopped at the pleading look Sam gave him. “Sam, please, I must insist. Prowl does not need the-”
The Peterbilt stopped again. Sam had only met his gaze briefly, but that quick look had transmitted a flash of emotion that made his spark pang. The young man’s posture drooped, very slightly, and when he next spoke, his tone was almost dejected.
“Yes sir.”
Bumblebee watched in wonder as Optimus stalled and shifted awkwardly as Sam snuck another glance up at the red and blue mech. Bluestreak chose then to add his two credits.
“Sam isn’t disturbing Prowl. I’m sure of it. You know how he is; he’ll kick even me out if I’m getting in the way.”
The Prime crumbled. “… Very well. Then I suppose I have no good reason to stop you.”
“Thank you, Optimus!”
The Autobot leader escaped, and Sam winked at Bluestreak, who smiled back conspiratorially before heading back down the corridor.
= = =
When news got out that Prowl was helping Sam with his gameplay (and consequently helping him beat the pants off all his opponents), there was a clamour for the tactician to join the next ‘raiding party’ that the players on base threw together. The mech declined, and remained unmoved, no matter how hard they bargained.
So Skids and Mudflap went looking for Sam (having heard of his feat from Bumblebee), and found him with the scout, Mikaela and Bluestreak, all four of them playing a strategy game from Cybertron that Bluestreak and Bumblebee were trying to teach them.
“Hey Sam, you’re tight with Prowl, aren’t you?”
“We’re friends, why?”
“Ask him to play with the gang. We got a big event coming up, and having him on our side would be a big help.”
Mikeala raised an eyebrow at them. “Why don’t you ask Prowl yourselves?”
“We did, he said no, so we’re tapping the heavy artillery, namely, Sammy boy here.”
“Yeah, you got the magic look, kid. Heard you got Prime to let you keep your game time with the mech.”
“So… Please?” The twins wheedled, hands clasped pleadingly as they pulled off a remarkable puppydog look of their own, in stereo to boot.
“But… That’d be an abuse of our friendship… I can’t do that to him!”
At Sam’s counter look and quaver, they gave up, chuckling.
“Right, ease up, we know when we’re beat.”
“Yeah, if you start crying, ‘Bee will have our plating.” The aforementioned mech flicked his battlemask down, and Mudflap took a step back in mock fear.
“Frag, he’s doing the angry eyes already!”
“Flee! Flee!”
The young man smirked as the two luridly coloured mechs trooped out to give their comrades the bad news, just as Mikaela toppled over from holding her laughter in.
Lesson #28 corollary: Puppydog eyes do not work on those who are better at it than you ever will be.
= = =
Looking at the file that had just been handed to him, Red Alert felt his processors ache with the probability of locking up. A sympathetic hand patting his shoulder diverted his attention long enough to avoid a full systems crash, and he thanked the mech standing beside him for the assist. The security mech groaned as he scrolled through the document.
“ ‘Carwashes are a gift from Primus, so are the ones who are willing to give them’, ‘Ratchet is always right, don’t argue’, ‘Bravery is a universal concept, so is Pit slagged recklessness’, ‘Decepticons don’t care for road laws, but you had slagging well keep them’, ‘Never get between a human female and the substance known as chocolate, especially when Ratchet sounds the warning’, ‘Never tell any human female about Ratchet’s warnings, but the human males will thank you for the heads up’, ‘Advanced firepower means nothing to a cockroach’, ‘Wheeljack does not run, but when you see everyone scatter, you’d better do the same’, ‘There is nothing more determined to climb a bot than an eight year old, Primus help you if she falls’, ‘Glitter is permanent’, and what the frag is this ‘silly string’, and why is it indestructible?”
Red Alert rubbed his helm. “Prowl, how have you withstood this insanity without fritzing? By the Cube, just reading this makes my circuits act up.”
The tactician smiled, and simply pointed to the last line of glyphs in the file.
Final lesson: This world and its inhabitants will not always make sense. Accept this and go with it. The other way madness lies, and Ratchet does not need the additional work.