Feb '10 PxJ challenge
For the February '10 Chinese New Year Challenge on the PxJ comm.
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Prowl. Jazz. Sideswipe. Unnamed humans.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cussing.
Mandarin Oranges
No, they would not ruin the festival. They might be bigger and more powerful, but he would not let that happen! Grabbing the first thing he could pick up, he flung the small orange fruit at the monster crashing through the street.
Bullseye. The orange smacked straight into the demon’s eye, and from experience, he knew that the acidic fruit could sting like a bitch.
The monster snarled, whirling in his direction as juice ran down its face. Glaring determinedly, he threw another. And another. It wiped the smashed fruit aside and he groped for more ammunition, coming up empty. Backing away (he would not be afraid!), he couldn’t help shutting his eyes when he saw the fist aimed at him.
He didn’t get squished.
“Hey kid, you alright?”
Opening his eyes, he saw that a black and white robot (it had a chevron! Just like in the cartoons!) was beating up the demon that had been attacking him. Another black and white robot, this one with a visor, was looking at him.
“Props for bravery, kiddo, but right now it should be your luck that you need to take advantage of. Run!”
He ran. Okay, maybe Grandma wasn’t just being old fashioned when she said oranges meant luck.
Red
“Why is this happening?”
“Because the folks here wanted to thank us for seeing off the ‘Cons and saving their festival, so they invited us to be their guests of honour. Just tough it out for a while longer, it’ll end soon and you can get back to the med bay and Sunstreaker.”
Jazz grinned sympathetically at the red mech sticking very close to the two officers, almost like a youngling would.
“Good to know, but why am I being swarmed by humans, and why are they all trying to touch me?”
Sideswipe sounded traumatised, and feeling sorry for the Lamborghini, Prowl kept his amusement out of his reply.
“Red is the colour of joy, sincerity and prosperity according to their particular culture. You helped save them, and now they are expressing their thanks and hoping that you will bring them further good fortune.”
“Well, I’m sincerely not very joyful right now.”
“Sideswipe.” The frontliner looked up from his sulk to see the Ops mech smirking at him.
“What?”
“There will be fireworks at the end of this. As honoured guests, we get front row seats. If you play nice with the humans, you might even get to set some of the pyrotechnics off.”
“Push a button. Big deal.” Jazz could see Prowl trying not to smile at the red mech’s badly hidden interest.
“They’re using old fashioned fireworks too. Fuses and gunpowder and all.”
“… Happy New Year everyone!”
The two officers’ chuckles were drowned out by the noise of their surroundings as Sideswipe threw himself into the festival with new enthusiasm. Shaking his head, Prowl started to pick his way after the red mech.
“Come on, Jazz. I don’t want to lose track of Sideswipe while we’re here. He blends in far too well with the decor.”
Taking in their very red surroundings, Jazz laughed in agreement and followed the tactician through the crowd.
Number 8
“Prowler?”
“Yes?”
“Why did that little old lady drag the kids away from me?”
“… I don’t know, Jazz.”
“Ah well. Guess we are kinda scary, ‘specially after the ‘Cons came through here.”
Jazz sighed, managing to keep his smile only slightly false. The tactician took his hand, squeezing it gently with an understanding look.
“It’s the number on your front.”
Both black and whites looked down at the little boy peeking out from behind an ornate pillar. Jazz knelt down so the child wouldn’t have to crane his neck up to look at the Autbot.
“Hey, you were the kid with the oranges, right? Your guardian will be upset with you for coming back.”
“Grandma is superstitious. I don’t believe that the number four is bad luck.” The kid puffed up his chest, folding his arms confidently and Jazz queried, sounding amused.
“Bad luck?”
“Four sounds like death in Chinese. And you’re in funeral colours. Did someone you know…” The boy clapped hands over his mouth. “Shit. Don’t tell Grandma, she says it’s bad to talk about that during the New Year festival.
“Don’t worry, little man, I can keep a secret. Can’t I, Prowl?” The saboteur laughed, glancing at the chevroned mech. Prowl nodded, and the little boy sighed in relief.
“Great. I should go find her now.” He ran off, and the tactician moved to stand beside Jazz, one hand on the Porsche’s shoulder.
“Death huh?” The Ops mech sighed, the sound quiet and completely unlike him. Prowl replied, calm and unshakable.
“It is just a superstition. Even little children don’t believe in it.”
“Of course Prowl. You’re right. As always.” Jazz smiled and the Datsun smiled back.
“Are you partners?” The kid was back, and looking at the two mechs curiously. The visored mech took a white hand in his, still smiling fondly at the tactician.
“That and more. Prowler’s my other half.”
“Half plus half makes a whole, two fours make eight.” The boy sounded like he was reciting a school lesson, hands clasped behind his back and everything. “Eight sounds like wealth. And that’s good.”
“I believe it is. Thanks.” The saboteur chuckled and the kid grinned.
“Yeah, Grandma pulled me away before I could say it, but thanks for saving me just now.”
The boy raced away again. Jazz watched him go, turning to look at his lover as Prowl wrapped an arm about his waist. The Datsun kissed his audio, then murmured into it.
“Superstition or not, when I am with you, I am truly wealthy.”
Jazz shuttered his optics, letting his visor grow dim as he leant into the embrace.
“Likewise.”
Lion dance
“It worked! I told you it worked! Hundreds of years of tradition cannot be without basis!”
“It was just coincidence that the good robots arrived just as the bad robots were about to step on you.”
“There is no such thing as coincidence. The lion dance served its purpose. It protected us from evil.”
“Whatever. Just put on the lion head already, we’ve got a dance to continue.”
“You are such an ass.”
“Well, I’m your lion’s ass, so shut it before I drop you on the first raised stance.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“… Yeah, I wouldn’t. Let’s go. And quit grinning at me like that!”
Neither Sideswipe nor Prowl asked why Jazz was cracking up as they waited for the performers to assemble. Jazz just chuckled, then turned down the sensitivity of his audios. While he loved sound and music, this lion dance looked like it was going to be far too loud for the level they were currently set to.
Chrysanthemums
Heading back to the Ark, Jazz drifted to the red Lamborghini’s side to get a better scan on Sideswipe’s rather unusual cargo.
“Siders? What’s with the flowers and where’d you get so many?”
“The humans. I was telling them about me and Sunny’s best fights against the ‘Cons, and suddenly I got a whole bunch of these… chrysanthemums… shoved at me by one of them.”
“Ah.”
“Organics are weird. They said the flowers were so I would live for a very long time. I was fragging built before this planet spun into existence! But anyway, since I had them, I thought I’d bring them back for Sunstreaker. They match his colour, don’t you think?”
Jazz could hear the mischief growing in the frontliner’s tone and revved his engine in amusement. “Sideswipe, if you call Sunstreaker your little chrysanthemum, regardless of what the flowers are supposed to mean I don’t think you will live for very long after.”
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Prowl. Jazz. Sideswipe. Unnamed humans.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cussing.
Mandarin Oranges
No, they would not ruin the festival. They might be bigger and more powerful, but he would not let that happen! Grabbing the first thing he could pick up, he flung the small orange fruit at the monster crashing through the street.
Bullseye. The orange smacked straight into the demon’s eye, and from experience, he knew that the acidic fruit could sting like a bitch.
The monster snarled, whirling in his direction as juice ran down its face. Glaring determinedly, he threw another. And another. It wiped the smashed fruit aside and he groped for more ammunition, coming up empty. Backing away (he would not be afraid!), he couldn’t help shutting his eyes when he saw the fist aimed at him.
He didn’t get squished.
“Hey kid, you alright?”
Opening his eyes, he saw that a black and white robot (it had a chevron! Just like in the cartoons!) was beating up the demon that had been attacking him. Another black and white robot, this one with a visor, was looking at him.
“Props for bravery, kiddo, but right now it should be your luck that you need to take advantage of. Run!”
He ran. Okay, maybe Grandma wasn’t just being old fashioned when she said oranges meant luck.
Red
“Why is this happening?”
“Because the folks here wanted to thank us for seeing off the ‘Cons and saving their festival, so they invited us to be their guests of honour. Just tough it out for a while longer, it’ll end soon and you can get back to the med bay and Sunstreaker.”
Jazz grinned sympathetically at the red mech sticking very close to the two officers, almost like a youngling would.
“Good to know, but why am I being swarmed by humans, and why are they all trying to touch me?”
Sideswipe sounded traumatised, and feeling sorry for the Lamborghini, Prowl kept his amusement out of his reply.
“Red is the colour of joy, sincerity and prosperity according to their particular culture. You helped save them, and now they are expressing their thanks and hoping that you will bring them further good fortune.”
“Well, I’m sincerely not very joyful right now.”
“Sideswipe.” The frontliner looked up from his sulk to see the Ops mech smirking at him.
“What?”
“There will be fireworks at the end of this. As honoured guests, we get front row seats. If you play nice with the humans, you might even get to set some of the pyrotechnics off.”
“Push a button. Big deal.” Jazz could see Prowl trying not to smile at the red mech’s badly hidden interest.
“They’re using old fashioned fireworks too. Fuses and gunpowder and all.”
“… Happy New Year everyone!”
The two officers’ chuckles were drowned out by the noise of their surroundings as Sideswipe threw himself into the festival with new enthusiasm. Shaking his head, Prowl started to pick his way after the red mech.
“Come on, Jazz. I don’t want to lose track of Sideswipe while we’re here. He blends in far too well with the decor.”
Taking in their very red surroundings, Jazz laughed in agreement and followed the tactician through the crowd.
Number 8
“Prowler?”
“Yes?”
“Why did that little old lady drag the kids away from me?”
“… I don’t know, Jazz.”
“Ah well. Guess we are kinda scary, ‘specially after the ‘Cons came through here.”
Jazz sighed, managing to keep his smile only slightly false. The tactician took his hand, squeezing it gently with an understanding look.
“It’s the number on your front.”
Both black and whites looked down at the little boy peeking out from behind an ornate pillar. Jazz knelt down so the child wouldn’t have to crane his neck up to look at the Autbot.
“Hey, you were the kid with the oranges, right? Your guardian will be upset with you for coming back.”
“Grandma is superstitious. I don’t believe that the number four is bad luck.” The kid puffed up his chest, folding his arms confidently and Jazz queried, sounding amused.
“Bad luck?”
“Four sounds like death in Chinese. And you’re in funeral colours. Did someone you know…” The boy clapped hands over his mouth. “Shit. Don’t tell Grandma, she says it’s bad to talk about that during the New Year festival.
“Don’t worry, little man, I can keep a secret. Can’t I, Prowl?” The saboteur laughed, glancing at the chevroned mech. Prowl nodded, and the little boy sighed in relief.
“Great. I should go find her now.” He ran off, and the tactician moved to stand beside Jazz, one hand on the Porsche’s shoulder.
“Death huh?” The Ops mech sighed, the sound quiet and completely unlike him. Prowl replied, calm and unshakable.
“It is just a superstition. Even little children don’t believe in it.”
“Of course Prowl. You’re right. As always.” Jazz smiled and the Datsun smiled back.
“Are you partners?” The kid was back, and looking at the two mechs curiously. The visored mech took a white hand in his, still smiling fondly at the tactician.
“That and more. Prowler’s my other half.”
“Half plus half makes a whole, two fours make eight.” The boy sounded like he was reciting a school lesson, hands clasped behind his back and everything. “Eight sounds like wealth. And that’s good.”
“I believe it is. Thanks.” The saboteur chuckled and the kid grinned.
“Yeah, Grandma pulled me away before I could say it, but thanks for saving me just now.”
The boy raced away again. Jazz watched him go, turning to look at his lover as Prowl wrapped an arm about his waist. The Datsun kissed his audio, then murmured into it.
“Superstition or not, when I am with you, I am truly wealthy.”
Jazz shuttered his optics, letting his visor grow dim as he leant into the embrace.
“Likewise.”
Lion dance
“It worked! I told you it worked! Hundreds of years of tradition cannot be without basis!”
“It was just coincidence that the good robots arrived just as the bad robots were about to step on you.”
“There is no such thing as coincidence. The lion dance served its purpose. It protected us from evil.”
“Whatever. Just put on the lion head already, we’ve got a dance to continue.”
“You are such an ass.”
“Well, I’m your lion’s ass, so shut it before I drop you on the first raised stance.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“… Yeah, I wouldn’t. Let’s go. And quit grinning at me like that!”
Neither Sideswipe nor Prowl asked why Jazz was cracking up as they waited for the performers to assemble. Jazz just chuckled, then turned down the sensitivity of his audios. While he loved sound and music, this lion dance looked like it was going to be far too loud for the level they were currently set to.
Chrysanthemums
Heading back to the Ark, Jazz drifted to the red Lamborghini’s side to get a better scan on Sideswipe’s rather unusual cargo.
“Siders? What’s with the flowers and where’d you get so many?”
“The humans. I was telling them about me and Sunny’s best fights against the ‘Cons, and suddenly I got a whole bunch of these… chrysanthemums… shoved at me by one of them.”
“Ah.”
“Organics are weird. They said the flowers were so I would live for a very long time. I was fragging built before this planet spun into existence! But anyway, since I had them, I thought I’d bring them back for Sunstreaker. They match his colour, don’t you think?”
Jazz could hear the mischief growing in the frontliner’s tone and revved his engine in amusement. “Sideswipe, if you call Sunstreaker your little chrysanthemum, regardless of what the flowers are supposed to mean I don’t think you will live for very long after.”