Twelve Nights of Christmas
Who: IDW!Megs and OPEN (well, to anyone with a reasonable excuse as to why they are there.)
What: Megatron spends his evenings alone...well, until you come along.
When: Back-dated to days leading up to Christmas.
Where: Magnum's Livingroom in the Decepti-warehouse
Notes: Each comment thread is a different 'Night of Christmas,' so these aren't all happening at once.
"On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..."
Nothing, of course. Decepticons did not believe in 'Christ,' firstly, or this concept of 'love,' secondly. In fact, if he had to re-write the song, it would have probably gone something like: 'On the first day of the human-demi-god-birth-celebrating event, my non-organic-loyal-troops-presented humbly to their Lord...'
Except that even the 'Lord' concept itself was something new, having only stuck with him because of the Tyran helicopter's previous tendency to use it. He probably wouldn't have re-written the song with those words, if he was really thinking about it. In fact, he wouldn't have touched the song with a hundred-yard steel girder if he hadn't downloaded the Christmas.exe file Flareup had put out on the network and been unable to get the meddlesome song out of his head. He had even started humming it while he sat, spooling out the last of the metal scrap in his livingroom, a few tools and trinkets sitting next to him on the bench while he listened to the short wave news reports and visual media of the season. He'd downloaded a book on 'Wire-crafting through the ages,' which he had only picked up as a joke, the punchline of which was now entirely lost on him since it had failed to hit its mark.
So here he sat, waiting to see what happened. There was snow. Apparently, that was a big part of Christmas, though he didn't understand why. The colder it got, the less pleased he was trying to knock ice out of treds. There were snow tires available, but that was little use when you were essentially a tank. Back in the mines dirt had been acceptable, especially with a good wash once a week and maybe a hot oil bath if you could afford it once a month, and at least dirt hadn't been so cold. The rest of the season made even less sense, but...apparently, when it wasn't having to do with religion, it was having to do with peace, joy, prosperity, and presents.
He'd never seen so many frowns on Decepticon face-plates.
Well, except maybe about the 'presents' idea...and they were certainly fast on board when 'prosperity' was the topic of conversation. But right now...he'd be happy to leave 'Christmas' where it lay--safely outside his doors, and buried in the snow.
What: Megatron spends his evenings alone...well, until you come along.
When: Back-dated to days leading up to Christmas.
Where: Magnum's Livingroom in the Decepti-warehouse
Notes: Each comment thread is a different 'Night of Christmas,' so these aren't all happening at once.
"On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..."
Nothing, of course. Decepticons did not believe in 'Christ,' firstly, or this concept of 'love,' secondly. In fact, if he had to re-write the song, it would have probably gone something like: 'On the first day of the human-demi-god-birth-celebrating event, my non-organic-loyal-troops-presented humbly to their Lord...'
Except that even the 'Lord' concept itself was something new, having only stuck with him because of the Tyran helicopter's previous tendency to use it. He probably wouldn't have re-written the song with those words, if he was really thinking about it. In fact, he wouldn't have touched the song with a hundred-yard steel girder if he hadn't downloaded the Christmas.exe file Flareup had put out on the network and been unable to get the meddlesome song out of his head. He had even started humming it while he sat, spooling out the last of the metal scrap in his livingroom, a few tools and trinkets sitting next to him on the bench while he listened to the short wave news reports and visual media of the season. He'd downloaded a book on 'Wire-crafting through the ages,' which he had only picked up as a joke, the punchline of which was now entirely lost on him since it had failed to hit its mark.
So here he sat, waiting to see what happened. There was snow. Apparently, that was a big part of Christmas, though he didn't understand why. The colder it got, the less pleased he was trying to knock ice out of treds. There were snow tires available, but that was little use when you were essentially a tank. Back in the mines dirt had been acceptable, especially with a good wash once a week and maybe a hot oil bath if you could afford it once a month, and at least dirt hadn't been so cold. The rest of the season made even less sense, but...apparently, when it wasn't having to do with religion, it was having to do with peace, joy, prosperity, and presents.
He'd never seen so many frowns on Decepticon face-plates.
Well, except maybe about the 'presents' idea...and they were certainly fast on board when 'prosperity' was the topic of conversation. But right now...he'd be happy to leave 'Christmas' where it lay--safely outside his doors, and buried in the snow.