On the eleventh day of Christmas
I think I started counting from the wrong day, randomly.
Title: Wild Hunt
Fandom: G1 Transformers, more or less
Characters: Aerialbots
Rating: PG
Word Count: 500+
Summary: The Aerialbots awaken and hear car engines.
Author's Notes: I should take this setting and use it for something original.
Wild Hunt
***
Green optics flicker alight.
The wind whistles and shrieks, cutting itself on the jagged edges of the Aerialbots' nest. Twisted metal makes a fine bed, easily formed by strong hands into the comfortable bowl to hold them all close and warm. The eternal suns shine down on their nest, feeding them on star-fire, reminding them that their purpose is still unfulfilled.
There is another sound in the world besides the shrieking wind and their humming systems.
Silvebolt sits up, listens. Slingshot squirms out from under the others, darts to a perch just on the edge of the nest. Skydive lifts his head, looks. Air Raid rolls away from Fireflight, crouches near the rim of the nest. Fireflight watches the sky, optics vague and green, green, green as poison and madness.
Their optics all shine with the color of their lord.
The sound of car engines reaches their audials. Skydive tilts his head curiously, Air Raid hops up onto the edge of the nest, Fireflight sits up, Slingshot leans forward as if to dive.
Silverbolt smiles. "The Prime is coming."
The rest of the Aerialbots turn to look at him, and they smile as well.
Green optics blaze bright.
***
The wind cuts itself on their wings, and they laugh and laugh. Is there no joy greater than flight? The world is nothing but dust under their feet, and the sky is forever. They tumble through the canyons of blue-green rock, whooping as they dare each other to greater and greater feats of maneuverability and madness.
They hear car engines still. Following them, following them out into the wilds, into the badlands. Out of the rocks that shelter little bits of life, into the wastes that glow with such obscene colors when the wind blows right. When the winds blow wrong, the very sky turns sickly dim green, and the Aerialbots huddle in their nest as lightning and madness roars out of the wilds.
When the winds do not blow at all, they scream and scream and scream because anything is better than hearing what comes out of the wastes.
There are things out there that even Aerialbots fear.
The sound of car engines follows their wild flight through the canyons, never quite vanishing from hearing.
They laugh and laugh.
***
At the great arching crest of rock like a gate, they whirl and tumble, landing as robots. Silverbolt perches in the center, Skydive at his right, Slingshot at his left. Fireflight and Air Raid array themselves on either side. Green optics flicker dim as they wait.
Out there beyond the gate, there is the grey dust with its sheen of oil-slick colors and there is the wind. In here, there is the blue-green rock and the blue sky and the wind.
Between dust and rock, there are the Aerialbots.
Green optics shine as the wind picks up. Almost, the wind drowns out the sound of car engines. The sound grows louder, closer, though, and their smiles turn sharp, sharper, sharpest.
The Prime is coming.
-End-
Title: Wild Hunt
Fandom: G1 Transformers, more or less
Characters: Aerialbots
Rating: PG
Word Count: 500+
Summary: The Aerialbots awaken and hear car engines.
Author's Notes: I should take this setting and use it for something original.
Wild Hunt
***
Green optics flicker alight.
The wind whistles and shrieks, cutting itself on the jagged edges of the Aerialbots' nest. Twisted metal makes a fine bed, easily formed by strong hands into the comfortable bowl to hold them all close and warm. The eternal suns shine down on their nest, feeding them on star-fire, reminding them that their purpose is still unfulfilled.
There is another sound in the world besides the shrieking wind and their humming systems.
Silvebolt sits up, listens. Slingshot squirms out from under the others, darts to a perch just on the edge of the nest. Skydive lifts his head, looks. Air Raid rolls away from Fireflight, crouches near the rim of the nest. Fireflight watches the sky, optics vague and green, green, green as poison and madness.
Their optics all shine with the color of their lord.
The sound of car engines reaches their audials. Skydive tilts his head curiously, Air Raid hops up onto the edge of the nest, Fireflight sits up, Slingshot leans forward as if to dive.
Silverbolt smiles. "The Prime is coming."
The rest of the Aerialbots turn to look at him, and they smile as well.
Green optics blaze bright.
***
The wind cuts itself on their wings, and they laugh and laugh. Is there no joy greater than flight? The world is nothing but dust under their feet, and the sky is forever. They tumble through the canyons of blue-green rock, whooping as they dare each other to greater and greater feats of maneuverability and madness.
They hear car engines still. Following them, following them out into the wilds, into the badlands. Out of the rocks that shelter little bits of life, into the wastes that glow with such obscene colors when the wind blows right. When the winds blow wrong, the very sky turns sickly dim green, and the Aerialbots huddle in their nest as lightning and madness roars out of the wilds.
When the winds do not blow at all, they scream and scream and scream because anything is better than hearing what comes out of the wastes.
There are things out there that even Aerialbots fear.
The sound of car engines follows their wild flight through the canyons, never quite vanishing from hearing.
They laugh and laugh.
***
At the great arching crest of rock like a gate, they whirl and tumble, landing as robots. Silverbolt perches in the center, Skydive at his right, Slingshot at his left. Fireflight and Air Raid array themselves on either side. Green optics flicker dim as they wait.
Out there beyond the gate, there is the grey dust with its sheen of oil-slick colors and there is the wind. In here, there is the blue-green rock and the blue sky and the wind.
Between dust and rock, there are the Aerialbots.
Green optics shine as the wind picks up. Almost, the wind drowns out the sound of car engines. The sound grows louder, closer, though, and their smiles turn sharp, sharper, sharpest.
The Prime is coming.
-End-