Drabbles 1/?
To prove I haven't forgotten about the meme drabbles - I've just gotten busy!
And yes, I do know the meaning of 'drabble'...I just can't write drabbles. So you get my version of a drabble, which is about twice as long as it should be.
Both drabbles rated T.
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Jazz - obsession Note: I made up a medical profession, 'psycodologist': Cybertronians that deal with psychological coding and try to figure out why it's resulting in the behaviour that it is. Basically psychology for Cybertronians. *end Star Trek-esque geekery* for wicked3659
When he got to the Matrix, Jazz was pissed. Not because he'd died, oh no, he'd known that was inevitable. The chances of deactivation in his line of work were actually higher than in any other job in the army - including the front-line fighting like Sunny and Sides did. Even if that didn't happen, if the Cybertronian peoples suddenly found themselves at peace, well, some Autobot would inevitably call for a warcrimes tribunal against certain Decepticons, and Optimus being the fair Prime that he was would insist on an equal tribunal for the Autobots. Considering how well he'd protected not only Prime and the other officers, but his subordinates in Special Ops, as well, from the nastier side of war, that tribunal wouldn't go too well for Jazz.
So, Jazz knew that, one way or another, he would end up deactivated. Knowing this, he'd spent a fair amount of time plotting out ways to go. The methods for deactivation that he'd come up with ranged from silly to dramatic, from low-key to epicly spectacular, from probable to completely impossible without divine intervention. There were literally thousands of these simulations in his processor, stored away in a small protected area. They were neatly sorted, too - not by the date he'd come up with them, but by most or least desirable. Sometimes, with so many simulations stored away in his processor, it would take him an entire orn to figure out just where a new simulation should be placed. He'd actually put off his real work while trying to find just the right position for a new simulation, and more than once gotten a talking to from either Optimus or Prowl for his distraction.
Not that they knew about his simulations. No one knew about his simulations, not even Soundwave - the Decepticon telepath had tried, once, to get into that partitioned area of Jazz's processor, but even with a hardline connection, he hadn't been able to get in. Jazz wasn't about to let his little obsession with his own deactivation get out. He didn't really want to deal with the psycodologists over that little gem of his processor - he'd already had to visit them once, like all Special Ops mechs, and that was enough.
That was, of course, all irrelevant now, because what he knew was inevitable had finally happened. Jazz was dead, and standing in the Matrix. Well, floating may having been a better descriptor. Perhaps just 'existing' would be even better, even if it was a bit too 'Pereceptor' a term for his liking. Regardless, he was still pissed. Why?
Because nowhere, not anywhere in his 12,587 simulations, had he ever come up with the prospect of facing off against Megatron as a distraction to save some organics and his teammates, only to end up ripped in half while Megatron made a really bad joke. No. Where. The simulation had not crossed his processor.
All of that processor power he'd devoted to his own deactivation, all of that time spent on his secret obsession, and the reality had wound up being something completely different. Also, he couldn't be sure without giving it some serious thought, but he was pretty sure that, as a method of deactivation, his reality fell mid-way to low on his scale of desirability. Megatron making a bad joke was its redeeming quality at this point.
It didn't really help, either, that since he was in the Matrix, his thoughts didn't appear to be exactly his own anymore, and pretty much all of his deceased friends, and a fair number of his enemies, were busy laughing their sparks off at the reason his death upset him. He thought he could 'hear' Primus and Unicron in there snickering, too.
---
Sideswipe/Perceptor - molestation in a hallway for blind_foxx
The screeching of tires was all the warning Perceptor had before the yellow streak shot past him, knocking him off balance and almost sending him to the floor. Only almost, since shortly before he hit, he was caught by a familiar red figure.
"So nice of you to drop in, 'Ceptor!" Sideswipe purred, looking delighted, and before Perceptor could react, he found himself being quite thoroughly kissed. His processor had barely managed to catch up with that when he realized one of Sideswipe's hands had made its way to his aft, while the other was teasing the mount for his microscope lense. The effect was rather disconcerting, and Perceptor found himself reacting on instinct as his normal though processes were unable to sort themselves out. He was abruptly reminded of the fact that 'instinct' with Sideswipe had recently come to mean kissing and groping back when he heard a polite burst of static.
Drawing back as he remembered that he'd been walking somewhere - he'd remember where later - with Prowl, Perceptor pushed Sideswipe away, only to recall a split second too late that Sideswipe was keeping him from falling on his aft. Fortunately, Sideswipe hadn't forgotten, and pulled Perceptor upright, and conveniently against his side, as he turned to give Prowl a completely innocent look.
"I'm sorry Prowl, I didn't notice you there!" Sideswipe said with false earnesty.
"I'm sure you didn't." Prowl replied, giving Sideswipe an impassive look. The two stared at each other for a moment longer, until they evidently decided that neither of them was going to break. "Shouldn't you go catch your brother?"
"Oh yeah, need to get that slagger for -" whatever Sideswipe had to get Sunstreaker for was lost as he stepped away from Perceptor and transformed, taking off down the hallway after his twin. Watching him go, Prowl shook his head before turning back to Perceptor.
"Shall we continued to your lab?" the SIC suggestested as he motioned down the hall.
"Ah, yes, yes, of course." Perceptor agreed, and headed off, eagre to put the incident behind him and get back to the task at hand.
And yes, I do know the meaning of 'drabble'...I just can't write drabbles. So you get my version of a drabble, which is about twice as long as it should be.
Both drabbles rated T.
---
Jazz - obsession Note: I made up a medical profession, 'psycodologist': Cybertronians that deal with psychological coding and try to figure out why it's resulting in the behaviour that it is. Basically psychology for Cybertronians. *end Star Trek-esque geekery* for wicked3659
When he got to the Matrix, Jazz was pissed. Not because he'd died, oh no, he'd known that was inevitable. The chances of deactivation in his line of work were actually higher than in any other job in the army - including the front-line fighting like Sunny and Sides did. Even if that didn't happen, if the Cybertronian peoples suddenly found themselves at peace, well, some Autobot would inevitably call for a warcrimes tribunal against certain Decepticons, and Optimus being the fair Prime that he was would insist on an equal tribunal for the Autobots. Considering how well he'd protected not only Prime and the other officers, but his subordinates in Special Ops, as well, from the nastier side of war, that tribunal wouldn't go too well for Jazz.
So, Jazz knew that, one way or another, he would end up deactivated. Knowing this, he'd spent a fair amount of time plotting out ways to go. The methods for deactivation that he'd come up with ranged from silly to dramatic, from low-key to epicly spectacular, from probable to completely impossible without divine intervention. There were literally thousands of these simulations in his processor, stored away in a small protected area. They were neatly sorted, too - not by the date he'd come up with them, but by most or least desirable. Sometimes, with so many simulations stored away in his processor, it would take him an entire orn to figure out just where a new simulation should be placed. He'd actually put off his real work while trying to find just the right position for a new simulation, and more than once gotten a talking to from either Optimus or Prowl for his distraction.
Not that they knew about his simulations. No one knew about his simulations, not even Soundwave - the Decepticon telepath had tried, once, to get into that partitioned area of Jazz's processor, but even with a hardline connection, he hadn't been able to get in. Jazz wasn't about to let his little obsession with his own deactivation get out. He didn't really want to deal with the psycodologists over that little gem of his processor - he'd already had to visit them once, like all Special Ops mechs, and that was enough.
That was, of course, all irrelevant now, because what he knew was inevitable had finally happened. Jazz was dead, and standing in the Matrix. Well, floating may having been a better descriptor. Perhaps just 'existing' would be even better, even if it was a bit too 'Pereceptor' a term for his liking. Regardless, he was still pissed. Why?
Because nowhere, not anywhere in his 12,587 simulations, had he ever come up with the prospect of facing off against Megatron as a distraction to save some organics and his teammates, only to end up ripped in half while Megatron made a really bad joke. No. Where. The simulation had not crossed his processor.
All of that processor power he'd devoted to his own deactivation, all of that time spent on his secret obsession, and the reality had wound up being something completely different. Also, he couldn't be sure without giving it some serious thought, but he was pretty sure that, as a method of deactivation, his reality fell mid-way to low on his scale of desirability. Megatron making a bad joke was its redeeming quality at this point.
It didn't really help, either, that since he was in the Matrix, his thoughts didn't appear to be exactly his own anymore, and pretty much all of his deceased friends, and a fair number of his enemies, were busy laughing their sparks off at the reason his death upset him. He thought he could 'hear' Primus and Unicron in there snickering, too.
---
Sideswipe/Perceptor - molestation in a hallway for blind_foxx
The screeching of tires was all the warning Perceptor had before the yellow streak shot past him, knocking him off balance and almost sending him to the floor. Only almost, since shortly before he hit, he was caught by a familiar red figure.
"So nice of you to drop in, 'Ceptor!" Sideswipe purred, looking delighted, and before Perceptor could react, he found himself being quite thoroughly kissed. His processor had barely managed to catch up with that when he realized one of Sideswipe's hands had made its way to his aft, while the other was teasing the mount for his microscope lense. The effect was rather disconcerting, and Perceptor found himself reacting on instinct as his normal though processes were unable to sort themselves out. He was abruptly reminded of the fact that 'instinct' with Sideswipe had recently come to mean kissing and groping back when he heard a polite burst of static.
Drawing back as he remembered that he'd been walking somewhere - he'd remember where later - with Prowl, Perceptor pushed Sideswipe away, only to recall a split second too late that Sideswipe was keeping him from falling on his aft. Fortunately, Sideswipe hadn't forgotten, and pulled Perceptor upright, and conveniently against his side, as he turned to give Prowl a completely innocent look.
"I'm sorry Prowl, I didn't notice you there!" Sideswipe said with false earnesty.
"I'm sure you didn't." Prowl replied, giving Sideswipe an impassive look. The two stared at each other for a moment longer, until they evidently decided that neither of them was going to break. "Shouldn't you go catch your brother?"
"Oh yeah, need to get that slagger for -" whatever Sideswipe had to get Sunstreaker for was lost as he stepped away from Perceptor and transformed, taking off down the hallway after his twin. Watching him go, Prowl shook his head before turning back to Perceptor.
"Shall we continued to your lab?" the SIC suggestested as he motioned down the hall.
"Ah, yes, yes, of course." Perceptor agreed, and headed off, eagre to put the incident behind him and get back to the task at hand.