Drinking Energon Combaticons
Title: Untitled; written for Drinking Energon Combaticons (with Duskwing)
Characters: Combaticons, Oiler and Duskwing
Word count: 1064 approximately
Rating: G/gen
Author’s Note: Takes place shortly after “Exploring Combaticons”; Duskwing is Dragoness Eclectic’s fancharacter (based off Wayward’s “Stupidity in Blue” picture (Duskwing is the poor SOB about to become art) and is used with her permission.
# # #
Duskwing turned as the door opened and five mechs entered the bar. Behind him, Oiler continued stacking cubes, seemingly uninterested in the newcomers.
Duskwing, on the other hand, watched them with interest. They were the first patrons he'd seen since he'd drifted into the bar nearly five shifts before and they were bound to be more interesting than Oiler was.
Then again, drying paint was more interesting than Oiler was.
"There, see?" said one of the mechs. "The bar is still here, in all its tawdry glory. Ease your fevered minds, my brothers; Oiler’s still exists, all is right with the universe.”
“Shut up, Blast Off,” chorused three of the other mechs, though they sounded more distracted than angry.
Blast Off snorted and turned to stalk over toward the bar, leaning against the portion where Duskwing was currently standing. His movement seemed to be the goad necessary to make the others split up and move around the bar.
If it wasn’t for the clanking of their feet on the floor as they moved with almost reverential slowness around the bar, Duskwing would almost have suspected them of being ghosts as well. They certainly had a haunted look about them. A teal and olive mech, with the look of a missile carrier about him, came to stand beside Blast Off.
“Clever trick,” the missile carrier said, voice low.
“No trick to it,” Blast Off said. “Simple Combaticon psychology. One well-placed ‘wimps’ and you lot will do nearly anything to prove it’s not true. You really should keep that in mind, Onslaught. Infinitely useful.”
Onslaught chuckled. “I will.”
“Combaticons?” Duskwing said, looking Onslaught and Blast Off over for a moment. “Oh yeah! Combaticons! Oh man, no wonder you guys are acting like ghosts! Okay, so that makes this just after the Ark was reawakened and...ooh...” Duskwing shuddered. “And right around the time I got sculpted.”
The two Combaticons gave no sign that they’d heard him, possibly because of an outburst from the corner. Duskwing turned with them, glad of the distraction it offered from his own memories of the past-turned-present.
“Ons! Guys!” yelled a yellow and purple mech. “I found it! I found Witness’s table! It’s still got his carvings in it! ‘Here sits Witness, servant of Primus and lover of good energon; Primus can be found here, at least.’ We were here the night he carved that!”
“I don’t get it,” said a grey and pink heliformer who Duskwing realized was probably Vortex.
“He’s saying Oiler’s doesn’t serve good energon, duh,” said the yellow and purple one. “C’mon, ‘Tex, use your head for something other than a place to store your optics.”
“Cram it, Swindle,” Vortex said. “I mean I never thought the energon here was so bad.”
“That is because you have the gustological sensors of a trash compactor,” said Blast Off. “You wouldn’t know good tasting energon if it blew up in your face.”
“An’ you’re a snob,” said Vortex, cheerfully. “Right Brawl?”
The big green tankformer turned. “Whatever; I found that spot where Pressgang knocked me into the wall! Dent’s still here an’ everything! Now that was a fight.”
Oiler leaned heavily against the bar, making the whole thing creak as she pressed her weight against it. “Can I help you boys with something or you all from the historical society?”
“C’mon, Oiler,” said Swindle -- or at least Duskwing was pretty sure the yellow and purple one was Swindle -- stepping up to the bar, beside Onslaught and Blast Off. He looked beseechingly up at her. “You know who we are, right?”
Duskwing slipped closer, moving to where he could see Oiler and the Combaticons. For a moment, he was tempted to slide into Oiler, to find out what she knew, but that would have spoiled the surprise. Not to mention, it hurt like the Smelting Pits.
“You have some familiar names,” Oiler said. “And you know some folks who’re known to me --but the mechs I’m thinking of are supposed to be dead.”
A shudder ran through Swindle and then seemed to jump to the others. Duskwing perked up -- coming back from the dead was a neat trick. If they could manage it, maybe they could teach him.
“Yeah, well, sometimes rumors get exaggerated,” said Swindle. “There’s being dead and then there’s being dead.”
“Which were you?” Duskwing asked, only to be ignored again.
“The Combaticons were executed,” Oiler said. “They went into Room 217. Nobody comes out of Room 217.”
“We didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter,” said Onslaught.
Blast Off picked up the explanation. “We were, you’ll pardon the pun, press ganged into service once more.”
“Starscream stole us,” said Vortex, moving up closer to the bar. “He took us to Earth and gave us new bodies. Things get kinda complicated after that, but it’s us Oiler. We’re back, you remember us, don’t you?”
Duskwing waited for Oiler’s answer, his expression almost as eager and hopeful as those of the Combaticons. Sure, they weren’t ghosts in the literal sense that he was but he could feel a certain kinship with them. Coming back from the dead was hard enough; coming back and having nobody recognize you? He shivered in horror at the idea. At least he had a sculpture to remind people of who he’d been.
“You boys were executed ownin’ me money,” Oiler said, setting five cubes up in a line on the bar top. “You think I’m really going to forget that just ‘cause you went and got rebuilt?”
The Combaticons as a group relaxed as Oiler grinned at them. “Slag,” she said. “Some of us are still laughin’ about you five ‘taking over Cybertron’ a couple quarters ago. You boys do realize that you only ruled over about five square blocks, right?”
“Indeed,” said Onslaught. “We were -- overzealous in our estimations of success but you have to admit, what we had, we held.”
Oiler shook her head. “I’ll give you boys that,” she said, reaching under the bar for a fuel nozzle. “Take it you five want your usual?”
That, Duskwing noted, perked the Combaticons up, even more than Oiler recognizing them.
“You still got hushtexes on the menu?” Swindle asked as Vortex shouted “I want a magenta cube!” over Brawl’s demands for “a double, no triple!” and Onslaught simply nodded while Blast Off sighed resignedly and asked for “something small.”
Characters: Combaticons, Oiler and Duskwing
Word count: 1064 approximately
Rating: G/gen
Author’s Note: Takes place shortly after “Exploring Combaticons”; Duskwing is Dragoness Eclectic’s fancharacter (based off Wayward’s “Stupidity in Blue” picture (Duskwing is the poor SOB about to become art) and is used with her permission.
# # #
Duskwing turned as the door opened and five mechs entered the bar. Behind him, Oiler continued stacking cubes, seemingly uninterested in the newcomers.
Duskwing, on the other hand, watched them with interest. They were the first patrons he'd seen since he'd drifted into the bar nearly five shifts before and they were bound to be more interesting than Oiler was.
Then again, drying paint was more interesting than Oiler was.
"There, see?" said one of the mechs. "The bar is still here, in all its tawdry glory. Ease your fevered minds, my brothers; Oiler’s still exists, all is right with the universe.”
“Shut up, Blast Off,” chorused three of the other mechs, though they sounded more distracted than angry.
Blast Off snorted and turned to stalk over toward the bar, leaning against the portion where Duskwing was currently standing. His movement seemed to be the goad necessary to make the others split up and move around the bar.
If it wasn’t for the clanking of their feet on the floor as they moved with almost reverential slowness around the bar, Duskwing would almost have suspected them of being ghosts as well. They certainly had a haunted look about them. A teal and olive mech, with the look of a missile carrier about him, came to stand beside Blast Off.
“Clever trick,” the missile carrier said, voice low.
“No trick to it,” Blast Off said. “Simple Combaticon psychology. One well-placed ‘wimps’ and you lot will do nearly anything to prove it’s not true. You really should keep that in mind, Onslaught. Infinitely useful.”
Onslaught chuckled. “I will.”
“Combaticons?” Duskwing said, looking Onslaught and Blast Off over for a moment. “Oh yeah! Combaticons! Oh man, no wonder you guys are acting like ghosts! Okay, so that makes this just after the Ark was reawakened and...ooh...” Duskwing shuddered. “And right around the time I got sculpted.”
The two Combaticons gave no sign that they’d heard him, possibly because of an outburst from the corner. Duskwing turned with them, glad of the distraction it offered from his own memories of the past-turned-present.
“Ons! Guys!” yelled a yellow and purple mech. “I found it! I found Witness’s table! It’s still got his carvings in it! ‘Here sits Witness, servant of Primus and lover of good energon; Primus can be found here, at least.’ We were here the night he carved that!”
“I don’t get it,” said a grey and pink heliformer who Duskwing realized was probably Vortex.
“He’s saying Oiler’s doesn’t serve good energon, duh,” said the yellow and purple one. “C’mon, ‘Tex, use your head for something other than a place to store your optics.”
“Cram it, Swindle,” Vortex said. “I mean I never thought the energon here was so bad.”
“That is because you have the gustological sensors of a trash compactor,” said Blast Off. “You wouldn’t know good tasting energon if it blew up in your face.”
“An’ you’re a snob,” said Vortex, cheerfully. “Right Brawl?”
The big green tankformer turned. “Whatever; I found that spot where Pressgang knocked me into the wall! Dent’s still here an’ everything! Now that was a fight.”
Oiler leaned heavily against the bar, making the whole thing creak as she pressed her weight against it. “Can I help you boys with something or you all from the historical society?”
“C’mon, Oiler,” said Swindle -- or at least Duskwing was pretty sure the yellow and purple one was Swindle -- stepping up to the bar, beside Onslaught and Blast Off. He looked beseechingly up at her. “You know who we are, right?”
Duskwing slipped closer, moving to where he could see Oiler and the Combaticons. For a moment, he was tempted to slide into Oiler, to find out what she knew, but that would have spoiled the surprise. Not to mention, it hurt like the Smelting Pits.
“You have some familiar names,” Oiler said. “And you know some folks who’re known to me --but the mechs I’m thinking of are supposed to be dead.”
A shudder ran through Swindle and then seemed to jump to the others. Duskwing perked up -- coming back from the dead was a neat trick. If they could manage it, maybe they could teach him.
“Yeah, well, sometimes rumors get exaggerated,” said Swindle. “There’s being dead and then there’s being dead.”
“Which were you?” Duskwing asked, only to be ignored again.
“The Combaticons were executed,” Oiler said. “They went into Room 217. Nobody comes out of Room 217.”
“We didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter,” said Onslaught.
Blast Off picked up the explanation. “We were, you’ll pardon the pun, press ganged into service once more.”
“Starscream stole us,” said Vortex, moving up closer to the bar. “He took us to Earth and gave us new bodies. Things get kinda complicated after that, but it’s us Oiler. We’re back, you remember us, don’t you?”
Duskwing waited for Oiler’s answer, his expression almost as eager and hopeful as those of the Combaticons. Sure, they weren’t ghosts in the literal sense that he was but he could feel a certain kinship with them. Coming back from the dead was hard enough; coming back and having nobody recognize you? He shivered in horror at the idea. At least he had a sculpture to remind people of who he’d been.
“You boys were executed ownin’ me money,” Oiler said, setting five cubes up in a line on the bar top. “You think I’m really going to forget that just ‘cause you went and got rebuilt?”
The Combaticons as a group relaxed as Oiler grinned at them. “Slag,” she said. “Some of us are still laughin’ about you five ‘taking over Cybertron’ a couple quarters ago. You boys do realize that you only ruled over about five square blocks, right?”
“Indeed,” said Onslaught. “We were -- overzealous in our estimations of success but you have to admit, what we had, we held.”
Oiler shook her head. “I’ll give you boys that,” she said, reaching under the bar for a fuel nozzle. “Take it you five want your usual?”
That, Duskwing noted, perked the Combaticons up, even more than Oiler recognizing them.
“You still got hushtexes on the menu?” Swindle asked as Vortex shouted “I want a magenta cube!” over Brawl’s demands for “a double, no triple!” and Onslaught simply nodded while Blast Off sighed resignedly and asked for “something small.”