October/Halloween Challenge (2/13)
In Memoriam: Of Laughter, Friendship, and Slagging Stupid Shenanigans. (Part 2/13)
Author: gilded_orchid
Rating: Um. Dunno. We’ll say PG-13 to be safe.
Series: G1
Pairings: Prowl/Jazz (getting there, anyway),the rest are a surprise.
Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Humor Crack and Shenanigans.
Disclaimer: Transformers™ does not belong to me. That honor goes to Hasbro, Takara, Marvel, IDW, Disney (whut?!) and lots more people richer than me.
Notes: Part two of the October/Halloween challenge @ prowlxjazz
Black cat
“What in Primus’s name are they doing?”
“Don’t ask, Optimus. It’s safer that way.” Ironhide frowned at his cards and folded.
“Just look at all they’ve had.” Prowl grinned, eerily reminiscent of Smokescreen as he laid his hand out. “Four of a kind takes the pot, mechs.”
Wheeljack frowned behind his facemask and his fins flashed red in irritation. “How many hands is that now? Five?”
“Six.”
“…You’re cheating.”
Prowl shot the fuming engineer a bland look. “Yes, Wheeljack. I’m cheating. ”
Wheeljack stared at him for a long moment. Was Prowl being sarcastic? Was he hiding behind sarcasm but still telling the truth? His fins flashed a volatile shade of red that bled into a suspicious orange as he noticed the various looks of amusement among his so called friends. “This is conspiracy.”
Prowl smirked. “Whatever you say, Red Alert.”
“Shaddup.” Wheeljack relented, however, and sulked as he studied his new hand.
“Seriously. It’s bothering me now. What is that?”
Ironhide moved a stack of chips into the pot and tried not to laugh at the dubious looks Wheeljack kept shooting Prowl. “Let it go, Prime. It’s your call, anyway.”
Back on their side of the room, Windcharger warbled goofily and sat up to prod at his companion. Well, he attempted to. Instead of sitting up, however, he wound up rolling over into an ungainly sprawl. Things had been…difficult after that sixth cube of high-grade, but Brawn needed his help. He would be resist...rem...remisty? no…He would be a very bad friend if he didn’t take one for the team. The fact that he’d already taken six or seven non-withstanding. At least he could see the ceiling this way. Ceilings were under appreciated, really. Like this one, way up there, alone and cracked, keeping the elements at bay. How long had it been taken for granted as it kept silent vigil over its occupants? Nobody probably even paid attention to the poor thing until it was gone. But it wouldn't leave, wouldn't abandon them. The ceiling was trustworthy. Not like the floor. The floor was a complete afthead who shirked its duty to provide a stable support to mechs who were tryin' to get around, thank you. And now that it had him down, it wasn't letting go. But that was okay too, because Brawn wouldn't let the floor just hold him hostage like that, and had joined him. And really, the floor actually hadn't been so bad once it had them as company. Maybe it was just clingy; it probably didn't have a lot of friends. Not like he did. He had Brawn. Good ole' Brawn, doing...whatever with all those cubes. Windcharger reached over and poked his friend in the side. “Brawn? Hey Brawn? What are we making anyway?”
It was a longtime before Brawn replied, but when he did his voice was rife with inspiration and artistic vision. Or maybe it was the high-grade.
“A monument.”
“Ohhhhh……to who?”
“Steeljaw and Ravage. Ravage is almost complete. I just have to finish her paws.”
“…………Steeljaw and Ravage? As in a couple? But they hate each other!”
Brawn shook his head solemnly. “No. Not hate. Their love is a thing of tragedy.”
Windcharger didn’t get it. He’d always thought Steeljaw would rather insinuate himself into the middle of a Dinobot brawl than associate with the Casseticon spy, what with his “pride” loyalty and all. He figured that was true of Ravage as well. Poor Ravage, stuck with a monotonous bore like Soundwave and those stupid slaggin' Decepticons. No wonder she was always spying on the Ark. S'not like she saw anything nice on the Nemesis. The Autobots were just a classier lot--even Cliffjumper when he was a being a total aft was better than a 'Con . Not like Ravage could just up and leave, though... The truth hit him like that eighth cube of high-grade. The war! It was the only thing keeping the two apart, dooming them to antagonism and loneliness. Ravage was too loyal to defect, even for something as powerful as love! She was just like the ceiling! It wasn’t just tragic; it was spark rending! Damn the war! Damn the war to the Pit!
Windcharger reached for another cube of energon and slammed it back before passing the empty container to Brawn with purposeful zeal. If fate conspired against true love, then he and Brawn would erect a monument of hope, of defiance, of-wasn’t Ravage black? He frowned, staring at the sculpture. He couldn’t quite make out Ravage, actually; it looked rather like Blitzwing stuck in mid-transformation, or that pile of slag Wheeljack had tried to salvage, but maybe that was just Brawn’s abstract genius. Still, though… “Brawn? Brawn? Hey Brawn!”
“SHHHH!” Brawn fixed him with an irritated glare, optics alight with…something.
“Isn’t Ravage black? We’re using clear cubes, so how can we tell it’s her?”
“Misery. Our misery and pain will provide the color our optics cannot see.”
Brawn really *was* a genius. Windcharger nodded in agreement and wobbled unsteadily as Brawn passed him another cube.
“See?! I warned ya not to go tryin’ to figure out what those two glitches were up to.” Ironhide threw his hand down and shook his head, as if he could somehow forcibly un-hear the conversation that had lured them all in one by one. The battle mask made it hard to tell, but Optimus looked vaguely traumatized by the insanity that had apparently claimed the two minibots. Even Wheeljack had forgone his obsessive scrutiny of Prowl in favor recovering from the horror Brawn had concocted, and Prowl himself was well on his way to the beginnings of a fantastic processor crash from the looks of it.
Ratchet sighed and shoved out of his chair. Might as well stave off the crash, and perhaps get a peek at Prowl’s hand while he was at it.
Author: gilded_orchid
Rating: Um. Dunno. We’ll say PG-13 to be safe.
Series: G1
Pairings: Prowl/Jazz (getting there, anyway),the rest are a surprise.
Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Humor Crack and Shenanigans.
Disclaimer: Transformers™ does not belong to me. That honor goes to Hasbro, Takara, Marvel, IDW, Disney (whut?!) and lots more people richer than me.
Notes: Part two of the October/Halloween challenge @ prowlxjazz
Black cat
“What in Primus’s name are they doing?”
“Don’t ask, Optimus. It’s safer that way.” Ironhide frowned at his cards and folded.
“Just look at all they’ve had.” Prowl grinned, eerily reminiscent of Smokescreen as he laid his hand out. “Four of a kind takes the pot, mechs.”
Wheeljack frowned behind his facemask and his fins flashed red in irritation. “How many hands is that now? Five?”
“Six.”
“…You’re cheating.”
Prowl shot the fuming engineer a bland look. “Yes, Wheeljack. I’m cheating. ”
Wheeljack stared at him for a long moment. Was Prowl being sarcastic? Was he hiding behind sarcasm but still telling the truth? His fins flashed a volatile shade of red that bled into a suspicious orange as he noticed the various looks of amusement among his so called friends. “This is conspiracy.”
Prowl smirked. “Whatever you say, Red Alert.”
“Shaddup.” Wheeljack relented, however, and sulked as he studied his new hand.
“Seriously. It’s bothering me now. What is that?”
Ironhide moved a stack of chips into the pot and tried not to laugh at the dubious looks Wheeljack kept shooting Prowl. “Let it go, Prime. It’s your call, anyway.”
Back on their side of the room, Windcharger warbled goofily and sat up to prod at his companion. Well, he attempted to. Instead of sitting up, however, he wound up rolling over into an ungainly sprawl. Things had been…difficult after that sixth cube of high-grade, but Brawn needed his help. He would be resist...rem...remisty? no…He would be a very bad friend if he didn’t take one for the team. The fact that he’d already taken six or seven non-withstanding. At least he could see the ceiling this way. Ceilings were under appreciated, really. Like this one, way up there, alone and cracked, keeping the elements at bay. How long had it been taken for granted as it kept silent vigil over its occupants? Nobody probably even paid attention to the poor thing until it was gone. But it wouldn't leave, wouldn't abandon them. The ceiling was trustworthy. Not like the floor. The floor was a complete afthead who shirked its duty to provide a stable support to mechs who were tryin' to get around, thank you. And now that it had him down, it wasn't letting go. But that was okay too, because Brawn wouldn't let the floor just hold him hostage like that, and had joined him. And really, the floor actually hadn't been so bad once it had them as company. Maybe it was just clingy; it probably didn't have a lot of friends. Not like he did. He had Brawn. Good ole' Brawn, doing...whatever with all those cubes. Windcharger reached over and poked his friend in the side. “Brawn? Hey Brawn? What are we making anyway?”
It was a longtime before Brawn replied, but when he did his voice was rife with inspiration and artistic vision. Or maybe it was the high-grade.
“A monument.”
“Ohhhhh……to who?”
“Steeljaw and Ravage. Ravage is almost complete. I just have to finish her paws.”
“…………Steeljaw and Ravage? As in a couple? But they hate each other!”
Brawn shook his head solemnly. “No. Not hate. Their love is a thing of tragedy.”
Windcharger didn’t get it. He’d always thought Steeljaw would rather insinuate himself into the middle of a Dinobot brawl than associate with the Casseticon spy, what with his “pride” loyalty and all. He figured that was true of Ravage as well. Poor Ravage, stuck with a monotonous bore like Soundwave and those stupid slaggin' Decepticons. No wonder she was always spying on the Ark. S'not like she saw anything nice on the Nemesis. The Autobots were just a classier lot--even Cliffjumper when he was a being a total aft was better than a 'Con . Not like Ravage could just up and leave, though... The truth hit him like that eighth cube of high-grade. The war! It was the only thing keeping the two apart, dooming them to antagonism and loneliness. Ravage was too loyal to defect, even for something as powerful as love! She was just like the ceiling! It wasn’t just tragic; it was spark rending! Damn the war! Damn the war to the Pit!
Windcharger reached for another cube of energon and slammed it back before passing the empty container to Brawn with purposeful zeal. If fate conspired against true love, then he and Brawn would erect a monument of hope, of defiance, of-wasn’t Ravage black? He frowned, staring at the sculpture. He couldn’t quite make out Ravage, actually; it looked rather like Blitzwing stuck in mid-transformation, or that pile of slag Wheeljack had tried to salvage, but maybe that was just Brawn’s abstract genius. Still, though… “Brawn? Brawn? Hey Brawn!”
“SHHHH!” Brawn fixed him with an irritated glare, optics alight with…something.
“Isn’t Ravage black? We’re using clear cubes, so how can we tell it’s her?”
“Misery. Our misery and pain will provide the color our optics cannot see.”
Brawn really *was* a genius. Windcharger nodded in agreement and wobbled unsteadily as Brawn passed him another cube.
“See?! I warned ya not to go tryin’ to figure out what those two glitches were up to.” Ironhide threw his hand down and shook his head, as if he could somehow forcibly un-hear the conversation that had lured them all in one by one. The battle mask made it hard to tell, but Optimus looked vaguely traumatized by the insanity that had apparently claimed the two minibots. Even Wheeljack had forgone his obsessive scrutiny of Prowl in favor recovering from the horror Brawn had concocted, and Prowl himself was well on his way to the beginnings of a fantastic processor crash from the looks of it.
Ratchet sighed and shoved out of his chair. Might as well stave off the crash, and perhaps get a peek at Prowl’s hand while he was at it.