Motormaster's Awesome Day - Chapter 2
Title: Motormaster's Awesome Day.
Author: Kyra Neko-Rei.
Rating: this one's PG-ish. others higher.
Warnings: Motormaster-torment.
Summary: From the Awesome Day Meme, Motormaster has 24 hours in his awesome day, in which awesome things can happen to him.
Disclaimer: They're a bit much to be mine.
Standard protocol after losing prisoners to an escape or an extraction was to launch a retaliatory attack against the Autobots, and this suited Motormaster's mood just fine.
Unfortunately, neither Megatron nor Starscream nor Soundwave was on duty at present, and Motormaster's ability to call an attack on his own was pretty much limited to his own team. He could, though, especially if they could catch the spy and his transport before they reached the Ark, so he commed his team on the Stunticons' channel and ordered them to assemble for a mission.
Wildrider commed back with "WOOT!"
Drag Strip commed back with "Yeah, arright, gimme a sec."
Dead End commed back with "Very well, it's not as if there is anything better to do."
Motormaster waited a few more seconds and then asked, "Where's Breakdown?"
"I do not know."
"Dunno."
"Frag him, let's GO!"
Motormaster growled. "Wait for me at the exit bay," he snapped, and headed for the turbolift again.
In the quiet, he concentrated on the bond. They were gestalt, connected, and over time Motormaster had developed a rudimentary ability to sense where his teammates were. It often proved useful where Breakdown was concerned.
Concentrating on Breakdown, he became aware of fear, insecurity, vague distress---and then a sudden awareness of Motormaster's attention, which prompted another wave of fear---not, however, the type that would inspire Breakdown to activate his comm and see what Motormaster wanted, oh no. He'd have to do this the hard way, then; a few more moments of contemplation got him Breakdown's approximate location: a storage closet on Deck 9 which he'd pulled Breakdown out of a few times before.
He got there, shook off the last of the vertigo from whatever that pitspawn Autobot had hit him with, and palmed the keypad.
It didn't open.
"Fraggit, Breakdown!" No answer. Command override didn't work either, and hacking the lock wouldn't do slag---his hacking skills were rudimentary, and Breakdown was the team's programming expert. He pried off the keypad cover, disconnected anything that looked like it led to an alarm, pulled his sword out of subspace and sliced through the locking mechanism with it instead.
The door hissed open; Motormaster entered and promptly tripped over something. Falling headlong across more things had him yelping curses in a purely undignified fashion and landing on the floor in front of Breakdown, who was wedged tightly back into a corner, optics startled and huge---and pointing a blast pistol right at him.
"You want," said Motormaster very, very calmly, "to put that thing away right now."
The weapon vanished into Breakdown's supspace. "I'm sorry! I didn't know it was you." The words were a whisper.
"Obviously," Motormaster grumbled. "Though if you had your comm on like you're supposed to when you're---why are you hiding down here when you're on duty, anyway?" A nasty smell began to make itself known at the edges of his awareness, faint but present. "And why here? It fragging reeks in here."
"Vortex was looking for me."
Oh, slag, not that again. It made for a traumatized Breakdown, meant Motormaster couldn't 'face the copter for awhile lest he send mixed signals about whether it was acceptable for someone not him to slag his team, and rankled no small amount to know he was failing to properly intimidate a mech whom he technically outranked. "Looking for you or looking at you?" he couldn't resist goading.
"Both," Breakdown whimpered, shying away from his gaze.
"Get out of there."
Breakdown froze for a moment, then shook his head and attempted to wriggle further back into the space.
Motormaster stared at him. Great. Just slagging great. Breakdown being afraid of something to the point of disobeying Motormaster's commands promised a world of work getting him back to what passed for normal with him. Motormaster sighed and pressed himself into the space---he could only manage it sideways, but that gave him access to Breakdown. The wall and a storage container pressed tightly against him, though, and it occurred to him that he wouldn't have fit if he'd had a rotor assembly on his back. His estimation of Breakdown went up a notch, although he wasn't about to admit it.
He reached forward and grasped at the shoulder of his errant mech, who was watching, frozen, as Motormaster reached for him---and his fingers closed on deep gashes still leaking energon.
"Breakdown?"
"Yeah?" Breakdown squeaked.
"What's this?"
"Told you." Which meant, Vortex. Motormaster growled.
"You didn't say he hurt you," the semi pointed out.
"Wasn't as important."
Motormaster stared at him. What the pits was that like, to be more afraid of someone looking at you than of them attacking you? He couldn't imagine it. "Come out," he said, but it was calmer---proper calm, not you-will-die-in-great-pain-if-you-don't calm.
Breakdown hesitated.
"Now, Breakdown," Motormaster ordered. "I'll overlook you disobeying my orders once. Not twice." Well, mostly overlook, anyway.
Apparently he'd hit the right mix of reassuring and commanding, because Breakdown slowly and gingerly shuffled into closer reach. Motormaster grasped him and pulled him the rest of the way out, indulging the smaller mech by holding him tight against his chestplates. Breakdown wrapped his arms around Motormaster's neck, tight around the cowl that shielded his helm, and Motormaster found himself smiling.
It was nice to be appreciated, after all.
Then he slipped in something wet and was horizontal in the space of an astrosecond, banging his aft, back and helm hard on the floor. Breakdown cried out in sudden pain as his arms were pinned beneath Motormaster's helm, and Motormaster twisted, trying to get up. The liquid coated his entire backside, and---oh. That was what stank so badly. It was leaking from the containers he'd fallen over earlier, whatever it was, and it burned when it contacted his plating.
Getting back up was problematic, given that he had a Lamborghini counterweight offbalancing him, but he managed it, and then he picked up the nearest offending container and flung it at the wall as hard as he could.
It exploded.
-----
Next week involves a medbay---naturally---and prankful subordinates.
Author: Kyra Neko-Rei.
Rating: this one's PG-ish. others higher.
Warnings: Motormaster-torment.
Summary: From the Awesome Day Meme, Motormaster has 24 hours in his awesome day, in which awesome things can happen to him.
Disclaimer: They're a bit much to be mine.
Standard protocol after losing prisoners to an escape or an extraction was to launch a retaliatory attack against the Autobots, and this suited Motormaster's mood just fine.
Unfortunately, neither Megatron nor Starscream nor Soundwave was on duty at present, and Motormaster's ability to call an attack on his own was pretty much limited to his own team. He could, though, especially if they could catch the spy and his transport before they reached the Ark, so he commed his team on the Stunticons' channel and ordered them to assemble for a mission.
Wildrider commed back with "WOOT!"
Drag Strip commed back with "Yeah, arright, gimme a sec."
Dead End commed back with "Very well, it's not as if there is anything better to do."
Motormaster waited a few more seconds and then asked, "Where's Breakdown?"
"I do not know."
"Dunno."
"Frag him, let's GO!"
Motormaster growled. "Wait for me at the exit bay," he snapped, and headed for the turbolift again.
In the quiet, he concentrated on the bond. They were gestalt, connected, and over time Motormaster had developed a rudimentary ability to sense where his teammates were. It often proved useful where Breakdown was concerned.
Concentrating on Breakdown, he became aware of fear, insecurity, vague distress---and then a sudden awareness of Motormaster's attention, which prompted another wave of fear---not, however, the type that would inspire Breakdown to activate his comm and see what Motormaster wanted, oh no. He'd have to do this the hard way, then; a few more moments of contemplation got him Breakdown's approximate location: a storage closet on Deck 9 which he'd pulled Breakdown out of a few times before.
He got there, shook off the last of the vertigo from whatever that pitspawn Autobot had hit him with, and palmed the keypad.
It didn't open.
"Fraggit, Breakdown!" No answer. Command override didn't work either, and hacking the lock wouldn't do slag---his hacking skills were rudimentary, and Breakdown was the team's programming expert. He pried off the keypad cover, disconnected anything that looked like it led to an alarm, pulled his sword out of subspace and sliced through the locking mechanism with it instead.
The door hissed open; Motormaster entered and promptly tripped over something. Falling headlong across more things had him yelping curses in a purely undignified fashion and landing on the floor in front of Breakdown, who was wedged tightly back into a corner, optics startled and huge---and pointing a blast pistol right at him.
"You want," said Motormaster very, very calmly, "to put that thing away right now."
The weapon vanished into Breakdown's supspace. "I'm sorry! I didn't know it was you." The words were a whisper.
"Obviously," Motormaster grumbled. "Though if you had your comm on like you're supposed to when you're---why are you hiding down here when you're on duty, anyway?" A nasty smell began to make itself known at the edges of his awareness, faint but present. "And why here? It fragging reeks in here."
"Vortex was looking for me."
Oh, slag, not that again. It made for a traumatized Breakdown, meant Motormaster couldn't 'face the copter for awhile lest he send mixed signals about whether it was acceptable for someone not him to slag his team, and rankled no small amount to know he was failing to properly intimidate a mech whom he technically outranked. "Looking for you or looking at you?" he couldn't resist goading.
"Both," Breakdown whimpered, shying away from his gaze.
"Get out of there."
Breakdown froze for a moment, then shook his head and attempted to wriggle further back into the space.
Motormaster stared at him. Great. Just slagging great. Breakdown being afraid of something to the point of disobeying Motormaster's commands promised a world of work getting him back to what passed for normal with him. Motormaster sighed and pressed himself into the space---he could only manage it sideways, but that gave him access to Breakdown. The wall and a storage container pressed tightly against him, though, and it occurred to him that he wouldn't have fit if he'd had a rotor assembly on his back. His estimation of Breakdown went up a notch, although he wasn't about to admit it.
He reached forward and grasped at the shoulder of his errant mech, who was watching, frozen, as Motormaster reached for him---and his fingers closed on deep gashes still leaking energon.
"Breakdown?"
"Yeah?" Breakdown squeaked.
"What's this?"
"Told you." Which meant, Vortex. Motormaster growled.
"You didn't say he hurt you," the semi pointed out.
"Wasn't as important."
Motormaster stared at him. What the pits was that like, to be more afraid of someone looking at you than of them attacking you? He couldn't imagine it. "Come out," he said, but it was calmer---proper calm, not you-will-die-in-great-pain-if-you-don't calm.
Breakdown hesitated.
"Now, Breakdown," Motormaster ordered. "I'll overlook you disobeying my orders once. Not twice." Well, mostly overlook, anyway.
Apparently he'd hit the right mix of reassuring and commanding, because Breakdown slowly and gingerly shuffled into closer reach. Motormaster grasped him and pulled him the rest of the way out, indulging the smaller mech by holding him tight against his chestplates. Breakdown wrapped his arms around Motormaster's neck, tight around the cowl that shielded his helm, and Motormaster found himself smiling.
It was nice to be appreciated, after all.
Then he slipped in something wet and was horizontal in the space of an astrosecond, banging his aft, back and helm hard on the floor. Breakdown cried out in sudden pain as his arms were pinned beneath Motormaster's helm, and Motormaster twisted, trying to get up. The liquid coated his entire backside, and---oh. That was what stank so badly. It was leaking from the containers he'd fallen over earlier, whatever it was, and it burned when it contacted his plating.
Getting back up was problematic, given that he had a Lamborghini counterweight offbalancing him, but he managed it, and then he picked up the nearest offending container and flung it at the wall as hard as he could.
It exploded.
-----
Next week involves a medbay---naturally---and prankful subordinates.