Horror! And Dinobots. But...HORROR!
So I got home from work yesterday, only to find…NO INTERNETS! NOOOOOOOOO! Called the ISP. There is a vague automated message about Major Disaster of Some Sort there, I guess because they quickly got sick of people calling every five minutes. They hope to have it resolved this morning. Still wasn’t back when I left. :( Stupid ISPs… Ah well, at least I have Internets here at work! And since I had no Internets at home, I got some arty things done, a few new icons, worked on my crazy Cartoon Restoration Project, worked on drawing Snarl, that sort of thing.
But, now that I'm back in a place with Internets, I thought I’d post this up here. My first 100-fic prompt down, only 99 to go! I’m going to do my best to keep all of these at 1,000 words or less, but since I suck at short, I’m sure that will go out the window on a number of these. Especially when it comes to the pr0nz… If anyone stumbles upon this and is unfamiliar with “my” Dinobots and the six other stories I’ve written about them which make them “mine” in the sense of expanding their characterizations, you might want to read my blather over at FF.net. Otherwise, here you go:
Prompt: Mistake
Required Character(s): All
Rating: PG
Warnings: ZOMG, Snarl says the “D” word!
Genre: This is straight comedy. Because a pissed-off Slag is always funny.
Word Count (Not Counting this Intro): 990. Yes! Under 1,000! :D
“Sit still!” Sludge commanded with a very unusual level of ferocity in his voice. His teeth were bared in a grimace born of both concentration and annoyance.
“ITCHES!” Slag loudly protested. He really wasn’t in the mood to form complete sentences. He squirmed again under Sludge’s ministrations, as Sludge tried to return to his task.
“You were the one who wanted this,” Sludge reminded him firmly, gritting his teeth and digging an elbow into Slag’s shoulder. He pushed down hard against Slag in a likely-futile effort to keep the smaller Dinobot still.
Reflexively, Slag lifted an arm to not-gently knock Sludge off of him…except that Grimlock caught his forearm in mid-swing.
“Wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Grimlock announced mildly. Even distractedly; his attention was otherwise wholly focused on the datapad that he held in his other hand. His gaze never left the pad, even. He just knew Slag precisely that well.
Slag growled, but subsided…for the moment. He jerked his arm out of Grimlock’s grasp with a contemptuous snort and then muttered something that sounded vehemently ferocious under his breath.
“You want me to finish this or not?” Sludge asked, his tone uncharacteristically demanding and impatient and not a little ticked off.
“Yes!” Slag growled. He had never been one to back down from something that he’d started, and he wasn’t about to start doing so now.
“Then. Sit. Still,” Sludge answered, carefully enunciating each word as if Slag was an utter moron. “Or this,” he added, meaningfully waving the laser scalpel he’d borrowed from Swoop in Slag’s face, “might slip. Might go somewhere you don’t want it to go.”
At that, Grimlock exploded into waves of loud and hearty guffaws. He couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t remember ever hearing Sludge threaten anyone quite that well, and it was both amusing and heartening that Sludge was sticking up for himself. Especially in the face of something like a pissy Slag. Swoop, too, was snickering.
“Want me to sit on him, Sludge?” he offered brightly from his perch on the couch, watching the drama unfold and wishing for a proverbial bowl of popcorn. “I could weld him in place for you. Maybe weld his mouth shut, while I’m at it.”
Sludge gave Swoop a wicked grin that under any other circumstances might have been deeply disturbing coming from the usually-gentle giant. Slag, of course, glared at Swoop, and it was the sort of glare that would put the fear of Primus into anyone. Anyone but Swoop, of course, who only grinned impudently back at Slag, his eyes glittering with deep amusement.
“You shut up,” Slag growled at Swoop, with narrow-eyed yet impotent annoyance.
“Make me,” Swoop taunted, only barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at Slag.
“Get over here and I will!” Slag promised heatedly. “And not in a way that you’ll like,” he pointedly added.
Unfortunately, the words and his expression only resulted in Swoop collapsing in cascades of uncontrollable snickering. Grimlock immediately followed suit, having only barely recovered from his last round of laughing at Slag’s expense.
Slag heaved a greatly annoyed sigh.
“I hate you all,” he announced decisively but somewhat dispiritedly, glaring at everyone. “Especially you,” he added, aiming an even deeper glare at Swoop. Unfortunately, this only made Grimlock and Swoop laugh harder and even served to dig a chuckle out of the otherwise deeply annoyed Sludge.
Hearing the commotion, Snarl eventually wandered out into the common room, saw the other four Dinobots clustered together, and moved to see what they were up to. Quickly he realized that they were up to giving Slag the “tattoo” that he had wanted. He’d apparently learned from somewhere that such things were supposed to give one a tougher image, so he had decided that he wanted one. And he had decided that he wanted a short passage from The Art of War. In Chinese. So, Snarl had written out the characters and had given them to Sludge, who had agreed to do the artwork, creating a design and then etching the design into Slag’s shoulder armor with a laser scalpel so that it would last until the next time that the armor had to be repaired or replaced. Snarl found himself curious to watch the proceedings now, despite himself, and he moved in closer to his gathered comrades so that he could see Sludge’s work.
It was lovely work, as usual; one could really expect nothing less from Sludge. The design that he had come up with was stylized but very readable to anyone who could read the Chinese. And then…something caught Snarl’s eye. Leaning in still closer, just to make sure he’d seen things correctly, Snarl squinted critically at the half-finished etching in Slag’s shoulder. Then:
“You spelled it wrong,” he announced, giving Sludge a reproving whack on the side of his head for good measure.
Sludge flinched and then gave Snarl a panicked look over Slag’s shoulder, a look entirely fueled by the promise-of-death glare that Slag had swiveled around to level on him after Snarl’s declaration.
“It’s what you gave me!” Sludge protested defensively, gesturing at the etching and then shoving his reference datapad at Snarl.
Frowning, Snarl took the offered pad from Sludge’s hand, blinking down at it for a moment.
“Damn, I spelled it wrong,” he admitted mildly.
There was silence for a moment, a moment that seemed to stretch on forever. And then Slag, with a throat-rending roar, launched himself at Snarl, all while yelling, “I’m going to kill you!” Grimlock made an involuntary surprised noise and then jerked his massive bulk to the side, so that he was just barely out of the two’s flight path that sent them over the back of the couch that Swoop occupied and against which Grimlock had been leaning.
Yep, he observed ruefully as he stood to watch Slag and Snarl tussle, a very common occurrence. Just another day in paradise.
But, now that I'm back in a place with Internets, I thought I’d post this up here. My first 100-fic prompt down, only 99 to go! I’m going to do my best to keep all of these at 1,000 words or less, but since I suck at short, I’m sure that will go out the window on a number of these. Especially when it comes to the pr0nz… If anyone stumbles upon this and is unfamiliar with “my” Dinobots and the six other stories I’ve written about them which make them “mine” in the sense of expanding their characterizations, you might want to read my blather over at FF.net. Otherwise, here you go:
Prompt: Mistake
Required Character(s): All
Rating: PG
Warnings: ZOMG, Snarl says the “D” word!
Genre: This is straight comedy. Because a pissed-off Slag is always funny.
Word Count (Not Counting this Intro): 990. Yes! Under 1,000! :D
“Sit still!” Sludge commanded with a very unusual level of ferocity in his voice. His teeth were bared in a grimace born of both concentration and annoyance.
“ITCHES!” Slag loudly protested. He really wasn’t in the mood to form complete sentences. He squirmed again under Sludge’s ministrations, as Sludge tried to return to his task.
“You were the one who wanted this,” Sludge reminded him firmly, gritting his teeth and digging an elbow into Slag’s shoulder. He pushed down hard against Slag in a likely-futile effort to keep the smaller Dinobot still.
Reflexively, Slag lifted an arm to not-gently knock Sludge off of him…except that Grimlock caught his forearm in mid-swing.
“Wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Grimlock announced mildly. Even distractedly; his attention was otherwise wholly focused on the datapad that he held in his other hand. His gaze never left the pad, even. He just knew Slag precisely that well.
Slag growled, but subsided…for the moment. He jerked his arm out of Grimlock’s grasp with a contemptuous snort and then muttered something that sounded vehemently ferocious under his breath.
“You want me to finish this or not?” Sludge asked, his tone uncharacteristically demanding and impatient and not a little ticked off.
“Yes!” Slag growled. He had never been one to back down from something that he’d started, and he wasn’t about to start doing so now.
“Then. Sit. Still,” Sludge answered, carefully enunciating each word as if Slag was an utter moron. “Or this,” he added, meaningfully waving the laser scalpel he’d borrowed from Swoop in Slag’s face, “might slip. Might go somewhere you don’t want it to go.”
At that, Grimlock exploded into waves of loud and hearty guffaws. He couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t remember ever hearing Sludge threaten anyone quite that well, and it was both amusing and heartening that Sludge was sticking up for himself. Especially in the face of something like a pissy Slag. Swoop, too, was snickering.
“Want me to sit on him, Sludge?” he offered brightly from his perch on the couch, watching the drama unfold and wishing for a proverbial bowl of popcorn. “I could weld him in place for you. Maybe weld his mouth shut, while I’m at it.”
Sludge gave Swoop a wicked grin that under any other circumstances might have been deeply disturbing coming from the usually-gentle giant. Slag, of course, glared at Swoop, and it was the sort of glare that would put the fear of Primus into anyone. Anyone but Swoop, of course, who only grinned impudently back at Slag, his eyes glittering with deep amusement.
“You shut up,” Slag growled at Swoop, with narrow-eyed yet impotent annoyance.
“Make me,” Swoop taunted, only barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at Slag.
“Get over here and I will!” Slag promised heatedly. “And not in a way that you’ll like,” he pointedly added.
Unfortunately, the words and his expression only resulted in Swoop collapsing in cascades of uncontrollable snickering. Grimlock immediately followed suit, having only barely recovered from his last round of laughing at Slag’s expense.
Slag heaved a greatly annoyed sigh.
“I hate you all,” he announced decisively but somewhat dispiritedly, glaring at everyone. “Especially you,” he added, aiming an even deeper glare at Swoop. Unfortunately, this only made Grimlock and Swoop laugh harder and even served to dig a chuckle out of the otherwise deeply annoyed Sludge.
Hearing the commotion, Snarl eventually wandered out into the common room, saw the other four Dinobots clustered together, and moved to see what they were up to. Quickly he realized that they were up to giving Slag the “tattoo” that he had wanted. He’d apparently learned from somewhere that such things were supposed to give one a tougher image, so he had decided that he wanted one. And he had decided that he wanted a short passage from The Art of War. In Chinese. So, Snarl had written out the characters and had given them to Sludge, who had agreed to do the artwork, creating a design and then etching the design into Slag’s shoulder armor with a laser scalpel so that it would last until the next time that the armor had to be repaired or replaced. Snarl found himself curious to watch the proceedings now, despite himself, and he moved in closer to his gathered comrades so that he could see Sludge’s work.
It was lovely work, as usual; one could really expect nothing less from Sludge. The design that he had come up with was stylized but very readable to anyone who could read the Chinese. And then…something caught Snarl’s eye. Leaning in still closer, just to make sure he’d seen things correctly, Snarl squinted critically at the half-finished etching in Slag’s shoulder. Then:
“You spelled it wrong,” he announced, giving Sludge a reproving whack on the side of his head for good measure.
Sludge flinched and then gave Snarl a panicked look over Slag’s shoulder, a look entirely fueled by the promise-of-death glare that Slag had swiveled around to level on him after Snarl’s declaration.
“It’s what you gave me!” Sludge protested defensively, gesturing at the etching and then shoving his reference datapad at Snarl.
Frowning, Snarl took the offered pad from Sludge’s hand, blinking down at it for a moment.
“Damn, I spelled it wrong,” he admitted mildly.
There was silence for a moment, a moment that seemed to stretch on forever. And then Slag, with a throat-rending roar, launched himself at Snarl, all while yelling, “I’m going to kill you!” Grimlock made an involuntary surprised noise and then jerked his massive bulk to the side, so that he was just barely out of the two’s flight path that sent them over the back of the couch that Swoop occupied and against which Grimlock had been leaning.
Yep, he observed ruefully as he stood to watch Slag and Snarl tussle, a very common occurrence. Just another day in paradise.