(no subject)

May 27, 2009 23:46

Because reading fics on the Pit gives me the rage-induced urge to write canon female bots dealing with things other than their own gender. Plus some arrogance and recklessness that actually acts as a bad thing.

Series/Fandom: TF Armada, well before the series itself.

Title: Lay of the Land
Summary: Cliffjumper is forced to try and make the best of being partnered with an obnoxious hothead. Sometimes, that means aerial geology.

-

“Don’t cling so tight,” Cheetor said. He did a mid-air roll that almost made the Minicon clinging onto his shoulders go into Powerlink mode out of fright.

Cliffjumper gave a whistle of protest and latched on tighter. “Shouldn’t we be flying lower?”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights now, too?” He listed to one side, threatening to roll again and laughing at the horrified beeping that drew. “Relax, the worst that can happen is you finally living up to your name, ‘Jumper.” He went back to scanning the ground below.

Cliffjumper dimmed her optical visor, vocaliser locked. It’s not heights I’m scared of, you lunatic, it’s you. It was bad enough her Bulk partner had to sneak off - against orders, as usual - to find this Decepticon base, dragging her into it willing or not. He could at least try not to get them both killed doing it.

“We shouldn’t be out here in the first place,” she ground out. “We should just go back.”

“The Minicon wants to go home. Big surprise. If we left this war to bots like you the Decepticons would roll right over us.” Cheetor dropped suddenly, swooping to get a better look at something, then sped higher once more. “Lucky for the galaxy, the Autobots have guys like me on the job.”

Right. Thank the makers for guys like him. She tried to pretend that didn’t sting.

“If we don’t fly lower to the ground, they’ll detect us as soon as we find them,” she pointed out. “And then they’ll shoot us down.”

“Yeah, and if we fly low I’ll never spot their position before Rhinox figures out I’m not in the base,” he said, dismissing her point. The rolling mounds of turf below fell away abruptly, giving way to an equally barren expanse of grey stone. Cheetor cursed and banked south-east, following the jagged boundary between landscapes as he growled. “Perfect. We’re at the plains already and there’s still nothing. Where the frag are these rustheaps?”

Cliffjumper finally swallowed her resentful brooding and reluctantly scrambled forward. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t helping. The sooner she helped him find this position the sooner they could go home and pick up his punishment detail. She shifted her weight carefully and held tight as she frowned over his shoulder at the terrain below.

“Sure you want to look down? That’s a little too exciting for you, isn’t it?” Cheetor taunted. Cliffjumper tried to ignore him and studied the plains. Far below them, she could see cracks deep enough to shelter a Minicon, stretching long threads of shadow across the plains, breaking the smooth grey surface into irregular pillars and slabs.

“Go east-south-east,” she said, sitting back and pointing with her left hand for good measure.

“Uh-huh. Hey, brightspark, I know this out-in-the-field stuff isn’t your thing, but even you oughta be able to figure out they’d never be out there. It’s too exposed for anyone to hide in - well, maybe a Minicon could.”

“You know what’s down there?” she asked curtly. “Water-eroded limestone. You know what that means?”

“I’m shutting down just listening to you.”

“Caves, Cheetor. It means perfect ground for caves. And you know what we might find in caves? Decepticons.”

There was a long, long silence, and she savoured it. And then her gyros leapt into her headlights as the Autobot wheeled away sharply, heading east. “With all that reading, short stuff, you’d better know what you’re talking about.”

Great, Cliffjumper thought. If they didn’t find the Decepticons now, nothing would make being around Cheetor bearable for the next stellar cycle.
Previous post Next post
Up