drabble fic... thing?
Title: Memories
Rating: Pg-13
Pairing: Prowl/Jazz
Universe: 07 movie-ish
Warnings: Incomprehensible weirdness? Also slash. Implied character death.
Summary: If every memory is as clear as the moment he experienced it, is any moment ever truly lost?
Disclaimer: Can I have them? Please? Nope. Not mine.
Author's note: I have no idea what this is supposed to be. Bored at work weirdness. See every part is exactly one hundred words. So it's like several drabbles that form a story... except for the part where they actually form a story. I wrote them and haven't actually read through the thing after that, because I made the effort of making them one hundred words long each and if I read it now I'd change things and then... well it's more effort than I want to go through because of this thing.
By the Earth's calendar it is the sixth of June in the year 2058. It is summer. The day is beautiful. I can hear birdsong and the buzzing of insects. A slight breeze ruffles the leaves of a nearby tree. I stand at the grave of Samuel James Witwicky, general, deceased. Those humans that attend the burial are soldiers amongst his friends and family there are none. I bend down and place a flower on his grave, it is the custom I am told and no one else will come here and do this. I wonder; is this our doing?
It is the height of war. Soon I know, the end will begin. Cybertron as we knew it is already gone. We stand and watch our home burn and I clutch the hand in mine. Soon the Allspark will be gone. We are desperate. I clutch the hand in mine. I turn to the other mech, we come together in a clash of metal against metal. Desperate. Servos whir, metal screeches. Logic deserts me, thoughts of tactics and battle plans fall away. Our sparks pulse brightly and I scream. The Allspark falls into space and is gone. The end begins.
This is my first day on this planet called Earth. I arrive, I scan for a form appropriate for this place, I head towards my comrades. I wait for his signal, his voice, his message flashing on my HUD. It is Prime who meets me, welcomes me, tells me they are glad to see me. He left with Prime, I know this. I voice no question. Prime averts his gaze; he is gone. I ask Prime of the situation here, of my tasks; this is my first day on this planet called Earth and there is work to be done.
His designation is Jazz. I have never met him before this day. He stops me on the street. He is new here. He is a musician. He needs to find a club he will be performing at, but is not certain of where it is. It is not out of my way, I will show him. He tells me of his former home, his love of music, his friends and family. When we arrive he touches my arm and thanks me. My spark pulses and my logic tells me his touch is no different from any other I have felt.
The first human I officially meet introduces himself as Sam. On my HUD I can see his full name, birth date, family members, information about his participation in the conflict with the Decepticons. His face shows regret, sadness and hesitation as he offers his condolences. He is an inferior organic being, our hero and our destroyer. He seems excitable, young and innocent, sincere in words and actions. I do not know enough of humans yet to know if my observations are accurate. I thank him and wonder what our war will do to this one, inevitably entangled in our affairs?
It is war. My mate sits at my berthside in a quiet med bay and sings softly. I have not heard him sing since the war began. His voice is beautiful. Hands that now know how to kill quietly and efficiently run over my chassis. He grins. I smile back. At the moment we are alone. Later we walk out of med bay, tactician and saboteur. Later we will both hear the whispers again; cold sparked killer. It is war and this is what it has made us, but for now we are alone and his voice is still beautiful.
Rating: Pg-13
Pairing: Prowl/Jazz
Universe: 07 movie-ish
Warnings: Incomprehensible weirdness? Also slash. Implied character death.
Summary: If every memory is as clear as the moment he experienced it, is any moment ever truly lost?
Disclaimer: Can I have them? Please? Nope. Not mine.
Author's note: I have no idea what this is supposed to be. Bored at work weirdness. See every part is exactly one hundred words. So it's like several drabbles that form a story... except for the part where they actually form a story. I wrote them and haven't actually read through the thing after that, because I made the effort of making them one hundred words long each and if I read it now I'd change things and then... well it's more effort than I want to go through because of this thing.
By the Earth's calendar it is the sixth of June in the year 2058. It is summer. The day is beautiful. I can hear birdsong and the buzzing of insects. A slight breeze ruffles the leaves of a nearby tree. I stand at the grave of Samuel James Witwicky, general, deceased. Those humans that attend the burial are soldiers amongst his friends and family there are none. I bend down and place a flower on his grave, it is the custom I am told and no one else will come here and do this. I wonder; is this our doing?
It is the height of war. Soon I know, the end will begin. Cybertron as we knew it is already gone. We stand and watch our home burn and I clutch the hand in mine. Soon the Allspark will be gone. We are desperate. I clutch the hand in mine. I turn to the other mech, we come together in a clash of metal against metal. Desperate. Servos whir, metal screeches. Logic deserts me, thoughts of tactics and battle plans fall away. Our sparks pulse brightly and I scream. The Allspark falls into space and is gone. The end begins.
This is my first day on this planet called Earth. I arrive, I scan for a form appropriate for this place, I head towards my comrades. I wait for his signal, his voice, his message flashing on my HUD. It is Prime who meets me, welcomes me, tells me they are glad to see me. He left with Prime, I know this. I voice no question. Prime averts his gaze; he is gone. I ask Prime of the situation here, of my tasks; this is my first day on this planet called Earth and there is work to be done.
His designation is Jazz. I have never met him before this day. He stops me on the street. He is new here. He is a musician. He needs to find a club he will be performing at, but is not certain of where it is. It is not out of my way, I will show him. He tells me of his former home, his love of music, his friends and family. When we arrive he touches my arm and thanks me. My spark pulses and my logic tells me his touch is no different from any other I have felt.
The first human I officially meet introduces himself as Sam. On my HUD I can see his full name, birth date, family members, information about his participation in the conflict with the Decepticons. His face shows regret, sadness and hesitation as he offers his condolences. He is an inferior organic being, our hero and our destroyer. He seems excitable, young and innocent, sincere in words and actions. I do not know enough of humans yet to know if my observations are accurate. I thank him and wonder what our war will do to this one, inevitably entangled in our affairs?
It is war. My mate sits at my berthside in a quiet med bay and sings softly. I have not heard him sing since the war began. His voice is beautiful. Hands that now know how to kill quietly and efficiently run over my chassis. He grins. I smile back. At the moment we are alone. Later we walk out of med bay, tactician and saboteur. Later we will both hear the whispers again; cold sparked killer. It is war and this is what it has made us, but for now we are alone and his voice is still beautiful.