SpeedWritten Prompts are not Speedy
TITLE: Unusual and unexpected house guests
RATING: k
AUTHOR: Rose0mary
REALM: Generation 1
CHARACTERS: Red Alert, Steeljaw, Ironhide, Blaster, Ravage
GENRE: Humor?
SUMMARY: As the prompt requested, an unwelcome visitor disrupts day-to-day work. Or maybe, it just interrupts the normalcy of postbattle recovery and debriefing.
Through the spark-connection all cassette desks shared with their symbionts, Blaster listened to the story his eldest cassette told Rewind, Eject and Ramhorn. The story didn’t make sense. A malfunctioning Spacebridge? Possibly the only aspect that was believable.
Blaster on duty, and couldn’t let himself be absorbed into the wild tale. He could (would) have Steeljaw repeat it for him later, when Blaster’s shift at the Communications center finished.
Blaster glanced to the side, where the other officer on duty sat. He vented. Red Alert, temporarily sharing the duty panel with Blaster, had his eyes on ears on the security cameras.
“Red, didn’t Ratchet assign security watch to someone else for the next few orns?”
Red Alert’s sensory horns started glowing. The humans wouldn’t have noticed the added illumination, and most of the bots paid little attention when Red began frizzing. “Red?” Blaster double-checked his memory bank. Yes, he had addressed Red audiably, and not through the comm. system, or just imagined speaking to the other Autobot.
“Intruder!” Apparently Red did not hear Blaster’s question. Red pulled up the images generated by the security cameras and followed the Decepticon approached the main entrance.
Blaster sat transfixed. Since when did Ravage or any of Soundwave’s cassettes wander the corridors of the Ark blatantly? Wait, Ravage? ::Steeljaw, how big a part does Ravage play in your most recent encounters?”
Steeljaw’s entertaining anecdote, paused mid word. He exited Blaster’s quarters and ran towards the entrance/exit. ::Where is Ravage?::
While Red Alert sounded the general alarm, Blaster guided Steeljaw towards Ravage. Oddly, Soundwave’s eldest cassette did not seem to mind being herded.
Ironhide, Steeljaw and Ravage reached the intersection at the same time. Ironhide raised his cannons, ready and eager to shoot that danged mechanical cat, held his fire because Steeljaw was between Ironhide and Ravage. The two cats slammed together, and the mechs watching winced, imagining the steel fur flying.
No fur flew. In fact, the two car-sized cats did not fight long. As soon as Ravage realized who was on the other end of the claws, he shrank down to the floor, claws retracted and mouth closed tightly. Blaster, watching from the communications room, had his link to Steeljaw wide open, trying to get a sense for the situation. He received a broadcast of white-static over the spark-connection.
Steeljaw released the mouthful of armored plating he had, and sat on his haunches. ::What makes you so sure this is the wrong world?::
Ah, Blaster understood now. Soundwave communicated to his Cassettes telepathically, and they’d learned to reciprocate - and bots listening in, heard nothing intelligible. A foolproof security measure. Blaster looked at Red Alert, who’s sensory horns were still sparkling mad. Best not to mention this conclusion to Red Alert; the mech did not deal well with unbreakable communication methods - not when it was the Decepticon’s fielding it.
::Steeljaw?:: Blaster prompted. He needed, no Red Alert needed to know what caused Ravage to break with tradition and make no effort at hiding his presence.
::Hang on, Blaster, it doesn’t make any sense - Can you try explaiing it to me again, Ravage?::
More static through the observing communication link. ::Okay, so apparently, a prank was played on the Seeker elite. At least, that’s what I think happened, unless Starscream and ThunderCracker have always been femmes in disguise::
Ravage, pinned under Steeljaw cringed. He yowled, and tried getting out from underfoot. ::Ravage?::
The decepticon cat did not restrict his reply to Steeljaw, who’d asked the question. ::Master, ordering Ravage back. Twins, Frenzy and Rumble, in trouble.::
Steeljaw let up and stepped back - back into Ironhide, so the mech had to shoot around the cassette. “Why you little,” Ironhide began as Ravage took the opportunity to slink off and headed back the way he’d come. “Why’d you let Ravage go?”
Steeljaw (and Blaster) said “Because he wasn’t harming anyone.”
TITLE: Space, the Final Frontier
RATING: K+
AUTHOR: Rose0mary
REALM: Generation 1
CHARACTERS: Silverbolt, SlingShot, Skydive, mentions of Fireflight, Skydive, AirRaid
GENRE: General
SUMMARY: Birds fly, humans soar, Transformers take the long view. The long view from space
Though SilverBolt had troubles in flight, he still enjoyed hovering above the planet and looking down at the blue jewel far beneath him. The trouble was, his altmode refused to operate in the near-vacuum conditions it required to get high enough off the ground so that he didn’t feel the tug of gravity so strongly.
No, that was incorrect.
Floating between the earth and the moon, he still felt gravity tug at him, pulling him this way or that way, but this far from the maim mass, it did not feel so inescapable, so definite.
::Hey, Skyfire:: Silverbolt pinned the much larger flyer. ::Thank’s for taking us up.::
::You and your team are welcome:: In the atmosphere, the communications would have been rumbled over the radio signal. Here,
Silverbolt spoke for his gestalt - through the unique bond he shared with the members of Superion, he knew AirRaid, and SkyDive were stunned speechless. They’d never been this high up before, and the sight from here, blew their processors. Fireflight, well, up in proper space, the only thing for Fireflight to accidentally fly into happened to be his team, their ride, or the moon.
Slingshot had thrown off the thrall and tried maneuvering in this atmospheric void. ::Whatever, Silverbolt. Can we go now?::
::SLINGHSHOT:: Silverbolt chastised the other, ::apologize to Skyfire.::
::No need, Silverbolt:: Skyfire’s calm, rock steady presence helped ground the gestalt leader. ::I had forgotten that new flyers react differently, the first time they escape a planet’s tug. Slingshot’s reaction is quite normal::
Silverbolt absorbed Skyfire’s explination. ::You did this a lot, didn’t you?::
For a long moment, Silverbolt thought he’d stepped too far. Then, Skyfire responded, ::Once, long ago:: That was all he offered, and all Silverbolt dared ask.
Together, the six airplanes hovered over the earth, just absorbing the sight. Seeing earth surrounded in a sea of darkness did make an unusual sight.
TITLE: Discoveries!
RATING: K
AUTHOR: Rose0mary
REALM: BayVerse, between 2007 and 2009
CHARACTERS: Miles Lancaster
GENRE: General, fun
SUMMARY: Samuel discovered the Autobots. His best friend, found something totally different.
Miles Lancaster enjoyed snorkeling. He really did.
Pretending the kelp bed was an unexplored sunken ship had been an old past time of his. His and Sam’s, when they managed to ditch the ‘rents and go out to sea.
It really was too bad that Sam had chosen to stay home, instead of coming to Australia for the summer. An all-expense paid, three-month summer vacation to Australia? The only thing that could have made it better, would if the trip included a vacation to the Caribbean. Oh, well, not going swimming in the ocean, that was Sam’s loss.
Miles Lancaster checked the oxygen level on his scuba tank. Full. He could stay down here for at least two hours before needing to head up again. Setting the water-proof watch to send an alarm in two hours, Miles explored the bright colored coral reefs. His camera, also designed to work underwater, got quite the workout, snapping pictures of fish and the coral.
Swimming back and forth, Miles almost missed the cave entrance. He passed by it several times, and only the reflection of the light from the last couple of pictures told him there was something interesting in that direction.
Double-checking his oxygen gauge again, Miles found he had about forty-five minutes of breathable air left in the tank before he had to begin extracting himself from this wonderful world of color and extremely cool animals.
Miles made sure the camera, the tank, the watch, and everything else was firmly attached before he ducked into the hole. It wasn’t a hole, really - at least, not at first. It had once been a large cave, big enough for modern humans to walk upright. Until the sea-levels rose and flooded it, and then the coral colonized the land around, hiding the access tunnel.
Miles light, lit the way, revealing a stark contrast once he passed roof. Outside, the coral was nice and bright, with fish and crabs, and eels and sea urchins everywhere. Inside, the color was faded, almost bleached white. The tides did not bring the mineral rich nutrients this far underground.
Still, how often did Miles get the chance to explore underwater? To seek out hidden treasure? This wasn’t a sunken ship or a buried pirates cove, but it could still be interesting.
Miles had almost decided to turn back, when he came into a magnificent cavern! The waters, warm, thought dark (underground, duh, Miles told himself), but the stalagmites and stalactites, they were AWESOME!
This was a fabulous find! A pristine crystal cave! Who cared if it happened to be underwater? It was totally wicked! Miles got out his camera and started snapping shots. He almost didn’t not hear his watch ring, reminding him time was up.
Looking over his shoulder, Miles was loathed to leave this place, but he had no intentions of dying here prematurely either. Get a fresh tank, or maybe upgrade to the oxygen-carbon dioxide underwater breather that filtered oxygen out of the water, and he could stay down here all year - or until his vacation ended and school started up again.
TITLE: Fishing is fun! (in the eyes of the beholder)
RATING: k+
AUTHOR: Rose0mary
VERSE: Any
CHARACTERS: Seaspray, unspecified human
GENRE: General,
SUMMARY: What do humans and transforming bots have in common? Not recreational sports
“What’s the point of this again?” asked the perturbed Autobot. He didn’t know why Hound and Bluestreak liked wandering through the forest.
His human friend continued walking upstream, ignoring the complaints his metal friend had raised from the moment he’d heard they were going to hoof it.
“I mean, why are we doing this? It makes no sense, and I refuse to go another step forward”. So saying, the Autobot sat down on the nearby bolder and did not budge.
This time, his human friend had to stop. “Cause it’s fun?”” the human offered.
“What about fishing is fun? “ The Autobot could see nothing valuable in the sake of sport fishing. “It’s too early, and too dark!”
Rolled eyes. “Hey, I don’t like getting up before the sun rises either, but if we want to catch fish, early-morning is the best time to cast a line.” The human resumed walking, still following the faint trail. “You can stay in the water and rust, or you can continue hiking another quarter-mile upstream and reach the lake.”
The Autobot shoved himself upwards. “A lake? Really, why didn’t you say that was our destination in the first place?”
“Because - I don’t know.” The human admitted. “I just never thought about it.”
“You’re forgiven,” said the Autobot. “But why did you pack a bagged lunch, if we are trying to catch fish?”
Laughter. “I thought I explained it, SeaSpray. Our goal is to catch and release - not to catch and cook.”
SeaSpray held off further mutterings. Humans were confusing at the best of times. Joining them in their activities just made understanding the fragile organics that much harder.
TITLE: TIme mishaps stink.
RATING: Teen
AUTHOR: Rose0mary
VERSE: BayVerse, middle of ROTF
CHARACTERS: Samuel Witwicky, Ronald W.
GENRE: General, humor,
SUMMARY: This is why it is not wise to trust old mechs and dangerous gadgets
WARNING: Some strong language
Samuel James Witwicky blinked away the floating stars. He sat up, wondering where the others went. “Mikaela?” Sam called out. “Bumblebee? Skids, Mudflap? JetFire?”
No answer. In fact, there were no cars and no cranky black-jets nearby. ‘Course, he wasn’t in the history museum, where they had models of NASA’s old, retired jets and experimental craft. Sam sighed, wondering why he could think clearly again. The odd pressure of alien symbols and glyphs, all rushing to get out, to be expressed, had disappeared. It was a relief to be himself again, but not when the cost came at being separated from his friends.
Sam sat up, only now realizing (recognizing) that he’d been staring up at the sky. “Mikaela?” he called again, wishing someone heard him.
Someone did.
A boy, couldn’t be much more than five years old, poked his head up from the ground. “What’s your name?” the kid asked, as if hiding underground was a normal thing to be caught doing.
“Sam,” said he, rolling over and crawling towards the kid. There had to be a good reason why the child kept his head down, and Sam refused to expose himself more than he had to - sitting up might have already compromised their position. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Not a kid,” mumbled the child, pushing upward, revealing an opening in the hard-packed earth. The roof had been a few planks of plywood covered in old, dirty towels - not sandy earth like Sam had initially thought. “Name’s Ronald. Ronald Witwicky.”
Sam froze. That was his dad’s name. “What’cha doing down there, kid?”
Ronald scrambled out of the hole, put the wooden planks over the hole again, and laid the earth-stained towels across the wood, hiding the opening. “I’m building a trap.” Ronald nodded. “Don’t want the aliens to get me. When they chase me, they’ll step on the holes and be caught.” He held a finger up to his lips and whispered, “Shh, just don’t tell my folks, they’ll think I’m crazy.”
Sam wanted to laugh, wanted to cry. Why? Why was he stuck in the past? What motive was there in transporting him through time. He’d watched enough Star-Trek and read enough comics to know time-travel was possible, but why him? He wasn’t awesome like Captain Kirk, he didn’t have an awesome team of friends at NSA trying to save the world from plagues and viruses and terrorists, by sending a guy named Frank one week into the past.
There was nothing special about Sam, so why did the crappy things always happen to him?
Ronald looked at the non responsive boy. “Hey, want some cookies? My mom makes awesome cookies.” Cookies always made him feel better.
Sam stood up, wiped at his face. “Yeah, cookies sound good. What kind are they?”
Ronald smiled, glad to have made a new friend. “Chocolate Peanut Butter. My favorite.”
Sam forced himself to not dwell on the what-ifs and the why’s. Right now, yummy cookies were waiting, ready to be eaten. He tried listening as Ronald started talking about all the cookies and the traps he built, trying to trap the aliens chasing him. Sam couldn’t understand how cookies and aliens worked together, but he’d been living in a surreal world since meeting Bumblebee and saving the world.
They walked and walked. Sam recognized some of the trees, but they were so small. He mentally slapped his head. “Duh, I’m in the past. These are young trees.” He took a good look around, trying to place everything. Parts of the area looked familiar, but the house is what threw him.
That house, that was his house. Only, what was it doing out in the countryside? It should be in a modern neighborhood, with houses on both sides, a paved road out in front, and everything - not alone, with only dirt roads leading up to the garage.
“MOM?” Ronald yelled as they entered the building. He let go of Sam’s hand and ran towards the stricken figure on the floor, She was convulsing.
While Ronald panicked, not understanding why his mom had foam on her lips, Sam reacted. Tearing through the downtown streets of Mission City while a battle waged around him, taught him that reacting was much healthier than standing around dumbfounded. Sam pulled out his cellular phone, thanking god that it still worked - that it still had a signal. He quickly dialed 911, and got a hold of the police, who reassured him, and sent an ambulance on the way.
The paramedics were quickly on the scene - and they prepared to take ‘mom’ to the emergency room. Ronald wanted to ride with them, and Sam insisted that they take her son along. He downplayed his part, telling them that Sam would be following them. (He refused to take only the mother and separate her from her son. Families had to stick together, always).
Once the ambulance left, Sam found some paper, scribbled a note on it, and placed it where Ron’s dad would hopefully see it. He then had to look high and low for the car keys, before he could turn on the car.
“A Station Wagon? That’s old school. Seriously old” Sam shook his head and got in the car. He promised Ronald he’d see him at the hospital, and while the streets were gone, he still knew the town. Sam managed to get to the hospital and pulled into the visitors parking lot without being pulled over by any cops. There was no way he’d be able to explain a driver’s license that wouldn’t exist for another thirty or forty years. Well, he could try it, but then he’d be thrown into the loony bin along side his great uncle Archibald.
Sam turned off the car, head thunked down on the steering wheel, and the horn emitted a nasty shriek. Sam’s head pulled up and back automatically. Then, the swirling stars came back, and Samuel James Witwicky could feel the insanity reaching for him again. The view outside wavered, shimmied, and flashed, as the dry country hospital vanished from view, was released by sand, sand, and more sand.
On the plus side, Mikaela, Bumblebee, Skids, Mudflap and the ex-Decepticon Seeker were back too, so maybe he was in the proper time now? It grew hard to think, hard to remember, and Sam let only one thought consume his brain: get to the ancient temple of the Primes, find the Matrix and fix Optimus Prime.
TITLE: Crisis in War
RATING: Teens
AUTHOR: Rose0mary
VERSE: Pre-earth, G1
CHARACTERS: Jazz, Cliffjumper, Autobot ensemble
GENRE: Friendship/Comfort and Hurt
SUMMARY: Sometimes life gets you down, sometimes it drags you back up.
PROMPT 6: REAL FRIENDS STICK AROUND
Jazz snarled, stomped out. He pushed aside Ratchet’s arm, avoiding the medic. He didn’t want to hear how ‘it wasn’t your fault’. Bumblebee lay on the medic’s table, tortured and possibly dying. How could it not be his fault? He’s the one who sent the young mech into that situation in the first place.
The grey Saboteur avoided everyone. He wasn’t in the mood for small-talk or plaintive reassurances. His friend had been hurt, and might never recover.
Cliffjumper, one of the responders to Jazz’s emergency call, had stood guard while Ratchet and Wheeljack worked in triage, stabilizing Bumblebee’s spark so they could get him to the Autobot base. The red minibot warrior stood guard outside the medbay, glaring at the hords of mechs wanting to poke their heads inside and check on Bumblebee themselves.
Watching Jazz loose it, down when Ratchet swore and fell silent, working frantically to seal off leaking energon lines, Cliffjumper took it upon himself to distract, those wishing for an update. He did not speak, failing to trust his voice at this point in time. Cliffjumper’s glare, never enough to impede others, found itself redoubled in severity. Many bots, unwounded, quickly found other things to do when Cliffjumper turned his glare towards them.
Then, Jazz ran out, bothered by demons of the past. Clifjumper, hesitated, torn between following the head of Special Opperations, and guarding the Medics from well-wishing busy-bots who were foolish enough to visit now.
Just as Cliffjumper decided the unwise could risk brining Ratchet’s wrath upon themselves, Jazz disappeared from sensors. Now the red minibot was sure he’d chosen the right path - but had he chosen in time?
Disappearing from sensors was a trick Bumblebee had shown Cliffjumper once or twice. He’d have not revealed the tactic at all to anyone, except that Cliffjumper had caught him using the ability to set up a prank. Both minibots laughed when Sideswipe and Sunstreaker set off the prank, blaming Jazz for the altercation.
The weakness about disappearing from sensors, Cliffjumper had explained to Bumblebee, was that it didn’t make one invisible to the optics - Only Mirage’s electro diffusion cloak could do that, and even then, a good tracker could figure out where the invisible spy had been. Cliffjumper immediently headed in the direction he’d seen Jazz go, He heard the grey-mech running, followed the noise.
Beyond the public sectors of the Autobot Base, Jazz leaned against the far wall. His vents heaved, and his frame trembled. From the exertion, Jazz told himself, refusing to believe it could be anything else. Special Ops were never incapacitated by negative emotions, Jazz told himself, denying the fear of loosing Bumblebee.
Jazz was so sure that he’d left behind every trace of his passage, and that his location was far enough off the beaten path no one would find him until he wanted to be found., that the sudden cursing shocked him.
“Who’s there?” Jazz hated the tremble in his voice.
“Who’s there? Really, Jazz?’’ Cliffjumper turned the corner, hands on his hips. “You don’t recognize me, Jazz?” Cliffjumper glared.
Jazz saw the resemblence to Ratchet’s glare, and felt even more miserable. “Just leave me alone, CJ.”
“Nuh, uh. Not until you hear me out.” Cliffjumper stepped closer then, sat next to Jazz. He didn’t speak.
“Well?” Jazz demanded after a silent joor had passed.
“Are you ready to listen?” Jazz’s answering stare told Cliffjumper the truth. The red minibot held up his hand before Jazz could speak. “No, you’re not ready to listen. So, we’ll wait some more.”
Jazz stared, got up and tried walking away. He found a servo clasped around his arm. “Not letting you go anywhere alone, Jazz. Not until your head is screwed on straight.”
“What do you know?” Jazz snarled, venting all his frustration, his fears, his doubts in that one question. “You don’t know what I’m feeling right now.” His anger was concrete, just like the barren walls around the two of them.
“I know my best friend is being repaired by Ratchet. I know that something went wrong in the mission. I don’t need to know more.” Cliffjumper could be stubborn and persistent along with the best and worst of them. He tilted his head, picking up a badly distorted comm. signal. From Prowl. “Did you get that?”
Jazz tried to shake himself free from the unyielding grip. “No.”
“Doufus, turn on your comms,” Cliffjumper was too short to slap Jazz in the back of the head, but he could and did yank on the arm he’d caught. “Prowl’s been trying to reach you.”
Fearing a trap, but needing to humor the determined warrior, Jazz cut power to the machine that helped him (and other Spec Ops) disaper from sensors. His comm. system was immedietly bombarded with messages - some of them from Ratcthet, updating Bumblebee’s status. Jazz ignored those, just like he ignored the others. He set about deleting the messages from Prowl without reading them first.
“JAZZ! If I have to hunt Mirage down to find you, then I will!” That wasn’t an old message. It was a current comm. signal, from Optmius Prime.
Stunned, shocked, and bewildered, Jazz contacted Optmius Prime before the Autobot leader could follow through with his threat. “M’ here, boss.” He wisphered, not sure he could do much else.
“Good. Ratchet, Jazz is on line.” Prime’s voice faided into the background. Ratchet linked in. “Crazy Sabatour,” ground the medic. “First you don’t let me scan you to make sure you’re not infected with a virus, then you disappear on us. Primuse am I dealing with a base full of Sparklings?”
“But, it was my fault that Bumblebee is hurt and -
“JAZZ!” Yelled three voices. Then they overlapped, interrupting and distorting each other.
Cliffjumper waited until the call finished. “Do you understand yet Jazz? When things screw up, real friends will stick around - even if it is your fault. Which, if all the officers say its not, then place the blame where it belongs, since Ratchet, Prime, and Prowl can’t ALL be wrong at the same time.”
Jazz laughed weekly. “I think I can handle visiting the medbay now.”
AUTHORS NOTES: Okay, so I messed with the prompts a bit, and may not have filled the exact requirements. (distorting the quote, for instance)
It was a fun exercise, and I hope you enjoy