(no subject)
TITLE: “If Only Shakespeare could hear us now”
RATING: General Audience
CONTINUITY: Any Verse - AU (war’s end)
CHARACTERS: Optimus Prime, Alpha Trion, Kup,
WARNING/CONTENT: General genre
SUMMARY: Today’s language was yesteryear’s vernacular.
Kup and Alpha Trion sat, watching as the new Senate began organizing itself for peace time operations. Optimus Prime, the de facto leader, gladly handed over the reigns of leadership to the handful of Senator Aids who survived the civil war.
Warned before hand, Ratchet accepted the job of keeping the new representatives and advisors honest. He’d gotten his complaints in before the swearing-in ceremony.
Publicly stepping from his role as the War Prime, Optimus bowed before joining his mentor, and the others watching from the sidelines. “How did you do it last time?” Optimus asked Kup and Alpha Trion.
Kup shuttered his optics as Alpha Trion spoke. “How we did it last time, does not matter, young Prime. To follow in our footsteps is to ensure the same wrath of the masses and the same problems that plagued its predecessor.”
Optimus snorted. “Some traditions should be retained.”
“But not all traditions are honorable and just.” Countered Kup. He did nothing to keep the joy he felt out of his vocal inflection. “Some things should be allowed to change. Stangnation, in part, led to the civil war - do you not agree?”
Optimus joined the others in watching the proceedings as ThunderClap accepted the duty of emissary between the seekers and ground-bound mechs. “Stagnation of our society did cut the flyers from the rest of society,” Optmus agreed hesitantly. “But without traditions to remind us of our past, we are bound to repeat the mistakes, having learned nothing from history.”
Alpha Trion laughed. “Well said, young Prime. Well said.” The group fell silent, not needing to speak. The audience waited until all the advisors were sworn in and the new Senators began discussing what laws should form the core of the new constitution. Then, the watching crowd dispersed.
“What brought up the importance of tradition?” Kup inquired. “You fought the teachings that no data clerk could become Prime.”
Optimus mulled over the question. “Language,” he finally answered. “We speak the same language, use the same words, now as at the start of the Golden Age. In contrast, earthlings have changed the words they used, altered the meanings of phrases, so frequently, that in less than a thousand of their years, they could not make themselves understood by the long-forgotten ancestors.”
Kup and Alpha Trio shared a glance. ~ Optimus Prime, why are you so sure of your assumptions?~ Alpha Trion asked, reverting to the dialect of Cybertron he knew.
~ Our communication protocols have not changed since the rebellion against the Quintessonsi is true. Your assumption that new words have not crept in our language is false. ~
The first session of the brand-new Senate forgotten, Optimus looked from Kup to Alpha Trio, back to Kup. “Our language has changed?” He asked, astonished. “But we don’t incorporate slang like the humans do.”
“Being nearly immortal, even the oldest and most stubborn of us learn the new meanings of words and adapt to the subtle changes in the vocabulary as it becomes standard and common.” Kup vented. “I might want to meet these earthlings.”
Optimus Prime smiled beneath his mask. “In that case, I will warn the humans to brush up on their Latin and Old English,” he teased the older mechs.
TITLE: Snarkfest!
RATING: K - everyone
CONTENT/WARNINGS: General humor (no warnings)
CONTINUITY: Any verse
CHARACTERS: Ratchet and Starscream
SUMMARY: Creative use of insults is one true measure of intelligence.
“Overgrown slagheap!” roared a familiar voice.
“Ungrateful glitch!” a less familiar voice bellowed out.
“Lacking common sense!”
“Your rusted processors can’t deal with change.”
“My processors are fine, thank you very much, you walking toaster.”
“TOASTER?” shrieked the second, and suddenly its owner was identifiable. “At least my workstation doesn’t have glitch-mice in residence.”
“The vermin must be hiding from the larger pests infesting the rest of the base.” Snarled the familiar duet tones. “Got a sale on a pair of half-trained turbo foxes. - Want one?”
“I’d rather deal with the both.” yelled the other. “Only if you’d accept a quadruplet of house-trained turbo hawks in trade.”
“Not on your spark. Now hold still.”
“OUCH! Watch where you poke that stylus, you clumsy ox!”
“Then you keep a sharp look-out for extinct birds - or are you as blind as a bat?”
The two mechs continued quibbling. Both armies traded exasperated looks as the highly feared (respected) officers bickered. If the arguers had been any other two mechs, both the Autobots and Decepticons would have been gearing for a fight, instead of making cross-faction conversation.
“I oughta leave you in the junkyard!”
“Leave little ol’ me in a human junk yard? The place would be declared haunted before nightfall.”
TITLE: Unforgivable Choices
RATING: K+
VERSE/CONTINUITY: G1 - any
CHARACTERS: Cliffjumper
GENRE/CONTENTS/WARNINGS: General, possible angush?
SUMMARY: Our reasons are our own, and our choices are ours to make. They have consequences we can not foresee.
Cliffjumper missed his weapons. Sure he guarded the offline Decepticon as it lay wounded in the brick, behind a forcefield, but that didn’t mean his guns had to be confiscated.
Ratchet had not been pleased when he arrived the find the Constructicon more wounded after he surrendered. The mech had been seeking medical assistance for crying out loud!
Cliffjumper did not look at all ashamed even with the fresh energon dripping from his servos. He wondered what he did wrong to earn Ratchet’s wrath.
Ratchet manhandled Cliffjumper’s gun away, threatened to deactivate all the weapon proticals if the red mech could not resrain himself from deliberately inflicting damage to the prisoner.
Couldn’t Ratchet see this was a ploy of the enemy? They sent in booby-trapped mechs, and then, while the medic worked on the injuries, the wounded individual would explode, delibertly deactivating the very individuals trying to help.
“That level of paranoia, I’d expect from Red Alert, but not you, Cliffjumper.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true!”
“First of all, I know how a suicidal mech acts - and I can identify and dismantle any inciderayr device that is designed to critically wound the first responders - now let me fix the Constructicon!”
Cliffjumper backed down under extreme protest. “Not every booby-trapped mech knows he’s wired to explode!” Ratchet had to disarm the fuming minibot from all offensive weaponry before he could get to work on the Decepticon prisoner.
“I’ll let you have your guns back after he’s released.’ Ratchet knew Cliffjumper did not hold any con’s in high esteem, but believing them capable of destroying themselves, for the chance to permanently eradicating a medic who never noticed faction symbols took it a little far.
Cliffjumper hated the green and purple mech. Not because he sided with Megatron, not because his guiding ideals were at odds with Cliffjumper’s beliefs. Not because the mech was a major component to a gestalt and killed countless Autobots in the past.
No, Cliffjumper hated the Constructions because they betrayed the inhabitants of the city they once guarded. He hated them because they were traitors to their oath before Primus. He hated them especially because they saw no wrong in their decision to kill close friends and assisted in eradicating the families that once raised them.
TITLE: Medical Emergency
RATING: K+
CHARACTERS: Ratchet, Optimus Prime
CONTINUITY: Any
WARNINGS/CONTENT: No warnings, general content
SUMMARY: There is always that one rare, the unusual health issue that thwarts everyone - sometimes it is strangers who suffer from the rare disease, at other times, we know the person.
“Stay still!”
Optimus Prime onlined his optics to find himself in the medbay. He sat up, wondering who’d gotten hurt.
“Ratchet pushed Optimus back down. “I said ‘Stay Still!’ Didn’t you hear me the first time?”
“I heard you,” acknowledged the Prime. “Didn’t realize you were talking to me.”
A heavy wrench appeared in Ratchet’s free hand. “My orders are to be followed by everyone - including you! Now hold still.”
Optimus Prime did as requested. He didn’t remember getting injured, and had no health issues.
From outside his field of vision, Optimus heard Ironhide speak. “Optimus is going to be alright, isn’t’ he?” The weapon’s master sounded worried.
“He will if he manages not to squirm.” Ratchet replied, already fixated on diagnosing and repairing the unseen, unfelt damage. “Primus! A million to one odds that any particular mech suffers from this medical abnormality, and Prime is the one afflicted?”
Optimus was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to hear Ratchet’s complaint. “What abnormality? I feel fine.” To prove it, he tried sitting up again.
This time, Ironhide’s arm blocked the upward momentum. “Easy, boss.”
The wrench banged Optimu’s helm, and the chastised mech raised a servo to inspect the damage.
“Do I need to sever all mobile connections to keep you immobile?” demanded the testy medic. “I will, if you can’t follow one simple instruction. DO NOT MOVE!”
“What ‘abnormality’ do I suffer from, Ratchet?” Optimus asked once again. “I told you, I feel fine.”
“Turn’s out you aren’t fine, Optimus.” Ironhide was stricken. “Why didn’t you tell us you have arrhythmia?”
“I …” Optimus trialed off. “My spark flutters irregularly?” His medical know-how wasn’t nearly as extensive as Ratchet’s but he knew his baseline readouts well enough. Optimus pulled up his spark readings. “Can’t be, my spark’s got a steady rhythm - always.”
Ratchet vented. “One out of a million mechs,” the medic repeated. “You never noticed the arrhythmic because it never registered.” A second wrench went flying, bounced off a few walls. “Your spark could be dissipating or guttering and your warning alarms would never trigger.”
Optimus Prime froze. “Can the faulty parts be replaced?”
Ratchet shook his head.. “It’s not parts, equipment, or readouts. It’s core programming - it will never register anything but ‘fine’ when asked to display your Spark measure.” Slowly, “I’m making a note in your file that medics are to scan your spark before agreeing with your assessments.”
Optimus absorbed the state fact. “Can I get up now?” He’d figure out what activities had to be closely monitored or altered later.
At Ratchet’s nod, Ironhide helped Optimus reach a vertical position. “So, aside from never trusting my own spark readouts again, how am I faring?”
“Perfectly fine as long as you don’t collapse again,” Ratchet reluctantly admitted. “And I will be increasing the frequency of your medical check-ups.”
TITLE: Beauty is in the eyes of the Beholder
RATING: K+
CONTENT: General,
CHARACTERS: Skyfire
VERSE: Any (G1)
SUMMARY: A fresh perspective on old, ancient weather cycles and climate change.
Skyfire didn’t like winter. It had been nearly a century since he’d been extracted from his icy tomb that had been his constant companion for an untold number of vorns, but he still got twitchy when winter weather came upon the Autobots.
It wasn’t the cold that bothered him - at least, not the temperatures themselves. Space was infinitely colder than the poles in the darkest night, and he enjoyed traveling between planets - carrying humans, bots, and supplies from Earth to the moon, or to the gas giants and back to Earth.
Skyfire was also not uneasy during the daylight, when the sky was clear, and the weather nice. And being above the clouds when nasty weather broke out beneath him never bugged him.
Being with other Autobots, during the worst blizzards, the long lasting whiteouts, Skyfire failed to notice his discomfort with winter when he was surrounded by friends.
No, Skyfire hated the ice, hated the idea of becoming a frozen, living Popsicle again. It had been sheer chance he’d gotten caught in that freak ice storm so long ago, before the Autobots and Decepticons began fighting.
The worst of the snowstorm season had passed. Springmelt, and spring run offs would arrive soon, and flood the trails, the roads, and the lowlying areas. Even after a century of exploring this world, a century of collaborating with the humans, assisting in the study of nature and the world, Hound and Beachcomber still enjoyed surveying the land themselves.
Hound, Beachcomber, and the other nature-lovers enjoyed every season earth had to offer, and would spend years out in the field, alone and unassisted, except for Prime’s order to be accessible at all times, and to not let themselves be trapped by winter weather.
Skyfire, knowing the love of exploration was a major passion for mechs like Hound, offered to carry them to their destination, and be the vital link between them and the Ark. Sometimes, the offer was accepted, and Beachcomber or others spent the three winter months outside, surviving on native energy deposits.
This time, when Skyfire came by to pick up Hound at the end of his survey and study, the mech wasn’t ready to leave. Since he had no pressing appointments, and had nothing else that needed to be finished this orn, Skyfire settled down to wait.
The lake drew his attention. In places, the surface of the lake looked like solid ice. In other areas, it looked to be complete liquid. The humans were out in force on the beach today - not that unusual, since they lived on every habitable continent, and even some locations where no life lived unassisted. They too seemed to be watching the waves of this great lake most intently.
“Whoa! Look at that!”
“Cool!”
“I’ve seen videos of this phenominum, but never saw it person.”
“Erupting Ice-Shards! Wait till I tell my folks!”
Thought this was an annual phenomenon, Hound still took video capture of the shifting lake flows, and captured visuals of the splintering ice - each impact of the waves sheered off another thin layer of ice, and due to density differences, the underlying cold water pushed the forming crystal upwards, making it appear as if an ‘ice’ volcano had begun to spew its contents.
“Indeed” sad Skyfire, finding beauty in what he previously considered a barren wasteland. Perhaps winter wasn’t so bad - not when the end of it enthralled the humans so.
RATING: General Audience
CONTINUITY: Any Verse - AU (war’s end)
CHARACTERS: Optimus Prime, Alpha Trion, Kup,
WARNING/CONTENT: General genre
SUMMARY: Today’s language was yesteryear’s vernacular.
Kup and Alpha Trion sat, watching as the new Senate began organizing itself for peace time operations. Optimus Prime, the de facto leader, gladly handed over the reigns of leadership to the handful of Senator Aids who survived the civil war.
Warned before hand, Ratchet accepted the job of keeping the new representatives and advisors honest. He’d gotten his complaints in before the swearing-in ceremony.
Publicly stepping from his role as the War Prime, Optimus bowed before joining his mentor, and the others watching from the sidelines. “How did you do it last time?” Optimus asked Kup and Alpha Trion.
Kup shuttered his optics as Alpha Trion spoke. “How we did it last time, does not matter, young Prime. To follow in our footsteps is to ensure the same wrath of the masses and the same problems that plagued its predecessor.”
Optimus snorted. “Some traditions should be retained.”
“But not all traditions are honorable and just.” Countered Kup. He did nothing to keep the joy he felt out of his vocal inflection. “Some things should be allowed to change. Stangnation, in part, led to the civil war - do you not agree?”
Optimus joined the others in watching the proceedings as ThunderClap accepted the duty of emissary between the seekers and ground-bound mechs. “Stagnation of our society did cut the flyers from the rest of society,” Optmus agreed hesitantly. “But without traditions to remind us of our past, we are bound to repeat the mistakes, having learned nothing from history.”
Alpha Trion laughed. “Well said, young Prime. Well said.” The group fell silent, not needing to speak. The audience waited until all the advisors were sworn in and the new Senators began discussing what laws should form the core of the new constitution. Then, the watching crowd dispersed.
“What brought up the importance of tradition?” Kup inquired. “You fought the teachings that no data clerk could become Prime.”
Optimus mulled over the question. “Language,” he finally answered. “We speak the same language, use the same words, now as at the start of the Golden Age. In contrast, earthlings have changed the words they used, altered the meanings of phrases, so frequently, that in less than a thousand of their years, they could not make themselves understood by the long-forgotten ancestors.”
Kup and Alpha Trio shared a glance. ~ Optimus Prime, why are you so sure of your assumptions?~ Alpha Trion asked, reverting to the dialect of Cybertron he knew.
~ Our communication protocols have not changed since the rebellion against the Quintessonsi is true. Your assumption that new words have not crept in our language is false. ~
The first session of the brand-new Senate forgotten, Optimus looked from Kup to Alpha Trio, back to Kup. “Our language has changed?” He asked, astonished. “But we don’t incorporate slang like the humans do.”
“Being nearly immortal, even the oldest and most stubborn of us learn the new meanings of words and adapt to the subtle changes in the vocabulary as it becomes standard and common.” Kup vented. “I might want to meet these earthlings.”
Optimus Prime smiled beneath his mask. “In that case, I will warn the humans to brush up on their Latin and Old English,” he teased the older mechs.
TITLE: Snarkfest!
RATING: K - everyone
CONTENT/WARNINGS: General humor (no warnings)
CONTINUITY: Any verse
CHARACTERS: Ratchet and Starscream
SUMMARY: Creative use of insults is one true measure of intelligence.
“Overgrown slagheap!” roared a familiar voice.
“Ungrateful glitch!” a less familiar voice bellowed out.
“Lacking common sense!”
“Your rusted processors can’t deal with change.”
“My processors are fine, thank you very much, you walking toaster.”
“TOASTER?” shrieked the second, and suddenly its owner was identifiable. “At least my workstation doesn’t have glitch-mice in residence.”
“The vermin must be hiding from the larger pests infesting the rest of the base.” Snarled the familiar duet tones. “Got a sale on a pair of half-trained turbo foxes. - Want one?”
“I’d rather deal with the both.” yelled the other. “Only if you’d accept a quadruplet of house-trained turbo hawks in trade.”
“Not on your spark. Now hold still.”
“OUCH! Watch where you poke that stylus, you clumsy ox!”
“Then you keep a sharp look-out for extinct birds - or are you as blind as a bat?”
The two mechs continued quibbling. Both armies traded exasperated looks as the highly feared (respected) officers bickered. If the arguers had been any other two mechs, both the Autobots and Decepticons would have been gearing for a fight, instead of making cross-faction conversation.
“I oughta leave you in the junkyard!”
“Leave little ol’ me in a human junk yard? The place would be declared haunted before nightfall.”
TITLE: Unforgivable Choices
RATING: K+
VERSE/CONTINUITY: G1 - any
CHARACTERS: Cliffjumper
GENRE/CONTENTS/WARNINGS: General, possible angush?
SUMMARY: Our reasons are our own, and our choices are ours to make. They have consequences we can not foresee.
Cliffjumper missed his weapons. Sure he guarded the offline Decepticon as it lay wounded in the brick, behind a forcefield, but that didn’t mean his guns had to be confiscated.
Ratchet had not been pleased when he arrived the find the Constructicon more wounded after he surrendered. The mech had been seeking medical assistance for crying out loud!
Cliffjumper did not look at all ashamed even with the fresh energon dripping from his servos. He wondered what he did wrong to earn Ratchet’s wrath.
Ratchet manhandled Cliffjumper’s gun away, threatened to deactivate all the weapon proticals if the red mech could not resrain himself from deliberately inflicting damage to the prisoner.
Couldn’t Ratchet see this was a ploy of the enemy? They sent in booby-trapped mechs, and then, while the medic worked on the injuries, the wounded individual would explode, delibertly deactivating the very individuals trying to help.
“That level of paranoia, I’d expect from Red Alert, but not you, Cliffjumper.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true!”
“First of all, I know how a suicidal mech acts - and I can identify and dismantle any inciderayr device that is designed to critically wound the first responders - now let me fix the Constructicon!”
Cliffjumper backed down under extreme protest. “Not every booby-trapped mech knows he’s wired to explode!” Ratchet had to disarm the fuming minibot from all offensive weaponry before he could get to work on the Decepticon prisoner.
“I’ll let you have your guns back after he’s released.’ Ratchet knew Cliffjumper did not hold any con’s in high esteem, but believing them capable of destroying themselves, for the chance to permanently eradicating a medic who never noticed faction symbols took it a little far.
Cliffjumper hated the green and purple mech. Not because he sided with Megatron, not because his guiding ideals were at odds with Cliffjumper’s beliefs. Not because the mech was a major component to a gestalt and killed countless Autobots in the past.
No, Cliffjumper hated the Constructions because they betrayed the inhabitants of the city they once guarded. He hated them because they were traitors to their oath before Primus. He hated them especially because they saw no wrong in their decision to kill close friends and assisted in eradicating the families that once raised them.
TITLE: Medical Emergency
RATING: K+
CHARACTERS: Ratchet, Optimus Prime
CONTINUITY: Any
WARNINGS/CONTENT: No warnings, general content
SUMMARY: There is always that one rare, the unusual health issue that thwarts everyone - sometimes it is strangers who suffer from the rare disease, at other times, we know the person.
“Stay still!”
Optimus Prime onlined his optics to find himself in the medbay. He sat up, wondering who’d gotten hurt.
“Ratchet pushed Optimus back down. “I said ‘Stay Still!’ Didn’t you hear me the first time?”
“I heard you,” acknowledged the Prime. “Didn’t realize you were talking to me.”
A heavy wrench appeared in Ratchet’s free hand. “My orders are to be followed by everyone - including you! Now hold still.”
Optimus Prime did as requested. He didn’t remember getting injured, and had no health issues.
From outside his field of vision, Optimus heard Ironhide speak. “Optimus is going to be alright, isn’t’ he?” The weapon’s master sounded worried.
“He will if he manages not to squirm.” Ratchet replied, already fixated on diagnosing and repairing the unseen, unfelt damage. “Primus! A million to one odds that any particular mech suffers from this medical abnormality, and Prime is the one afflicted?”
Optimus was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to hear Ratchet’s complaint. “What abnormality? I feel fine.” To prove it, he tried sitting up again.
This time, Ironhide’s arm blocked the upward momentum. “Easy, boss.”
The wrench banged Optimu’s helm, and the chastised mech raised a servo to inspect the damage.
“Do I need to sever all mobile connections to keep you immobile?” demanded the testy medic. “I will, if you can’t follow one simple instruction. DO NOT MOVE!”
“What ‘abnormality’ do I suffer from, Ratchet?” Optimus asked once again. “I told you, I feel fine.”
“Turn’s out you aren’t fine, Optimus.” Ironhide was stricken. “Why didn’t you tell us you have arrhythmia?”
“I …” Optimus trialed off. “My spark flutters irregularly?” His medical know-how wasn’t nearly as extensive as Ratchet’s but he knew his baseline readouts well enough. Optimus pulled up his spark readings. “Can’t be, my spark’s got a steady rhythm - always.”
Ratchet vented. “One out of a million mechs,” the medic repeated. “You never noticed the arrhythmic because it never registered.” A second wrench went flying, bounced off a few walls. “Your spark could be dissipating or guttering and your warning alarms would never trigger.”
Optimus Prime froze. “Can the faulty parts be replaced?”
Ratchet shook his head.. “It’s not parts, equipment, or readouts. It’s core programming - it will never register anything but ‘fine’ when asked to display your Spark measure.” Slowly, “I’m making a note in your file that medics are to scan your spark before agreeing with your assessments.”
Optimus absorbed the state fact. “Can I get up now?” He’d figure out what activities had to be closely monitored or altered later.
At Ratchet’s nod, Ironhide helped Optimus reach a vertical position. “So, aside from never trusting my own spark readouts again, how am I faring?”
“Perfectly fine as long as you don’t collapse again,” Ratchet reluctantly admitted. “And I will be increasing the frequency of your medical check-ups.”
TITLE: Beauty is in the eyes of the Beholder
RATING: K+
CONTENT: General,
CHARACTERS: Skyfire
VERSE: Any (G1)
SUMMARY: A fresh perspective on old, ancient weather cycles and climate change.
Skyfire didn’t like winter. It had been nearly a century since he’d been extracted from his icy tomb that had been his constant companion for an untold number of vorns, but he still got twitchy when winter weather came upon the Autobots.
It wasn’t the cold that bothered him - at least, not the temperatures themselves. Space was infinitely colder than the poles in the darkest night, and he enjoyed traveling between planets - carrying humans, bots, and supplies from Earth to the moon, or to the gas giants and back to Earth.
Skyfire was also not uneasy during the daylight, when the sky was clear, and the weather nice. And being above the clouds when nasty weather broke out beneath him never bugged him.
Being with other Autobots, during the worst blizzards, the long lasting whiteouts, Skyfire failed to notice his discomfort with winter when he was surrounded by friends.
No, Skyfire hated the ice, hated the idea of becoming a frozen, living Popsicle again. It had been sheer chance he’d gotten caught in that freak ice storm so long ago, before the Autobots and Decepticons began fighting.
The worst of the snowstorm season had passed. Springmelt, and spring run offs would arrive soon, and flood the trails, the roads, and the lowlying areas. Even after a century of exploring this world, a century of collaborating with the humans, assisting in the study of nature and the world, Hound and Beachcomber still enjoyed surveying the land themselves.
Hound, Beachcomber, and the other nature-lovers enjoyed every season earth had to offer, and would spend years out in the field, alone and unassisted, except for Prime’s order to be accessible at all times, and to not let themselves be trapped by winter weather.
Skyfire, knowing the love of exploration was a major passion for mechs like Hound, offered to carry them to their destination, and be the vital link between them and the Ark. Sometimes, the offer was accepted, and Beachcomber or others spent the three winter months outside, surviving on native energy deposits.
This time, when Skyfire came by to pick up Hound at the end of his survey and study, the mech wasn’t ready to leave. Since he had no pressing appointments, and had nothing else that needed to be finished this orn, Skyfire settled down to wait.
The lake drew his attention. In places, the surface of the lake looked like solid ice. In other areas, it looked to be complete liquid. The humans were out in force on the beach today - not that unusual, since they lived on every habitable continent, and even some locations where no life lived unassisted. They too seemed to be watching the waves of this great lake most intently.
“Whoa! Look at that!”
“Cool!”
“I’ve seen videos of this phenominum, but never saw it person.”
“Erupting Ice-Shards! Wait till I tell my folks!”
Thought this was an annual phenomenon, Hound still took video capture of the shifting lake flows, and captured visuals of the splintering ice - each impact of the waves sheered off another thin layer of ice, and due to density differences, the underlying cold water pushed the forming crystal upwards, making it appear as if an ‘ice’ volcano had begun to spew its contents.
“Indeed” sad Skyfire, finding beauty in what he previously considered a barren wasteland. Perhaps winter wasn’t so bad - not when the end of it enthralled the humans so.