Prompt Reply - Memories
Title: Reliving History
Rating: K
Series: Generation 1
Characters: Kup,
Author: Rose0mary
Summary: Time is immaterial, stories are eternal
Prompt: 1 Story ends “… and that is the best memory of my life”
“Tell me a story, Gran Kup.” Little Hot Rod pleaded.
Young Springer latched onto the idea - and Kup’s leg. “Yes, tell us a story, please?”
Springer’s bumbly-puppy optics were not swaying Kup. He tried putting the remaining youngsters to bed, but Hot Rod and Springer refused to let go or staying in their recharge berths. Kup gave up when Springer’s friend Arcee joined in with the begging. “I want to hear a story,” she pouted.
“Settle down,” Kup stated unnecessarily - the three youngsters weren’t running, hollering, climbing walls, screaming or otherwise fraying tired processors. They just weren’t ready for recharge without their nightly tale.
“Have I told you how I met Gran Beta?” Kup asked the kids.
“Yes, but tell us again!” Springer demanded. Hot Rod shook his head. Arcee’s cobalt optics went wide. More sleepy younglings poked heads out of their rooms, listening intently.
“So there I was, minding my own business, when what did my old weary optics spot?” Giggling from the youngsters. “A beautiful femme, sapphire and ebony - all the mechs who spotted her stopped what they were doing, jaws dropping everywhere.
“The femme, Beta, is a fine lass who had no problem telling potential suitors exactly what she thought of them - she still has no problem speaking her processor.
“I wanted to woe this exquisite femme, and I heard that she was intrigued by mechs who can cook, so I enrolled in a culinary class.”
More light-hearted mirth sounded. The older youngsters tried smothering their laugher to no avail.
“My first oil cake, blew up in my face.” Kup remembered. “The second one was harder than metal and inedible. The third one proved poisonous - thank primus the selenium was detected before anyone took a bite.
“Then I tried making energon goodies.” Kup was so lost in retelling that disastrous vorn, trying to impress Beta through his nonexistent cooking skills that he failed to notice his initial audience of three grandlings had tripled twice.
“First batch remained runny, oozing and dripping everywhere. Second batch never properly solidified - it wiggled and jiggled, while retaining its shape. Third batch, was editable, just tasteless and bland. My fourth batch of energon goodies still failed to impress so I moved onto home-made rust sticks.
Twenty-seven eager faces drew closer, all waiting to hear how rust sticks could be made wrong.
“When the scrumptious looking rust-sticks exploded in my servos, it appeared my servos had developed a sever case of cosmic rust - but it affected only my servos, which puzzled the medics who examined the spots.
Kup vented. “It was after that disastrous attempt of preparing a delicacy that Beta - the envy of mechs and femmes everywhere, approached me and said-“
“I said ‘Kup, if you want to seek my servo, just ask,” Beta interrupted the story-teller. “Off to bed you lot - it’s a busy orn in the morn.”
“Ah, but Gram,” Little hot Rod whined. “Gran didn’t finish his story.’
“I didn’t?” Kup‘s face retained the love-struck smile he’d acquired since Beta arrived. “I took Beta advice and asked her - image my surprise when she said yes.
“After a long, audacious self-appointed task of trying to make myself stand above the competition - before asking if she’d welcome my attempts -we took a vorn of spending time together, talking, and learning each other’s interests, hobbies and talents.
“And the end of the second vorn, I asked Beta to bond with me - and her yes, remains my most favorite memory of all.”
Title: Coping mechanisms
Rating: Teens
Series: Generation 1
Characters: Smokescreen
Author: Rose0mary
Summary: Talking helps, time helps with the loss of family and destruction of everything you once knew
Prompt: 2 some things are best not remembered
Smokescreen trembled violently, “Please Ratchet.”
Ratchet shook his head. “I won’t do it, Smokescreen - not to a friend, not to an enemy.”
“Ratchet,” Smokescreen collapsed on the berth. “I don’t want to remember - just help me forget.”
Ratchet carefully placed a white servo on the exhausted Praxian. “Wiping memories cannot be undone - removing even a fraction of your memories of Crystal city will mean removing everything of your family -“
“They’re dead!” Smokescreen snarled without much energy, “All of them - deactivated for nothing. I can’t pretend anymore that losing my home doesn’t hurt - not like Prowl.”
Ratchet bit back a curse. When he grew sure he wouldn’t yell, scream, shout or raise his voice, Ratchet resumed, “Recent memories can be overwritten with a few short-term side effects - mostly a sense of disorientation remands, but one’s entire vorns of growing up?” The Autobot CMO shook his head. “Reprogramming you would be a kinder fate.”
Smokescreen remained on the berth until the medic left to check on his patients. The tactician’s optics noticed a cabinet cracked open. He got to his feet, inspected the hidden contents.
High-grade Moonshine - it would help. Smokescreen swiped as man cubes as he could carry, closed the cabinet and left the med bay.
The gray Praxian knew which of the many storage rooms and receiving bays would be empty. He headed for the one farthest from all major routs of traffic. He didn’t want to be discovered until he successfully drank himself into a stupor, and forgot about his dead city - whipping the images from his processors.
Smokescreen tossed one cube back, coughed when it burnt going down. He waited just long enough to decide it hadn’t been laced with sulfuric or hydrochloric acid, before tossing back a second then a third cube, not tasting the fuel. Number four went down slower.
By the time Smokescreen’s fingers grasped the fifth cube, he couldn’t remember why he sought isolation - or if he’d simply forgotten to comm some friends and ask them to help him dispose of his latest heist.
His tanks stretched and strained from being overfilled. He paused, wondering what to do with the remaining elicit goods. He shrugged, slowly draining the fifth cube, ignoring the warning about overcharge.
When Smokescreen’s fingers searched for a sixth cube, they encountered another mech’s servos - opening his optics, Smoky couldn’t see anyone. Of course, the lighting remained dim, the better to not advertise the fact a mech or two were using this supposedly locked and empty room.
“Gonna help me finish?” Smokescreen slurred, gesturing towards the eight remaining cubes.
His unseen companion grabbed the cube the tactician was reaching towards, depositing it in his subspace. The others quickly followed.
“What’d you do that for? I need ‘em.”
“No, you don’t, Smokescreen,” The mech sat down. “Save them for later, when you can enjoy it better.”
“Am enjoying it.” Smokescreen chuckled, not knowing why he found this funny. “This is the happiest I’ve been since …” he trailed off, not knowing what happened that made him sad , no more than sad, angry. Really angry. “Don’t wanna be like before -give me my drink.” Smokescreen struggled for the cubes in the mech’s hand, not realizing the stranger had picked up the discarded empty cubes.
The nameless mech didn’t fight, just let the tactician wear himself out. When the mech slipped, into recharge, he picked up Smokescreen and carried him to the quarters Ratchet had set aside the survivors from Praxius.
“Prowl, when Smokescreen wakes up, he needs to talk - with you and Bluestreak.” He deposited the comatose gambler on the empty recharge berth before Prowl could ask what he wanted.
“Thank you Mirage,” Prowl told the retreating noble.
Title: Regrets
Rating: K+
Series: Generation 1
Characters: Perceptor, Starscream
Author: Rose0mary
Summary: The end is near.
Prompt: 3 “If I had the chance to do that one thing over again, I would, and thigns could be so (very) different”
Perceptor stood in front of the red-and-white Seeker. “I believe you. Primus help me, I believe you.”
By long practice, they ignored the desperate warning klaxons ringing in the distance - the bells announced the imminent arrival of Unicron. There was nothing anyone could do now to stop the coming of the Destroyer.
Starscream snorted. “Whether you believe me or not, it’s a mute point. No one can change the past.”
“Not our past anyway.” The Autobot scientist agreed. “But our past is someone else’s present - and we are constantly altering the present.”
The Decepticon Air Commander crossed his arms. “What are you blathering on about now?”
“Something the humans once theorized about.” Perceptor might have gone on, further discussing how human theories of Alternate universes differed from Cybertron understanding of alternate realties, except the Decepticon scientist was in no mood to talk theories.
“Enough,” Starscream growled, “What does that have to do with what we can do now?”
The warning bells grew shriller and desperate voices shouting “Unicorn is here!” only increased the decibels of the background noise. There was nothing they could do to stop Unicron. The best the remaining forces of Autobots and Decepticons could do was try to buy time so the bulk of the combined fleets could flee.
“It means we get a second chance.” Perceptor stressed. “If we could flee through weakened barriers, we could spread the word and prepare other versious of ourselves and thus prevent - “
“Prevent Unicron from utterly destroying Primus” Starscream caught on. It was too late for this world, but not a multitude of others. “What do we need?”
The two scientiss, once mortal enemies, put their helms together and bounced ideas back and forth.
Almost unnoticed by the two, Unicron finished goring himself on the battered, broken world of Cybertron. He belched, Vector Sigma escaped his gullet.
Title: Wake up call
Rating: K+/Teens
Series: Generation 1
Characters: Soundwave, Shockwave
Author: Rose0mary
Summary: What would a Cybertronian concussion be like? Full-blown memory loss? Or just bits and pieces forgotten for a time?
Prompt: 4 Amnesia
Soundwave and Shockwave were in attendance when Hook released Megatron from the emergency-stasis lock after finishing repairs.
The Decepticon warlord’s red optics flickered on examined the room, before moving onto the three full-grown figures standing before his form.
“Who are you? Where am I?” Megatron asked, instinctively trying to draw his arms and legs closer to his chassis. When he encountered flimsy straps - used only to keep his frame in place, not secure him to the berth, Megactron panicked. “You’re the Kaon slavers! I promised Sparkler I’d be good!” He screamed, sounding very young and afraid.
Hook tried to reassure his Lord Protectorate. “No, Megatron, we are not Kaonites, nor do we intend to make you a slave.”
“Who’s Megatron?” The very large gray mech struggled against the loose restraints.
“You are,” Hook stated, confused. He’d seen no damage to the helm and had noticed nothing wrong with the processors while Megatron was in deep stasis look.
“No I’m not. Designation’s Igneous.” Megatron’s frantic pulling and tugging grew weaker but no less incessant.
Soundwave stepped forward. “Igneous, Designation Soundwave - welcome to our base.” He concentrated on soothing the rattled processor, calming the reawakened youngster.
“Soundwave, new friends?” Megatron stopped fighting, absorbed more details in this dark cell-like medbay. “Who are they?”
Hook drew back, affronted. “I am Hook, your primary medical officer.”
Shockwave bowed his head. “Igneous, my name is Shockwave, an elite scientist and researcher.”
“I want to go home.” Now calm, Megatron realized all he had to do to escape the bonds, was slip his seroves and peds out. “My sparkler and kindler will be missing me if I don’t return home soon. - Nice meeting you all.” He stepped towards the door, jumped back when it slipped open, looked both ways, uncertainty written all over his visage.
“My Lord, let me guide you.” Shockwave approached his leader. “You should refuel first - then we’ll take you to your family.”
“Okay - Whereis Farrago from here? And how long will it take me to return?”
Hook turned to Soundwave. “What went wrong? His processors looked fine when I examined them - infact, aside from that tumble that took him out, his helm wasn’t touched at all!” The medic complained bitterly, wondering where the real Megaron had gone.
Soundwave made no effort to tell Hook that Igneous was Megatron - the youngling he’d been bfore the Gladiator Pits. If the Decepticions were lucky, Megatron’s mind would be back to rights soon - jarred back to full awareness upon seeing something familiar.
Rating: K
Series: Generation 1
Characters: Kup,
Author: Rose0mary
Summary: Time is immaterial, stories are eternal
Prompt: 1 Story ends “… and that is the best memory of my life”
“Tell me a story, Gran Kup.” Little Hot Rod pleaded.
Young Springer latched onto the idea - and Kup’s leg. “Yes, tell us a story, please?”
Springer’s bumbly-puppy optics were not swaying Kup. He tried putting the remaining youngsters to bed, but Hot Rod and Springer refused to let go or staying in their recharge berths. Kup gave up when Springer’s friend Arcee joined in with the begging. “I want to hear a story,” she pouted.
“Settle down,” Kup stated unnecessarily - the three youngsters weren’t running, hollering, climbing walls, screaming or otherwise fraying tired processors. They just weren’t ready for recharge without their nightly tale.
“Have I told you how I met Gran Beta?” Kup asked the kids.
“Yes, but tell us again!” Springer demanded. Hot Rod shook his head. Arcee’s cobalt optics went wide. More sleepy younglings poked heads out of their rooms, listening intently.
“So there I was, minding my own business, when what did my old weary optics spot?” Giggling from the youngsters. “A beautiful femme, sapphire and ebony - all the mechs who spotted her stopped what they were doing, jaws dropping everywhere.
“The femme, Beta, is a fine lass who had no problem telling potential suitors exactly what she thought of them - she still has no problem speaking her processor.
“I wanted to woe this exquisite femme, and I heard that she was intrigued by mechs who can cook, so I enrolled in a culinary class.”
More light-hearted mirth sounded. The older youngsters tried smothering their laugher to no avail.
“My first oil cake, blew up in my face.” Kup remembered. “The second one was harder than metal and inedible. The third one proved poisonous - thank primus the selenium was detected before anyone took a bite.
“Then I tried making energon goodies.” Kup was so lost in retelling that disastrous vorn, trying to impress Beta through his nonexistent cooking skills that he failed to notice his initial audience of three grandlings had tripled twice.
“First batch remained runny, oozing and dripping everywhere. Second batch never properly solidified - it wiggled and jiggled, while retaining its shape. Third batch, was editable, just tasteless and bland. My fourth batch of energon goodies still failed to impress so I moved onto home-made rust sticks.
Twenty-seven eager faces drew closer, all waiting to hear how rust sticks could be made wrong.
“When the scrumptious looking rust-sticks exploded in my servos, it appeared my servos had developed a sever case of cosmic rust - but it affected only my servos, which puzzled the medics who examined the spots.
Kup vented. “It was after that disastrous attempt of preparing a delicacy that Beta - the envy of mechs and femmes everywhere, approached me and said-“
“I said ‘Kup, if you want to seek my servo, just ask,” Beta interrupted the story-teller. “Off to bed you lot - it’s a busy orn in the morn.”
“Ah, but Gram,” Little hot Rod whined. “Gran didn’t finish his story.’
“I didn’t?” Kup‘s face retained the love-struck smile he’d acquired since Beta arrived. “I took Beta advice and asked her - image my surprise when she said yes.
“After a long, audacious self-appointed task of trying to make myself stand above the competition - before asking if she’d welcome my attempts -we took a vorn of spending time together, talking, and learning each other’s interests, hobbies and talents.
“And the end of the second vorn, I asked Beta to bond with me - and her yes, remains my most favorite memory of all.”
Title: Coping mechanisms
Rating: Teens
Series: Generation 1
Characters: Smokescreen
Author: Rose0mary
Summary: Talking helps, time helps with the loss of family and destruction of everything you once knew
Prompt: 2 some things are best not remembered
Smokescreen trembled violently, “Please Ratchet.”
Ratchet shook his head. “I won’t do it, Smokescreen - not to a friend, not to an enemy.”
“Ratchet,” Smokescreen collapsed on the berth. “I don’t want to remember - just help me forget.”
Ratchet carefully placed a white servo on the exhausted Praxian. “Wiping memories cannot be undone - removing even a fraction of your memories of Crystal city will mean removing everything of your family -“
“They’re dead!” Smokescreen snarled without much energy, “All of them - deactivated for nothing. I can’t pretend anymore that losing my home doesn’t hurt - not like Prowl.”
Ratchet bit back a curse. When he grew sure he wouldn’t yell, scream, shout or raise his voice, Ratchet resumed, “Recent memories can be overwritten with a few short-term side effects - mostly a sense of disorientation remands, but one’s entire vorns of growing up?” The Autobot CMO shook his head. “Reprogramming you would be a kinder fate.”
Smokescreen remained on the berth until the medic left to check on his patients. The tactician’s optics noticed a cabinet cracked open. He got to his feet, inspected the hidden contents.
High-grade Moonshine - it would help. Smokescreen swiped as man cubes as he could carry, closed the cabinet and left the med bay.
The gray Praxian knew which of the many storage rooms and receiving bays would be empty. He headed for the one farthest from all major routs of traffic. He didn’t want to be discovered until he successfully drank himself into a stupor, and forgot about his dead city - whipping the images from his processors.
Smokescreen tossed one cube back, coughed when it burnt going down. He waited just long enough to decide it hadn’t been laced with sulfuric or hydrochloric acid, before tossing back a second then a third cube, not tasting the fuel. Number four went down slower.
By the time Smokescreen’s fingers grasped the fifth cube, he couldn’t remember why he sought isolation - or if he’d simply forgotten to comm some friends and ask them to help him dispose of his latest heist.
His tanks stretched and strained from being overfilled. He paused, wondering what to do with the remaining elicit goods. He shrugged, slowly draining the fifth cube, ignoring the warning about overcharge.
When Smokescreen’s fingers searched for a sixth cube, they encountered another mech’s servos - opening his optics, Smoky couldn’t see anyone. Of course, the lighting remained dim, the better to not advertise the fact a mech or two were using this supposedly locked and empty room.
“Gonna help me finish?” Smokescreen slurred, gesturing towards the eight remaining cubes.
His unseen companion grabbed the cube the tactician was reaching towards, depositing it in his subspace. The others quickly followed.
“What’d you do that for? I need ‘em.”
“No, you don’t, Smokescreen,” The mech sat down. “Save them for later, when you can enjoy it better.”
“Am enjoying it.” Smokescreen chuckled, not knowing why he found this funny. “This is the happiest I’ve been since …” he trailed off, not knowing what happened that made him sad , no more than sad, angry. Really angry. “Don’t wanna be like before -give me my drink.” Smokescreen struggled for the cubes in the mech’s hand, not realizing the stranger had picked up the discarded empty cubes.
The nameless mech didn’t fight, just let the tactician wear himself out. When the mech slipped, into recharge, he picked up Smokescreen and carried him to the quarters Ratchet had set aside the survivors from Praxius.
“Prowl, when Smokescreen wakes up, he needs to talk - with you and Bluestreak.” He deposited the comatose gambler on the empty recharge berth before Prowl could ask what he wanted.
“Thank you Mirage,” Prowl told the retreating noble.
Title: Regrets
Rating: K+
Series: Generation 1
Characters: Perceptor, Starscream
Author: Rose0mary
Summary: The end is near.
Prompt: 3 “If I had the chance to do that one thing over again, I would, and thigns could be so (very) different”
Perceptor stood in front of the red-and-white Seeker. “I believe you. Primus help me, I believe you.”
By long practice, they ignored the desperate warning klaxons ringing in the distance - the bells announced the imminent arrival of Unicron. There was nothing anyone could do now to stop the coming of the Destroyer.
Starscream snorted. “Whether you believe me or not, it’s a mute point. No one can change the past.”
“Not our past anyway.” The Autobot scientist agreed. “But our past is someone else’s present - and we are constantly altering the present.”
The Decepticon Air Commander crossed his arms. “What are you blathering on about now?”
“Something the humans once theorized about.” Perceptor might have gone on, further discussing how human theories of Alternate universes differed from Cybertron understanding of alternate realties, except the Decepticon scientist was in no mood to talk theories.
“Enough,” Starscream growled, “What does that have to do with what we can do now?”
The warning bells grew shriller and desperate voices shouting “Unicorn is here!” only increased the decibels of the background noise. There was nothing they could do to stop Unicron. The best the remaining forces of Autobots and Decepticons could do was try to buy time so the bulk of the combined fleets could flee.
“It means we get a second chance.” Perceptor stressed. “If we could flee through weakened barriers, we could spread the word and prepare other versious of ourselves and thus prevent - “
“Prevent Unicron from utterly destroying Primus” Starscream caught on. It was too late for this world, but not a multitude of others. “What do we need?”
The two scientiss, once mortal enemies, put their helms together and bounced ideas back and forth.
Almost unnoticed by the two, Unicron finished goring himself on the battered, broken world of Cybertron. He belched, Vector Sigma escaped his gullet.
Title: Wake up call
Rating: K+/Teens
Series: Generation 1
Characters: Soundwave, Shockwave
Author: Rose0mary
Summary: What would a Cybertronian concussion be like? Full-blown memory loss? Or just bits and pieces forgotten for a time?
Prompt: 4 Amnesia
Soundwave and Shockwave were in attendance when Hook released Megatron from the emergency-stasis lock after finishing repairs.
The Decepticon warlord’s red optics flickered on examined the room, before moving onto the three full-grown figures standing before his form.
“Who are you? Where am I?” Megatron asked, instinctively trying to draw his arms and legs closer to his chassis. When he encountered flimsy straps - used only to keep his frame in place, not secure him to the berth, Megactron panicked. “You’re the Kaon slavers! I promised Sparkler I’d be good!” He screamed, sounding very young and afraid.
Hook tried to reassure his Lord Protectorate. “No, Megatron, we are not Kaonites, nor do we intend to make you a slave.”
“Who’s Megatron?” The very large gray mech struggled against the loose restraints.
“You are,” Hook stated, confused. He’d seen no damage to the helm and had noticed nothing wrong with the processors while Megatron was in deep stasis look.
“No I’m not. Designation’s Igneous.” Megatron’s frantic pulling and tugging grew weaker but no less incessant.
Soundwave stepped forward. “Igneous, Designation Soundwave - welcome to our base.” He concentrated on soothing the rattled processor, calming the reawakened youngster.
“Soundwave, new friends?” Megatron stopped fighting, absorbed more details in this dark cell-like medbay. “Who are they?”
Hook drew back, affronted. “I am Hook, your primary medical officer.”
Shockwave bowed his head. “Igneous, my name is Shockwave, an elite scientist and researcher.”
“I want to go home.” Now calm, Megatron realized all he had to do to escape the bonds, was slip his seroves and peds out. “My sparkler and kindler will be missing me if I don’t return home soon. - Nice meeting you all.” He stepped towards the door, jumped back when it slipped open, looked both ways, uncertainty written all over his visage.
“My Lord, let me guide you.” Shockwave approached his leader. “You should refuel first - then we’ll take you to your family.”
“Okay - Whereis Farrago from here? And how long will it take me to return?”
Hook turned to Soundwave. “What went wrong? His processors looked fine when I examined them - infact, aside from that tumble that took him out, his helm wasn’t touched at all!” The medic complained bitterly, wondering where the real Megaron had gone.
Soundwave made no effort to tell Hook that Igneous was Megatron - the youngling he’d been bfore the Gladiator Pits. If the Decepticions were lucky, Megatron’s mind would be back to rights soon - jarred back to full awareness upon seeing something familiar.