Prompts 6, 7, 13, FULL SET *flop*
Title: Four Facts
Continuity: IDW
Characters: Monstructor, Jhiaxus
Rating: PG
Prompt 13: Monster:
It…hurt. That was its first, its only conscious thought. Its first fact. It hurt: its entire awareness of its body being a map of pain, throbbing and jabbing.
It was aware of sound, then, a ululation of agony, torn from a wretched throat. Its throat, it realized, its own vocalizer giving voice to its existence. It was alive. It was in pain. They were both the same.
It moved, and it became aware of sight, colors and shapes lurching and resolving before its optics, which were studded around its head like a coronet, seeing all around it. Everything seemed…small, even though it had no frame of reference. How can one know smallness when one doesn’t have a scale?
It knew restraint, suddenly, feeling its motion stopped, halted, by hard bindings around what it realized were arms, hobbles on ankles. It was alive, it hurt, it was bound. Three facts.
And a fourth fact, a fourth discovery, the wail of pain changing into something darker, danger-edged: it was angry.
[***]
Jhiaxus nodded, safe from the other side of the ironglass barrier. He called up the research file, labeled 'Monstructor, noting with no small satisfaction: “Success.”
Title: Red Face
Continuity: IDW
Characters: Drift, Gasket, OC (Glitch)
Rating: G
Prompt 7: Urban legend
“I’m telling you!” Glitch said, exasperated. “I saw him!” His hands shook like a junkie’s.
“No one’s saying they don’t believe you,” Gasket said. He glanced over to Drift, who was peering out at the alleyway, from the narrow doorway to this hidey hole, partly to make sure they were safe, now, and partly to chastise Drift before he made some disparaging comment. Glitch didn’t need scorn right now, he needed help.
Drift met his gaze, giving one of his eloquent lexicon of shrugs. This one meant ‘it wasn’t worth it to say anything’. Good enough.
“What did you see?” Gasket dug out a rolled up, nearly empty energon pouch, holding it out. The pouches were ‘emergency rations’, sold to mechs uplevel for storms and trips into the wilderness. He’d had this particular envelope for metacycles, filling it here and there with whatever energon he could.
Glitch took it, careful to take only a small sip: everyone knew about Gasket’s energon ration, no one would dare show greed. Not when they all needed fuel. “I saw him! Red Face! He came after me, out of the shadows. He was gonna…!” His optics were wide and yellow and terrified.
“Relax,” Gasket said, stroking a calming hand down Glitch’s arm. “You saw a red face.”
“Probably Security,” Drift muttered over his shoulder. “Or a really bad prank.”
“Who would prank about Red Face?”
“Someone who wanted to get beaten half to death if he was ever found out.” Drift said, calmly.
True enough: Red Face was nothing to joke about. Glitch nodded agreement. “It wasn’t a prank, or Security,” he said. “Unless Security can walk through walls now.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Drift grumbled. “Can hope they get stuck there.”
“You saw Red Face, walk through a wall.”
Another urgent nod.
“Bad Syk,” Drift said. “Hallucinations.” His tone was flat and knowledgeable.
“No,” Glitch said. “Been clean for a decacycle. Mostly…cause I can’t get any.”
A look from Drift’s orange optics, then a nod: it was the only excuse mechs in the gutters would believe.
“It’s just a story,” Gasket said, soothingly. He pressed the packet back into Glitch’s hand.
Glitch simply held it, refusing another mouthful. It wasn’t right to take more than one share.
“You’re with us,” Drift said. His voice was a lot less gentle than Gasket’s, but no less comforting in its way. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
“But…Red Face. Once you see him, you only have a cycle left to live!” Glitch moaned. “Everyone knows the story.”
“It’s…a story,” Drift said. “That’s all. Because face it: fraggin’ dangerous enough down here. Any of us could die any cycle.”
For some reason his ruthless pragmatism did more to calm Glitch than Gasket’s kindness. His ventilations steadied, nodding. “You’re right. I just…please don’t leave me alone? Just to make sure?”
Drift grunted, shifting his stance in the doorway. Gasket caught his hand. “We won’t,” Gasket said. “We won’t, and then we’ll all have a good laugh about it, all right?”
Glitch nodded, trying to stop shaking. “Yeah. All right.” He hoped.
Title: Equality
Continuity: IDW
Character: Drift
Rating: PG
Warning: ref to canon character death
Prompt 6: Danse macabre
The gutters were dangerous. That was about as useful a statement as ‘the sky is overhead’, except, in the gutters, more believable. Most mechs down here had never even seen the sky. They believed in it with the same faith they would use to believe in Primus or the Guiding Hand.
And, Drift thought, he was dangerous, too. You didn’t live down here, you didn’t survive, unless you were as bad as the baddest things down here.
He’d never killed before, though. Because there was, in the deeper levels of the gutters, a sort of unwritten contract: if a mech attacked you for some resource-food or safety, something tangible and wanted-you didn’t kill. Because tomorrow, or two days from then, it could be you who was so desperate for a scrap of food that you’d attack another. You hurt them just enough to make them stop. That was the rule.
But this was different. He felt it, like a sudden hollowness scooped in his abdomen, like the heaviness of the gun, unfamiliar, in his hand. He could smell the energy blast, sharp and ionic, and the char of innermost energon, bubbling from the wounds of the Security mechs strewn at his feet.
And Gasket.
He moved over, kneeling by Gasket’s frame, staring into the lifeless blue-green optics. They’d been unique among the gutters, a bit like the ocean they liked to dream about. And now they were dark and blank. Drift tilted his head, trying to feel something, anything. Grief, horror, anger…anything. He waited for it to hit, expecting to be felled by it, to buckle over, weeping and howling.
Nothing. He felt…nothing. Only the weight of the gun in his hand.
And he stood, looking over the clotted corridor, at the dead. He’d seen death before, but never killed before. But still, it struck him, as he saw the three scattered Security mechs, their arrogance shattered, and Gasket, for once still and silent, that in this, in death, everyone was equal.
Wooo I did it! Now...back to staring at the Weather Channel till the power goes out. x_x
Continuity: IDW
Characters: Monstructor, Jhiaxus
Rating: PG
Prompt 13: Monster:
It…hurt. That was its first, its only conscious thought. Its first fact. It hurt: its entire awareness of its body being a map of pain, throbbing and jabbing.
It was aware of sound, then, a ululation of agony, torn from a wretched throat. Its throat, it realized, its own vocalizer giving voice to its existence. It was alive. It was in pain. They were both the same.
It moved, and it became aware of sight, colors and shapes lurching and resolving before its optics, which were studded around its head like a coronet, seeing all around it. Everything seemed…small, even though it had no frame of reference. How can one know smallness when one doesn’t have a scale?
It knew restraint, suddenly, feeling its motion stopped, halted, by hard bindings around what it realized were arms, hobbles on ankles. It was alive, it hurt, it was bound. Three facts.
And a fourth fact, a fourth discovery, the wail of pain changing into something darker, danger-edged: it was angry.
[***]
Jhiaxus nodded, safe from the other side of the ironglass barrier. He called up the research file, labeled 'Monstructor, noting with no small satisfaction: “Success.”
Title: Red Face
Continuity: IDW
Characters: Drift, Gasket, OC (Glitch)
Rating: G
Prompt 7: Urban legend
“I’m telling you!” Glitch said, exasperated. “I saw him!” His hands shook like a junkie’s.
“No one’s saying they don’t believe you,” Gasket said. He glanced over to Drift, who was peering out at the alleyway, from the narrow doorway to this hidey hole, partly to make sure they were safe, now, and partly to chastise Drift before he made some disparaging comment. Glitch didn’t need scorn right now, he needed help.
Drift met his gaze, giving one of his eloquent lexicon of shrugs. This one meant ‘it wasn’t worth it to say anything’. Good enough.
“What did you see?” Gasket dug out a rolled up, nearly empty energon pouch, holding it out. The pouches were ‘emergency rations’, sold to mechs uplevel for storms and trips into the wilderness. He’d had this particular envelope for metacycles, filling it here and there with whatever energon he could.
Glitch took it, careful to take only a small sip: everyone knew about Gasket’s energon ration, no one would dare show greed. Not when they all needed fuel. “I saw him! Red Face! He came after me, out of the shadows. He was gonna…!” His optics were wide and yellow and terrified.
“Relax,” Gasket said, stroking a calming hand down Glitch’s arm. “You saw a red face.”
“Probably Security,” Drift muttered over his shoulder. “Or a really bad prank.”
“Who would prank about Red Face?”
“Someone who wanted to get beaten half to death if he was ever found out.” Drift said, calmly.
True enough: Red Face was nothing to joke about. Glitch nodded agreement. “It wasn’t a prank, or Security,” he said. “Unless Security can walk through walls now.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Drift grumbled. “Can hope they get stuck there.”
“You saw Red Face, walk through a wall.”
Another urgent nod.
“Bad Syk,” Drift said. “Hallucinations.” His tone was flat and knowledgeable.
“No,” Glitch said. “Been clean for a decacycle. Mostly…cause I can’t get any.”
A look from Drift’s orange optics, then a nod: it was the only excuse mechs in the gutters would believe.
“It’s just a story,” Gasket said, soothingly. He pressed the packet back into Glitch’s hand.
Glitch simply held it, refusing another mouthful. It wasn’t right to take more than one share.
“You’re with us,” Drift said. His voice was a lot less gentle than Gasket’s, but no less comforting in its way. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
“But…Red Face. Once you see him, you only have a cycle left to live!” Glitch moaned. “Everyone knows the story.”
“It’s…a story,” Drift said. “That’s all. Because face it: fraggin’ dangerous enough down here. Any of us could die any cycle.”
For some reason his ruthless pragmatism did more to calm Glitch than Gasket’s kindness. His ventilations steadied, nodding. “You’re right. I just…please don’t leave me alone? Just to make sure?”
Drift grunted, shifting his stance in the doorway. Gasket caught his hand. “We won’t,” Gasket said. “We won’t, and then we’ll all have a good laugh about it, all right?”
Glitch nodded, trying to stop shaking. “Yeah. All right.” He hoped.
Title: Equality
Continuity: IDW
Character: Drift
Rating: PG
Warning: ref to canon character death
Prompt 6: Danse macabre
The gutters were dangerous. That was about as useful a statement as ‘the sky is overhead’, except, in the gutters, more believable. Most mechs down here had never even seen the sky. They believed in it with the same faith they would use to believe in Primus or the Guiding Hand.
And, Drift thought, he was dangerous, too. You didn’t live down here, you didn’t survive, unless you were as bad as the baddest things down here.
He’d never killed before, though. Because there was, in the deeper levels of the gutters, a sort of unwritten contract: if a mech attacked you for some resource-food or safety, something tangible and wanted-you didn’t kill. Because tomorrow, or two days from then, it could be you who was so desperate for a scrap of food that you’d attack another. You hurt them just enough to make them stop. That was the rule.
But this was different. He felt it, like a sudden hollowness scooped in his abdomen, like the heaviness of the gun, unfamiliar, in his hand. He could smell the energy blast, sharp and ionic, and the char of innermost energon, bubbling from the wounds of the Security mechs strewn at his feet.
And Gasket.
He moved over, kneeling by Gasket’s frame, staring into the lifeless blue-green optics. They’d been unique among the gutters, a bit like the ocean they liked to dream about. And now they were dark and blank. Drift tilted his head, trying to feel something, anything. Grief, horror, anger…anything. He waited for it to hit, expecting to be felled by it, to buckle over, weeping and howling.
Nothing. He felt…nothing. Only the weight of the gun in his hand.
And he stood, looking over the clotted corridor, at the dead. He’d seen death before, but never killed before. But still, it struck him, as he saw the three scattered Security mechs, their arrogance shattered, and Gasket, for once still and silent, that in this, in death, everyone was equal.
Wooo I did it! Now...back to staring at the Weather Channel till the power goes out. x_x