(no subject)
TITLE: Festivities
RATING: K+
CHARACTERS: Skywarp, Sideswipe
AUTHOR: Rose0mary
WARNING: No warning
SERIES: Generation 1
SUMMARY: It's the party that makes the world go round.
Skywarp was used to outright hostility or guarded looks from both enemy forces and Decepticon comrades. But a glance that was more observing than anything else? True, they weren't fighting and he hadn't pranked (or was preparing to prank) the other.
“Let me get this straight,” the shinny red plated mech said. “You want one-hundred plus cubes of high grade and are willing to do almost anything for them?”
“Yes,” Skywarp refrained from snapping out the answer. Hadn’t they gone over this question already? “And I need a minimum of one-hundred twenty-eight cubes.”
“That’s a shocker,” spoke the supplier. “Suppose I do manage to find enough cubes - how do I contact you? Through Swindle?”
Skywarp gasped. “SWINDLE? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GLITCHING PROCESSOR? I don’t trust him or any of the others not to swipe one or more of the cubes I paid for!”
“Tisk, tisk. You’ve not bought them yet.” Chastised the contact. “I’ll get you the high-grade. On one condition.”
Skywarp ignored the sideways glances to the sides and behind. He knew they were quite alone and no mech, no mech at all, would interrupt the bargain in process. “What’s the condition?” He gnashed his teeth, hoping the Autobot wouldn’t ask him to do a itty-bitty squish dance.
“You tell me why you need the high grade - the honest use, not whatever story you concocted to explain things to the cons.”
Skypwarp shuttered his optics in surprise. That request … was reasonable. And not at all demeaning. “Planning a party - Soundwave’s hot had a single orn to himself in … forever.”
The enemy accomplish nodded, picking up on the train of thought. “So, if every con gets plastered, Soundwave can get a mini-vacation. I like - can my twin and I come over?”
“You two are supplying the high-grade” Skywarp shrugged, indifferent. “Just no uploading of plans, top-secret information, no downloading of viruses, and no getting caught on the way out.”
Sideswipe rubbed his hands together. “This will be good.”
.-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Scene Change .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Time Passes .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-.
Prowl heard Red Alert growling as the security mech approached. Given fair warning, Prowl turned off the datapad and looked up as the door to his office opened. “Can I help you, Red Alert?”
Red Alert paced in front of the desk, too irate to speak at the moment. After a while, the mech spoke. “Sideswipe modified the paint-order. We have an extra truck of pink paint.”
Prowl vented. “I will talk to Sideswipe - Wait. A whole truck you said? Not a few extra cans?”
“A full truck - over twenty-thousand gallons of bright pink paint.” Red Alert nodded in conformation.
“Odd.”
“Indeed - and the stock of contraband has gone missing! Every single illegal item they brought aboard has disappeared.”
Prowl pulled out the pad with the paint-order. Now that the discrepancy had been pointed out, he saw the changes. Prowl had to chuckle. “Ingenious.”
Red Alert looked over Prowl’s shoulder, wondering what had caught Prowl’s interest. “Oh. That explains where the carefully harbored stores went.”
“Traded to pay for the extra paints so we wouldn’t notice the extra material, or be charged for what we didn’t order or use.” The two officers looked at each other.
.-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Scene Change .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Time Passes .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-.
“Busted” Sunstreaker hissed to Sideswipe.
Sideswipe only grinned. “Evening, Prowl. Nice night for a drive.”
Prowl stood at the Ark’s entrance, denying the twin warriors access inside. “What were you thinking?”
“Thinking about what? Sir.”
“The modified paint order.” Prowl’s glare might have led to other mechs confessing, but not these two professional miscreants.
“Paint order?” Sideswipe pretended surprise. “Oh that paint order. Sunstreaker noticed the basic colors were ordered, but no specific shades, - “
Sunstreaker glared at his brother.
“ - and wanted to make sure that we got the exact spectrum - cause, you know, Cherry Red clashes with Mahogany. Do you really think all of us wear the exact same color of yellow?”
“I wasn’t talking about the specification of black, red, yellow, green, white or blue. I am talking about the truckload of neon pink.” Prowl’s tone was very frosty.
Sunstreaker took over before his brother could resume the wild vindication. “We have no plans of defacing the Ark or using the pink paint in any type of gun, balloon, ball, or otherwise temporarily changing and or marking the chosen colors of the Autobot crew.”
Prowl relaxed. “Who’s the chosen target?” He stepped aside.
Sideswipe said, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Sunstreaker simply shrugged.
.-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Scene Change .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Time Passes .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-.
Frenzy and Rumble wandered into the rec-room, where the off-duty Decepticons were congregating and getting sloshed (not that they were supposed to know the troops were drinking anything beyond regular energon).
The twins stepped into the rec room, got half-way to the energon-dispensor (bypassing the high-grade all the others were grabbing), then stopped.
“Was that?” Frenzy could only point.
Rumble noticed the cans of human paint (opened, and ready for instant use), along with the fresh paint-brushes next to the alluring cans, placed by the dispenser in such a way that all other arrivals missed the new addition. Rumble nodded.
If the cons were too drunk to recognize the smirk that crossed their faces, no one would point it out to others in their haste to leave.
.-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Scene Change .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Time Passes .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-.
Scavenger sat up, dislodging the dead weight of Swindle. “Oh, my aching processors.” Scavenger lifted a hand to his helm.
The move stopped mid-motion. That oddly colored limb could not be his. Scavenger rebooted his optics.
Nope. The discolored splotch didn’t change.
Scavenger tore his gaze away from the miscolored limb. Looked at the other mechs sprawled all over the rec room.
When he noticed the walls were the same odd coloration, harsh, broken laughter emerged from his vocalizer. Some mech - Scavenger thought he knew who - had adjusted the lights, casting the normally dingy grays into shades of light red.
Standing up, Scavenger stumbled over Onslaught.
“Watch it!” Onslaught complained as he shoved the fallen mech off him. “Hey, you’re pink.”
Scavenger rolled over, intending to get upright when his whirling processors spotted the ceiling.
The normal colored ceiling. Untouched by the ghastly glow-in-the-dark paint job.
“Who painted us pink?”
Scavenger’s very vocal complaint woke the Constructicons. Hook took one look at himself, growled “Skywarp” and dragged himself out.
.-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Scene Change .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Time Passes .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-.
“Skywarp!” bellowed Hook.
The medic slammed his fist into every door and wall he passed, waking the inhabitants, waking the inhabitants into awareness and letting them experience the full side effects of overindulgence of high-grade.
“Skywarp!” Hook bellowed again.
Muffled curses followed the medic. He ignored the curses - mere words and threats that would be soon forgotten were not his concern.
“Skywarp! At long last, Hook finally found the sprawled Seeker. “Who painted us pink?”
The giggling seeker waived a pokadot covered arm. “I like my new paint job. Why did yours?”
Hook growled, gave into the impulse to throttle Skywarp. He wouldn’t kill him, just knock some sense into him.
Skywarp grinned drunkenly, just before he warped away, leaving Hook clutching at nothing.
RATING: K+
CHARACTERS: Skywarp, Sideswipe
AUTHOR: Rose0mary
WARNING: No warning
SERIES: Generation 1
SUMMARY: It's the party that makes the world go round.
Skywarp was used to outright hostility or guarded looks from both enemy forces and Decepticon comrades. But a glance that was more observing than anything else? True, they weren't fighting and he hadn't pranked (or was preparing to prank) the other.
“Let me get this straight,” the shinny red plated mech said. “You want one-hundred plus cubes of high grade and are willing to do almost anything for them?”
“Yes,” Skywarp refrained from snapping out the answer. Hadn’t they gone over this question already? “And I need a minimum of one-hundred twenty-eight cubes.”
“That’s a shocker,” spoke the supplier. “Suppose I do manage to find enough cubes - how do I contact you? Through Swindle?”
Skywarp gasped. “SWINDLE? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GLITCHING PROCESSOR? I don’t trust him or any of the others not to swipe one or more of the cubes I paid for!”
“Tisk, tisk. You’ve not bought them yet.” Chastised the contact. “I’ll get you the high-grade. On one condition.”
Skywarp ignored the sideways glances to the sides and behind. He knew they were quite alone and no mech, no mech at all, would interrupt the bargain in process. “What’s the condition?” He gnashed his teeth, hoping the Autobot wouldn’t ask him to do a itty-bitty squish dance.
“You tell me why you need the high grade - the honest use, not whatever story you concocted to explain things to the cons.”
Skypwarp shuttered his optics in surprise. That request … was reasonable. And not at all demeaning. “Planning a party - Soundwave’s hot had a single orn to himself in … forever.”
The enemy accomplish nodded, picking up on the train of thought. “So, if every con gets plastered, Soundwave can get a mini-vacation. I like - can my twin and I come over?”
“You two are supplying the high-grade” Skywarp shrugged, indifferent. “Just no uploading of plans, top-secret information, no downloading of viruses, and no getting caught on the way out.”
Sideswipe rubbed his hands together. “This will be good.”
.-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Scene Change .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Time Passes .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-.
Prowl heard Red Alert growling as the security mech approached. Given fair warning, Prowl turned off the datapad and looked up as the door to his office opened. “Can I help you, Red Alert?”
Red Alert paced in front of the desk, too irate to speak at the moment. After a while, the mech spoke. “Sideswipe modified the paint-order. We have an extra truck of pink paint.”
Prowl vented. “I will talk to Sideswipe - Wait. A whole truck you said? Not a few extra cans?”
“A full truck - over twenty-thousand gallons of bright pink paint.” Red Alert nodded in conformation.
“Odd.”
“Indeed - and the stock of contraband has gone missing! Every single illegal item they brought aboard has disappeared.”
Prowl pulled out the pad with the paint-order. Now that the discrepancy had been pointed out, he saw the changes. Prowl had to chuckle. “Ingenious.”
Red Alert looked over Prowl’s shoulder, wondering what had caught Prowl’s interest. “Oh. That explains where the carefully harbored stores went.”
“Traded to pay for the extra paints so we wouldn’t notice the extra material, or be charged for what we didn’t order or use.” The two officers looked at each other.
.-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Scene Change .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Time Passes .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-.
“Busted” Sunstreaker hissed to Sideswipe.
Sideswipe only grinned. “Evening, Prowl. Nice night for a drive.”
Prowl stood at the Ark’s entrance, denying the twin warriors access inside. “What were you thinking?”
“Thinking about what? Sir.”
“The modified paint order.” Prowl’s glare might have led to other mechs confessing, but not these two professional miscreants.
“Paint order?” Sideswipe pretended surprise. “Oh that paint order. Sunstreaker noticed the basic colors were ordered, but no specific shades, - “
Sunstreaker glared at his brother.
“ - and wanted to make sure that we got the exact spectrum - cause, you know, Cherry Red clashes with Mahogany. Do you really think all of us wear the exact same color of yellow?”
“I wasn’t talking about the specification of black, red, yellow, green, white or blue. I am talking about the truckload of neon pink.” Prowl’s tone was very frosty.
Sunstreaker took over before his brother could resume the wild vindication. “We have no plans of defacing the Ark or using the pink paint in any type of gun, balloon, ball, or otherwise temporarily changing and or marking the chosen colors of the Autobot crew.”
Prowl relaxed. “Who’s the chosen target?” He stepped aside.
Sideswipe said, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Sunstreaker simply shrugged.
.-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Scene Change .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Time Passes .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-.
Frenzy and Rumble wandered into the rec-room, where the off-duty Decepticons were congregating and getting sloshed (not that they were supposed to know the troops were drinking anything beyond regular energon).
The twins stepped into the rec room, got half-way to the energon-dispensor (bypassing the high-grade all the others were grabbing), then stopped.
“Was that?” Frenzy could only point.
Rumble noticed the cans of human paint (opened, and ready for instant use), along with the fresh paint-brushes next to the alluring cans, placed by the dispenser in such a way that all other arrivals missed the new addition. Rumble nodded.
If the cons were too drunk to recognize the smirk that crossed their faces, no one would point it out to others in their haste to leave.
.-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Scene Change .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Time Passes .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-.
Scavenger sat up, dislodging the dead weight of Swindle. “Oh, my aching processors.” Scavenger lifted a hand to his helm.
The move stopped mid-motion. That oddly colored limb could not be his. Scavenger rebooted his optics.
Nope. The discolored splotch didn’t change.
Scavenger tore his gaze away from the miscolored limb. Looked at the other mechs sprawled all over the rec room.
When he noticed the walls were the same odd coloration, harsh, broken laughter emerged from his vocalizer. Some mech - Scavenger thought he knew who - had adjusted the lights, casting the normally dingy grays into shades of light red.
Standing up, Scavenger stumbled over Onslaught.
“Watch it!” Onslaught complained as he shoved the fallen mech off him. “Hey, you’re pink.”
Scavenger rolled over, intending to get upright when his whirling processors spotted the ceiling.
The normal colored ceiling. Untouched by the ghastly glow-in-the-dark paint job.
“Who painted us pink?”
Scavenger’s very vocal complaint woke the Constructicons. Hook took one look at himself, growled “Skywarp” and dragged himself out.
.-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Scene Change .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-. Time Passes .-.-.-.-. Generation 1 .-.-.-.-.
“Skywarp!” bellowed Hook.
The medic slammed his fist into every door and wall he passed, waking the inhabitants, waking the inhabitants into awareness and letting them experience the full side effects of overindulgence of high-grade.
“Skywarp!” Hook bellowed again.
Muffled curses followed the medic. He ignored the curses - mere words and threats that would be soon forgotten were not his concern.
“Skywarp! At long last, Hook finally found the sprawled Seeker. “Who painted us pink?”
The giggling seeker waived a pokadot covered arm. “I like my new paint job. Why did yours?”
Hook growled, gave into the impulse to throttle Skywarp. He wouldn’t kill him, just knock some sense into him.
Skywarp grinned drunkenly, just before he warped away, leaving Hook clutching at nothing.