OLOBA: the Light was Yellow, Sir (35)
Title: OLOBA: The Light Was Yellow, Sir (35)
Characters: Movieverse, couple G1 Char. Mikaela, Jazz, Frenzy, OC (Malena Banes), Ensemble
Rating: R for violence, bad driving, cussing, and some ‘interspecies erotica’
Disclaimer: Not responsible for readers spewing stuff on thier screens, keyboards, or family members whilst readin' this fic. And I still don’t own anything but Lena and Hammond (except his name haha). Not TF, not any movies I quote, songs I butcher, videogames, car models, coffee brands, nothing.
Summary: Shit's about to hit the fan in the semi-comfortable life of the Banes sisters, and nobody is safe.
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Koko Taylor and David Carradine, Ed McMahon and Farah Fawcett. R.I.P.
A/N3: I love being out of numerical order. I suppose now that TF2 is out this fic is irrelevant. But i'm gonna keep writing it. So Nyah. I doubt it'll change much with the new stuff from the sequal, except MAYBE a bit of Soundwave's appearance, who knows (as if this writing I haven't seen it yet) But it's now totally and completely AU. I hope some readers stick with me. (later note: seen it. Soundwave will retain current alt mode, as a satellite ain't gonna do much good. LOL. But damn he was sexy!)
A/N2: this is a looooooooooong tedious hopefully laugh and gasp inducing chapter. I've been wanting to write this one since I started Light Was Yellow. It'll never be what I wanted it to be cause I lack the words, but if I get someone laughing or yelling or death-threating me, I'm good with it. Heh.
And finally, once again sorry about the spacing. I officially don't like Open Office, but it's all I got. LOL.
Previous Chapters
33: http://cazcatharsis.livejournal.com/130695.html
34: http://cazcatharsis.livejournal.com/143690.html
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(35)
"Ya know wha?”
“Wha?”
“Vodkaaah's baaaad.”
A weathered hand waved enthusiastically. “Nah, nah it ain't bad...”
“Is so! Time goes slooowww.”
Ten O'clock...ten? Wait, am I readin' the wrong hand again? Maybe its 11. Midnight?
“What time's it?”
The man to my right, the Biker... ‘Bill? Brett? Fuck knows’ - looked at the clock above the bartender's head. “Ten ta twelve.”
“Ugh.” Midnight already? Okay, time wasn't going slow, it was going too fast. Been here for-fuckin'-ever now. Where were they?
“M'wife's gonna kill me.” The guy dressed like a janitor grumbled.
Huh? Oh. “Nah, she'll jus' make ya sleep on the couch for a week.”
“Or the porch...” Bob-Brett-Biker added, toasting the Janitor. The dude who looked like Dana Carvey in Wayne's World, except with shorter hair, also raised his glass and we all clinked.
“To evil wives!”
-Clink-
'I gotta get outta here before I grow a penis and complain about alimony.'
How did I get in this situation?
When I first trudged in here hours and hours ago, I immediately ordered a Jack & Coke (no ice) and slumped in a chair near the front door to wait. There was no explaining my sudden dark mood, but it was there and thoroughly destroying my happy-high from the day's escapades.
I thought I'd gotten past my self-doubts. Things ended up working out when I threw those doubts out the window and did shit anyway, and I knew I shouldn't be berating myself, but those little niggling thoughts crept back in after that phone call.
Could I take care of my sister? Was I going to be enough for someone like Jazz? How long would they tolerate my shit? I wasn't exactly the nicest, most moral person in the world, no secret there. Hell, I was proud of it in most cases. I smoked, I swore, I fought, I got mad easily, I was a loner by nature and though I tried not to, I resented it when people assumed I wanted or needed help. I didn't trust easily, I drank too much, not as much as Mom but I could tell that if I didn't slow it a little, I'd be her in ten years or so.
Was it really the best idea for someone like me to be sort-of raising Mikaela? She didn't really need a custodian, almost grown up and incredibly street smart for her age, more mature than me in so many ways despite being 9 years younger, and now she had Robo-Jesus and his cohorts of supreme universal morality to teach her everything. What the hell good would I be?
Then there was Jazz.
Oh man.
Freaking hot in all forms, sweet as hell, protective, hilarious, great storyteller, fabulous in bed, sociable and happy, the ideal frickin' guy...
And he wanted me?!
What the hell was he thinking? Was he nuts? He could get any of the billions of chicks on this planet just by givin' em one of those big ol’ smiles. Shit, why would he even bother with an earth broad anyway?
Bah. A girl could go batshit thinking like this.
The waiter came by with another round and I nabbed a menu. Fuck it. I had a feeling I'd be here for a while and if THIS is where my mind was gonna be all night, I might as well get blitzed.
As I cruised the menu for the greasiest cheeseburger it had, the chair next to me scraped against the floor and that biker from outside made himself comfortable, sliding a pint of beer my way.
“Sister?”
I didn’t even need clarification. “Boyfriend too.” I grumbled, wanting to be left alone.
“Ahh. Guess my heinous plot to pick you up is kaiboshed.” He smiled with crooked teeth and I had to smile back. He seemed pleasant enough.
“Probably a good idea.”
“I’ll just leave you alone then.” He made to stand up, leaving the pint behind, so I stopped him. Maybe I didn’t want to be alone... distractions for the Win!
“Eh, I could use the company. What’s good here burger-wise?”
And it all went down-hill from there. Before long we had a table full of random dudes drinkin’ and eatin’ and bitchin’ together. It was great!
All the same I wanted to get the fuck out of here and be with my sister and my man, make sure they were safe... as much help as I’d be, at least...
But these guys insisted on buying me drinks, food, hell, Carvey even bought me smokes when I ran out. I supposed it was all good, if those ‘Suits’ came in here I’d have a table full of backup muscle to kick their asses for me.
“Another Round!” Biker bellowed.
“Yeah!” We all, very loudly, agreed.
“Hey, keep it down over there, we’re trying to watch the goddamn game!”
I frowned... it's midnight, even I’m not THAT drunk... “Dude, it’s a replay.”
“Y... wait...” The man started to yell back at me, then it must’ve hit him.
Carvey laughed. “Oh, and ‘Frisco loses 4-7.”
The man I immediately nicknamed Game Spazz stood up so fast his chair fell over. As soon as it hit the floor both Biker and Janitor stood as well, big and drunk and mean looking, obviously itching to ‘protect’ their little buddy with the big mouth. I wasn’t about to be left out of the fun!
“Sit down, guy.” I suggested, preparing to stand up myself. I could use a good brawl right now.
Unfortunately it wasn’t to be. Too bad Game Spazz was such a chicken-shit... and didn’t have 300 pound buddies as backup. As soon as Biker cracked his knuckles the big pussy sat back down, the show over. Damn!
Carvey had one hell of a smug-ass grin on his face when he ordered the table another round. “Here’s to defending the skinny fucker!”
“Booyah!”
“Yay.” Janitor grumped, flopping into his seat again.
“Lippy bastard.”
As we clinked our glasses together and drank, someone new stepped into the bar. I half wondered if he was alone and would end up stuck with the Random Drunk Table, but - “Oooh, Whisky!”
Wait, I know that scent... I sniffed the air, drawing Carvey’s curiosity. ‘Has to be Jazz...’ The holoforms had a certain strange light scent to them, and that’s what I could smell now. Almost like fried wiring, but not that pungent.
Carvey tilted his head a little, watching me sniff the air like a dog. “What? Whatchoo smell girl? Is Timmy in the well again?” He asked in a bullshit dramatic voice.
I sniffed loudly a few more times, looked at him under my brow, and answered in a growl. “Manflesh!”
“Orc.” Carvey grinned.
I spun in my chair to grin at my man, and quite possibly leap off and bone the hell out of him right here and now...
...but it wasn’t Jazz... unless he was totally fucking with me again. Instead of his tall dark and gorgeous dreadlocked hologram, there stood someone wholly unfamiliar to me. Who the hell? By process of elimination, it had to be either Ratchet or Prime, and dear sweet coffee I hoped it wasn’t Prime... that’d be JUST the way to top off my day.
“Malena?” asked that oh-so distinctive voice, topped off with a lopsided ‘trying not to laugh’ smile.
Oh fuckin’ hell, kill me now.
He... didn't look like a leader. He didn't look like much of anyone. Just... just a dude. Faded blue jeans (covering a very hot set of legs, the only thing other than his eyes that stood out), brown hair, some scruff on his face, black tee... I could walk by him on the street and not really notice him. He was, in a word, forgettable. And thus far, the only Autobot with a practical hologram. He had a tinge of his real form's effortless class and style, older, the face of a man who's seen and done everything and came out stronger for it... yet his eyes had a gentleness to them that made me want to trust him completely.
I'd do him.
Nooooooooo, don't think that way about Prime, girly, bad. Bad girl.
I gaped rather stupidly at the Autobot Leader, who stood casually just inside the door looking at me with a glint of amusement behind is unnaturally blue eyes.
‘Stupid stupid stupid!’ I dropped my head in my hands and heard his deep rolling laughter at my embarrassment. ‘I just called Optimus frickin’ Prime MANFLESH... fuuuuuuuck.’
Janitor elbowed me lightly. “That yer boyfriend?” he wheedled in a totally poofy falsetto.
“No.” Oh shit... what is he? Think think think bullshit! “My boss.” There, adequately both true and false. You go girl!
The whole table erupted in guffaws and clinking glasses as Carvey waved my ‘boss’ over. He came, taking the proffered seat next to me, and just looked at me.
Somehow I managed to pry my fingers off my face and look back. ‘Kill me now’. I waved lightly and grinned. “Hey...” Shit, what’s his name? Can’t exactly call him fuckin’ Optimus now can I?
But with the ease of a professional bullshitter (which I should have expected from a species of shapeshifters), he sidestepped the name issue quite easily.
“You are inebriated, Malena.”
“No, I’m drunk!”
The boys laughed and I mentally curb-stomped my brain.
“You're her boss?” Janitor asked, looking from me, to Optimus, back to me, shook his head, and patted Optimus on the shoulder. “My condolences.”
The table, including Prime, busted out laughing.
'You're lucky you're 20-some-odd feet taller than me or I'd smack you one.'
I finished my Jack and made to stand. “Wellllll, as much as fun as it is to get berated by strangers in front of the boss,” I paused as the group protested, “We gotta go.”
As soon as I got to my feet my knees turned to fuckin' water on me and I sat down hard on my chair again. The whole table erupted again as Prime, ever the gentleman, helped me to my feet, wrapping a strong arm around my waist to keep me steady. 'Mmmm, if I wasn't the loyal type I'd take advantage of this situation... meow!' As it was, I was drunk enough to enjoy leaning against him as he walked me toward the exit.
Carvey, Biker and Janitor all said their goodbyes as we left and as we walked out the door into the cool night, we both could hear them clinking their various glasses in our honour.
Once the cool air hit me the whole situation smacked me as well. 'Well shit, this is a little embarrassing...' The only thing keeping me from splattering to the ground was Optimus Fucking Prime and his infinite patience. That small amused smile never slipped from his face as he hauled me toward his real form..
“Sorry.” I mumbled as I nearly dropped out of his arms again. 'Humiliating is what it is... sober up you silly bitch!'
He just chuckled and got a tighter grip around me, then helped me up into his cab. 'Man, why does he have to be so big? Why couldn't he be, ya know, a Smart Car or a Mini?'
Then unfortunately I just HAD to imagine him standing up to someone like Soundwave as a transformed Mini, squeaky gerbil voice and all, and giggled as I face-planted onto his seat with an undignified “Whuff!”
“No apologies Malena, I've done this more this more times than you can count.” He replied good-naturedly as he swung my dangling feet into his cab and shut the door.
I made myself comfortable while checkin' out his interior... Not bad, considering he was a fuckin' Peterbilt. Soft seats... mmmmm. I sunk in gratefully as the hologram made a show of walking around to the driver's side and getting in with the ease of an experienced trucker.
I had to ask. “Drag drunks outta bars a lot, do you?”
“Not recently.” he admitted, “but before the war...” he trailed off, smile turning a little sad, and we pulled silently out of the lot.
I couldn't look at him anymore, too embarrassed by my stupid drunkenness and yammering mouth, and as I began counting street-lights I found myself turning inwards again, thinking about all the dumb-ass shit I'd put my friends and family through lately.
He didn't speak either, disengaging his hologram and for the first time today I considered screaming just to break the quiet, and, a small twisted part of me admitted that I just wanted to startle the guy, which made me feel even more shitty.
After about ten minutes of bleak thought and stifling silence, the Peterbilt made a sudden turn, jolting me out of my head and back into reality. What the... where are we?
“Please, stay here.” Prime's deep god-like voice rumbled from all around me, while the hologram flickered once again into existence. I quirked a brow at him and he just gave me one of those reassuring smiles. “Jazz informed me that the cure for everything is coffee.”
I busted out laughing. Dude! “That boy knows me too well.”
“Yes, he does.” He replied enigmatically as he swung out effortlessly once again onto the pavement in front of my favorite late night coffee shop. This joint was great, helped me destroy hangovers before they even began with their hardcore hairy-chest inducing dark roast. “I'll be back in a moment.” my escort grinned, and started toward it.
“You'll be here the whole time, hun!” Drunk I may be, but I wasn't THAT drunk.
He frowned. “Oh... not used to the hologram yet. The split conscience feels quite strange.”
I smirked as the door closed by itself and the holo disappeared inside the shop.
After a minute that weird feeling of sitting inside a sentient truck hit me, knowing full well he could feel my butt-cheeks on his seat and the expelled air that probably smelled like too much whisky permeating his interior. Ugh. I sat there as still as I could, trying not to fidget or poke anything, feeling dizzy from all the booze, brain going forty places at once, and, horror of horrors, trying very VERY hard not to fart.
It'd been lingering since he walked in the damn bar, and now... no.... After a big-ass burger, whisky, vodka, and a couple beers, it was a difficult battle, but I'd rather have him run me over a few times a la Maximum Overdrive than go through the mortification of breaking wind in him.
As the minutes ticked by I became more and more tempted to yank the handle and escape to flatulate in the open air, but he told me to stay put... and I didn't even want to attempt getting to solid ground in my state. The visual of me dropping face first to the pavement kept me in place. I'd never be able to look him in the optics again.
I wriggled in my seat and took a deep breath, began to drift... Christ, what a day...
My seat leaned back a few inches so I was half-laying down, while his voice once again shook the interior.
“My apologies for the delay. There is a long line.”
“No worries, take your time.” I lied.
My belly gurgled dangerously. Shit. “Let me out.”
By the time I got back, the holo was leaning against his own door, valiantly holding back a smile, with a big Styrofoam cup in his hand. I'd never been so red in my life. The truck twitched a little on it's huge tires as he helped me back in and gave me my coffee, which I accepted with a sheepish grin.
We rolled out, me still red, him with lips quirked like he was trying not to sneeze, and made it a good two miles before the hologram looked over with sparkling eyes and asked if that felt as good as I made it look.
I face-palmed.
~*~*~*~
CONTINUED IN PART TWO