Speedwriting Fills For Last Week
A bit late, but I did get four of them done. Woot! :D
Title: Present
Rating: K
Continuity: G1 AU Post-war
Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Bumblebee
Disclaimer: Don’t own
Prompt: 3. public exhibition
In the past, he hadn’t been able to paint with people watching. Something about it drove him crazy. He just couldn’t stand it.
Now… Now he could do it, though. War had changed them all. He had become a bit of an exhibitionist, what with fighting in front of basically both armies. Where had once been a shy, stay-in-the-shadows mech, there was now a bright, flashy, narcissist who loved being in the spotlight.
Granted, he still did feel slightly awkward having someone leaning over his shoulder as he stood in front of the canvas, but he could ignore the feeling and focus on the painting.
Which he was doing right this moment, but the looming minibot was really starting to get on his nerves.
“Hey-”
~Sunny!~ came a warning whisper through his processor.
~He’s looming, Sides!~
~A minibot? Looming?~
Sunstreaker growled, and the minibot behind him flinched back.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t- I didn’t realize I was so close. I’m sorry! I was just… You’re so good at that.”
That almost immediately mollified the ex-frontliner. “Of course I’m good at it. I’m the best!”
Bumblebee gave Sunstreaker a grin. “You are.”
The yellow Twin gave a heavy vent and a wry smile. “You learned well.”
Winking, the former spy leaned forward again and gazed at the painting. “I can’t believe how long it’s been since we’ve been there.”
The scene was one almost all of Cybertron was familiar with. The back end of an impossibly orange war-class shuttle sticking out of a rocky, organic mountain. Mechs of all shapes and sizes were standing around it, all of them familiar. Red and blue, black and white, white and red, black, green, yellow, red… Even a few little organics at their feet.
“I know,” the larger yellow bot said as he took a very small step back. “Why I’m painting it.”
“Hey, Sunn- er, Sunstreaker… Your prices are a bit... high… for me, but… I was wondering… do you think… maybe… you could make a small one for me? Um… with all of us in it, like this one? But smaller. I can’t really-”
Sunstreaker shot the minibot a glare and he shut up immediately and went back to watching the painter do one of the things he did best.
A couple more dabs of paint, and Sunstreaker took another step back, surveying his work. After a moment, he gave a grunt of approval and glanced sideways at the minibot.
Only then did he realize there was quite a crowd around them. Sideswipe’s stall next to his probably had something to do with the high-grade in their hands, but… They were all either watching him paint or gazing in awestruck wonder at the paintings he had hanging on the walls. Most he recognized, knew, as either his former comrades or former enemies, though there were a surprising number of mechs he was sure he had never seen in his life.
Only Bumblebee had dared to get as close as he had, though.
It struck something in the former warrior. The little guy, facing up to these terrible odds. It reminded him vaguely of himself during the war. He and Sideswipe were always the heavy hitters, the ones who took off after, say, a gestalt, or the Seekers, with no backup at all.
His face twitched slightly as he held back a smile.
Bumblebee was looking at him out of the corner of his optics. Scared, probably. Even though the little spy-assassin had probably taken out mechs thrice his size in the past.
~What’s got your circuits in a knot, Sunny?~ Sideswipe called, and the yellow Twin gave a mental glance in his direction. Sideswipe was busy, handing out high-grade as fast as he could, but the red Twin had, as both of them always did, a small portion of his processor focused on his brother.
~Bumblebee. He reminds me of us right now.~
~He always was the most tolerable of of the minis.~
Again, Sunstreaker tried to hold back a smile. Face twitching, he turned to the yellow mini.
“You want it?”
Bumblebee blinked those impossibly large, impossibly blue optics. “What?”
“You want it?” he asked again, smirking, as he nodded toward the painting he had just finished.
“You’d- I can’t afford it!”
The smirk grew wider. “Take it as a present for being not-super-annoying while we were there.”
Bumblebee just gaped.
“Seriously. Take it before I decide to keep it. It is one of my better works…”
“OH!” the yellow minibot gasped, and made to take a step forward before stopping, arms half-lifted in the held-back offer of a tackle-hug. After a moment of shaking armor and stuttering vents, Bumblebee brought his hands together and clapped twice. “Really? Oh, Primus, thank you, Sunstreaker!”
The yellow Twin rolled his optics again and finally let the smirk become the smile he had been holding back. “Not a problem. I know you’ll value it for what it’s worth, at least.”
Bumblebee still looking on, the Twin picked up the painting and set it aside. A new canvas was placed in its place, and the paintbrush was picked back up.
There were definitely some benefits to letting people watch him paint...
Title: Divisions: Chapter 10: Problems
Rating: T
Continuity: AU G1/Movieverse
Characters: Prowl, Optimus Prime, Ratchet
Disclaimer: Don’t own
Prompt: 4. Challenge: choose a short scene, drabble or flashfic you've already written, and re-write it from the perspective of a different character
(Okay, this isn’t exactly the prompt, but I figured it was close enough. I did technically write about what Jazz was doing ‘round this time, so…)
A/N: THIS PART OF THE STORY IS DISCONTINUED. It started going in a direction I didn't want it to, and therefore removed a few chapters. Read if you'd like, but it really has no significance in the story.
The pain was excruciating. It throbbed through his lines like poisoned energon, tainting all it touched, leaving him writhing on the ground. Every time his doorwings hit the ground, another bolt of pain was added to the mass of flames dancing through his circuits. Every scratch of floor against armor sent painful echoes through his frame.
His processor ached as it struggled to stay ahead of the virus.
Unicron and pitfire, where had the guards been?! He wasn’t supposed to take knives for the Prime. Never mind the fact that he would do so again, whether the guards were there or not, despite the incredible pain tearing through his frame.
He knew he had the processor to cope with a virus such as this. Where others would have already been shut down, he could feel himself overcoming it, feel his processor battling back the code, feel his control returning.
It was slow, and incredibly painful, but he would survive.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
He woke slowly, processors booting at almost a quarter their usual speed. For a moment, he felt nothing, and he wondered if it had all just been some crazy, virus-induced nightmare, and he was about to boot to the compound images of the multitude of Enforcer cameras, the incredible network of Enforcer comms, and Jazz’s voice asking if he were alright.
Then more systems booted, and he felt his doorwings, his aching frame. Audials booted, and the quiet beeps, rustles, and hiss of the Med Bay filled his mind.
Then his optics booted, and Ratchet’s cheery visage filled his sight.
“Good morning, sunshine!” the medic said, voice rather cold.
Prowl just closed his optics again.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“So, long story short, Prowl pretty much saved your life.”
Prowl shifted awkwardly as the Prime turned infinitely grateful optics on him.
“Prowl-”
“No need,” he said, voice firm and immovable. “You are the Prime. You are my Prime. You are not allowed to be killed if I have any way to stop it.”
Optimus shifted awkwardly, thanks and apology dying in his vocalizer.
Prowl just smiled. “Assassins can try. The only way they get through me is if I send them myself.”
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Prowl was not happy. Optimus had forced him to take a decaorn off to recover from the attack. He was alowed to do some deskwork -- namely signing off on reports -- but nothing else.
Prowl did not like it. It left him with too much time to think.
TIme to think on Jazz, mainly. The Enforcer was never far from his thoughts. How could he be? He had been the only real friend Prowl had ever had before his transfer.
Not to mention he was missing.
That always made his processor hitch.
After Sentinel’s… passing… Prowl had used all the resources available to him (which were many, as Optimus Prime had not hesitated to lend his authority to the search) to search for his friend.
The first stop, of course, was the Enforcer’s Station he had once been part of. They claimed Jazz had disappeared but two orns after Prowl’s transfer, and hadn’t been heard from since.
After that, the trail pretty much went cold. Or rather, nonexistent.
Which lead to a very depressed Prowl. He could run the calculations. Jazz was, most likely, dead in a dark alley somewhere. As far as anyone knew, including Prowl himself, the preprog Enforcer didn’t have the skills to stay alive and hidden as he had.
Hence the reason Prowl loved working as he did. It was the only way to keep his processor from dwelling on his friend, his love. He knew Optimus needed him, what with war brewing and the assassins still being sent by the council.
But he knew that, as soon as he was no longer needed, he would no longer stay. The temptation of Jazz was too much.
“Prowl.”
The resonant voice broke him from the processor loops he had become entangled in.
“Yes, Prime?”
“Go back to work.”
Prowl stared for a long moment before nodding and standing. “Yes, Prime.”
He ignored the look of pity and sad confusion his Prime regarded him with as he left the room.
Title: Look Pretty
Rating: K
Continuity: AU G1 post-war
Characters: Prowl, Sunstreaker, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don’t own
Prompt: 5. Setting: a detailing shop or car wash
Sunstreaker growled. “It’s horrid. Horrible. I can’t stand it.”
Prowl regarded the yellow Twin with a dry look. “It is not that bad.”
“It’s awful.”
The black and white Praxian vented heavily and looked down at himself. He had, admittedly, let his paintjob go a bit after the end of the war. He was busy as Optimus’s administrative aide, and… well, Jazz liked him however he looked. He did occasionally polish up for his lover, but…
“I suppose I could have kept myself up a bit better,” the former tactician murmured.
Sunstreaker snorted again. “More like there’s no way you could have let yourself go any farther.”
Prowl rolled his optics. “So what can you do?”
Dark, almost purple optics examined him for a long moment, running critically over his frame. “Well. I’d have to start with a complete removal of all old paint, then give your armor a good sanding, then I’d give you a coat of primer nannites, then we can add the programmed nannites and do a final buffing and waxing, an-”
“You know what? I don’t care. Just get me looking as I did before.”
Sunstreaker smiled. “Of course. May I ask the reason for this overhaul?”
Prowl shifted. “Jazz and I have an… anniversary coming up.”
The smile stretched into a wicked smirk. “Alright, then. Let’s get started.”
Three joors later, after much work, Prowl stared at himself in the long, floor to ceiling mirror. His armor gleamed, the red and gold highlights even brighter than they had ever been before. His black armor shimmered in the bright light, and his white armor positively glowed.
Sunstreaker stood off to the side, regarding him happily. “There. Now you look decent.”
Prowl turned to face him and smiled softly. “Thank you, Sunstreaker,” he said, and gave a small bow. “You have no idea how much this means.”
The former frontliner snorted. “You’re paying me. Thanks for your business.”
Prowl twitched his doorwings as his smile widened. “Still. Your work, as always, is exemplary.”
“Whatever. Everyone know’s I’m the best. Now, scat, my next appointment will be in soon.”
Prowl did as asked and left the studio. A few breems later, another black and white mech wandered in.
“Jazz. Was wondering when you’d get here.”
“Sorry, was held up by Sides. He seemed really in’trested in givin’ me some o’ his new high grade for ‘old time’s sake’.”
Sunstreaker grinned. “He likes you. You’re honest about the stuff. Now, get over here. Gotta make you look pretty for Prowl.”
The ex-saboteur grinned and followed the detailer into the shop.
Title: Newcomers
Rating: K
Continuity: AU G1/Movieverse -- Haven’verse
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Prowl, Jazz, Optimus, Elita One, Megatron
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 6. unexpected popularity
(a sequel to Here There Be Dragons)
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker trotted into the village, following behind the naga and mech the dragon had introduced to them at the edge of the woods.
They stared, and were stared at in turn. The mechs here were like none they had ever seen before.
A couple trines of seekers had landed moments before, a shuttle right behind them.
Ten mechs had gathered on the side of the main road, clearly split into two groups, one of aerials, one of grounders. Gestalts.
A red and white mech stood farther along, his arms crossed, the shimmery aura around him naming him as the faeries of legend. And next to him, a white, red, and green mech with scorched, scratched armor.
Between the houses, they could see a small, twitchy, red mech with pointed, sparking horns slinking through the shadows. He stopped after a moment, hiding behind a massive fire daemon.
Countless others stood around and stared. Two mage-mechs, their familiars clinging to their frames. A cyclopes standing in front of two rock-still golems. Three wolf-mechs, their scruffs bristling in sharp constras to their relaxed frames. A horde of minibots. Two more nagas. A massive warrior-class mech, red armor glimmering, cannons whirring. A few sleek femme-models.
Sunstreaker flexed slightly, a bit of a prance entering his step, weary as he was. Sideswipe gave a tired, mischievous grin,
“Hey, all,” the red twin said with a cheery wave, and someone in the crowd snickered.
Prowl, the naga, glanced over his shoulder at the centaurion twins, then around at the villagers. His gold optics narrowed dangerously. Jazz, who was walking at his side, grinned. “C’mon, Prowler, ya didn’ ‘spect this? We haven’ had newcomers ‘n decavorns!”
The black and white naga leveled his glare on the small, sliver mech.
Sideswipe glanced at his brother. Sunstreaker gave a very subtle shrug and glanced up. His twin did likewise, and they both stumbled slightly.
~Two! There are two of them!~ Sideswipe practically shouted across their bond.
For perched at the end of the road, sitting with nobly arched necks, wings folded neatly against their backs, optics blazing, were two dragons. One of them was the red and blue one, Optimus Prime, that had met them.
Optimus had seemed impossibly large when they had first seen him.
Now, he looked almost small. The other dragon was easily twice his size. His scales were a burnished silver, his underbelly a deep, dark, almost maroon red, as were his wings. Two horns curled forward from the back of his skull, framing his face with their dark mass. His optics glowed like fire, wicked, angry, and untamable.
The Twins stared.
“Welcome to Haven,” a soft voice said, startling them from their thoughts. From between the two dragons walked a slim, pink femme, her blue optics soft, her gait slow and easy. She was beautiful, but it was her voice that captured the two centurions. It was lilting, entrancing, all-consuming. They couldn’t look away, couldn’t think of anything else. “I am Elita One, Consort of the Prime and Protector. You are?”
“Sideswipe, and that’s Sunstreaker,” the red Twin, the usual spokesperson for the two centurions said, taking a half-step forward.
“You are welcome here, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, so long as you do not cause undue trouble.”
Sunstreaker snorted, and Sideswipe blinked, the siren’s spell broken.
They stood for a moment, and then Sunstreaker started full-out laughing, causing many of the assembled mythical mechs to stare at him oddly.
“Sunstreaker, is something amiss?” Prowl asked after a moment, and the yellow Twin fought back his mirth.
“Well, I don’t think we’ll be here long. Sideswipe and well-behaved do not-”
“Oh, mute it! I can be good if I want to!”
“Really?”
“Yes!”
“What about with Switchback?”
“That was an accident!”
“And Runaround?”
“That wasn’t what it looked like!”
“That time with Killjoy?”
“Hey, I had to cheer him up somehow! It just… didn’t work right.”
“Jumpstart?”
“You know he was asking for it!”
“Skyfly?”
“He was an idiot.”
“Yellowstar?”
“He was stupid!”
“What about that time with-”
“Okay, okay, enough!” the red Twin shouted, rearing up slightly on his hind hooves. His face stretched into a grin as he turned to face the two dragons and the pink femme. “You got me. I’m a habitual trouble-maker and all around bad-doer.”
Jazz snickered again. “Well, ya’ll fit right in.”
Title: Present
Rating: K
Continuity: G1 AU Post-war
Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Bumblebee
Disclaimer: Don’t own
Prompt: 3. public exhibition
In the past, he hadn’t been able to paint with people watching. Something about it drove him crazy. He just couldn’t stand it.
Now… Now he could do it, though. War had changed them all. He had become a bit of an exhibitionist, what with fighting in front of basically both armies. Where had once been a shy, stay-in-the-shadows mech, there was now a bright, flashy, narcissist who loved being in the spotlight.
Granted, he still did feel slightly awkward having someone leaning over his shoulder as he stood in front of the canvas, but he could ignore the feeling and focus on the painting.
Which he was doing right this moment, but the looming minibot was really starting to get on his nerves.
“Hey-”
~Sunny!~ came a warning whisper through his processor.
~He’s looming, Sides!~
~A minibot? Looming?~
Sunstreaker growled, and the minibot behind him flinched back.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t- I didn’t realize I was so close. I’m sorry! I was just… You’re so good at that.”
That almost immediately mollified the ex-frontliner. “Of course I’m good at it. I’m the best!”
Bumblebee gave Sunstreaker a grin. “You are.”
The yellow Twin gave a heavy vent and a wry smile. “You learned well.”
Winking, the former spy leaned forward again and gazed at the painting. “I can’t believe how long it’s been since we’ve been there.”
The scene was one almost all of Cybertron was familiar with. The back end of an impossibly orange war-class shuttle sticking out of a rocky, organic mountain. Mechs of all shapes and sizes were standing around it, all of them familiar. Red and blue, black and white, white and red, black, green, yellow, red… Even a few little organics at their feet.
“I know,” the larger yellow bot said as he took a very small step back. “Why I’m painting it.”
“Hey, Sunn- er, Sunstreaker… Your prices are a bit... high… for me, but… I was wondering… do you think… maybe… you could make a small one for me? Um… with all of us in it, like this one? But smaller. I can’t really-”
Sunstreaker shot the minibot a glare and he shut up immediately and went back to watching the painter do one of the things he did best.
A couple more dabs of paint, and Sunstreaker took another step back, surveying his work. After a moment, he gave a grunt of approval and glanced sideways at the minibot.
Only then did he realize there was quite a crowd around them. Sideswipe’s stall next to his probably had something to do with the high-grade in their hands, but… They were all either watching him paint or gazing in awestruck wonder at the paintings he had hanging on the walls. Most he recognized, knew, as either his former comrades or former enemies, though there were a surprising number of mechs he was sure he had never seen in his life.
Only Bumblebee had dared to get as close as he had, though.
It struck something in the former warrior. The little guy, facing up to these terrible odds. It reminded him vaguely of himself during the war. He and Sideswipe were always the heavy hitters, the ones who took off after, say, a gestalt, or the Seekers, with no backup at all.
His face twitched slightly as he held back a smile.
Bumblebee was looking at him out of the corner of his optics. Scared, probably. Even though the little spy-assassin had probably taken out mechs thrice his size in the past.
~What’s got your circuits in a knot, Sunny?~ Sideswipe called, and the yellow Twin gave a mental glance in his direction. Sideswipe was busy, handing out high-grade as fast as he could, but the red Twin had, as both of them always did, a small portion of his processor focused on his brother.
~Bumblebee. He reminds me of us right now.~
~He always was the most tolerable of of the minis.~
Again, Sunstreaker tried to hold back a smile. Face twitching, he turned to the yellow mini.
“You want it?”
Bumblebee blinked those impossibly large, impossibly blue optics. “What?”
“You want it?” he asked again, smirking, as he nodded toward the painting he had just finished.
“You’d- I can’t afford it!”
The smirk grew wider. “Take it as a present for being not-super-annoying while we were there.”
Bumblebee just gaped.
“Seriously. Take it before I decide to keep it. It is one of my better works…”
“OH!” the yellow minibot gasped, and made to take a step forward before stopping, arms half-lifted in the held-back offer of a tackle-hug. After a moment of shaking armor and stuttering vents, Bumblebee brought his hands together and clapped twice. “Really? Oh, Primus, thank you, Sunstreaker!”
The yellow Twin rolled his optics again and finally let the smirk become the smile he had been holding back. “Not a problem. I know you’ll value it for what it’s worth, at least.”
Bumblebee still looking on, the Twin picked up the painting and set it aside. A new canvas was placed in its place, and the paintbrush was picked back up.
There were definitely some benefits to letting people watch him paint...
Title: Divisions: Chapter 10: Problems
Rating: T
Continuity: AU G1/Movieverse
Characters: Prowl, Optimus Prime, Ratchet
Disclaimer: Don’t own
Prompt: 4. Challenge: choose a short scene, drabble or flashfic you've already written, and re-write it from the perspective of a different character
(Okay, this isn’t exactly the prompt, but I figured it was close enough. I did technically write about what Jazz was doing ‘round this time, so…)
A/N: THIS PART OF THE STORY IS DISCONTINUED. It started going in a direction I didn't want it to, and therefore removed a few chapters. Read if you'd like, but it really has no significance in the story.
The pain was excruciating. It throbbed through his lines like poisoned energon, tainting all it touched, leaving him writhing on the ground. Every time his doorwings hit the ground, another bolt of pain was added to the mass of flames dancing through his circuits. Every scratch of floor against armor sent painful echoes through his frame.
His processor ached as it struggled to stay ahead of the virus.
Unicron and pitfire, where had the guards been?! He wasn’t supposed to take knives for the Prime. Never mind the fact that he would do so again, whether the guards were there or not, despite the incredible pain tearing through his frame.
He knew he had the processor to cope with a virus such as this. Where others would have already been shut down, he could feel himself overcoming it, feel his processor battling back the code, feel his control returning.
It was slow, and incredibly painful, but he would survive.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
He woke slowly, processors booting at almost a quarter their usual speed. For a moment, he felt nothing, and he wondered if it had all just been some crazy, virus-induced nightmare, and he was about to boot to the compound images of the multitude of Enforcer cameras, the incredible network of Enforcer comms, and Jazz’s voice asking if he were alright.
Then more systems booted, and he felt his doorwings, his aching frame. Audials booted, and the quiet beeps, rustles, and hiss of the Med Bay filled his mind.
Then his optics booted, and Ratchet’s cheery visage filled his sight.
“Good morning, sunshine!” the medic said, voice rather cold.
Prowl just closed his optics again.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“So, long story short, Prowl pretty much saved your life.”
Prowl shifted awkwardly as the Prime turned infinitely grateful optics on him.
“Prowl-”
“No need,” he said, voice firm and immovable. “You are the Prime. You are my Prime. You are not allowed to be killed if I have any way to stop it.”
Optimus shifted awkwardly, thanks and apology dying in his vocalizer.
Prowl just smiled. “Assassins can try. The only way they get through me is if I send them myself.”
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Prowl was not happy. Optimus had forced him to take a decaorn off to recover from the attack. He was alowed to do some deskwork -- namely signing off on reports -- but nothing else.
Prowl did not like it. It left him with too much time to think.
TIme to think on Jazz, mainly. The Enforcer was never far from his thoughts. How could he be? He had been the only real friend Prowl had ever had before his transfer.
Not to mention he was missing.
That always made his processor hitch.
After Sentinel’s… passing… Prowl had used all the resources available to him (which were many, as Optimus Prime had not hesitated to lend his authority to the search) to search for his friend.
The first stop, of course, was the Enforcer’s Station he had once been part of. They claimed Jazz had disappeared but two orns after Prowl’s transfer, and hadn’t been heard from since.
After that, the trail pretty much went cold. Or rather, nonexistent.
Which lead to a very depressed Prowl. He could run the calculations. Jazz was, most likely, dead in a dark alley somewhere. As far as anyone knew, including Prowl himself, the preprog Enforcer didn’t have the skills to stay alive and hidden as he had.
Hence the reason Prowl loved working as he did. It was the only way to keep his processor from dwelling on his friend, his love. He knew Optimus needed him, what with war brewing and the assassins still being sent by the council.
But he knew that, as soon as he was no longer needed, he would no longer stay. The temptation of Jazz was too much.
“Prowl.”
The resonant voice broke him from the processor loops he had become entangled in.
“Yes, Prime?”
“Go back to work.”
Prowl stared for a long moment before nodding and standing. “Yes, Prime.”
He ignored the look of pity and sad confusion his Prime regarded him with as he left the room.
Title: Look Pretty
Rating: K
Continuity: AU G1 post-war
Characters: Prowl, Sunstreaker, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don’t own
Prompt: 5. Setting: a detailing shop or car wash
Sunstreaker growled. “It’s horrid. Horrible. I can’t stand it.”
Prowl regarded the yellow Twin with a dry look. “It is not that bad.”
“It’s awful.”
The black and white Praxian vented heavily and looked down at himself. He had, admittedly, let his paintjob go a bit after the end of the war. He was busy as Optimus’s administrative aide, and… well, Jazz liked him however he looked. He did occasionally polish up for his lover, but…
“I suppose I could have kept myself up a bit better,” the former tactician murmured.
Sunstreaker snorted again. “More like there’s no way you could have let yourself go any farther.”
Prowl rolled his optics. “So what can you do?”
Dark, almost purple optics examined him for a long moment, running critically over his frame. “Well. I’d have to start with a complete removal of all old paint, then give your armor a good sanding, then I’d give you a coat of primer nannites, then we can add the programmed nannites and do a final buffing and waxing, an-”
“You know what? I don’t care. Just get me looking as I did before.”
Sunstreaker smiled. “Of course. May I ask the reason for this overhaul?”
Prowl shifted. “Jazz and I have an… anniversary coming up.”
The smile stretched into a wicked smirk. “Alright, then. Let’s get started.”
Three joors later, after much work, Prowl stared at himself in the long, floor to ceiling mirror. His armor gleamed, the red and gold highlights even brighter than they had ever been before. His black armor shimmered in the bright light, and his white armor positively glowed.
Sunstreaker stood off to the side, regarding him happily. “There. Now you look decent.”
Prowl turned to face him and smiled softly. “Thank you, Sunstreaker,” he said, and gave a small bow. “You have no idea how much this means.”
The former frontliner snorted. “You’re paying me. Thanks for your business.”
Prowl twitched his doorwings as his smile widened. “Still. Your work, as always, is exemplary.”
“Whatever. Everyone know’s I’m the best. Now, scat, my next appointment will be in soon.”
Prowl did as asked and left the studio. A few breems later, another black and white mech wandered in.
“Jazz. Was wondering when you’d get here.”
“Sorry, was held up by Sides. He seemed really in’trested in givin’ me some o’ his new high grade for ‘old time’s sake’.”
Sunstreaker grinned. “He likes you. You’re honest about the stuff. Now, get over here. Gotta make you look pretty for Prowl.”
The ex-saboteur grinned and followed the detailer into the shop.
Title: Newcomers
Rating: K
Continuity: AU G1/Movieverse -- Haven’verse
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Prowl, Jazz, Optimus, Elita One, Megatron
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 6. unexpected popularity
(a sequel to Here There Be Dragons)
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker trotted into the village, following behind the naga and mech the dragon had introduced to them at the edge of the woods.
They stared, and were stared at in turn. The mechs here were like none they had ever seen before.
A couple trines of seekers had landed moments before, a shuttle right behind them.
Ten mechs had gathered on the side of the main road, clearly split into two groups, one of aerials, one of grounders. Gestalts.
A red and white mech stood farther along, his arms crossed, the shimmery aura around him naming him as the faeries of legend. And next to him, a white, red, and green mech with scorched, scratched armor.
Between the houses, they could see a small, twitchy, red mech with pointed, sparking horns slinking through the shadows. He stopped after a moment, hiding behind a massive fire daemon.
Countless others stood around and stared. Two mage-mechs, their familiars clinging to their frames. A cyclopes standing in front of two rock-still golems. Three wolf-mechs, their scruffs bristling in sharp constras to their relaxed frames. A horde of minibots. Two more nagas. A massive warrior-class mech, red armor glimmering, cannons whirring. A few sleek femme-models.
Sunstreaker flexed slightly, a bit of a prance entering his step, weary as he was. Sideswipe gave a tired, mischievous grin,
“Hey, all,” the red twin said with a cheery wave, and someone in the crowd snickered.
Prowl, the naga, glanced over his shoulder at the centaurion twins, then around at the villagers. His gold optics narrowed dangerously. Jazz, who was walking at his side, grinned. “C’mon, Prowler, ya didn’ ‘spect this? We haven’ had newcomers ‘n decavorns!”
The black and white naga leveled his glare on the small, sliver mech.
Sideswipe glanced at his brother. Sunstreaker gave a very subtle shrug and glanced up. His twin did likewise, and they both stumbled slightly.
~Two! There are two of them!~ Sideswipe practically shouted across their bond.
For perched at the end of the road, sitting with nobly arched necks, wings folded neatly against their backs, optics blazing, were two dragons. One of them was the red and blue one, Optimus Prime, that had met them.
Optimus had seemed impossibly large when they had first seen him.
Now, he looked almost small. The other dragon was easily twice his size. His scales were a burnished silver, his underbelly a deep, dark, almost maroon red, as were his wings. Two horns curled forward from the back of his skull, framing his face with their dark mass. His optics glowed like fire, wicked, angry, and untamable.
The Twins stared.
“Welcome to Haven,” a soft voice said, startling them from their thoughts. From between the two dragons walked a slim, pink femme, her blue optics soft, her gait slow and easy. She was beautiful, but it was her voice that captured the two centurions. It was lilting, entrancing, all-consuming. They couldn’t look away, couldn’t think of anything else. “I am Elita One, Consort of the Prime and Protector. You are?”
“Sideswipe, and that’s Sunstreaker,” the red Twin, the usual spokesperson for the two centurions said, taking a half-step forward.
“You are welcome here, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, so long as you do not cause undue trouble.”
Sunstreaker snorted, and Sideswipe blinked, the siren’s spell broken.
They stood for a moment, and then Sunstreaker started full-out laughing, causing many of the assembled mythical mechs to stare at him oddly.
“Sunstreaker, is something amiss?” Prowl asked after a moment, and the yellow Twin fought back his mirth.
“Well, I don’t think we’ll be here long. Sideswipe and well-behaved do not-”
“Oh, mute it! I can be good if I want to!”
“Really?”
“Yes!”
“What about with Switchback?”
“That was an accident!”
“And Runaround?”
“That wasn’t what it looked like!”
“That time with Killjoy?”
“Hey, I had to cheer him up somehow! It just… didn’t work right.”
“Jumpstart?”
“You know he was asking for it!”
“Skyfly?”
“He was an idiot.”
“Yellowstar?”
“He was stupid!”
“What about that time with-”
“Okay, okay, enough!” the red Twin shouted, rearing up slightly on his hind hooves. His face stretched into a grin as he turned to face the two dragons and the pink femme. “You got me. I’m a habitual trouble-maker and all around bad-doer.”
Jazz snickered again. “Well, ya’ll fit right in.”