Where Wise Mechs Fear to Tread Chapter 4
Title: Where Wise Mechs Fear to Tread
Chapter: 4
Word Count: 511
Summary: They had all been banished. By Sentinel Prime or their commanders, it didn't matter. They had been left alone on that tiny, out-of-the-way moon base, left to die or live. Nobody cared which. Then Sentinel died, along with most of his command element, and Optimus Prime is left with the task of choosing new mechs to help him lead. Who better than those who survived alone for so long?
Rating: T
Interlude: In Which They Rest
The corridors were quiet as they walked through them. The visitors were edgy. They had seen enough of quiet corridors. Something always came along and ruined that peace.
Prowl, noticing their twitchiness, smirked slightly. “Not even a orn, and you already act like someone who has been assigned here for groons,” he said, smirk widening. “When the groons turn into vorns, you stop twitching. You learn that the chaos happens, and the only thing you can do is, as my bondmate says, roll with it.”
“You have a bondmate?” the Prime asked, slightly surprised. He hadn't expected this rather strict mech to have a bondmate. “Is he on this base?”
“Yes. In fact, you have already met him.”
“We have?” Ironhide asked, skimming back through the memory files of the day, trying to pick out the one mech who could possibly be the black and white's bondmate. A few mechs stood out - Red Alert, the Twins - but they all seemed to be taken (Inferno seemed awfully protective and worried about Red Alert) or just plain wrong (the Twins with Prowl? It didn't compute).
Prowl didn't get to answer, though, because a sleek, slightly scuffed, golden felinoid was slinking toward them, somewhat dejected. The black and white Praxian knelt so he was closer to Steeljaw's level.
“Steeljaw. Sitrep.”
“Ravage got away,” the feline growled, shaking his mane out as he said it. “He jumped off me when the other mechs came and got back into the vents. Managed to get out. We checked over the databanks, and we're pretty sure he didn't get anything before falling on Prime's head, and we're sure he didn't get anything after. But he got away, and we're not sure why he was here in the first place.”
“Very well,” Prowl said, standing. “Pay Ratchet a visit to get those scrapes cleaned up, then go to Blaster and get some recharge. I will put you on leave for the next orn. Good orn, Steeljaw.”
“Good orn, Prowl. Thanks.”
With a nod, Prowl and his group continued on, while the Cassette moved on toward the Med Bay. Barely a breem of walking later, they arrived at the officer's quarters, and Prowl showed the Prime and his guards to one of the larger, empty quarters reserved for visiting commanders, as rarely as that happened.
“There's a berth room through there for you, Prime,” the base commander said as he showed the mechs around the room. “The washrack is through that door there, and I’m having the Twins deliver four collapsible berths into the main room as we speak. Now, if that is all, I will take my leave of you and see you in the morning.”
“Very well, Prowl,” the Prime said, nodding to the tactician. “We will see you in the morning.”
Prowl left the room, and the visitors (as soon as the Twins had come and gone) settled in to recharge.
A/N: "Sitrep" means "situation report". But you all know that, no?
Chapter: 4
Word Count: 511
Summary: They had all been banished. By Sentinel Prime or their commanders, it didn't matter. They had been left alone on that tiny, out-of-the-way moon base, left to die or live. Nobody cared which. Then Sentinel died, along with most of his command element, and Optimus Prime is left with the task of choosing new mechs to help him lead. Who better than those who survived alone for so long?
Rating: T
Interlude: In Which They Rest
The corridors were quiet as they walked through them. The visitors were edgy. They had seen enough of quiet corridors. Something always came along and ruined that peace.
Prowl, noticing their twitchiness, smirked slightly. “Not even a orn, and you already act like someone who has been assigned here for groons,” he said, smirk widening. “When the groons turn into vorns, you stop twitching. You learn that the chaos happens, and the only thing you can do is, as my bondmate says, roll with it.”
“You have a bondmate?” the Prime asked, slightly surprised. He hadn't expected this rather strict mech to have a bondmate. “Is he on this base?”
“Yes. In fact, you have already met him.”
“We have?” Ironhide asked, skimming back through the memory files of the day, trying to pick out the one mech who could possibly be the black and white's bondmate. A few mechs stood out - Red Alert, the Twins - but they all seemed to be taken (Inferno seemed awfully protective and worried about Red Alert) or just plain wrong (the Twins with Prowl? It didn't compute).
Prowl didn't get to answer, though, because a sleek, slightly scuffed, golden felinoid was slinking toward them, somewhat dejected. The black and white Praxian knelt so he was closer to Steeljaw's level.
“Steeljaw. Sitrep.”
“Ravage got away,” the feline growled, shaking his mane out as he said it. “He jumped off me when the other mechs came and got back into the vents. Managed to get out. We checked over the databanks, and we're pretty sure he didn't get anything before falling on Prime's head, and we're sure he didn't get anything after. But he got away, and we're not sure why he was here in the first place.”
“Very well,” Prowl said, standing. “Pay Ratchet a visit to get those scrapes cleaned up, then go to Blaster and get some recharge. I will put you on leave for the next orn. Good orn, Steeljaw.”
“Good orn, Prowl. Thanks.”
With a nod, Prowl and his group continued on, while the Cassette moved on toward the Med Bay. Barely a breem of walking later, they arrived at the officer's quarters, and Prowl showed the Prime and his guards to one of the larger, empty quarters reserved for visiting commanders, as rarely as that happened.
“There's a berth room through there for you, Prime,” the base commander said as he showed the mechs around the room. “The washrack is through that door there, and I’m having the Twins deliver four collapsible berths into the main room as we speak. Now, if that is all, I will take my leave of you and see you in the morning.”
“Very well, Prowl,” the Prime said, nodding to the tactician. “We will see you in the morning.”
Prowl left the room, and the visitors (as soon as the Twins had come and gone) settled in to recharge.
A/N: "Sitrep" means "situation report". But you all know that, no?