Daily Wordcount: Giants of the Earth
Okay, I have actually written no less than 1027 words today--all of which were a desperate attempt to get Soundwave to SHUT UP already. -___-;; A thousand words of--backstory, or sidestory, or something, which I can't even use in the next chapter. And may I say that Soundwave dialogue is a royal pain in the tuckus to write? I feel like I'm channelling Yoda half the time--'do or do not. There is no try.' >.<;; Stupid prima-donna Decepticons ... *grumbles*
I have no idea how the hell I'm going to shoehorn this into the larger story, but I'll be darned if I'm letting all this writing go to waste ...
Their quarters were spare and cramped. Originally intended as berth-space for two full-sized mechs, it was only barely large enough to accommodate all five symbionts, small as they were, plus Soundwave’s own far-larger frame.
Truthfully, it was not much smaller than their last home in Iacon, but it was alien and strange in a way that their allotted former residence, in all its dingy and acid-scarred glory, had never been. Soundwave could feel the heavy thrum of the fusion core through the metal decking beneath their feet, could hear the distant hails and the tromp of mecha going about their assigned duties. Military frametypes, all. All except for them.
There had been other civilian mecha that had joined the Decepticon cause, but Soundwave had kept himself aloof. To be seen huddling with the other disaffected civilians like frightened glitch mice would only encourage the warframes’ disdain, and that was not what he needed. Not what *they* needed.
He glanced down at his symbionts, perched variously upon the minimal furnishings or curled on the floor according to their individual tastes. Each of them unique, irreplaceable … and so small. No armor, no weapons, and all of them watching him. Trusting him. No, bare survival was no longer enough. It had been bad enough in Iacon, and now …. To exist only on the sufferance of warframes was to invite disaster. Their quarters might be small, but at least here Soundwave could ensure their privacy, and give them space in which to plan.
“What’s up, Boss?” Rumble asked, fidgeting under Soundwave’s silent regard. He had tucked himself next to his brother, which Frenzy had allowed with only a couple of shoves and some minor grumbling. All further evidence of his symbionts’ unease.
“Soundwave: has come to a decision.” Their worry and concern was distracting, and he did his best to stay on point, to verbalize his decision rationally and clearly. “Current status in Decepticon ranks, untenable. Rations, minimal; safety, not assured. Advancement to officer ranks, best chance for our survival.”
“How ya gonna do that, Boss? Those cannon-humpers don’t respect anyone that ain’t military-framed. As far as they’re concerned, we’re just pathetic civilian wannabes that signed on for the free energon,” Frenzy said, scowling.
“Correct. Our function, meaningless to Decepticon cause.” It was a harsh truth, but one they all had to accept. Precious and irreplaceable the symbionts were, but not for any reason that the rank and file Decepticons would recognize. “New duties must be undertaken.”
“What kind of skills would you have us learn?” Laserbeak, quiet and careful, his carefully chosen words echoing with the forgotten cadences of the third Golden Age.
“Espionage. Stealth, communications. Politics.” He looked at Ratbat. “Find weaknesses. Exploit openings.” The winged symbiont nodded gravely. It was not so different from what he already did, if viewed in a certain light.
Soundwave continued. “Symbionts: require armor. Weapons.” Before, as civilians, Soundwave’s heavily-reinforced frame had always been enough protection for them, but no longer. “Soundwave: also requires upgrades. Will submit self for specialized processor modifications.”
The announcement was met with a storm of protest.
“What?”
“Slag, no. Boss--”
“Risk is unacceptable!”
“Enough.” Soundwave said, silencing the babble with a carrier’s authority. “Risk: extremely high. Procedure still experimental, outcome uncertain,” he admitted. “These considerations taken into account, but still necessary.”
“Your death is necessary?” Ravage snapped. “Unacceptable.”
“Advancement through Decepticon ranks, necessary for our survival.” Soundwave met Ravage’s bristling indignation calmly. “Rapid advancement, necessary for others’ survival. Telepathic modifications rare, possibly unique. Result: enhanced value to Decepticon cause. Many applications to such an ability; great potential for promotion.”
“Our survival is unlikely, should you die,” Ratbat pointed out.
“Symbiont survival: priority,” Soundwave said, leaning foward. “Soundwave: will make arrangements for your safety, in event of death.” Laserbeak and Buzzsaw keened a wordless ultrasonic denial. “Necessary risk,” he reminded them. “Survival paramount.”
Rumble and Frenzy were both shaking their helms, small taloned fingers digging into the edge of the berth. “No, Boss--no! Frag the others--as long as we’re okay, that’s all that matters,” Rumble blurted. “Let them survive on their own, just like we have.”
“Symbiont deaths: unacceptable,” Soundwave said implacably. It was a command from which they knew he could not be moved. Carriers, ultimately, were expendable. Symbionts were not.
Ravage was on his feet in one lithe motion, stalking forward to sit in front of his carrier. “This is the only way?” he asked, a narrowed crimson stare boring into Soundwave’s visor.
“Affirmative. All other military designs: incompatible with frametype, unlikely to achieve desired result,” Soundwave replied. A carrier-mech’s systems were too specialized for extensive warframe modifications.
“You are certain?”
“Affirmative.” For the first time, Soundwave opened his hands--petitioning, rather than commanding. “Decision made. Query: risk too great for symbionts to remain?” It would hurt to let them go--but he had no choice. Carrier mechs commanded in almost all things, but never in this.
Ravage’s reply was immediate. “Never.”
“Yeah, you’re stuck with us, Boss,” Frenzy and Rumble bounced off the berth, digging talons into the seams of his armor to climb up his frame. Rumble ended up dangling from one shoulder, while Frenzy clung to his chassis with one taloned hand and both pedes. “But that doesn’t give you license to be stupid, okay? That’s OUR job,” he said, poking at the armored breastplate with one talon for emphasis.
Laserbeak, Ratbat and Buzzsaw, mindful of their dignity, didn’t join the mechpile, but their agreement was obvious, their fields harmonizing with his own. “We decided together to join the Decepticons and do what needed to be done,” Buzzsaw reminded him. “We’re not leaving now. And we’re not leaving you. No matter what happens.”
Soundwave inclined his head in acknowledgment, unable to hide his relief. “Soundwave: honored by your trust,” he said, feeling their fear and their faith in equal measure. This was only the start of a very long road, he knew. And at the end of it, they would not be the same mecha they were now. But they would survive, and see this through to the end. All of them.
I have no idea how the hell I'm going to shoehorn this into the larger story, but I'll be darned if I'm letting all this writing go to waste ...
Their quarters were spare and cramped. Originally intended as berth-space for two full-sized mechs, it was only barely large enough to accommodate all five symbionts, small as they were, plus Soundwave’s own far-larger frame.
Truthfully, it was not much smaller than their last home in Iacon, but it was alien and strange in a way that their allotted former residence, in all its dingy and acid-scarred glory, had never been. Soundwave could feel the heavy thrum of the fusion core through the metal decking beneath their feet, could hear the distant hails and the tromp of mecha going about their assigned duties. Military frametypes, all. All except for them.
There had been other civilian mecha that had joined the Decepticon cause, but Soundwave had kept himself aloof. To be seen huddling with the other disaffected civilians like frightened glitch mice would only encourage the warframes’ disdain, and that was not what he needed. Not what *they* needed.
He glanced down at his symbionts, perched variously upon the minimal furnishings or curled on the floor according to their individual tastes. Each of them unique, irreplaceable … and so small. No armor, no weapons, and all of them watching him. Trusting him. No, bare survival was no longer enough. It had been bad enough in Iacon, and now …. To exist only on the sufferance of warframes was to invite disaster. Their quarters might be small, but at least here Soundwave could ensure their privacy, and give them space in which to plan.
“What’s up, Boss?” Rumble asked, fidgeting under Soundwave’s silent regard. He had tucked himself next to his brother, which Frenzy had allowed with only a couple of shoves and some minor grumbling. All further evidence of his symbionts’ unease.
“Soundwave: has come to a decision.” Their worry and concern was distracting, and he did his best to stay on point, to verbalize his decision rationally and clearly. “Current status in Decepticon ranks, untenable. Rations, minimal; safety, not assured. Advancement to officer ranks, best chance for our survival.”
“How ya gonna do that, Boss? Those cannon-humpers don’t respect anyone that ain’t military-framed. As far as they’re concerned, we’re just pathetic civilian wannabes that signed on for the free energon,” Frenzy said, scowling.
“Correct. Our function, meaningless to Decepticon cause.” It was a harsh truth, but one they all had to accept. Precious and irreplaceable the symbionts were, but not for any reason that the rank and file Decepticons would recognize. “New duties must be undertaken.”
“What kind of skills would you have us learn?” Laserbeak, quiet and careful, his carefully chosen words echoing with the forgotten cadences of the third Golden Age.
“Espionage. Stealth, communications. Politics.” He looked at Ratbat. “Find weaknesses. Exploit openings.” The winged symbiont nodded gravely. It was not so different from what he already did, if viewed in a certain light.
Soundwave continued. “Symbionts: require armor. Weapons.” Before, as civilians, Soundwave’s heavily-reinforced frame had always been enough protection for them, but no longer. “Soundwave: also requires upgrades. Will submit self for specialized processor modifications.”
The announcement was met with a storm of protest.
“What?”
“Slag, no. Boss--”
“Risk is unacceptable!”
“Enough.” Soundwave said, silencing the babble with a carrier’s authority. “Risk: extremely high. Procedure still experimental, outcome uncertain,” he admitted. “These considerations taken into account, but still necessary.”
“Your death is necessary?” Ravage snapped. “Unacceptable.”
“Advancement through Decepticon ranks, necessary for our survival.” Soundwave met Ravage’s bristling indignation calmly. “Rapid advancement, necessary for others’ survival. Telepathic modifications rare, possibly unique. Result: enhanced value to Decepticon cause. Many applications to such an ability; great potential for promotion.”
“Our survival is unlikely, should you die,” Ratbat pointed out.
“Symbiont survival: priority,” Soundwave said, leaning foward. “Soundwave: will make arrangements for your safety, in event of death.” Laserbeak and Buzzsaw keened a wordless ultrasonic denial. “Necessary risk,” he reminded them. “Survival paramount.”
Rumble and Frenzy were both shaking their helms, small taloned fingers digging into the edge of the berth. “No, Boss--no! Frag the others--as long as we’re okay, that’s all that matters,” Rumble blurted. “Let them survive on their own, just like we have.”
“Symbiont deaths: unacceptable,” Soundwave said implacably. It was a command from which they knew he could not be moved. Carriers, ultimately, were expendable. Symbionts were not.
Ravage was on his feet in one lithe motion, stalking forward to sit in front of his carrier. “This is the only way?” he asked, a narrowed crimson stare boring into Soundwave’s visor.
“Affirmative. All other military designs: incompatible with frametype, unlikely to achieve desired result,” Soundwave replied. A carrier-mech’s systems were too specialized for extensive warframe modifications.
“You are certain?”
“Affirmative.” For the first time, Soundwave opened his hands--petitioning, rather than commanding. “Decision made. Query: risk too great for symbionts to remain?” It would hurt to let them go--but he had no choice. Carrier mechs commanded in almost all things, but never in this.
Ravage’s reply was immediate. “Never.”
“Yeah, you’re stuck with us, Boss,” Frenzy and Rumble bounced off the berth, digging talons into the seams of his armor to climb up his frame. Rumble ended up dangling from one shoulder, while Frenzy clung to his chassis with one taloned hand and both pedes. “But that doesn’t give you license to be stupid, okay? That’s OUR job,” he said, poking at the armored breastplate with one talon for emphasis.
Laserbeak, Ratbat and Buzzsaw, mindful of their dignity, didn’t join the mechpile, but their agreement was obvious, their fields harmonizing with his own. “We decided together to join the Decepticons and do what needed to be done,” Buzzsaw reminded him. “We’re not leaving now. And we’re not leaving you. No matter what happens.”
Soundwave inclined his head in acknowledgment, unable to hide his relief. “Soundwave: honored by your trust,” he said, feeling their fear and their faith in equal measure. This was only the start of a very long road, he knew. And at the end of it, they would not be the same mecha they were now. But they would survive, and see this through to the end. All of them.