Fic - Attention, Ch. 5 of 7
Title: Attention, part 5
Continuity: G1 cartoon, Dysfunction AU
Rating: PG-13
Content advice: foul language, reckless beaviour
Characters and/or pairings: one-sided Drag Strip/Vortex, Wildrider, Dead End, Breakdown, Motormaster, Onslaught, Brawl, Swindle.
Prompt: Going for a spin
Summary: Drag Strip finally sees his chance, only to have it snatched away by someone he doesn’t expect.
[ Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 6, Chapter 7]
This, Drag Strip thought, was his chance.
A joint mission with the Combaticons. Energon retrieval, nothing too exciting, but something that got him legitimately closer to Vortex. Close enough to make the most of his gains back in medbay. Close enough to show off the benefits of a good force field and a great paint job. Close enough to make a move without any of the copter’s stupid team getting in the way.
He drove out in front, at the head of the convoy, exactly where he belonged.
//Don’t you just wanna jump up and grab his landing gear?// Wildrider asked. His windshield gleamed red in the dying sun. He was a good few seconds behind Drag Strip, but that was only to be expected.
Drag Strip sped up, increasing the distance between them. Vortex hovered a way back, trailing Motormaster and Onslaught. Pair of Sunday drivers. Still, the formation looked good from the optical sensors in his rear view mirror. Whichever way you looked at it, those rotors were tasty.
//You could like cling on and go flyin’ and stuff,// Wildrider continued. //It’d be awesome!//
Drag Strip gunned his engine. //Ha, Yeah!// And while he was up there, he could grab onto a bit more than just his landing gear.
//Hey Drag Strip!// Breakdown wailed from somewhere near the back. //Are we nearly there yet? Brawl keeps looking at me.//
//He isn’t looking at you,// Dead End cut in.
//He is!// Breakdown said. //It’s pointing right at me!//
Dead End sighed. //That’s just his cannon. It has to point that way. His optical sensors are located elsewhere.//
Drag Strip snickered. //Serves you right for letting them tailgate you! Should have driven up front with us.// Well, he though, behind us, but away from the tank and the jeep. Slag, they were slow.
Wildrider flashed his headlights in agreement. //Yeah, Breaky, stop being such a wuss!//
//Quiet,// Motormaster growled. //Wildrider, Drag Strip, scout the area. Comm. check every quarter breem. Out.//
Finally, a chance to show what he could do! Drag Strip accelerated hard, cutting through the air like a hot knife through a bock of wax polish. The copter had better be watching.
*
The sun set, a distant orange glow beneath a pall of cloud. Drag Strip flicked on his headlights; he couldn’t have Vortex missing him in the gloom.
He sped around the perimeter, half-listening to the open comms. Breakdown, Dead End and Swindle were busy loading up Motormaster’s trailer, while Brawl and Onslaught kept guard. Blast Off was nowhere to be seen, but Dead End didn’t miss him.
Vortex hovered overhead, rotating slowly on his axis. He looked bored.
He didn’t, however, look that way for long. As Motormaster closed the tailgate of his trailer and issued the command to head out, Wildrider sped down the approach road from the perimeter. Dead End looked on, aghast, as his team mate transformed, using the momentum of his alt mode to propel himself into the air. Dead End had no idea how Wildrider managed to get as high as Vortex’s landing gear, but he did. The copter tilted, then spun, then veered off on the craziest flight path Drag Strip had ever seen. Wildrider clung to his wheels, whooping and cheering, his ebullient joy echoing loud and clear along the gestalt bond.
“You dirty fragging aft-headed bastard!” Drag Strip yelled, but his voice was lost in the roar of rotors.
“Hahahahahahahaha!” Vortex dived, twisting and turning, so obviously enjoying himself that Drag Strip wanted to bash Wildrider’s head in with one of Hook’s wrenches. How dare he? His own slagging team mate!
“Wildrider!” Motormaster boomed.
Never had Drag Strip been so pleased to hear that voice. Especially that particular tone. He revved his engine, his circuits sizzling. Whatever Wildrider had coming to him, the fragger deserved it.
Over by the trailer, Dead End shook his head, Brawl laughed his aft off, and Onslaught glowered.
And still, Wildrider didn’t let go.
Continuity: G1 cartoon, Dysfunction AU
Rating: PG-13
Content advice: foul language, reckless beaviour
Characters and/or pairings: one-sided Drag Strip/Vortex, Wildrider, Dead End, Breakdown, Motormaster, Onslaught, Brawl, Swindle.
Prompt: Going for a spin
Summary: Drag Strip finally sees his chance, only to have it snatched away by someone he doesn’t expect.
[ Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 6, Chapter 7]
This, Drag Strip thought, was his chance.
A joint mission with the Combaticons. Energon retrieval, nothing too exciting, but something that got him legitimately closer to Vortex. Close enough to make the most of his gains back in medbay. Close enough to show off the benefits of a good force field and a great paint job. Close enough to make a move without any of the copter’s stupid team getting in the way.
He drove out in front, at the head of the convoy, exactly where he belonged.
//Don’t you just wanna jump up and grab his landing gear?// Wildrider asked. His windshield gleamed red in the dying sun. He was a good few seconds behind Drag Strip, but that was only to be expected.
Drag Strip sped up, increasing the distance between them. Vortex hovered a way back, trailing Motormaster and Onslaught. Pair of Sunday drivers. Still, the formation looked good from the optical sensors in his rear view mirror. Whichever way you looked at it, those rotors were tasty.
//You could like cling on and go flyin’ and stuff,// Wildrider continued. //It’d be awesome!//
Drag Strip gunned his engine. //Ha, Yeah!// And while he was up there, he could grab onto a bit more than just his landing gear.
//Hey Drag Strip!// Breakdown wailed from somewhere near the back. //Are we nearly there yet? Brawl keeps looking at me.//
//He isn’t looking at you,// Dead End cut in.
//He is!// Breakdown said. //It’s pointing right at me!//
Dead End sighed. //That’s just his cannon. It has to point that way. His optical sensors are located elsewhere.//
Drag Strip snickered. //Serves you right for letting them tailgate you! Should have driven up front with us.// Well, he though, behind us, but away from the tank and the jeep. Slag, they were slow.
Wildrider flashed his headlights in agreement. //Yeah, Breaky, stop being such a wuss!//
//Quiet,// Motormaster growled. //Wildrider, Drag Strip, scout the area. Comm. check every quarter breem. Out.//
Finally, a chance to show what he could do! Drag Strip accelerated hard, cutting through the air like a hot knife through a bock of wax polish. The copter had better be watching.
*
The sun set, a distant orange glow beneath a pall of cloud. Drag Strip flicked on his headlights; he couldn’t have Vortex missing him in the gloom.
He sped around the perimeter, half-listening to the open comms. Breakdown, Dead End and Swindle were busy loading up Motormaster’s trailer, while Brawl and Onslaught kept guard. Blast Off was nowhere to be seen, but Dead End didn’t miss him.
Vortex hovered overhead, rotating slowly on his axis. He looked bored.
He didn’t, however, look that way for long. As Motormaster closed the tailgate of his trailer and issued the command to head out, Wildrider sped down the approach road from the perimeter. Dead End looked on, aghast, as his team mate transformed, using the momentum of his alt mode to propel himself into the air. Dead End had no idea how Wildrider managed to get as high as Vortex’s landing gear, but he did. The copter tilted, then spun, then veered off on the craziest flight path Drag Strip had ever seen. Wildrider clung to his wheels, whooping and cheering, his ebullient joy echoing loud and clear along the gestalt bond.
“You dirty fragging aft-headed bastard!” Drag Strip yelled, but his voice was lost in the roar of rotors.
“Hahahahahahahaha!” Vortex dived, twisting and turning, so obviously enjoying himself that Drag Strip wanted to bash Wildrider’s head in with one of Hook’s wrenches. How dare he? His own slagging team mate!
“Wildrider!” Motormaster boomed.
Never had Drag Strip been so pleased to hear that voice. Especially that particular tone. He revved his engine, his circuits sizzling. Whatever Wildrider had coming to him, the fragger deserved it.
Over by the trailer, Dead End shook his head, Brawl laughed his aft off, and Onslaught glowered.
And still, Wildrider didn’t let go.