Rare Pairing challenge.
For the August challenge, here.
Pairing: Secret until the end.
Rating: PG? Disturbing, maybe.
Prompt: Nena - 99 Luftballoons.
I'm using the literal translation of the German lyrics, because they fit better for the mood.
Light and ethereal, the Seeker-form delicately maneuvered through the rubble of a battlefield. There is dust on the rubble and detached mech-parts, and the Seeker leaves distinctive ped-marks which meander around the field and progress slowly to what seems to be the jet's goal.
Finally, the Seeker seemed satisfied, sitting on something which may have been the large green Autobot, or maybe just part of him. Derma curling into a smile, the Seeker leaned forward to address a smaller mech. “Do you have some time for me?” the question came softly, half-chanted German from a vocalizer which may have been damaged, to turn the guttural language screechy.
No answer greeted the question, which didn't seem to surprise the asker. The Seeker nodded, and continued as softly as possible. “Then I'll sing a song for you. About ninety-nine balloons on their way to the horizon...” Red optics shifted up to some indefinable point in space, and the Seeker murmured, “Are you perhaps thinking of me?”
Wistfully now, the Seeker repeated the words, still looking at the horizon. “Then I'll sing a song for you, about ninety-nine balloons, and that something comes from such a thing.” With a huff of vents, the Seeker looked back at the mech on the ground before reaching down to pluck a shard of glass from his chest.
“Ninety-nine balloons. On their way to the horizon... They thought they were UFO's from space.” Derma twitch again, into a bitter and humorless smile. It seemed a grand joke, but it was far from amusing. “So a general sent a flying squad out there, to raise the alarm if it were true. Yet on the horizon were only ninety-nine balloons...”
The Seeker sounded on the verge of tears, and there was a deep sorrow in crimson optics. The muted gaze met the audience's optics, and one clawed hand reached out to clean a bit of dust from the Autobot's face.
“Ninety-nine jet planes, each one was a great warrior...” The Seeker snorted, leaving the once-green corpse to kneel closer to the Autobot. “Thought that they were Captain Kirk!” The name was harsh on the Seeker's derma, both from the language and the unfamiliarity of the human name.
“There were great fireworks. The neighbors didn't understand anything, and felt equally provoked...” The clawed hand tightened, carefully away the still-dusty metal, as the Seeker's voice broke for a moment, rising in pain. “Yet there they shot on the horizon at ninety-nine balloons! Ninety-nine war ministers, matchs and petrol cans... Thought that they were clever people, already caught wind of great spoils.”
The Seeker curled up, wings twitching out of the way, and lay against the truck-form. “Shouted war and wanted power... Man, who would have thought that one day it would come to this because of ninety-nine balloons?”
Another huff, and the Seeker went so far as to kiss the Autobot gently. “Ninety-nine years of war don't leave a place for victors. There are no ministers of war anymore, and no jet-planes. Today I'm doing my rounds, seeing the world lying in ruins...”
Slipstream stood, smiling weakly at the greyed form of Optimus Prime. “Found a balloon. Think of you... and let it fly.” Ageless and immortal, the Seeker nodded politely and took off.
Pairing: Secret until the end.
Rating: PG? Disturbing, maybe.
Prompt: Nena - 99 Luftballoons.
I'm using the literal translation of the German lyrics, because they fit better for the mood.
Light and ethereal, the Seeker-form delicately maneuvered through the rubble of a battlefield. There is dust on the rubble and detached mech-parts, and the Seeker leaves distinctive ped-marks which meander around the field and progress slowly to what seems to be the jet's goal.
Finally, the Seeker seemed satisfied, sitting on something which may have been the large green Autobot, or maybe just part of him. Derma curling into a smile, the Seeker leaned forward to address a smaller mech. “Do you have some time for me?” the question came softly, half-chanted German from a vocalizer which may have been damaged, to turn the guttural language screechy.
No answer greeted the question, which didn't seem to surprise the asker. The Seeker nodded, and continued as softly as possible. “Then I'll sing a song for you. About ninety-nine balloons on their way to the horizon...” Red optics shifted up to some indefinable point in space, and the Seeker murmured, “Are you perhaps thinking of me?”
Wistfully now, the Seeker repeated the words, still looking at the horizon. “Then I'll sing a song for you, about ninety-nine balloons, and that something comes from such a thing.” With a huff of vents, the Seeker looked back at the mech on the ground before reaching down to pluck a shard of glass from his chest.
“Ninety-nine balloons. On their way to the horizon... They thought they were UFO's from space.” Derma twitch again, into a bitter and humorless smile. It seemed a grand joke, but it was far from amusing. “So a general sent a flying squad out there, to raise the alarm if it were true. Yet on the horizon were only ninety-nine balloons...”
The Seeker sounded on the verge of tears, and there was a deep sorrow in crimson optics. The muted gaze met the audience's optics, and one clawed hand reached out to clean a bit of dust from the Autobot's face.
“Ninety-nine jet planes, each one was a great warrior...” The Seeker snorted, leaving the once-green corpse to kneel closer to the Autobot. “Thought that they were Captain Kirk!” The name was harsh on the Seeker's derma, both from the language and the unfamiliarity of the human name.
“There were great fireworks. The neighbors didn't understand anything, and felt equally provoked...” The clawed hand tightened, carefully away the still-dusty metal, as the Seeker's voice broke for a moment, rising in pain. “Yet there they shot on the horizon at ninety-nine balloons! Ninety-nine war ministers, matchs and petrol cans... Thought that they were clever people, already caught wind of great spoils.”
The Seeker curled up, wings twitching out of the way, and lay against the truck-form. “Shouted war and wanted power... Man, who would have thought that one day it would come to this because of ninety-nine balloons?”
Another huff, and the Seeker went so far as to kiss the Autobot gently. “Ninety-nine years of war don't leave a place for victors. There are no ministers of war anymore, and no jet-planes. Today I'm doing my rounds, seeing the world lying in ruins...”
Slipstream stood, smiling weakly at the greyed form of Optimus Prime. “Found a balloon. Think of you... and let it fly.” Ageless and immortal, the Seeker nodded politely and took off.