[rd][fic][G1 Transformers] A Stranger In His Own Skin
I have a low-grade mental hunt on for lots of the G1 altmodes and when I spot them I generally notice how angular 1980s vehicles are compared to current vehicle designs... and also compared to what we see of Cybertronian (non-Terran) altmodes. This grew out of that.
A Stranger In His Own Skin
by K. Stonham
prereleased 15th November 2008
English was a language full of idioms, which Jazz could dig. They painted pictures in his processor and even those few he didn't initially understand--what, for instance, was a duck, and why did water roll off its back?--just had their own vibe to them, man. He grooved with the music inherent in the language and danced to its rhythms. They were just so colorful, so apt. But, just like almost everyone else, he felt a little homesick.
It wasn't that Earth wasn't dandy--it was--and even if the humans were no bigger than Cassettes, they were still a funky species. But what made him feel a touch of the out-of-placeness Earth was settling on them all were the designs. Human style (or, he reminded himself, USA style, because there were a lotta different cultures on this planet and a wide spread of aesthetic sensibilities) was just so alien. For a species and a planet that was so set on curves as the mode de riguer, their vehicles were... boxes.
Not that Teletraan hadn't taken individual temperments into spec when redesigning their alt modes to function as camouflage; most of the 'Bots, Jazz included, were quite pleased with the choices their ship's semi-sentient AI had made. Well, not Gears, maybe, but then Gears was never pleased about anything. And Jazz could definitely deal with wheels instead of hoverpads; they took a bite out of top speed, but they also used a load less energy and, well, somehow they just made racing more fun. But, still, he sometimes caught glimpses of his crewmates out of the corner of his optic and for a flash of a second wondered who they were. They looked so alien, so boxy and blocky. He understood why Teletraan hadn't picked any of the older human vehicles for them to imitate; they were rare and thus remarkable, and also a lot slower. But still... it would've been nice to look at something sleek and rounded and a little more familiar. Not that Ratchet wasn't Ratchet and Prowl wasn't Prowl and the twins weren't still the Pit on hovers... or, in the local vernacular, Hell on wheels.
Still, he wished he felt comfortable looking into a mirror again.
A Stranger In His Own Skin
by K. Stonham
prereleased 15th November 2008
English was a language full of idioms, which Jazz could dig. They painted pictures in his processor and even those few he didn't initially understand--what, for instance, was a duck, and why did water roll off its back?--just had their own vibe to them, man. He grooved with the music inherent in the language and danced to its rhythms. They were just so colorful, so apt. But, just like almost everyone else, he felt a little homesick.
It wasn't that Earth wasn't dandy--it was--and even if the humans were no bigger than Cassettes, they were still a funky species. But what made him feel a touch of the out-of-placeness Earth was settling on them all were the designs. Human style (or, he reminded himself, USA style, because there were a lotta different cultures on this planet and a wide spread of aesthetic sensibilities) was just so alien. For a species and a planet that was so set on curves as the mode de riguer, their vehicles were... boxes.
Not that Teletraan hadn't taken individual temperments into spec when redesigning their alt modes to function as camouflage; most of the 'Bots, Jazz included, were quite pleased with the choices their ship's semi-sentient AI had made. Well, not Gears, maybe, but then Gears was never pleased about anything. And Jazz could definitely deal with wheels instead of hoverpads; they took a bite out of top speed, but they also used a load less energy and, well, somehow they just made racing more fun. But, still, he sometimes caught glimpses of his crewmates out of the corner of his optic and for a flash of a second wondered who they were. They looked so alien, so boxy and blocky. He understood why Teletraan hadn't picked any of the older human vehicles for them to imitate; they were rare and thus remarkable, and also a lot slower. But still... it would've been nice to look at something sleek and rounded and a little more familiar. Not that Ratchet wasn't Ratchet and Prowl wasn't Prowl and the twins weren't still the Pit on hovers... or, in the local vernacular, Hell on wheels.
Still, he wished he felt comfortable looking into a mirror again.