ATTN: Mihoshi!
I'm deeply sorry for bringing this so close to the deadline. I would have had it in by yesterday, as I'd planned, but I was struck with a very mean 24hr bug that left me in no shape to do anything.
So, for you, Blackwing!
TF Mech Exchange Jan’09
Blackwing
And Two Cats in a Pear Tree
Snow was falling, deep and thick. It coated the sidewalks and streets quickly, piling up to larger heights every time the plows came through. Blackwing curled up under the awning of a closed playground, only his long dark purple raven’s beak exposed to the elements. What had started out as a clear blue day had suddenly morphed into a snowstorm. Rather than head back to his temporary base in Springfield, he chose to remain out here to enjoy the fluffy stuff. Snow didn’t usually fall in Tennessee, where the Autobots had their largest, permanent base, so a trip up north was always a pleasure.
Warm steam puffed out from vents along Blackwing’s neck, melting the flakes that managed to float inside his little enclosure. He sighed happily and lowered his head so that it lay atop his foreclaws. Most Autobots couldn’t understand his fascination with the elements - especially the cold. Ice didn’t mix well with cybernetics, even if you had an advanced system.
Another plow crossed the street, throwing up another layer onto the sidewalk. A car followed right behind, windshield wipers doing very little to keep the front of the vehicle clear. Blackwing’s head lifted from his foreclaws, studying the passing vehicles. He half-rose, poking his forequarters out of the confines of his shelter. I’ll just watch, he thought, just in case something happens.
As the plow and car crawled along, the Fuzor continued to stare, his optics amplifying the scene so that he could read the emotions on the drivers’ faces: cool determination and … blank. How odd.
The plow turned the corner and Blackwing expected the car to do the same. It only made sense for the smaller vehicle to follow in the plow’s tracks. He ducked his head and stepped back with one hind paw … then the car pulled over.
Are they sick? Blackwing shook his head, ruffling feathers. He exited the shelter and spread his wings, bounding through the enveloping snow. The drifts were growing taller; Blackwing sloshed through piles that were taller than he was in rootmode, floundered more than once. By the time he reached the entrance to the playground, he caught the fleeting notes of a human holiday song before the only sound on the wind was the faint, far-off scraping of the city plows.
“Guess it was nothing,” he murmured. Fluffing snow from the tops of his wings and back, the Fuzor turned to head back into his little shelter. He’d only taken a few deep steps towards the awning when the piteous cries reached his aural tracts. Huh? It was enough to send warning signals through his sophisticated system. A medic in training, he was more alert to the sounds of pain than most Autobots. Perhaps it was because he was trying so hard to move from his past. Whatever the reason, the cries were too profound to ignore.
Blackwing hurtled over snow bank after snow bank, honing in on the source of the cries. One more leap and he found what had drawn him: in the slush by the side of the road, were two young kittens. The cardboard bin in which they’d been dropped was already crusted with snow; the bottom darker than the top as the slush leaked into the box.
A growl rumbled up from Blackwing’s vocalizer. He stared into the distance, down the street that was slowly losing to the storm. If you can’t honor the peace and goodwill of your own holidays … He lifted his beaked head, drawing the scent of the car’s exhaust deep into his olfactory system. Once, twice, there: he could track it. There weren’t too many cars out on the road at this dark hour, so it shouldn’t be too hard.
He leapt, then slammed the brakes. I can’t leave them! Not to the fate the driver had intended. Blackwing clacked his beak. He could easily carry them to the base - but he’d lose the trail. But what’s more important - finding the perpetrator or getting these little ones to safety? The answer was an easy one. The purple and tan Fuzor turned in the snow and walked back to the box. One of the kittens had already breached the high wall and was mewling piteously, floundering.
Blackwing sighed, the corners of his beak turning upwards. Carefully, he reached out with one taloned forepaw, scooped the little bundle of real fur up and deposited it into the box. Once assured the kittens were deep at the bottom, he folded the top down and punched a few holes into the sides and top flaps to make sure enough air got to the little cats.
The Autobots back at the temp base would surely find fault in his charity, but he didn’t care. In the morning, he’d take them down to the nearest animal shelter. For the time being … Well, I’ll just have to thank Santa Claus for my early Christmas present.
He peered through one of the holes to make certain his little charges were all right, then spread his wings. One beat, two and he was airborne, spiraling through the snow with his own little bundle of Christmas joy.
So, for you, Blackwing!
TF Mech Exchange Jan’09
Blackwing
And Two Cats in a Pear Tree
Snow was falling, deep and thick. It coated the sidewalks and streets quickly, piling up to larger heights every time the plows came through. Blackwing curled up under the awning of a closed playground, only his long dark purple raven’s beak exposed to the elements. What had started out as a clear blue day had suddenly morphed into a snowstorm. Rather than head back to his temporary base in Springfield, he chose to remain out here to enjoy the fluffy stuff. Snow didn’t usually fall in Tennessee, where the Autobots had their largest, permanent base, so a trip up north was always a pleasure.
Warm steam puffed out from vents along Blackwing’s neck, melting the flakes that managed to float inside his little enclosure. He sighed happily and lowered his head so that it lay atop his foreclaws. Most Autobots couldn’t understand his fascination with the elements - especially the cold. Ice didn’t mix well with cybernetics, even if you had an advanced system.
Another plow crossed the street, throwing up another layer onto the sidewalk. A car followed right behind, windshield wipers doing very little to keep the front of the vehicle clear. Blackwing’s head lifted from his foreclaws, studying the passing vehicles. He half-rose, poking his forequarters out of the confines of his shelter. I’ll just watch, he thought, just in case something happens.
As the plow and car crawled along, the Fuzor continued to stare, his optics amplifying the scene so that he could read the emotions on the drivers’ faces: cool determination and … blank. How odd.
The plow turned the corner and Blackwing expected the car to do the same. It only made sense for the smaller vehicle to follow in the plow’s tracks. He ducked his head and stepped back with one hind paw … then the car pulled over.
Are they sick? Blackwing shook his head, ruffling feathers. He exited the shelter and spread his wings, bounding through the enveloping snow. The drifts were growing taller; Blackwing sloshed through piles that were taller than he was in rootmode, floundered more than once. By the time he reached the entrance to the playground, he caught the fleeting notes of a human holiday song before the only sound on the wind was the faint, far-off scraping of the city plows.
“Guess it was nothing,” he murmured. Fluffing snow from the tops of his wings and back, the Fuzor turned to head back into his little shelter. He’d only taken a few deep steps towards the awning when the piteous cries reached his aural tracts. Huh? It was enough to send warning signals through his sophisticated system. A medic in training, he was more alert to the sounds of pain than most Autobots. Perhaps it was because he was trying so hard to move from his past. Whatever the reason, the cries were too profound to ignore.
Blackwing hurtled over snow bank after snow bank, honing in on the source of the cries. One more leap and he found what had drawn him: in the slush by the side of the road, were two young kittens. The cardboard bin in which they’d been dropped was already crusted with snow; the bottom darker than the top as the slush leaked into the box.
A growl rumbled up from Blackwing’s vocalizer. He stared into the distance, down the street that was slowly losing to the storm. If you can’t honor the peace and goodwill of your own holidays … He lifted his beaked head, drawing the scent of the car’s exhaust deep into his olfactory system. Once, twice, there: he could track it. There weren’t too many cars out on the road at this dark hour, so it shouldn’t be too hard.
He leapt, then slammed the brakes. I can’t leave them! Not to the fate the driver had intended. Blackwing clacked his beak. He could easily carry them to the base - but he’d lose the trail. But what’s more important - finding the perpetrator or getting these little ones to safety? The answer was an easy one. The purple and tan Fuzor turned in the snow and walked back to the box. One of the kittens had already breached the high wall and was mewling piteously, floundering.
Blackwing sighed, the corners of his beak turning upwards. Carefully, he reached out with one taloned forepaw, scooped the little bundle of real fur up and deposited it into the box. Once assured the kittens were deep at the bottom, he folded the top down and punched a few holes into the sides and top flaps to make sure enough air got to the little cats.
The Autobots back at the temp base would surely find fault in his charity, but he didn’t care. In the morning, he’d take them down to the nearest animal shelter. For the time being … Well, I’ll just have to thank Santa Claus for my early Christmas present.
He peered through one of the holes to make certain his little charges were all right, then spread his wings. One beat, two and he was airborne, spiraling through the snow with his own little bundle of Christmas joy.