FIC: Transformers / Top Gear: GT Offshoot: "With A Chance of Rain"
Wait, this isn’t what I sat down to write... oh, no, not another one of you. (Alternately, apparently there’s a limit to the number of times one can walk to work in the rain before one’s brain goes… here, I guess, I don’t know, that sentence kind of fell apart halfway though. I’M OUT OF MY HEAD WITH ALLERGIES AND ALLERGY MEDICATION WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME.)
Title: "With A Chance of Rain"
Author: Jecca Meitahn / twilit_wanderer’s allergy meds-addled brain
Fandom: Transformers / Top Gear crossover
Rating: K+
Characters: Mirage, Jeremy Clarkson
Pairing: As always, take it as you will.
Wordcount: 656 (short!)
Warnings: none?
Summary: Mirage doesn’t like storms. What’s the big deal? It’s just water.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or anything (or anyone) related to Top Gear, and this probably didn't happen.
Notes: This will not make sense if you haven't read " GT." Placed shortly after Mirage comes crawling back.
This is completely unbeta'd and I am not British, so if I've made some stupid mistake or another, please let me know. I have some concerns, seeing as how allergy meds make me weird and skew my worldview slightly. (SOMEDAY I WILL WRITE SOMETHING THAT ISN’T 95% DIALOGUE I SWEAR.)
The car - he still wasn’t quite ready to commit to referring to it as anything else yet - looked miserable. It was something about the set of the frame on the wheels that he couldn’t exactly place. Actually, it could be anger. The two looked similar, and they were both common enough occurrences. (Wasn’t road rage supposed to be related to the driver and not the vehicle?)
Maybe it was both.
Only one way to find out, really.
Jeremy Clarkson shut the door with more force than necessary and proceeded to shake the rainwater off his hands and arms vigorously, splattering droplets everywhere. The car’s engine turned over in a distinctly aggravated manner. Anger, then. Good! That one was much more entertaining.
Mirage, however, refused to grant any further reaction and, after several failed attempts to provoke a response, Clarkson loudly declared that his car was clearly not as sentient as it would like him to believe and drove - rode? Hard to be sure these days - on in silence.
*
It was another several storms before he figured it out.
Now how to get a response?
“The words are similar, so I can see where you might be confused,” he started, making a point of flicking raindrops against the dash and did the car just shudder or did he imagine that. “But, last I checked, you’re a car, not a cat.”
The comment worked. “I’m not a cat,” Mirage repeated, almost turning it into a question.
“Well, I’m glad we agree on that, at least.”
The sound of the storm filled the brief silence. “Why would you ever think I’m a cat?”
“They have a reputation for not liking water. You like to think you know everything. Shouldn’t you have been able to find that one on your own?”
“I just don’t like rain,” came the terse reply.
“I’ve got some bad news for you, then,” Clarkson told him. Water, rain… well, he’d been close.
“Earth has a lot of it. Yes, I’d noticed that already, believe it or not.” If the next sweep of the wipers was a little more violent than needed, neither of them commented on it.
“Why?”
“Why does Earth have a lot of rain? Do you really need me to explain that?” Clarkson was fast becoming convinced that the diversions were less about avoiding the subject and more about simply being argumentative.
“No, you idiot. Why, for supposedly being such an advanced machine, are you incapable of following the thought processes of a simple human?”
Was that a laugh? “You’re implying you have a thought process to follow.”
“You’re admitting you’ve been out-thought by a human. What’s the big deal about rain?”
Mirage took a minute to answer. “I’ve just had bad experiences with it. Acid rain, particularly.”
The sentient car-robot was afraid of acid rain? “What, are you prone to eroding?”
“On Cybertron,” Mirage began, only to be cut off abruptly by Clarkson scoffing.
“On Cybertron,” he repeated, louder, before any remarks about the absurdity of a car claiming to have a different home world could materialize, “it isn’t just rain with abnormally high levels of nitric and sulfuric acids. To be brief, it melts metal.”
Clarkson paused, considering that. “So you erode,” he concluded.
“It kills,” Mirage said, tone flat. “The Decepticons even learned how to produce storms to use as weapons. I’m afraid that the urge to stay out of it after millennia of needing to doesn’t disappear just because it’s suddenly not going to fry my circuitry.”
“Alien cars fight wars with rain,” Clarkson mused. “Does this mean I get to tell everyone you act up even more when it’s wet?”
Mirage made an exasperated sound and jerked the wheel, effectively shrugging Clarkson’s hands off.
And that was another thing to figure out at some point. Alien. Robot. Car. Why, how was it sighing?
But maybe next time it rained, he’d let the car sit it out somewhere dry.
- END -
Title: "With A Chance of Rain"
Author: Jecca Meitahn / twilit_wanderer’s allergy meds-addled brain
Fandom: Transformers / Top Gear crossover
Rating: K+
Characters: Mirage, Jeremy Clarkson
Pairing: As always, take it as you will.
Wordcount: 656 (short!)
Warnings: none?
Summary: Mirage doesn’t like storms. What’s the big deal? It’s just water.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or anything (or anyone) related to Top Gear, and this probably didn't happen.
Notes: This will not make sense if you haven't read " GT." Placed shortly after Mirage comes crawling back.
This is completely unbeta'd and I am not British, so if I've made some stupid mistake or another, please let me know. I have some concerns, seeing as how allergy meds make me weird and skew my worldview slightly. (SOMEDAY I WILL WRITE SOMETHING THAT ISN’T 95% DIALOGUE I SWEAR.)
The car - he still wasn’t quite ready to commit to referring to it as anything else yet - looked miserable. It was something about the set of the frame on the wheels that he couldn’t exactly place. Actually, it could be anger. The two looked similar, and they were both common enough occurrences. (Wasn’t road rage supposed to be related to the driver and not the vehicle?)
Maybe it was both.
Only one way to find out, really.
Jeremy Clarkson shut the door with more force than necessary and proceeded to shake the rainwater off his hands and arms vigorously, splattering droplets everywhere. The car’s engine turned over in a distinctly aggravated manner. Anger, then. Good! That one was much more entertaining.
Mirage, however, refused to grant any further reaction and, after several failed attempts to provoke a response, Clarkson loudly declared that his car was clearly not as sentient as it would like him to believe and drove - rode? Hard to be sure these days - on in silence.
*
It was another several storms before he figured it out.
Now how to get a response?
“The words are similar, so I can see where you might be confused,” he started, making a point of flicking raindrops against the dash and did the car just shudder or did he imagine that. “But, last I checked, you’re a car, not a cat.”
The comment worked. “I’m not a cat,” Mirage repeated, almost turning it into a question.
“Well, I’m glad we agree on that, at least.”
The sound of the storm filled the brief silence. “Why would you ever think I’m a cat?”
“They have a reputation for not liking water. You like to think you know everything. Shouldn’t you have been able to find that one on your own?”
“I just don’t like rain,” came the terse reply.
“I’ve got some bad news for you, then,” Clarkson told him. Water, rain… well, he’d been close.
“Earth has a lot of it. Yes, I’d noticed that already, believe it or not.” If the next sweep of the wipers was a little more violent than needed, neither of them commented on it.
“Why?”
“Why does Earth have a lot of rain? Do you really need me to explain that?” Clarkson was fast becoming convinced that the diversions were less about avoiding the subject and more about simply being argumentative.
“No, you idiot. Why, for supposedly being such an advanced machine, are you incapable of following the thought processes of a simple human?”
Was that a laugh? “You’re implying you have a thought process to follow.”
“You’re admitting you’ve been out-thought by a human. What’s the big deal about rain?”
Mirage took a minute to answer. “I’ve just had bad experiences with it. Acid rain, particularly.”
The sentient car-robot was afraid of acid rain? “What, are you prone to eroding?”
“On Cybertron,” Mirage began, only to be cut off abruptly by Clarkson scoffing.
“On Cybertron,” he repeated, louder, before any remarks about the absurdity of a car claiming to have a different home world could materialize, “it isn’t just rain with abnormally high levels of nitric and sulfuric acids. To be brief, it melts metal.”
Clarkson paused, considering that. “So you erode,” he concluded.
“It kills,” Mirage said, tone flat. “The Decepticons even learned how to produce storms to use as weapons. I’m afraid that the urge to stay out of it after millennia of needing to doesn’t disappear just because it’s suddenly not going to fry my circuitry.”
“Alien cars fight wars with rain,” Clarkson mused. “Does this mean I get to tell everyone you act up even more when it’s wet?”
Mirage made an exasperated sound and jerked the wheel, effectively shrugging Clarkson’s hands off.
And that was another thing to figure out at some point. Alien. Robot. Car. Why, how was it sighing?
But maybe next time it rained, he’d let the car sit it out somewhere dry.
- END -