Author: Koi Lungfish
Disclaimer: Based on characters and situations from The Transformers ((c) 1986 Hasbro, Ltd). Used without permission. Text (c) 2007, Koi Lung Fish (Mark of Lung. All Rights Reserved.)
Continuity: G1 cartoon, pre-Earth.
"Dicemouth! How kind of you to join us at last, you crawling grease-covered bottom-of-the-smelting-pool scumheap!" said a voice he really should recognize.
Dicemouth stirred groggily; his head ached and his vision was badly blurred with static. What was I drinking last night? "Wh-"
"You're on set," said a voice that made him shudder.
"Ah - Prowler -" Oh Iacon, they've found me, he realized. His arms and legs were bound, he was seated and he was in trouble.
"Yes," Prowler said. "Dicemouth, you've made us all very angry."
"I swear to Primus, it was an accident!" Dicemouth yelped. His vision was starting to clear; he could see the dark, rangy shape of Prowler, the scriptwriter and guiding hand behind Killbreaker Pair, standing in front of him. On the writer's right was a dim grey bulk that had to be Shuttergun, the director. On his left was a huge mass of darker grey and bright edges. Oh Iacon, it's Rawscythe, he realized, recognizing the actor who played Tenblade, the Mayhem shrapnel tank. "Aheh, Prowler, I can explain..."
"Start talking," Prowler said, resting his gun against his shoulder. Dicemouth had never seen Prowler without that gun. That didn't make him any more comfortable. Prowler had shot actors for less than what he'd done.
"Look, I just mixed the files up by accident, the names were so similar, it was a genuine mistake, honestly Prowler I wouldn't do a thing like that to our show, would I? Would I?" Dicemouth realized he was blathering, and shut up. His vision was free of static now, and he could see clearly the video camera in Shuttergun's arms, and the polished shine on Rawscythe's arm-blades. He's camera-ready. He's all polished up and ready for the camera, oh no, oh no, oh no!
"Dicemouth, you sent the fragging unedited rough cut of last slagging episode out to every smelting broadcaster in the shrapnel-pitted state!" Shuttergun snapped.
"We would've spoken to you sooner, but we were busy fixing your mess," Prowler continued, voice quiet and low. Rawscythe shifted slightly, re-crossing his arms.
"It was an accident," Dicemouth whimpered. "Just an accident."
"Where is the edited cut?" Prowler asked, pale blue optics narrowing to icy slices in his dark, near-featureless wedge of a face. "Where is my episode?"
"Filed, with all the others," Dicemouth said pathetically.
"We looked. It isn't there," Shuttergun snarled. His right optic, an enormous clear circular lens as big as Dicemouth's palm, flickered, focusing on him, staring at him, recording him. The cluster of bead-like sensors in his left optic socket blinked small lights, and the director's jutting jaw shifted, mandible ridges grating in anger.
Oh no, oh no, what did I do with it? Dicemouth started to tremble. He'd been a nervous wreck when he'd compiled it, he knew he'd made mistakes, he couldn't remember where he'd put it now.
"Some continuity editor you turned out to be," Shuttergun grumbled, grinding his jaw again. "Can't even remember where the final cut is!"
"Is there a final cut?" Prowler asked.
"Yes, yes, yes!" Dicemouth panicked. "Look - ask the guys who did the digital editing, they all sent me their sections on time, and Jabber and Stopsign were with me when I was compiling it! They'll tell you!"
Prowler and Shuttergun exchanged grim looks. Shuttergun walked off to contact the crewmembers in question. Rawscythe unfolded his arms to examine the finish on the blades on his forearm.
Prowler looked at Dicemouth with dead coldness. "You've ruined my episode. Even if we find the final cut - and I'm not sure we will, which makes your future interestingly uncertain - half of Cybertron has seen an episode of Killbreaker Pair unedited and unchecked. We are going to be the laughing stock of the cinematic community."
"We were behind schedule," Dicemouth moaned.
"We're a film crew, not a serial show," Prowler said bitterly. "We don't run on schedule."
Dicemouth quivered. His vision was clear, and Prowler's expression was grim. How many actors has he shot this season? Didn't he shoot the sound-techie a few weeks ago? He couldn't help remembering how many Autobots, neutrals and actors Prowler outright didn't like had been beaten to death, shot, or otherwise dismembered on-camera for Prowler's precious series.
Rawscythe shifted again. He looked faintly impatient.
Prowler glanced over at Shuttergun, who was leaning over the communications console swearing at someone, which was relatively normal for the director. The scriptwriter looked back at Dicemouth, who felt the remains of his fuel curdle in his tanks. "It took us a while to find you. You did a very good job of running away."
Dicemouth cringed.
"At least, you would've done if we didn't know you can't resist a dice-pit," Prowler continued, voice glacial. "So once we knew you'd run off to Valvolux, it was only a matter of finding the most expensive casino you could get into and waiting for them to throw you out because you were broke and drunk."
Dicemouth had no memory it that. The last thing he remembered was playing dropsy-dice with some stumpy jeep who'd taken him for everything he had. "Eheh, Prowler, I can explain..."
"You've said that before," Prowler noted. Rawscythe sighed, sounding bored. "Whilst we were looking for our work, we went through your quarters."
Oh Primus no no no!
"We found some very interesting records in your computers," Prowler continued, talking in the light, cool tones of someone absently commenting on the passing traffic. "Some of them concerned your debts to number of gambling houses belonging to Brainsmasher..."
"Look, they were going to kill me!" Dicemouth blurted. "I'm in it up to my aerials and Brainsmasher, he gets impatient, and you know he wants to knock the High Councillor over and take over this state, and -"
"And the High Councillor is our generous patron who supplies us with all the equipment we need," Prowler said bleakly.
"Yes, yes, and Brainsmasher said that he'd cancel my debts if I sent out the unedited cut because then the High Councillor would look like a fool -"
"And that's what you did," Prowler said finally.
"Yes?" Dicemouth said, cringing.
"We have our show," Shuttergun interrupted. "Stopsign saw what a fragging state this no-good dice-rotten scatter-headed wreck was in and nabbed a copy for himself. He and Jabber are bringing it over now."
"Good," Prowler said. "And Dicemouth has admitted he made us look like incompetent amateurs to please Brainsmasher."
"Oh, for screaming out loud!" Shuttergun yelled. "Dicemouth, you idiot!"
Dicemouth whimpered.
There was a clatter at the back of the room. Rawscythe looked up, suddenly more alert.
"I'm ready," came the voice of Gearcutter.
Gearcutter plays Iceaxe. Iceaxe is Tenblade's partner, Dicemouth thought. Rawscythe plays Tenblade.
"Who's doing his lines?" Gearcutter said, pointing at Dicemouth as he strode up to the group. He was polished to an ice-pale sheen, glistening camera-ready, and he was holding an arc-welder and a set of bolt-cutters.
There's a scene in the next episode where Iceaxe and Tenblade torture a prisoner for information, Dicemouth remembered.
"I'll read them over the radio," Prowler said as Gearcutter handed the arc-welder to Rawscythe, who hefted it with an expression of gleeful expectation. "We'll get Jabber to do them properly later, and dub them in during the digitals. Gearcutter, Rawscythe, can one of you snip that idiot's vocal lines? We want him to scream but not speak."
It's a really long scene, Dicemouth thought, gibbering quietly. There isn't much of his body left at the end.
"Right," Shuttergun grinned, transforming into his camera mode and dropping into Prowler's hands. "Let's begin!"
Author's notes & addenda:
Feedback always welcomed.