AN: This story was written for the Transformers Flash Challenge: December Edition. Each chapter is based on a prompt from the challenge and will be exactly 500 words (give or take, since every website seems to calculate wordcounts a bit differently). Gingko Walk is a sequel to Keepsake of my Starless Beloved, but you should be able to follow what's happening even if you haven't read it. (Of course I'd love it if you did read it, and left a review, but I digress. ;-) Enjoy!
Resolutions: In which Scavenger disgraces himself.
Scavenger's tanks grumbled as he edged closer to the table, hoping to snag an oilcake or perhaps some mulled energon. He could tell that it wasn't going to be much of a celebration. Mixmaster had done his usual magic and made everything look and smell delicious, but the "feast" the Constructicons had cobbled together for the Festival of Rebirth wouldn't have filled a slarg's nest. That was all right with Scavenger. He didn't feel much like celebrating anyway.
He reached for the nearest platter, but Bonecrusher slapped his hand away. "Paws off, greedy-pants!"
"I'm hungry!"
"We all are. You still have to wait until we pour the lead and make our resolutions."
Scavenger wanted to punch him, but instead grabbed an oilcake.
"Scavenger! Give that back right now, or—"
"You want it?" Scavenger retracted his mask and popped the delicacy into his mouth. "Come an' geth it!"
"Why you… rotten! Ungrateful! Intolerable little—"
"Younglings!" Hook cut in. "Please, desist! Such infantile squabbling is hardly in the spirit of the season."
"Theason?" Scavenger spat, still chewing. "The fraggin' theason can go sthuff ithelf right up ith leaky ol'—"
"Scavenger!" Scrapper barked. Scavenger froze, expecting a reprimand, but the look of concern that his team leader was giving instead was somehow worse. "What's gotten into you lately?"
Scavenger gulped the oilcake down. "You guys really wanna know? Really? Well I'll tell you! It's—"
The door to their warren, which he was standing directly in front of, swung open. A gust of cold air blew in, and Scavenger saw his teammates stiffen. Turning, he saw Cyclonus in the doorway flanked by Scourge, Dirge, and a pair of Sweeps. Cyclonus' gaze swept around the room and lingered briefly on their feast table, his lip curling with distaste. Scavenger felt a fresh stab of dislike for him.
"Constructicons," Cyclonus announced. "I have brought the plans for Galvatron's throne room. The site is selected, and work is to begin immediately." He gestured, and a Sweep stepped forward with a datapad.
"But the festival," Scrapper said. "We were just about to—"
"You dare question an order?"
"No, just..." Scrapper glanced at their table, then sighed. "Fine." He took the datapad and held it out to Scavenger. "You start digging the foundation, Scav, and we'll—"
Scavenger crossed his arms. "No."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me!"
"That was an order, Scavenger. If you don't—"
"No!" Scavenger smashed the datapad to the floor, where it shattered. "I'm not building a throne room for Galvatron!"
"But we must! He is our leader."
"Maybe he's your leader," Scavenger said fiercely, "but he definitely isn't mine!"
"Scavenger! You don't mean that."
"I do, from the bottom of my spark! He is not! My! Leader!" Scavenger whirled and stormed into the street, half expecting a shot in the back. None came, but he heard running footsteps. He turned, wearily raising his gun, and saw that it was Dirge.
Dirge held up his hands. In a low voice, he said, "Do not shoot."
