A/n: I wasn't going to do a romance for this story. I chose Maggie because she's easier to write than Sam, and I like writing Glen. However, somehow I developed a taste for robot/human pairings, and when I searched Maggie pairings, I found a tiny population of Maggie/Jazz. So, that's how this story began. R&R please.
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, whether it be in the form of movie, comic, or book. I didn't even write the first paragraph of this chapter. It's an excerpt from the movie.
Unwritten
Chapter One
Before time began, there was the Cube. We know not where it comes from, only that it holds the power to create worlds and fill them with life. That is how our race was born. For a time, we lived in harmony. But like all great power, some wanted it for good, others for evil. And so began the war — a war that ravaged our planet until it was consumed by death, and the Cube was lost to the far reaches of space. We scattered across the galaxy, hoping to find it and rebuild our home. Searching every star, every world…
Maggie scribbled out the paragraph. After a moment's contemplation, she cursed and rewrote it. She usually began her books with a prologue narrated by Optimus Prime. Besides, she had to put an end to her pickiness otherwise she would never finish the book.
"Hey, Maggie, what's up?" Before she could answer, the notebook was snatched out of her hands. Her friend and editor plopped into the chair beside her, examining her fluid handwriting. "So, what are Optimus and the gang up to today?"
"Glen— "
Glen pushed a Coke into her hands, his gaze fixed upon the notebook. The pages were reflected in the lens of his glasses. "Glen," she repeated, setting the Coke aside. She held out her hand. "My notebook, please."
After a moment, he pushed out his lower lip, nodding with satisfaction. "It's looking good," he said, returning the notebook. "Of course, you've only been working on that first paragraph for seven weeks now." He stressed the words 'seven weeks.'
Maggie rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know."
"Still battling the writer's block, huh?"
Maggie nodded. She had been plagued with the most troublesome bout of writer's block since the release of her third book in the Transformers series. The fourth instalment was supposed to be the end, the final battle, but for whatever reason she couldn't decide what exactly would happen; where the Allspark had landed, who would live and who would perish. And when she reached for the words to compose a perfect, crystalline sentence, the syllables slipped through her fingers like tiny grains of sand.
"Everything I write feels…cheap," she said. "It just doesn't feel right, or real. At this point, I don't even know what's going to happen."
"You talk like you're writing a biography or something. It's not real, Mag. Just make something up and if the scene seems 'cheap,' we can just delete it from the final manuscript."
She smiled. "Not real? That's funny coming from you." When Glen (the self-dubbed Official #1 Fan of Transformer) wasn't harassing her about the books, he was either sucked into a video game or cheering on the vain Wily Coyote during a Saturday morning cartoon marathon.
Shrugging, Glen grabbed the Coke, cracked it open, and took a long swig. He smacked his lips. "Works for me, man." After a moment, he said, "But no matter what you write, I still get first dibs, right?"
Harassment by best friends— it was a hazard of being the author of a popular book series. She was still a little surprised by the success of her books, considering that the basic idea had come out of nowhere; she had just sat down one day after class and decided to write a story about a DNA based robots from outer space. Then the next thing she knew, she was plotting events on a time line— as if it had really happened— studying character development, diction, theme and setting, and thus began the beginnings of a New York Times #1 Bestseller.
They often asked her about that, how she had gotten started with the series. It was just a fluke, though. A random burst of inspiration. And now, five years later, Maggie couldn't count that times that she had been asked: "Okay, so what happens next?" "Will Bumblebee get his voice back?" "Will the Autobots become extinct?" "Do they find the Allspark?" Then there was Maggie's personal favorite: "Were Optimus Prime human, would he prefer boxers or briefs?"
Speaking of interviews, she had a book singing later that evening, after a meeting with an artist interested in helping creating a comic adaptation of her books.
"Hey, can I ask you a favor?" Glen nodded, sipping the Coke. "I have a signing tonight and my car is in the shop. Would you give me a ride? Please?"
"Sure, why not?" he said. "I've only gone to almost every single singing in the history of Transformers. What's another one on the list?"
X X X X X
Maggie cleared her throat. "Sorry, but there's a few things wrong with this," she said, looking up from the portfolio of the possible Transformers comic adaptation. She was being as kind as possible; he was only a kid after all. "You've obviously put a lot of work into this, but…Okay first of all, the Decepticon in this panel, whom I believe is supposed to be Starscream, has blue optics." She looked up without lifting her chin. "They should be red."
The kid scratched the corner of his forehead. "It's just eye color," he said. "No big deal, right?"
"No, it is a big deal," said Maggie. "Decepticons have red optics; Autobots have blue. It's like…Darth Vader using a blue light saber. He wouldn't seem as venomous, would he? Blue is a peaceful color, red is menacing. Good guys use blue and green lightsabers, bad guys use red. It's just…no. Sorry."
Lord, she thought, I'm starting to sound like Glen.
She couldn't help it though; every time she sat down to write, she naturally pictured Autobots with blue glowing blue eyes and Decepticons with red. Black and white, blue and red. Simple as that.
He folded his arms and sighed. He was probably still in high school, or recently graduated. "Kay, what else?"
"Well, your artwork is, for the most part, phenomenal. I love the detail."
"However?"
"However, the coloring is too dark. Transformers is aimed for a younger audience. It would beneficial to brighten the tone a little. And also," Maggie added quickly, "We should avoid using words like, 'fuck,' 'oh, shit,' 'a-hole,' et cetera, et cetera. I doubt that parents would be happy with me if I permitted you to expose their children to vulgar language. You can use stuff like 'slag' and 'grease-ball,' but watch how you phrase things."
The kid blinked. "Whoa, wait a minuet," he said, straightening up. "Watch how I say…dude, you mean— "
Maggie smiled. "Yes, I'll supervise the comic."
He jumped out of his seat and punched the air. "Hell, yeah!"
"Yeah, I understand your excitement and everything, but listen, I have to go. I have a book signing in an hour. My ride should be here any minuet." She closed the portfolio. "Can I hang onto this?"
"Sure," he said, still beaming and shaking his fist triumphantly. "Whatever."
"And what was your name again?"
"It's Sam. Sam Witwicky."
After making arrangements to meet again, she walked Sam to the door. "No, I'm not joking— "
"Whoa," said Sam, stopping halfway down the stoop. He was staring, awestruck, at a sleek Poniac Solstice parked in her driveway. The engine was running, waiting. The stereo throbbed with the bass of an urban hip-hop beat that Maggie didn't recognize, and the car's silver frame flashed in the evening sun. "Dude, is that your car?"
Maggie blinked. She didn't recognize the driver. He had dark hair, strong features, and kept his eyes shaded behind a pair of narrow glasses. "Don't be stupid," she muttered. "I don't even know anyone with a car that nice."
The throbbing music filled her ears, even from a distance. It sound vaguely familiar. Vaguely, vaguely familiar.
A/N: I could have ended this better. In fact, I'm not even sure what to think of this story. I think I know how . Maggie feels, about the writer's block and all. And I put the thing about the eye color in there on purpose, knowing full well that in the movie Frenzy had blue optics (eyes, whatever the hell you want to call them). So yeah, whatever. I've never written about robotic charctacters, be nice, the whole shebang. R&R please