Vain Ways to Die
Chapter One
All That Glitters
Summary: That awkward moment when you realize you're in an alternate universe in which one of your favorite fandoms is actually real and you just happen to be in possession of something desperately coveted by both factions involved in an ongoing intergalactic alien war. Yeah. It's gonna' be one of those days. Sideswipe/OC/Sunstreaker eventually.
~ \ ~ Start ~ / ~
Music blasted shrilly in her ears, easily overheard by the other passengers on the bus sitting around her. They had been sending her annoyed looks since Colusa, which Wichita dutifully ignored with practiced ease—an inevitable facet of life for someone with her style. At least the college kid sitting in front of her had stopped turning around to hit on her every few minutes; he must have taken the hint after his fifth attempt at flirtatious conversation when she'd made a show of turning her music up louder, Monsters by Matchbook Romance roaring distinctly, without taking steel gray eyes from her laptop. He'd shut up faster than a crack whore getting her fix and she had to stifle a giggle, white teeth biting down on dark magenta-coated lips. Nobody had bothered her since then.
With a quiet squeal, Wichita held her warming cheeks in elation, unable to look away from a particular comment on her blog left by her favorite actor, whom she had been following religiously for several months. He had liked her latest info-post about the current position of American gaming industry, or lack thereof, in truth. She was one of the bigger names on the site, known for her witty and highly sarcastic commentary on existing issues from an informed teenager's perspective as well as her "vanity" posts—hair styles, nail designs, fashion she had all made up. However, she'd never dreamed that he would follow her back and start liking her posts and actually commenting.
Releasing a dreamy sigh, she carefully typed back a response, hoping to not come off too enthusiastic, even though she totally was. Whiteout-painted nails darted across the keyboard expertly, a new post quickly formulating about the status of California's public transportation systems, relating her present journey across the state and the severely lacking conditions of the gum-covered, squeaky-seated, rusty-hand-railed bus. '…Hopefully the end of this journey will prove worthwhile. I pity the venders who'll tell me they ran out of stock.'
Twirling a strand of amethyst-dyed hair around a pale finger, she scrolled through her dashboard, giggling here and there at the various memes and awwwing at the 'feels'-inducing headcanon. I will never look at tall buildings the same way ever again. Sherlock, you have ruined me.
One particular post regarding the Transformers fandom nearly had her shuttering. 'What if when a cybertronian died, their sparks returned to the Allspark which was actually a portal to another dimension and they were reborn as humans? What if you had talked to Optimus Prime?...What if you WERE Optimus Prime? O.o'
Surreptitiously, her gaze darted around the interior of the bus, roaming over the faces with abject curiosity. Anybody could be anybody (even if that made little sense); she could be anybody. Yet, she couldn't imagine any of the occupants on the bus to be anybody of importance—except for that balding guy with the chipped teeth and cane. He kind of reminded her of Jetfire, but she was getting way too ahead of herself. It was an electrifying thought, though, one she would have to come back to in the future.
Suddenly, Wichita was broken from that thought process by the vertigo in her stomach and the driver announcing their "successful" arrival in Sacramento. He must have been mysteriously absent during all of the hard turns, sudden stops and general suicide maneuvers he'd been performing. This trip would be the last time the public bus system would be receiving her service.
Hurriedly liking the Transformers post, she shut her laptop and slid it back in her Barbie shoulder bag, making sure to mainly avoid her numerous tubes of vibrant lipstick and pink Deaddy Bear sweater. There were many other items within—her My Little Pony wallet, apartment keys with the fuzzy troll-doll keychain, Tinkerbell light-up pen, electronic chargers, etc. etc.—but everything was disorganized and thrown inside, so it didn't matter all that much. Slipping the strap over her shoulder, she adjusted the sleeve of her loose BONG HiTS 4 JESUS t-shirt and stepped out onto the sidewalk, chunky black platform heels clicking loudly. She had made it to the city.
Now, where on Earth was the Venders Market?
With a mild shrug, Wichita began walking forward, pulling the headphones from her ears and phone from her pocket. It was official. Google Maps was divine. Especially for impulsive nineteen-year-olds with no sense of direction.
After several minutes of walking, she was lucky enough to locate the giant field where the event was being held since it was on the edge of town, hundreds of people walking from tent to tent with bags of stuff they probably didn't need in hand. Smiling giddily, she began shopping; knowing sooner or later she would come upon the booth which she had traveled for.
By noon, Wichita was regretting bringing her entire paycheck with her. There was just so much stuff that she wanted: bargain bath soaps, imported clothing (in her signature pastel gothic style), bulk makeup…It was practically a vain girl's wonderland! She'd already bought at least twelve tubes of lipstick, and two full bags of multicolored clothing.
Yet, despite the two-dozen or so items she had bought and the multitude of tents she'd already browsed, she hadn't found the specific dealer she'd come for. Maybe it was too much to hope for the cheap, but legitimate fandom merchandise they were offering; it had sounded too good to be true. It saddened her slightly; she had really wanted to check out the Doctor Who accessories and cybertronian contact lenses—in the signature Autobot blue, Decepticon red and neutral violet. Still, the trip was not altogether worthless.
Deciding to attend one or two more booths before catching the mid-afternoon bus back to Colusa, Wichita walked to the next stand bearing the name Solus, gasping at the hand-crafted jewelry spread out across the velvet-covered tables. Earrings, necklaces, rings, bracelets—all inlaid with gems of all kinds, foundations of gold and silver. Her fingers subconsciously traced over the various cuts and designs, mouth gaping slightly.
"Child, are you looking for anything in particular?"
The aged, wise voice brought her out of her daze and she sent a sheepish smile towards the older, regal-looking female. She was undeniably gorgeous; tall, thin but lean with a body any girl would die for. Her features seemed to be crafted with the delicate care of an artist—the archetype of a truly beautiful woman. There was a knowing, astute look in her eyes as she appraised Wichita from head to toe, as if somehow deciding her fate or destiny.
Truthfully, it freaked Wichita out. But only a little.
Realizing she had never answered the question, Wichita replied with a shake of her head, "No, just browsing."
The woman hummed thoughtfully, an amused smile spreading across her face, "I have just the right thing for you."
Curious, Wichita watched as she went behind the tables and pulled a square satin jewelry box from beneath the tablecloth, caressing the lid nostalgically. She lifted the top, revealing a stunning necklace nestled inside its satin depths. A brilliant imperial topaz-like gem cut in an infinity-shaped charm dangled from the silver chain, seeming to glow as its own light-source.
"I-I'm sorry, I can't afford something so beautiful…" Wichita managed to stutter out brokenly. So hypnotized by the necklace, she nearly jumped when she felt the woman clasp it around her neck from behind. The stone came to rest in the valley of her breasts, warmth radiating from it strangely.
It almost felt as if it had a pulse.
The woman stepped around her once more, sending her a tender smile. She seemed…tired, sadness searing in her bright blue eyes. "Keep it. It was made for you."
Wichita was suddenly struck with roiling feelings of understanding, rage, hollow joy, and an underlying current of fatigue—but they weren't her feelings.
She is standing in line with them, her counterparts, the ones who have been there with her and for her and by her for all of her existence. They are waiting for him, the destroyer of worlds, the bane of the universe. They will stop him—they must stop him.
Her weapon is a cool weight in her grasp, familiar and comforting and ready, but not nearly enough. She will fight until her last moment, she thinks. They will fight, together, until the end.
There is a change in the air—a coolness, a darkness, a hollowness, a deadness. He is here. He has come.
The end is nigh upon them.
She tightens her hold and then they are running and fighting and clashing and battling. They are burning and falling and dying, dying—
The vision abruptly ended and left her reeling. Her heart sped up, a galloping stallion in her chest, and she felt blood pumping through her veins with hyper awareness. Gasping, she breathed out a shaky 'thank you' before darting from the tent, risking a single glance back to see the woman still standing where she left her with that look. She didn't care that it was rude and ungrateful. She didn't care that she could possibly be making a big deal out of nothing. She had to get away, just—away.
Before she realized it, Wichita was back at the bus stop, breathing heavily and completely frazzled by her encounter. Her feet were killing her—lesson learned: never run in five-inch pumps. Sitting on the surprisingly well-kept bench, she caught her breath, placing her shopping bags by her feet and shoulder bag on her lap securely. It was bulging with all the new additions, but she didn't care. A chill breeze swept past her, goose bumps rising on her pale flesh. Her shoulders and legs shook with raw emotion, something she couldn't place, just a distinctive awareness. Her hands clenched around the cloth strap of her bag, knuckles a paler shade than normal.
Wichita barely registered getting onto the bus a half an hour later, nor the three hours it took to reach her town. In fact, she only came into consciousness the moment she stepped into her apartment, keys still dangling in her hand from unlocking the door.
Darting her eyes around frantically, she leaned against the wall for support, letting out a shuttering sigh. What the heck just happened?
Making way to her bedroom, extremely drained from the day's events, Wichita slipped out of her heels, setting her bag on the vanity dresser. Haphazardly wiping her lipstick off with a tissue, she stumbled to her king-size bed, falling into the luxurious seats. Tugging a large unicorn stuffed animal to her chest, she curled into a ball, asleep within minutes.
She, however, did not find the peace she had hoped for, though.
She dreamed.
She is alone and cold, so cold.
She can hear no voices inside her mind and the emptiness screams her isolation. They are gone; they are gone. She knows and she can do nothing to change it.
But he is no more and they are victorious. Yet, this hollow victory has carved a hole in her spirit the size of twelve. The twelve who knew and the twelve who fought and the twelve who died so she can live on.
The twelve who are now one.
And the one, she, can only weep the infinite stars and wait for the twelve to be gone.
Because they are gone; they are gone.
They have taken her with them.
~ \ ~ End ~ / ~
A/N: What is this. Why have I written this. I cannot even begin. What even. Ugh. My attempt at making a "fan falls into the movie" type of story. I wanted to try something different from the normal direction this plot takes. Uhh…Review? Maybe?
Sincerely, Blondie
