"A'right, you sorry clunkers, show what you got."
Shoreline squirmed uncomfortably, his optics sweeping back and forth among his larger fellows. On all sides, he was met with smug grins and confident optics, and no reassurance. Feeling distinctly inadequate, he made himself as compact as possible. Barbarian games, all of this – designed for mindless brutes and grunts, and those sorry mechanisms dredged up from the refuse of society. He didn't understand the appeal in the least. Violence, violence, violence, that was all they understood. Hardly a civilized circuit in their whole bodies.
Somewhat emboldened by the mental pep talk, he found enough strength of will to lift his head and regard his fellows. "This is idiotic," He burbled petulantly, as was his wont. "It's not like there's even a point to this all. It's puerile. Disgusting, even."
"Yer just being whiny 'cause you never get anythin'," Wavepounder grunted, heaving three skulls and a hefty pile of spine parts onto the table. "Whine, whine, whine, all fragging cycle. Sounds like a broke cog, yeh. Well, I'm done listenin' to yer squeakin'. So, Shoresy, mute it or lose it."
Grimacing, the smallest watercraft fidgeted, glancing askance at the massive cargo hauler. "It's stupid," He grumbled as quietly as he could, not quite daring enough to risk the gigantic Waverpounder's wrath. Tentatively, he pulled out a string of light, shimmery bodies, setting them carefully on the gore-splattered table. It had been quite a task to collect the slippery little creatures, all without drifting far into the deeps. Still, he had brushed that border enough, felt the darkness that went on and on without end below him. Even now, safely holed up in their secure bunker, the blackness of the ocean still filled him with a mindless, expansive dread, prompting a long shudder.
But he didn't have to go out far, not really. No, he could stay here, away from the dark that threatened, consoled by these precious, beautiful things.
Tideslash seemed interested, in any case, leaning over to inspect his catch. "What's that all supposed to be?" Asked the scout, frowning.
Shoreline allowed himself to puff slightly. "Five darters. And a little tri-jaw," His voice quavered with something quite akin to pride, though the way he cringed at Wavepounder's disdainful glower belied the tone. "Caught them all this morning. Good sized, too. They've been feeding on your leftover gore, hiding below the solar panels. Fast, too." His back straightened marginally. "Very fast."
"Darters?" Tideslash brayed, callously picking up the mass of dead organics. Shoreline made a desperate grab for his captured goods, wailing, but the taller mechanism simply stood up, looming over the tiny boat. "This is pathetic. Ain't even fun, catching these. Darters," He grunted, whuffing out another laugh, and tossed the corpses aside. "What a load'a scrap."
Shoreline cried out, diving after the string of darters. "Careful! They're delicate," He scooped up the partially smashed remains, slender fingers stroking the bruise marks spreading from where Tideslash had grabbed them. Murmuring soothingly to the dead creatures, he explained himself earnestly to the floor, hunched defensively. "You have to be gentle or their skins are useless. Primus knows I'm the only one who cares about exporting."
"Why don't you go out to the deeper water?" Tideslash interrupted blithely. One hand swung out to indicate the ocean at large, that looming entity that lurked beyond the buffer of solid, thick walls. "There's the real sport. Tri-jaws every ten kliks, mark me. Why, I just saw one big as Wavepounder out there, swear it."
"N-no, thank you, no," Shoreline quailed, reassuming his seat with a greatly wounded air. As he rearranged his catch, he complained primly, "I like darters. They're pretty, and they're fast, and they're harder to catch than those lumbering beasts you get. All you do is chop up heads. These take skill." Pleased with the new arrangement, he smiled benignly, stroking one smooth side with a finger. "Have to be careful not to damage them."
"Come on, Shore-hugger, I'll take you out with me next time. We'll make a game of it," Tideslash taunted, knowing how all mentioning of open water terrified the cowardly Decepticon.
"It's Shoreline, I've told you. And, and, I have no interest in your sort of games. I… I have far too much to do here, keeping the monitors and watching for, for messages, and…" He trailed off, coming to the end of possible duties and excuses. "And… things." He summed lamely, fretfully smoothing the lines of his catch.
Wavepounder harrumphed, shoving the darters off the table again. "Yer just scared to get in open water, yeh," He rumbled derisively, stomping on the abused cadavers with a wet squelch before Shoreline could scoop them up again. He laughed in his slow, plodding manner, filling the small room with the thunderous sound. "Little Tin-plate's scared of the fishies. Don't worry, yeh, I've got yer back. See?" Scraping the bottom of his foot across the flooring to loosen the remains of the squished darters, he leaned in toward Tideslash, stage-whispering, "These're not so fast, I think. We should let 'em see the far ones."
"Could be fun," Tideslash agreed, watching as a distraught Shoreline wailed in horror, clawing at the spongy remains in a vain salvage attempt.
Shoreline gathered an empty sheath of pinkish, torn skin, clutching it close to his chest. A long, semi-translucent fin had begun to flake off and fall, only held together by the pale tracery of veins. Useless, now, all of them. Who would want to trade for damaged goods?
Accusingly, he stared up at Wavepounder, screeching, "You, you great oaf! You smashed them all to pieces! Do you know how far out I had to go to get these? You Tarnians – you're all just a bunch of, of scrap-built louts!"
Wavepounder's deep laughter died as abruptly as a windy-season squall. "What're you sayin', little chugger?"
All mirth fled the room.
Shoreline quivered, seeming to wilt as realization struck. "I- I wasn't, I didn't mean—"
"Should I toss you back out into the deep waves? See if you have a big mouth then, yeh? Huh? What've you got against Tarn, yeh?" Wavepounder, in all his impressive bulk, rose up, an implacable leviathan. Shoreline had tasted his ire before – it was not an event he hoped to relive.
With these thoughts in mind, Shoreline drew in upon himself, holding the skin as if it were a shield to defend himself with. He began to stammer supplications, feeling his doom drawing near. Wavepounder had killed over less, and even had the gall to brag about it after. Nobody would question after little him, Tower-built brat that he was, reformatted exile. The monstrous warrior might even be commended for such an act. "N-no, I don't, please, I wasn't saying anything at all, it was a mistake, I'm sorry, Wavepounder, I didn't mean any of it! Really!"
"Good," Wavepounder grumbled, kicking out to send the smaller watercraft careening into the far wall. Shoreline cried out, tucking into a tight, trembling ball.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, really!" Squealed Shoreline, quaking. "Please, please, I didn't mean it!"
It was enough; immediately, the mood lightened, and attention turned back to the table, and its grisly contents. Shoreline, after a moment more to see if any further blows would come, quietly slunk back to his post, sitting hunched and shaking, optics fixated on the flat surface before him.
"Well?" Prompted Wavepounder, sitting back casually into his seat, grill-chin propped upon one palm. He waved his free hand amiably, akin to a senator graciously offering the floor to his competitor. "What you got, Slashies?"
Tideslash grinned readily. He took a few seconds to turn over the already revealed skulls, exaggerating being incredibly impressed by the display. "Three? Oh, my, Wavepounder. That'll be hard to beat. Big ones, too. Gargantuan. How much time did it take to find these?"
Scowling, the hauler leaned forward abruptly, thunking both arms heavily onto the table, hard enough to make the surface rattle and the bones jitter. "Put up or shut up. I ain't got the patience to be toyed with, yeh."
"Your wish is my command," Tideslash purred, still smirking, and un-subspaced his catch.
Vertebrae went skittering out in all directions, followed by the hollow thud of skulls colliding. Several smaller bone fragments burst free to sprinkle against his fellows, one still-meaty piece bouncing off of the top of Wavepounder's head-crest. Brown-green liquid oozed down from the reeking particle of flesh, making its gooey way down to pool at the joint between neck and shoulder of the hulking mechanism's torso. Wavepounder's thick fingers went up, flicking away the irritant, and scooping at the bloody mess. "Nice one, rust-bust," he grumbled, flicking his hand to rid it of the gunk. "Real nice."
Tideslash chuckled, running his fingers lightly over the nearest skull. "Thirteen. Please, try to keep your blubbering to a minimum."
"These're small!" Roared Wavepounder, punching his fist into the table. "And all chopped up, yeh. Not even clean!"
"Yeah? So? There's more these than yours."
Wavepounder shook his head stubbornly, rising to stand with his hands braced on the table. "Quality over quantity, yeh." He seemed smug, pleased by his impressive word use, a mere quote though it was.
Tideslash rose to meet the challenge, tilting his head back to stare the hulking mechanism in the optics."Where have you been? All of mine together equal more than your measly three, even with 'quality'."
"Think yer better than me? Is that it, yeh?"
"Yeah. I am better. Wanna make something more of it, big bad?"
Tension crackled through the silent room, as the two brawlers stared each other down. Shoreline prepared himself to dive aside, in case he became a casualty in the upcoming scuffle.
Then, quite out of nowhere, Wavepounder broke out into a thunderous laugh, flopping back in his seat with a rueful shake of his head. He heartily slapped his hip, and sagged back, deeply amused. One thick finger pointed straight at Tideslash, and his other hand flicked out to slap Shoreline solidly on the shoulder, sending the reformat sprawling to the floor. "He's got brass, I'll give 'im that. Real brass."
Tideslash sketched a modest bow, snickering. "I do try. Now. To divvy up the maintenance chores."
Shoreline moaned. "Oh, but this isn't fair at all. You two are so much bigger than I am! I can't get the tri-jaws by myself, and—"
"Wah, wah, 'Hugger. My spark aches for you. Really. Aches." Tideslash grunted, not bothering to glance at the smaller mechanism as he scrolled through the datapad roster. "Since I get first call—"
Desperate, Shoreline heaved himself up, croaking, "Well, what about Seadart? He hasn't shown up yet!" He paused, flinching from Wavepounder's glower, and quailed beneath the scrutiny. Sitting back into his place, he mumbled to the table, "We have to wait for him, too. Equal shares and all."
Wavepounder grunted, and looked to Tideslash expectantly. "Yeh? Well?"
Tideslash shrugged. "He's still sulking in his quarters. Didn't go out, didn't catch anything."
"T-then he gets the most chores, right? The hardest ones. Last pick." Shoreline's voice nearly broke with hope. "It's only fair, since he didn't catch anything, right?"
"Mmph," Wavepounder nodded slowly, contemplatively. Tapping his fingers in a long, drumming roll, he eyed the smallest of their quartet, deliberating. "Mm. Eh. No. He catches more than you when he does go out. You get last pick, 'Hugger, same as always."
"No, no, that's not how this works!" Shoreline moaned, hurt by the callous treatment. "I still got more than him! It doesn't matter what he's gotten before—"
"So? You're still tiny, and besides, nobody likes you." Tideslash flicked out a wide foot, whapping the indignant watercraft upside the head. "Now shuddup. I'm picking for me and Seadart." With one last, pointed glare, he set about scrolling through the roster, carefully making his selections. When he was satisfied, he passed it to Wavepounder, who spent an inordinate amount of time picking Shoreline's newest torture.
When at last the datapad was passed on, Shoreline couldn't help but shudder. "This isn't fair. It isn't."
"Looks like you get the muck-work, 'Hugger. Don't worry, though. I'm sure you'll find some more pretty fishies out there to chase around." Tideslash waved him off, heading off for the private quarters. "I'm going to look in on his Sulkiness. Don't maim him too much while I'm gone, Waves. Primus knows, we can't afford to divert Prowsaw from his precious 'studies' again."
"But, but that big one, that one that hides on the floor…" Shoreline broke off in horror, writhing. He looked up at Wavepounder, mewling in consternation. "Shouldn't you do it? You're so much bigger, and stronger, and I—"
"Squeal, squeal, squeal little cog. Ain't nobody listenin' here but me, yeh."
Shoreline whimpered, tucking his legs in a little closer. "Uh… Maybe… I should go get the scrapers from Prowsaw, anyways, and, and," He trembled anew as Wavepounder leaned over him, casting him into shadow. "And…"
"Yeh?"
Shoreline's vocalizer whined with stress, and his optics flashed a watery, murky grey in mortal terror.
"Now's where you run, yeh," Wavepounder rumbled, optics a fiery, bright red.
Ever willing to please, Shoreline scrambled to his feet, and fled into the depths of their bunker, Wavepounder's roar of mirth hard on his heels.
--
"'Dart, you stupid slagger, let me in," Tideslash growled, pounding on the door hard enough to vibrate the metal. He paused for a handful of astroseconds, audios straining for a response. He swiveled his head to look up and down the hall, twisting his shoulders to see around his bulky, cumbersome hover-jets. Solitude thus confirmed, he leaned in close, set his fingers against the door, stroked and crooned with disturbing gentleness, "Seadart? Hey. Come on, open up, I know you're in there."
There was a hesitation, and a sullen, muted grumble. "How do you know?"
Tideslash's face twisted in something between a snarl and a smile. "'Cause you just answered me, you nitwit. Now open up."
From beyond the badly abused doorway, something shuffled about, and muttered. Distinctly closer, Seadart's petulant voice floated breezily, "Why?"
"Because I said so, that's why."
There was another long pause, and all at once the door panel slid away, revealing a sullen Seadart, optics dim to near blackness over his twitching faceplate. "Well?" He grunted, shifting on his ski-like feet. "Whaddya want?"
In answer, Tideslash shoved him aside. "Move it," He grunted, taking a cursory look around the recluse's quarters. It was a jumble of odds and ends – some of it broken parts, useless curios, things filched from other mechanisms from when their unit had been full and varied. Across from the duo, several different wings, of varying color and design, adorned the wall, placed with great reverence. They were meticulously cared for, kept clean and shining though all else had fallen into disuse and subsequent disrepair. Tideslash's lip curled in distaste as his optics swept the premises. "You're a mess, Seadart. And I'm not gonna cover for your slagging ungrateful aft anymore."
"I didn't ask you too," Seadart hissed, shifting his feet again and glowering with dour animosity at his uninvited guest. "And I didn't ask you to come back here, either."
"Feh. You dolt. You never do," Tideslash groused, growing more peeved by the moment. He held up a hand, ticking off points on his discordantly orange fingers. "I took your patrol, I got you the on-base duties, keep everyone off your propellers – what more do you want?"
Seadart shrugged disconsolately, glancing aside with a sullen murmur. "He went away, Tideslash," He said, quiet and full of hurt and hate. "He left me here. He didn't even say goodbye."
"Because you're a creepy fragging voyeur! Primus! You were practically welded to the slagger," Tideslash shoved him hard, gratified by the graceless stumble. He advanced on the off-balance Decepticon, bellowing,. "When are you going to smarten up? What do you expect when you stalk every flybot that breezes through? What do you think is gonna happen when they see you, all plain and stupid and almost begging them to just look at you? Huh?" He grabbed Seadart by the shoulders, shaking him for the simple catharsis of it. "Well?"
"There's nothing wrong with me," Seadart whined, shoving back hard.
Tideslash caught his arm, dragged him forward despite a half-garbled protest. He pulled the smaller mechanism as close as their hulls would allow, drew Seadart up off his feet and nestled his face in the soft gap beneath his armored chin. "Nothing wrong with me, either," he rasped, wretched and surly and longing.
Seadart awkwardly put his arms up around Tideslash's throat, tilting his head back to accommodate the jutting protrusions of his sometimes-lover's helm. His fingers explored the wide, heavy jets, the thing closest to a flight array Tideslash would ever come. His optics dimmed, and his enterprising fingers moved on, sliding with great disappointment down Tideslash's front. "It's not the same."
Tideslash grimaced, something flighty and dangerous glinting in his optics. "I'm not reformatting for your stupid fetish," He growled, dropping the smaller water-craft to the ground with a soft 'thunk'.
"I'm not asking you to."
"You better not be." A pause, and his body language shifted, somehow softening. "He's gone now," Tideslash murmured, touching the side of Seadart's face with something approaching delicacy. He traced the outline of the mask, up over the square protuberance that represented a chin, and back along the rounded jawline. "Gone for good. Transferred out."
"Yeah," Seadart choked out, as if the word was something bitter and painful in his throat.
"So all you got is me," He breathed, almost imploring, almost demanding. His fingers slipped down, loosely holding the cool throat in one hand, massaging the giving, rubbery cables with his thumb cautiously, carefully.
The bottoms of Seadart's optics crooked up, representing a rueful grin, and he nodded slightly. "I guess."
Tideslash groaned softly, tilted his head down, nuzzled the top of the smaller mechanism's helm, released his throat and stroked his sides, his arms, anything he could touch. Seadart cooed appreciatively, tilting his body to direct the caresses, though Tideslash knew the routes well. "Don't know why I come here at all," The sleek brawler hissed, tightening his grasp on Seadart's side vents. He clenched down possessively, spitefully, all trace of gentle consideration gone. "You're unappreciative, you're rude, you're, you're—"
Seadart grimaced, setting both hands on Tideslash's chest, guiding him back to the berth. The two tottered for a moment indecisively, uncertainly, but Tideslash fell beneath Seadart, catching his knees on the lip of the familiar, scarred berth. He moaned, pulled Seadart up so he straddled his middle, the smaller water-craft's legs not quite long enough to touch the cool metal below them.
"But you always come back," Seadart finished for him, leaning close, desperately. "Every time, you come back to me."
Tideslash off-lined his optics, letting his head fall back. "Yes," He said. "Yes."
He ignored the way only one hand explored him, pretended to not know that one set of idle fingers would reach up, and stroke with such terrible reverence those proud, graceful wings welded seamlessly to the wall.
"Every slagging time."
