Prompt 2: Challenge: Choose a prompt from this master list (28 July, "Task – Choose a character and write a scene in which they convey emotion with no dialogue), and one from this master list (Jan. 26, "Setting – An electrical storm"), and use them both to write a story.
Bluestreak stood, silent, on the edge of the building. Storm clouds loomed high above. Lightning flickered through them, lighting them up from the inside.
These weren't the acid storm clouds the Decepticons had developed during the war. These were the simple electrical storms that had plagued the planet since before memory began.
An interesting way to celebrate a peace treaty, the gunner – former gunner – mused. A storm to start the era of peace.
With a quiet vent, Bluestreak lowered himself to the floor and dangled his pedes off the edge of the building. The lightning was picking up now, the loud boom of thunder echoing through the rather bombed-out streets below. The Praxian's doorwings twitched with each boom.
War was ended. Megatron had pleaded for peace. Had simply decided that the war was getting too costly, and decided that peace was the better option. Though his way of asking for it had brought amusement to both factions.
Bluestreak's doorwings twitched gently upwards and his pedes swung back and forth, tapping gently against the wall with each back swing.
It wasn't often that Megatron got the upper hand in his tussles with Prime. That last time, when he had managed to separate Optimus from his gun, and had forced the Matrix-bearer to his knees... Prowl had been frantic, shouting orders, scrambling to get someone into place to down Megatron before Megatron downed Optimus. Ironhide, when he had seen the Prime with arms raised, kneeling at the pedes of the Decepticon Warlord, had gone berserk, tearing Menasor apart single-handedly, then shooting the Elite trine out of the sky. Jazz had thrown off Soundwave's symbiotes and tentacles and rushed to help his leader before Megatron blasted the blue helm off the red shoulders.
Megatron had shot them all dry, withering glares, then pressed his fusion cannon into the Prime's helm. Everything froze. Bluestreak remembered staring into his commander's optics, searching for the fear that just had to be there, but wasn't.
Looking back, it was amusing, thinking how many times the Prime had died, only to come back to life in some way that, had anyone else tried it, wouldn't have worked. Optimus had long ago stopped fearing death. Why should he? He would just be thrust or pulled back into life eventually. Bluestreak's doorwings twitched again, and a smile grew across his lips.
When Prowl had icily asked what Megatron wanted, the Decepticon had thrown back his helm and laughed. "I thought you'd never ask!" he had chortled, before letting his cannon wind down and offering the Prime a hand. "I want peace. I'll take whatever peace you can give me in exchange for the Prime's life."
The stunned silence had stretched for what seemed like orns before the warlord started laughing again.
Bluestreak stifled a chuckle and leaned back, turning too look at the flashing clouds above. His doorwings fluttered back and forth. His frame was relaxed and calm.
Peace... What an odd idea!
From the doorway, the Twins watched the Praxian lounging on the edge of the building.
~Dunno, Sunny. He looks good to me.~
~Then why is he out here?~ the yellow twin asked, tilting his helm and running a critical optic over the gunner. ~He's so... quiet.~
Sideswipe shrugged. ~We all need our quiet times, bro. Even Bluestreak.~
With a frown, Sunstreaker stepped out of the shadowed doorway and walked over to his intended and sat down beside him.
Bluestreak offered no words of greeting, simply dipping his doorwings and shooting the yellow frontliner – ex-frontliner – a grin.
Sunstreaker simply regarded him with a frown, and the gunner shrugged, a tiny smile on his face. Sunstreaker tilted his helm to the side. Bluestreak responded with a flick of his right doorwing, tapping the frontliner gently on the back, before glancing upwards with a quirk of his optic ridges.
Sideswipe sighed as he came up on the other side of the gunner and sat down, shooting Bluestreak a smirk.
The Praxian replied with rolling optics.
Sideswipe chuckled and leaned back on his hands, staring up, like Bluestreak, at the lightning-edged clouds.
The three sat, content, happy, and silent, on the building for a long time, content with each other and the silence, reveling in peace.
