Authors Note: Hey guys- or, well , one person. Just something to keep the ball rolling, a short chapter to say "hey I'm still here" and that crap. Been obsessed with Vin Diesel lately, and I started a story about Riddick... hee. There's also a poetry contest that I plan on entering, so wish me luck. My very best friend helped me on it and made it a rap, so that covers the 'creative' part haha. Only thing I need now is a title... *sigh* I suck at titles. As you can tell. But poems are different, especially since this is about a person and not something I made up (mostly). Grand prize is 1k! Just entered it, very nervous. But eh, if we don't win, who cares it was fun. If we do win... hey, big bucks right there, eh? :P
Patrol was hated and well liked at times. In times after action upon action, patrol was like dirt work. But in times of boredom and desperation, patrol was necessary to prevent from going insane. Though it was illogical to go insane, by humans standards it seemed to be a common thing. Insanity from boredom. Insanity from lectures. Insanity from family. Insanity came in various ways to humans, but as Ratchet pointed out, all of those versions of insanity were just small bits of what they deemed as torture. In Cybertronian standards, insanity came from various ways, but much more reasonable than human ways. A seeker can turn insane if enclosed in closed spaces or grounded for a long time, while grounders can go insane by any major battle experiences. Though it was not common, a death of a close comrade can drive a young bot along the wrong path. But the most common is losing a sparkmate, which was most common among their ranks. He knew that Optimus had nearly driven himself offline at the stretched bond he had with his sparkmate, Elita-1, and was visibly better when the femmes had been contacted.
Bluestreak himself didn't have a bondmate or a sparkmate, he had been with a couple of bots but none of which were serious enough with the war going on. To those who could overcome their fear of being with someone in a time such as this, they were lucky. Those of which could not stand the thought of losing a mate in the war drove themselves away from the thought. For Bluestreak, he was scared of the thought of loss, yes, but his door was still open, even if only a crack. And when he had split off from his squad to patrol uptown, he was pleasantly surprised to find that he was right to keep the option open and not close himself off to the ideas. For not soon after an hour's worth of looking, he had caught the faintest of traces of a Cybertronian. The signal was encrypted, neither telling of Autobot nor Decepticon, but it made himself excited enough that he went against human laws and raced towards the Cybertronian.
Well, he found them. But he didn't really know what to do with them once found. Excitement ran through his energon cables, making them tremble as caution screamed in his processor. All the noise, all the lack of communication on their open Autobot channels, everything; vanished. Faded into the background, he was free to stare in silence. He had found them in the street, transformed and ready to fight, when they both froze. Complete strangers, frozen in the chaos created by the humans themselves, running everywhere and screaming. He didn't know that the bot was only standing still because he was.
Lotus purple burned into iceberg blue, melting through the chills of the ice and burrowing deep into the arctic tundra, though the glass and metals to surround the pulse of a life source. Gears whirled, circuits zapped while attempting to connect to his CPU, unyielding to those eyes that stabbed his. Energon rushed through his cables, zipping along through his unit, enabling him to feel each pulse from his very core, his spark alive in his chassis.
For a long time neither being moved, unlike the organics on this planet they felt no need to move every few seconds, allowing them to become as still as statues for stealth missions; invisible to enemy eyes; completely seen to the one standing, half crouched in the street, across from him.
Her arms, sleek with the lines separating from one piece of armor from another, originally poised in a defense position, now curved in hesitance. Legs, bipedal and half crouched, one leg relaxed as it is straightened out, the other bent underneath her as she settles on the prongs of her toes. Two small wheels rest together on one foot, a bigger one on the other, creating her ankles as two prongs making up balanced toes, a single prong making her heel on either foot. Small little jets surrounded on her ankles, half covering the wheels on her ankles.
Folded wings sprouted from her back, two shorter ones attached below, making a sharp shape of an organic dragonfly of sorts. The ones on the upper part of her back were large, a plane of some sorts, while a large orb rested on her left shoulder, retractable from what it looked like. Missiles rested on top of either shoulder, aimed ahead if online. Small capsules of sorts were attached to her wrists and on the outer workings of her forearms. Her hands, small and delicate, poised a relax grip. Something sprouted on her right shoulder, on the outer part and stuck out, but it was unrecognizable. On her stomach, behind the curves of alien metal, settled a dark orb in her abdomen. A lens peeked out from the dark curtains, staring blankly as it recorded everything the femme saw.
A smooth helm surrounded those lotus flower colors of optics, two gray prongs sprouting from the middle of her forehead and rapping back around her head on top. Smaller gray markings carved her jaw line and cheeks. Two lines were drawn on her cheeks, branching down from her eyes and disappearing under her jaw. A smooth, windowless chassis carved on her upper body. Gray patterned under the ghostly white armor that shown dully in the afternoon lights, something not to be shined on, made to not cause more unnecessary attention than it should.
For moments Bluestreak could only stop and stare. Not only was a femme a rarity, what was she doing on Earth? Had she gotten Prime's call as well?
The blue Autobot felt his cables relax, tense from surprise, and loosely stood in his spot as an unnamed feeling spread in his veins. He felt his guard dropping, his CPU still not computing.
Just as his processor started working, a mental restart, so did the femme. In a flash metal scraped on asphalt, quick and hard enough to leave a scuff on the pavement, while it only took seconds for the femme was halfway down the block. With a jolt, Bluestreak raced after her, shouting for her to stop. Humans, those curious enough to stay after others ran away from the scene screaming at the top of their lungs, scattered before the two giant robotic beings, scampering back to safety as the two Cybertronian bots ran through the streets.
"Wait! Get back here!" She darted around the corner, his pedes threatening to slip under him as he followed just as sharp, the thrill of catching up to the femme keeping his legs moving. "Stop!" He found himself not wanting her to, though, the thrill of the chase competing with the curiosity and the want to know who this femme was.
Closer, he was getting closer. Why was the femme here? Why was she running? Was it him she was running from? He didn't risk the glance over his shoulder, for his fingertips were nanoseconds from brushing her wings.
The small bump was a trigger, though, as the femme whirled around, causing the Autobot to stumble from the turn of events, and have rockets launched from her wrists. They connected, blowing the bot away, smoke filling the air. Bluestreak's vents clogged, making him push the gunk out with human like coughs. Optics narrowed as the smoke clears, he discovers himself standing alone on the city street.