AN: Halloween 2/3 Sets

Day 12: Bones
Universe: MTMTE
Characters: Scavengers, Grimlock

Krok liked to believe that he was a reasonable mech.

After all, he hadn't protested after waking up from the D.J.D.'s attack and finding the Scavengers' new, giant Dinobot "pet" galloping down the halls of the W.A.P. He had merely sighed when he caught Misfire giving the damaged Autobot belly rubs when Grimlock was in his alt-mode and stared when he caught Spinster with the top half of his frame in the Dinobot's mouth, marveling at how sharp his teeth were.

But he was starting to think that this might be going a little too far.

"Misfire—"

"Hi, Krok!" Misfire waved from the contraption that his fellow Scavengers (plus Dinobot) were crowded around. "We were wondering when you'd get back."

Krok stared as Crankcase, who was sitting next to Misfire, turned to smack Grimlock in the side, but the transformed Dinobot simply wagged his tail, his glowing blue optics solely focused on the object Fulcrum and Spinster loaded into the bucket of their shoddy contraption.

The strategist had a feeling that most of the things the group may have scavenged on this trip had gone in to that mechanism. "What…are you doing?"

"I'm holding down the catapult for them to load."

"I can see that. Why?"

"So we can launch the bone we're using." Misfire paused. "Duh."

Fulcrum yelped as Spinster let go of his end of the large bone they had somehow found on the organic planet and began to struggle under the weight of it. Sparks flickered from Crankcase's injured head when he grunted and finally stopped his attempts to keep Grimlock from sniffing the bone.

"Where did you even find that thing?" Krok gestured towards the catapult, ignoring Fulcrum's stutters for help. "How did you make this?"

"Crankcase did it. The catapult, not the bone."

The leader turned to stare at Crankcase, who simply stared back. "You could build this, but I had to travel an entire day to the only Neutral colony on this planet to purchase one tiny part before you could even touch the ship's engines?"

"Meh."

"Stop sniffing me!" Grimlock growled when Spinster punched the tip of his snout, and the masked mech jumped out of the bucket where Fulcrum began to frantically struggle to free his leg. "Launch!"

"Launching!"

"No, wai—"

Krok followed the arching path the catapult took the moment Misfire and Crankcase released it. Fulcrum's shouts became softer as he flew across the vast field with the bone—managing to make it over the hull of the W.A.P.—and they became almost inaudible when Grimlock's giant feet pounded against the ground as he galloped after both of them.

Misfire grinned as he watched Fulcrum and the bone land a few yards away while Spinster attempted to figure out what had happened to the K-Class mech, and Crankcase began taking apart the catapult. Krok could only shake his head when Grimlock snatched up the bone and left Fulcrum lying in a contorted heap.

Krok was a reasonable mech; he knew full well that anything he said to his crackpot team of Decepticons would go in one audial and right out the other. So, he just allowed them to do their own thing.

Days 17, 18, and 19: Insects, Cauldron, and Eyeballs
Universe: Rescue Bots
Characters: Chase, Chief Burns, Heatwave, Blades, Boulder

"Sir, may I ask a question?"

Chief Charlie Burns paused, coffee cup halfway under his burly moustache, and slightly turned to the screen in the center of the dashboard. The face of his Rescue Bot partner was displayed there, with an expression of what the chief had come to know as "curiosity"—brighter yellow optics, a smaller frown, the slight tilt of a head. Chase's curiosity was never as obvious as some of the others, but Charlie had come to pick up the subtle motions. "Of course. You can always ask me anything."

"Why are you consuming a replica of a human optic?" Charlie blinked and looked down at the donut he had picked up with his coffee. The pastry oozed strawberry jelly from the first bite he had taken, smearing the white, red, and black icing that had been used to decorate it. "I was under the impression that the consumption of human organs was frowned upon in most societies."

"Oh! The people that run the bakery always like to get into the Halloween spirit."

"And what does this 'Halloween spirit' have to do with the consumption of human organs?"

"Umm…well…" Chief Burns scratched the back of his head. "Halloween is a human holiday that a lot of people enjoy celebrating, and most of them spend the majority of this month preparing for it—getting into the Halloween spirit—by decorating things to match the 'scary' theme of the holiday."

Charlie sipped his coffee as Chase contemplated this simple explanation. "'Scary?'"

"Or grotesque. You've seen the movies that Blades watches. The ones that make him more jumpy than usual? Everything you see in those movies is really popular now. Or I should say, more popular than usual."

Chase released an acknowledging hum before immediately directing his attention towards the vehicle that sped past their parked position. He sighed at their interrupted break and buckled up as Chase started his sirens. "Guess our coffee break is over."

"Crime does not wait for coffee."

Charlie chuckled and focused on the quick pursuit.

"Heatwave?"

Heatwave sighed and attempted to ignore the hesitant whisper. Now was the only time he had a chance to recharge after what he had accepted as a "normal" day in Griffin Rock. Before coming to Earth, he would have laughed if someone had told him that tiny little organic creatures could cause more trouble than an average sized Cybertronian. He wasn't laughing that much now.

"Heatwave?" The fire truck grunted in response to the nudge he felt against his back. A gush of air washed over his head, and Heatwave grimaced at how close the whispering mech was now. "Heatwave, I know you're awake. You never twitch when you're actually in stasis."

"What do you want, Blades?"

"There's something wrong with Chase!" Blades jumped back to allow his team leader to sit up. The helicopter pointed towards the main area of the rescue station's bunker. "I think he might be sick. What do we do? Should we call Optimus and ask if he can send his medic to help?"

Heatwave sidled past Blades and stepped out of the room they used to recharge in. He paused the moment he had cleared the doorway, and Blades took that opportunity to peek over his shoulder. "See? I told you something was wrong. Maybe he's actually been replaced by aliens…you know, aliens that aren't humans."

The red Rescue Bot shook his head and continued to stare at Chase, who stood in the middle of the room with Boulder. The police bot noticed their arrival and carried over the heavy, black container held. Heatwave stared at the contents of it before looking back up. "What're you doing, Chase?"

"I am simply exploring my 'Halloween spirit.'" Chase held out the bucket for Heatwave and Blades to get a better look at the assortment of items it held. Blades' worry was immediately replaced with awe as he began to dig through the objects, but Heatwave remained largely unimpressed. "I have conducted a quick search on what humans would consider 'scary' or 'grotesque' and found that many of these items could be found while cross-referencing 'Halloween'. However, I am still perplexed as to why some of these would prove 'scary' to the average person."

Heatwave waited for Blades to move before reaching into the container himself, pulling out one of the flexible toy insects amidst the other various objects. "Alright. Now, what's up with the big bucket and hat?"

"Apparently, they are vital accessories for what the humans classify as 'witches.' I discovered that way to explore Halloween is the common practice of wearing various costumes. And it is a cauldron, not a bucket."

"Whatever."

A high pitched scream floated down into the bunker, and Heatwave took a moment to admire its shrillness. Normally, they weren't able to hear anything from the station/human living area above them. Boulder was the only one to show concern as Blades continued digging through Chase's cauldron, cooing over a raggedy, red haired doll he found. "Um, shouldn't we check on that? It sounded like Dani might be in trouble."

"Oh, that totally wasn't Dani." Blades tossed aside the doll in favor of a smiling clown. "Dani doesn't scream like that. She even makes fun of the fact that my screams are higher pitched than hers, and that's definitely a lot higher than mine. Ooh! Why would humans be scared of such adorable dolls?"

There was another shriek, and Heatwave casually threw the toy he held back into the cauldron. "Lemme guess: you left the fake rats upstairs."

"I am afraid I did not purchase any of those." Chase glanced at the ceiling where the dull noise of banging could be heard. "However, I did inquire about the obtainment of live mice. Do you think they have arrived?"

The old intercom system in the bunker squealed on and spewed static down at them. "Chase…I'm gonna need to talk you about a package—"

Chief Burn's voice was suddenly overpowered by the full force of the shrieks they had been hearing, and all the Bots had to reset their sensors when the intercom finally clicked off. Chase was the first to recover. "Ah! It would seem the final component of this 'Halloween spirit' has finally arrived. If you will all excuse me…"

Boulder automatically took the cauldron that Chase handed to him, and the police bot took the elevator up to the station. While Blades cuddled the plushie monster he had found in Chase's cauldron, Boulder turned to Heatwave and asked, "How did you know Chase had gotten rats?"

"Because only Kade can scream loud enough to be heard down here, and apparently, he's got a thing against rats."

Days 21, 22, and 23: Curse, Poison, and Phobia
Universe: G1
Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Mirage, Bumblebee, Optimus Prime

Prowl stared at the mech standing before him. Jazz grinned back, and Prowl was able to identify the usual smugness in the saboteur's smile. He glanced back down at the data-pad he had been given and delicately placed it on the desk before him. "Are you honestly serious about this?"

"Why you soundin' so offended, mech?"

"Because I can't decide if this is a joke or an attack on my intelligence."

"What? Ah would never!" Jazz reached over to tap the screen of the data-pad, highlighting the section that was the current cause of discussion. "It's all legit. Got evaluated by Rung an' everything. See?"

Prowl sighed and leaned forward in his seat, chin coming to rest on the back of twined fingers while his elbows rested on the desk. "Jazz, please. You do not have—what is it called?—ergophobia."

"How would you know? Are you mo'e aware o' my mental state than our resident psycho-babble mech?"

"I am very aware that the last time you attempted to get out of paperwork, you forged Ratchet's signature to say that you were allergic to formatted reports; the time before that you feigned a cracked wrist joint; and the time before that you tried to hand the work off to Bumblebee. I'm starting to think you're losing your creative touch." Prowl glanced back down at the data-pad. "Though, I must commend you on forging Rung's signature. He tends to change it every other quartex and you managed to figure out the one he is using now."

"Does that mean Ah aint gotta do a report?"

Jazz caught the data-pad that was tossed at his head and was sent pouting through the door. The door swooshed close behind him, and Jazz frowned down at the device he held. He glanced back at the door that now cut him off from his fellow Autobot officer. The mech frowned and stomped down the hallway. "Losin' my touch, huh? Ah'll show you."

Prowl didn't flinch when a body suddenly collapsed onto the table before him. He merely grabbed his half-filled cube of Energon and continued to sip from it as he skimmed through the data-pad he held. He refused to budge when the body began to violently spasm, nearly knocking the table over.

When the frame finally stilled, splayed across the table spread eagle and tongue comically sticking out, Prowl carefully replaced his cube, shifted in his seat, and traded his data-pad for a new one. The brief pause in the rec-room's activity slowly began to start again, and Jazz's frame was left to lay on the table until Prowl finally sighed. "Jazz, please. You're leaving scuffs on the table."

To Jazz's credit, he didn't break character and continued to "play dead", even managing to stifle the sound of his vents. Prowl shook his head and stood up, taking his now empty cube and data-pad and leaving the room. A few minutes ticked by with a few more Autobots leaving and entering the room before a slender white and blue mech approached the table. "He is gone now. You are starting to look ridiculous."

The cutting statement served as the signal Jazz needed to suddenly be "revived", and the saboteur shifted to sit in the middle of the table and pout. "Man! That mech's got nothin' but coolant runnin' through his lines. How can ya just sit an' stare as another mech dies o' fuel poisonin'?"

"Given your flare for dramatics and current refusal to complete the work assigned to you, I can imagine that Prowl was simply unmoved by your blatant attempts to escape responsibility." Mirage shook his head as his commander continued to pout. "Just fill out the paperwork. It is practically just a series of fill in the blank!"

"No!" The former noble sighed and stepped aside for Jazz to jump off the table. "It aint about the work now. It's about provin' that Ah aint washed up."

"Who is insinuating that?"

"Prowler did when he said Ah done lost my creativity. Ah'm gonna prove that aint true!" Jazz stared at Mirage long enough to make the other mech twitch in discomfort. The saboteur finally grimaced and sidled past Mirage while clutching the armor covering his abdomen. "But first Ah'm gonna go purge that bad cube Ah consumed."

Mirage's haughty posture wavered. "Why would you do that?"

"'Cause Ah wanted the poisonin' ta seem authentic!"

Prowl stomped down the hallway, his door-wings flared to take up more space than usual. Autobots automatically stepped aside when they heard him approaching, hugging the wall to avoid being whacked by the mech's kibble. Whispers immediately filled the hall once the officer had passed, but Prowl was far too focused to bother noticing. His current goal was to address the matter that had Red Alert spazzing out in his security hub.

He certainly wasn't amused by the commotion that was Jazz. Even less so when he finally reached the mech.

"S'up, Prowler?"

Door-wings jittered. "Why is your office in the hallway?"

Jazz spun around in his chair while Mirage sighed from where he leaned against the desk in the center of the hallway. "Ah can't work in there."

"Why?"

"That place is haunted!"

Luckily, there was no one walking by at that moment because they may have been whacked by Prowl's wings when they jerked up and down once more. "Your office is not haunted."

"Yeah it is!" A sudden, ghoulish wail came from behind the closed door of Jazz's office, and Jazz gave the door an emphasized wave. "See? It was that data-pad ya gave me. It was cursed!"

Prowl continued to twitch, dark optics glaring at the grinning Jazz and exasperated Mirage before straightening his shoulders and regaining his calm. Door-wings lowered to a neutral position, and the strategist simply retrieved a new data-pad from his subspace. "My apologies. I will make sure to exorcise all data-pads from now on. Until then, you may use one of my personal data-pads, which are all curse free."

Jazz's grin faltered, and the smirk on Mirage's face confirmed that the saboteur hadn't expected such easy acceptance for his actions. Prowl nodded towards the data-pad Jazz accepted. "Unfortunately, the templates for field reports are not downloaded onto that, so you will have to construct your report from scratch. I expect to find a thorough and invigorating report. Good day."

The strategist spun around on his heel without waiting for a response from the two Special Ops mechs and retraced his steps down the hallway in a more calming manner. Jazz stared at the blank screen of the data-pad, and Mirage chuckled. The door in front of them slid open, and Bumblebee skipped out to join them. "Did I sound convincing enough? I didn't have much time to practice."

"You did wonderful." Bumblebee smiled widely, ignoring the obvious sarcasm that saturated Mirage's voice, and Mirage turned to lightly pat Jazz's shoulder. "Fill out the report."

"Never!"

Prowl didn't glance up from his work as the door to his office opened. "Do you have that report?"

"No, Ah—"

"Do the report."

"But—"

"I don't want to hear it."

Jazz pouted and turned back around to leave, dragging the giant, inflatable balloon out behind him.

"A'ight! You win."

Prowl tilted his head to the side and stared at the pouting saboteur standing in front of him. It had been a week since Jazz had begun his attempts to escape writing one, short field report, and Prowl had begun to wonder if the saboteur realized he was creating more work for himself by avoiding it. Sometimes, the very epitome known as Jazz just didn't make any sense to him. "What have I won?"

The strategist could have grinned at the disgruntled scowl he received. He did well hiding his amusement as Jazz shoved a data-pad towards him, noting that it was the same data-pad he had given the saboteur when his office had become "haunted." "Here's ya stinkin' report. Hope you have fun readin' it while we're partyin' in the rec-room."

Prowl shook his head and watched Jazz stomp back out of his office just as he had come in. The officer activated the data-pad and glanced over the detailed report saved on it. He had barely scanned through the first paragraph before he frowned. He sighed and quickly connected with Optimus through their internal communications system. "Optimus?"

"Yes, Prowl?"

"Did you write Jazz's field report for him?"

There was a pause. "I am sorry, but this is a pre-recorded message. Optimus Prime is currently busy handling…Prime-ly matters. Please, leave a message, and I will return your call in a timely manner."

Prowl shook his head and tossed the data-pad aside for a later time. He would never understand Jazz's animosity towards simple, little field reports.