Fandom: The Misadventures of Tron Bonne
Title: Wonderbra
Subject: A Day in the Life of #40
Wordcount: 550-something
Pairing: N/A
Characters: The Servbots, a hint o' Tron
Rating: PG, I guess. I said "boobie"
Notes: I didn't do it.

My long drabble curse probably begins here.

Number Thirty-One threw up his arms in exasperation. "We need a new idea! Thirty-Two, how are things on your end?"

Thirty-Two looked over his scribbles of dragons and flaming skulls and Miss Tron, frowning and perhaps scowling. "Nothing! Quit asking me!"

"Gah!" The servbot would have been tugging at his hair if he had had any. "How about you, Thirty-Three?"

Thirty-Three shrugged, rolling a bottle back and forth along the table, trying his best to make it look scientific.

Thirty-One made a face. "Okay, Thirty-Four. How about-?"

"I'm blank!" the servbot cried while balancing a large slab of metal. He lost his balance and fell over. "Oof!"

"Miss Tron is going to be so mad!" Thirty-One wailed, clutching at his head.

As if on cue, notorious Number Forty overhead the conversation in the Development Room as he cruised down the Gesellschaft's hallway. Today had been a particularly good day so why not help his fellow older brethren with his enlightened intellect and superior luck?

"Hello, guys!" he chimed in, poking his fat, yellow head into the room.

Thirty-One did not look impressed, as with the other servbots in the room. "Oh, great! You! How are you going to help us?"

Forty clung tightly to his precious prize. "Help you with what?"

"We need a new weapon, upgrade, something! We're desperate!"

The other servbots looked back around at each other. The room was silent before Thirty-Two leaned in, mumbling:

"Are we that desperate?"

Thirty-One slammed him on the side of the head with a rod that was lying around on the floor. "Yes! That desperate!"

Thirty-Three continued to roll his bottle back and forth on the table. Forty, on the other hand, was scratching his head the best he could, his other claw still hidden.

"Oooh, oooh!" He suddenly burst in, the other servbots catching a flash of something pink. "I know!"

"Oh great," Thirty-Two grumbled, adding some consummate v's to his ferocious dragon. "I wonder what it is."

Forty did not catch that, fortunately, looking for a pair of the roundest whatevers he could find around the room. Eventually, a wad of paper and a little plastic hamster ball was set into the pink strap of curvy cloth. After some debate, the deactivated Gustaff made an acceptable pair of prongs. The servbots watched with interest.

"Check it!" Forty gloated, pulling back on the pink sling. "It's the Double-Barreled-Boobie-Blaster!"

The paper went nowhere while the hamster ball was launched across the room, ricocheting off the wall and to the desk, effectively knocking poor Thirty-Three's bottle away. The servbots collectively "ooh-"ed, except for Thirty-Three, who was scrambling to recover his poor bottle and saying things a servbot should not be saying underneath his little "breath." Forty bowed.

"Thank you! Thank you! No need for applause!"

"But," Thirty-One thoughtfully said, stroking his "chin." "Where did you get it from? Where can we get more of this... slingshot?"

"No no no!" corrected Forty. "It's a Double-Barreled-Boo-"

The servbots were startled when a red-faced Tron exploded into the room, her fingers squeezing into the doorframe as if they were claws.

"Alright!" she growled. "Someone was in my bra drawer this time! Where is my bra? I counted seventeen bras instead of eighteen! Someone fess up!" Her eyes darted around the room, Forty trying to shrink away but no avail. "Number Forty!"

"The Gustaff did it?" Forty cringed.

Fin