((drops from the ceiling by a rope, holding a sign that reads; I ATEN'T DEAD.))

Discworld references aside, 456y5 i67 &I&co765 this time of year sucks. ((falls to her unworthy knees)) Wimblewimblewimblewimble…

Today For You

The world was lethargy, poison-grey skies keeping the lid on all activity in the city below. There were one hundred and seventy Sectors, all sprawled together, lining the planet's polar region. There was no way to distinguish one from the other. Numbers had been applied at random, a quick and desperate way of identifying the miles of squalid, broken city that had so rapidly become home to a quarter of Cybertron's population.

It wasn't peace. He knew peace. Peace came in moments, fragments that made living feel good and worthwhile. If this was peace, he was a duck.

Ancient steps, swaying serenely in the breeze, almost splintered under his footsteps.

A dark figure against the stormy skies, indistinguishable as evening rolled on, flung himself against the door to their 'home'. When this failed, he cursed, and tried again, forgetting to bother with applying the entrance code. Because the door was almost as ancient as the stairs, on the second try, and with the help of a kick, it drew back on its rails. The resultant whine of pained circuitry went completely unnoticed as the dark grey wisp leapt inside, trailing the last of the sunset in with him.

Their apartment was tiny, and allowed for only one recharge berth. As Scorpinok spent more time in recharge than he spent awake, and Scope succumbed less frequently than was healthy, the room was largely the scientist's domain. Every so often, though, when whichever unstoppable cog it was that kept Scope running sputtered and whined and crawled to a halt, Scorpinok would emerge from his lab to find the door to the third-and-smallest room firmly locked. The situation would likely remain that way for the remainder of the day and most of the night, after which time Scope would emerge and disappear silently down the stairs and into the Sector.

He noticed, upon entering, that the door to the third-and-smallest room was shut. Normally, this would have been enough make him lighten his steps, lest an enraged warrior wielding an illegal saber burst forth and devoured him whole.

Fuel-pump racing, today he flung himself over to his roommate's door and kicked it repeatedly. After five seconds of this, the low, inarticulate snarl that signified a rudely awakened Scope permeated the metal.

"What!" came from deep within the confines of their sanctuary.

"Open up!"

"Go away!"

"Will you just hurry up!"

The door flew open, revealing his irritated, oath-swearing friend. The larger Predacon glared down like a gorgon.

"If you do not explain-…", he began, before being cut off as Scorpinok, with strength that few would guess he possessed, hauled him out of the room, almost toppling them both.

"He's incredible! He's brilliant! You've got to meet him!"

"Wha-…?"

"Say you'll meet him! Please!"

Normally, hauling Scorpinok off his feet and leaning closer to growl at him with optics glowing emerald green was an effective tactic. It wasn't one he often employed on Scorpinok, because Scorpinok was, perhaps, the only being in the universe capable of making Scope feel guilty about it later. Besides, there was generally no call for it. Apart from his occasional slumps from depression into suicidal depression, the Predacon was, as a rule, far more stable than Scope.

It irked the larger warrior to see that his Last Resort Maneuver was not working. Scorpinok, in fact, did not seem to notice that he was dangling a meter from the ground.

"Listen, you need to listen. I was walking, I was walking…somewhere, don't remember where, and I went into a bar and I had a drink and I-I spent half a credit on it and you've got to meet him!"

"Be quiet", Scope instructed, giving his captive a shake. The babble slowed as Scorpinok realized his predicament. Remarkably, it did little to effect his mood.

Scope, putting annoyance to one side for a minute, frowned. Something very peculiar had happened to his friend, it seemed. Despite his exceedingly low tolerance for high-grade and its like, the short Predacon seemed energized to a point beyond anything that could be explained away by over-indulgence. The possibility of tainted energon or alternative energy boosters coming unpleasantly to mind, Scope checked Scorpinok's optics. They were brighter than normal, but lacked the distinctively flared ring around the centre that was the inevitable result of Surge and its kin. It was unlikely, anyway; such substances were now more expensive than weaponry, and twice as illegal.

"Oh for-will you put me down! Listen, it's amazing!"

Scope scowled, and, amidst his excitement, Scorpinok was struck anew by how ugly his rent-mate was, especially when he bordered on losing his temper.

"What is!"

"He's thought of everything!"

"Who has!"

Eventually, when Scorpinok had calmed down enough to allow for coherent speech (eventually Scope had resorted to dangling him from the window for a minute or two), an explanation was given. Arms folded, tread tires pressing against the wall, Scope leaned back and waited. Scorpinok stood before him, taking sips from one of their meager rationings. Alternately, he perched on the room's only piece of furniture-a table that also served as a holo-screen- and paced around the room, making extravagant hand, arm and head gestures. Scope listened.

And, when all had been said, he nodded, once, picked Scope up from where he sat upon the warrior's disks and dropped him back on the floor.

"Hey…hey, where're you…", the semi-inebriated scientist began, then stopped as he found himself talking to a shut door. He stared at it for a while.

"Slagger", he sniffed. Then blinked and wandered what he'd been talking about.

"Scrap you then", he muttered. "'e'll do it ourselves…"

It took less time to convince him than Scorpinok had thought it would. Admittedly, it had been hours before Scope had even agreed to discuss the matter with him in the same room. He'd explained most of the logistics through a crack in the door. After two hours, he decided to take a brake, by bringing most of the components for his latest project out of the lab and fiddling with them, loudly, outside the room. After a considerable amount of technological progress, of which he was cautiously proud, he'd began speaking through the door again.

All in all, it had taken four hours and fifteen mini-cycles before the door had been wrenched back on its rails and Scope's extremely sour visage had appeared.

"If I listen to you, once, will you concede to never mention whatever fresh madness has made its way into your head ever again?"

He'd nodded.

Now they both stood on the roof. Night had come, and grey chemical-clouds overhead robbed colour from their armor and faces. Scorpinok sat on a broken ledge. Leaning to far back would result in his becoming deader than the corpse of three cycles ago. Scope stood, closer to the opposite ledge, wind and sky tugging at the awkward bits on his arms and legs. Looking at him, Scorpinok wondered if Scope ever missed flying.

He'd asked that they go outside. Not only because the news had felt too big, too sacred for the interior of their lousy living space, but also to set the scene. For all his surliness and ill-temper, there existed, within Scope, a dramatic streak thick enough to paint half the Sector with. Scorpinok was certain his ploy would be seen through, but hoped that the warrior would award him points for effort, regardless.

He explained.

And he explained.

And he explained some more.

And he pleaded.

And when he was done, Scope looked distinctly…troubled.

Trying to work out whether this was a good thing or a bad one, Scorpinok said, hopefully, "So? What…what do you think?"

One of Scope's worse character traits (hypocrisy, ruthlessness and an almost bloodthirsty traditionalism aside) was his tendency to ignore you if he thought your input was of no immediate consequence. Scorpinok considered kicking him.

With a sudden shake of his head, Scope drew back into reality. "This is…ridiculous. I see no point in discussing it further."

That said, he turned and moved towards the stairs.

"So, you want to spend the rest of your life here", Scorpinok said contemplatively. Scope stopped.

Then he turned back and walked in front of the smaller mech, folding his arms over his chest with narrowed optics.

Either he's going to agree, or I'm about to get dealt a good one right across the cranium, Scorpinok thought. He wasn't even entirely sure why he wanted the older one to approve of the idea so badly. But the thought of not actually telling him about it had never crossed his mind. Three hundred years of the Sector had taken their toll of both Scope's anti-social disposition and Scorpinok's fondness for solitude. They had become, in all their ways, unwitting anchors for each other.

"An…odd choice of name", he said finally, and Scorpinok knew he'd won. Now all he had to do was get Scope to admit it.

"Yeah, I thought so too", he agreed, because agreeing with him was a large part of getting Scope to do what you wanted. "On the other hand, when you think about mine…"

It did take less time than he'd thought it would. He thought he knew why, too.

Nonetheless, he was impressed by his own efforts. He talked reasonably. He talked sensibly. He didn't mention the word 'honor', because accidentally misinterpreting Scope's slightly odd beliefs, as many were wont to do, was a good way to get yourself bound, gagged and abandoned in the middle of some barren desert with vultures circling high above. The words 'battle', 'courage'and 'revenge', however, he used three times each, along with a generous ladling of the phrase 'must be better than this, right?'

He didn't say 'come, because I'm a little bit scared and if this all ends up aft-backwards I'd prefer to have you in the same corner as me than anyone else', because neither Decepticons nor Predacons nor reformatted Decepticons who still liked to think of themselves as such said things like that. The temperature dropped to a degree that would have frozen the lungs of an organic.

"So, you'll meet him?"

Don't sound too eager, don't sound too eager…

Scope brushed frost from one arm absently and sighed. "Very well."

As his friend turned to move back into the sanctuary of their allotment without another word, Scorpinok grinned. It was an expression he was careful to ensure that Scope did not see.

"Great."