Chapter 7
When you look real hard, little glints of personality come through.
Disclaimer: I don't own the combaticons, decepticons, or autobots, but all others are based off of people I've met, their viewpoints do not reflect my own.
Also I have raised the rating of this story for future chapters due to combaticon antics, particularly Vortex's antics.
Author's Note: Ow, I feel like a Kiwi that just laid an egg, this thing is the longest chapter I have ever written; and one I have had the most fun writing. I hope you all enjoy it! Also thank you for the best wishes for the recovery of my husband and dog, both have healed and will have no drawbacks from their injuries. Once again thank you to my editors and to hubby. If you really enjoy Vortex in this you have my husband to thank.
Back on the farm, Onslaught began to learn the meaning of the term 'saddle sore' in the short amount of time he had spent directing his horse from the barn to following Joshlynn out into the pasture. He missed the ground. The ground was stable and reliable; it didn't wiggle and make him flail as if his spine were a spring while he tried to maintain balance. And thanks to the teen's earlier explanation, the ground didn't fart.
Brawl appeared as if he were riding a cruiser motorcycle with his left arm swaying limply at his side. His body seemed so in-tune with the lumbering motion of his mount that Onslaught believed he had fallen asleep in the warm afternoon sun; but the slag eating grin gave away the former tank's amped excitement.
"Two of a kind," thought Onslaught.
Joshlynn halted fifty yards from the herd of steers and cows with their newborn calves. Biscuit dumbly parked himself next to Bonita and bent down to snag a mouthful of grass and helped himself to another when he realized his rider wasn't going to discourage him. Jasper joined them but took an extra step ahead of the filly; the pinto's ears flattened on her neck and she gave a mock snap at the gelding.
Onslaught went rigid and grabbed the saddle horn for dear life, expecting the behemoth to accept the challenge; Jasper merely scooted two steps to the side and relaxed. When he realized he wasn't about to go for a wild ride the decepticon shot the girl a frustrated look. His 'boss' hadn't broken her focus on the herd to address her horse's behavior but he did note that she had tighten the reins and pulled to the right to inhibit Bonita from making a comeback.
The silence stretched just as long as the landscape in the sizzling afternoon; a horse fly buzzed by Onslaught's head and the tips of Jasper's tail whipped his shoulder. He shifted his gaze at the teen and could see her lips moving as she muttered to herself. Watching her stare at the bovines made him think of his old commanders back in the day when they scanned the enemy on the battlefield from a hill and decided their strategy. Interesting that she seemed capable of the notion of assessing a strategic plan, but the amount of time she was taking was disgraceful; even Brawl peered at her in question.
"Do you plan for us to cook under this sun out here while you stare at those dumb animals?" Growled Onslaught.
Joshlynn visibly flinched and retorted, "Excuse me, I'm just trying to figure out how to move dozens of stubborn cows with their young to a narrow gate with two lumbering draft horses, two cowpunchers with no experience, and only one horse that has any cow sense."
Onslaught scoffed, "I don't know what you mean by cowpuncher but as a commander in the military, my specialty is strategy."
The teen cast him an annoyed face, "So what, that don't apply here. Folks may joke that people act dumb like a herd of cattle but there are differences with them, different body languages. The danger with them is getting trampled or impaled instead of them learning how to operate a firearm."
"Excuse me, but who are you to say…"
Brawl cut off his cybertronian commander, "Do they like to bunch up?"
Joshlynn cocked a brow to the rim of her hat, "What do you mean bunch up?"
"They prefer to stick together rather than scatter right?"
"Yessssss," she hissed uncomfortably.
"Well move the whole herd to the corral and we'll removed the ones we don't want."
"Yes but how we move such a large group is the biggest problem, both of your horse's are slow. They're Belgians, they're use to pulling heavy carts and plows without thinking, they ain't expected to execute commands quickly. I could make you two flank either side of the herd but your horse couldn't move fast enough to lead the front and control deserters in the middle or back."
"But yours can, I take it."
Joshlynn nodded, "She'll chase them back like a shepherd but I need to be a dragger making the stubborn ones keep up with the rest."
Brawl pondered with a hand on his chin and surveyed the fence line leading to the barnyard and grinned. "The gate we need to get them through is in the fence that connects to the fence line they are standing next to right?"
Joshlynn nodded.
"So all we need to do is drive them along the fence back towards the house, up against the corner and down along the perpendicular fence to the gate. We'll be flankers along the front and middle of one side and the fence will control the other side, so they can only keep moving straight forward and you can handle the more troublesome back."
Onslaught's jaw dropped. WHEN THE SLAG COULD BRAWL FORM A STRATEGY, LET ALONE A PLAN! Joshlynn's face read as if she just had experienced an epiphany and she smiled honestly with a nod and dashed off to open the gate before getting into position.
Brawl shouted after her, "And make sure the gate swings into here so it blocks them from just continuing walking along the fence!"
"Got it!"
Brawl slouched in the saddle smugly as if Primus himself were patting his back, but was cut short once locking eyes with Onslaught. "Wut?"
"What the slag is going on! Of all the scrap going on with our bodies; you coming up with a believable lie in the barn, having somewhat of an idea on how to control that brute, and now you're suggesting strategies to young humans, and you have no clue…"
"But I didn't lie in the barn, I do know how to ride, and if those creatures over there behave like sheepacrons then I do have an idea of what I'm doing."
The statement took the punch out of Onslaught's plasma, "What do you mean, explain quickly before that glitch gets back here."
"I thought glitch was only reserved for Vortex."
"Explain."
Brawl scratched the back of his head, "Well before joining the military, let alone the decepticons, I lived a few kliks from Yuss with my creator. We had a flock of sheepacrons I was in charge of guarding and herding while they drew steel out of the soil or while being transported to market. They like to group together for safety but have a dumb habit of wandering off and getting lost. Spent much of my time wandering in the middle of nowhere searching for something as dumb as me."
Onslaught gave him a dismissive hand, "Okay I don't need your life story, how do you know how to," he clicked his tongue for the word as Joshlynn anchored the open gate. "How to ride?"
The former tank beamed and gave Biscuit's shoulder a pat, "Oh these guys handle just like the zap-pony I had working with the sheepacrons. She was the absolute best! Clever at her work, smoothest ride you could ever have, and just was sweet as could be. I'd wax her all pretty in vehicle form before going into town, made all the meches envious, picked up a few femmes too." Onslaught rolled his eyes as Brawl chuckled giddily to himself but he abruptly turned solemn.
"It was the worst time of my life when I had to sell her. We were low on reserves and waiting to go to the market for pay day when we lost most of the flock in the bombings. What we made from the leftovers could only cover our taxes." He brushed the gelding's mane, "I sold her the next cycle so my creator could have enough rations to last him an orbital cycle, then found a military recruiter and left. Most meches my age were leaving town anyway for a piece of action or glory in the war. I had a form that could be converted to a war build, thought I'd join and make something of a living for myself since the bombed area became too dangerous for sheepacrons, with the acid waste and all ."
Onslaught stared in realization, 'It all makes sense, no wonder he's so dumb. He never had a proper education out in the Stixs. Simple life, simple mind.'
As if Brawl heard his thoughts the warrior responded, "I know I'm not bright or clever, but I know herding work, and I definitely know what I am doing here. Just guide Jasper along the middle and let his size intimidate them from breaking from formation."
Brawl jingled the reins, taking Biscuit from his snacks, and directed the equine to the herd. Jasper absentmindedly followed when he didn't receive orders; Onslaught sat on his back in shock at the situation. The end of the world was indeed close, this had to be a sign.
Joshlynn and Bonita waited at the tail end for them to get in position before giving the horse free rein. The filly gave a curt snort and pressed forward; most of the cows and their calves immediately shuffled along but one stubborn mother attempted the opposite. Brawl rotated in the saddle with a grin and encouraged Onslaught to do the same, "Watch this, my old zap pony use to do this."
Onslaught dramatically groaned and rolled his eyes as he turned around. Back on cybertron he never visited the zap ponies used in the cavalry, they never interested him as they were nothing more than beasts of burden that lumbered forward only when promised fuel. This opinion quickly became challenged.
The painted horse before him suddenly behaved like an overgrown herding dog that neighed. The horse met the cow head on and spun or jumped side to side, blocking the determine bovine from escaping. When the cow made up its mind that it wasn't getting away, it turned heel and pushed its calf with the group. Brawl gave out a joyful holler and encouraged Biscuit to a trot. Onslaught remained rooted in confusion.
"Don't just stand there make'n a gap for them to bolt through bigger than your gaping jaw. I will make you round them up all by yourself if you dawdle!" snapped the teen. Jasper lumbered forward at her bark, Onslaught stared at her in bewilderment at her sudden drill sergeant like manner.
The work was slow and they moved like an accordion played by a musician who mistook it for a slinky. Brawl lead the group in a casual stroll while Bonita drove the rear in a dash, making Onslaught almost crash into Brawl only to have Biscuit buck forward and make gaps between them with cattle slipping out that the pinto chased after like an angry sharkatron. As the filly wrangled the stragglers, Brawl struggled to stop the leading cattle from continuing forward.
Onslaught sat with Jasper and did nothing. "The they drum to their own beat, that's the problem" he silently muttered in his head. The former anti-aircraft truck's patience evaporated in the stagnant heat as he waited until all the cattle were regrouped.
"Before we start this again, I'm directing you two if you need to increase or decrease speed; I'm in the middle and I rather not be crushed to death! You," he pointed at Joshlynn, "control that thing so you don't tailgate me. Brawl, slagging speed up, you had this same slagging problem during morning marches and drill back on the Nemesis. I'M SICK OF IT, GOT IT?!"
He turned and noticed the color had drained from the former tank's face. Brawl had stared him down countless times when he had one of his murderous outbursts in the past. Why did he look so worried now?
"What?!"
Brawl blinked like snapping from a spell and stuttered, "Noth… nothing Rooooory." He stretched his commander's alias."
Onslaught angrily cocked a brow at him before suddenly feeling like Brawl's vehicle mode had been dumped on him. Scrap.
Primus suddenly had an influx of a million prayers and curses inflicted on him all at once as Onslaught realized. 'No, no please no. I did not say that, I'm the leader, I'm suppose to be perfect. It did not hear that, it's too stupid to comprehend. Scrap, scrap, SCARP!' he silently screamed as he turned to face Joshlynn.
The teen wore a poker face. Frag, they'd have to kill the fleshling, out here in a barren field with no one else around to witness. They could stage it like an accident, have the cattle trample the corpse to make it believable. No that wouldn't work, she was the most knowledgeable of this job; Gilbert would probably have an easier time believing he or Brawl were killed on the job. Slag, skipping town did seem the best option, but they'd have to dispose of her on their way out, hide the body under the porch.
Joshlynn slowly reached behind her near the saddle bag without breaking eye contact. Expecting a pistol, both men tense from a millennia of combat experience and fight instinct. Both soon puzzled when it was revealed to be a bullwhip.
*CRACK*
The boom echoed above their heads, livestock and humans alike now stunned and alert on her. Even Bonita's stubbornness wavered. "We ain't paying you to have a tea party! Get the fuck back to work!"
Either she misheard things like her grandfather or she was playing dumb to save her own skin. Either way it seemed like a silent agree to not acknowledge the shuttle in the room. The three got back into formation and resumed their transition. However, the teen now gave Onslaught a wide berth and tightly held the whip where he could see it. Brawl's original plan worked but it took forever before each hoof was accounted for in the corral. He could visibly see her give a sigh of relief as she dismounted.
"All right, let's give them some hay and water, and unsaddle the horses. Then you can have a lunch break."
Brawl smiled from ear to ear at the promise of food as he slid off Biscuit and fiddled with the billet strap. Onslaught tried to dismount but despite being six feet tall, the ground was still a long way down from his perch and he slipped, snagging his ankle in the stirrup. The four legged, gentle giant paid him no mind and sluggishly walked to Brawl and nudge him in the back. The former tank smiled and scratched him behind the ears before noticing his commander in the dirt and the slithering belly trail.
"What are you doing down there boss?"
Onslaught angrily drummed his fingers in the dirt at his subordinate before disconnecting himself, and stomped into the barn. Thank primus he knew what hay was as he grabbed two square bales.
He marched back to the herd in a foul mood, but paused to watch Joshlynn. His 'boss' had managed to lift the rusted handle of the well pitcher pump by wedging herself under it and stretching her limbs outward, but now she struggled to close it. She tried tugging it down to the point that her arms shook like little cables from the fatigue, but now had reverted to chucking her whole body weight against it. Unfazed, the iron handle remained steadfast.
The combaticon leader had to suppress a scoff, earlier on her horse she gave the impression of being a force to be reckoned with but that all disappeared in an instant. Swindle, the physically weakest of the bunch, could probably fling her over his shoulder like a sack and drag her off with minimal effort. Why had he felt threatened by her earlier?
His body jerked backwards as something tugged on the hay in his hand. Onslaught found himself face to face with a hungry cow. More began to advance on his position and he flung both bales as he felt a slimy tongue brush his hand. Disgusting, but that didn't stop them, the enemy swarmed, encircling him that he had to resort to jumping over the water trough. It made a nice barrier that drew their attention until they noticed it was empty. Multiple beady black eyes glared back at him and an assault of demanding moos quickly crescendoed that was on par or worse than Swindle's, Blastoff's, and Vortex's whining combined.
"Enough, I'm working on it," snarled the teen who dumped her dead weight on the pump.
"Move," he growled as he shoved her away.
"Hey, excuse you!"
He didn't bother looking at her. "You're holding us up, I want this done so I can have a break."
Joshlynn contemplated a response on his attitude but abruptly switched gears when Brawl caught her attention, "What in the sam hill?! Don't dump those saddles and blankets on the ground, are you this disrespectful of your field equipment in the army? Didn't your commander teach you any better?! Here, let me help you, and don't try to pull those bits out of their mouths, you'll damage their teeth and lips. Let them spit em out."
Onslaught gave a visible sigh, 'yes, go yell at him, pay no attention to the one plotting your demise.'
An ear splitting squeak trailed from the hinge as he managed to close the handle. The cattle bellowed louder at the insufficient amount of water that trickled out. He tried again, a slosh entered the trough but the cows looked unamused and closed in on him. He pumped vigorously as fast as his squishy body would allow, with a young calf headbutting his thigh.
Give him the ring of bullets, the thundering explosion of shells, the panicked screams of meches, but primus deliver him from this bizarre reality of furry, alien creatures touching him with slimy tentacle like glossas while wrestling a pump that creaked louder than Alpha Trion's ancient joints!
"Hey, hey bugger off!" Joshlynn shooed the bovines from him, waving the whip in a rolling motion. "Don't let them crowd you like that, that's dangerous. Ranchers have died from hungry cows encircling them and then accidentally suffocating or trampling them because they're so tightly together. Cows don't do it on purpose; they're not spatially aware. Be careful."
Onslaught glared down his nose at her.
"The phrase you are looking for is 'thank you for saving my sorry excuse of a life," she growled as she marched to her saddle and retrieved her lunch sack from the pouch. Both Belgians perked with interest as she sat on top of the corral fence and greeted her with curious sniffs, Jasper attempted to snatch her bag. "Back off boys, back off," she pulled out a carrot, snapped it in half, and gave it to them.
Brawl's eyes twinkled as he dug in his sack and repeated the action with his carrot and went back for more. Joshlynn quirked a brow at him, "Whoa, whoa dude, don't feed em your sandwiches, the tuna will make them sick." The former tank paused midway in splitting his ration.
The teen continued, "If you're so inclined to feed them I'll show you how when it is closer to supper time." Brawl grinned and took a seat next to her on the fence, she inched away. Too close for comfort.
The decepticon scratched Biscuit behind the ears, "You said earlier these guys do nothing but drag things?"
"They were bred to haul large cargo and do strenuous farm work. In medieval times they were highly prized for carrying heavy armored knights into battle."
Brawl strained his brain to the max, picturing the massive equine as a fearsome mount that thundered as it charged into the battlefield. He tried to imagine Biscuit chasing down the minibots and biting their exhaust pipes and bumpers.
The gelding yawned while shaking his bangs out of his eyes before dropping to his knees and rolling to his side in the dirt.
"But now, they just do odd jobs on the farms, and eat and sleep."
The horse's tail flicked as he let out a massive flatulence.
"That too."
Onslaught wrinkled his nose. His job description involved living in the elements of alien worlds and part of the territory meant cleaning dusty terrain coating his armor. However, coming into contact with Earth's inferior biological features was an entirely new experience that had left his armor uncomfortably hugging his protoform, not as bad as Blastoff though.
This alien horror included leaves and twigs that wedged painfully in transformation seems, bugs caught in grills and intake valves, municipal sludge and bird droppings on paint jobs, algae and salt water, and cleaning the remnants of some crushed creature from the bottom of pedes and wheels.
Or if you were Vortex, removing the gory human remains after playing spam in a can. The last one had become such a common occurrence that Onslaught had rejected the copter power washer privileges and had resorted to having Blastoff towing the maniac on a cable and dragging him submerged along the ocean surface just to clean him. It saved them water in the desert but Onslaught now began to fear that the interrogator was enjoying his modified bath too much.
Back to the present, he had become part of this organic matter engulfing this mud ball planet. Gone were his internal fans for cooling; slimy liquid leaked from his skin that trapped dirt and hay. Particles in the air now tickled his olfactory senses and caused him to abruptly and violently expel air. His sense of touch even now made him feel the humidity that at times he felt like he was swimming through it, this included the horses' gas now wafting around him. Humans lived in this, flourished in it, it was a part of them and they were a part of it. His body was now a part of it; but, his mind hadn't caught up with that foreign fact.
"Hey boss," Brawl called to him, "Get your lunch and join us!"
"I'd rather not."
"Really, don't you feel like you need to refuel?"
The suspicious expression returned to the girl's features, Onslaught closed the distance between them, composing his voice to correct any damage Brawl was causing. "No thank you, I'm not HUNGRY right now." His stomach wrenched in an uproar of gurgles and groans as he finished his sentence.
"Are you trying to convince us or yourself?" asked Joshlynn.
"I'm fine," his stomach screamed in protest again.
Joshlynn paused from her sandwich, "Bull fucking shit!" Onslaught and Brawl both remained rooted in their place at the foreign expression. Was that a curse? Yeah that seemed to be some earthling curse. "I damn well don't believe you, you haven't had anything to eat since supper haven't you. You didn't eat or drink anything at breakfast this morning, I saw."
Onslaught fought the urge to destroy the nosy witness and struggled to keep his voice calm, "Thank you for your concern but I can take care of myself."
"Can you? Not that I personally care about your well being but my papa didn't hire you just for you to keel over on us while working. At the very least drink some water."
Onslaught crossed his arms and Joshlynn rose, her feet and legs locking onto the fence, allowing her to loom over him. "I ain't have use for useless men, I need a team to take care of this place. If you injure or incapacitate yourself by not caring for yourself, not my fucking problem and you will get fired."
The safety of their bedrooms vanished as the words left her mouth, that little eavesdropper. The combaticon commander yanked the sandwich from his bag and angrily bit a large chuck. Satisfied the girl turned back to the horses and Brawl, and resumed her more plucky conversation.
Onslaught kept munching his sandwich defiantly at her. Admittedly it didn't taste awful and his abdomen seemed grateful. But the concept of the ordeal was just wrong.
Blastoff hobbled back into town from the west end. Woe unto him, life kept getting worse. Dragged into a war, lost his original body, stuffed into a crude alien machine carcass, and forced to merge with an idiotic team. Now, stuffed into a squishy alien carcass that was stuck in an uncultured, troglodyte town in the middle of nowhere, and most likely was going to have to work for some low life that was dumber than his spark sibling.
He had fallen far from grace, and how the universe kept regarding him, he was going to keep falling even further. What in the slag had possessed him to even consider visiting the bus yard that had placed him in the predicament of dragging himself to the east side of town to their meager dwellings.
''''''''''"""""""""""
A large, old tree on the plot next to him offered an inviting shadow, he slumped against the trunk and slid to the ground like a rag doll. He removed his glasses to clean the red dust coating the lens, but his equally dusty and sweaty shirt left smudges. 'Great, more bad luck.' It was bad enough that out of the five he had to rely on the fragile contraption to see, he the sniper and navigator. Maybe he could train himself to see without them, just enough to get by. He tried to read the building's sign next to the tree. 'Focus, focus, you can do this.'
Through his eyes the scene before him resembled as if trying to see scenery from a lake's moving reflection. His head began to hurt and he slipped his glasses back on. Where did that kid find these, and how did she know he needed glasses?
He could clearly read the sign now and surprisingly to his delight it implanted a small sliver of hope in him. As he approached the glass front doors of the quaint brick building, he could see aisles of bookshelves and secluded study areas. Well maybe this town did offer some aspects of culture he grinned as he grabbed the handle.
Locked, 'closed on Sunday' read the door.
Blastoff slammed his head against the library glass. What backwards town closed the doors of an educational institution any day of the week?! One ray of happiness and now that was gone. He gave a defeated whine, his fingertips clawed at the door frame in an attempt to try to weasel closer to the one place that could offer him some comfort.
"Uh sir, can I help you?" squeaked a milquetoast voice.
The former shuttle froze, his left eye twitching, 'What now.'
As he turned to the voice's owner he recognized the timid woman from the church parking lot that had handed him a sack. She cast her gaze to his shoes, her lenses catching the full glare of the sun hiding her eyes, and her bangs further acting as a barrier.
"I uh, sir we're closed, could you please cease… please... we'll be open tomorrow, could…..could you wait till then?" She remained locked onto his shoes, but her fidgeting amplified.
Though she nearly rivaled Blastoff's commander in height, she nervously hunched and was so slim she could have disappeared behind a street light. Even in this human form he could crush her like an insect, just as easily as if he were in his true superior form. But doing that would be inexpedient, she was so weak and pathetic, why waste the energy.
The glare on her lens shifted to reveal a curious brown eye. "Sir?"
"Hey James! Fancy bumping into you here, are you on your way back to the Jones's house?" Swindle waved from the path leading to them.
The woman's apprehension seemed to spike as he approached.
"How did the bus job go?" grinned Swindle. His answer came in the form of an icy stare. "That good huh?"
"Gentlemen," squeaked the anxious female voice, "The library is closed today, pu pu please come back tomorrow." She was back to staring at Blastoff's shoes.
Swindle feigned concern, "Oh terribly sorry, we'll be right on our way, right James."
The sniper was snubbing the librarian as a Victorian lord of the manor would to a scullery maid.
"James," the merchant gritted his teeth.
Blastoff lazily glared back at him before walking the path away from the property, ignoring both of them pointedly.
"Don't mind him it's the heat, he's generally aloof but is usually better about his manners. Good day!" Swindle left her with a polite nod before chasing after his fellow decepticon. "You mind telling me what all that was about!" he whispered a hiss at the tallest of the combaticons.
Blastoff kept waking without an answer; Swindle pondered 'What would Vortex do?' "Hey four eyes I'm talking to you!"
The towering man screeched to a halt and loomed over him, "What do you want, you have already thrown me under the bus."
"No not under, drive. What was going on back there?"
"Nothing, I tried going in, only to discover it was closed, then that quivering welp merely confirmed my notion and you showed up."
"No I meant, why out of the five of us who always conducts himself in etiquette and proper manners," Swindle said in a mock British accent, "suddenly adopts an egregious behavior to a defenseless femme."
"Because she was weak, nothing more than organic detritus. What's gotten into you suddenly defending human femmes, you've never struck me as the chivalrous type."
"I follow the philosophy of being polite to aliens until they threaten you, never know when you can strike a good deal. You were acting hostile when she was just being polite, if one of the locals instead of me had shown up, things could have gone sour quickly. If you go back there tomorrow you will have to interact with her and first impressions do matter" Swindle snubbed his nose at Blastoff and continued back to their base of operations.
A frustrated sigh snorted from the navigator, "Scrap, I'm sick of this mudball let alone circumstances."
"So I take it you didn't get the bus job?"
"Worse, I did get it, but I rejected it, what about you."
"Rory won't be pleased with that."
"He can deal with it, I still have until tomorrow afternoon to find employment. The bus job is still open," he grimaced, "I can fall back on it if I have to. What did you find?"
"Strangely nothing is open today, the only dealership I found was for tractors and combines, I'm going to try there tomorrow."
Blastoff nodded and they traveled in agreed silence.
""""""""""""""""
The oddities failed to cease after lunch. After separating the calves from their mothers, Joshlynn instructed the two decepticons to pin a calf to the ground and hold its hind legs apart. From there she would take a pocket knife and make a small incision near a furry mound in the groin and gently squeeze out two fleshy orbs. A pair of forceps acted like a tourniquet as she quickly snipped the orbs off and chucked them into a bucket. The area was promptly washed, instrument removed, and the calf was released to rejoin its mother, only for them to grab another. What in the slag was this outlandish practice? Did all of these young cows have tumors?
For a meche who didn't like to dirty his servos, even with rawhide gloves on, Onslaught had almost had enough of dodging failing hooves, wrestling young quadrupede aliens, and coming into contact with bovine bodily fluids. Brawl reveled in his work, scratching their chins while the girl worked; he even took the initiative of trying his hand at the removal task.
"There, last one boys," Joshlynn's forearm rubbed her brow as she stood. The calf wobbled disoriently to its feet but charged after her. The girl grabbed him by the root of his ears to stop him. "Sorry bud, it sucks, but it's over, go back to momma."
The young steer headbutted her in the stomach and dragged her off in a bull ride gone bad. The two decepticons stood motionless, watching the ordeal as their boss tried to gain the upper hand while screaming.
"She's so scrawny, it's like watching Rumble tackling Ravage," mumbled Brawl. Onslaught replied with an eye roll.
"But," continued the former tank, "you can't but help like her determination and stubbornness. This reminds me of when I was first learning how to shear the iron filings off sheepacrons. I had this particular one that…."
"I don't give a scrap to hear about it," Onslaught grumbled quietly, "and this creature's stubbornness could be its undoing."
"If she survives doing this day to day in this primus forsaken place she's got my respect," Brawl shrugged and calmly walked over to rescue the teen.
Onslaught took a swig of his canteen as his subordinate rescued and hauled the protesting girl over his shoulder.
"There ya go," the burly man plopped her on the ground that even made the decepticon commander wince. Was it possible for humans to break their afts?
"WHAT THE SAM HILL! I ain't ah sack of potatoes you jack wagon!"
Brawl cocked his head dumbly, "Any more work for us today boss?"
Did he really have to call it that, Onslaught felt an internal growl build but that train of thought quickly departed upon noticing Joshlynn's murderous glare at the half wit. Maybe there were some things they could relate to.
The teen struggled to her feet, "Clean the horses' stalls and that should be it."
"And you'll teach me how to feed them too, right?" The heavy weapons specialist bounced his shoulders in excitement.
"Why should I, you bout broke mah tailbone!" Joshlynn sighed, "Fine, just shovel any dropp'ns you see in the stalls and dump some fresh straw. I'll be back." She grabbed the bucket of 'cow tumors' and hobbled back to the house.
Brawl shrugged and entered the barn, Onslaught followed with a groan and slumped against a stall side.
"Joshlynn said shovel right?" asked Brawl as he browsed a wall array of tools.
Onslaught opened one of his eyes to a slit, "Does it really matter how? Just remove any waste you see."
The former tank shrugged, grabbed a snow shovel and began scooping dirty hay into the breezeway. He grinned, "I was afraid this job would be unpleasant but I've been having fun, like the old days before joining the military."
Onslaught snapped out of his lazy trace, his eyes becoming bloodshot, and stared incredulously at his subordinate. "FUN?! Fun he says. This is work designated for labor drones! Furthermore, that young human's suspicion of us is getting worse. For our safety we might have to take her out."
"Where are we taking her?"
The decepticon officer face palmed and breathed a strained sigh, "Offline her."
Brawl paused thoughtfully, "She isn't that bad. Also boss, aren't you supposed to be helping me?"
"No, I'm still your commander and I only accepted this offer to set an example and to keep an optic on you to make sure you didn't say anything stupid to cause more trouble."
Brawl replied, "But I didn't do anything wrong today. You screwed up and made her suspicious by using my name." His commander cracked his knuckles; the speed of hay flinging increased.
Just as Onslaught was about to settle back into his power nap a squeaking wheel approached. Joshynn came pushing something to them, "Hey guys, when you are done with a tool don't leave it outside, I found the wheelbarrow outside and….. wait, you guys ain't done yet?!"
A scoop of hay launched out of the stall, Brawl poked his head out, "I'm going as fast as I can!"
"Dude, don't dump it in the walkway that's gross. How are you two not done, this shouldn't take that much time." she parked the wheelbarrow next to the pile and grabbed a pitchfork. "Dump it in here and take it out to the pile out back." She began frantically shoveling dirty bedding in the wheelbarrow.
Brawl tensed, "Boss, what are you doing?"
"What does it look like, if we don't get this done we're gonna to get an earful from my papa and we won't get to eat until the horses get their supper. Just cause I'm in charge doesn't mean I shouldn't pitch in and do my part if others need help." She paused and slowly rotated her head towards Onslaught, unblinking. "Rory, show me your palms."
The combaticon commander complied with a grimace, only to jolt from his drowsy haze when a pole was slammed into his hands. Joshlynn stood before him and pointed to the stall, "You, you're on shit shoveling duty. Come on Tony let's go fetch the horses, brush em up, and get some grub in them. They did most of the work today." As she and Brawl left the barn, Onslaught nearly snapped the handle over his knee. Slag that little glitch, forget killing her to save their human skins, he'd do it at this point to silence her.
When they returned Brawl was on cloud nine as he lead Jasper by the halter.
"Tony don't walk directly in front of him, if he gets spooked he'll charge and turn ya into a pizza. Hold em up to your side, yeah like that." Once they secured the giant brute's halter with a rope on either side in the breezeway the teen then began demonstrating how to brush his coat, pick the hooves clean, comb the main and tail, the safest way to move around the horse's hindquarters, the ratio mixture of oats and alfalfa for his dinner, and how to move him if in the event he stomped on anyone's feet.
"Ya get all that?" She was met with the biggest ear to ear grin. "Good, I'll put Jasper up and I think you can take care of Biscuit on your own while I bring in the saddles."
Onslaught peered through the stall's grill to see the former tank smiling like a child that got a gold star from the teacher. When could Brawl ever do anything unsupervised, it was like letting a loose cannon into the world. A fortified loose cannon with treads to go anywhere it chose.
"Hey Rory, is Biscuit and Bonita's stalls done?" said the teen as she hung up the horses' tack.
"Yes," he growled as he dumped fresh hay on the floor.
"Good, Biscuit is almost ready and I'll handle Bonita. She is persnickety of who handles her. There is a pile on the west side of the barn, just wheel out and dump everything in it and bring the cart back and we can call it a day."
Onslaught left without a scowl or complaint but did not alter his course to avoid banging into her with a pile of road apples. He visibly smiled with his back to her as she yelled in displeasure at his boundaries of personal space; switching between english and some guttural language.
""""""""""""""""""
Swindle and Blastoff had crossed the small town in agreed silence, their footsteps becoming somewhat tender as their souls had not fully recovered from their long trek yesterday in dress shoes. The air conditioning greeted them through the front threshold of the house and offered a much welcomed relief.
Naomi failed to notice their presence as she straightened silverware on the table for dinner and disappeared back into the kitchen. Gilbert waved with his cane from his armchair, "Welcome back boys, how did the job hunt go?"
Both answer with strained groans.
"That good huh? Well take a load off on the couch, the weather should be on soon."
The two glanced at each other with a shrug and made their way into the living room. Swindle poked his head through the window that connected to the kitchen to see the old woman fussing over a gas stove. "Uh Naomi, could we get two waters please."
She paused from her work, "Why sure, you know you boys are welcome to help yourselves in the kitchen. Just clean after yourself and don't break anything." She snatched two glasses from a cupboard and met him at the faucet. Swindle watched intently, 'so that's where she's getting it, no more river water for me'.
"Thank you, I didn't know where everything was and didn't feel it would be polite to go rummaging through your things."
"Oh bless your little heart, please feel free to help yourselves, especially for a drink. It gets so hot here."
The arms dealer replied with a nod and grabbed the glasses and passed one to Blastoff who had taken a seat on one end of the couch. Scratch that, he looked like he had melted into the cushion out of weariness despite its itchy, velour texture. The former shuttle unintentionally bumped a metal bar between his seat cushion and armrest; the bottom side of the couch swept his legs up in a reclined position.. It looked as if Paul Bunyan had slipped backwards on the couch with his long legs over shadowing the footrest; his drink jostled and spilled as he held it over his head. Blastoff glared at Swindle. 'Don't you dare say a word or ever let this get out' read his eyes.
Swindle stifled a snicker to himself, 'oh don't worry Blasty I've got worse blackmail of you on a trailer on my phone'.
The two settled in their seats to watch the outdated television screen adorned with rabbit ears. The experience didn't feel as much of a charade; it paralleled one of the many winding down evenings in the commons of their desert base.
Gilbert rubbed his chin intently as the screen showed the weather for this week, "Hot'n dry, hot'n dry, hot'n dry, chance for violent thunderstorms. Could use the rain but hopefully we don't get any twisters this year."
The weather report faded and the news from a town square appeared. A familiar man blared on the speakers, "Marty Minkler here for a historic occasion, we are reporting to you live for the second reopening of this statue dedication to commemorate the leader of the autobots, Optimus Prime!" The two decepticons on the couch could see Cliffjumper, Ironhide, Prowl, and a human swat team securing the area from another repeat incident.
The camera pitched upward showing Jazz with oversized golden scissors cutting the ribbon securing the sheet; the crowds joyful cheers crescendoed along with the marching band. The cloth slid off in the breeze, the shouting and clapping faltered; there in all its glory stood the statue, with a last minute patchwork on the holes the combaticons blasted in it. Swindle and Blastoff had to cover their mouths to smother the snickers threatening to erupt out loud. Their hands had become unsteady, spilling sloshes of water in their laps; making it look like they had pissed themselves while trying to contain mad laughter.
The camera panned left to the rally stage where Prime kneeled behind a podium. To the human eye the autobot leader read as strong and humble; but to the two decepticons that faced millennia of reading the body language of cybertronians with face plates and visors, it was painfully obvious that the great leader was uncomfortable, if not a smidge embarrassed.
Optimus leaned into the microphone and spoke, "I would like to thank everyone here that made this celebration possible, from our event security, our supporters," he paused for a nano-klik. The two combaticons could see part of his spark die in his optics as he finished, "And to Doña Cecilia Giménez for repairing the statue."
Gilbert began angrily waving his cane and said, "Why in the sam hill are they commemorating a machine for corns sake. It don't have emotions or a soul, it's not human. Do you boys believe what they're show'n us? And they say this thing is an alien from space, of all the nonsense. It's a conspiracy I tell ya, those are some sorta fandangled model of weapon being controlled far away to make people believe it has a soul. Then those damn Commies in Russia stole our country's technology and made those evil other robots and cause all this violence in the world. And you know why?"
Swindle and Blastoff sat like deer in headlights and shook their heads in unison.
"To make the price of gold go up." The elderly man stumbled from his arm chair and shuffled to the kitchen muttering to himself.
Swindle turned to his comrade questionly, "I can't figure out why Onslaught is so paranoid about these guys, even if we told them the truth they wouldn't believe in us and probably think we were hit in the head."
Blastoff sipped his drink, maybe but he didn't feel like testing that theory.
""""""""""""""""""""""
It was the golden hour; the sun was still a ways off from the horizon but that didn't stop the sky from transforming itself into a canvas of bright, erratic colors that would have caught the gaze, breath, and serenity from anyone. But Onslaught was not anyone, he was a chess piece on a chutes and ladders board who was angrily slinging livestock shit with a shovel onto a man made mountain of poop; whilst cursing to Primus in what would be his native tongue. But cybertronian was not developed to be pronounced by organic vocal cords; which added further insult to injury.
The sharp stinging under his gloves made him pause; red welts had formed in various areas of his palms and the muscles were painfully sore. How much more abuse could this squishy body take; how did any human survive this line of work?
He kicked the wheelbarrow on its side, spilling the rest of the contents, and began to push it back into the barn. The silhouette of pointed ears along the barbed wire perimeter caught his attention. A coyote trotted off as it realized it was spotted. Onslaught shook his head, he had enough of Earth's creatures for one day; he'd give anything for his twin cannons back to blast everything in a 10 mile radius.
Brawl and Joshlynn were waiting for him at the entrance, "Congrats, you survived your first day, let's go wash up and have some supper."
The chickens were beginning to roost for the night as they made their way back to the house. A brown avian blur darted across their path into the adjacent maretails.
"Wow, that thing is fast. Wish I had my rifle, trying to hit that would be a fun challenge," said Brawl.
Joshlynn answered him with a stern face, "Neither of you are to harm that roadrunner, he keeps poisonous snakes off our property. Not to mention, he's a good omen to have around."
"A good omen?" scoffed Onslaught.
The teen glanced up at him, "Roadrunner deters evil spirits with his zig zag tracks. Look at his footprints, they're perfect 'X's, if ya'll hadn't seen him ya couldn't tell which direction he was coming from or going.
"I fail to understand why this is important."
Joshlynn paused for a moment, "You're military, maybe you might appreciate this one. Roadrunner is considered a symbol of war and a respected warrior because he strikes so fast and you can't follow his retreat because the tracks look the same. Not a bad strategy to implement."
Onslaught gave her an unamused look, "You rely on inferior beings to develop battle strategies."
"Many cultures do that, where do you think the Romans got the idea for the testudo formation, the Zulu with the buffalo horn formation, the crane formation using turtle ships? The Greeks showed cockerels fighting to inspire young soldiers; come on, take your pick."
A rooster's battle cry erupted from the front yard. Curiously, the three walked to the side of the house and just as they were about to round the last corner, Mr. Pepper scurried past in a hurry. Odd, the old bird came across as being bumptious, what spooked him. Joshlynn disappeared around the corner only to reappear with an ear splitting scream and stumbling backwards into the two combaticons.
Footsteps crunching dead grass and the moist smell of iron approached from the front. Vortex calmly emerged into view. His head, shoulders, and arms caked in blood; the three tensed.
"What's your problem," he asked, staring at the teen.
"You're covered in blood!" screeched Joshlynn.
Vortex indifferently inspected his hands and arms, "Oh that's ok it's not my blood."
"That doesn't make it any better!" She cautiously rose and scooted to the front porch.
The former copter's eyes followed her before shrugging and directing his attention to his commander with a genuine smile, "What? I got a job."
Onslaught and Brawl's eyebrows jumped in shock before tapping either their head or arms in indication.
"Oh this, yeah, well turns out you have to be in the right place at the right time. You know, everything in life is location, location, location... and proper drainage for blood of course. I'll fill you in on all the minor details later." He spun about heel for the front porch but a jet of cold water shot him in the face and he fell backwards.
Joshlynn stood over him with a deadpan frown and uncannily looked up at her new coworkers, "My grammie would skin me alive if I let him walk on in like this. Wipe your boots on the mat before you go in." Her fixated gaze returned to waterboarding the flailing interrogator.
"""""""""""""""""
Much to Onslaught's needed relief, the table manners of his squad had improved from the previous night. Whether it be that they were taking the importance of acting as humans seriously and trying to blend in or that they were getting more scheduled meals so their fuel tanks weren't running on empty resulting in ravenous behavior, he could not tell. They just seemed to enjoy this so called meatloaf and ketchup.
Yes, things moved more smoothly at the dinner table, until Vortex was introduced to Jello.
"""""""""""""""""
Onslaught marched down the hall to their rooms to wrangle all of them into the king bedroom; it was time for a status report. The humans had retired to their chambers upstairs, leaving the downstairs still and silent. Vortex's reddish eyes peered from the door frame of the shower chamber, "I have something to show you."
The combaticon leader froze, nothing good ever came from a gleeful Vortex harboring something that made him exuberantly too excited to present to others. This and he was next to the shower, which included the possibility that this something fell along the lines of mutilated gore in a convenient clean up system. The malodorous smell wafting from the room contributed to this theory.
"No, and you better not be up to your old games or it will land us into a world of trouble."
Vortex feigned a wound to the spark, "Ouch, you told me this morning to make myself useful and find a way to contribute to the team or else you would. Well I found an important fact pertaining to our function as humans. I've already shown the others, you're the last."
That took Onslaught off guard; Vortex stepped aside and motioned his arms to a white porcelain utility. As he approached to peer in the bowl, the wretched aroma increased. A brown log of shame floated innocently in the still water. The familiar sensation of something rising from his core to his throat began but Onslaught managed to suppress it. "What in the pit is that!"
Vortex's joy magnified, "I made it myself!"
The ill symptoms grew stronger as Vortex continued, "Since we've been eating all these organic meals I've wondered where it was going, didn't feel like it evaporated like energon. Thanks to my new job I got to see some internal workings of the squishies and thanks to my employer mentioning that if I needed to take, a, shit," he pointed to his latest creation, "where the bathroom was located, I put two and two together and TADA!"
Onslaught glowered back at him, sick enough to lose his dinner, "I don't get why you're so happy about doing something so shameful."
Vortex clapped him on the back and pressed an index finger against the taller man's lips, "Shhhhhh, don't worry, you'll understand when you have one of your own."
Onslaught slowly turned his head to glare his subordinate in the eye, "Did you wash those?"
Vortex's sinister grin amplified, "Shhhhh, if you have to ask, you can't afford to know."
"That is disgusting, get off me, I am never doing this!"
"Swindle, Brawl, and Blastoff said that; however, I wouldn't if I were you. The internal organs are designed with the idea that what goes in must come out; excreting is just as important as eating. For me personally, I'd rather not find out what happens if too much waste builds up in these bodies. Might have to go to a medic. A human medic. Asking questions. Lots of personal questions. About our human medical history."
Onslaught paled till he was on par with Megatron's armor.
Vortex gave him another pat, "There, there it isn't so bad and you can lock the door for privacy." His commander dislodged from his counterfeit, comforting embrace.
"I've had enough of removing waste for one day, I had to do it for four legged aliens, now I have to do it for myself, what more is there to these bodies!"
Vortex shrugged and flicked a lever on the water tank behind the bowl, the two seemed to sit mesmerized as the water swirled in a whirlpool and disappeared down the drain with the floater. "Neat isn't, nasty business but easy to clean." He sauntered out the door, "Only humans know what experiences we are missing, it would be useful to befriend one to help us, say Joshlynn? But I can assure you that each new thing we learn of our bodies, it will be horrific for you!" He cackled as he entered into the meeting room.
The decepticon officer stood in the bathroom frozen. Day two of being human; would he tempt fate and question what else could happen today. He robotically entered the dark hallway and was about to twist the door knob to his room when he felt a familiar presence, yellow eyes?
No, he jerked his head towards the end of the hall to the pitch black, dining room. A scrawny silhouette stood near him. Its head was slightly bent downward; bangs shadowing down to the nose but light from the bathroom created a reflective glint on a watchful eye. It held something obscured behind its back. Slag it, the obscurity of being changed into humans happened, why not be transported into an earthling horror film with an adolescent killer that the three rowdier combaticons watched when they thought they were being sneaky.
"What are you," came in a low growl.
Onslaught tensed and his mouth stammered before uttering a sound, "I beg your pardon." In the dim light he could see her hunker as if preparing to block or strike.
"None of you are what you say you are. What are you doing here?"
The officer glared down at her, "That is quite the accusation! As we said yesterday, we had a bout of misfortune and are stuck here. Believe me, we want nothing more than to get out of as soon as possible."
"A likely story, where are you heading to?"
The decepticon officer traced his tongue on the back of his upper teeth. The old male human said she grew up on an army base, maybe tying something familiar to her with their story would ease her suspicions and get her off their backs. He tried to remember of any military posts near the area, "We are on our way to Fort Carson when we had car troubles and pressed forward till we reached here."
The girl thinned her lips, "Liar."
"Excuse me?"
"If you were heading to Carson and your car broke before you reached here, you would have come from the east."
Onslaught crossed his arms and nodded confidently, "Yes, indeed."
"You came from the west."
The commander's shoulders drooped and he instinctively stepped back from her as if she had inflicted a strong hostile EMT wave on him.
There was a pause and the girl tilted her head, "You're not one who goes on all fours. Regardless don't any of you even dare harm a hair on my family; and whatever you brought with you, keep it away from us."
She slinked up the stairs never showing him her back. The boards creaked under her and a loud metallic clang tumbled down the stairs, mixed with a curse. An iron, frying pan clattered at the foot of the stairs; a hand poked into the hallway and snatched the handle, yanking the utensil out of view. Footsteps hustled up to the second floor.
A skillet, she had armed herself with a skillet, of all things. Against him, the greatest strategist in the entire decepticon empire that could crush her windpipe with a single servo, even in this form. Still, human horror movies had some truth; human sparklings were creepy.
Onslaught was not a meche that got scared or spooked or of similar nonsense, no he did not. That was not to say he didn't cautiously scoot to the door and mirror her actions as he entered his bedroom. 'Keep it away from us?'
He shut the door and spun to face the bed to see Blastoff on a cleanliness crusade against Brawl and Vortex who had removed their boots and touched various places of the sheets with them, leaving dirt crumbs that the former shuttle promptly swiped off. Physical violence manifested when the interrogator unwisely removed his sweaty socks and polished it on Blastoff's pillow. The sniper snagged his unruly comrade in a choke hold.
Brawl's and Swindle's jeers fueled the conflict.
"Attention!"
The four simultaneously turned their heads to him but made no indication to get into formation, Vortex gapped like a fish.
Onslaught huffed and what could be recorded for the first time, in several millennia, lost a smidge of his soldierly demeanor and drooped his shoulders. Even in these forms they never stopped heckling each other, and being organic made them even more irksome.
"Fall in now, report your human employment status, then you can retire for the night," he ordered, "and stop groaning you're still on duty."
They lazily picked themselves up and fell in a zigzag line at what couldn't even quality as an 'at ease' stance. Brawl was the least offender. Onslaught stalked along the row, nudging the front of their shoes back with the side of his boot to straighten their line. He was too tired to correct their mannerisms or posture tonight, but they were still servicemen and were going to still hold them to some standard. One day he'd train them to be real soldiers.
"Brawl I know you have a job, Swindle report."
Swindle fidgeted his shoulders, "Remember our fake names." His commander grimaced and nodded for him to proceed. "Currently have not found one."
This surprised everyone but Blastoff. Swindle had an innate ability for business and deals, surely he'd be the first to find work.
"But," recovered the con artist, "I found a dealership that was closed today I will try there tomorrow."
Vortex chimed in casualty, "My employer mentioned to me that businesses aren't supposed to be open on Sundays, so I'm not surprised if he didn't find work. My employer wasn't suppose to be working today and was doing it in secret."
Onslaught gave him an arched brow, "I don't believe you, that is too much of a ridiculous notion."
The interrogator shrugged, "I'm actually not making this up, he mentioned that today was the 'Sad bath', whatever that means, and said the pastor would get onto him and turn the town against him if he got caught working on the Sad Bath. Must be tied to their religious belief."
Blastoff nodded and added, "I remember coming across something like that in my readings."
Onslaught pinched the bridge of his nose, "Alright, do to circumstances beyond your control you weren't able to find work but you have a plan for tomorrow,this is acceptable."
The conarist gave a sigh and nodded straight ahead, trying not to directly look at his agitated commander's gaze.
"Travis, report."
"Sir, I have found work as a butcher's assistant, sir!" he answered with a mock salute.
The room became deadly silent as his answer only created more questions.
"Are you saying you got a job butchering people, in a civilian setting?" "Is that even considered legal and morally acceptable in this society?" "Humans make a living doing that without being an assassin, mad gunman, or deranged lunatic?"
Vortex motioned his hands to settle them down, "No, no, it's dealing with nonhuman organics. We kill them if they're brought to us alive, then we remove the hides and organs and strip the meat from the skeleton."
"Why?"
The former helicopter looked taken aback, "What do you mean, you haven't figured it out yet? Brawl, you just spent the day raising cattle and Swindle you mentioned yesterday that there is a huge market on them and none of you have figured out why humans do this?"
His answer came from shaking heads. The unstable decepticon wreaked out between gasps from his near asphyxiating laughs, "Oh…. this is rich, there is... a big... surprise... in store... for all of you!
Onslaught reached to snag the combaticon's shoulder but a hand swatted him off.
"I look... forward... to seeing the look... on all your faces... when the... realization... hits you!" He continued laughing towards the door.
"Vortex, I have not dismissed you yet, get back in formation."
"Tsk, tsk, you said to get in formation, report your status, then you can retire for the night. You did not specify if retiring was all together or after each report. I choose the latter, besides I need my rest for MY JOB tomorrow." The other combaticons could still hear him laughing in the other bedroom.
The decepticon officer was now rubbing his temples, "James, re..."
"Found employment, was offered a position, and declined becau…"
"Excuse me!" Onslaught whipped around to now glare the former shuttle in the eyes.
"I was overqualified for the position and the work was beneath me."
The red pulsing vein was starting to reappearing on Onslaught, "Beneath you! I took a job that should be performed by labor drones and have that small fleshling for a supervisor when the older human isn't around!"
"Joshlynn is not that bad to work with, she has my respect, " piped Brawl.
"I bet she leads better than you," grumble the haughty combaticon.
"Enough!" Onslaught seethed, "I have just about had enough of your attitude, especially from this morning! And now you have disobeyed an order from me."
"Well excuse me, but I'm not the only one without a job Carl.."
"This isn't about Carlos. You were offered a job and you DECLINED it, you worthless slag pile!"
The con artist suddenly felt better as the hostile pressure from his betrayal eased a smidge, but just a smidge.
Blastoff snubbed his shortest teammate and leader, "Regardless I found work that will allow me to utilize my scholarly abilities and gather potential information on how to care for our bodies."
The decepticon officer began calculating the pros and cons of slugging Blastoff in his smug mug, but that would only lower himself to Motormaster's standards, he was better than that. Brawl and Swindle inched their way to the exit to allow the two combaticons with the highest egos to duke it out.
"Scholarly abilities you say, well if you're so smart translate to me what a message made out of rocks says!" Onslaught caught Swindle just as he was about to slip through the threshold, "show him the picture you took."
Swindle reluctantly removed his phone and flipped through his album to the one on the mesa with the cairin and passed it to Blastoff. Swindle muttered, "Uh guys, I'm going to go recharge, please give my phone back in the morning," and he hastily left the room.
Onslaught waved him off and began a slow pace that circled Blastoff. A triumphant sneer escalated on his features as the former shuttle fiddled with the gadget, adjusted his glasses, and deepened his frown. "Swindle said that if it was in one of three languages he knew he could translate it but it would take some time because it wasn't in a printed or pixelated text. If you are as smart as you claim this should be a piece of energon cake for you, but I'm willing to give you more time, a fighting chance. Maybe a little longer than what it would take Swindle." He stopped at the window and granted himself a full smile.
"I already translated it."
Onslaught's smile disappeared, "What do you mean, you were just frowning in frustration!"
"I am frustrated but not at the task, it wasn't hard for a meche like me, but I find it difficult to accept and I hate to admit that Vortex might be right."
"What," the older decepticon growled flatly.
"Yesterday, Vortex said that whatever changed us, his… his IT, made the pile of basalt yesterday to mock us. I absolutely detest the idea that in our universe he might be right or something so minutely as rocks have a meaning, but here I am, finding myself believing it."
"What makes you say that?" Asked Onslaught, wishing he hadn't.
Blastoff's eyes peered over his glasses at him, "The message in the stones, it translates: Be glad I gave you clothes. Now go learn something."
Thanks for reading. Reviews and constructive criticisms are always welcome and never taken for granted; and, if you know anyone who might enjoy this or you feel like being evil and subjecting them to this rabbit hole, point them in this direction. See you all soon!