The Diego Diaries: Emotion in Motion (dd8 465)
I think my numbering of the pieces is screwed up. I don't think I missed one but if this looks like something is missing let me know. Every now and again I mess up the numbering and it beats me for a while. HUGGIES! (On edit, I think its finally fixed. :D)
=0=On the deck
They worked around their duties, the bridge crew, as they watched the debacle that exploded out of the meet up with Prowl and someone who was an obvious high caste with attitude. As long as migrations lasted it was going to happen that someone with a sense of entitlement would land on their shores.
Bets were taken and made.
Prime rose from his command seat to walk to Ratchet who was watching the fight nearby.
Ratchet glanced at him, then grinned. "Prowler still has it but it doesn't hold a candle to you. That was a one flip effort and yours actually flipped twice."
"It is all in the wrist," Prime said with a chuckle.
Prowl wasn't chuckling but his sense of well being rose with every memory he fixed with a punch to Exiter's face. He was nearing the graduation ceremony from public school when Exiter went down like a ton of very elegant and expensive bricks. He lay on the floor twitching.
Prowl stepped back brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders, then turned to the table. "Who flipped the table?" he asked with a smirk.
"I have no idea," Optimus replied with a smirk of his own. "Who is this mech and what is this about? I will need information for your drum head."
"I'll defend you, Prowler," Ratchet said with a gigantic smile.
"To the gallows foot?" Prowl asked as he watched perky little Home Guardsmen set up the table once more.
"AND AFTER!" Ratchet exclaimed as he flung his arms widely.
"Thank you, minions," Prowl said as the kids straightened things up. "Commendation letters will follow."
The kids worked harder with big smiles.
They would. The letters.
Optimus walked to Exiter who was rousing slowly. "Tell me about this mech, Prowl. Is he okay, Ratchet?"
Ratchet scanned him, then gave a dazzler. "Sure."
Huge laughter greeted that.
"This," Prowl said with triumph, "was my nemesis through school. I was literally hunted by this slagger all through public school."
"I didn't go to school," Ratchet said to laughter and agreement from most of the crew. He grinned again. "I'm detecting a trend here. All the bullies are finding us."
Prowl glanced around, then down at the mech. "He's here to assert some sort of entitlement. I suppose you want to put him in prison for treason? Like, right now?"
Prime snickered. "Sure."
Prowl glanced sharply at Optimus. "It's true. You're the One Who Comes."
HUGE laughter and agreement met that as Exiter staggered to his peds. He rubbed his jaw. "What a coward you are, Prowl. But then you're a turncoat."
"I, Prowl, do not wear a coat, Exiter. Say your peace so we can dump your ass out an airlock," Prowl replied as he dug through his file of human curse words and insults. He was determined to be as 'street' as possible in front of the punters in a plexiglass box nearby.
"You haven't changed a bit," Exiter said.
"No. I haven't. I was never what you are and I never will be," Prowl replied coldly. "Say your peace, then get ready to leave out a hole."
Prime stared at Prowl as he admired both him and his facility to cuss. Being a Prime of great personal dignity, he didn't have that leeway unless he and Prowl were playing 'The Cop and the Degenerate'.
It was the only time Optimus Prime had ever been a policeman.
*cough*
Personal peccadilloes aside …
"I was told that certain structures in our society are not allowed to be in force here. I would like to know why. I don't intend to be silent about this. My people and I are used to the life we had on Cybertron and there are a lot of us in this migration. There are even more coming, entire colonies of us. You will find yourself in great trouble if you think that-"
Exiter landed on his butt nearby as Prowl turned to Springer and Drift. "Cage him. Throw the key away."
Springer glanced at Prime who grinned, then nodded. "Do so. Then the high castes among this group are your priority, the both of you. We have two enemies of the peace it would appear. You have discretion and I will come if needed."
"Oh, joy," Springer said with a chuckle as Exiter went over Drift's back in a fireman hold. "I love this part of things. Nothing like working out my own childhood demons on some smart aft."
"I highly recommend it," Prowl said as he watched with great satisfaction as Exiter exited the room.
=0=Nearby in a terrarium
"What the fuck? What kind of style is that?" a big husky soldier asked.
"That was Metallicato," Bobby Epps said. "That's so dangerous that its outlawed. There's a few who can do it. Jazz can. Arcee and … I'm not sure."
"Damn. Prowl packs a punch. Do they do this much? Have fights on the deck?" Jackson Davis asked.
"They do. Memorable times," Lennox said. "Of course, you can see how we can beat them alone. Does everyone see that?" he asked with amusement.
None of them could. But they raised everyone there even higher into the stratosphere of warriors.
=0=Brig
The lights came up as the lights came on inside Exiter's skull. He rose, then frowned at the two on the other side of the bars.
"Let me out of here," he growled. "Let me out!"
Springer and Drift stared at him, then glanced at each other. "Nope," they said in unison, then walked toward the door to a hallelujah chorus of profanity from Exiter.
=0=On the ship
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe stood by the door to the lounge where the main group of the ship was congregated. Behind them the sound of heavy treads could be heard.
Sideswipe peered out, then glanced at Sunstreaker. "They're back."
"Good," Sunny said through his slow burn.
Springer, Drift and a couple of muscle men, Bulkhead and Payload followed.
"Well, guess what. Your boy, Exiter decided to punch Prowl and got himself not only parted out but brigged. Who's next?" Springer asked.
The others with Springer who waited with the twins were leaning against the bulkhead nearby. They grinned at the big mech.
"What do you want to do with this ship, Springer?" Bezel asked. "Do we take it into inventory or dump it?"
"What do you mean? You're not taking our ship," a big mech said, one who looked as capable in a fight as Exiter.
"You're in the territory of the Prime. He confiscates ships to control the flow of traffic during this, a mid range martial law. You have no where to go anyway because Cybertron's not taking refugees. It can't," Drift said. "Where would you go?"
The big mech stared at Drift with fury, then punched him hard in the face.
Drift dropped to the floor stunned into a stupor at the power behind it.
Springer stared at Drift on the floor, then the big mech who was moving toward Drift. He stepped in front of the mech, then it was on.
=0=Prowl
He sat at the command table twirling a stylus in his digits like the ninja which he was. It twirled like a knife that show offs utilize to wow the chicks. Given this was Prowler, he didn't know how to wow anyone and he would also not have a clue what domesticated fowl had to do with twirling things in your digits.
Our Prowl™.
But he felt mighty fine. Nearly every muley moment in his mental inventory had been worked out on Exiter's chassis so the weight of his youth was much lighter in his memory files than a moment before.
Sitting nearby, Prime could feel the amusement and pleasure in Prowl taking the past in hand and making it his own. Many was the time he'd met someone in an alley to have it out to settle things. Many were the mechs and femmes who didn't know that Prime as a kid was a force to reckon with in the tough kid milieu he grew up in.
:Springer to Prowl:
"Prowl here."
:We have a situation:
Prowl's grin sagged a bit as he glanced at Prime. He wasn't looking too happy either. "Specify."
=0=In Springer's Milieu
They found themselves in a free-for-all melee with a number of very skilled big mechs. None of them seemed willing to chat and many of them were using spiked knuckle 'dusters' with which to puncture the armor of their opponents.
Think brass knuckles with long spikes.
Around the lounge the battle raged until Payload pulled a long knife and held it against the throat of the one who started it. "Either stop and drop or his head goes into my collection!" he shouted.
Everyone froze where they were to glance his way. It looked like the worst kind of panorama at Madame Tussaud's ever constructed, rather a grotesque 'Industry On Parade' with the tractors beating each other up.
Everyone relaxed, then stepped back. The mech in Payload's grip was equally compliant.
"Move," Payload said as Springer rose up from a pile of mechs who were beating his helm in.
Drift joined him from the top of a pile of mechs who he was beating.
It was silent. A smoldering silence that happens just before the volcano blows.
"BAG AND TAG THEM!" Springer bellowed with magnificent fury. "YOU! COME WITH ME!" He gripped the fragger who started things and dragged him out of the room. The others were getting the riot act from those still there. Drift limped after him.
Pushing him against the wall, Springer leaned in. "Who the frag are you, slagger?"
The mech didn't look perturbed. "I'm Galio, scum. Galio of Crystal City."
Springer glanced at Drift who was seething behind his usually amused facade. "Do you know who that is?"
"No," Drift snarled. "I don't care either."
Springer glared at Galio. "Jail for you, fragger."
"You can jail me. The others won't bend to your rules. The life we've led is the one we'll continue to lead. You and your Prime can jail all of us but it won't do any good. We're not going to obey your slag."
"You can speak for everyone of your batch?" Springer asked.
He nodded. "We resolved when we left, all of us. You won't bend us to your will or your rules. Best tell Prime. He's got a fight on his hand if he thinks otherwise."
Springer did.
=0=The Committee to Change Minds
They waited on the deck, Prime and a group of strategic individuals as Springer brought a number of mechs and two femmes with them to see Prime. The bridge jump and elevator ride was frigid and silent. When they stepped out on the deck Prime was ready for them.
He sat on his command chair looking like a sphinx. On one side was all of Ironhide's elders, behind him was the Great Elder and Silverclaw and on his right was Neo, Lauren, Sela, Gravitas, Mraz and Chevron. Other officers were there, most of the command crew and Ratchet. It was glacially silent as they approached, then halted before Prime.
Both sides stared at each other without a word.
Lauren stepped forward. "It is proper to greet a Prime in the manner he deserves," he said. "It does not honor your House to come to him this way."
A big mech, one of many, glanced at him, then bowed his helm properly to Lauren. "I do not recognize the authority of this mech."
"Oh great," Ratchet sighed. "Here we go again."
=0=TBC 6-27-2022 Monday
If there weren't high castes I'd have to invent them. It is impossible to tell you how hard it is for some to change. Consider the world today. Some will keep beating the Earth to make money when the sewage is up to their noses. Being stuck in your ego and point of view is a very savage thing sometimes. :D:D:D
A Kipling poem that I love about friendship and love:
The Thousandth Man
One man in a million, Solomon says, will be more close than a brother. But a thousandth man will stand by your side to the gallows foot and after.
Peccadillo: (pek-uh-dill-oh) something that's your own thing, like putting catsup on eggs (EWWWWW) or drinking your boyfriend's blood because you're in 'love'. (EWWWWW) Like that. Personal peccadilloes are things particular to you.
mulely: (mule-ee) pissed off, angry, belligerent. Sort of describes the temperament of some equines, namely mules. (My brother-in-law had mules as a kid. I dare you to move a mule when it doesn't want to make even a step with anything short of a bazooka. It can't be done. Hence, in the old days and maybe now, the fraggers, sometimes they get beat with a stick. Mules never forget nor do they forgive. They bite and kick like champions. I love, love, love mules and donkeys.)
milieu: (mill-yew) the environment which can be any kind: rich kid, poor kid, the kind of life and environment you are in or were in.
As a kid in the fifties I used to watch the black and white teevee televise shows that were designed to show how great American industry was. It always showed rows of tractors plowing and planes flying in flotillas. It was actually called 'Industry On Parade' and had one of those old time announcers.
Good times.
Uh, fifties? I meant sixties. Maybe. Its all a blur.
