The Diego Diaries: Footie (dd8 84)
Part 29 of What Makes No Difference Is No Difference, A Transformers: Prime story is up. :D:D:D
=0=On the field
Prime laughed aloud, took his place over the line, then passed the ball to Jetta before anyone could really set up. Jetta took off like a bottle rocket for the Cronum goalie.
So did most of the Cronum defensive back field.
Behind them like marauding pirates chasing a metrotitan, the entire offensive line of the Comets followed. It would surprise everyone who hadn't fought beside him on the battle field how fast Optimus Prime could run for a mech taller than a tall two story house.
Around the stadium the fans howled. Out in the massive viewing audience everywhere viewers of different species watched with amazement and other mixed feelings.
=^=Razorclaw
He watched the game in his quarters without the usual company, some of which were in jail cells on Mars. Since the null ray attack, the entire focus of the base was getting back on their feet. It'd been a hard and struggling time but given that he was smart enough to stockpile masses of energon and that his metallurgist was a genius, they were well on their way back. It didn't hurt that he had his scientists trying to figure out how to nullify a null ray.
Also, they working to expand the cloaking tech as well. Razorclaw was nothing but about the paybacks at the moment.
He watched the game with mixed feelings. He was glad to see Cybertronian football and entertainments again. He wanted to eviscerate Optimus Prime as well.
=^=Ominous
He sat in the rec room watching the game on a big screen that was new. Everything around them was new. Prime had done a HUGE number on them and it was a dig out proposition at the moment. Fortunately, he was typical of those who went on their own. He had depth amongst his mechs and they were working to put things to rights.
The hardest part was when they surveyed their ships and found themselves stranded here. Using their energon to rebuild small runabouts first mean a bit of hunger but lots of new energon gathered from free space around them took care of that in short order. Now they ate well, were getting things rebuilt and stoking a fire about Prime that would never go out.
Football helped, though.
=0=Footie
Jetta ran so fast he blew past one defensive back but the other clipped him and he careened off the field into the wall. Before he'd even landed a stream of kids were rushing out of a tunnel toward him with their little med-i-kits in hand. The crowd roared their approval as they reached the downed mech and began to administer a 'quick check' followed by a 'deep consultation' to be concluded with a 'general tentative recommendation'.
Their shorthand.
Ratchet watched as the medics for the game ambled over with grins on their faces. They watched the kids gently go over Jetta who was lying on his back conversing with them. They checked this and that, consulting their meters and each other as their serious concerned expressions were being captured lovingly by the cameras. Finally, after a great deal of care, checking, moving this and that, consulting with the patient and consulting with each other, they reached a 'general tentative conclusion'.
"Transport him, sir."
The doctor who'd scanned Jetta and came to the same conclusion grinned down at the tiny femmes and tall youngling mechs who looked upward at him and his colleagues with respect and concern agreed. "I agree."
Sil who looked relieved walked over to Jetta and leaned down. "They're going to take you to the med station, Mr. Jetta. Don't move. I'll come with you and hold your servo."
Jetta smiled at her. "Thank you, Sil. I think that would help a lot."
She smiled, then stepped back as the techs came to load Jetta up. She handed her kit to the others, then took Jetta's servo when he was hoisted up to go. The cameras would lovingly follow the stretcher and the little femme holding Jetta's servo as they cut across the field to the tunnel where the med station was. She would be in all the papers the next orn with speculation on her tattoos and her cuteness rampant on several worlds.
In the background of the pictures would be the smiling figure of Elita-1 watching them go with amusement.
After a moment to regroup in the near end zone and with a penalty to declare, rock, paper, scissors chose Optimus to score the goal. Everyone gathered back up as Optimus stood at the line for what in soccer would be a penalty corner. For him it was just another day shooting hoops and rather than throw it to someone to play footie, he leaped up and sunk it through the hoop instead.
Bedlam.
Crater Comets, 10, Nova Cronum Brigadiers, 0.
Optimus led the team back to the bench, slapping palms as the defense rolled out. He sat down with the children and pets, chatting with them as they waited for the ball to go. When it did it would be world war NOW!
=0=Ironhide and the defensive backfield
"Something tells me we're in for it," Blackjack said to his father standing nearby as they watched the slug fest that erupted downfield. "If they ever make it this far we're going to get plowed."
Raptor laughed. "Well, its as good an orn to die as any as they say."
"If you say so, Atar," Blackjack said as the ball and half the playing field pivoted and began to run their way. He glanced at Ironhide. His son was waiting tensely as he had the worst job on any team, that of saving the goal. Little mech would earn his ice cream today.
=0=Up there
"This is going to be a blood bath."
"Well, it was nice knowing them," Ratchet said. "At least I'm related to most of them so I stand to inherit a lot of stuff."
Prowl glanced at Ratchet with a smirk. "What stuff?"
"I may find out," Ratchet said as Scar of all individuals found himself flying sideways off the field.
The thundering herd ran forward with the ball pursued by every Comet on the field but for Scar who was just getting up with a full head of FUCK ME! to run after them as fast as his legs could go. Given he wasn't built for running but rather for breaking things by running through them, he had a ways to go.
Nitro considered transforming to flight and plowing down the entire line as he pursued the ball carrier. Given the lack of amusement among the officials at using special features in games, he decided he's rather chase the ball carrier, pull off his arms and legs, then use them on the rest of Cronum's team. That felt intrinsically better somehow.
Steiner caught the ball carrier by grabbing his shoulder which spun him around. When he spun he slammed into Steiner who became an obstacle for Flint, Kup and Payload. The pile up had only just begun.
Looking down at it as it began to accumulate not ten feet from his own, Blackjack glanced at his father. "Wanna dog pile?"
"In a moment, infant," Raptor said with a grin. "Wait until that fragger has a few more mechs on top of him."
He would. Then he would. Dog pile, that is.
Seconds later …
A mob of huge mechs stood around a swarm of children with med-i-kits who were taking the measure of the latest victim of sport and fair play. This one was way more dented than Mr. Jetta so they had more points of assessment to make, more conversations about what this might mean and why was that bent that way. The medical team watched them, admiring their skill, concern and overall to die for cuteness. They would implement a similar program in the schools in Iacon and Praxus the next orn.
Coros finally glanced up at the doctor. "I think he goes but he needs a few splints, Doctor. Are you in very much pain, Mr. Crasher?"
Crasher who was looking at Coros through two broken optics whimpered.
"I think that means yes, Doctor," Coros said.
"I'll take care of that, Coros. I concur," he said as techs ran out with a stretcher.
The kids watched as he was loaded, then Sil took his servo to comfort him to triage. All of the kids got a standing ovation. The doctors followed with grins and big waves to the crowd, the hams.
=0=Up there
"Those kids are gold." -Ratchet
"Those kids are mine." -Prowler
"I don't know either of you." -Ravel
Ravel got a standing ovation.
=0=On the field
They got an ins, took it, then ran it up Ironhide's aft. The ball went in.
Raptor cartwheeled off the field with a mech clamped onto each leg.
Blackjack was dog piled.
All was hilarious.
For Nova Cronum.
It was an amazing display of aft shaking and poor sportsmanship to watch Nova Cronum's defense caterwaul themselves back to their bench. The cameras didn't miss an angle.
Ironhide stood up, watched his father stand up and then his appa stand up. Both of them had new dents and a smirk on their faces. He shook his helm. He won the family lottery, he thought as they walked to him to go to the bench. Magnus was going to be goalie for a while. They changed with each quarter of the game.
"Well, wasn't that fragged," Raptor said. "You looked like a pancake, sonny boy."
Blackjack glanced at his father. "Thanks. That's a good idea for dinner."
They laughed their way to the side and sat down with the children as Optimus Prime and the offensive line walked out to run out the clock. They would.
Run.
Every which direction.
Outside.
Inside.
Over and out.
When the siren sounded and they walked off the field at half time bitching at each other followed by four serenely happy little kids, three cows and a dog, the score would be Crater Comets, 10 and Nova Cronum Brigadiers, 5.
=0=Up there
"Well, who wants food?" Ratchet asked.
Everyone did.
From the never empty bag of slag, Ratchet pulled treats, drinks and edibles for everyone. His were the 'fun ones, Ada' and Prowl's were 'healthy slag? What's wrong with you, Prowl?'
Prowl was always a good girl.
"Who do you think will win this?" Ratchet asked the winger as he watched Prowl eat his 'power bar', a dry looking confection that looked like a bar of rectangular compressed poo.
"Optimus Prime will win this," Prowl said as he watched Ratchet eat a huge candy bar. "Do you doubt, fool?"
Ratchet who was making exaggerated sounds of delight as he 'savored' his snack glanced at Prowl. "Sure."
Prowl frowned. "I'll make a bet, that's how sure I am."
"Okay. What do you bet?" Ratchet asked. He, Ratchet had had a personal bookie as a slagger back in his single orns and was a cut throat card player of some repute. Being a diplomat had sharpened his skill at bluffing and wagering so he was not a beginner.
Prowl played probability and was great at hunches based on facts. However, betting with all its educated guessing and bluff was outside the reach of probability and certainty, so Prowl was playing above his level with Ratchet.
Again.
"I'll bet …" Prowl looked around, then into his bag. "I'll bet you three of these," he said holding up his bar, 'to three of your whatevers that we win."
Ratchet considered the sawdust that Prowl was eating, knew that this was as good as it got for the bet, then figured given the blood lust that he saw in Cronum while remembering his own when he was poor and striving against hope and dreams, decided his candy bars weren't in danger. "Your sawdust against my creamy chewy chocolate?"
Prowl frowned at Ratchet. "Take the bet or not, loser."
Ratchet laughed loudly. "Oh, Granny, I take the bet." He grinned at Prowl. "You're on, slagger."
=0=TBC 02-04-2021 02-21-2021