The Diego Diaries: Ballin' (dd8 194)
=0=Out there
They flew through the forever nighttime of space heading toward a signal that had only faintly made it through the broken debris of time that they were traversing. It was a signal that heralded a place to come toward by a foe that many of them dreamed of ending. The signal was paired with others, Rainmaker and Starscream and that had been surprising.
Given that they were heading away from a zero sum game to make their way in the greater galaxy, their commander decided to go for broke. They would fly onward to see what was going on.
Their navigator was their lead scientist, someone who'd learned his trade at the serpent's knee. He glanced at their commander. "I've programmed alerts to scan and make automatic adjustments for the fleet. I think we're as safe in transit as its possible to be."
Their commander nodded. His name was Paladin. He was a phase six mechanism that once blindly served the will of Megatron. His scientist was his partner and friend, a mech named Lancer. He was the favorite student and protege of Jhiaxus and like his role model had no scruples when it came to his interests or duties. Both of them would be terrible alone. Together, they were a force of nature to be reckoned with.
"Take us forward, Conn. Are you synced yet?" Paladin asked.
The officer at the Conn glanced at him, then nodded. "We're good."
Paladin relaxed in his chair. "Very well. Continue onward."
It would take a long time to get to a sector of space where they could make time toward the objective. It was too dangerous here to do anything but pulse along and wait for danger to signal itself by the excess of neutrinos that preceded flares. It would be a large force that would move together through the corridor of death called The Ruins on all of the charts of the area. It would be the only reasonably open door to leaving the Decepticon Empire left.
=0=A few joors later in the bar at the Clubhouse
They sat in the bar kicking back after a rousing game of golf. Children were sitting on laps or running around in the vast portion of the resort given over to celebrating and boozing. As long as adults were there to give permission and make sure they didn't drink, the Cybertronian habit of going to the pub with the kids was on solid footing.
Possibility was standing on the table in front of his big old pa explaining how he liked golf. He was a big sweet kid with a lot of smarts and a HUGE vocabulary even for his age. He talked to his father like one equal to another. "I liked how you hit the ball, Atar. It flew so far. Spirit helped you." Then he smiled like the sun.
Optimus who was enjoying his beer, golf score and his many children grinned. "Spirit always helps. He is a good little mech. He reminds me of you."
Possibility or 'Posse' as he was called informally smiled again. "I hope so."
Optimus pulled him into his arms to hug, then set him on the floor. "You be my scout and keep your optics open wide."
"I WILL!" Posse said as he ran for the twinnies who were sipping a drink with their fathers. It was a fruit juice that looked like booze. He would stand in line for his turn.
"That infant speaks very well," Hercy said as he watched the kids take a sip, then go to the end of the line to have another turn.
"He has from the start," Prime said as he watched them as well. "He has the best and biggest vocabulary for his age of any of them. Spirit only knew how to speak baby words when we got him. But he was traumatized and retreated into himself, to a better moment and that is why."
"He's an awfully fine little mech," Hercy said. "All of them are. Speaking of little mechs … where's Ironhide?"
HUGE laughter ripped through the clubhouse as they ordered food from the restaurant. It would be delivered to one and all. All of the children would be parted out and lunch would commence.
Meanwhile, out on the seventeenth green …
He concentrated on the putt. He tapped the ball. It went just this side of the hole. He stared at it, then the sky, the ground, the hole, Ratchet trying not to laugh, the putter, the hole …
Meanwhile, back at the clubhouse
"What do you think about your chances, Blackjack?" someone in the room asked.
Blackjack glanced around. "Given that Ironhide is still on the fairway trying to catch up, not too much."
HUGE laughter from everyone there included the oblivious children who wanted to join in, too, though they had no idea what for.
"I think he's not going to be very good at this game," Sun said. "He's not got the touch."
"Is that what it takes?" Jack asked with a wry grin. "I thought it took talent."
"BWAHAHAHAHAHA!" -everyone there.
"What's your score, Optimus? I know you and Blackjack have been practicing on the side," Sun asked.
"WHAT!?"
"RINGER!"
"YOU LOW DOWN … uh, YOU SLAGGER, YOU! SIR!"
Optimus smirked at his minions, then glanced at Sun. "The course is 72. My score was 75. How did you do?" he asked with a quick glance at the room.
It was silent but for Prowl's GIGANTIC smirk that had a sound track of its own, something that was punctuated by bazookas.
"Well, since we're obviously a bunch of little whiners, I'll tell you mine. I have a 79," Blackjack said. "Everyone. Cough it up. Consider that an order."
"Even me?" Hardie asked as Raptor grinned at his son, the smart aft.
"If you want to keep your reputation," Blackjack smarted off to his grandfather.
"OKAY! NOW YOU DID IT!" -paraphrasing everyone there.
"Drop and give me 200," Hardie replied with a smirk.
"BWAHAHAHAHAAHAAA!" everyone there including the kids. And the bartenders. We can't forget them.
"Do it. It'll be fun to listen to ya creak!"
"Ask the impossible, expect the fail."
Everyone glanced at Drift who smirked back.
"Ever the poet," Springer said as he fed Tell. That little pearl was half asleep in his silent little world.
"That's me. A poet," Drift said to rude laughter and comments.
A ruckus at the door caught everyone's attention as Ratchet and Ironhide entered the bar.
Ironhide paused to glare heatedly at everyone, then walked to the bar. "Give me a quadruple."
Snickering rounded the room as Ratchet sat down, then took Tell into his arms. He smiled at the baby, scanned him discreetly, then glanced at Springer and Drift. "Champion stuff."
Laughter and rude comments about Michael Bay percolated a moment, then Ironhide took a small tray with four high grades sitting on it to sit beside Ratchet. He downed two, then sat back to relax.
"How did it go, grandson?" Hardie asked.
A gimlet optic of EPIC proportions greeted that impertinence as food materialized in front of both Ratchet and Ironhide. He glanced at Ratchet. "What's this?"
"Lunch, slagger. I pre-ordered from the eighteenth hole," Ratchet said as he picked up a segment of his bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich to take a big bite.
"I think I saw you in every water hole, sand trap and rough on the course," Raptor said.
Ironhide frowned at him. "Slagger. FRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAG!"
"BWAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAAAAAA!" -everyone there but Tell who was sleeping soundly in Granny's arms.
"Prime's score was 75. 'Jack said his was 79," Raptor said with a smirk at his son. His son smirked back. "What was yours, Ironhide? Consider that an order."
Ironhide paused his second hot dog to glare at his grandfather. "And if I don't tell you?"
"Then Ratchet, consider it an order," Raptor said.
Ratchet glanced at Ironhide, then Raptor. Then he smiled a brilliant smile. "Well, since you made it an order-"
"FRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGG!" Ironhide bellowed. "I AM IRONHIDE! IF YOU TELL HIM THEN YOU'RE A SLAGGING TRAITOR!"
"In the tournament, everyone is going to know anyway," Sun said as he guffawed.
"SO WHAT!? THIS ISN'T THE TOURNAMENT!" Ironhide rejoined.
"How many times have you played golf, Ironhide?" 'Jack asked his son.
Ironhide glared at him. "Getting cold peds are ya? Regretting that you have to have me for a teammate? FRAG FATHER'S DAY AND FRANKLY, FRAG FATHERS!"
"Touchy little mech," Hardie said as he glanced at Sun. "Always was when he didn't get his nap."
"FRAG NAPS!" -little mech™
"What was his score, Ratchet?" Prime asked because it was good to be Prime.
Ratchet considered the conundrum, then threw in the towel. "He had a very valiant 310 over par."
It would nearly drive all the building's rivets out of their socket from the laughter.
=0=Paragon
He sat at the command desk watching the moving lights far far away of a very large and seemingly diverse battle group. Whether it had Seekers or not, that would have to be determined. Right now, they could conjecture what it was and somewhat what it contained. The radius of their sensor grid which was epically more powerful and far sighted than anything the empire had before would pick them up soon enough. It would thereby allow them to formulate a response, if any. Until they reached a certain distance from their outer security zone they would just be another possible problem. Closer and more directly heading their way would raise that to probable.
But not yet.
=0=Clubhouse
They kicked back as smaller children retired to the carry holds of the adults to play quietly or lay down to nap. Lunch was had and now adults talking, something that children of all galaxies and universes everywhere found boring as slag was commencing.
Yawn.
"The tournament will be held in the habitat. They have eighteen holes designed by someone on Earth who's considered the book on this subject. We have to come as we are," Jack said. "That's going to shorten our swing to something akin to the humans."
"Why not come as humans?" Lon asked.
"They like to see us match up with the humans in our own forms," Springer said. "They want to see what we're capable of in our own formats at their size."
"We can still clobber them," Bezel said. "Right?"
"If you have to ask …" Springer began to great lughter and approval.
"When is father's day?"
"Two orns from now, First Sunday," Sun said. "I personally look forward to seeing Ironhide excel and hold up the family honor and the Praxian Elite mystique myself."
Ironhide frowned at the uncle he worshiped like a god. "Smart aft. What was your score, slagger?"
Sun grinned. "86."
"Mine was 82," Jack said. He grinned. "I imagine I can shave a stroke or two off by game time."
"What's the rules, Prime?" Hercy asked. "When do we get to know what they are?"
"I suppose I can give you the just a few highlights. Some but not all," Prime said.
The room got quiet in anticipation.
"I like the idea of penalties for problematic play," Prime began as everyone glanced at Ironhide with grins.
He didn't grin back.
"I thought landing in these things was the penalty," Bezel asked.
Everyone grinned at him, then glanced at Ironhide again. He didn't grin back this time either.
"If you end up in a sand trap," Prime mused, "you have to switch sides of your swing. If you are left handed, you have to get out of the trap right handed and vice versa."
"HA! The humans are going to plotz," Kup said. "Their handedness is a real feature compared to us."
"If you land in the water your partner gets to take the balls of the humans partnered with you and they, you if you land there and thrown them as hard and far backwards as you can."
Everyone stared at Prime, then grinned.
"Evil but totally socially acceptable," Blackjack said.
Everyone agreed.
"What about the roughs?" Prowl asked with fascination. Not even 'facing Prime got this much disclosure of the rules.
Prime grinned. "You have to get out of the rough blindfolded."
Bedlam.
=0=TBC 06-21-2021
NOTE: Just a side note. One of the best BLT sandwiches I ever ate substituted cream cheese for mayo. For me, both would be great but the cream cheese alone is so surprisingly good that I think its one of the best sandwiches I ever ate. Lots of back and such, then this smeared on good. Try it sometime. I think you'll be surprised. :D