Nature of the Beast

One-Shot: Dog-Dared

*If you thought Backdraft was crazy before now, this might just prove it. Or, at the least, it proves he's far, far more likely to do something stupid and dangerous while drunk. x'D

Like with his poetry section, I'll be trying out different tactics of prose writing in this one. Such as going first person for Backdraft. Now, people will often advise not to do this, but apparently if you do it the right way it can be a great thing, allowing the reader direct access to their heads, their thought processes and personal view of the world. Also, expect some fourth wall breaks with this one. xD Trust me, you'll be able to tell when.

For those of you who aren't fliers and want nothin' to do with bein' in the air, the manouver called vrnel'xcior is defined as "the re-arranging of any flight-capable frame's wings to cant down at an extreme angle, thus allowing for minimal drag in a sudden, high speed, ninety degree dive." It basically translates to "wing knife."Most often you see it with Seekers, mainly Vosian ones if you wanna get all technical, but lots of Avioids can do it scary good too when they spot a glitch-mouse on the ground. I've seen 'em do it. The whole point of it now is to close distance between a target, or show off to a pretty lady or cute mech. Durin' the War it was used to avoid heat-seeking missiles. The second part of the manouver, ojen lok, is when the wings "expand back out and lock in place to create more area for wind pass over, increasing drag rapidly and creating intense gravitational forces." Apparently if not timed right, or done wrong, it can cause some pretty nasty injuries, like snapped frills or dislocated wings. There're even a few reports of rookie fliers' wings comin' clean off.

(Don't worry. They lived.)

Now, try as I might to convince myself that I can fly, I'm not a flier. Got no wings. Closest a grounder like me can get to flying is hitching rides. Or jumping from buildings. And I've done both. Problem is, much as I like the weightlessness, I still gotta obey gravity.

But I got creative.

And over-energized.

And now I'm magnetized to the underside of a star-ship, wind tearing at my armor and thrusters roarin' in my audials as it climbs higher and higher.

I guess I better back up an' explain...

This whole idea started a few joors ago. At the Academy.

I'm not much of a genius. Or a student. I admit it. I tried, I really did. It didn't work out. Couldn't stay still long enough. I can't focus unless I'm moving. So, the streets became my teachers. And my boss taught, too; can't forget him – he's sensitive, doesn't like not being acknowledged. Funny right – a Shifter who can't stand being looked over? But I like to visit the students, see how they're doing, give 'em a little break from their studying by dropping in...prank their professors by stealing all the work and magnetizing it to the ceiling of a room on the other side of the Academy. Y'know. Simple stuff. My cetver'ko suppliers are there anyways, some chemistry student go-getters, so it's a win-win. They get some laughs and I get some weak high grade for just a few creds.

I hadn't visited for a while. But with Swivet and her bro both attending (she's studying xeno-architecture and he's into physics) I'd made the visits more of a priority. She gave me incentive.

(And no, before anyone asks about the Combiner in the room: she's not my femmefriend. She's just a femme who happens to my friend. If it goes further than that, I'll let ya know.)

Where was I? Oh, right.

Durin' hialved – summer basically – it can get pretty hot in my home city, so there's always way more activity everywhere in Altihex after dark, the Academy included. I'm not talking illicit stuff. Just...activity. Movement. Sound. Transfer students are always so wowed at how it looks like a rave party 'cause all the students and even teachers've got running lights. Tonight there might as well have been a rave party. Everyone was out in the evening air walking, or flying, or sitting beneath patios studying or chatting – or both. Mecha-moths flittered around the arched solar lamps, a couple of sparklings trying to catch them while their busy student Guardians looked up on them from their work. A Chimeran femme lay near them. Music came from several 'bots' speakers. Music marks from the look of 'em. Nice beats.

Anywho, I strolled through the open quad, the eastern one, grinnin' and wavin' at the students as I went. A femme professor wearing a single-optic visor gave me a "look" from her seat beneath a pavilion that I returned with an innocent smile, holding my hands up.

"Chill, teach," I told her. "I got ya last time. I don't do doubles."

My suppliers always have a little stand set up on nights like this in the corner of the western quad, so that's where I headed. Pedefalls behind me made me turn. Swivet's brother, Hinge, slowed from a jog to match me stride for stride. For a half-way stiff academic, I liked the mech. We'd gotten off to a bit of a bumpy start, but he'd come around in the end. His wings canted up and down in greeting. An arm set down over my pauldrons. He was easily a helm taller than me, a strange mixture of Seeker and grounder, streamlined in his upper body yet block-y around the legs and trods. Older, too.

"Here to bug another professor, flame-brain?"

I reached up and shared a fist-bump with the aero-engine's hand that hung over my pauldron.

"Nah, not tonight," I admitted. "Just here to visit an' grab some cetver'ko from some pals o' mine. Unless somethin' happens."

Hinge laughed at me, "Mech, wherever you go, something happens. You may not be the cause, but you're always somehow involved."

I shrugged, grinning. Was it my fault, I asked him in mock offense, that the the big guy insisted I never be bored?

He released me but stayed by my side. We strolled under a walkway into the upper level of the Academy where two look-alike Draculians were hanging on its underside edge by their trods, conversing with a pudgy, nerdy-looking mini-con sitting on the edge of the walkway busily writing into a datapad. Their helms bobbed to the music in the eastern quad in an adorable imitation of head-banging all while talking to the mini-con up above. Those two were new, Hinge told me – arrivals from a Draculian colony three hundred klicks to the north, near Vos. Real smart, but reclusive, and scheduling classes for them wasn't straightforward. Smiling, I waved up at them, and they waved back, smiling through their serrated denta. We left them to return to their conversation with the mini-con above them.

"What marks are they goin' for?" I wondered.

"Language," Hinge grinned. "Epilogue's plannin' to be a translator, his twin Etch's set on being a hardcore linguist to help archeologists."

"Nice!"

The western quad was no less lively. Over in the corner, like always, was a trio of students at a stand they'd made themselves. They spotted me and waved me down. The lead femme, a rowdy chemistry mentor named Electrabyte, reached out her hands to touch palms with us both. Her field tingled through the touch. Her friends, Stash and Jackpot, were students under her mentor-ship. Trouble students at one point, but once she'd given them a chance to work their high grade magic legally, they'd thrived. If you had a post-exam party you wanted, or any party really, these were the guys you wanted doing the drinks. Cetver'ko, Liq'lorya, bevum nis – you name a funky drink, they can make it, and make it better.

(I will not hesitate to say, under oath, that these three are closet followers of Alchemist. They're that good at this scrap – and they're students! Well, two students and a student mentor. Same difference.)

Stash rightly guessed I was there for my usual refill. They made my usual two cubes there on the stand for me to see. They passed them to me and I paid the usual ten credits. Hinge, grinning, purchased one cube of hirln'rof – stronger stuff made from C-class, dissolved lithium, and powered beryllium. I'll admit, that struck me as a little weird. Academics – yes, even Altihexian ones – aren't usually so keen on strong concoctions since they can impair cognitive functions. Hinge was more laid back than most, but the highest I'd ever seen him go since knowing the mech was D-class – same stuff as in cetver'ko.

He noticed my glance and explained himself with a wink, "Friend of mine just got his professional's mark earlier in the deca-cycle. We're havin' a bash at his place, and everyone's bringin' drinks. Wanna come?"

Not one to turn down an invite to a party, I accepted. Laughing, his arm came down around me again.

"C'mon, then! Lemme give you a lift."

He transformed to hover above me a strange mix of hover-car, rotor-top cockpit, and Seeker. I transformed, and he lowered down to latch me to his underside. Powerful turbines on his wings roared to life. Wind whistled as he spiraled up.

"Don't do anything stupid!" Electrabyte teased from three hundred feet below.

I laughed.

(You know it's the end of days when Hinge knows me better than my barista.)

Hinge flew me over to the professional's mark housing just beyond the Academy. Nice places, bigger than the on-site housing for lower-ranking students, but not because of any bias. There were just fewer active professional's marks than the lower marks usually, so – roomier rooms. One particular tower was lit up like it was still Konemq, and I could hear music coming from it, and laughter, and hoots and hollers. A trio was out on a second-story balcony: a delicate Seeker mech with a thorny appearance to his frame, a racer-type grounder, and a rad mini-con hare-former with spiral-y Hindian horns. The trio waved my friend down. Hinge's wings and tail angled to slow him down, and he spiraled towards the tower.

"Mind if I drop ya on the roof? Balcony's too tight."

"No prob! I can make the jump."

He did just that, unlatching me a few paces above the roof. Hinge flew down the open Seeker exit in the roof. He probably expected me to follow him, but I decided to stroll to the edge of the roof and take the plunge straight onto the balcony. I gave them fair warning, they moved to give me some space, and I dropped. Simple as that. Three stories down I grabbed the balcony railing and hauled myself up – in the process getting a good look inside the room. Full set up, three more gals, and two more guys. And, from the looks of it, a full mini-bar of rainbow hues that me and Hinge could add to.

The mini-con offered me a fist and his two friends greeted me in the typical way: a good old fashioned high-five.

"Hinge never said he was bringin' a guest with 'im," noted the Seeker. "Especially not a celebrity."

"I'm more of a tag along, really," I clarified. "And I'm only a celebrity if you happen to be in law enforcement somehow."

Turned out, he was a fellow nerd like Hinge. Meteorologist apparently. His name: Twister. He was hoping to get the sick job of flying into ammonia storms and rust storms as, of all things, a rescue worker, but he was still in the process of undergoing modification so he didn't fall to pieces in those conditions. Those things could get intense – exactly why rescuers were needed.

"So who's the party for?"

"Xeric," said the mini-con. "Got his mark in xeno-ecology. The party's actually because he got accepted onto the Data Junkie's crew. They leave tomorrow for an expedition to MG9705. Three groons."

(Come on, Hinge. Seriously? You couldn't tell me the real reason? You're better than that.)

I grinned regardless. I told them that, hey, if the guy was off into the void tomorrow, we better make sure his last night planet-side was...memorable, I finished, winking.

"Well, then it's a good thing I brought an a'almvus, huh?"

Hinge was there in the door, beckoning us in, and soon introduced me to the mech of the hour: Xeric. A wiry yet powerfully built Lupioid mech colored sandy beige and maroon gifted with the coolest case of heterochromia I've ever seen. One optic was a bright blue, and the other was a pale lavender. He held a hand out to touch one palm with me, bowing; his field felt about as parched as he looked. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet and raspy, like a little rust devil was caught in his vocalizer. He professed himself "pleased to meet me." I bowed back and congratulated him on his mark.

"Told him all about you," Hinge smiled.

"Obviously you rose-picked, then," I joked back, cuffing him.

"Not at all! Told him about your little games with that cop, Chicane, and he couldn't stop laughing."

"He speaks true. Your antics are amusing, and your amiable relation with the law – admirable. My city would do well to have an a'lmvus. Our officers are too, too diamj. Too stiff."

I brushed the compliments aside, embarrassed but pleased. Vizanthans were pleasant people, no question there – great company – but on the whole they tended to be a little uptight. Not as uptight as Praxians or Iaconians, but still uptight. That this was one happy to meet me and willing to throw a bash was...different. I liked it.

"Why don't you become one? He's always happy to take one more."

He said he'd consider it.

The bash started out innocent enough. Jokes, talk about Xeric's academic life, his classmates, what I did for a living, the crew he was joinin' up with. Topics shifted around constantly. The mini-bar looked a less stocked after two joors, and everyone's behavior and speech got way less filtered. But hey, that happens when you get hammered, right? Barriers break down. That's not always a bad thing. You can learn a lot about 'bots that way. Twister revealed he'd been rescued by the Grey Ghost as a newbuilt out near Tyger Pax. One of the girls, Medley, a CI in training, was in charge of an anti-government site to help Polyhex revolt, and a decent hacker. Verve had a fear of going too fast but wasn't afraid of getting in trouble over it. Cavort, the tiny Harian, had apparently been exiled, but not even four cubes of k'jr'gyen got his glossa to loosen up. Interesting stuff.

Near the end of the two joor mark we got to talking about the craziest thing any of us had ever done, and I gotta say – Xeric surprised me.

"You did what now?!" I demanded.

"Left my professors gifts of glitter bombs." he repeated with a grin. "They're still removing the sulfur crystal buds out from between their plating. That was three cycles ago."

The entire group roared, two of the girls falling back in hysterical laughter. The tiny Harian raised his half-empty glass of Liq'lorya in cheers. To the rebel Vizanthan! he cried, earning a round of cheering. For a Vizanthan, not a bad prank, though the sulfur might've been over the top in my opinion. Magnetized silver and copper shreddings might've been better – harder to get off and less smelly. Xeric shrugged back, smiling and admitting the prank could've been better prepped, but he was a mere novice in the art. That, and he'd had easier access to the chemistry labs than the metallurgy stores.

Hinge was one of those relaxed drunks, able to take the high grade better than most. Didn't make him immune though. He drained the rest of his bright pink nk'rae. His voice, when he spoke, was slower and slurred.

"You want prank tips, Xeric, just ask flame-brain. You should see the stuff he does on Konemq. It's wild!"

"Such as?"

"Having a pal o' mine make himself up as a Terrorcon, get a hologram projector, and play the part in a Founding Home."

"I heard about that!" Twister admitted. "Stopgap was maaad!"

"Eh, not the worst reaction I've ever had," I said, taking another sip of my (third) cube of cetver'ko. "Least she didn't call the cops on my aft. Paid her back by fixing a few things around the Home."

"So what is the craziest thing you've done?" Verve, a pretty, long-faced speed flier femme, asked me.

I refused to comment.

The group whined.

"Lemme put it this way: I'm drunk – go ahead an' tempt me."

Let's just say the first few requests were anything but special. Jump off the balcony, ask out a professor, goad the cops – that sort of amateur-type thing. I declined them since I'd already them at some point in my "career." As options dwindled, they got more creative. The Harian proved to be the wild drunk. Some creative brainstorming between him and the group resulted in the dare of: break into the Data Junkie. Darknet, the final femme in the group, and a student studying encryption, was the evil genius behind that one. She hadn't said much of anything up till that point; she was the kind of 'bot, like my boss, who could fade into the background without really trying. When she said those words, everyone's attention snapped to her like she'd announced she'd been made a Prime just then.

"Not 'cause I want to get you in trouble," Darknet clarified shyly with a devilish smirk, "but I think giving the crew a surprise'd be funny, yeah?"

I agreed.

"Surprise party raid!" I hollered.

I went for the balcony and jumped off (to the sound of over-energized cheering) to hit the ground in style, switch to vehicle form, and race off, leaving the others to catch up.

There's an assumption out there that I don't know fear – that a'almvi don't know fear. That's not true. We do know fear, probably know it better than anyone else in the world. I've learned to master fear just like every other Shifter Follower. That's why Draconians call us vdel'tqtyais – "fear tamers." We don't let fear consume us 'cause fear's part of life. We "tame" it. We manage it.

But that doesn't mean we can't feel fear. We can. And I definitely was feelin' it.

Breaking in had gone without a hitch. Everyone was welcomed onto the ship with open arms, Xeric was installed, but I'd snuck back outside to get a look at the thrusters. Awesome things. I hadn't seen the party leave, but they must have – because the ship's engine roared up, taking the ship – and me – with it. I probably should've jumped off the moment I heard them, but what can I say? Fear made my inner thrill junkie go wild. So I hung on. Up. Up. Up. Thing is, at this height, if I let go, I wind up in a clinic for a freakishly long time at the best, a crypt at the worst. Hijinks wasn't there to warp up and save me, and Verve and Twister weren't there to help. I tried comm'ing them, but the sound of the thrusters probably meant too much exterior static.

I let the fear take over.

I let go.

The ship roared on, and I fell.

The Altihexian star-ship docks were below. There was a flash below, bright turquoise, and I saw a lean canine form appear in time to touch one hand to me. Then the flash swallowed us both. The docks were suddenly all around me, but I only appreciated it for about two astroseconds. The stored speed from the fall meant I hit the ground as fast as if I'd hit the ground from way up above.

(Yeah. I know basic physics. I wasn't at terminal velocity, but letting myself fall for as long as I had meant the momentum I'd stored up didn't go away when Hijinks warped me to ground level.)

I blacked out. So did he, I think.

I woke up almost ten breems later. I hurt like the Pit, and I was on a medical berth, not the streets. I was thankful for the dimmed lighting. I wasn't quite so thankful for the snout that was in my face, whining and licking me. Okay, technically I was happy to see him. Just not thrilled about him licking me. I love my ro-bro, and I know licking when it comes to Preds isn't a sign of him wanting to bond with me – but there're limits.

"Ew! Ew! Bro! Quit it! Ew!"

Hijinks pulled back, fore-paws returning to the ground. He swapped out of beast mode to lean over; mech looked about beat up as I felt. Field tingling and optics wide and spooked, he demanded to know "what in the name of the First Beast I'd been thinking!?"

I knew I'd done something real stupid if Hijinks was this freaked out. This was a mech who could play a Terrorcon on the nasal and hunt down virus-ridden rust hounds to keep the city safe. I groaned. Emotional pain on top of feeling like a Combiner had stomped all over me. Screw having a hang-over. I'd trade having a hang-over for what I felt any cycle.

"I went to a party, I got drunk," I said. "Sue me."

Author's Note: Yep. Backdraft + lots of weak high grade = epic stupidity.