Thanks for all the follows and favorites, guys! It really brightens my day. Smily face.
Well, this is a long one. Drafted this late at night based off of my vague understanding of MM 10's plot. Hopefully I didn't mess anything up too badly.
I had this and another, thankfully shorter one I needed to rewrite entirely, because I couldn't put my finger on what it was I had issues with. Soon as I finish up the latter we'll be caught up and I can get started on new prompts again.
I'd like to mention that it's completely okay to send me prompts. I can't guarantee they'll be long enough to qualify for placement here, but I'll get them to you somehow, some way.
Anyway, enjoy!
X-X Conjointly (Or: A Midseason Filler Episode) X-X
"We should have a team move."
Blues quirks an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder at his brother in blue, who has stripped off his chest and arms plates and is poking about his stomach cavity with a screwdriver. Eyebrows are knit, a bit of tongue sticking out a corner, umber hair spouting out like sidewalk weeds from where his helmet has been chipped and cracked.
He crumbles the empty E-tank in his hand, drops it, gives it a light kick to the side. They're standing on the fridges of yet another industrial park—Rush's head jerks up at the sound of aluminum skidding gravel. Blues waits for either dog or boy to reprimand him for littering (so they can get their Environmentalist Badge!), but that doesn't come, and Rock's statement just sits on the ground between them like a failed paper plane.
Blues is reminded of an episode of Scooby Doo he saw years ago, back before the fallout, where the mist was so thick they literally cut a donut out of it with a knife.
Rock just taps his dog on the shoulder. Rush's eyes light up, little suns, and protrude and bend until they're hanging over Rock's stomach.
As if he wouldn't mind if Blues left without him. But, he has the copy chip; he has more E-tanks. Wouldn't be wise to just leave him, right?
Blues asks, "Like some anime?"
"Yeah," Rock replies, not looking up from his task. "Like the Power Rangers."
Blues stands there watching his brother play with his own innards.
Well, what should he say? Bring up Roll, bring up their borrowed time? Make fun of him for being a dweeb? That would just be him repeating himself.
"I have some duct tape," Blues says, "if you need any."
Rock's eyes shoot up, blink, fall back down. "Uh, no thank you." Slaps his hatch shut, feeds the screwdriver to Rush, and raises his head again, so the two brothers' eyne can finally meet. "Unless you wanna tape our blasters together for the super move?"
Blues gets the urge he'll sometimes get with Roll, to wipe the grime off their cheeks and fix their crooked smiles. Bit vaguer, quick as lightning, but still it was there.
Instead he smirks. "Why bother trying to top what's already perfect?"
"Aren't you a prototype?" Rock asks as he pushes himself to his feet.
Blues taps the side of his helmet; his mouth-guard slides into place. Static-lacing his voice as he replies, "You're not even supposed to be weaponized, kid. I don't wanna hear it."
"Is that jealousy I hear?"
Blues kicks up his shield, reminds himself to dip Rush's chew toys in a whole vat of scrambler chips as he hears the canine's sniggers.
"Kid, I would be the head of the Power Rangers' megabot; you'd be the left leg when all of the interns are out sick. Now quit and let's get going before you embarrass yourself." "He gives the boy in blue a once-over. "Further."
Cerulean eyes roll; a same-hued hand rubs his growling dog behind the ear. "All the Rangers sit in the head together, Smartie Pants. And if you're such a great leader, why didn't you scout ahead for any more of Wily's bots?"
Rock starts a bit as his elder brother suddenly spins on his heels, nearly clocking Rush in the snout with his shield, visage unreadable. Pause. Then he pokes Rock right in the chest and quips back," See? This is why I couldn't leave you behind; you're just a kid in over his head—"
"—I am."
"—And I couldn't leave you because I don't know when I turn back if you're gonna be doing something productive or eating glue and crayons."
Rock's own visage has morphed from surprise to smile. "The only one hiding art supplies on them is you." Blues' shoulders slack as he turns back around, to the wood they're to trek into next for the cure, for the parts he'll duct tape together himself if he has to.
(And he can't convince himself he won't have to) As Rock merely continues speaking: "How do I know you're not the one who likes to eat glue? Is that why—"
Blues sidesteps his brother's dive, catches him by the collar of his own armor so he doesn't fall on his face. "—your...?"
"Don't touch me."
Rock stumbles. "O-okay. I'm sorry, Blues."
But the prototype has already stolen ahead, spinning the handle of his shield about his fingers. "Protoman."
Rock rubs his hackles down and begins to follow with smaller steps. But he murmurs, "More like Protodweeb," with a simper.
"Say that to my face when this is all over!" Blues calls casually. "I guess you need another reminder why they still me Breakman, too."
