Pt. 36: Continuations for Wolfsong, Portion Control, Miners & Holes, Burden of Proof, Backstage, Domestic Electronics, and Gone Fishing.
Title: Candy From Strangers, Pt. 36
Warning: Short one, this time. Continuations of other fics.
Rating: PG-13
Continuity: IDW, G1
Characters: Sixshot, Terrorcons, Impactor, Megatron, Kup, Cliffjumper, Nautilator, Ratchet.
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.
Motivation (Prompt): Various Tumblr things.
[* * * * *]
"Wolfsong, solely because "Pen" for some reason convinced [reader] that Sixshot had hidden the notes in his own frame and then offed himself and the Terrorcons had eaten him."
[* * * * *]
He traveled with them. They internalized him. He was inside them: his strength became their strength, his stubborn refusal of weakness their own. Perhaps it was self-delusion, but wasn't every narrative they told about themselves? They'd named themselves the Terrorcons despite the laughter of the other Decepticons. Imagining his presence standing in their shadows as ghostly company wasn't a huge extrapolation from that.
[* * * * *]
"And the old saying goes "Do not poke a sleeping phase sixer"
[* * * * *]
Poke.
Blot folded his arms.
Poke poke.
More arm folding. He tapped his foot for good measure this time.
Poke poke pokedy-poke poke.
"Get uuuuuuup."
"Ngrle."
"Sixshot." Poke poke poke, and the thrill of touching his hero was somewhat mitigated by said hero's refusal to get off the berth so he could squeegee the mess away.
"Mmph."
Poke.`
"Mmph!"
"Move it." Poke poke.
Sixshot curled into a stubborn ball. Blot sighed.
"You're asking for it," he warned. The sixchanger on the berth stayed unmoved by poking and warning alike.
So Blot opened his mouth wide and slobbered a giant tongue across him. "Mlaaaaaaaaaaah!"
There.
[* * * * *]
"Sixshot - A coping mechanism headcanon"
[* * * * *]
His back hurt.
His front hurt.
His everything hurt.
Sixshot woke up hurting all over. He heaved a sigh, too tired to even wince from the immediate cramp that seized up his ventilation system. It cranked through him like a solid mass through air shafts, forced along a painful lump at a time until it finally petered out into a vague ache in his fan hubs. Exhaustion followed in a terrible wave. He wished he could just fall back into recharge, where he could at least rest in uneasy, shallow, pain-echoing stasis. His body never really relaxed into deep defragment. There was simply too much input from his smashed body, constantly filling his queues with sensory data that had to be processed no matter what his cringing CPU thought about acknowledging the pain.
He used to think of pain as a cocktail, dangerous but a dash of something different. An acquired taste indulged in during missions. Now he thought of it more as a thick sludge he spent every waking moment wading through. It sucked him down with every step, until he gasped barely above the surface on bad days and trudged along in knee-deep agony on good ones.
Today wasn't going to be a good day, he could already tell. It hurt too much.
Fortunately, somebody was in the next bunk. Sinnertwin appeared to be reading a bookfile of some kind. Sixshot squinted. Was that a cookbook? That would certainly explain why one head was drooling while the other appeared to be mouthing an ingredient list. The Terrorcons did seem the type to consider a recipe a good bedtime story.
"Mmmngh," Sixshot slurred. His vocalizer didn't want to boot up.
Both heads glanced over.
"He awakens!" and "Need anything, Sleeping Beauty?" were said at the same moment. Sixshot thought other people might find Sinnertwin's speaking habits confusing, but he didn't have the slightest problem making sense of the doubled voice anymore.
Fingers twitched in the world's weakest beckoning gesture. "Mmhm."
"Yeah? Coming," and "Hold on, I need to save my spot." Multiple optics blinked as the bookfile closed down, and then Sinnertwin transformed, two heads condensing into one.
Sixshot approved. One mouth was easier to deal with for what he had planned. He beckoned feebly again.
"Alright, whatcha neemmph!"
Lunging up off the berth hurt like blazes, but this kiss was going places. Pain-free places. Very soon, at that. Sixshot had every intention of making sure nothing at all hurt by the time he was done, and Sinnertwin surprise melted rapidly into equal enthusiasm for this plan.
[* * * * *]
"Miners and Holes, Megatron and Impactor after they leave the gloryhole bar"
[* * * * *]
Impactor's nose set straighter than Megatron's, even after they stopped under a neon sign to try setting it again. "Owwww!"
"Wuss." Impactor threw an arm around his friend's shoulders, laughing. "Can't take two hits without fah!" He doubled over.
Megatron rubbed his already dented knuckles, smirking at Impactor gasping like a grounded Sharkicon. "Sucker." His optics popped wide as the other miner lunged. A broad shoulder took him under the armor of his chest, a bigger suckerpunch than the one he'd landed, and the breath rushed out of him in a loud, "Oof!"
"Yeah, I'll show you a sucker." Impactor straightened with some difficulty against the ache in his midriff, and Megatron yelped as he was suddenly yanked off his feet, flailing over his friend's shoulder. "Find us an alley, and you're gonna be the sucker."
Megatron laughed breathlessly but didn't deny it.
[* * * * *]
"Impactor - MORE!"
[* * * * *]
Gentleness didn't come naturally to him. Slow, steady contact wasn't part of a miner's life. Miners specialized in sharp, brutal movements, thrusts and digs and hammered fists on rock and metal. His hands were calibrated for dealing with mechs in heavy protective armor, passing battered, thick equipment down the line until the gears stripped and somebody with better training took it away to fix it. Fingertips whispered over exposed circuitry wasn't an arena he'd done rounds in.
"More," Megatron moaned under tentative fingers, face twisted in something close to but not agony. The panels on his head sparked, teased to trembling sensitivity, and he writhed, pushing for more.
Impactor smirked. "Y'know, I think this is good." He had to practice, after all.
[* * * * *]
"Another bot for Burden of Proof"
[* * * * *]
For all that Cliffjumper was a mouthy spitfire the rest of the time, he clammed up in the berth. It was probably a defense mechanism. Moaning like a holovid porn star was erotic as the Pit, but it likely didn't fit his projected image. He hated not being taken seriously.
Kup bent over him, listening closely. The little minibot's optics were dimmed, staring sightless at the wall his bunk was attached to, and his mouth hung slightly open. The rest of him trembled tense on the verge of overload, but his lips were slack as he concentrated everything he had on keeping his vocalizer offline. Kup smiled. Good.
His hand worked Cliffjumper's plug, and the minibot's throat jumped around stifled sounds. Kup shook his head at the mech's stubbornness, but he had to admire it. Breaking Cliffjumper wasn't the point. The point was to have a good time. A really good time, if he had anything to say about it. Dipping down, he pressed a kiss to one adorable red audio horn. Then he continued further down. The horns were cute, but he wanted a plug in his mouth. It felt too good in his hand not to try it out elsewhere.
Cliffjumper never got any louder, but he didn't need to be.
[* * * * *]
"civilian Decepticons from Backstage"
[* * * * *]
"Which one's he?"
"Skywarp."
"Potential?"
"A link to the Air Commander, who still has Megatron's favor, believe it or not." They sipped their drinks, watching the soldiers being doted on. After centuries of the current level of servitude, adoration from their native slaves had become a background noise. Seeing the reactions of the newcomers made the settlers aware, again.
Most of the newcomers marveled at their attendant flocks of worshipers. The purple Seeker, on the other hand… "Watch him. I don't like how he uses his attendants. If he stoops to abuse for amusement, assign his servants elsewhere. I won't have him setting a precedent that disturbs our colony."
"Of course, governor."
"And speak to the biology department. I want at least one city population adjusted to a higher level of devotion. If this 'Skywarp' is an example of common attitudes toward organics, there will be more visitors who treat them as disposable. Culture a hierarchy that instills the belief that sacrifice in service is an honor. I want slaves without fear set aside in an obvious group of high status, highly desirable to our visitors, and the rest of them aware of their safety because of the presence of these sacrificial servants." The governor tapped his fingers against his glass. "Perhaps rules should be established dictating common sense visitor laws."
"I'll add it to the negotiations list."
"Who's the blue one?"
"Thundercracker, also linked to the Air Commander."
"Xenophobe?"
"He doesn't appear to like close contact with organics."
"Ah. Remind the attendant handlers to conduct lessons on how slaves should approach masters without tolerance for other species."
"Consider it done."
[* * * * *]
"Domestic Electronics"
[* * * * *]
The day started out as a fight between Whirl and Megatron. After Ultra Magnus released Megatron from his packaging, that was. That by itself took a while, as Rodimus spent a long time arguing with Bob about putting the former D-line flagship model in charge of his side of the aisle. Rodimus didn't share shelf space well. Ultra Magnus didn't look too happy, either, but I'd never seen him happy so who knew if his face even did positive emotions.
Anyway, yeah. Megatron activated and took his first stroll down the aisle. All the Transformers gaped at him. He very deliberately didn't kick aside the iRobots.
Then Whirl barreled into him, and things seemed briefly more like normal. As normal as the Domestic Electronics aisle ever got compared to, say, Housewares. Everybody liked working Housewares. The toaster ovens didn't hold fist fights daily.
I wasn't there for Megatron turning around and rescuing Whirl from the D-line counter-attack, but Bob told me about it later.
"They're D-line demo models," he said, putting his elbows on a washing machine as he bemoaned his area to me. "None of them have the upgrades for this season installed. They automatically obey him, still, right? So Whirl attacked him, but he's ordering the D-line to keep Whirl alive, and they're listening. Like, this is screwing with my head, man. I thought I had my seasonal aisle chart mapped out. Carl approved it and everything, but now I gotta rearrange everything!"
"Why?"
"Geez. Okay, so, they tried to stage a rescue. The D-line," Bob added when I looked clueless. "They tried to get Megatron back over to their side of the aisle, and he just stood there staring at them. Magnus twist-tied the whole group and threw 'em in the 'fridge, and Megatron just stood there watching. That's fine for now, but what happens when they get their updates? He kept the D-line in order. Now he's A-line. The next time, they might be attacking him instead of rescuing him, and he's gonna cream them."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Oh."
"So you're saying I shouldn't tell Tarn about this."
"God no!"
[* * * * *]
"Gone Fishing"
[* * * * *]
"I don't get it." Nautilator gave Ratchet a blank look. "You mean everybody thought he was…dumb?"
"Not sentient, yes." Ratchet frowned at him. Now that he thought about it… "You didn't?"
The Decepticon gave him a look that radiated incomprehension. "Mech, I've never had a conversation with a drone. I've had lots of conversations with Ten. Is it the language thing? 'Cause I got stuck in a POW stockade with this Autobot guard once, and I swear to Primus, he spoke in sound effects. Loud sound effects. He made explosion noises randomly in the middle of talking instead of whole phrases, and nobody in my cell block had any trouble understanding him. You just kinda," he made a gesture with his glass, trying to explain, and that actually spelled it out better for Ratchet than anything else, "interpret body language. It ain't that hard to talk to Ten. He's not really smart, but c'mon. I know what my med file says 'bout my intelligence stats. I don't have any room to talk."
"I suppose you have a - wait, how do you know what's in your medical file?"
Nautilator wasn't all that smart, but even he knew when it was time to change the subject.
[* * * * *]