NOTE: Sorry it took a moment to post. I am running late. :D
=0=Now, back to the lunacy. WHO! WHO LET THE DOGS OUT!
The Diego Diaries: Game Day 2
-0-On the field
The officials stood together chatting as the stadium waited for the arrival of the teams. All around the arena mechs with and without families, with and without friends sat waiting, songs circulating the space, the flutter and flash of team colors and banners adding to the atmosphere of joy and harmony.
The humans stood on their platform chatting together watching the crowd and for some of them, filming everything that lived and moved. :I'm glad you got here: Epps said to Aisha and Clarice.
The two women nodded. :We tried to get here for Halloween. I can't wait to see the show. By the way, what is it going to be called?:
:Platoon. They asked for one and they're building the stories around them. Springer is second-in-command, Kup commands because he's just a tough old codger and they like him and the others are the 'platoon':
:Sounds awesome. I can't wait to see it: Clarice said nodding. As she did a cheer went up around them as a team began to file into the stadium.
A line of big mechs followed one carrying their team banner on a pole. They wore the red and white colors of Altihex and the belts around their waists showed that. They were shined within an inch of their life and walked with intense pride.
:I see Smokescreen!: Jessie said leaning forward to see better.
:He's a forward: Lennox said checking his iphone and the web page, 'Cybertronian Football Association' with its gold mine of information.
:This is going to be awesome: she said bouncing up and down on her feet. :GO, SMOKEY!:
They lined up in the center of the stadium and bowed toward the box of the Prime. As they did Polyhex came in to enormous acclaim. They followed their flag bearer wearing the green and white of their team. They lined up and bowed, waiting for the officials to call the game onward.
The refs talked to the team captains and both sides turned heading toward their side of the field. The captains made the choice of kick off or receive. Altihex would receive. The crowd roared. The teams lined up. The humans held their breath. Ironhide held his daughter. All was good.
The ball arced up and the center caught it passing it backward to a running back. Turning and slamming the opposing center in the next millennium, he headed forward like a souped up triceratops spearing and tossing everything in his path.
Clearing the way, the running back ran forward, the ball tucked into his chest, his servo gripping the handle like it was the key to his mother's chastity belt. He made it quite a way down the field before half of Polyhex jumped on his helm and they crashed to the ground. The big center turned back and began to grip mechs tossing them over his shoulders one by one.
The crowd was insane. The humans were beating on one another. Alor had Hero. Ironhide had a distinct impression that his servos were empty and the stadium was ROCKING!
The teams finally caught up and all jumped on the pile as the stadium exploded in a stomping clanging mob of noise. The scrum beat and clawed on each other and then the whistle blew. Everyone crawled off and limped to their side of the point of collision.
An Altihex wing walked out of the line and caught the ball from the referee. Altihex moved into position and Polyhex began to build towers. They jumped up and down off each other trying to block any easy shot the wing might make. That worthy groundered it and the left wing stunting behind a tower caught it. The tower leaned over and fell, missing the swift mech by inches. He turned and ran like the wind toward the open goal. The goalie set himself, his wings tense and his lean body ready to go.
"Look at that fragger go!" Blaster said from the broadcast booth. "What a train wreck."
"I agree. I think he's got a great shot but the goalie is a really good blocker. I would be surprised if he makes it."
He didn't.
Jazz wasn't surprised.
Three men in a bar in California took a shot of the good stuff at the first mention of fragger.
-0-In a nice house with a nice family.
"Grandma?"
"What, angel?"
"What does fragger mean?"
"Ask your grandpa, angel." (grin)
"Here, Janelle. Have a cookie." -A nervous Mrs. Pastor Bob.
-0-At the scene of the crime
The officials looked at the mech lying on the ground in a condition of bentness. "What do you think, Mem?"
"I think we better have Gold Wing and a broom," Mem said nodding.
The game waited for the stretcher and dust bin to collect the wing. The arena stood and gave his pieces parts a standing ovation.
"That left a mark," Blaster said in the control booth.
"They have a lot of scotch tape in sick bay," Jazz said with a wicked grin.
-0-New Jersey
"I think I'm in love with Jazz."
"You and I think alike. What about that mech sitting behind him. He's always in the shot every game."
"I think he might be a frag buddy of Jazz," Lola said taking a sip of her Guinness. "He's cute too."
"They all are. I think I need serious help," Cindy said. "By the way, we get to intern at NASA this next semester."
Pause. Severe optics shot at twin sister. "YOU DIDN'T THINK TO TELL ME THIS BEFORE NOW?"
"I forgot."
"Oh. Okay. Pass me the snacks."
"Here you go."
The two sat and watched.
-0-NASA
They sat watching their usual screens but their attention was mostly on the big one overhead that played the game. There were dozens of screens tuned into Cybertronian programs every day. The scientists parsed everything down to its split infinitives draining from the broadcasts every possible drop of information they could glean.
Cybertronian broadcasting knowing that made sure that nothing of too big of an import made it out to the greater solar system. Jim 'Bubba' Richards sat watching the broadcast in his little office. His interns were doing the greater part of his job for their schooling and so he had the time. In the next semester, he would have twins from New Jersey who were beautiful, smart, fond of fanfiction and frivolity and ready to move up in their quest to someday 'marry a Cybertronian'. The one named Lola had said that with smile and it had locked them both in. The humor, the smile, the blue eyes had sealed the deal.
The toss was made and Polyhex was on. He gave his full attention to the game.
-0-In the stands
Ratchet stood watching as did most of their side of the stadium. Wearing the colors of Iacon United he gave the raspberry and slag to both teams. Ironhide stood beside him grinning, watching as the big mechs slammed into each other as they went back and forth on the pitch. No one was scoring. No one was winning. By the time the first pause came, the score was 0-0 and the body count was one for Altihex and none for Polyhex.
Ratchet watched as the Altihex wing was carted off, scanning that poor spark long distance. Nothing was done that couldn't be made right so he stayed where he was. Gold Wing was taking care of sports medicine and he was glad. There was nothing worse than gluing a slagger back together when a slagging good game was going.
He grinned and began to yell with the rest of them, adding his tribal voice to the mix. "IACON FOREVER! SLAG PRAXUS SCIENCE!"
-0-Prowl
The comely winger stood listening to Ratchet howl and grinned. The tiny mech was sleeping soundly in his carry hold surrounded by soft blankets and heat sent directly to that spot. Optimus stood next to him holding a recharging Miracle. The little mech had drifted off when Ratchet dialed down his audials. He was comfortable in his atar's arms, the loving attention of the Matrix soothing. Rambler and Sunspot stood on the seats talking together pointing out this and that as the other two sat in their grandgenitor's arms watching intently.
"SLAG IACON! PRAXUS SCIENCE FOREVER!" Prowl belted out. He grinned and looked at Ratchet who paused to look at his BFF with a smirk. "Loser."
"Slagger."
"WHINER!"
"SUCK UP!"
Ironhide rolled his optics. "You're both slaggers," he said as the game resumed again.
-0-In the huddle
"Well, we're down our fastest player."
"We all need to be faster."
"Any suggestions?"
Pause.
"I think I know what to do. Let's all run with a fist outward and when anyone tries to stop us, we slam them into orbit."
Pause.
"Any suggestions?"
-0-In the other huddle
"One slagger down, a bunch more to go."
"You're going to get us penalties. That was a miracle. We don't get more than one per game."
"How do you know?"
"I used to cheat."
"Then what? We cheat?"
"No. We pray for miracles. HUT!"
"HUT!"
The two teams came together, the ball being launched into the air. Two centers jumped and cleared nearly 20 feet before slamming their servos onto the ball. They came down and the two lines slammed together. The centers and the ball disappeared into the writhing roiling pile. Imagine a pile of Buicks falling off the Empire State Building at the same time.
Like that.
-0-Nearby
:Damn. That had to hurt: -Cameraman Zeb
:I hope flying debris doesn't take us out: -Aaron Belcher being a big whoosie.
:Whoosie. Suck it up. It's like ants falling off a tree. They fall but it doesn't hurt. They get back up and walk onward: -Jack Mellar
-0-On the field
The whistle blew and everyone got up limping away. If they had been ants falling off of trees, they would be dead. Huddling, they commisserated.
"Frag, that hurt."
"Your slagging elbow nearly put out my optic."
"Your slagging optic nearly broke my elbow."
Two big bots began shoving each other for a moment. Then they settled down again.
"Slaggers. Don't get us a penalty. It's still 0-0 and my ada has laid a HUGE bet on our sorry afts. If you lose this by being stupid, I will hose ya."
"You and what two tank battalions?"
Two big mechs began shoving each other for a moment. Then they settled down again.
"How the frag did I get on this team?"
"Slagging luck I think. HUT!"
The teams returned to the scrimmage line.
-0-In the broadcast booth
"Those slaggers need to bring that sense of fight to the game and not beat each other's aft in the huddle," Jazz said with a chuckle.
"They do like to spar, the dummies," Blaster said looking at a secondary camera feed of his Revet and the fam. Glancing up, he grinned. "I think if you're going to lay a bet it should be on which team gets the most stupid penalties."
"Good point," Jazz replied with a chuckle.
-0-On the field
They slammed into each other and the backs ran forward covering the right wing as he tried to 'thread the needle'. Turning, weaving, he was stopped by a brick wall of mechs who taught him the error of his ways. He lay flat, the ball clenched in his servo like a donut in the grip of a fat kid. Birdies sang in his processor as he lay looking at the sky.
Gold Wing ran out and signaled that his aft was over. They swept him up carting him off to triage. The score was now 1-1.
Each team had a busted ass player. That was all they had. It would be one long hard fought defensive game.
-0-Scotland
"That left a dent."
"I had worse."
"When? Where? Who? How?"
"What?"
-0-Nice house, nice family
"That left a dent."
"I am sure that nice winged doctor will make it all better."
"I don't know if I can watch this all the way through, Mama. I don't think it's a good thing for the kids." -Mrs Pastor Bob.
"I love it. Its like demolition derby." -Bob Junior
"How do you know about demolition derby?" -a scandalized Mrs. Pastor Bob.
"Grandma and I watch it." -Bob Junior
"What?" -a scandalized Mrs. Pastor Bob.
"It's on the sports channel right after the roller derby. I like roller derby." -Little Mama, smiling.
Serious grin. -Little Papa.
-0-Bar in California
"How many times did that satanic little bot say slagger?" -Man A
"I don't know. I need a new beer." -Man C
"Seven times. He said it seven times. Maybe eight." -Man B
"You're making it up." -indignant Man A
"You're right. I'm making it up. It's nine." -Man B knocking back his Harvey Wallbanger. "Bartender? Another one of these. Whatever it is."
"That's a shit drink. Put a wick in it and you can light your house." -Man C
"Do we drink when someone says shit?" -Man B
"Fuck yes." -Man A
They all took a shot together.
=0=TBC
2012 (11)