The Diego Diaries: Shadow Box Interlude 9 (236/72) edited for boo boos :D
-0-Moments later
They huddled.
"Slag."
"Frag."
"Slagging frag."
"What now?"
"How about that play we were working on?"
"I don't know. That was funny in practice but the entire city will be watching and I don't know."
"All in favor of doing it raise their arms."
"All arms raised for the play. Anything else?"
"Nope." -unanimous too
HUT!
They walked to the line where Altihex was preening, flexing their muscles so to speak to the adoring crowd. They looked at Iacon with a grin. They stood leering at the line as Iacon walked up, their expressions filled with triumph and contempt.
"Well, well, well. Look who's coming? Want some more, ladies?" -Altihex NOT FEELING A DAMNED THING Altitudes
"FRAG YOU! BRING IT!" -Iacon INCREDIBLY United
They did.
CLASH!
CLONG!
CRACKA-CRACKA! KABONG!
They moved to the line of scrimmage going back and forth to set up again. It was the same place they started. No one was gaining an inch. Iacon after a blistering huddle HUT-HUTTED and walked to the line, all of them on board to do The Play. Lining up, they all took the set. Then the ball was passed. As the ball was passed, this happened:
The entire front line of Iacon minus the ball carrier grabbed the helm of the opposing charging Altitude and slammed them face first into the ground. They were charging, then they were planted.
Yes, it was that fast.
The entire front line of Iacon minus the ball carrier leaped over the carcasses of the Altitudes and pirouetted on their peds as the ball carrier leaped in majestic airs above the ground to land with them. Forming up in an reverse arrow head, they ran like a snowplow through the backfield of Altihex on their way to The Promised Land.
The goalie looking at the full rush of Armaggedon did his best but was punted into the stands by half a dozen of the four Iacon forwards while their ball carrier shinied up the pole and popped it through the hoop in an impressive display of sparklinghood unparalled in the game so far.
Iacon then slammed into each other in their penultimate glee chest bumping because as males they were stupid. Then all of them to the best of their ability began funky dancing back to the line of scrimmage. Passing piles of defensive backs here and there they waggled their afts as they sang their war songs:
"FRAG YOU, ALTIHEX! FRAG YOU, ALTIHEX! FRRRAAAAAAGGGGG YOU, ALTIHEX!"
Needless to say, Altihex gathered into their huddle motivated.
"Frag Iacon."
They all stood up and turned: "FRAG YOU, IACON!"
After a short huddle, the officials decided not to penalize Altihex for poor sportsmanship because secretly they felt the same way about Iacon. Most of them were officials on Cybertron in the pro leagues and were aware of the copious amounts of shanix spread among the player pools to (buy)field the best team Iacon United could (bribe) recruit. That wouldn't have mattered if some of it had come to them. But it didn't.
The cheap slaggers.
"PLAY FRAGGING BALL!" -the officials.
"What do we do?" -Altihex wingman still picking dirt out of his audials.
"WE FRAG 'EM GOOD!" -everyone
"Yeah, but what do we do?" -wingman having a bit of trouble hearing.
"HUT FRAGGING HUT, YOU FRAGGERS!"
They lined up, Iacon preening this time and the slagging began. The movement was glacial, the fists flying reminiscent of a comet trail in the Kuiper Belt. They battled back and forth, then a timeout was called.
"Those slaggers are really pretty evenly matched," Ratchet said as he stood watching tensely. Ironhide who stood in front of him on the next bench down was getting the worst of Ratchet's nerves. A punch punctuated each failed drive. Near strangulation gripped each attempt to gain yardage. He turned and looked up. "Slag it, old mech! Are you trying to kill me!?"
Ratchet looked down, his servos gripping Ironhide by the finials. He grinned. "Sorry."
Ironhide smirked. "Whiner." A rap on the noggin greeted that remark.
Prowl grinned. "Even Ironhide agrees," he said smugly. A rap on his noggin greeted that remark.
Neither Praxian cared. The whiners.
Back on the field, the ball was tossed into play and the scrum formed. A huge mass of interlocked bots pushed around the field staggering here and there. Occassionally a fist could be see slamming into someone in the pile up but mostly it was deeper inside where the real mayhem was.
"GAG! GET GO OB BY NOBE ASSEMBY, GAGGER!"
"FRAG YOU! LET GO OF MY FINIAL!"
"MY COD PIECE! MY COD PIECE!"
And so it went.
Then the ball squirted out and an Altitude took it out of bounds. It was Iacon's ball. A right wing stepped up to throw it into play as towers formed in front of him, menacing mechs throwing a dark array of shadows over him. His own side was stunting all over just at the legal distance trying to be open for the toss.
"FRAG YOU! GIVE ME THE BALL, SLAGGER!" Someone up on a teetering Altihex tower ragged on the wing trying to throw off his confidence as well as his aim. The tower moved with him bumping into another until finally the ball was thrown.
The mech on top of the tower leaned forward and caught it throwing it backwards over his shoulder into Iacon territory before crashing to the ground in a heap of shiny metal. The complexity and randomness of that pile would rival any pointlessly crappy construction in a modern art museum and make as much sense. As they untangled themselves, others ran to grab the ball and the scrum was on again.
They moved back and forth, the crowd nearly joining them as the tension mounted. Finally, an Altitude managed to break free with the ball running like an out-of-control missile toward the end zone where only a goalie and one defensive back stood between him and a full interview on The Hourly News, instead of a backrow position in a group picture in the Autobot Daily newspaper.
Like that.
He picked up speed and bowed his neck. They stepped back planting their peds. He rammed the back and sent him flying aft over tea kettle into the stands where he landed on a row of Wreckers. They picked him up and threw him back overboard along with their best wishes for him to frag himself to the Pit.
With only a goalie, he thundered on and with more grace than his grannie, with the entire hopes and dreams of his city-state hanging on his agility, with every ancestor he ever had chanting 'Don't frag this up. Don't frag this up' in his audials, he didn't.
As Ratchet watched Altihex beat the cannisters off his dearly beloved United, he began the complex math that would result from a championship stolen won by Praxus *gag* *choke* Science. What would it mean for the year it would take for the championship to roll around again?
First of all, Ironhide and Prowl would be insufferable. More so than now he considered.
Slaggers.
Secondly, it would require a backdoor series of recruitment ploys. He would have to review the refugee lists as they came in for players from the professional as well as collegiate leagues. It would also be nice to include a few felons as well. Ratchet was totally unaware that Prowl already had this process nailed down.
Thirdly, Prowl and Ironhide would be insufferable.
Blackjack was smarter. Alor was a decent honorable incredibly smart bot who was an Iacon fan as well. After all, both of them separated in that city. Autobot HQ was in Iacon and if you had even the pretensions of any class, you would be from there too. Even though Ratchet's pretensions to class were iffy at best, he still held that Iacon had a swurve that he could feel proud of.
What was Praxus? The City of Calculation.
Really.
That was its slogan.
They were the learning capital of Cybertron with more brainiacs per square foot than say just about most of the known universe. Perceptor and Wheeljack, Prowl and his ada, the rest of Sciences … oh and Ironhide.
Ratchet smiled.
The nerds would rule the world for a year. It would be the Pit. Nerd jokes, nerd drinks, nerd noogies... he felt his cod piece shrivel.
/...PROWL! PRRRROOOOOOWWWWWWLLLLLLL! AAARRRRRGGGHHHHHHH! PROWLLLLLL!.../
Whiner.
Ratchet grinned again.
The subject of his stream of consciousness turned to grin at Ratchet. He laughed and danced … for Prowl. He smirked and stood with his servos on his hips laughing at Ratchet.
Optimus who stood calmly beside him holding Rambler smirked at Ratchet. :You have my sympathies:
:I was just about to say the same to you, Optimus: Ratchet replied with a laugh. They both smirked knowingly. Then the game continued, Altihex Altitudes 6, Iacon United 3.
The battle for dominance exhausted itself at the mid game and mid field line as the siren signaling the end of the first half blared. The crowd stood and roared, the decibels of it physically pattering against the habitat suits of the humans. Without them, this level of noise was lethal.
All in all, another way to die on Mars.
The teams limped off behind their banners, smirking at and fragging with each other across the short distance between their lines. When they disappeared into the arena entrance bots were rising to walk there as well from all over the audience. Ratchet took Orion and Praxus from grandgenitors who looked at them in surprise.
All of them but Alor of course. He turned and followed Ratchet.
"What the frag does this mean do you think?" Ironhide asked Ravel.
"I don't know, Ironhide, but I heard that it would not be good to miss the half time show," Ravel said helpfully.
Ironhide looked down at him and grinned. "You're so cute, Ravel. I am just saying."
Ravel hugged him. Ironhide hugged him back.
-0-At the arena gate
They stood with a box and aides out the wazoo waiting for sparklings that had been called via their family's interpersonal call lines. A list of the needed sparklings was gathered along with frequencies and they were now being collected. Genitors dropped them off, then were told to go back to their seats. They did. Most of them. Some lurked nearby, their sparks pounding in their chests as they watched the school staff harness up the babies and fasten hats on their helms.
It was going to be spectacular.
Maybe.
When Herling turned and walked out onto the field the place exploded. He paused at the center field ignoring the odd energon stain and looked around. There were 220,000 individuals in the arena. The one next door held 210,000. At the airfield, the remaining portion of their population which was now 877,002 because a sparkling separated from his ada and one came from the Well of All Sparks the day before watched him as he stood quietly, nervously waiting.
He was also aware that nearly seven billion humans with a capital B were also watching one planet over. He felt his spincter tighten even as he waited. When they all were quiet, he looked at Alor who was sitting on the sideline with his keyboard waiting to play. Glancing at Prime, he bowed deeply. Prime stood and bowed slightly back as was protocol. When Herling looked up again, he began.
"My name is Herling and I am Director for Education for Mar-"
That is as far as the broadcast could catch as the crowd roared their afts off. Apparently, the schools had pretty good community support in the city. When they quieted down, he smiled. "It is my great pleasure to tell you about the half time show. As you know, the Sparkling Day School is one of three public schools for all of our children to attend. It is mandatory for them to do so by order of the Prime."
"OPTIMUS! OPTIMUS! OPTIMUS! OPTIMUS!"
A chant broke out and the camera focused on Prime who stood holding Spirit as he listened. He waved his servo and the crowd roared, then quieted down.
"It is impossible to tell you how proud we all are of our Sparkling Day School, our Youngling Day School and the Cybertronian equivalent of high school, our Youngling Intermediate School."
The place ruptured itself in approval. Then it died down again.
"What we are going to do is present for the honor of this pre-championship playoff game a program that has been practiced since Christmas Surprise by our smallest students."
Bedlam.
Then quiet.
"We provide dance and arts education which is taught by two of our most dedicated school supporters, Laret and Neo of Iacon."
Bedlam times two.
:Who would have thought Neo would get a standing ovation at anything but her own execution?: Ratchet asked as he stood next to Prowl.
:I know. Are you as nervous as I am about Miracle? And did you know about this, loser?: Prowl asked.
:No, whiner. I didn't. And I am the ada of Orion and Praxus. You have to ask?: Ratchet replied. Their laughter was swallowed up by the crowd noise.
Nearby having spincter problems of his own ...
:Are you as nervous as I am, Thundercracker and why didn't you tell me that the hatchlings would be in a half time show? I would have camped on the sidelines for pictures: Starscream crabbed.
:I am and I didn't know. Suck it up, Star: Thundercracker said with a grin.
Sky Warp would have added his two shanix but he was feeling queasy.
The dumb aft.
"We advise that you hold down the noise a bit to prevent them from being frightened or distracted. They have worked incredibly hard as have Laret, Neo and the aides who will be assisting. Alor has composed music for this show that will be published online in the Community Bulletin Board Music Education file. It is our hope that they can do this even though this setting may be daunting. Without further ado, the Sparkling Day School Dance Classes."
Herling hurried to the sidelines where Alor sat waiting for the troop to come out and the signal to play to begin. For a moment a murmur of approval ran through the stands, then Neo emerged holding a lead. After a few steps, behind her came Olo, a tiny white sparkling with a spotless colorless format. She was luminously brilliantly completely white.
She also wore a hat on her helm.
She walked out with a glyph on her helm attached to a little white cap that fastened under her chin. It was the glyph that spelled Cybertron and sticking up as well was a tiny rendition of the flag of that beloved home world. Olo was led by Neo who had a leash fastened to the belt around her middle. Behind her fastened by a leash extending from Olo to him was Orion. He wore the hat that held the glyph of the Armed Forces including the Seekers and Wreckers. A tiny flag that held all of their brands stuck up fluttering in the breeze.
He ambled along and another followed, their cap holding the first glyph of many that would name the city-states, the main regions of Cybertron and special locations like the Sonic Canyons and the Sea of Rust. One-by-one, the little bots and femmes walked out hooked together by a long lead wearing their hats with great happiness. When the last bot emerged on Neo's line followed by two aides, one holding a tiny box, the next line began led by Laret.
The leader of that line was Miracle wearing the glyph and tiny flag that honored and declared the Primes of Cybertron.
-0-TBC
2013 (3)
NOTE: No offense but I sort of see Iacon as the New York Yankees/Dallas Cowboys of Cybertronian sports. Its a big town that has lots of shanix to spread around to entice the best players. That hasn't made it well liked in the league. :D