The Diego Diaries: Shadow Box Interlude 11 (238/75 )
-0-At the game
They walked back onto the field ready for the second half of the playoff. The crowd went nuts as they walked in their lines to the midfield line. They lined up and bowed to Prime. He bowed back and they turned to their sides of the field to begin.
Both lines walked to the center field and because they didn't get to receive last time, Iacon got the ball. The ref noted both teams in position and threw the ball to Iacon. With that, the train wreck was on. This was the do or die moment. If Iacon lost they were on the wild card position and the way things were going, it was a dead end unless the entire Vos team disappeared in the dead of night sometime in the next decaron. Altihex, who was already eliminated and only had it in their power to make sure Vos rather than Iacon made it to the last playoff game, was hot to do them in.
KABONG!
CRASH!
TEAR!
REND!
KABOINGA-BOINGA-BOING!
The ball squirted straight up and they all paused to see it go. At that point, both lines began to climb up on the backside of anyone in their way, friendly or no to grasp.
GRASP!
SQUIRT!
GRASP!GRASP!GRASP! GRAB!
With that, the center of Iacon disappeared under a colossal pile of spare parts. The crash was astonishing to watch as clearly individual individuals lost their autonomous identities as they caved in one upon the other. The cursing was amazing. The fists flying instructive and while this was going on a wing man from Iacon crawled out of the pile up with the ball in servo. He rose and began to run like the entire Night Watch was on his tail.
It was a writhing mass of cursing for a moment, then they paused as the enormous squall of screaming from fans of Vos, Altihex, Praxus Science, Polyhex and Kaon yelled that the ball was in play. They rose as one and looked in every direction as one, then spotted as one the ball being punted through the hoop at the end of the road.
It spiraled in a wobbly circle as the ped of the kicker slipped as he slid on a stripe of energon on the ground. It was from a certain Altihex back grabbing and stripping the gears of an Iacon forward earlier in the game. The ball rose up and up from an almost unheard of distance, then passed through the goalie's servos through the hoop.
The place went nuts.
-0-In the stately box of the Prime
"AAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!" -Ratchet who was waggling his aft at Prowl. "Ahahahahahahahahahaahaaahahh ahahahaaa, whiner!"
Prowl on the other servo looked at Ratchet with only the expression of disdain someone who was raised to sneer at dumb asses could muster. /... slag … LOSER! … slag.../
-0-Around the arena
"Look at Ratchet!" -Drift, pointing at both jumbotrons.
"That mech is having a fit. Needs a frag or something. Lucky Ironhide." -Kup
"You need a frag, Kup. Ratchet is sparked. I don't think fragging is a problem," Springer said with a grin.
"Mech is a loon. That's what the problem is," Kup replied as he champed down on his stogie.
"You know what they say about taking one to know one. I think you need a frag, old mech," Springer said. "I think I'll put in a good word with Ratchet for ya."
It took three mechs to prevent Kup from throwing Springer over the side.
-0-In the booth
The camera lingered on Ratchet as he danced and cavorted in the stands. Blurr and Blaster watched chuckling. "That is our Ambassador-At-Large for Autobot Nation, Ratchet. As you can see he and our S.I.C. are having a difference of opinion on the quality of play," Blaster said with a laugh. "Prowl looks bent out of shape. He's a die-hard Praxus fan and Ratchet is Iacon to the protoform. Prime can't openly take a side so that explains how serene he looks right now. Even if his bond lives and dies for Praxus, he can't take a side."
"He's an Iacon home town boy isn't he?" Revet asked from behind them as he worked the board.
"He is but you wouldn't know it from the expression on his face," Blurr said with a grin.
A knowing grin.
-0-Prime
He stood holding Rambler as he surveyed the field, his calm and serene demeanor standing out in the sea of insanity that was the crowd all around him.
/... IACON! WHAT THE FRAG!? … IIIIAAAACCCCCOOOONNNNN! … NO! … FRAG PRAXUS, ALTIHEX AND KAON! …/ -Prime, serene.
-0-The huddles
"GO IACON! WHO'S YOUR DADDY!? GO IACON! WHO'S YOUR DADDY!?" -Iacon sneering. As usual.
"%^$#! And # *&! And also $%# &%!" -Altihexing Iacon.
HUT!
They walked back and Altihex got the ball. The slamming of the lines was classic, reminiscent of the days of Vince Lombardi and his FRAG THEM ALL TO THE PIT! philosophy of fair play. They pushed back and forth, the ball changing sides until it went out of bounds on the twenty yard line in Iacon territory.
The foul was for Altihex because an Iacon back who had his servo stomped on by Altihex had turned around and punted that player ten yards the other way. Since no referee had seen his servo foul, he didn't get a break. The official did though when he was punched in the face by the mech using his one remaining good servo.
He got ejected.
Springer and Kup with the other security mechs 'patrolling' the game from their bleacher seats had to go to the Altihex bench when the entire first row of the stadium on that side decided to stomp a few servos of that team. It was tense but defused when Springer punched a bruiser in the face, both of them receiving injuries. Springer bent his knuckles and the bruiser got his feelings hurt.
It was a win-win.
For the spectators of Earth.
"TWO FREE THROWS FOR ALTIHEX! PENALTY AGAINST IACON!"
It took a moment for the booing and thrown objects to subside, then Altihex threw the first throw.
It was a swing and a miss.
The critical reviews by Iacon as well as Vos and Kaon who still had hope for a playoff berth were immediate:
"BWAHAHAHAHAAHAHA! JUST LIKE KISSING YOUR SISTER, RIGHT, FRAGGER!?" -Vos fan who might have some experience since he had three sisters. All of them gave him nuclear optics. He shut his pie hole immediately.
"FRAG YOU, ALTIHEX! NEED A FOOT STOOL?! YOU CAN STAND ON MY ASS!" -General Morshower who was losing large on Iacon.
"ALTIHEX! CYBERTRONIAN FOR BERTH WETTERS!" -A youngling whose ada was a defensive back for Iacon. A rap of his grandada's knuckles on his noggin took care of that.
Altihex who felt their artistic feelings were hurt nearly emptied the bench to dispute the findings with the entire front row of their side of the stadium. They couldn't hear Morshower over the mayhem or they would have likely bopped him on his noggin too.
The Wreckers who had been given the bonus of a player landing on them earlier were among the front row fraggers fragging with Altihex and none of them would listen to Springer when he threatened to suspend them from their (ball)(s) bearings if they didn't sit down.
They ignored him because they were bad ass until Springer subbed a gun and capped a couple into the clear blue sky. Everyone stopped, glanced at him, then turned as one to bitch him out.
Blurr: "This game is getting good. Ol' Springer is getting his aft handed to him."
Blaster: "He's the head of security for Mars and the city as well as the chief of the Wreckers, our most bad aft soldier unit. This is going to be fun. Drift and Kup are there. They also have Sandstorm and … what is this? Is that Gypsy?"
A camera cut to the image of a tiny femme standing on the steps leading down to the arena floor, her expression filled with foreboding. She was waiting with her subspaced medi-kit, a little one from her children upon her appointment to head femme, sparkling, youngling and elder medicine for the planet. Clear on the top of it was her Wrecker tattoo emblem that was signed by every Wrecker on Mars. Coming up behind her with a clearly worried expression on his handsome face was her bond, Cambo. Cheering both of them on were two little mechs, their sons, Comet and Turbo.
Clearly, families that rioted together, stayed together.
"She's one stand up little femme. She's the officially designated medic slash doctor for the Wreckers," Blaster said with a chuckle. "Femme can wreck with the best of them."
"She can at that," Blurr said with a grin.
The scene went on as Springer held his ground. Night and Day Watch mechs and two Watch clerical femmes with cross expressions began to come down as well to support their boss and his boss, Drift. They quelled the disturbance, then turned with a gimlet optic to walk back into the stands to their seats. There was a heated argument with the refs, officials and coaches, then the official walked forward to call penalties.
"ALTIHEX GETS ONE MORE THROW! IACON ARE FRAGGERS! THE ENTIRE FRONT ROW OF THIS SIDE OF THE STADIUM WILL BE EJECTED IF THEY DON'T STAY PUT, YOU SLAGGERS! IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, STUFF IT! PLAY BALL!"
And the beat went on …
He stood poised, the silence falling almost painful to his audials. He looked around at the optics on him. They needed one more point to get ahead and a french kiss from Primus to hold that one point lead to the very end. Praying like he never prayed before and hoping his form would look masculine and not dorky for the photographers as he leaped into the air, he took his shot on goal.
On the way down, his optics never leaving the ball, he prayed: "WHAT THE FRAG! WHAT THE FRAG! WHAT THE FRAG!"
It was a swing. The ball went through the hoop. It was good.
He owned Primus a french kiss.
-0-In the box of the Prime
The camera lingered on Prowl as he waggled his aft at Ratchet who stood with a sniveling sneer that only someone who had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks most of their formative years could manage. Prowl was the homecoming queen and he was the fragger who glued the glitter ball together for the prom. Prowl was the effortless beauty who could wear a ruck sack and make it look like Valentino while Ratchet couldn't get his seams straight if his life depended upon it. (For those of you who are forty to sixty years younger than me, stockings –hose- used to have seams up the back. Imagine trying to get them straight your size. Ratchet? Not so much. Okay. I've aged myself.)
Prowl was the cherry on the top of the platinum cupcake and Ratchet was the dirty bowl soaking in the sink. Prowl was the teacher's pet and Ratchet was the guy who didn't even have a teacher. That they were BFFs and loyal to each other to the bitter, bitter end was one of the mysteries of the universe.
On the other servo, Ratchet knew how to make a present for someone out of matchsticks and empty sardine cans. Prowl? Not so much. Ratchet could make a pie out of bacon rinds and antifreeze. Prowl? Not so much. Prowl was the 'pretty girl' while Ratchet was the chaperone with pop bottle glasses, funny bangs that stuck up and a fat ass who was only there to keep the pretty girl from getting felt up by the horny boys. Like that.
Come on, girls. You KNOW what I'm talking about …
However, a miracle of nature had occurred and two very disparate life formats had found each other across a not very crowded universe. They had a lot in common too. They both loved their families, their children, sparklings and pie.
They both thought Prime was hot, though Ratchet kept that part to himself. Even though sometimes when he was drunk enough, the idea of fragging both Prime and Ultra Magnus at the same time crossed Ratchet's processor, he kept it to himself.
He hoped.
Fortunately, Prowl was a terrible drunk and never remembered stuff. Which was good for Ratchet. He would make stuff up when they were sober and ask Prowl if he remembered it. Watching Prowl's perfect optics fritz in his flawless face was fun.
Where was I? Oh right. Mean girls.
Ratchet and Prowl put on a show for the seven billion citizens of Earth which they forgot was a possibility. They also put on a show for Mars on the jumbotrons. They didn't know it either. Archival footage of their insanity can be found in the Community Bulletin Board filed in the Sports Section in a file labeled: "If my Ada could see me now ..."
The teams lined up again. Prowl and Ratchet turned to watch. The ball was thrown and the game began again …
TBC
2013 (3)