" ARE YOU BEING PURPOSEFULLY *DENSE* RIGHT NOW, OR JUS' * TRYNA * PISS ME OFF . "
" boss, try not to put too much effort in your facial expression, it might rupture your nose job. remember your stone cold bitch exercises, sir--"
" aH OUGHTA WHOOP YOU, REWIND. WHO GAVE YOUR SHORT SELF ANY PERMISSION at ALL ta even THANK ( think ) THAT YOU WERE ALLOWED ta SPEAK on *MAH** SHOW . . . GETTIN' ME IN A BIG OL' CONNIPTION FIT ON CAMERA, OO-- aH OUGHTA-- . . ah'm FIT to BE TIED . "
the news anchor STEAMED, music note audials sharpened up high, his tune significantly turned off - key.
his minicons tried to add in the bleeps when he stomped off & spiraled into a series of scathed curses, any chance of smooth talking redemption flung straight out a 700 story window, but the soundeffects were always too delayed to completely cover up the cussing.
blaster ran back up to his fancy glass desk that doubled as a piano set for whenever he got bored, which was Very often ( playing Mozart while traumatized people recount horrific events for the news ), & tried to tip the beautiful thing crashing onto its back, too enraged & unable to take it out on his cassettes no matter how mad their moronic acts make him.
" boss, it's-- it's like superglued to the- set . "
" aN' *WhO* was the IDIOT who ORDERED THaT?? "
. . the minicons casted looks of caution before the television in the corner replayed a Phineas & Ferb esque flashback of blaster laying draw me like one of your French femmes style across his desk while the minicons carried it onto the stage & bolted it in.
" this is my humble abode, my mind palace. ah don't want it to budge, or ah'll break you, alright? this is my new sparkling. ah'm callin' it - uh- .. . . To Be Determined . can you like- make the glue 'glue' faster??? like- just ask it or somethang . tell it ah told it to. that should fix it . "
' To Be Determined ' is doomed to the stage, whether blaster wanted it or not. But it was for the better.
He'd offer a minicon as sacrifice to save his desk from getting a scratch .
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Guzzle glanced around, antennae flickering & twitching atop the concerned & confused Little tank . " je vous demande pardon ? am i-
Sorry, am i . . ? . . interpretating this correctl-
OH . GIVE a HELLO . TO. OH . OH .
. . . MONSIEUR TOPSPIN ! AH, AHHH-- you uh - " Guzzle's antennas lowered in shame, mandibles shifting in similar embarrassment .
" . . i'll just go get him . . . "
Skuttling off, the little wrecker hurried to find his cool colored comrade, covering his already shadowed face as he left, digits itching at his mask . if only he could scratch some images out of his scarred mind . .
gold digits snap, his inflection kept to a purposeful croon, rich & suave for the supporters, or the soon-to-be swayed .
" their business is banal, the solution is SIMPLE! . . it all stems from envy . see, they're all just upset that the big boss likes Me the best ."
dollar sign opticwear snaps toward blast off's direction before the shuttle shrunk down & broke his dominant silence for an uncharacteristic (if you didn't know him) ( which is easy to do, since he doesn't make being close to him an easily obtainable accomplishment ) bout of verbalized rebuttal .
" что? first of all, onslaught doesn't *have favorites. he analyzes us all equally . as a real level-helmed leader would with Real smarts. not just street smarts, * Swindle ."
Brawl, a bit baffled by this, gave a confused glance Blast Off's way, utilizing the sparse times where he could, since the shuttle was always so oversized . where was all that verbal vigor when it came to reassuring HIM, huh??!? this gestalt is SO UNFAIR !! & here blast off is, reciting the opposite?!? WHAT GIVES ! He moved his mouth to speak, but, thanks to its constant concealment, his brashness was brushed off with the smooth stroke of Swindle's speech.
" so the shuttle speaks! or, should i clarify for our lovely little anonymous audience here, seems to only find his vocalizer verifiabley active when the matter gravitates around our esteemed ' Great One .' "
swindle swooned, servos clasped as he fluttered his optic lenses, amping up the adoration he lacked for their leader .
The shuttle's frown was deep enough to stand out against the darkness that swirled within his space helmet.
" don't be upset at me because I have Morals, & not just Money. ты копилка . not a mech ."
the combaticon conman's tone twitched, hitching into something higher, Italian & Brooklyn bitten, frantic & harsher than the suave he forces to swoon his potential investors.
" DAT'S BULL & YEW KNOW DAT, BLAS."
gold rims spin on his shoulder plates, metal sheeted trench coat stocked full of false sells fly behind his advance, poking an expensive digit into the russian cosmonaut's chassis. Blast Off scoffed, resizing himself back to his original towering height.
Brawl balked, fighting to bring a word in, feeling left with no choice but to bellow. his signature.
" H-HEY!! IF YOU TWO CABRÓNS ARE GONNA FIGHT, AT LEAST LET ME TELL BOSS SO I CAN COME BACK & BREAK IT UP & LOOK LIKE i'M THE BETTER ONE HERE, BUENO?!"
Swindle rolled his dollar sign designs.
" yew Gotta stawp saying your shitty lil' strategies aloud, Brah, it's unseemingly ."
Even Blast Off chimed in, trying to set a comforting servo on the tank's shoulder. He was too high to reach comfortably, & opted to awkwardly holding onto his tank's cannon tip instead .
" agreed. onslaught should show y-"
"Wait-shuddupshuddupshuddup about onslaught for a sec-"
Swindle silenced, glaring before he turned back to the Askers, never one to dismiss an opportunity of profiting off other people. His frown was wiped clean of its shiny slate, smiling wide. His voice deepened back into its usual charming croon, any of its previous colloquium completely covered up. code switched.
" my Sincerest apologies about my- simple-minded Associates here, they're... new to negotiations. but me & you, doll?
we could spend the night away!!! .. literally, ha! Ha! Ha! . . how much you got on you ? "
even his laugh sounded rich, chiming like clattering coins with each chuckle.
" as long as i'm with you, there's no worries !"
His commercial Good-Time speech was a channel Brawl & Blast Off would rather switch. They shook their helms, stomping off to leave swindle solo.
" YOU COULD HEAR ME, RIGHT, BLAST? BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE NO ONE COULD HEAR ME BACK THERE! & IT MADE ME FEEL UNHEARd! ¡CHINGADA MADRE! THIS SUCKS! ¡ESTOY FASTIDIADO! EVERYTHING SUCKS!"
with that attitude, you are not bagging astrotrain .
no wonder that astrotrain got a different huzz yo
“ . . . ‘ bag ? ' ..Astrotrain ? ”
Scarlet shadowed optics shift uncertainly around their shaded view, an unsure smirk sliding up his face like an undesirable snake lurked within Eden’s Garden.
“ . . do they even make bags big enough to fit that bitch ? “
lower jaw stayed static in its smile while his upper jaw & face flew backwards, unhinging deep into its gaping laugh, all the different kinds of dentae jammed disgustingly inside whirling & pulsating from his giggle that haunted exactly how hyenas cackled free in the wild. Bright, burning, liquid light disturbed its smelted lava, bubbling on one side, clashed against a torrid tundra of cold on the other, each element locked inside his body for an eternal struggle, shining when he spread his splitted smile.
His cracked open skull slammed shut, grimaced with a far more genuine frown .
“ No, seriously, what the frag does that oversized spark, & whatever newfound shitty excuse for being too soft to survive now, have to do with Me? Do I have to spell it out for you? Because- surprise, I can. It’s not that fucking hard, you should try it sometime. Maybe for Christmas, you should’ve asked for a book about the ABCs .”
His dentae rotated, flattened & unimpressed frown locked while his grimy innards slid around inside, switching which set he should settle on like a rich girl spinning through her futuristic closet to see whether she was feeling chartreuse or cyan today. The winner was a glaring middle gap denta.
“ You’re all starting to sound like Shockwave, which is an absurd comparison to even say aloud, since you’re all as dumb as a box of rocks, but, really, if you ask me, so is he, so I guess it actually makes sense .”
Snickering at the verbal shot he managed to score on the scientist, it’s about celebrating the little wins, sometimes, & Blitzwing Loves to Win . His snickering stops itself short, optics narrowed.
“ But I’ll tell you the same shit I’ve been telling him to try & get that aggravating, one-opticed, purple-people eater OFF my FUCKING back: I don’t give a DAMN about a SINGLE mech here, triple-changer, quadruple-changer, career changer, I DON’T CARE! They can do WHATEVER THE PIT THEY WANT WITH EACH OTHER! As long as it doesn’t fuck with ME or prolong their STUPID POINTLESS WAR, I REALLY *DON’T* care. I’m just here to take aft & kick designations aside, or- what..WHATEVER STUPID SCRAP MECHA SAY ! “
Smoke & visible cold swirled around the stubborn tankjet, squeaking as they popped up some of his rusted plating .
“ Our models being the same busted junk to be broken & brushed by when it inevitably breaks down itself doesn’t HAVE to make us all ‘buddy buddy’ & ‘OMP! Let’s form a ThErApY CiRcLe!!!!’ WHO GIVES a FUCK? This is WAR. This is BATTLE. I don’t HAVE any buddies in battle, & I don’t WANT any.
Comradery in the core of cruelty serves NOTHING but YOURSELF, just another decorated distraction for the bastards above to know we’re occupied & complacent with MORE than just CLASHING SWORDS. “
Blitz waved his half ice, half flaming scimitar as if it were nothing more than a toy, a toy that tore into anything it touches harshly.
“ ‘ oH! Well! YES! We ARE still trying to win the DOOMED YAOI wildfire right now, & YES! We STILL haven’t achieved anything of ACTUAL STRIDE geared toward ACTUAL SUCCESS JUST YET! Buuuuut! ….Now, you can clash your upstairs sword… AAND your …’ “
Salesmech tone that sounded similar to Swindle’s low silk softened with the animated ice etching in an arc across his visor, mimicking a cheeky wink before it melted.
“ ‘ INSERT AN AUTHENTIC I TOTALLY CARE ABOUT YOUR CONCERNS GASP HERE. … Downstairs sword. YEEEP! With your BEsT BUDDY! Because, apparently, working mech can have those now? WHAT!! This is CRAAzy! This is like when I learned cows can have best friends! HOW CUUUTEE, AWWW! Anyway, hope you stupid fucks have fun! I’m gonna go order five hundred Big Macs from McDonald’s now, comm me if you need meeee ! ….Don’t need me . ‘ “
Cartoonish croon having completed its sarcastic chastising, he sheathed his blade & set his servos on his tank treaded hips, glowering down with all the disgruntlement of a towering dragon disappointed at the wimpy knight sent to slay her.
“ So if the other triples wanna fuck around all their off day, hell, even fuck each other? They can do whatever the pit they want, it’s their life they’re wasting, & not my time, plus? How much waste is really wasting when it’s The Waste themselves wasting away? There’s a tongue twister for you, twerp. So, yeah, if they wanna twist tongues, it’s less jabber clogging my comms .”
He spat, arms crossing, wings relaxing from their waving fit.
They tensed shortly after, never really relaxed.
Not in here, not under another mech’s watch. Not unless he was showcasing why they shouldn’t watch too closely.
“ So what if I sit alone & they bother each other elsewhere on the few breaks we, & by we, I mean– I* managed to score for us-ME? It’s not like our schedules will magically always align themselves together for another 200 millenia again, it’d be pointless for us to meet ‘meaningfully’ once like it matters then never again until- fucking- forever. I know damn well that I’m not indulging in any deep conversations with a mech that finds TRAINS to be FUN . Mech offline like it’s going out of style, & I’m not wasting my TIME on WASTE ITSELF just so *I* can LIE to myself & SAY i’m ‘FULFILLED’ with my FUCK ass LIFE. This is WAR. I could be scrapped by spring & no one would sense a thing! THAT’S JUST HOW IT GOES. It doesn’t matter how loud you talk or how quiet or how many spikes you can suck at once to make mecha ‘not mind’ you, it’s WAR. We’ll be forgotten soon if we can’t tell our own story, & the only ones who can are, duh, the ones gripping the pen in a FIST. So, yeah, I don’t care. I really don’t. So what? So freaking what . Let them have a freak off. Let them fuck off! They are FRUITFLIES in the optic of WAR, and WAR is BLIND . “
Visor splitting, his fire heating up the glass & the instant cold lapping after it expanding the material chemically until it cracked, the edges of an icy blue optic bared frantic beneath its revealed fright.
Blitzwing twisted his body to the other side, wings raised above his broad back, physically cloaking his face .
“ I don’t care about Astrotrain. I don’t care about Octane, I don’t care what we’re doing, I don’t care how we got here, we’re just here now. & it doesn’t matter if we like it or not, or who likes who, or who doesn’t, because I don’t care.
& you’re lucky that I don’t, because you wouldn’t still be standing here with a helm on your shoulders if I did . “
Covering the crack in his visor with the scimitar he slid sharply, smoothly, from its scabbard, he knelt down on powerful thighs sculpted like a pro (football player), pointing out by his opposite servo & pressing an index digit into the other’s forehelm.
Pushing the helm back just by a teasing tap, mannered similarly to an older brother jabbing his point across, except the older brother had teeth that could cleave your brain from your skull if you kept crossing him.
“ Na’mean .”
( know what I mean ? )
He punctuated with another poke, smiling, simply reflecting the cadence without any real cruelty, contrasting the rough actions he displayed.
( a purple servo set to his hip, his typical brutish vocoder fry tinging into accosted valley girl setting, feeling the very fabric of her popular girl world being disrupted by the presence of another . )
& WHO THE FrAG DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, TRYING TO TALK TO ME LIKE THAT ??
i'm seeing THREE ( raising two icicle-encased digits before realizing & swiftly adjusting to extend a third. upset & embarrassed at his own stupid mistake, he shook his servo rapidly to strategically confuse the shorter & hopefully make him forget about what he saw . ) MISTAKES with your INFERIOR analysis here !
ONE ! you * Are * one ! . . HAHA ! ( interrupting his villainy to revel in it, a sporadically short hyena laugh at his own read )
TWO ! THE * OnLY* thing WE miGht have in COMMON, is that we'll both DIE one day, & YOURS has a deactivation date coming SOON ! to a THEATERS near --- you ! HA !
ThiRD, & FINAL ( 😮☝🏿 ‼️ ) , the PROPER phrase is : WhY do * YOU * look like * ME * --
I - ,,, UH - ( 💧) (??!) ( squinting . that sounded the exact sa- * it was the exact same-) COMING FROM *MY* PERSPECTIVE. MY VIEWPOINT. i MEAN.
. . . ( steaming up on one side, cold fog billowing out the other . their respective collections ushering out either sides of his helm like a train whistles' asthmatic cry . servos clenched . )
YOU GET THE POINT . ( venting hot & cold air so he elaborate the explanation anyways )
WE LOOK * NOTHING * alike . are you TRYING to be funny , or does your dead end job just have you STUCK AS a CLOWN ? ?
( the superior triple leaned down to bless the leper, shaking a balled up, boiling hot, left servo in the mech's face, though not making any contact yet. he didn't want the little ugly ugly choking as his own dentae while the irritated tankjet demanded answers . )
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blitzwing roused wearily, only drawing up to his knees. letting a long yawn blearily rip through his rusted intake, he arched his spinal strut into a low slope and straightened his limbs out in front of him like a cat ready to pounce. instead, he leans forward instead of backwards onto his knees and shakes one leg at a time, first shaking off the icicles that collected over his frozen right side, then the crevice clotting soot from the left, coughing out a little ball of smoke with snowflakes sparkling amidst the hack. primus- he only meant to offline for a Second . . now it's pitch dark outside & his helm has a tight panging . . he was Supposed to ' work out ' today, but . .-
. . . too damn cold to be doing stuff anyways . his shivering left muttered . the right frown of his lips simply stayed flatlined, fine with the freeze.
rising only to be on all fours so he could pad a tight little circle around his makeshift nest of comfort items, an awful amalgamation of stolen sports equipment ( mainly footballs ).
nuzzling the football as if it were a pillow, trying his best to handle it gentle as he could before- WHOOOOOSHHHHHHHHHMMMmmmmhhh- ... . .
another football has been smited.
harrumphing back down to curl up with a football. it's too cold and he's too alone .
two more months to The Superbowl, & it's starting to become one (1) pretty soon !
&, this year, yes, THIS was GOING TO BE !
THE * year ! where SOMEONE ! GOES !
Finally, ACTUALLY ATTENDS !
. . . --- one of his superbowl parties .
he was DETERMINED to have ONE GUEST !!
.. who was alive & responsive .
but he has to weed out the fake fans... it takes a lot to power a stolen human television ! he has fire & ice abilities, NOT electric - ironic, considering his namesake, but -- life's a glitch .
❝ ah,,, ? ... ah'm awful sore-reeh , pardner . . ah don't mean to - ah reckon sadness an' all its rotten acquaintances jus' seem to be affixed to my weary mug ..
it jus' ain't aces, bein' such a tear squeezer . . ah guess, at a certain point -- my moods have been cursed a constant as bad as a broom-tail . shure ain't sunshine an' roses, an' double down onnit whut with all the haywire sights ah've been bore a witness to . . . ❞
he trails off, aimless, a stalwart horse absent of any guidance, proud spartan helm shifting shamefully to a shadowed margin .
❝ but ya'know what would really shine my saddles though ? Horses .
have ya seen any ? oh, they're real neat ! neat-o-rama, even ! bumblebee taught me that word ! that's like some newfangled form of rootin' tootin' , right ? ❞
the cowboy's dimmer backdrop may be kept clandestine & closed, but his love for the wildlife of the wild wild west was as open as a 24 - hour gas station on a highways' side . gracing his scarred dermas, an oafish grin sparkled brighter than the spurs he keeps shined to a posterior heel tract .
