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ante_luce... or the bunnies need to start keeping their teeth to themselves once we hit 2 am.
It's really late (or really early, depending on your outlook. Why do I seem to write this kind of stuff mostly at OMP-o'clock in the morning?), so, weird little fic isreallyweird.
Fic brought to you by Bunny #2
Title is Italian for Puppeteer.
Title: Burattinaio
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cussing.
“Damn. You.”
The quiet oath made him turn. He’d known this would come, and though he wished things could be otherwise, he also knew that to deviate from his planned course would be even worse for all concerned.
He being excluded, naturally.
He murmured the speaker’s name in acknowledgement, and didn’t react as the mech stalked forward to press the blaster held in a tight grip (he had to give him credit. The weapon didn’t tremble, even though if Cybertronians had them, the mech’s knuckles would be white) against his chestplates.
“I can’t believe you. All this, everything and everyone we’ve lost, all that pain and suffering, all part of your fragging plans!”
“Yes.”
“Why?!”
“I work for the future of Cybertron.”
“What future?! Cybertron’s under Decepticon rule! Unless that’s what you want.”
He tilted his helm slightly, considering how much to reveal. This time.
“That will change.”
The mech snarled.
“You do not like my methods, that is understandable, but I am not all powerful. My abilities are limited.”
“You…” The blaster dug into his plating. It would have hurt. If he were minded to let it. The mech continued speaking.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you, right now, to the Pit with your plans.”
“The Pit is certainly where Cybertron will go if I am prevented from carrying out my appointed tasks. But it is a moot point. You cannot kill me.”
“I figured, what with you being one of the Thirteen and all.” The blaster dropped away, and the mech let out a chuckle, all the more painful sounding to him due to its lack of genuine humour. “So, I gotta let you carry on as you wish.”
“This situation is hardly how I would wish it.” The soft, almost bitter tone caused his interrogator to look at him. He looked back, gaze even.
“Do you think I want what I know will come to pass to happen? I am not a drone, I think, I feel, I form attachments. Yet time and again I must…” He trailed off. Funny, he ought to be used to this. At least, be jaded enough to withstand saying the words out loud by now.
“Had Cybertron’s Golden age lasted… There are threats to our world that you would not comprehend. Dangers that affect all the dimensions our world occupies.”
“Hah. And that justifies the means, you fragger?”
He was quiet for a time before answering. “Never. Not to me.”
The mech just stood there, gazing into his pained optics, finally realising the burden that he carried. “Then, why do you do it?”
“It is my duty.” The words were harder to voice, and it was even harder to make them sound like he still believed them.
“Right.”
He sighed.
“If I could I would give it up, give it all up, forget everything I know and be a normal mech. But I do it, because this way, I can ensure certain things never come to pass.”
“Such as?”
He glanced away. “Such as you dying.”
“What?”
“You die in many of the alternate futures I’ve seen.”
“Why? Why me and not some other bot? What kind of part do I play?”
“No one plays an irreplaceable role. But…” And here he breathed out his next words so softly, the mech before him could barely hear them, even with their fine tuned sensors. “You are irreplaceable to me. And as long as you survive, I can be content.”
The mech’s mouth worked, though his vocaliser only hissed static.
“In every universe where Cybertronians exist, so does a version of each bot ever in existence. Except for me and my brethren. You were the first of your versions I came across. I have seen and met countless other individuals, but you… you are different.” A bittersweet smile played across his faceplates now, and his audience stared at the unusual sight.
“You figured me out. And you’ve confronted me before. Several times, in fact, just in this particular universe alone.”
“No I haven’t! I’d remember if-” The mech cut himself off, realisation dawning.
“You’ve tampered with my memories.” Hurt, betrayal and anger coloured the other’s words, and he shuttered his optics against them.
“Yes.”
“And you’re gonna do it again.”
“Yes.” His regret was audible. “I’m sorry.”
He brushed the back of a hand gently across the mech’s cheek, and their optics dimmed briefly, before he shook his head, as if clearing it.
“Whoa. What happened?”
His tone was flawlessly annoyed, yet concerned. “If you’re so drained you fall into recharge on your feet, I suggest you get some rest, or at the very least, some energon.”
“I did that? Sorry, today must be catching up with me. Frag that, this whole damn week’s been hectic, what with the move to Cybertron’s moon bases coming up.”
“Understandable. If there’s nothing else to discuss…”
“Nothing I can think of right now. Oof, my processors are going fuzzy. Guess I really need that recharge.”
“Then go, before I need to carry you to your quarters.”
“Heh, it’d be the only way I’d get you in there any way.”
His only reply was a raised optic ridge and a pointed look.
“Going, going.”
As the mech left his office, unseen, his hands tightened into fists under his desk. Soon, he’d be abandoning this form. It had served its purpose, and he was needed elsewhere.
He prayed he'd be able to go through with it once more.
Suddenly, the other turned back to look at him, and he thanked Primus his expression was unruffled.
“Hey, you get some rest too, ‘kay?”
“I will.”
The mech grinned at him, expectant. He sighed.
“I promise, Jazz.”
“Great. Seeya in a recharge cycle, Prowler.”
It's really late (or really early, depending on your outlook. Why do I seem to write this kind of stuff mostly at OMP-o'clock in the morning?), so, weird little fic is
Fic brought to you by Bunny #2
Title is Italian for Puppeteer.
Title: Burattinaio
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cussing.
“Damn. You.”
The quiet oath made him turn. He’d known this would come, and though he wished things could be otherwise, he also knew that to deviate from his planned course would be even worse for all concerned.
He being excluded, naturally.
He murmured the speaker’s name in acknowledgement, and didn’t react as the mech stalked forward to press the blaster held in a tight grip (he had to give him credit. The weapon didn’t tremble, even though if Cybertronians had them, the mech’s knuckles would be white) against his chestplates.
“I can’t believe you. All this, everything and everyone we’ve lost, all that pain and suffering, all part of your fragging plans!”
“Yes.”
“Why?!”
“I work for the future of Cybertron.”
“What future?! Cybertron’s under Decepticon rule! Unless that’s what you want.”
He tilted his helm slightly, considering how much to reveal. This time.
“That will change.”
The mech snarled.
“You do not like my methods, that is understandable, but I am not all powerful. My abilities are limited.”
“You…” The blaster dug into his plating. It would have hurt. If he were minded to let it. The mech continued speaking.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you, right now, to the Pit with your plans.”
“The Pit is certainly where Cybertron will go if I am prevented from carrying out my appointed tasks. But it is a moot point. You cannot kill me.”
“I figured, what with you being one of the Thirteen and all.” The blaster dropped away, and the mech let out a chuckle, all the more painful sounding to him due to its lack of genuine humour. “So, I gotta let you carry on as you wish.”
“This situation is hardly how I would wish it.” The soft, almost bitter tone caused his interrogator to look at him. He looked back, gaze even.
“Do you think I want what I know will come to pass to happen? I am not a drone, I think, I feel, I form attachments. Yet time and again I must…” He trailed off. Funny, he ought to be used to this. At least, be jaded enough to withstand saying the words out loud by now.
“Had Cybertron’s Golden age lasted… There are threats to our world that you would not comprehend. Dangers that affect all the dimensions our world occupies.”
“Hah. And that justifies the means, you fragger?”
He was quiet for a time before answering. “Never. Not to me.”
The mech just stood there, gazing into his pained optics, finally realising the burden that he carried. “Then, why do you do it?”
“It is my duty.” The words were harder to voice, and it was even harder to make them sound like he still believed them.
“Right.”
He sighed.
“If I could I would give it up, give it all up, forget everything I know and be a normal mech. But I do it, because this way, I can ensure certain things never come to pass.”
“Such as?”
He glanced away. “Such as you dying.”
“What?”
“You die in many of the alternate futures I’ve seen.”
“Why? Why me and not some other bot? What kind of part do I play?”
“No one plays an irreplaceable role. But…” And here he breathed out his next words so softly, the mech before him could barely hear them, even with their fine tuned sensors. “You are irreplaceable to me. And as long as you survive, I can be content.”
The mech’s mouth worked, though his vocaliser only hissed static.
“In every universe where Cybertronians exist, so does a version of each bot ever in existence. Except for me and my brethren. You were the first of your versions I came across. I have seen and met countless other individuals, but you… you are different.” A bittersweet smile played across his faceplates now, and his audience stared at the unusual sight.
“You figured me out. And you’ve confronted me before. Several times, in fact, just in this particular universe alone.”
“No I haven’t! I’d remember if-” The mech cut himself off, realisation dawning.
“You’ve tampered with my memories.” Hurt, betrayal and anger coloured the other’s words, and he shuttered his optics against them.
“Yes.”
“And you’re gonna do it again.”
“Yes.” His regret was audible. “I’m sorry.”
He brushed the back of a hand gently across the mech’s cheek, and their optics dimmed briefly, before he shook his head, as if clearing it.
“Whoa. What happened?”
His tone was flawlessly annoyed, yet concerned. “If you’re so drained you fall into recharge on your feet, I suggest you get some rest, or at the very least, some energon.”
“I did that? Sorry, today must be catching up with me. Frag that, this whole damn week’s been hectic, what with the move to Cybertron’s moon bases coming up.”
“Understandable. If there’s nothing else to discuss…”
“Nothing I can think of right now. Oof, my processors are going fuzzy. Guess I really need that recharge.”
“Then go, before I need to carry you to your quarters.”
“Heh, it’d be the only way I’d get you in there any way.”
His only reply was a raised optic ridge and a pointed look.
“Going, going.”
As the mech left his office, unseen, his hands tightened into fists under his desk. Soon, he’d be abandoning this form. It had served its purpose, and he was needed elsewhere.
He prayed he'd be able to go through with it once more.
Suddenly, the other turned back to look at him, and he thanked Primus his expression was unruffled.
“Hey, you get some rest too, ‘kay?”
“I will.”
The mech grinned at him, expectant. He sighed.
“I promise, Jazz.”
“Great. Seeya in a recharge cycle, Prowler.”
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Date: 2008-12-29 03:56 am (UTC)