The Perils of Refueling
Jun. 20th, 2009 12:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceTitle: The Perils of Refueling
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing. Crack.
The cluster of mechs looked up as another bot slipped into the room, a smirk on his faceplates.
“Did you do it?”
“Yeah. Easy as anything. The only hard part was getting in, and getting into the dispenser. Eesh, the mech is paranoid.”
“Can you blame him? Look at the number of bots we got in this room, all of them devious slaggers to the core. Prowl’s had to deal with most of us at some point, the rest he suspects and is just waiting for them to slip up so he can pin something on them.”
“Point. Anyway, it’s done and I didn’t get caught, so pay up.”
“Fine, fine. Later. Prowl will be starting his shift in a few minutes, and I don’t want to miss anything. Hack the vid feeds already.”
“Really. You could set a chronometer by that mech. Wonder if he’s ever heard of varying the routine.”
“I’m glad he’s predictable like this. Our SIC only ever refuels in his office. I have no idea why, but this’d be a lot harder to pull off if he didn’t.”
Mechs busied themselves with the vid set, and soon Prowl’s image appeared on the screen, seated at his desk, poring over datapads and diagrams.
“Well?”
“… Nothing’s happening.”
“… He’s already refuelled?”
“Yeah. One whole cube.” Someone pointed out the empty container next to the black and white Datsun.
“Wow. Prowl can actually hold his highgrade. Who’d’ve thought? The mech never drinks any.”
“But he didn’t even realise it was highgrade. You’d think the taste would be enough to tip him off.”
“… Maybe he’s too focused on work to notice?”
“This is Prowl. He notices everything.”
“Maybe he’s never had any before, and doesn’t know what highgrade tastes like?”
“That’s even more unbelievable.”
“Wait, look!”
The chevroned mech onscreen had paused, optics rebooting a few times before they dimmed briefly, the tactician’s helm dipping forward slightly before jerking up again.
“… Prowl’s a sleepy drunk?”
“… It’s possible for an overcharged mech to be sleepy?”
“Why is he taking another cube?”
“Why’s he leaving his office?”
“Follow him on the cameras, quickly!”
= = =
Soon, another image replaced that of Prowl’s empty office. The black and white mech was slowly making his way along the corridors, prompting worried murmurs from his unseen audience at the gradually increasing sluggishness of his pace. The SIC reached his destination, and the worried muttering grew when they realised the Datsun had been headed for the medical bay.
“Ratchet.” Even Prowl’s voice sounded tired. The aggravated reply of their CMO as he looked up from repairing an offline Sunstreaker made them jump, all of them long conditioned to brace for impact when Ratchet sounded that pissy.
“Wha- Fraggit, Prowl! Did you skip recharge again?”
“… No… Recharged… as my specifications require.” The tactician didn’t react beyond shaking his head, doorwings slowly lowering as he leant against the wall. Ratchet hurried over, and the mechs watched as the ambulance helped the Autobot SIC to a berth.
“Forget to refuel?”
“Had… two cubes… morning…”
Prowl’s optics dimmed once more, and the medic had to catch hold of the chevroned mech when he stumbled. Ratchet frowned, and after settling Prowl on the berth, running a preliminary check as he did so, he turned and caught sight of another mech hovering uncertainly in the doorway. The mechs in the room stopped cycling air as the CMO questioned the hapless bot.
“What are you doing here? You’d better not be injured. Autobots, always getting into trouble and making me clean up after them.”
“N-no, Ratchet. I saw Prowl going into the med bay… and I… Is he okay?”
Ratchet sighed, expression going from annoyed to reassuring. “I can’t find anything immediately wrong with him. He’s probably just gone and overworked himself again. Don’t worry, Bluestreak.”
“Yes sir.”
The mechs hacking the med bay’s audiovisual feed watched as Bluestreak peered over the medic’s shoulder to look at Prowl, who was now offline, seemingly in recharge. They heard the CMO mutter to himself as he ran checks and scans, then growled softly.
“Frag. Energy levels far too low for having had that much energon. Prowl, what the frag have you been doing?”
“Ratchet?”
“He’s fine, Bluestreak. I can’t find any injury or virus. Prowl’s just tired.”
“But… I heard him say he recharged and had energon. What would he be low on energy if he had two cubes?”
Ratchet sighed, looking at the unresponsive tactician. “I don’t know. Everything checks out fine, so it isn’t a glitch. His logs indicate that he did get a full recharge cycle last night, and his fuel tanks are full-”
The medic broke off, a thought visibly occurring to him. “Bluestreak!”
“Y-yes?”
“Go to Prowl’s office and bring me a cube of energon from his dispenser.”
“What? You can’t be hungry now!”
“Just go! And be quick about it!” Ratchet snapped and the gunner leapt to obey.
“Yessir!”
= = =
Bluestreak returned with a cube, expression thoroughly confused. The medic held out his hand, gesturing demandingly.
“Give it here.”
Obediently, the energon was handed over and Ratchet peered at it with a gimlet optic. A sensor was dipped into the liquid energy, and then the white mech took a sip. The grey Datsun stared as the CMO sputtered, then glared at the cube.
“Ratchet?” Bluestreak made his hesitant inquiry.
“It’s highgrade. Some idiot’s gone and tampered with Prowl’s energon dispenser.”
“But… wouldn’t highgrade give him more energy than regular energon?” The gunner (as well as every mech looking in on the scene) was completely bewildered now. Ratchet stared at the energon in his hand, then sighed and tossed back the contents of the container.
“Frag. It’s too early for this. Prowl’s configured differently from the rest of us, Blue’. Go back to duty, or whatever you were doing before this. Our SIC will be fine after he processes the highgrade and can refuel properly. I’ll let Command know Prowl’s out for the time being.”
The gunner was hustled out of the med bay, still puzzled, and the mechs off in their room saw the medic comm. for Wheeljack.
= = =
“So. Air Raid, Cliffjumper.”
Both mechs froze under the gleaming focus of a distinctive visor, then flinched as they registered the looming presence of a red frontliner behind them.
“Heard something interesting. ‘Parently, some mechs decided to switch Prowl’s energon with highgrade.”
They gave in, knowing that Jazz knew without a doubt exactly who’d been in on the prank, and that Sideswipe, for all his insistence on exasperating the Autobots’ SIC, was actually rather protective of the black and white Datsun.
“We didn’t know it’d make him so tired.”
“We’re actually wondering why the frag that happened. Highgrade is… it’s highgrade! How can Prowl fall asleep after two fragging cubes?!”
“And how in the Pit did Prowl not notice it was highgrade?!”
Jazz smirked, then reached into subspace to pull out a cube of energon.
“This is Prowl’s regular fuel. There’s a reason he only takes energon from his personal dispenser, and a reason why that particular dispenser’s under lock and key in his office.”
The two mechs looked at the cube, then at Jazz and Sideswipe when the red Lamborghini spoke, tone low and highly amused. “Drink it. You’ll see what he means. It’s not poisoned or anything.”
“I promise it’s safe.”
Cautiously, Cliffjumper took the energon. A mouthful of the pink liquid had him coughing and wheezing as the fuel seemed to burn its way down to his tanks, making the room spin and his optics go staticky. Air Raid caught the mech as he staggered back, Jazz snatching the cube of energon before it could fall from the red minibot’s trembling hands.
“Wh-… What the frag?!”
The Porsche explained, looking at the partially consumed cube he held. “Prowl’s systems need a lot of energy to run. And I mean a lot. Battle computer, tactical programs, simulators, everything he’s got that makes him our head tactician, they all use more energy than the average mech could safely consume in regular energon in one day.”
“So, his energon is highly concentrated. Highgrade doesn’t even come close.” Sideswipe shrugged, smirking at the woozy Cliffjumper. Jazz chuckled.
“And you’ve tasted it. Prowl normally deactivates his chemoreceptors before refuelling. I’m sure you noticed the little sensor gadget on his dispenser. My handiwork, so he can refuel without wondering if his energon’s been drugged. Looks like I’ll need to tweak it to register energon grade too.”
“Heh, midgrade, highgrade and Prowl-grade?” The red twin snarked, then leant forward, causing both flier and minibot to twitch in trepidation. “So. Get it engraved into your memory banks. Prowl can drink any of us under the table and not register a difference. And let the rest of your cohorts know that too.”
Both mech nodded frantically, and bolted once the Ops head and frontliner backed off to let them escape. Jazz nodded to himself.
“Well. Takes care of that.”
“Yeah. You sure they won’t try to get some Prowl-grade though? I wouldn’t put it past them to try, even after this demonstration.”
“They’ll get theirs if they do. The stuff'll give them the hangover from the Pit."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Mech. It was necessary at the time."
"And you were curious."
"That too, but I maintain that it was necessary. Death by Ratchet isn't the way I want to go, you understand."
"Hah. So, what was the charge like?"
"Dear sweet Primus. And me with only a partial dose."
"That good, huh. And the hangover?"
"Death by Ratchet would be preferable."
"... Frag."
"Yeah."
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing. Crack.
The cluster of mechs looked up as another bot slipped into the room, a smirk on his faceplates.
“Did you do it?”
“Yeah. Easy as anything. The only hard part was getting in, and getting into the dispenser. Eesh, the mech is paranoid.”
“Can you blame him? Look at the number of bots we got in this room, all of them devious slaggers to the core. Prowl’s had to deal with most of us at some point, the rest he suspects and is just waiting for them to slip up so he can pin something on them.”
“Point. Anyway, it’s done and I didn’t get caught, so pay up.”
“Fine, fine. Later. Prowl will be starting his shift in a few minutes, and I don’t want to miss anything. Hack the vid feeds already.”
“Really. You could set a chronometer by that mech. Wonder if he’s ever heard of varying the routine.”
“I’m glad he’s predictable like this. Our SIC only ever refuels in his office. I have no idea why, but this’d be a lot harder to pull off if he didn’t.”
Mechs busied themselves with the vid set, and soon Prowl’s image appeared on the screen, seated at his desk, poring over datapads and diagrams.
“Well?”
“… Nothing’s happening.”
“… He’s already refuelled?”
“Yeah. One whole cube.” Someone pointed out the empty container next to the black and white Datsun.
“Wow. Prowl can actually hold his highgrade. Who’d’ve thought? The mech never drinks any.”
“But he didn’t even realise it was highgrade. You’d think the taste would be enough to tip him off.”
“… Maybe he’s too focused on work to notice?”
“This is Prowl. He notices everything.”
“Maybe he’s never had any before, and doesn’t know what highgrade tastes like?”
“That’s even more unbelievable.”
“Wait, look!”
The chevroned mech onscreen had paused, optics rebooting a few times before they dimmed briefly, the tactician’s helm dipping forward slightly before jerking up again.
“… Prowl’s a sleepy drunk?”
“… It’s possible for an overcharged mech to be sleepy?”
“Why is he taking another cube?”
“Why’s he leaving his office?”
“Follow him on the cameras, quickly!”
= = =
Soon, another image replaced that of Prowl’s empty office. The black and white mech was slowly making his way along the corridors, prompting worried murmurs from his unseen audience at the gradually increasing sluggishness of his pace. The SIC reached his destination, and the worried muttering grew when they realised the Datsun had been headed for the medical bay.
“Ratchet.” Even Prowl’s voice sounded tired. The aggravated reply of their CMO as he looked up from repairing an offline Sunstreaker made them jump, all of them long conditioned to brace for impact when Ratchet sounded that pissy.
“Wha- Fraggit, Prowl! Did you skip recharge again?”
“… No… Recharged… as my specifications require.” The tactician didn’t react beyond shaking his head, doorwings slowly lowering as he leant against the wall. Ratchet hurried over, and the mechs watched as the ambulance helped the Autobot SIC to a berth.
“Forget to refuel?”
“Had… two cubes… morning…”
Prowl’s optics dimmed once more, and the medic had to catch hold of the chevroned mech when he stumbled. Ratchet frowned, and after settling Prowl on the berth, running a preliminary check as he did so, he turned and caught sight of another mech hovering uncertainly in the doorway. The mechs in the room stopped cycling air as the CMO questioned the hapless bot.
“What are you doing here? You’d better not be injured. Autobots, always getting into trouble and making me clean up after them.”
“N-no, Ratchet. I saw Prowl going into the med bay… and I… Is he okay?”
Ratchet sighed, expression going from annoyed to reassuring. “I can’t find anything immediately wrong with him. He’s probably just gone and overworked himself again. Don’t worry, Bluestreak.”
“Yes sir.”
The mechs hacking the med bay’s audiovisual feed watched as Bluestreak peered over the medic’s shoulder to look at Prowl, who was now offline, seemingly in recharge. They heard the CMO mutter to himself as he ran checks and scans, then growled softly.
“Frag. Energy levels far too low for having had that much energon. Prowl, what the frag have you been doing?”
“Ratchet?”
“He’s fine, Bluestreak. I can’t find any injury or virus. Prowl’s just tired.”
“But… I heard him say he recharged and had energon. What would he be low on energy if he had two cubes?”
Ratchet sighed, looking at the unresponsive tactician. “I don’t know. Everything checks out fine, so it isn’t a glitch. His logs indicate that he did get a full recharge cycle last night, and his fuel tanks are full-”
The medic broke off, a thought visibly occurring to him. “Bluestreak!”
“Y-yes?”
“Go to Prowl’s office and bring me a cube of energon from his dispenser.”
“What? You can’t be hungry now!”
“Just go! And be quick about it!” Ratchet snapped and the gunner leapt to obey.
“Yessir!”
= = =
Bluestreak returned with a cube, expression thoroughly confused. The medic held out his hand, gesturing demandingly.
“Give it here.”
Obediently, the energon was handed over and Ratchet peered at it with a gimlet optic. A sensor was dipped into the liquid energy, and then the white mech took a sip. The grey Datsun stared as the CMO sputtered, then glared at the cube.
“Ratchet?” Bluestreak made his hesitant inquiry.
“It’s highgrade. Some idiot’s gone and tampered with Prowl’s energon dispenser.”
“But… wouldn’t highgrade give him more energy than regular energon?” The gunner (as well as every mech looking in on the scene) was completely bewildered now. Ratchet stared at the energon in his hand, then sighed and tossed back the contents of the container.
“Frag. It’s too early for this. Prowl’s configured differently from the rest of us, Blue’. Go back to duty, or whatever you were doing before this. Our SIC will be fine after he processes the highgrade and can refuel properly. I’ll let Command know Prowl’s out for the time being.”
The gunner was hustled out of the med bay, still puzzled, and the mechs off in their room saw the medic comm. for Wheeljack.
= = =
“So. Air Raid, Cliffjumper.”
Both mechs froze under the gleaming focus of a distinctive visor, then flinched as they registered the looming presence of a red frontliner behind them.
“Heard something interesting. ‘Parently, some mechs decided to switch Prowl’s energon with highgrade.”
They gave in, knowing that Jazz knew without a doubt exactly who’d been in on the prank, and that Sideswipe, for all his insistence on exasperating the Autobots’ SIC, was actually rather protective of the black and white Datsun.
“We didn’t know it’d make him so tired.”
“We’re actually wondering why the frag that happened. Highgrade is… it’s highgrade! How can Prowl fall asleep after two fragging cubes?!”
“And how in the Pit did Prowl not notice it was highgrade?!”
Jazz smirked, then reached into subspace to pull out a cube of energon.
“This is Prowl’s regular fuel. There’s a reason he only takes energon from his personal dispenser, and a reason why that particular dispenser’s under lock and key in his office.”
The two mechs looked at the cube, then at Jazz and Sideswipe when the red Lamborghini spoke, tone low and highly amused. “Drink it. You’ll see what he means. It’s not poisoned or anything.”
“I promise it’s safe.”
Cautiously, Cliffjumper took the energon. A mouthful of the pink liquid had him coughing and wheezing as the fuel seemed to burn its way down to his tanks, making the room spin and his optics go staticky. Air Raid caught the mech as he staggered back, Jazz snatching the cube of energon before it could fall from the red minibot’s trembling hands.
“Wh-… What the frag?!”
The Porsche explained, looking at the partially consumed cube he held. “Prowl’s systems need a lot of energy to run. And I mean a lot. Battle computer, tactical programs, simulators, everything he’s got that makes him our head tactician, they all use more energy than the average mech could safely consume in regular energon in one day.”
“So, his energon is highly concentrated. Highgrade doesn’t even come close.” Sideswipe shrugged, smirking at the woozy Cliffjumper. Jazz chuckled.
“And you’ve tasted it. Prowl normally deactivates his chemoreceptors before refuelling. I’m sure you noticed the little sensor gadget on his dispenser. My handiwork, so he can refuel without wondering if his energon’s been drugged. Looks like I’ll need to tweak it to register energon grade too.”
“Heh, midgrade, highgrade and Prowl-grade?” The red twin snarked, then leant forward, causing both flier and minibot to twitch in trepidation. “So. Get it engraved into your memory banks. Prowl can drink any of us under the table and not register a difference. And let the rest of your cohorts know that too.”
Both mech nodded frantically, and bolted once the Ops head and frontliner backed off to let them escape. Jazz nodded to himself.
“Well. Takes care of that.”
“Yeah. You sure they won’t try to get some Prowl-grade though? I wouldn’t put it past them to try, even after this demonstration.”
“They’ll get theirs if they do. The stuff'll give them the hangover from the Pit."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Mech. It was necessary at the time."
"And you were curious."
"That too, but I maintain that it was necessary. Death by Ratchet isn't the way I want to go, you understand."
"Hah. So, what was the charge like?"
"Dear sweet Primus. And me with only a partial dose."
"That good, huh. And the hangover?"
"Death by Ratchet would be preferable."
"... Frag."
"Yeah."
