Flash Fiction Fills (Take 34) Part Two
Aug. 4th, 2012 10:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Two more flash fiction responses for ya! These both err on the side of humor.
Please excuse possible grammatical mistakes.
For shibara_ffnet
Prompt: Swindle/Chop Shop, “commercial tightrope walking, thy name is Chop Shop”
Fandom: Transformers G1(?). Warnings: None. (Okay, so this one is more Gen than pairing, but as soon as I read Chop Shop's profile this is the idea that wouldn't leave me alone.)
For fuzipenguin
Prompt: SideswipexSunstreaker, Bayverse, pirates
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse. Warnings: None (Bonus to anyone who can guess where I got the referenced songs from. Heh.)
a/n: Two more flash fiction to come. Along with lots of other ficcage. I hope you enjoyed! :).
Please excuse possible grammatical mistakes.
For shibara_ffnet
Prompt: Swindle/Chop Shop, “commercial tightrope walking, thy name is Chop Shop”
Fandom: Transformers G1(?). Warnings: None. (Okay, so this one is more Gen than pairing, but as soon as I read Chop Shop's profile this is the idea that wouldn't leave me alone.)
“Very nice,” Swindle said as he eyed the array of assorted items his newest supplier/buyer had brought him.
The Insecticon clicked his mandibular array. “Thanks,” he replied, digits rapping on the table top. “What do I get for it?”
Swindle rubbed his chin, contemplatively. “Let me check my stocks.”
He turned, heading into a small back room that he'd carved out for his own use. Onslaught allowed it because, and Swindle quoted, “I don't give a frag what you do, just don't get caught.”
Swindle dug through a pile of purposefully unorganized mess for a datapad with a cracked screen, gouged interface, and blackened on the edges. In short, it looked completely busted and therefore useless.
Looks could be deceiving.
Swindle powered up the datapad using series of key presses and wire tweaking and left the room, returning back to where he left Chop Shop.
“Let's see,” he said, pulling up his requisitions log and comparing it to Chop Shop's offerings.
Wait a klik.
Weren't there three transistors earlier? And Swindle could have sworn there was a portable solar collector, too.
“Uh...”
“It's good stuff,” Chop Shop said with a fanged grin. “But not really above the line so maybe you should be quick?”
Right.
Suspicious, Swindle decided it was in his best interest not to ask. He could be wrong and it would be bad for business if he admitted to not paying attention.
“Hmm. I do need all of those power cells. A certain mech has promised me some high grade in exchange for a stock of that exact grenade.” He pondered his list. “And Onslaught demanded a transwarp generator just last week.”
A generator, by the way, which was no longer on the counter in front of him. And the last couple of transistors were now gone.
“Great!” Chop Shop said with bright enthusiasm. “What'll ya give me?”
Swindle stared at the Insecticon. Something wasn't right here. There was no way he was mistaken twice in a row.
“Where's the transwarp generator?”
“The what?” Chop Shop tilted his helm, confusion writ into his energy field.
Swindle stared at Chop Shop, who looked at him with such innocence, Swindle might have been standing in front of an Autobot. The Insecticon's talons were no longer visible on the counter, instead tucked behind his back.
“The generator.” Swindle set his datapad down and leaned on the counter. “It was here. Two kliks ago.”
“No, it wasn't.”
Swindle cycled down his optics and circled around the counter, approaching Chop Shop. The Insecticon was much larger than him but Swindle tried not to focus on that point. He had Vortex on speed dial. Everyone was afraid of Vortex.
“Are you trying to pull one over on me?” Swindle asked, trying to peer behind Chop Shop with limited success.
Chop Shop turned with Swindle, keeping his talons behind his back. “Pull one over?” He tilted his helm. “I'm just trying to sell some stuff. Plain and simple.”
Stuff that kept disappearing! Swindle didn't fall off the stock shuttle yesterday! Chop Shop was messing with the wrong requisitions master.
He backed Chop Shop away from the counter. “Oh yeah? Where's the stuff?” Swindle demanded, tossing a hand toward the counter.
Which looked emptier than it had before. Swindle stopped and stared. The only thing left on the counter was a sad-looking blaster that was out of date three millennia ago.
Anger broiled inside of him. “And where's my datapad!”
Chop Shop lowered his helm, radiating guilt.
Swindle's engine revved. “Did you take it?”
No response.
Swindle ground his denta and shoved his servo toward Chop Shop, snapping his digits. “Give it. Now.” He surprised himself with his own courage. The Insecticon could squash him in half an astrosecond.
But Chop Shop just drooped his shoulders and dug the datapad out of his subspace, handing it over.
As he did so, several things tumbled out of an obviously crammed subspace, including the transwarp generator, the power cells, and all of the transistors.
Unbelievable!
Swindle's jaw dropped. “Did you just steal from yourself?” And, also, from Swindle, too but he was too shocked by Chop Shop's gall to get angry. In fact, he found himself amused.
“No...?”
Swindle covered his optics with his palm. He subspaced his datapad. “My friend,” he said, attempting to sling an arm over Chop Shop's shoulder, but being too short, only managed to snag the Insecticon's elbow. “You need a few lessons in this business. And I'd be happy to provide them. For a small fee of course.”
The sound of metal hitting metal reverberated through the small room. Swindle looked down, watching the stylus from his datapad hit the ground and then roll across the floor, bumping up against his pede. Apparently, Chop Shop had taken that as well.
Swindle shook his helm. “We'll start with rule number one,” he said, and led his newest partner in crime from the room.
The Insecticon clicked his mandibular array. “Thanks,” he replied, digits rapping on the table top. “What do I get for it?”
Swindle rubbed his chin, contemplatively. “Let me check my stocks.”
He turned, heading into a small back room that he'd carved out for his own use. Onslaught allowed it because, and Swindle quoted, “I don't give a frag what you do, just don't get caught.”
Swindle dug through a pile of purposefully unorganized mess for a datapad with a cracked screen, gouged interface, and blackened on the edges. In short, it looked completely busted and therefore useless.
Looks could be deceiving.
Swindle powered up the datapad using series of key presses and wire tweaking and left the room, returning back to where he left Chop Shop.
“Let's see,” he said, pulling up his requisitions log and comparing it to Chop Shop's offerings.
Wait a klik.
Weren't there three transistors earlier? And Swindle could have sworn there was a portable solar collector, too.
“Uh...”
“It's good stuff,” Chop Shop said with a fanged grin. “But not really above the line so maybe you should be quick?”
Right.
Suspicious, Swindle decided it was in his best interest not to ask. He could be wrong and it would be bad for business if he admitted to not paying attention.
“Hmm. I do need all of those power cells. A certain mech has promised me some high grade in exchange for a stock of that exact grenade.” He pondered his list. “And Onslaught demanded a transwarp generator just last week.”
A generator, by the way, which was no longer on the counter in front of him. And the last couple of transistors were now gone.
“Great!” Chop Shop said with bright enthusiasm. “What'll ya give me?”
Swindle stared at the Insecticon. Something wasn't right here. There was no way he was mistaken twice in a row.
“Where's the transwarp generator?”
“The what?” Chop Shop tilted his helm, confusion writ into his energy field.
Swindle stared at Chop Shop, who looked at him with such innocence, Swindle might have been standing in front of an Autobot. The Insecticon's talons were no longer visible on the counter, instead tucked behind his back.
“The generator.” Swindle set his datapad down and leaned on the counter. “It was here. Two kliks ago.”
“No, it wasn't.”
Swindle cycled down his optics and circled around the counter, approaching Chop Shop. The Insecticon was much larger than him but Swindle tried not to focus on that point. He had Vortex on speed dial. Everyone was afraid of Vortex.
“Are you trying to pull one over on me?” Swindle asked, trying to peer behind Chop Shop with limited success.
Chop Shop turned with Swindle, keeping his talons behind his back. “Pull one over?” He tilted his helm. “I'm just trying to sell some stuff. Plain and simple.”
Stuff that kept disappearing! Swindle didn't fall off the stock shuttle yesterday! Chop Shop was messing with the wrong requisitions master.
He backed Chop Shop away from the counter. “Oh yeah? Where's the stuff?” Swindle demanded, tossing a hand toward the counter.
Which looked emptier than it had before. Swindle stopped and stared. The only thing left on the counter was a sad-looking blaster that was out of date three millennia ago.
Anger broiled inside of him. “And where's my datapad!”
Chop Shop lowered his helm, radiating guilt.
Swindle's engine revved. “Did you take it?”
No response.
Swindle ground his denta and shoved his servo toward Chop Shop, snapping his digits. “Give it. Now.” He surprised himself with his own courage. The Insecticon could squash him in half an astrosecond.
But Chop Shop just drooped his shoulders and dug the datapad out of his subspace, handing it over.
As he did so, several things tumbled out of an obviously crammed subspace, including the transwarp generator, the power cells, and all of the transistors.
Unbelievable!
Swindle's jaw dropped. “Did you just steal from yourself?” And, also, from Swindle, too but he was too shocked by Chop Shop's gall to get angry. In fact, he found himself amused.
“No...?”
Swindle covered his optics with his palm. He subspaced his datapad. “My friend,” he said, attempting to sling an arm over Chop Shop's shoulder, but being too short, only managed to snag the Insecticon's elbow. “You need a few lessons in this business. And I'd be happy to provide them. For a small fee of course.”
The sound of metal hitting metal reverberated through the small room. Swindle looked down, watching the stylus from his datapad hit the ground and then roll across the floor, bumping up against his pede. Apparently, Chop Shop had taken that as well.
Swindle shook his helm. “We'll start with rule number one,” he said, and led his newest partner in crime from the room.
For fuzipenguin
Prompt: SideswipexSunstreaker, Bayverse, pirates
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse. Warnings: None (Bonus to anyone who can guess where I got the referenced songs from. Heh.)
Their comms bleeped at precisely 6:03pm, when they were three minutes late for their shift.
Sideswipe looked at Sunstraker who ignored him in favor of attacking a splotch on his armor.
“Don't worry,” Sideswipe said, leaning back on their berth with his arms locked behind his helm. “I'll get it.”
He switched to his comm, making certain to broadcast it aloud so Sunsteaker could listen in and comment if he pleased. He also responded aloud, to make it easier for Sunstreaker to not miss a single, amusing detail.
“Yes?” Sideswipe used his most saccarine tone, interspersed with underlying glyphs of wide-opticked innocence.
“Are you injured?” asked Ratchet, rather hostile at that, and certainly not the officer Sideswipe would have expected.
Well. Two commanding officers with one prank. Even better.
Sideswipe grinned. “Not to my knowledge. Sunny, what about you?”
“I'll have no part of this,” his twin replied. “And don't call me that.”
“Nope,” Sideswipe said to Ratchet. “All's well here. How are you?”
Ratchet growled.
Prowl intervened. “You did receive your schedule for this week, correct?”
“It's on our wall,” Sideswipe said, glancing at the huge piece of paper heavily pockmarked from being used as target practice.
“Then I will be seeing you and your brother on the tarmac in two minutes.”
“Actually,” Sideswipe said before Prowl could end the comm and consider the situation resolved. “You won't.”
Prowl's frosty glare could not be seen but Sideswipe could frag well feel it. “And why not?”
“You're going to get us slagged,” Sunstreaker muttered, subvocally, so that their superior officers could not hear.
“Have a little faith, brother mine,” Sideswipe retorted, equally subvocal.
He checked his chronometer. Just about time. Sixty more seconds. Need to stall Prowl just a little more.
“Because,” Sideswipe replied. “We're pirates.”
“What?” Prowl said with a hint of exasperation. “No. Nevermind. Either show up for your shifts or I will send someone to escort you to the brig.”
“Since when do we have a brig?” Sunstreaker wondered aloud.
Thirty seconds...
“Good point!” Sideswipe said with a flash of amusement. “We don't have a brig, Prowl.”
“Then I'll turn you over to Ratchet's tender mercies.”
“Ooo. Scary.” Sideswipe crossed one wheeled foot over the other, idly watching the tire spin.
“I don't appreciate being used as a threat, Prowl.”
Ten seconds...
Sideswipe grinned, positively giddy.
Prowl exvented loudly. “Sideswipe.”
“Nope,” Sideswipe sang. “It's against our moral code. As pirates. Guidelines really, you know.”
“You're what?”
Right on cue, the basewide PA clicked on, a jaunty tune crackling through the speakers.
“We are the pirates who don't do anything. We just stay at home and lie around. And if you ask us to do anything. We'll just tell you... we don't do anything.”
Sideswipe snickered, his spark surging with amusement as the song continued. “That's what.”
He cut off the comm as Prowl sputtered and Ratchet growled again.
Sunstreaker shook his helm. “Sometimes, I wish I was an only spark.”
“Your life would be boring without me,” Sideswipe reassured his brother, and happily sang along as the song cycled back to the chorus.
Bonus Scene
Prowl gritted his denta, the annoyingly addictive tune stuck on repeat. And apparently Blaster was having a difficult time cutting off the loop.
“You have to give him credit for creativity,” Ratchet said.
“He'll see how creative I am when they're on punishment duty for a month,” Prowl snarled, doorwings hiked high with aggravation.
“Punish Samuel, too, while you're at it.”
“Why?”
“He's the one who gave them the DVDs.” Ratchet paused. “You're lucky he didn't serenade you with Barbara Manatee.”
Prowl's optics fritzed. “What?”
Sideswipe looked at Sunstraker who ignored him in favor of attacking a splotch on his armor.
“Don't worry,” Sideswipe said, leaning back on their berth with his arms locked behind his helm. “I'll get it.”
He switched to his comm, making certain to broadcast it aloud so Sunsteaker could listen in and comment if he pleased. He also responded aloud, to make it easier for Sunstreaker to not miss a single, amusing detail.
“Yes?” Sideswipe used his most saccarine tone, interspersed with underlying glyphs of wide-opticked innocence.
“Are you injured?” asked Ratchet, rather hostile at that, and certainly not the officer Sideswipe would have expected.
Well. Two commanding officers with one prank. Even better.
Sideswipe grinned. “Not to my knowledge. Sunny, what about you?”
“I'll have no part of this,” his twin replied. “And don't call me that.”
“Nope,” Sideswipe said to Ratchet. “All's well here. How are you?”
Ratchet growled.
Prowl intervened. “You did receive your schedule for this week, correct?”
“It's on our wall,” Sideswipe said, glancing at the huge piece of paper heavily pockmarked from being used as target practice.
“Then I will be seeing you and your brother on the tarmac in two minutes.”
“Actually,” Sideswipe said before Prowl could end the comm and consider the situation resolved. “You won't.”
Prowl's frosty glare could not be seen but Sideswipe could frag well feel it. “And why not?”
“You're going to get us slagged,” Sunstreaker muttered, subvocally, so that their superior officers could not hear.
“Have a little faith, brother mine,” Sideswipe retorted, equally subvocal.
He checked his chronometer. Just about time. Sixty more seconds. Need to stall Prowl just a little more.
“Because,” Sideswipe replied. “We're pirates.”
“What?” Prowl said with a hint of exasperation. “No. Nevermind. Either show up for your shifts or I will send someone to escort you to the brig.”
“Since when do we have a brig?” Sunstreaker wondered aloud.
Thirty seconds...
“Good point!” Sideswipe said with a flash of amusement. “We don't have a brig, Prowl.”
“Then I'll turn you over to Ratchet's tender mercies.”
“Ooo. Scary.” Sideswipe crossed one wheeled foot over the other, idly watching the tire spin.
“I don't appreciate being used as a threat, Prowl.”
Ten seconds...
Sideswipe grinned, positively giddy.
Prowl exvented loudly. “Sideswipe.”
“Nope,” Sideswipe sang. “It's against our moral code. As pirates. Guidelines really, you know.”
“You're what?”
Right on cue, the basewide PA clicked on, a jaunty tune crackling through the speakers.
“We are the pirates who don't do anything. We just stay at home and lie around. And if you ask us to do anything. We'll just tell you... we don't do anything.”
Sideswipe snickered, his spark surging with amusement as the song continued. “That's what.”
He cut off the comm as Prowl sputtered and Ratchet growled again.
Sunstreaker shook his helm. “Sometimes, I wish I was an only spark.”
“Your life would be boring without me,” Sideswipe reassured his brother, and happily sang along as the song cycled back to the chorus.
Bonus Scene
Prowl gritted his denta, the annoyingly addictive tune stuck on repeat. And apparently Blaster was having a difficult time cutting off the loop.
“You have to give him credit for creativity,” Ratchet said.
“He'll see how creative I am when they're on punishment duty for a month,” Prowl snarled, doorwings hiked high with aggravation.
“Punish Samuel, too, while you're at it.”
“Why?”
“He's the one who gave them the DVDs.” Ratchet paused. “You're lucky he didn't serenade you with Barbara Manatee.”
Prowl's optics fritzed. “What?”
a/n: Two more flash fiction to come. Along with lots of other ficcage. I hope you enjoyed! :).
