NaNo Day Ten
Nov. 10th, 2012 06:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Still dreadfully, dreadfully behind. I should be at 16,670. Instead, I am at 12,100. Oye. RL. How about cutting me a break, eh?
So I'm working on War Without End: Prowl for those of you anxiously awaiting an update. And if I run out of fic before I reach 50K then I'm going to roll right into War Without End: Thundercracker which is who's POV is coming up next. Fun times.
And here is a little bitty roughest of the rough draft preview of what's going on with Prowl. Enjoy!
a/n: So there's a hint of what's going on. I'll post some more snippets as I get further along in the fic. And maybe as I catch up my word count. Heh.
Comment as you will.
So I'm working on War Without End: Prowl for those of you anxiously awaiting an update. And if I run out of fic before I reach 50K then I'm going to roll right into War Without End: Thundercracker which is who's POV is coming up next. Fun times.
And here is a little bitty roughest of the rough draft preview of what's going on with Prowl. Enjoy!
“We're getting close.”
Prowl doesn't bother to ask Sunstreaker how he can be so certain. He's given up understanding or making reason out of myth.
“Estimated distance?”
Sunstreaker glances at him, a visible shudder skipping across his armor. “Soon.”
Prowl nods and returns his attention to the nav panel. They've swung around a large planet with an enormous storm on the surface. Prime's message had come from this system. The planet's coordinates are simple to follow, but Sunstreaker's confirmation is appreciated, reassuring Prowl that they are on the right course.
“And Hound?”
Sunstreaker doesn't so much as turn and look over the edge of the chair, the disquiet in his field tangible and speaking volumes. “Still hanging on.”
Prowl presses his lipplates together. Sunstreaker's assessment is an overstatement. Hound's been in deep stasis for more than half of their journey, only surfacing from the self-inflicted state to occasionally inquire about their location or apologize for being an inconvenience. Not that either Prowl or Sunstreaker have accused him of such.
He resolutely turns his attention back to the console, staring at the blinking indicator of their growing proximity to Prime, and by proxy, Ratchet as well. Prowl's done all he can. He, no Hound, needs Ratchet.
Clawed fingers rap over the console, Sunstreaker shifting, either out of discomfort or anticipation. “This flying slab of tin won't survive atmospheric entry.”
“We will have to do an orbital drop,” Prowl replies, having already anticipated this issue.
Sunstreaker's noisy staccato pauses, his helm swiveling toward Prowl. “Hound can't survive an orbital drop.”
“We have no choice. He will certainly offline if we leave him on board.”
Sunstreaker ex-vents, his optics shifting back to the viewscreen. “And if he doesn't?”
“He will.” Prowl can't remember when he became such an optimist. Necessity, he supposes, because if he tried to believe anything else, he would have succumbed to the drag of this endless war vorns and vorns ago.
Sunstreaker's upper lipplate curls with derision. “I fragging despise orbital drops,” he mutters, kicking out a pede in a sparkling-like sulk.
Prowl, however, can recognize concern when he sees it. Vorns of fighting beside Sunstreaker has all but inured him to the warrior's many emotional quirks.
“I'm sure Sideswipe will be willing enough to help you scrub off the scorch marks.”
Sunstreaker tilts his helm toward Prowl, amusement writ into his energy field. “That slagger. He better give me a proper welcome.”
If there is one topic certain to shift Sunstreaker's mood, it is to talk about his brother. Prowl will admit that he shamelessly takes advantage of this on occasion.
“He'll be happy that you're alive,” Prowl replies, shifting his attention back to the console of their tiny shuttle, puttering along toward the planet where the Autobots were to make their new home.
“That fact has never been in question.” Sunstreaker flicks his fingers through the air before pulling a cloth from subspace and rubbing it over his arm. “I still expect some pampering after he abandoned me to wander the universe with you. And Hound.” There had been others, as well, but neither of them make mention. The pain is still too fresh.
Besides, an unwise mech would take offense at Sunstreaker's words.
Prowl is not an unwise mech.
A chuckle bubbles up in his vocalizer. “For what it's worth, I couldn't have asked for a better partner.”
“You could have,” Sunstreaker corrects, optics flashing with his own brand of amusement. “But you wouldn't have found one.”
Prowl doesn't bother to ask Sunstreaker how he can be so certain. He's given up understanding or making reason out of myth.
“Estimated distance?”
Sunstreaker glances at him, a visible shudder skipping across his armor. “Soon.”
Prowl nods and returns his attention to the nav panel. They've swung around a large planet with an enormous storm on the surface. Prime's message had come from this system. The planet's coordinates are simple to follow, but Sunstreaker's confirmation is appreciated, reassuring Prowl that they are on the right course.
“And Hound?”
Sunstreaker doesn't so much as turn and look over the edge of the chair, the disquiet in his field tangible and speaking volumes. “Still hanging on.”
Prowl presses his lipplates together. Sunstreaker's assessment is an overstatement. Hound's been in deep stasis for more than half of their journey, only surfacing from the self-inflicted state to occasionally inquire about their location or apologize for being an inconvenience. Not that either Prowl or Sunstreaker have accused him of such.
He resolutely turns his attention back to the console, staring at the blinking indicator of their growing proximity to Prime, and by proxy, Ratchet as well. Prowl's done all he can. He, no Hound, needs Ratchet.
Clawed fingers rap over the console, Sunstreaker shifting, either out of discomfort or anticipation. “This flying slab of tin won't survive atmospheric entry.”
“We will have to do an orbital drop,” Prowl replies, having already anticipated this issue.
Sunstreaker's noisy staccato pauses, his helm swiveling toward Prowl. “Hound can't survive an orbital drop.”
“We have no choice. He will certainly offline if we leave him on board.”
Sunstreaker ex-vents, his optics shifting back to the viewscreen. “And if he doesn't?”
“He will.” Prowl can't remember when he became such an optimist. Necessity, he supposes, because if he tried to believe anything else, he would have succumbed to the drag of this endless war vorns and vorns ago.
Sunstreaker's upper lipplate curls with derision. “I fragging despise orbital drops,” he mutters, kicking out a pede in a sparkling-like sulk.
Prowl, however, can recognize concern when he sees it. Vorns of fighting beside Sunstreaker has all but inured him to the warrior's many emotional quirks.
“I'm sure Sideswipe will be willing enough to help you scrub off the scorch marks.”
Sunstreaker tilts his helm toward Prowl, amusement writ into his energy field. “That slagger. He better give me a proper welcome.”
If there is one topic certain to shift Sunstreaker's mood, it is to talk about his brother. Prowl will admit that he shamelessly takes advantage of this on occasion.
“He'll be happy that you're alive,” Prowl replies, shifting his attention back to the console of their tiny shuttle, puttering along toward the planet where the Autobots were to make their new home.
“That fact has never been in question.” Sunstreaker flicks his fingers through the air before pulling a cloth from subspace and rubbing it over his arm. “I still expect some pampering after he abandoned me to wander the universe with you. And Hound.” There had been others, as well, but neither of them make mention. The pain is still too fresh.
Besides, an unwise mech would take offense at Sunstreaker's words.
Prowl is not an unwise mech.
A chuckle bubbles up in his vocalizer. “For what it's worth, I couldn't have asked for a better partner.”
“You could have,” Sunstreaker corrects, optics flashing with his own brand of amusement. “But you wouldn't have found one.”
a/n: So there's a hint of what's going on. I'll post some more snippets as I get further along in the fic. And maybe as I catch up my word count. Heh.
Comment as you will.
