[G1] Scare Tactics
Oct. 16th, 2015 11:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: G1-ish universe, where the war never happened. :) Enjoy!
Title: Scare Tactics
Universe: Transformers G1
Characters: Ratchet, Starscream
Rating: T
Warnings: scary moments?
Description: Starscream was quite sure the resident pranksters were to blame for the sticky, rainbow mess that sent him stomping to the washracks.
For jenn-oddballpunk, the first place winner in my 200 follower giveaway on tumblr.
Written to this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2oH2C2tp40k
There was no way in the universe this was his fault, Starscream snarled internally as he stomped toward the nearest washrack. He left drips of color in his wake and was glad that no one could see his stomp of shame. Never mind that there was a visible trail leading from his laboratory and following him wherever he went.
Starscream was certain he was not the one to blame for this.
He was meticulous in his work. He prepared for each new experiment with the sort of precision that even Perceptor envied. He prided himself on not making any mistakes. He'd arranged the necessary components in proper order ahead of time and even double-checked them before beginning the experiment. Starscream wrote the book on laboratory safety – one that Wheeljack never bothered to read, by the way.
He had not confused the bottles. There was no way he'd confused the bottles. So why, when he mixed the two chemicals together, did they explode in his face?
And not just explode either. Oh, no.
They'd erupted in a plume of rainbow-flavored grit that coated every inch of his frame and somehow managed to cling to every nook and cranny. The more Starscream brushed at it, the more it smeared all over his armor. It got between his armor seams and trickled down until it wedged into his cables. He could feel it sifting into his joints even.
He blamed Sideswipe and Skywarp. Only they could have done this.
Starscream stormed into the washrack and ignored the three other mechs currently occupying stalls. He only noticed them in passing, not even bothering to check if he recognized them or not. They weren't in his immediate social group, a fact made obvious that none of them called out to him. Or maybe that was because they'd read the intent to kill in his energy field.
As soon as he was clean, Starscream intended to get his revenge.
He headed to the set of racks furthest from the door, the ones no one else liked to use because the solvent was never hot enough. True enough, they were abandoned and Starscream headed for the nearest one. His cables were starting to itch from whatever the brightly colored substance was. He hoped it wasn't corrosive.
It took a certain mind to be able to mix substances together to create that kind of reaction. However, Starscream didn't trust that those pranksters had made sure the resulting blend wasn't a danger.
He slammed the button to turn on the solvent spray and waited. The pipes rattled and clunked like the old system it was, but nothing emerged. Starscream's optics narrowed and he stared as he waited. He tapped his pede. Still nothing.
Frag it all.
Starscream stomped over to the next one and slammed the button, just as the first spray clicked on, spitting solvent into the air. Of course it did.
Starscream rolled his optics and waited anyway. But the second one refused to activate, even when he waited longer than he'd given the first, which was still happily spraying away.
Frustration ate at him.
Starscream stomped back toward the first head, but the moment he got within range, it cut off. The head started to drip, suds gathering at the drain. The second sprayer cut on behind him. Starscream whipped toward it.
“What the frag is going on here?” he demanded. His vocals echoed around him.
No one answered. He could hear the other sprayers going, but no conversation from the rest of the mechs indulging. They were ignoring him. Typical.
Starscream narrowed his optics and returned to the second one, which shut off as soon as he stood under it. The first one cut back on. This was getting ridiculous.
He tried the third one to the same results.
Starscream pressed his lips together. He forced himself to cycle a ventilation. Obviously, this whole corner was malfunctioning.
He spun on a heelstrut. He would use one of the others. Obviously, not all of the sprayers were malfunctioning as the other three mechs were cleaning themselves just fine. They were even playing around, jostling each other as only a bunch of energetic younglings would do. They didn't spare Starscream a second glance or seem concerned about his troubles.
Behind him, all three sprayers cut on, the air filling with a hot, soapy mist. His twitching cables and wires itched in longing. He wanted to be clean, frag it.
The lights flickered. Starscream paused mid-step and looked upward as the lights flickered again, intermittently. He frowned, optics narrowing.
The nozzles started to rattle. The sprays stopped as though someone had shut them off. He heard a rasping, scratching sound.
The frag?
Unease crawled into Starscream's circuits. He shook it off and moved into the next set of racks, passing by two mechs who were whispering sweet nothings into each other's audials. They didn't seem to bothered by the weird behavior of the facilities.
Maybe there were hallucinogenic properties in the rainbow substance?
“Get a room,” Starscream grumbled at them. “A private one. These facilities are public.”
They ignored him. Typical. Sometimes, Starscream swore he was invisible for all that others paid him any attention.
Starscream stomped to the nearest dispenser and slammed the button. The pipes rattled and lo and behold, it started to spray. Finally!
Starscream stepped under the solvent and sighed with relief as the luke-warm liquid sluiced over his frame and immediately rinsed away the worst of the colorful powder. It turned into a cakey, rainbow sludge beneath his pedes. Gross.
He reached for the standard bucket of cleaning supplies – he could do a better job later in his habsuite – and grabbed a scrubber. He attacked his seams with gusto, sighing as his itching cables were freed of the gritty material.
Warm solvent abruptly went ice cold.
Starscream yelped and leapt out from beneath the spray, his spark oscillating with distress. It hadn't hurt, but it certainly hadn't been pleasant. Colorful suds dripped down his frame as he glared at the sprayer. He gave it a wide berth and reached for the control panel. He adjusted the temperature and tested it with his palm.
Luke-warm again.
Starscream snorted and stepped back under the spray. Trust the Science building to have malfunctioning washracks. How ironic.
He scrubbed at his seams more quickly this time, just in case the sprayer changed its mind again, and rinsed quickly. He turned to do the same to his wings when scorching hot solvent beat upon his plating.
His screech echoed all around him. He moved out from beneath the sprayer so fast he slipped in the solvent and almost crashed into the opposing wall. Steam rose up around him as the sprayer chugged along.
“That's it. I'm done,” Starscream snarled. He threw his scrub brush at the panel, deactivating the sprayer.
The pipes clunked as the solvent shot down. It leaked, however, an annoying, dripping cadence that only served to raise Starscream's anger. The fact that, in the distance, he could still hear the other sprayers merrily spilling their solvent didn't help.
Someone moaned.
Starscream in-vented and rolled his optics. He whirled around, “Didn't I tell you to...”
He trailed off. The racks were empty. The two lovestruck mechs were gone. The three playing younglings had left as well.
Starscream never noticed them do so. And all five would have had to walk right past him to get to the door.
He heard another moan. A rasp of metal on metal. One of the racks cut on with a loud rattle and the spray of solvent.
Starscream's optics narrowed. He stalked around the washracks, peering into every alcove, but there was no one present. He was the only one here.
The lights flickered.
“This isn't funny,” Starscream snapped.
A groan echoed around him. There was a thunk in the far back of the washracks, and a wet slap. The sprayer continued to blast hot solvent into the air and more steam billowed through the racks.
No. No, he absolutely was not going to think about the story Ratchet told him earlier, the rumors that this particular washrack was haunted. It was more than ridiculous and clearly a made up tale full of fallacies and Ratchet had been smirking when he recounted the tale anyway.
Starscream was not going to fall for it.
Clearly, the facilities were having some kind of malfunction that Starscream was going to find Scrapper and complain dearly about. This was unacceptable.
The vents rattled. There was a scraping-dragging noise from the far corner, where Starscream had originally tried to use the equipment.
Starscream absolutely was not worried or alarmed.
But he was still going to go somewhere else.
Starscream spun on a heelstrut just as the lights flickered again. He took one step and all at once, the lights went out. The only illumination was a small strip of emergency lights in the floor and his own biolights, both of which cast eerie shadows on the walls. The moaning rattle began again, in earnest.
There was a whoosh-whoosh, like the ex-vents of a mech of Omega Supreme's size, if not larger.
Starscream was not amused.
He was dripping solvent behind him, his cables were still itchy, and someone was trying to play mind games with him. This was not his idea of a good time.
Starscream did a quick sensor sweep of the washracks, though the strange construction meant that his pings came back uselessly. The signal rebounded too much.
He stuck out a hand and found a wall, using it to guide him toward the door. He would have to finish rinsing off elsewhere.
Another moan rose up behind him. It echoed around the empty racks. The steady rush of the sprayer should have drowned it out, but it didn't. That the pipes continued to rattle was very nerve-wracking as well.
Which was stupid, Starscream told himself. There was absolutely nothing to be worried about. He was a seasoned warrior, commander of the great Seeker armada, and a scientist. This was nothing more than a stupid prank, probably the brain-child of Skywarp and Sideswipe and Starscream would be repaying them in kind later.
After he finished scrubbing this gunk out of his cables and put in a call to maintenance to fix whatever was wrong in these washracks. Speaking of… Starscream opened up his comm system to do just that and got static in return. He couldn't dial out.
Those little brats.
Starscream stormed toward the door, his backstrut crawling with unease. His internal sensors were going haywire, but he spotted the dim illumination of the exit panel and that was all that mattered. His vents were starting to cough on all the steam. At this rate, he was going to rust!
The motion sensors were working at least. As Starscream approached the exit, the sliding door opened for him, spilling the light from the hall into the washracks. Starscream cycled his relief and headed straight for the door without pause. Like it or not, the malfunctioning room was giving him the creeps.
His wings shivered as he stepped out of the door, cringing in the bright lights. He looked mournfully down at the puddle he was leaving beneath him. Rainbow, soapy solvent left tacky trails over his armor. Sunstreaker would be appalled at the sight of him.
And then something snatched at his wing hinges from behind, getting a fierce grip on them as though determined to drag him back into the dark.
His spark leapt out of its casing and into his intake as his vents snapped to full alert, and he careened into defensive mode.
Starscream yelped and spun, tearing his wings free of those clasping hands. He reacted on instinct, both arms raising to aim his new experimental weaponry at the creature which dared grab him.
The creature who happened to be his best friend with benefits, who was laughing his aft off, even as he held his hands up so as not to be blown to smithereens.
“That sound!” Ratchet said with another cackle and almost bent forward from the force of his glee.
He was damn near giggling.
Starscream's optics narrowed. His processor ran through a gamut of responses, none of them pleasant, but he knew they would only emerge as a screech, which would prompt more teasing on Ratchet's part. Instead, he very calmly powered down his concussion blasters – designed for Thundercracker actually. He stomped forward, and smacked his palm square against Ratchet's chevron.
“Ow! You glitch!” Ratchet said as he backpedaled out of reach, lifting a hand protectively to his chevron. His sensitive chevron.
Starscream ought to know, he'd nibbled on it often enough.
“That,” Starscream hissed through clenched denta, “was absolutely not funny.”
“Given the look on your face, I beg to differ,” Ratchet retorted with a roll of his optics. He was still grinning like an idiot – like Sideswipe.
Starscream sniffed and folded his arms. “I suppose I have you to blame for the rainbow mess in my laboratory, too?”
Ratchet smirked. “I had to get Wheeljack's help for that one.” He lifted his chin, giving Starscream a pointed look. “And if I recall, I owed you one.”
“That scare was an accident, not an intentional prank,” Starscream retorted with a roll of his optics. He supposed he owed Skywarp and Sideswipe an apology for blaming them in the first place.
Ratchet hummed with amusement. “Mm. Why don't I believe you, I wonder.” His gaze raked Starscream from helm to pede. “Besides, it's not too bad. You got most of it off.”
“My cables itch.” No. He wasn't sulking. He was expressing his displeasure.
Ratchet dared step closer with a little leer. “I could help you scrub it off,” he said, dragging one finger down the length of Starscream's arm, leaving a clean spot through a muddy orange-blue smear.
“You had better,” Starscream retorted, raising his chin. “And we're not going back in there.”
Ratchet chuckled and leaned in for a nuzzle, one that Starscream deftly avoided. He was still angry and wasn't quite ready to forgive Ratchet just yet. “I promise. I'll give you a scrub down so good you'll forget you were ever irritated at me in the first place.”
“Hmph. We'll see.” Starscream slid away from the tantalizing nearness of Ratchet's frame and strutted down the hallway, expecting Ratchet to follow. “And you'd better get rid of all video footage and image captures you took.”
Ratchet hurried to catch up to him. “I make no promises.”
“You will if you want to recharge in a berth and not on the couch tonight,” Starscream retorted with a look thrown over his shoulder. He ignored the rainbow footprints he was leaving in his wake.
If Prowl asked, he'd point the Enforcer in Ratchet's direction.
“Yes, Star,” Ratchet replied, with every ounce of fake sincerity.
Starscream did not offer him a scathing retort, though he was tempted. Inwardly, however, he was already plotting revenge. That first scare? Had been an accident. But his vengeance wouldn't be. It would be swift and terrifying and Starscream would be the one laughing when Ratchet screeched like a sparkling.
Oh, yes.
Revenge was his to be had.
Starscream couldn't wait.
****
a/n:Congratulations, Jenn-oddballpunk and thank you so much! I hope this is as funny as I thought it was. :)
Title: Scare Tactics
Universe: Transformers G1
Characters: Ratchet, Starscream
Rating: T
Warnings: scary moments?
Description: Starscream was quite sure the resident pranksters were to blame for the sticky, rainbow mess that sent him stomping to the washracks.
For jenn-oddballpunk, the first place winner in my 200 follower giveaway on tumblr.
Written to this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2oH2C2tp40k
There was no way in the universe this was his fault, Starscream snarled internally as he stomped toward the nearest washrack. He left drips of color in his wake and was glad that no one could see his stomp of shame. Never mind that there was a visible trail leading from his laboratory and following him wherever he went.
Starscream was certain he was not the one to blame for this.
He was meticulous in his work. He prepared for each new experiment with the sort of precision that even Perceptor envied. He prided himself on not making any mistakes. He'd arranged the necessary components in proper order ahead of time and even double-checked them before beginning the experiment. Starscream wrote the book on laboratory safety – one that Wheeljack never bothered to read, by the way.
He had not confused the bottles. There was no way he'd confused the bottles. So why, when he mixed the two chemicals together, did they explode in his face?
And not just explode either. Oh, no.
They'd erupted in a plume of rainbow-flavored grit that coated every inch of his frame and somehow managed to cling to every nook and cranny. The more Starscream brushed at it, the more it smeared all over his armor. It got between his armor seams and trickled down until it wedged into his cables. He could feel it sifting into his joints even.
He blamed Sideswipe and Skywarp. Only they could have done this.
Starscream stormed into the washrack and ignored the three other mechs currently occupying stalls. He only noticed them in passing, not even bothering to check if he recognized them or not. They weren't in his immediate social group, a fact made obvious that none of them called out to him. Or maybe that was because they'd read the intent to kill in his energy field.
As soon as he was clean, Starscream intended to get his revenge.
He headed to the set of racks furthest from the door, the ones no one else liked to use because the solvent was never hot enough. True enough, they were abandoned and Starscream headed for the nearest one. His cables were starting to itch from whatever the brightly colored substance was. He hoped it wasn't corrosive.
It took a certain mind to be able to mix substances together to create that kind of reaction. However, Starscream didn't trust that those pranksters had made sure the resulting blend wasn't a danger.
He slammed the button to turn on the solvent spray and waited. The pipes rattled and clunked like the old system it was, but nothing emerged. Starscream's optics narrowed and he stared as he waited. He tapped his pede. Still nothing.
Frag it all.
Starscream stomped over to the next one and slammed the button, just as the first spray clicked on, spitting solvent into the air. Of course it did.
Starscream rolled his optics and waited anyway. But the second one refused to activate, even when he waited longer than he'd given the first, which was still happily spraying away.
Frustration ate at him.
Starscream stomped back toward the first head, but the moment he got within range, it cut off. The head started to drip, suds gathering at the drain. The second sprayer cut on behind him. Starscream whipped toward it.
“What the frag is going on here?” he demanded. His vocals echoed around him.
No one answered. He could hear the other sprayers going, but no conversation from the rest of the mechs indulging. They were ignoring him. Typical.
Starscream narrowed his optics and returned to the second one, which shut off as soon as he stood under it. The first one cut back on. This was getting ridiculous.
He tried the third one to the same results.
Starscream pressed his lips together. He forced himself to cycle a ventilation. Obviously, this whole corner was malfunctioning.
He spun on a heelstrut. He would use one of the others. Obviously, not all of the sprayers were malfunctioning as the other three mechs were cleaning themselves just fine. They were even playing around, jostling each other as only a bunch of energetic younglings would do. They didn't spare Starscream a second glance or seem concerned about his troubles.
Behind him, all three sprayers cut on, the air filling with a hot, soapy mist. His twitching cables and wires itched in longing. He wanted to be clean, frag it.
The lights flickered. Starscream paused mid-step and looked upward as the lights flickered again, intermittently. He frowned, optics narrowing.
The nozzles started to rattle. The sprays stopped as though someone had shut them off. He heard a rasping, scratching sound.
The frag?
Unease crawled into Starscream's circuits. He shook it off and moved into the next set of racks, passing by two mechs who were whispering sweet nothings into each other's audials. They didn't seem to bothered by the weird behavior of the facilities.
Maybe there were hallucinogenic properties in the rainbow substance?
“Get a room,” Starscream grumbled at them. “A private one. These facilities are public.”
They ignored him. Typical. Sometimes, Starscream swore he was invisible for all that others paid him any attention.
Starscream stomped to the nearest dispenser and slammed the button. The pipes rattled and lo and behold, it started to spray. Finally!
Starscream stepped under the solvent and sighed with relief as the luke-warm liquid sluiced over his frame and immediately rinsed away the worst of the colorful powder. It turned into a cakey, rainbow sludge beneath his pedes. Gross.
He reached for the standard bucket of cleaning supplies – he could do a better job later in his habsuite – and grabbed a scrubber. He attacked his seams with gusto, sighing as his itching cables were freed of the gritty material.
Warm solvent abruptly went ice cold.
Starscream yelped and leapt out from beneath the spray, his spark oscillating with distress. It hadn't hurt, but it certainly hadn't been pleasant. Colorful suds dripped down his frame as he glared at the sprayer. He gave it a wide berth and reached for the control panel. He adjusted the temperature and tested it with his palm.
Luke-warm again.
Starscream snorted and stepped back under the spray. Trust the Science building to have malfunctioning washracks. How ironic.
He scrubbed at his seams more quickly this time, just in case the sprayer changed its mind again, and rinsed quickly. He turned to do the same to his wings when scorching hot solvent beat upon his plating.
His screech echoed all around him. He moved out from beneath the sprayer so fast he slipped in the solvent and almost crashed into the opposing wall. Steam rose up around him as the sprayer chugged along.
“That's it. I'm done,” Starscream snarled. He threw his scrub brush at the panel, deactivating the sprayer.
The pipes clunked as the solvent shot down. It leaked, however, an annoying, dripping cadence that only served to raise Starscream's anger. The fact that, in the distance, he could still hear the other sprayers merrily spilling their solvent didn't help.
Someone moaned.
Starscream in-vented and rolled his optics. He whirled around, “Didn't I tell you to...”
He trailed off. The racks were empty. The two lovestruck mechs were gone. The three playing younglings had left as well.
Starscream never noticed them do so. And all five would have had to walk right past him to get to the door.
He heard another moan. A rasp of metal on metal. One of the racks cut on with a loud rattle and the spray of solvent.
Starscream's optics narrowed. He stalked around the washracks, peering into every alcove, but there was no one present. He was the only one here.
The lights flickered.
“This isn't funny,” Starscream snapped.
A groan echoed around him. There was a thunk in the far back of the washracks, and a wet slap. The sprayer continued to blast hot solvent into the air and more steam billowed through the racks.
No. No, he absolutely was not going to think about the story Ratchet told him earlier, the rumors that this particular washrack was haunted. It was more than ridiculous and clearly a made up tale full of fallacies and Ratchet had been smirking when he recounted the tale anyway.
Starscream was not going to fall for it.
Clearly, the facilities were having some kind of malfunction that Starscream was going to find Scrapper and complain dearly about. This was unacceptable.
The vents rattled. There was a scraping-dragging noise from the far corner, where Starscream had originally tried to use the equipment.
Starscream absolutely was not worried or alarmed.
But he was still going to go somewhere else.
Starscream spun on a heelstrut just as the lights flickered again. He took one step and all at once, the lights went out. The only illumination was a small strip of emergency lights in the floor and his own biolights, both of which cast eerie shadows on the walls. The moaning rattle began again, in earnest.
There was a whoosh-whoosh, like the ex-vents of a mech of Omega Supreme's size, if not larger.
Starscream was not amused.
He was dripping solvent behind him, his cables were still itchy, and someone was trying to play mind games with him. This was not his idea of a good time.
Starscream did a quick sensor sweep of the washracks, though the strange construction meant that his pings came back uselessly. The signal rebounded too much.
He stuck out a hand and found a wall, using it to guide him toward the door. He would have to finish rinsing off elsewhere.
Another moan rose up behind him. It echoed around the empty racks. The steady rush of the sprayer should have drowned it out, but it didn't. That the pipes continued to rattle was very nerve-wracking as well.
Which was stupid, Starscream told himself. There was absolutely nothing to be worried about. He was a seasoned warrior, commander of the great Seeker armada, and a scientist. This was nothing more than a stupid prank, probably the brain-child of Skywarp and Sideswipe and Starscream would be repaying them in kind later.
After he finished scrubbing this gunk out of his cables and put in a call to maintenance to fix whatever was wrong in these washracks. Speaking of… Starscream opened up his comm system to do just that and got static in return. He couldn't dial out.
Those little brats.
Starscream stormed toward the door, his backstrut crawling with unease. His internal sensors were going haywire, but he spotted the dim illumination of the exit panel and that was all that mattered. His vents were starting to cough on all the steam. At this rate, he was going to rust!
The motion sensors were working at least. As Starscream approached the exit, the sliding door opened for him, spilling the light from the hall into the washracks. Starscream cycled his relief and headed straight for the door without pause. Like it or not, the malfunctioning room was giving him the creeps.
His wings shivered as he stepped out of the door, cringing in the bright lights. He looked mournfully down at the puddle he was leaving beneath him. Rainbow, soapy solvent left tacky trails over his armor. Sunstreaker would be appalled at the sight of him.
And then something snatched at his wing hinges from behind, getting a fierce grip on them as though determined to drag him back into the dark.
His spark leapt out of its casing and into his intake as his vents snapped to full alert, and he careened into defensive mode.
Starscream yelped and spun, tearing his wings free of those clasping hands. He reacted on instinct, both arms raising to aim his new experimental weaponry at the creature which dared grab him.
The creature who happened to be his best friend with benefits, who was laughing his aft off, even as he held his hands up so as not to be blown to smithereens.
“That sound!” Ratchet said with another cackle and almost bent forward from the force of his glee.
He was damn near giggling.
Starscream's optics narrowed. His processor ran through a gamut of responses, none of them pleasant, but he knew they would only emerge as a screech, which would prompt more teasing on Ratchet's part. Instead, he very calmly powered down his concussion blasters – designed for Thundercracker actually. He stomped forward, and smacked his palm square against Ratchet's chevron.
“Ow! You glitch!” Ratchet said as he backpedaled out of reach, lifting a hand protectively to his chevron. His sensitive chevron.
Starscream ought to know, he'd nibbled on it often enough.
“That,” Starscream hissed through clenched denta, “was absolutely not funny.”
“Given the look on your face, I beg to differ,” Ratchet retorted with a roll of his optics. He was still grinning like an idiot – like Sideswipe.
Starscream sniffed and folded his arms. “I suppose I have you to blame for the rainbow mess in my laboratory, too?”
Ratchet smirked. “I had to get Wheeljack's help for that one.” He lifted his chin, giving Starscream a pointed look. “And if I recall, I owed you one.”
“That scare was an accident, not an intentional prank,” Starscream retorted with a roll of his optics. He supposed he owed Skywarp and Sideswipe an apology for blaming them in the first place.
Ratchet hummed with amusement. “Mm. Why don't I believe you, I wonder.” His gaze raked Starscream from helm to pede. “Besides, it's not too bad. You got most of it off.”
“My cables itch.” No. He wasn't sulking. He was expressing his displeasure.
Ratchet dared step closer with a little leer. “I could help you scrub it off,” he said, dragging one finger down the length of Starscream's arm, leaving a clean spot through a muddy orange-blue smear.
“You had better,” Starscream retorted, raising his chin. “And we're not going back in there.”
Ratchet chuckled and leaned in for a nuzzle, one that Starscream deftly avoided. He was still angry and wasn't quite ready to forgive Ratchet just yet. “I promise. I'll give you a scrub down so good you'll forget you were ever irritated at me in the first place.”
“Hmph. We'll see.” Starscream slid away from the tantalizing nearness of Ratchet's frame and strutted down the hallway, expecting Ratchet to follow. “And you'd better get rid of all video footage and image captures you took.”
Ratchet hurried to catch up to him. “I make no promises.”
“You will if you want to recharge in a berth and not on the couch tonight,” Starscream retorted with a look thrown over his shoulder. He ignored the rainbow footprints he was leaving in his wake.
If Prowl asked, he'd point the Enforcer in Ratchet's direction.
“Yes, Star,” Ratchet replied, with every ounce of fake sincerity.
Starscream did not offer him a scathing retort, though he was tempted. Inwardly, however, he was already plotting revenge. That first scare? Had been an accident. But his vengeance wouldn't be. It would be swift and terrifying and Starscream would be the one laughing when Ratchet screeched like a sparkling.
Oh, yes.
Revenge was his to be had.
Starscream couldn't wait.
a/n:Congratulations, Jenn-oddballpunk and thank you so much! I hope this is as funny as I thought it was. :)
