autobotscoutriella (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
autobotscoutriella) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomweekly2019-04-05 11:59 pm
autobotscoutriella) wrote in fandomweekly2019-04-05 11:59 pm
Entry tags:
[#011] Necessity (Transformers)
Theme Prompt: #011 - Interview
Title: Necessity
Fandom: Transformers
Rating/Warnings: T / brief flashbacks to the aftermath of an explosive attack
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Elita's team needs a sniper, but the best option is so young.
Elita One glanced out at the tiny teal figure fidgeting in the little antechamber outside her office and raised a dubious brow ridge. "Chromia, I know our options are limited, but are you sure a youngling is the best-qualified sniper available?"
"She's not as young as she looks, Commander." As usual, Chromia's expression was unreadable, and her EM field was muted and pulled close to her frame. They had been friends almost all of Elita's adult life, but at times like this, she was still left wondering what the sturdy blue Autobot was thinking. "She's competent, if...odd, and that's what we need."
"She's barely more than a sparkling." Elita vented slowly and drew her own EM field down from where it had started to flare. This was the cost of war, and Chromia was right. They simply didn't have enough available soldiers to turn down anyone, no matter how young they were. This little sniper was hardly the only youngling on the battlefield.
It was wrong, and Elita knew it. They all did. But in the grand scheme of things, it was necessary.
When she pushed the office door the rest of the way open, the tiny teal frame literally jumped to attention like she'd been stung by a cyan-wasp. "Commander! Ma'am. Uh—Commander. Reporting as ordered. You wanted to see me? Ma'am."
"You must be Moonracer." Elita crushed the last of her moral qualms as best she could and gestured for the youngling to join them in the office. "Come in, please. Chromia tells me you have experience as a sniper."
"Uh—yes! Yes. Yeah, I do." Moonracer didn't even wait for the door to close all the way before answering. She remained rigidly at attention, but her fingers trembled with what, judging by her all-too-open EM field, was probably a combination of apprehension and excitement. "I'm the best marksmech in my unit—I always hit my target. Longest distances and the most precision." She seemed to be struggling not to talk too fast. "I can hit anything—anyone—you ask, as far away as you want. I'm good at it. Commander."
"Well, you're not short on confidence," Elita observed dryly, a hint of a smile forming before she drew it and the approval in her EM field back. She needed soldiers who knew their own qualifications and wouldn't hesitate to use them—even if hearing it from a youngling made her conscience twinge with guilt. "Where did you train?"
"Velocitron—I'm Velocitronian." Her accent had already told Elita that, but before she could ask for clarification, Moonracer was rushing on. "Override had a training academy for sport shooting—there was precision and distance and hunting and all different kinds of weapons, and different levels. I did the rifle all the way through. I wasn't going to be a sniper, it was just a hobby, but I was good at it, you know? Really good at it. I was going to graduate from it before..." Her voice trailed off abruptly, and her EM field drew in just a little closer to her frame. "Well—you know."
Elita did know. She'd been one of the Guard members sent to respond to those first attacks on Velocitron so long ago, before they even had a name for the revolutionary faction that had set the explosives. They wouldn't officially identify them as Decepticons until months later, just before the war began.
No matter how hard she tried to forget, she remembered it perfectly. The wrecked stadium, twisted track railings pulverized into lethal shards. Energon everywhere, on her frame and on the frames she pulled out of the wreckage. The smell of burning tires. The constant hum of medevac ships overhead, and the rush of panicked Velocitronians turning every street, even the wide-open racing spaces, into packed blocks of wounded, terrified refugees. No doubt Moonracer remembered it in even greater detail.
That wasn't something one could live through and still be considered a youngling. Chromia was right—perhaps Moonracer was older than she seemed.
Before she could continue the conversation with her planned question about field experience, her comm line and Chromia's beeped simultaneously. ::'Con movement spotted one mile south-south-west, Commander. They're on the move.::
"Copy that." Elita exchanged a brief glance with Chromia. "We need to go. I want a solid team prepped and ready for combat. We'll cut them off at the alpha quadrant crossing. Moonracer, I'm sorry, but our conversation will have to wait."
The tiny sniper couldn't hide the crestfallen note in her field, though to her credit, she made a valiant effort. "I understand, Commander. I'll, uh—maybe see you when you get back?" It wasn't a particularly subtle hint, but under the circumstances, Elita couldn't blame her.
In the brief pause that followed, Elita glanced at Chromia and switched to a private comm line. ::We'll need distance cover for this mission.::
::She's been in the field before, Commander. I don't know the details but it wouldn't be her first run.::
Elita nodded thoughtfully and held up a hand to stop Moonracer from leaving. "Not dismissed. You're coming with us. Are you armed?"
"Really?" Moonracer squeaked, then jerked herself back to attention with a visible effort. "I mean—yes. Yes, I am. I'm ready to go, anytime, I—Are you—are you sure?"
"Can you handle it?" Elita met the smaller mech's vivid blue optics without a smile, holding her gaze just long enough to make her point. "We need a steady hand and an excellent shot covering us. It's a narrow road with plenty of cover and clear lines of fire."
Moonracer made a clear effort to pull herself together, squaring her shoulders and once again muting her field. When she spoke again, her voice was almost steady, and her field was mostly under control. "Yes, Commander."
"Good. We roll out in five."
As she left the office, Elita once again crushed the twinge of conscience. It was necessary. They needed her. It had to be done.
Title: Necessity
Fandom: Transformers
Rating/Warnings: T / brief flashbacks to the aftermath of an explosive attack
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Elita's team needs a sniper, but the best option is so young.
Elita One glanced out at the tiny teal figure fidgeting in the little antechamber outside her office and raised a dubious brow ridge. "Chromia, I know our options are limited, but are you sure a youngling is the best-qualified sniper available?"
"She's not as young as she looks, Commander." As usual, Chromia's expression was unreadable, and her EM field was muted and pulled close to her frame. They had been friends almost all of Elita's adult life, but at times like this, she was still left wondering what the sturdy blue Autobot was thinking. "She's competent, if...odd, and that's what we need."
"She's barely more than a sparkling." Elita vented slowly and drew her own EM field down from where it had started to flare. This was the cost of war, and Chromia was right. They simply didn't have enough available soldiers to turn down anyone, no matter how young they were. This little sniper was hardly the only youngling on the battlefield.
It was wrong, and Elita knew it. They all did. But in the grand scheme of things, it was necessary.
When she pushed the office door the rest of the way open, the tiny teal frame literally jumped to attention like she'd been stung by a cyan-wasp. "Commander! Ma'am. Uh—Commander. Reporting as ordered. You wanted to see me? Ma'am."
"You must be Moonracer." Elita crushed the last of her moral qualms as best she could and gestured for the youngling to join them in the office. "Come in, please. Chromia tells me you have experience as a sniper."
"Uh—yes! Yes. Yeah, I do." Moonracer didn't even wait for the door to close all the way before answering. She remained rigidly at attention, but her fingers trembled with what, judging by her all-too-open EM field, was probably a combination of apprehension and excitement. "I'm the best marksmech in my unit—I always hit my target. Longest distances and the most precision." She seemed to be struggling not to talk too fast. "I can hit anything—anyone—you ask, as far away as you want. I'm good at it. Commander."
"Well, you're not short on confidence," Elita observed dryly, a hint of a smile forming before she drew it and the approval in her EM field back. She needed soldiers who knew their own qualifications and wouldn't hesitate to use them—even if hearing it from a youngling made her conscience twinge with guilt. "Where did you train?"
"Velocitron—I'm Velocitronian." Her accent had already told Elita that, but before she could ask for clarification, Moonracer was rushing on. "Override had a training academy for sport shooting—there was precision and distance and hunting and all different kinds of weapons, and different levels. I did the rifle all the way through. I wasn't going to be a sniper, it was just a hobby, but I was good at it, you know? Really good at it. I was going to graduate from it before..." Her voice trailed off abruptly, and her EM field drew in just a little closer to her frame. "Well—you know."
Elita did know. She'd been one of the Guard members sent to respond to those first attacks on Velocitron so long ago, before they even had a name for the revolutionary faction that had set the explosives. They wouldn't officially identify them as Decepticons until months later, just before the war began.
No matter how hard she tried to forget, she remembered it perfectly. The wrecked stadium, twisted track railings pulverized into lethal shards. Energon everywhere, on her frame and on the frames she pulled out of the wreckage. The smell of burning tires. The constant hum of medevac ships overhead, and the rush of panicked Velocitronians turning every street, even the wide-open racing spaces, into packed blocks of wounded, terrified refugees. No doubt Moonracer remembered it in even greater detail.
That wasn't something one could live through and still be considered a youngling. Chromia was right—perhaps Moonracer was older than she seemed.
Before she could continue the conversation with her planned question about field experience, her comm line and Chromia's beeped simultaneously. ::'Con movement spotted one mile south-south-west, Commander. They're on the move.::
"Copy that." Elita exchanged a brief glance with Chromia. "We need to go. I want a solid team prepped and ready for combat. We'll cut them off at the alpha quadrant crossing. Moonracer, I'm sorry, but our conversation will have to wait."
The tiny sniper couldn't hide the crestfallen note in her field, though to her credit, she made a valiant effort. "I understand, Commander. I'll, uh—maybe see you when you get back?" It wasn't a particularly subtle hint, but under the circumstances, Elita couldn't blame her.
In the brief pause that followed, Elita glanced at Chromia and switched to a private comm line. ::We'll need distance cover for this mission.::
::She's been in the field before, Commander. I don't know the details but it wouldn't be her first run.::
Elita nodded thoughtfully and held up a hand to stop Moonracer from leaving. "Not dismissed. You're coming with us. Are you armed?"
"Really?" Moonracer squeaked, then jerked herself back to attention with a visible effort. "I mean—yes. Yes, I am. I'm ready to go, anytime, I—Are you—are you sure?"
"Can you handle it?" Elita met the smaller mech's vivid blue optics without a smile, holding her gaze just long enough to make her point. "We need a steady hand and an excellent shot covering us. It's a narrow road with plenty of cover and clear lines of fire."
Moonracer made a clear effort to pull herself together, squaring her shoulders and once again muting her field. When she spoke again, her voice was almost steady, and her field was mostly under control. "Yes, Commander."
"Good. We roll out in five."
As she left the office, Elita once again crushed the twinge of conscience. It was necessary. They needed her. It had to be done.