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fandomweekly2019-06-09 11:21 pm
autobotscoutriella) wrote in fandomweekly2019-06-09 11:21 pm
Entry tags:
[#017] There's No Rule That Says We Can't (Transformers)
Theme Prompt: #017 - Altered State
Title: There's No Rule That Says We Can't
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse
Rating/Warnings: T / Language, mild violence
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 995
Summary: High-grade energon plus lob ball plus Decepticons who haven't had high-grade in centuries equals fun. (From a certain point of view.)
Author's note: The lob-ball league mentioned comes from a friend's headcanon, found here.
CRASH.
CRASH.
THUD.
CRASH.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Blackout kicked open the door to the Nemesis's cargo hold and glared down at the Decepticons scattered across the damp floor. A sphere of crushed scrap metal hit the floor behind Barricade and bounced off into a corner, the sound echoing around the space like a ringing bell.
"Can't you recognize lob ball when you see it?" Barricade's growl sounded more slurred than usual, but that could have been the odd echoes in the ancient cargo hold--or it could have been the result of something rarer and more fun. Blackout couldn't be sure the tiny Decepticon was drunk, but if he wasn't, he was doing a good impression.
"Yeah, I can. That's why I want to know what the fuck you're doing, 'cause it sure isn't lob ball."
"Piss off." Brawl scooped up the sphere as it rolled past him and hurled it in Blackout's general direction. The rotorflier watched it bounce off the wall twenty feet away with a skeptical stare. The buzz in the tank's voice was all Blackout needed to confirm his suspicions.
"Where'd you get the high-grade? Come on, let's see it."
Devastator made an emphatically rude gesture and kicked the makeshift lob ball back at the wall. It left a deep dent. "'S mine, mech. Get your own."
"'S ours," Barricade muttered rebelliously, taking a few steps toward the ball and promptly stumbling on nothing. "Don't think you get to hog the lot of it."
"If there's enough for all of you, then you can share." Blackout made a slightly ruder gesture in Devastator's direction and jumped down into the cargo hold, bypassing the ramp entirely. "Come on, what'cha got? Let's see it."
"Who invited you?" Brawl snatched the ball, held it up out of Barricade's reach, and hurled it in the general direction of a spray-painted ragged oval on the wall. It missed by a solid fifteen feet, crashed into a loose panel that sent shards of rust and some unidentifiable moss showering down over the two nearest Decepticons, and clattered off across the floor again.
"Do I need an invitation? I mean, if you're not going to share, I could always mention to Soundwave that someone's been sneaking high-grade from the ration packs." The ball rolled into range, and Blackout planted a foot on it, stopping it in place. "None of you can stand up straight. Should be pretty obvious who stole what."
"We didn't steal shit." Brawl stumbled, shoved at Blackout's shoulder, and missed. The ball stayed where it was. "Got it from the corner of the dorms. Gimme that, c'mon."
Blackout shoved the smaller tank away, grinning when Brawl couldn't quite keep his feet and crashed in a heap with a louder noise than the lob ball. "Get off. Share the high-grade and you can have it back."
Mumbling a string of Iaconian curses, Barricade scooped up a dull blue cube from a small stack and tossed it vaguely in Blackout's direction. His aim was slightly better than Brawl's, but Blackout still had to lean to the side to catch it.
It wasn't precisely the color of a good strong high-grade from back on Cybertron. Blackout sniffed it dubiously and made a face. "You found this in an abandoned corner and drank it? Were you all drunk before you started it?"
"Oh, like you've never tried anything suspect," Brawl sneered. "What are you, scared of a little homemade high-grade?"
Blackout locked optics with the slightly shorter tank and, without breaking optic contact, downed the entire cube in one gulp. The coughing, choking fit that followed sent Barricade and Devastator into hysterical drunken laughter, but Blackout was too busy trying to clear his lines to smack either of them across the cargo hold.
"Unicron's ball bearings, what is in that shit?" His vision was fuzzy by the time he cleaned his lines, but the familiar pleasant buzz of strong high-grade was rippling through his systems. After decades of short standard-grade rations, it was intoxicating.
...Well, it probably would have been intoxicating even if he had still been used to a good Nightmare Fuel from one of the seedy Kaon bars. It was strong stuff.
Barricade was still cackling helplessly, but managed a shrug. Brawl took advantage of Blackout's moment of distraction to slam an elbow hard into the taller helicopter's side, knocking him away and retrieving the lob ball. "I didn't make it, how'd I know what's in it? Gerroff, you're blocking my shot."
"What shot? You can't hit the broad side of a battleship sober, let alone hopped up on that." Blackout snatched the ball back, blinked away the static, and hurled it at the shaky circle on the far wall. It bounced off the edge, leaving a dent and a scrape of purple paint. "League rules, that's a half-point."
"Whose league rules?" Devastator, swaying, scooped up the ball and launched it at Blackout's head. Brawl intercepted it, and flung it back in Barricade's direction--or at least, what he probably thought was Barricade's direction, because it bounced off the wall well away from the smaller mech.
"The only league rules that count, Delta Conference." Blackout took advantage of the brief pause in action to snatch another cube of the high-grade, down a few more swallows, and shake off the buzz that rippled through his frame. It felt good, potential side effects of drinking dubious high-grade aside. "Okay, who's playing who?"
"Oh, you think you're playing now?" Barricade kicked the ball aside and went for his own cube of high-grade, wobbling a little in the process of bending to pick it up.
"Yeah, I do, 'cause you got uneven teams."
"And all the high-grade," Brawl muttered, loudly enough for all four to hear. Blackout grinned.
"Yeah, you got all the high-grade, and it's been forever since I had any, so I'm sticking around to kick your ass at lob-ball. Come on, toss it. Your play."
Title: There's No Rule That Says We Can't
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse
Rating/Warnings: T / Language, mild violence
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 995
Summary: High-grade energon plus lob ball plus Decepticons who haven't had high-grade in centuries equals fun. (From a certain point of view.)
Author's note: The lob-ball league mentioned comes from a friend's headcanon, found here.
CRASH.
CRASH.
THUD.
CRASH.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Blackout kicked open the door to the Nemesis's cargo hold and glared down at the Decepticons scattered across the damp floor. A sphere of crushed scrap metal hit the floor behind Barricade and bounced off into a corner, the sound echoing around the space like a ringing bell.
"Can't you recognize lob ball when you see it?" Barricade's growl sounded more slurred than usual, but that could have been the odd echoes in the ancient cargo hold--or it could have been the result of something rarer and more fun. Blackout couldn't be sure the tiny Decepticon was drunk, but if he wasn't, he was doing a good impression.
"Yeah, I can. That's why I want to know what the fuck you're doing, 'cause it sure isn't lob ball."
"Piss off." Brawl scooped up the sphere as it rolled past him and hurled it in Blackout's general direction. The rotorflier watched it bounce off the wall twenty feet away with a skeptical stare. The buzz in the tank's voice was all Blackout needed to confirm his suspicions.
"Where'd you get the high-grade? Come on, let's see it."
Devastator made an emphatically rude gesture and kicked the makeshift lob ball back at the wall. It left a deep dent. "'S mine, mech. Get your own."
"'S ours," Barricade muttered rebelliously, taking a few steps toward the ball and promptly stumbling on nothing. "Don't think you get to hog the lot of it."
"If there's enough for all of you, then you can share." Blackout made a slightly ruder gesture in Devastator's direction and jumped down into the cargo hold, bypassing the ramp entirely. "Come on, what'cha got? Let's see it."
"Who invited you?" Brawl snatched the ball, held it up out of Barricade's reach, and hurled it in the general direction of a spray-painted ragged oval on the wall. It missed by a solid fifteen feet, crashed into a loose panel that sent shards of rust and some unidentifiable moss showering down over the two nearest Decepticons, and clattered off across the floor again.
"Do I need an invitation? I mean, if you're not going to share, I could always mention to Soundwave that someone's been sneaking high-grade from the ration packs." The ball rolled into range, and Blackout planted a foot on it, stopping it in place. "None of you can stand up straight. Should be pretty obvious who stole what."
"We didn't steal shit." Brawl stumbled, shoved at Blackout's shoulder, and missed. The ball stayed where it was. "Got it from the corner of the dorms. Gimme that, c'mon."
Blackout shoved the smaller tank away, grinning when Brawl couldn't quite keep his feet and crashed in a heap with a louder noise than the lob ball. "Get off. Share the high-grade and you can have it back."
Mumbling a string of Iaconian curses, Barricade scooped up a dull blue cube from a small stack and tossed it vaguely in Blackout's direction. His aim was slightly better than Brawl's, but Blackout still had to lean to the side to catch it.
It wasn't precisely the color of a good strong high-grade from back on Cybertron. Blackout sniffed it dubiously and made a face. "You found this in an abandoned corner and drank it? Were you all drunk before you started it?"
"Oh, like you've never tried anything suspect," Brawl sneered. "What are you, scared of a little homemade high-grade?"
Blackout locked optics with the slightly shorter tank and, without breaking optic contact, downed the entire cube in one gulp. The coughing, choking fit that followed sent Barricade and Devastator into hysterical drunken laughter, but Blackout was too busy trying to clear his lines to smack either of them across the cargo hold.
"Unicron's ball bearings, what is in that shit?" His vision was fuzzy by the time he cleaned his lines, but the familiar pleasant buzz of strong high-grade was rippling through his systems. After decades of short standard-grade rations, it was intoxicating.
...Well, it probably would have been intoxicating even if he had still been used to a good Nightmare Fuel from one of the seedy Kaon bars. It was strong stuff.
Barricade was still cackling helplessly, but managed a shrug. Brawl took advantage of Blackout's moment of distraction to slam an elbow hard into the taller helicopter's side, knocking him away and retrieving the lob ball. "I didn't make it, how'd I know what's in it? Gerroff, you're blocking my shot."
"What shot? You can't hit the broad side of a battleship sober, let alone hopped up on that." Blackout snatched the ball back, blinked away the static, and hurled it at the shaky circle on the far wall. It bounced off the edge, leaving a dent and a scrape of purple paint. "League rules, that's a half-point."
"Whose league rules?" Devastator, swaying, scooped up the ball and launched it at Blackout's head. Brawl intercepted it, and flung it back in Barricade's direction--or at least, what he probably thought was Barricade's direction, because it bounced off the wall well away from the smaller mech.
"The only league rules that count, Delta Conference." Blackout took advantage of the brief pause in action to snatch another cube of the high-grade, down a few more swallows, and shake off the buzz that rippled through his frame. It felt good, potential side effects of drinking dubious high-grade aside. "Okay, who's playing who?"
"Oh, you think you're playing now?" Barricade kicked the ball aside and went for his own cube of high-grade, wobbling a little in the process of bending to pick it up.
"Yeah, I do, 'cause you got uneven teams."
"And all the high-grade," Brawl muttered, loudly enough for all four to hear. Blackout grinned.
"Yeah, you got all the high-grade, and it's been forever since I had any, so I'm sticking around to kick your ass at lob-ball. Come on, toss it. Your play."