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fandomweekly2024-06-09 05:14 pm
autobotscoutriella) wrote in fandomweekly2024-06-09 05:14 pm
Entry tags:
[#222] Night Shores (Transformers Prime)
Theme Prompt: 222 - At the Beach
Title: Night Shores
Fandom: Transformers Prime, pre-canon
Rating/Warnings: None
Bonus: No
Word Count: 849
Summary: Ratchet isn't sure why the Autobots have been sent to wait on a beach, but he would prefer they hadn't been.
Of all the things Ratchet found unsettling about Earth, the largest – certainly geographically at least – was the existence of its oceans.
Most planets had some form of liquid, though more often than not it was frozen at the surface and only liquid closer to the core. Even Cybertron its elf had its own seas, though they were small and relatively shallow by Cybertronian standards (Earth might have found them impossibly deep, but – well, no humans were likely to ever have the opportunity to weigh in). Planets without any liquid at all didn't tend to develop life, even of the mechanical variety. Ratchet had seen seas before, bigger and deeper than Cybertron's, acidic, corrosive, poisonous, boiling hot or icy cold.
But Earth - Earth was unique, to the point where Ratchet wondered what the mechs who named it had been thinking. Surely Ocean would have been a better name for the planet, if its inhabitants were going to be unimaginative. True, it had taken the humans a while to get to space, where it was blindingly obvious just how much of their planet was covered in nothing but water, but even from the shoreline it seemed clear enough. Ratchet had only been on this beach for two hours, and he already had several improved suggestions for names, if Earth had only had a governing body who might be interested.
In the darkness, the sea reflected back the moonlight, cold and clear and rippling ominously like an aquatic earthquake. Waves lapped ominously against the little pebbles, climbing almost imperceptibly higher with each roll. Ratchet eyed the rising water balefully; he didn't fancy spending it cleaning salt water out of his undercarriage whenever they finally got to this promised safe house (if it even existed).
::Prime, your contact better come through,:: Bulkhead grumbled over the comms, apparently equally displeased with the situation. ::I'm freezing my lugnuts off out here.::
::I'm sure Agent Fowler will contact us soon.:: Easy for Optimus to say, Ratchet reflected dryly; he was parked further up the slope and at far less risk of being soaked by the waves before the call came in. An accident of camouflage rather than any intentional choice, and reasonable enough (if Ratchet's night was going to involve cleaning salt out of someone's undercarriage, he preferred his own, if only because unlike some mechs he knew what he was doing), but it might have contributed to a certain lack of urgency.
::You put a lot of faith in this human, Prime,:: Arcee said. It wasn't quite a challenge. ::I hope he understands that.::
It wasn't as if they'd had much choice. Ratchet watched the distant horizon, blue-black split by cold metallic moonlight. Cybertron's horizons had been sharper, cleaner lines and clearer edges, cities and roads disappearing neatly into the distance. Earth's ocean blurred the boundary lines, twisting and rising and falling like some organic thing. He wasn't one to wax metaphorical - leave that to the Primes and the poets - but there was something fitting about even this alien horizon refusing to stay still and make things simple.
The waves rose higher and higher, cold foam lapping threateningly at the rocks and Ratchet's left front tire. He pulled back pointedly, moving a few yards up the treacherously slippery rocks with a too-loud crunch. ::The tide is coming in. If your contact doesn't call soon, we may need to find a better place to wait.::
::Understood. Keep me informed.:: Optimus's headlights flickered once from up the hill, reflecting golden and distorted on the water. Ratchet blinked his own in silent acknowledgement. The shoreline might be unpleasant, but presumably it served some purpose, or Optimus's human contact would have sent them somewhere more easily accessible to wait.
Presumably. Human logic was lacking in several key areas; this might well have been one of them. Who knew why the little organics did anything at all?
The tide rose. The moon drifted serenely across the sky, still cold and unsettlingly organic. A single alien bird swooped across its path, plunging down toward the waves and climbing again, leaving a tiny, almost imperceptible trail of phosphorescence in its wake. Feeding off something at the surface, perhaps? Earth's ecosystem was a complex web of predators and prey that Ratchet had no time to study and relatively little interest in looking into, but if he was going to be left with nothing else to do for hours on end, he might as well speculate.
The water had pushed him another few yards back up the beach and a cold wind had kicked up, sharp and – ugh – salt-laced, when the comm line crackled again. ::Agent Fowler apologizes for the delay.:: It was accompanied by a set of coordinates Ratchet recognized as being well away from the shoreline, to his immediate relief. ::He'll meet us here. It's a temporary location, but one that will shelter us for now.::
::Copy.:: Ratchet pulled sharply away from the water, so quickly his tires skidded on loose pebbles and sent a shower of them down into the still-rising tide. ::If it's dry, it'll do.::
Title: Night Shores
Fandom: Transformers Prime, pre-canon
Rating/Warnings: None
Bonus: No
Word Count: 849
Summary: Ratchet isn't sure why the Autobots have been sent to wait on a beach, but he would prefer they hadn't been.
Of all the things Ratchet found unsettling about Earth, the largest – certainly geographically at least – was the existence of its oceans.
Most planets had some form of liquid, though more often than not it was frozen at the surface and only liquid closer to the core. Even Cybertron its elf had its own seas, though they were small and relatively shallow by Cybertronian standards (Earth might have found them impossibly deep, but – well, no humans were likely to ever have the opportunity to weigh in). Planets without any liquid at all didn't tend to develop life, even of the mechanical variety. Ratchet had seen seas before, bigger and deeper than Cybertron's, acidic, corrosive, poisonous, boiling hot or icy cold.
But Earth - Earth was unique, to the point where Ratchet wondered what the mechs who named it had been thinking. Surely Ocean would have been a better name for the planet, if its inhabitants were going to be unimaginative. True, it had taken the humans a while to get to space, where it was blindingly obvious just how much of their planet was covered in nothing but water, but even from the shoreline it seemed clear enough. Ratchet had only been on this beach for two hours, and he already had several improved suggestions for names, if Earth had only had a governing body who might be interested.
In the darkness, the sea reflected back the moonlight, cold and clear and rippling ominously like an aquatic earthquake. Waves lapped ominously against the little pebbles, climbing almost imperceptibly higher with each roll. Ratchet eyed the rising water balefully; he didn't fancy spending it cleaning salt water out of his undercarriage whenever they finally got to this promised safe house (if it even existed).
::Prime, your contact better come through,:: Bulkhead grumbled over the comms, apparently equally displeased with the situation. ::I'm freezing my lugnuts off out here.::
::I'm sure Agent Fowler will contact us soon.:: Easy for Optimus to say, Ratchet reflected dryly; he was parked further up the slope and at far less risk of being soaked by the waves before the call came in. An accident of camouflage rather than any intentional choice, and reasonable enough (if Ratchet's night was going to involve cleaning salt out of someone's undercarriage, he preferred his own, if only because unlike some mechs he knew what he was doing), but it might have contributed to a certain lack of urgency.
::You put a lot of faith in this human, Prime,:: Arcee said. It wasn't quite a challenge. ::I hope he understands that.::
It wasn't as if they'd had much choice. Ratchet watched the distant horizon, blue-black split by cold metallic moonlight. Cybertron's horizons had been sharper, cleaner lines and clearer edges, cities and roads disappearing neatly into the distance. Earth's ocean blurred the boundary lines, twisting and rising and falling like some organic thing. He wasn't one to wax metaphorical - leave that to the Primes and the poets - but there was something fitting about even this alien horizon refusing to stay still and make things simple.
The waves rose higher and higher, cold foam lapping threateningly at the rocks and Ratchet's left front tire. He pulled back pointedly, moving a few yards up the treacherously slippery rocks with a too-loud crunch. ::The tide is coming in. If your contact doesn't call soon, we may need to find a better place to wait.::
::Understood. Keep me informed.:: Optimus's headlights flickered once from up the hill, reflecting golden and distorted on the water. Ratchet blinked his own in silent acknowledgement. The shoreline might be unpleasant, but presumably it served some purpose, or Optimus's human contact would have sent them somewhere more easily accessible to wait.
Presumably. Human logic was lacking in several key areas; this might well have been one of them. Who knew why the little organics did anything at all?
The tide rose. The moon drifted serenely across the sky, still cold and unsettlingly organic. A single alien bird swooped across its path, plunging down toward the waves and climbing again, leaving a tiny, almost imperceptible trail of phosphorescence in its wake. Feeding off something at the surface, perhaps? Earth's ecosystem was a complex web of predators and prey that Ratchet had no time to study and relatively little interest in looking into, but if he was going to be left with nothing else to do for hours on end, he might as well speculate.
The water had pushed him another few yards back up the beach and a cold wind had kicked up, sharp and – ugh – salt-laced, when the comm line crackled again. ::Agent Fowler apologizes for the delay.:: It was accompanied by a set of coordinates Ratchet recognized as being well away from the shoreline, to his immediate relief. ::He'll meet us here. It's a temporary location, but one that will shelter us for now.::
::Copy.:: Ratchet pulled sharply away from the water, so quickly his tires skidded on loose pebbles and sent a shower of them down into the still-rising tide. ::If it's dry, it'll do.::