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randomplaces2010-06-26 10:05 pm
random_xtras) wrote in randomplaces2010-06-26 10:05 pm
Entry tags:
Kalaryx's 'verse. The Ark and environs. Trouble in the Air.
“I am searching,” she'd said, crimson optics glaring about herself, “For Galvatron Prime.”
Of course, the Prime honorific hadn't been the first giveaway that the femme they'd encountered was not quite like any ordinary Decepticon. Her attitude, demeanor and dialect spoke very clearly of her Decepticon origins, and that was leaving aside her design and the prominent enemy decals she so very clearly sported, even if they were entirely the wrong colour. And yet there she'd been, demanding to be allowed into the presence of a Prime as though that wasn't an utterly laughable concept.
Of course, no-one had had any idea who Galvatron was, and almost as soon as she'd started explaining the strange femme had suddenly clammed up again, though Prowl was certain that particular event had coincided entirely too closely with someone mentioning Megatron. Either way, she'd refused to be drawn any further on the matter and had suddenly resorted to demands for aid in helping her to return to her home plane. Apparently she was infinitely more comfortable with the idea of multiple realities than anyone else was, even the truly scientifically minded mechs such as Perceptor and Wheeljack.
Prowl, for his part, had ensured that Optimus was given the best of his recommendations on how to deal with this obviously threatening newcomer, all of which were promptly and soundly ignored by everyone.
“Chill, my mech,” Jazz had said. “Optimus has it covered.”
No, Prowl had thought. She does. With whatever weapons she has concealed about her chassis.
Despite his protests – long and at length – Optimus had granted the femme a private audience which had lasted almost two hours, the entirety of which Prowl had spent standing outside the door just about managing not to pace up and down. Jazz for his part had been content to lean back on the wall at the other side of the corridor and wile the time away listening to his music.
He had no idea what they'd spoken about in there, but at the end of it the pair of them had reappeared, Optimus had placed a small device in Wheeljack's hands, told him to have a go at fixing it - fixing it mind, not improving it – after which she'd been assigned quarters and it was strongly implied that everyone was to go about their lives quite as normal.
Naturally, Prowl had taken the matter up with Optimus at his earliest convenience, and probably just a little before the Prime wanted, but not at all before he expected. And he'd been told quite clearly, quite firmly, and with the gentle sincerity that only Prime was capable of, it was all for the best.
And that is why Prowl is on the battlefield with something that looks remarkably similar to a Decepticon Seeker soaring overhead, an Autobot gun in her taloned hands, looking out at an army of mechs who seem just as surprised to see the newcomer where she is as he himself is. He listens to the roar of her engines, jet-engines, built for speed and power, and represses the twinge that marks them out as enemy, for now at least.
He's seen her in the training manoeuvres, noted the sleek and deadly grace, and marked her down as complete and utter trouble in yet another way. Created for war, a dealer of death and totally unrepentant for it, Prowl knows that this dark-sparked femme is nothing more than trouble on two stylized, menacing wings. He watches her hanging in the air above the ground troops, defying anyone to fire at her, friend or foe, and frowns just slightly.
She has her optics set on the Decepticons gathered not so far away and her expression is unreadable. Prowl looks from her to the mech she is staring at – Megatron – and his fingers tighten minutely on his gun.
Yes, definitely trouble.
((written by
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kalaryx))
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Behind them, Deathscream waits for Ratchet's go ahead, then leaps into the air and follows the convoy in bot mode, Brawn still held securely in her arms. If Prowl should happen to listen, he might hear the burly little fighter trying to bribe the black femme into dropping him on Sunstreaker's newly repainted hood.
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"Ow! Slaggit! That was my skidplate!" comes Brawn's complaint from overhead.
"That's the part you hit when someone's being naughty, isn't it?" replies Deathscream coolly.
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"We shouldn't let them meet," he says softly, his voice a little distant as he looks up, following the progress of the new Seeker and her kicking cargo.
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He pauses, his engine taking on at thoughtful rumble as he watches the feed. //It seems that their transportation devices also stopped working the moment they arrived.//
Brawn, meanwhile, has reached full indignant roar, his anger intensified by the jeering of the pair of Lamborghinies driving along below.
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"Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, if you two get Brawn so slagged off that he punches your hoods in again I'll leave you like that for a few days," says Ratchet calmly from his place behind Optimus.
The sudden Lambo silence is nearly palpable.
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"I suggest we move out, sir. Immediately."
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