raisedbymoogles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
raisedbymoogles) wrote2013-12-05 11:29 pm
raisedbymoogles) wrote2013-12-05 11:29 pm
Entry tags:
This is how I seem to be writing this.
Bayverse!rewrite is coming out of me in little fits and starts, one scenesquirrel at a time. I'm okay with this.
*
“Sit.” Ratchet’s hand landed heavily on Optimus’s shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere ‘til I go over you with a fine-tuned scanner.”
The Autobots’ leader was head and shoulders taller than Ratchet, Marissa marveled, and could have thrown the medic over his shoulder if he so desired. Instead he sank down obediently under Ratchet’s hand, seemingly on instinct (or, she thought wryly, perhaps subroutine) although he was still protesting. “Ratchet, a checkup can wait. We have to go after Starscream-”
“After a thousand years enduring Primus-knows-what in a Decepticon prison camp,” Ratchet interrupted acidly, “and another million in stasis in a frozen wasteland, you are not fighting fit to go after Starscream until I slagging well say you are. Sir.”
“But.” Optimus cast a glance at the others, his engine audibly faltering. Leaning against Arcee’s chest as she was, Marissa felt her guardian sigh, but it was Jazz who took the initiative, moving forward to take his leader’s hand.
“Me and ‘Hide can handle Starscream,” he said, and Ironhide rumbled agreement. “There’s a bigger target coming, and we’ll need you at full strength, boss. I ain’t quite crazy enough to wanna face Megatron with anything less.”
Optimus visibly relaxed, turning his palm up to squeeze Jazz’s hand briefly. “Be careful - both of you. Primus go with you.”
As Jazz and Ironhide took their leave and Ratchet set to work on Optimus, Marissa nudged Arcee’s hand. “Starscream mentioned Megatron too. Who is he?”
Arcee hesitated, pulling Marissa a touch closer. “He’s - well - you don’t want to know.”
*
“Sit.” Ratchet’s hand landed heavily on Optimus’s shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere ‘til I go over you with a fine-tuned scanner.”
The Autobots’ leader was head and shoulders taller than Ratchet, Marissa marveled, and could have thrown the medic over his shoulder if he so desired. Instead he sank down obediently under Ratchet’s hand, seemingly on instinct (or, she thought wryly, perhaps subroutine) although he was still protesting. “Ratchet, a checkup can wait. We have to go after Starscream-”
“After a thousand years enduring Primus-knows-what in a Decepticon prison camp,” Ratchet interrupted acidly, “and another million in stasis in a frozen wasteland, you are not fighting fit to go after Starscream until I slagging well say you are. Sir.”
“But.” Optimus cast a glance at the others, his engine audibly faltering. Leaning against Arcee’s chest as she was, Marissa felt her guardian sigh, but it was Jazz who took the initiative, moving forward to take his leader’s hand.
“Me and ‘Hide can handle Starscream,” he said, and Ironhide rumbled agreement. “There’s a bigger target coming, and we’ll need you at full strength, boss. I ain’t quite crazy enough to wanna face Megatron with anything less.”
Optimus visibly relaxed, turning his palm up to squeeze Jazz’s hand briefly. “Be careful - both of you. Primus go with you.”
As Jazz and Ironhide took their leave and Ratchet set to work on Optimus, Marissa nudged Arcee’s hand. “Starscream mentioned Megatron too. Who is he?”
Arcee hesitated, pulling Marissa a touch closer. “He’s - well - you don’t want to know.”