raisedbymoogles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
raisedbymoogles) wrote2015-03-05 03:35 pm
raisedbymoogles) wrote2015-03-05 03:35 pm
Entry tags:
More Marissaverse!
Because one can only lounge around sick for so long before Optimus Prime wanders through the headspace. Set at the beginning of the hypothetical "second movie."
*
“He’s expecting you, ma’am,” said the guard on duty, and handed her a blue package wrapped in plastic. It crinkled when it passed from his hands to hers. “The medbay’s up the stairs to your right; you have to put that on in the clean room before you enter.”
“Medbay?” Marissa asked, and the guard shrugged. “Did something happen?”
Another shrug. “There was a ‘Con-hunting expedition in Beijing last night, but I wasn’t told any details, ma’am. I don’t think there were any serious injuries, though, or we would’ve heard the shouting.”
“I guess so.” Marissa headed upstairs - mercifully, the guard didn’t salute as she passed - and through the heavy doors that led into the clean room.
Minutes later, covered head to toe in a hypoallergenic bodysuit and crinkling faintly with every step, Marissa entered the Autobots’ medbay. The place looked to Marissa like a facility for building a space shuttle: cavernous, futuristic and almost entirely white. Yet she knew that from the Autobots’ perspective, the humans’ most cutting-edge technology was like working with coconuts and sharp sticks.
“Hi, Ratchet,” she called, crinkling up to the big medic, his yellow plating the brightest spot of color in the medbay.
“Marissa!” Ratchet wiped his hands on a rag - big as a tarp to her - and bent to offer a hand. “Come sit. I’m almost done with this big lugnut.”
“Ratchet, please,” the big lugnut protested. He greeted Marissa with a smile, though, moving his arm to clear some space for her to sit. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Marissa.”
Marissa was quick to take in his condition - whole for the most part, but there was an area high on his chest where Ratchet had removed the plating to work on his internal structures. “I hear you got kicked around a little in Beijing,” she teased, leaning on the lower end of Optimus’s torso.
“I did a fair amount of kicking myself.” Optimus tilted his head back in an attitude of smugness; Ratchet scoffed into the internal components he was patiently repairing. “But that’s not why I asked you to come.”
Marissa crossed her arms, careful not to tear the fabric. “Yeah, Arcee was kinda vague about it. What's up?”
Optimus drew in air through his vents, creating a slight breeze that made Marissa’s suit ripple around her. “Tomorrow morning, there will be another teleconference with your government’s Secretary of State and his associates. I want you to be there, to add your voice to the discussion.”
Marissa nearly fell off the table. “You - what? Me?”
Optimus pinned her fully with his gaze then. Kind, warm, but fathomlessly ancient and heavy with sorrows, so much so that Marissa’s mind shied away from trying to understand. “They are frightened, as is understandable. Angered by the battles on Earth’s soil, likewise. They want assurances I cannot give, and they won’t listen to me when I speak of things they do not wish to accept.”
“Big guy…” Marissa reached out for a handful of his plating, just to steady herself. She found a ridge in his torso armor and hung on. “If they won’t listen to you, what makes you think they’ll listen to me?”
“You aren’t an alien to them.” Ratchet calmly switched tools, applying one that struck sparks. Optimus barely flinched. “You understand us, and you support us, but you are one of them.”
“You are young,” Optimus added, “and I understand your culture does not value the words of the young as perhaps it ought. But you have accomplished great things already. I’m not expecting miracles, my friend - only that you stand with us.”
My friend. Marissa wriggled a little where she sat, pressing closer into the warmth of Optimus’s plating. “I can - I mean - I will. If you really think it’ll help - I’ll do my best.”
Optimus’s optics slitted like a pleased cat, and he slowly curled his hand around Marissa’s body to touch her hair with a fingertip. “Then I am relieved, and grateful.”
*
...yeah, spot the scene I had serious issues with. One the one hand - geez, Sam, Optimus Prime - whom you call your friend - asks you for help and you just shut him down? When it wouldn't be much more than an inconvenience to you to do it? That's seriously cold. On the other hand - geez, Optimus, framing it as a Great Big Destiny thing? Heavy-handed much?
*
“He’s expecting you, ma’am,” said the guard on duty, and handed her a blue package wrapped in plastic. It crinkled when it passed from his hands to hers. “The medbay’s up the stairs to your right; you have to put that on in the clean room before you enter.”
“Medbay?” Marissa asked, and the guard shrugged. “Did something happen?”
Another shrug. “There was a ‘Con-hunting expedition in Beijing last night, but I wasn’t told any details, ma’am. I don’t think there were any serious injuries, though, or we would’ve heard the shouting.”
“I guess so.” Marissa headed upstairs - mercifully, the guard didn’t salute as she passed - and through the heavy doors that led into the clean room.
Minutes later, covered head to toe in a hypoallergenic bodysuit and crinkling faintly with every step, Marissa entered the Autobots’ medbay. The place looked to Marissa like a facility for building a space shuttle: cavernous, futuristic and almost entirely white. Yet she knew that from the Autobots’ perspective, the humans’ most cutting-edge technology was like working with coconuts and sharp sticks.
“Hi, Ratchet,” she called, crinkling up to the big medic, his yellow plating the brightest spot of color in the medbay.
“Marissa!” Ratchet wiped his hands on a rag - big as a tarp to her - and bent to offer a hand. “Come sit. I’m almost done with this big lugnut.”
“Ratchet, please,” the big lugnut protested. He greeted Marissa with a smile, though, moving his arm to clear some space for her to sit. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Marissa.”
Marissa was quick to take in his condition - whole for the most part, but there was an area high on his chest where Ratchet had removed the plating to work on his internal structures. “I hear you got kicked around a little in Beijing,” she teased, leaning on the lower end of Optimus’s torso.
“I did a fair amount of kicking myself.” Optimus tilted his head back in an attitude of smugness; Ratchet scoffed into the internal components he was patiently repairing. “But that’s not why I asked you to come.”
Marissa crossed her arms, careful not to tear the fabric. “Yeah, Arcee was kinda vague about it. What's up?”
Optimus drew in air through his vents, creating a slight breeze that made Marissa’s suit ripple around her. “Tomorrow morning, there will be another teleconference with your government’s Secretary of State and his associates. I want you to be there, to add your voice to the discussion.”
Marissa nearly fell off the table. “You - what? Me?”
Optimus pinned her fully with his gaze then. Kind, warm, but fathomlessly ancient and heavy with sorrows, so much so that Marissa’s mind shied away from trying to understand. “They are frightened, as is understandable. Angered by the battles on Earth’s soil, likewise. They want assurances I cannot give, and they won’t listen to me when I speak of things they do not wish to accept.”
“Big guy…” Marissa reached out for a handful of his plating, just to steady herself. She found a ridge in his torso armor and hung on. “If they won’t listen to you, what makes you think they’ll listen to me?”
“You aren’t an alien to them.” Ratchet calmly switched tools, applying one that struck sparks. Optimus barely flinched. “You understand us, and you support us, but you are one of them.”
“You are young,” Optimus added, “and I understand your culture does not value the words of the young as perhaps it ought. But you have accomplished great things already. I’m not expecting miracles, my friend - only that you stand with us.”
My friend. Marissa wriggled a little where she sat, pressing closer into the warmth of Optimus’s plating. “I can - I mean - I will. If you really think it’ll help - I’ll do my best.”
Optimus’s optics slitted like a pleased cat, and he slowly curled his hand around Marissa’s body to touch her hair with a fingertip. “Then I am relieved, and grateful.”
*
...yeah, spot the scene I had serious issues with. One the one hand - geez, Sam, Optimus Prime - whom you call your friend - asks you for help and you just shut him down? When it wouldn't be much more than an inconvenience to you to do it? That's seriously cold. On the other hand - geez, Optimus, framing it as a Great Big Destiny thing? Heavy-handed much?