raisedbymoogles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
raisedbymoogles) wrote2010-07-20 10:06 pm
raisedbymoogles) wrote2010-07-20 10:06 pm
Entry tags:
Callie, the crossdressing Wheeljack!
I told you this would be good for a couple drabbles at least.
***
"Cal! Ain't you done with that yet?"
Cal, a.k.a. Callie Buchanan, pitched her voice low to answer. "Almost, Mr. Atwater." She'd practiced her boy voice all the way up from Tulsa - it'd been uncomfortable at first, but now she didn't hardly have to think about it. "The lizard here's a little temperamental, I just thought I'd sweet-talk him a bit." As if in punctuation, the steambot velociraptor she'd built opened its jaw with a shrill creak. Callie quickly dribbled oil into the joint and patted the scaly metal head.
"Opening ceremonies are in four hours," the older man argued, the force of his ire shaking his impressive gut. "You should be done by now!"
Callie held down a sigh - idiot he may be, but Clarence Atwater was also financing this little venture of hers, so it behooved to be polite. "That meteor strike we had last night shook up a lot of things, Mr. Atwater. Didn't you hear that sculpture of President Wilson fell right off his pedestal?" Atwater paused, mustache twitching in acknowlegement of an accurate hit. "I'm going over every rivet," Callie continued determinedly, "just in case. I'll be done before opening ceremonies, I promise."
"Well, fine." Atwater waved a thick hand and turned away. "Just be quick about it."
"Quicker'n a jackrabbit, Mr. Atwater," Callie sighed.
Atwater stomped back down the hallway, only to skid to a halt halfway to the exit. "Cal!" he roared. "What in the Sam Hill is this!" He pointed a shaking finger at one of the steambots, who was proudly wearing a "Votes for Women" sash across its chest.
Callie trotted over, not bothering to hide her grin. "Well, gee, Mr. Atwater," she said, playing up the 'dumber than a bag of hair' act for all it was worth, "I guess the gorilla's a suffragist."
***
"Cal! Ain't you done with that yet?"
Cal, a.k.a. Callie Buchanan, pitched her voice low to answer. "Almost, Mr. Atwater." She'd practiced her boy voice all the way up from Tulsa - it'd been uncomfortable at first, but now she didn't hardly have to think about it. "The lizard here's a little temperamental, I just thought I'd sweet-talk him a bit." As if in punctuation, the steambot velociraptor she'd built opened its jaw with a shrill creak. Callie quickly dribbled oil into the joint and patted the scaly metal head.
"Opening ceremonies are in four hours," the older man argued, the force of his ire shaking his impressive gut. "You should be done by now!"
Callie held down a sigh - idiot he may be, but Clarence Atwater was also financing this little venture of hers, so it behooved to be polite. "That meteor strike we had last night shook up a lot of things, Mr. Atwater. Didn't you hear that sculpture of President Wilson fell right off his pedestal?" Atwater paused, mustache twitching in acknowlegement of an accurate hit. "I'm going over every rivet," Callie continued determinedly, "just in case. I'll be done before opening ceremonies, I promise."
"Well, fine." Atwater waved a thick hand and turned away. "Just be quick about it."
"Quicker'n a jackrabbit, Mr. Atwater," Callie sighed.
Atwater stomped back down the hallway, only to skid to a halt halfway to the exit. "Cal!" he roared. "What in the Sam Hill is this!" He pointed a shaking finger at one of the steambots, who was proudly wearing a "Votes for Women" sash across its chest.
Callie trotted over, not bothering to hide her grin. "Well, gee, Mr. Atwater," she said, playing up the 'dumber than a bag of hair' act for all it was worth, "I guess the gorilla's a suffragist."