koilungfish | Unexpected ideas

24/6/07 - Ill
25/6/07 - Fail
26/6/07 - 2374 words on Pride's Prison
27/6/07 - 30/6/07 - Ill

1/7/07 - Right-Hand Man
         "Demolisher," called the voice made from heavy velvet and sheathed claws.
         Demolisher stopped on his tracks, last to the door - never wise - and back to Megatron - also not wise. His treads rattled in sudden terror, and he was glad the lack of atmosphere on the Moon would make that fear soundless.
         "Why so sad, Demolisher?" the tyrant said, his voice murmuring in Demolisher's radio receiver with a teasing, knowing coyness. "Surely you're not upset over your role in Thrust's plan?"
         "Well, I - sir," Demolisher said, spluttering over his words because he'd already been silenced once for voicing his opinion. "I thought I was your right-hand man." He turned around.
         Megatron was standing in front of him, standing over him, towering, all power and treads and horns. Demolisher cursed the lack of air for hiding the sound of the tyrant's movement. "Demolisher," Megatron said softly, "I'd take you over my right hand any day."
         "Thank-you sir - err, what?" Demolisher felt the horrible lurching sensation in his suspension that reminded him of driving over something solid-seeming only to feel it give way beneath him.
         Megatron reached out and laid his left hand on Demolisher's shoulder. It was reassuring, in as much as it wasn't the hand that would've pulled him close to that monstrous hip-cannon, and worrying, in as much as it was the hand of Megatron. "There's a difference between second-in-command and right-hand man, Demolisher. You've always been my most loyal follower."
         Demolisher risked a glimpse at the hand on his shoulder. Terrifyingly, sight confirmed touch; Megatron was flexing his fingers, stroking his shoulder with his hand, his claws catching and clicking silently on the edges of plating. Demolisher's knees threatened to unlock from the position of rigid attention he was holding for fear of life, limb and possibly worse.
         "Nothing to say, soldier?" Megatron said, his hand stilling.
         "I - thank-you, sir, but - I don't understand!" Sometimes I'm just too honest, Demolisher thought, wishing he could take his words back before they got him his head blown off.
         "What's there to understand?" Megatron's voice contained a note of anger, that come-and-go quickness. The heavy softness was pulled back for a second, for the sudden scratch of claws.
         A lot of things, like where Thrust came from and why he's got you to make Starscream your second-in-command and why your hand is moving up my shoulder - His thoughts were cut short as Megatron stroked his cheek with the side of his forefinger. Demolisher felt the tip of Megatron's claw scrape perilously close to his throat.
         "Hmm?" Megatron's questioning sound on the radio sounded too pleased, his optics narrowing slightly, one corner of his mouth edge up towards a smile or a smirk. Demolisher felt trapped, too exposed, too boxed in, too confused. His knees wobbled. Megatron traced the seam of his cheek with his thumb.
         "I-is there something I don't know about, sir?" Demolisher blurted out, his fingers going into spasms as Megatron touched him under the chin with the tips of his claws.
         "Almost certainly," Megatron replied, his voice a mélange of power and humour and condescension and something over-warm and over-close that made Demolisher want to run and hide. He wasn't sure his knees would stand the shock if he tried to move. "Demolisher ..." and the tyrant paused, mouth slightly open, slightly smiling. "You must have noticed how thankful I am for your loyalty, your ... hmm ... stalwart presence."
         "I have warts?" Demolisher asked, quickly checking his arms and his chest.
         Megatron sighed and shook his head, the blade-edges of his horns flashing in the dimness. "I am saying," and there was no humour this time, no hint of laughter, only the raw claws of subdued anger, "that I have long appreciated your presence, and that I think it is time you had a reward."
         Why does that sound so bad? Demolisher wondered, trying not to shake at the knees. "Err - err - thank you, sir, but I really need to -"
         "- shut up and accept your reward," Megatron interrupted, smooth and heavy, the claws sheathed as fast as they were shown. He gave Demolisher a gentle shove, pushing him backwards towards the door. "Demolisher ..." and his name came out long and low and rumbling like the engine of the best-engineered tank Demolisher could imagine. "We'll discuss your new position in my quarters." Megatron took a step forward, and the movement of his hips made the barrel of his cannon shift, starlight shining along the length of it.
         My quarters.
         New position.
         Right-hand man.
         "Oh," Demolisher said in the smallest voice he'd ever had, and Megatron smiled.
         It was far too late to run.

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