080803 - Quiet pt 13
Aug. 3rd, 2008 03:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
koilungfish1/8/08 - 1784 words on Deeper Down
2/8/08 - Ill
Quiet, pt 13
Descend spiderwise - it's good for you! Gibber thought as the Autobots did, climbing down clinging and scuffing and gasping at foot-slips and finger-slides. Gravity rejected, he stood at right-angles to them on the wall of the main corridor, feet still shuffling quick and nervous, twitchy in the rotors, twitchy in the fingers. Can't trust Autobots. Trickity sneakity 'for your own good', don't even know when they're lying. Chortle, snap fingers, make like a laugh quietly. Don't tell the Autobots. Don't tell them a thing.
"Hey man, want to let us in on the joke?" Jazz asks, looking up at him.
Turn an angle on attraction, jump off the wall and hang head-down - down is up, up is down, all this used to be sideways anyway, funny how nothing stays the same like that - look the dancing Autobot in the face only the wrong way up. "No joke, just life!" Pop optics - make them bulge, all five of them - clatter mouthpieces. "Going down!" and drop! Whoosh! Headfirst all the way down to the door to the bridge. Used to be people here. Not anymore.
Hang upside-down, only the right way up with gravity standing on its head today. Whick-whack rotors from side to side, feel strange with all the weight in the wrong places. A good sort of strange. Poke the buttons on the ceiling-that-is-floor-that-was-wall. Open door. Lean back, wait for guns - no bang? Not really surprised. Just not normal - peer inside.
Grey, grey, grey ...
Autobots coming down now. Mirage - sneaky blue head - standing there, looking down. Don't look at me, sneaky blue head, you have gunsights in your eyes. Grey trembler follows, all tired. Walks like a victim. Could make one of him.
Smokescreen follows - lick the voice, lick the throat, suck the vocaliser, mmm, lickable pretty car - stands well back. Knows. Sees it. Sees my optics. Sees my fingers. Hears my rotors, whickawhack! Knows what I want. Wants it too, know you do, pretty shiny car, let you know I know you soon.
Dancing Autobot comes down last, all responsible leader but the stance can't match it. Hasn't got the shoulders, hasn't got the back, doesn't stand right. Not in charge. Where's your leader, dancing Autobot? Can he dance? Don't trust you any, oh no.
"You want to lead the way?" says Jazz, all smiles, all polite. "Or should I?"
Invert! Head up, let gravity put itself right, wall underfoot is a good enough floor. Make sure not to stand on the buttons. Quick dance! Pose! Remind world who is in charge. Remind world I am alive. "Autobots can go first. Have fun with the grey. Watch it." Hiss the words. Let them see the grey.
Shrugs the Jazz. "All right. Last one in needs a tyre change!" And hoppity down and in he goes, slide and skid, standing on central console. Follow the others more cautiously. More sense or more coward. Doesn't matter. Sneaky blue head goes in, swinging from the doorframe, jumps onto pilot's chair, balances well. Watch that one. Balanced like a jet. Poise is power.
Grey trembler follows, sliding down to join Jazz, just slumps the doors and follows. Wretched little thing. Hurt you good sometime soon. Smokescreen follows. Watch him, watch him jump and slide, all the way down to the front, hanging off the navigation console, trying to work the controls.
"Doesn't work! All dead!" Say it loud, say it proud. "Autobots aren't going to find very much here, are they?"
"Hey, you said your crew was here!" Jazz argue, pointing around the room. Nobody there. Empty room.
"Were! Were there! Locked themselves in!" Rattle rotors, shift shoulders, look big! Look bigger! "Want to know where they went? Want to ask them about the grey? Want to ask them about the crazy? Talk to them! Talk to them now!"
Stamp on buttons!
"Hey wai-"
Activated release levers! Bridge doors slam closed! Don't need power for that one, just little metal switch and big pistons!
Door locked now. Can't be opened. No power. Laugh. Autobots locked in now! No getting out now!
Lean down, turn on radio. [Autobots?]
Quiet. Know they're there. Know they can hear.
[Autobots listen now!]
[We're listenin',] says Jazz.
[Can't dance fast enough now. Can't dance through doors. Autobots can stay in there with the grey and the crazy, stay with the dead who won't stay where you leave them. Stay put! Stay there!]
Silence. Listening, but silent. Know it.
[Listening still? Going to find your leader now.]
[No!] says the trembler.
[Knew you were listening. Going to find Counterblast and then find your leader and make him talk to us. Going to find out what you want here.] Smile. Hear the silence, quiet of fear. [Then ... mmm, lickable Smokescreen ... going to lick you clean. Going to lick your paint right off.] Tune the radio. Can hear him. Hear his clock-pulse. Hear his circuit-hum. Hear his fear-silence. [Going to lick the screams right out of you. Mmmm.]
2/8/08 - Ill
Quiet, pt 13
Descend spiderwise - it's good for you! Gibber thought as the Autobots did, climbing down clinging and scuffing and gasping at foot-slips and finger-slides. Gravity rejected, he stood at right-angles to them on the wall of the main corridor, feet still shuffling quick and nervous, twitchy in the rotors, twitchy in the fingers. Can't trust Autobots. Trickity sneakity 'for your own good', don't even know when they're lying. Chortle, snap fingers, make like a laugh quietly. Don't tell the Autobots. Don't tell them a thing.
"Hey man, want to let us in on the joke?" Jazz asks, looking up at him.
Turn an angle on attraction, jump off the wall and hang head-down - down is up, up is down, all this used to be sideways anyway, funny how nothing stays the same like that - look the dancing Autobot in the face only the wrong way up. "No joke, just life!" Pop optics - make them bulge, all five of them - clatter mouthpieces. "Going down!" and drop! Whoosh! Headfirst all the way down to the door to the bridge. Used to be people here. Not anymore.
Hang upside-down, only the right way up with gravity standing on its head today. Whick-whack rotors from side to side, feel strange with all the weight in the wrong places. A good sort of strange. Poke the buttons on the ceiling-that-is-floor-that-was-wall. Open door. Lean back, wait for guns - no bang? Not really surprised. Just not normal - peer inside.
Grey, grey, grey ...
Autobots coming down now. Mirage - sneaky blue head - standing there, looking down. Don't look at me, sneaky blue head, you have gunsights in your eyes. Grey trembler follows, all tired. Walks like a victim. Could make one of him.
Smokescreen follows - lick the voice, lick the throat, suck the vocaliser, mmm, lickable pretty car - stands well back. Knows. Sees it. Sees my optics. Sees my fingers. Hears my rotors, whickawhack! Knows what I want. Wants it too, know you do, pretty shiny car, let you know I know you soon.
Dancing Autobot comes down last, all responsible leader but the stance can't match it. Hasn't got the shoulders, hasn't got the back, doesn't stand right. Not in charge. Where's your leader, dancing Autobot? Can he dance? Don't trust you any, oh no.
"You want to lead the way?" says Jazz, all smiles, all polite. "Or should I?"
Invert! Head up, let gravity put itself right, wall underfoot is a good enough floor. Make sure not to stand on the buttons. Quick dance! Pose! Remind world who is in charge. Remind world I am alive. "Autobots can go first. Have fun with the grey. Watch it." Hiss the words. Let them see the grey.
Shrugs the Jazz. "All right. Last one in needs a tyre change!" And hoppity down and in he goes, slide and skid, standing on central console. Follow the others more cautiously. More sense or more coward. Doesn't matter. Sneaky blue head goes in, swinging from the doorframe, jumps onto pilot's chair, balances well. Watch that one. Balanced like a jet. Poise is power.
Grey trembler follows, sliding down to join Jazz, just slumps the doors and follows. Wretched little thing. Hurt you good sometime soon. Smokescreen follows. Watch him, watch him jump and slide, all the way down to the front, hanging off the navigation console, trying to work the controls.
"Doesn't work! All dead!" Say it loud, say it proud. "Autobots aren't going to find very much here, are they?"
"Hey, you said your crew was here!" Jazz argue, pointing around the room. Nobody there. Empty room.
"Were! Were there! Locked themselves in!" Rattle rotors, shift shoulders, look big! Look bigger! "Want to know where they went? Want to ask them about the grey? Want to ask them about the crazy? Talk to them! Talk to them now!"
Stamp on buttons!
"Hey wai-"
Activated release levers! Bridge doors slam closed! Don't need power for that one, just little metal switch and big pistons!
Door locked now. Can't be opened. No power. Laugh. Autobots locked in now! No getting out now!
Lean down, turn on radio. [Autobots?]
Quiet. Know they're there. Know they can hear.
[Autobots listen now!]
[We're listenin',] says Jazz.
[Can't dance fast enough now. Can't dance through doors. Autobots can stay in there with the grey and the crazy, stay with the dead who won't stay where you leave them. Stay put! Stay there!]
Silence. Listening, but silent. Know it.
[Listening still? Going to find your leader now.]
[No!] says the trembler.
[Knew you were listening. Going to find Counterblast and then find your leader and make him talk to us. Going to find out what you want here.] Smile. Hear the silence, quiet of fear. [Then ... mmm, lickable Smokescreen ... going to lick you clean. Going to lick your paint right off.] Tune the radio. Can hear him. Hear his clock-pulse. Hear his circuit-hum. Hear his fear-silence. [Going to lick the screams right out of you. Mmmm.]
