shadow_vector | Fun with Dronelings

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Bayverse
Starscream, Barricade, dronelings
crack
for 28s meme 'playing with children'

“Why do you hate me so much?” Four angry red optics blazed atomic fury at the taller mech, looking up from the duty roster assignment. This was beyond ridiculous. Barricade strongly suspected 'ridonkulous' didn't quite contain it.

Starscream tsked. “Barricade, everyone must do his part for the future of the Decepticon cause.”

“Did not sign on for this!” Barricade had two words that summed up his feelings for this job: No and Way. Possibly throw in a 'Slaggin'' for effect.

“War is hell,” the bronze jet said, mildly. “Are you…refusing your assigned duties?” He smirked. Which meant he had a punishment already in store...even worse than droneling duty.

“Have no training in those ‘assigned duties’!”

“It is hardly difficult, Barricade. Perhaps you could download the manual?”

“Don’t want to read a slaggin’ manual!” Barricade had spent his entire online existence avoiding dronelings. So fragile, so curious, so…perky.

“Barricade,” Starscream said firmly, “Everyone takes their turn on droneling duty. It’s only fair.”

“Fraggin’ Decepticon!” Silver claws tapped his insignia. “Don’t give half a defrag about ‘fair’!”

Starscream gave a melodramatic sigh, optics tipping ceilingward as if there was some reserve of patience up there. “Fine. This once, I will accompany you, Barricade. Simply to show you that there is nothing to fear.”

“Not afraid,” Barricade snapped. “Stupid duty, is all.”

“Essential duty. Now, come along.” The jet bent, grabbing Barricade by a window-wing, dragging him, yelping, toward the droneling pods.

“This fraggin’ SUCKS!” Barricade yowled, swatting at the jet’s long talons.

“Shhhh!” Starscream murmured. “One must watch one’s language around dronelings.”

“Knew there was a reason I hated them,” Barricade grumbled, sourly. Beyond, you know, the reason he hated everything.

Starscream shook his head, coding open the pod door. “Greetings, dronelings!” Starscream chirruped. Frag, he sure sounded…happy. Disturbing thought.

“Greetings!” a half-dozen voiced sang back, little arms waving like gleeful tentacles.

“Do any of you recognize me?” the jet asked—fraggin’ narcissist!—squatting down closer to their level. They piled around him, six little silver frames, optics wide and intent.

“I know!” one claw popped in the air. “You are Air Commander Starscream!”

“Excellent!” Starscream nodded, giving a soft dronespeak beep of happiness. Beep? Frag. No way Barricade was going to beep. Stuff was for dronelings, for sure. And he was NOT a droneling.

The droneling squealed with delight, arms flailing. Wow, you know a name. Definitely prize-time. Urgh.

“And this,” Starscream continued, pointing toward Barricade, “Is your new Instructor, Barricade.”

One droneling tilted its head, confused. “That is not a hand?”

Another elbowed it, “No, no! Pointing! Remember? The line of the talon!”

“Ooooooooooh!” The droneling nodded, optics traveling the line down the arm and, with a jerk of its head, to Barricade. “Greetings, Instructor Barricade.”

I, Barricade thought, am gonna hurl. “Yeah, whatever.”

Starscream cleared his vocalizer.

“What?!”

“The dronelings would like to know their activities for the day.” Six pairs of optics nodded, eagerly.

“Activities? How the slag should I know?”

“Because you are their assigned instructor?” Starscream retorted, smartly. The little faces pingponged between them.

“Frag.”

“Barricade. Language.”

“Whatever.”

“You are supposed to be drilling them in behavior and reviewing anatomical terminology.”

Oh, really? Barricade turned to the dronelings. “Right. You little weirdos gotta do what I say, huh? How ‘bout you…sit down.”

Six tiny metal rumps clunked onto the floor, optics wide and eager. “Yes, Instructor.” Beep.

Barricade felt a frisson of…something. Heh. This might be fun. “Stick your left foot in the air.” More beeps. Frag these little morons were easily pleased.

Five feet and one hand popped up. The hand withdrew, replaced by a foot. Close enough. “All right. Say, ‘Starscream’s a jerk’!” He smirked.

“Starscream’s a jerk!” the high-pitched voices repeated. Barricade chortled. They imitated the sound, falling into peals of laughter, limbs flapping.

“Barricade,” Starscream said, sternly. “That is…inappropriate.”

“Only inappropriate because it’s about you, jerk.”

“Air Commander Jerk!” one droneling howled. Barricade was sorely tempted to beep.

Starscream’s patient smile flattened. “Now look what you have done, Barricade. Highly unacceptable.”

“Yeah?” Barricade placed his hands on his hips. “What you going to do about it, jet?”

Starscream bent low, nearly in half, optics floating just about Barricade’s. “I,” he said, haughtily, “am going to teach you a lesson.” He turned to the dronelings. “Dronelings! Instructor Barricade likes to be climbed on.”

“What?! NO!” Oh frag. Six little pairs of arms rushing at him, twelve tiny claws grabbing, tugging, twelve little feet—with sharp claws? Why the frag they need such sharp claws??!—digging in around his plates. It was some sort of horrible, horrible nightmare, and the more he flailed, staggering around the room, his vision blocked by a narrow silver body, the more they squealed and dug in, shrieking with amusement. “This sucks!”

“This sucks!” the dronelings chorused, squealing with glee. One brave one clambered to the top of Barricade’s head, little claws wrapped around his crest, legs swinging down behind Barricade’s shoulders, while another gripped at a shoulder tire. “Auuuuughh!!”

“Auuuuugh!” they howled, giggling and beeping. This? This right here? Worst. Thing. Ever.

“Hate you so much right now, jet,” he muttered, optics glaring balefully up at Starscream from under a wriggling droneling body.

Starscream clucked, shaking his head, mouth calipers pinching down to prevent himself from laughing. “Barricade, you should have learned by now not to challenge me on some fronts.”

Fun with Dronelings

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