Rivalry

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

G
G1
Vortex, Wildrider, Onslaught
warning for crazy?
for kamiraptor  's prompt 'Vortex/Wildrider one upsmanship'

Brawl tapped on Onslaught’s office door. It was late into offshift-cycle, but Brawl knew Onslaught would still be there. Onslaught was almost always there after battle.  “Hey, uh, Onslaught?”

Onslaught looked up from the battle simulation. “What? No. Wait. Don’t tell me: Vortex.” It was always Vortex.  Primus bless the idiot copter for consistency, at least. 

Brawl nodded. 

Onslaught sighed, pushing back from the console. “Where?” 

“Rec room.” 

Onslaught nodded. “Who?” Meaning, of course, ‘who’s he torquing off this time?’. 

“That grey Stuntie,” Brawl shrugged. “The one who drives as crazy as ‘Tex flies.” 

Onslaught grunted. Great.  Battle of the crazies.  “Gotten physical yet?”  There was, with Vortex, about 50/50 odds of what ‘physical’ meant: fighting or fragging.  And sometimes he outdid himself, and did both at the same time. 

“Not, uh, not when I left,” Brawl said, trailing behind Onslaught. 

Brawl wasn’t the brightest bulb in the sockets, but he at least knew to come get Onslaught whenever things got out of hand. Onslaught nodded. Nice to have an idea what he was going to walk in on.

He got a bit more of a clue of that about ten mechanometers away from the rec room.

“…with a pony!” Vortex crowed

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah! And it was  goooooood.”

Oh frag, Onslaught thought, not that story. He quickened his pace.

“Well…one time,” Wildrider’s voice was high, sharp.  He was keyed up about something. “Me and Drag Strip?  On human television.”

“Oh whoopee,” Vortex sneered. Onslaught could practically picture the dismissive way he’d be tilting his head.  “Witnesses.” 

“And we knew it. Unlike that one time you and Blast Off—“

“I KNEW that was being recorded!” Vortex bellowed. Lying his aft off.  “It was…just hotter if I played like I didn’t.  You know, ‘cause of Blast Off.”

Oh, too right, Onslaught thought. Because Vortex has such a track record of being considerate about his interface partners.

“One slag of an acting job,” Wildrider snarked.

“Yeah, it was,” Vortex blustered. “Another thing I do better than you.”

“Whatever,” Wildrider said.  “Bet you’d have to be to put up with that slaggin’ commander you have.”

Onslaught ground to a halt, hand on the rec room door’s keypad.  Brawl plowed noisily into him.  Onslaught silenced him with a sharp gesture.  He wanted to hear this. 

“Put up with?” Vortex said. “Better him than that shovel-headed moron you call a leader.”

“Frag that!  My commander could kick your commander’s aft.”

“In your dreams!” Vortex said. “Moronmaster might be bigger, but Ons has more tactical ability in his left knee-plate than yours has in his whole body.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Wildrider said. “That’s totally why we kicked your afts.”

Onslaught seethed. Not his finest moment, true.  Then again, getting Bruticus to do anything was sort of like trying to shove a stone through a sieve, or herd turbofoxes.  He could imagine how Vortex was reacting.  Not really, actually—he could hear Vortex’s rotor start to spin.  “Oh, you mean when you hit us from behind after we were already worn out from defeating Devastator?” Vortex tried to feign boredom.

Onslaught keyed the doorcode, nodding. So Vortex did occasionally pay attention to his post-battle analyses. Except the one about keeping his temper. And not picking fights. And…probably about a dozen others.  Probably time to get in there.  Before it got out of control. Well…too out of control. As in…destroy the rec room out of control.

He stepped through just as the first empty energon cube flew.  It shattered against his chassis, splinters of plasglass whistling through the air.  He looked down at his chassis, at the new dent, the few drops of energon.  And then looked up, slowly, where the two antagonists stood, frozen, Wildrider’s red face slack jawed with shock.  “Who,” he said, his voice dangerously soft, “threw that?”  Each of them had a cube in their hands—that was no clue. He was less interested in busting them for the injury than in breaking up the hostility, driving himself between them like a wedge.

Wildrider pointed at Vortex.  “He did!”

Vortex laughed. “Oh that’s just brilliant, Wildrider. Honestly.” He turned to Onslaught.  “You know he had no answer to my comment about his cowardly gestalt and its lousy tactics, so,” Vortex shrugged, “he flipped out.” 

“I—what? Oh no. That was all you, copter!  You threw it because you knew your stupid story was stupid!”

“Oh right. That makes sense.  I don’t need to throw anything to beat you,” Vortex sneered.

Wildrider sputtered. “Beat me? In your dreams!”

“In my boring dreams, maybe,” Vortex snorted.  “I save my big dreams for way, way better stuff,” he purred, salaciously.  “And you’re totally not in those.”

Wildrider turned to Onslaught. “Vortex is a fraggin’ liar,” he said.  Onslaught shrugged. Tell him something he didn’t know. 

“Awww, come on, now, ‘Rider,” Vortex said, slyly. “Turning to him for help now?  You were so big on slagging off about Onslaught.  Now he’s here, whyn’t you say it to his face?” 

Onslaught stared them both down.  But, just for effect, “Say what to my face, Wildrider?”

Wildrider squinted at Vortex, then turned hotly to Onslaught. “Motormaster could kick your aft sideways,” he repeated.

Onslaught shrugged. “Maybe once. One beating in the history of my life?” He shrugged again.  “Bound to happen, statistically.” He met Wildrider’s gaze, coolly. “You think you can take me, too?” 

Wildrider surged forward, fists balling. “Any time. Any mode.” 

Onslaught tilted his head, his cannons autotargeting audibly over his shoulders. “Any. Mode?”  Vortex chortled.  “Have a suggestion for you, Wildrider,” Onslaught said, wiping the droplets of energon off his chassis, “either learn to control your mouth, or get better aim.”  He turned toward the door. “Vortex,” he ordered, “My office.”  He pushed past Brawl, who was still standing, staring openmouthed. 

“Ha,” Vortex hissed, happily, as he turned to follow. “Told you I was a better actor.”

Onslaught, down the hall, shook his head.  No, Vortex, he thought, grinning, you’re not. 

 

Comments

[ithilgwath.livejournal.com]

*GIGGLE* Way cuter than I expected them to be. Like kids on a playground, man. "Yeah well MY big brother can beat up YOUR big brother!" "Nuh-uh!" "Yeah-huh!" "Nuh-uh!"

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Well they are big vicious 'cons and all, but...that doesn't mean they're like....*mature* or anything! Especially not the Stunticons.
Glad you liked it!