Pink Frilly Death
Jan. 19th, 2011 04:40 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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shadow_vectorPink Frilly Death
PG
TFA: Inamorato AU
Rodimus, Ironhide, Barricade, Onslaught
for tf_speedwriting prompt ‘trying to unwind’
wordcount: ~1130
Time: 1:32
Rodimus glared at Ironhide. “Not time to go yet.”
Ironhide dropped back down onto the plush bench. “It is, Rodimus. It’s…really time to go.” His gaze drifted to the stack of empty cubes next to his former team commander.
“Came here to have fun,” Rodimus slurred. “Haven’t had any yet.” QED. No leaving until fun. Simple logic, right? He reached for a cube, and squinted at it. Empty. Frag. When the pit did that get empty? He looked around, blue optics whirring to focus. Ah. There was one that wasn’t empty yet. There, in front of Ironhide. He snatched for it.
Ironhide’s hand dropped on his wrist, trapping it. “That’s mine.”
“Well, you’re not drinking it.” Well of course not. Ironhide couldn’t bring himself to drink something called ‘Pink Frilly Death.’ A mech had his pride. Rodimus pulled a face. “No sense letting it go to waste.” He jerked his wrist back, trying to pull it from Ironhide’s grip.
“Waste,” Ironhide echoed. “That what this is really about?”
Rodimus’s optics narrowed, suddenly much less drunk than he wanted to be. “Not about anything. Just want to have fun. Doncha think we’ve earned it?”
“Sure, but…not this way.” Ironhide’s head moved to take in the whole of the Inamorato bar. In the center stage, the blue femme gyrated to the music, her hips tracing figure 8s in the air, while little jeweled chains dangled alluringly from what he knew were restraining clamps on her wings. And there, by the door, the huge bulk of Blackout, beady optics scanning the crowd. “I mean, it’s a ‘con place.”
“Arcee’s here,” Rodimus said, too fast. As though he’d expected the objection and had this pre-positioned. “And Prowl.”
“It’s in Kaon.”
“Yeah, because we don’t have any place cool like this in Iacon.” Stupid laws. Stupid rules. Stupid everything.
“We have…places in Iacon,” Ironhide said. Rodimus was getting to the level Ironhide was beginning to consider Dangerously Overcharged. He’d seen him like this before when they’d chased that irritating little grounder into the alley. Yeah, Rodimus plus high-grade equaled astronomically poor decision making.
“Places,” Rodimus scoffed. “Boring places. No pretty femmes, no lishensh…licensedous…,” he frowned, squinting at the half-empty cube, “LICENTIOUSNESS!” he bellowed.
Which…got the predictable response of a sudden ripping silence and several dozen pairs of optics—mostly red—turned their way.
“Uh, he’s drunk,” Ironhide said, making a placating gesture with his hands, hoping that that explained, well, some of it. Apparently it did: most of the heads turned back around to their own business, while Rodimus blinked, still a little confused why everyone was looking at him. “Look,” Ironhide said, “I can take you home.”
Rodimus’s optics glinted. “Why Ironhide, I…didn’t know you thought of me that way.”
Ironhide felt his armor begin to shift up. He stopped it, fumbling with his overrides. Stupid defensive system. Worse than blushing, honestly. “I…uhhhh.” Well, if it would get Rodimus home and maybe he’d be too drunk to do anything…?
“Ironhide doesn’t swing that way, Roddylumps,” the Decepticon popped on up from where he’d been snoozling in the next bench alcove. Or maybe not snoozing. Possibly spying, the sneaky little con. The same little sneak from before, Barricade. The one with the really, really big ‘friend’. Ironhide looked around. Yep. There he was, the big beast, looking over a datapad as though this were his front office.
“Back off, Decepticon,” Ironhide snapped.
Rodimus clearly did not remember their previous…encounter. “How’d you know that? About ‘Hide?” He turned to face the ‘con, over estimating the turn, and clutching onto the side of the table for balance.
“Pffff,” the grounder said, “Intel files. Everyone on our side knows that Ironhide here goes for the omnomnom femmebits.”
Rodimus burst out laughing, falling back onto the plush cushions. “Femmebits!” he chortled. “Like a snack food!”
Barricade gave a wry shrug at Ironhide’s enraged face. “Easily amused for a leader,” he said.
“Better than anything you’ve got.”
Barricade’s optics flicked over to the big one—Onslaught. “Humorwise, yeah.”
Rodimus hauled himself back up, still giggling. “Okay! Okay. So…what do your files say about me?”
Barricade shifted his position, moving up to his knees, folding his arms on the banquette back between them. “You, huh?” He considered. “Well, your taste in mechs is a little…ngheaah,” he gave a showy shudder. “I mean, Onslaught? Seriously?”
Rodimus colored. “Yeah, uh…well. That was…you know.”
Barricade snickered at his discomfort. “Well, at least you like to live dangerously.”
Rodimus perked up.
“But, ew, seriously.”
Rodimus drooped.
Ironhide gave a warning growl.
“What?” Barricade smirked. “Just sayin’. Us ‘cons are allowed to have opinions, right? Think I read about it in the peace treaty.”
Ironhide stared him down.
“FINE,” Barricade said. “Our Rodimus here, also has a fine eye for the fine ladies.”
Ironhide glared, resolutely unimpressed.
“Oh, gonna be like that, is it? Fine. Tough customer.” Two of the four optics rolled. “Mind you, I’m only telling you this for one reason and one reason only.”
“You’re drunk, too,” Ironhide said.
Barricade blinked. “Okay. TWO reasons, and two reasons only.” He waited for another correction. Ironhide signaled impatiently with a hand. “I’m telling you this so you can feel the power of the Decepticon intelligence machine. Ain’t nothing one of you Autoboobs can do we don’t know about.”
“That a fact,” Ironhide said.
“It is, in fact, a fact. A facty fact. Of infinite factness.”
“Get on with it.”
“Rodimus, here, has an unrequited crush on one femme in particular. Do I need to say her name?”
Rodimus’s optics flicked up, wide with alarm. “You…know that?”
“Pfff, Swami Barricade sees all, knows all.” He reached back to his table, pulling up a cube and taking a long drink before handing it off to Rodimus. Who…after a bleary blink, took it and drank. “Right. The lovely femme in question is none other than your former medic Red Alert.” Barricade waved his talons. “All this? The bimbos and the booze and all? Merely a bad noir way of trying to drown the fact he’s too chicken to ask her out.”
Rodimus spluttered, pink energon spraying everywhere. Barricade snickered, wiping his spattered forearm on the cushion. “See? Fear the Decepticon Intelligence Machine!” he crowed.
“Yeah, you better start fearing it,” Ironhide smirked, because he, the sober guy, was the only one who could see Onslaught get up, palms slapped on the table, and stride over. Until his shadow fell over Barricade.
Barricade flinched, tried to cover it with a reach back for the cube.
“Barricade.” The visor tipped down.
“Onslaught.” Barricade kept his own gaze straight ahead, concentrating on another drink.
“Barricade.” A little less neutral this time.
“Onslaught.”
The visor blinked. Ironhide…knew that blink. That was the ‘Primus give me patience before I strangle this idiot’ blink. With which Ironhide wholeheartedly agreed. And agreeing with a ‘con felt weird.
“What are you doing, Barricade?”
“Drinking.”
Onslaught’s hand whipped out, snatching the cube and throwing it against the wall. “And…now?” Rodimus blinked, droplets of energon striking his armor. He looked up, vaguely confused as though he thought it was rain. Ironhide was, he hated to admit, impressed. Rodimus should maybe take notes. No, frag that, Ironhide was taking notes.
“Umm, talking to my commanding officer.”
“Right.” Onslaught nodded his head, condescendingly. “And before?”
“Oh, come on, Onslaught. It’s peacetime and all that slag.”
Onslaught stared.
“A-and I’m bored.”
“And drunk,” Onslaught added.
“But mostly bored.”
“I can find you something to do.” A world of menace in the voice.
“You, Onslaught, are no fun.”
“Really.” Onslaught reached over, hauling Barricade up with one arm, and tossing him over his shoulder before the tipsy little grounder could summon more than a ‘hey!’ of protest. “You,” he said to Ironhide. “Take him home or get him a room. I don’t have time or patience to keep two idiots out of trouble. And you.” He glared at Rodimus, who started, noticing him for the first time. “Ask your femme out. She’s interested.” He turned and stalked off, pinning the squirming grounder over his shoulder.
“Whoa,” Rodimus said, staring at the table. “Di—did that really happen? That’s it.” He held up an empty cube. “No more of these…what are they calleds? For me!”
“Pink Frilly Death,” Ironhide muttered.
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Date: 2011-01-19 09:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-20 12:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-19 10:11 pm (UTC)Stupid defensive system. Worse than blushing, honestly. Love that bit.
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Date: 2011-01-20 12:02 am (UTC)And yeah, Barricade invited himself into this fic first and...then Suddenly Onslaught. o_O I don't dare argue.)
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Date: 2011-01-19 11:03 pm (UTC)The end had me LOLing in a coffee shop.
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Date: 2011-01-20 12:03 am (UTC)Glad you liked :D
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Date: 2011-01-20 12:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-20 01:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-20 01:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-20 03:48 am (UTC)Ummm... am I the only one that saw Barricade getting a sharp rap (or several?) on the aft if he didn't stop squirming? :taps fingers nervously and hides:
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Date: 2011-01-20 04:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-20 04:30 pm (UTC)