(no subject)
Title: In Which Needlenose is Drunk Again
Rating: PG
Warning: Spinister still has that flamethrower.
tf-speedwriting Prompt: #1 A Halloween prank gone wrong.
Summary: Needlenose is drunkly talked into trying to pull a prank on Spinister. Things don't go so well.
“'M not scared,” Needlenose insisted.
“Then prove it,” was the predictable answer.
Needlenose was vaguely aware that he was entirely too drunk and that this conversation was certain to lead to pain and humiliation. For him, most likely, at the hands of either Spinister or the armored artillery mechs he'd been drinking with. But that didn't seem very important right now. There was no way he was going to embarrass the Mayhems by letting all these frontliners think he was afraid. “I will!” He pushed himself off the barstool and stood, swaying. “Just watch.”
He stumbled for the door to make good on his promise, never seeing the nasty grins the frontliners exchanged behind the cover of his wings before following.
Spinister stepped out of the command complex and turned down the alleyway leading back to his temporary quarters, tucking away the data crystal he'd acquired from the base commander. Not the news he hoped for, but a good investigator never let expectations get in the way of results. He'd given Needlenose the rest of the cycle to himself, but first shift tomorrow, they would be heading on to verify-
Something clicked off to the side, armor against armor. Spinister's stride didn't falter, but his sensors immediately refocused, attempting to identify the sound. Three engines, two low growling tanks, one higher-pitched jet. A soft whirring, a small drone of the type Needlenose built when he was bored.
He wasn't surprised when the holoprojector sent pale flickering lights up the wall, but he was annoyed. The lights collesced into a vaguely seeker shape. “Sssspinisssster...” the projector hissed.
He stopped walking, turning his head ostensibly to look at the projection, but in reality to track the three less-than-subtle mechs huddled in the shadows behind him. Now that their prank was in effect, they weren't as careful as they should have been, leaning too far into the alleyway. Needlenose. Of course. Spinister calmly adjusted his rifle, converting it in a flick from sniper weapon to flamethrower. He aimed casually at the “hidden” drone carrying the holographic projector, and triggered a brief blast.
The alleyway lit up, drone and projector burning into slag in time it took them to hit the ground. Spinister turned on his heel, zeroing in on the would-be pranksters. Needlenose made a tiny hand wave. “Uh, hi Spinister?” he said faintly, then did the sensible thing, transforming and fleeing as fast as his thrusters would take him. The groundpounders with him staggered backward, out of Needlenose's jetwash, swearing. It took them another astrosecond to realize what Needlenose had already figured out - they looked back at the irate Mayhem captain and turned to flee. Fire chased them out of the alleyway.
Spinister released the trigger, flicking the rifle back to projectiles, and resumed his trip back to his quarters. Bah. Frontliners.
Rating: PG
Warning: Spinister still has that flamethrower.
tf-speedwriting Prompt: #1 A Halloween prank gone wrong.
Summary: Needlenose is drunkly talked into trying to pull a prank on Spinister. Things don't go so well.
“'M not scared,” Needlenose insisted.
“Then prove it,” was the predictable answer.
Needlenose was vaguely aware that he was entirely too drunk and that this conversation was certain to lead to pain and humiliation. For him, most likely, at the hands of either Spinister or the armored artillery mechs he'd been drinking with. But that didn't seem very important right now. There was no way he was going to embarrass the Mayhems by letting all these frontliners think he was afraid. “I will!” He pushed himself off the barstool and stood, swaying. “Just watch.”
He stumbled for the door to make good on his promise, never seeing the nasty grins the frontliners exchanged behind the cover of his wings before following.
Spinister stepped out of the command complex and turned down the alleyway leading back to his temporary quarters, tucking away the data crystal he'd acquired from the base commander. Not the news he hoped for, but a good investigator never let expectations get in the way of results. He'd given Needlenose the rest of the cycle to himself, but first shift tomorrow, they would be heading on to verify-
Something clicked off to the side, armor against armor. Spinister's stride didn't falter, but his sensors immediately refocused, attempting to identify the sound. Three engines, two low growling tanks, one higher-pitched jet. A soft whirring, a small drone of the type Needlenose built when he was bored.
He wasn't surprised when the holoprojector sent pale flickering lights up the wall, but he was annoyed. The lights collesced into a vaguely seeker shape. “Sssspinisssster...” the projector hissed.
He stopped walking, turning his head ostensibly to look at the projection, but in reality to track the three less-than-subtle mechs huddled in the shadows behind him. Now that their prank was in effect, they weren't as careful as they should have been, leaning too far into the alleyway. Needlenose. Of course. Spinister calmly adjusted his rifle, converting it in a flick from sniper weapon to flamethrower. He aimed casually at the “hidden” drone carrying the holographic projector, and triggered a brief blast.
The alleyway lit up, drone and projector burning into slag in time it took them to hit the ground. Spinister turned on his heel, zeroing in on the would-be pranksters. Needlenose made a tiny hand wave. “Uh, hi Spinister?” he said faintly, then did the sensible thing, transforming and fleeing as fast as his thrusters would take him. The groundpounders with him staggered backward, out of Needlenose's jetwash, swearing. It took them another astrosecond to realize what Needlenose had already figured out - they looked back at the irate Mayhem captain and turned to flee. Fire chased them out of the alleyway.
Spinister released the trigger, flicking the rifle back to projectiles, and resumed his trip back to his quarters. Bah. Frontliners.