(no subject)
“It’s happening.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m the one with six slagging parasites inside me, I damn well know when they’re thinking about coming out, and I know damn well that it’s going to kill me.” Snowcat groans and tries to sit up farther, resting his back against the wall. The tarp’s off his chest and six vaguely mechanical objects can be seen wiggling inside his driver’s compartment, suspended in a greenish murky liquid with numerous tubes coming from them. They’re quite large by now, and there’s barely any room for them.
Demolishor is crouched next to his bondmate, looking rather frazzled himself. “Look, I’ve got the medkit right here, and it’s not like we can’t replace your windshield. Stop being a drama hog and deal with it like a Decepticon.” He frowns, wishing he could just go outside and smash things for an hour and come back later.
“A Decepticon?” Snowcat shrieks. “Find me one Decepticon that has to deal with chestbursters and then I’ll stop complaining about incoming messy painful leaking death!”
“You’re not going to die, dummy. I’d kill you if you did.” Demolishor tries to find some sort of distraction. Something tells him a few dirty jokes won’t make Snowcat stop panicking and panicking when wounded-or about to be wounded-is never good.
In a burst of inspiration, he taps Snowcat on the mask. “One.” Snowcat looks at Demolishor confusedly as he points first to Snowkitty, then to himself. “Two. Three.”
“Is there some point to this or are you just trying to remember how to count?” Snowcat’s voice is pained, but he’s still the sort of mech who would make snarky comments at his own execution.
“Three people. Three witnesses.” Demolishor pulls Snowcat’s arm up and grips his hand firmly. “So if you are going to die, we should at least make this thing official, huh?”
“Official-you’re kidding.” Snowcat raises an opticridge, and then jerks as one of the things within him kicks. “Don’t tell me you’re going mushy on me.”
“Are we going to do this or what?”
Hands clasped and arms raised, they shout “mine!” three times simultaneously, the simplest form of a legally binding Decepticon marriage. Snowkitty concludes the rite with a resounding meow.
Snowcat cackles harshly, then winces as something else kicks. “Best ceremony ever. Where’s the refreshments?”
“Look by the door.” Demolishor links his hands together as Snowcat turns, then brings both fists down on the top of Snowcat’s head. Snowcat’s head falls to the side as he lapses into blessed unconsciousness.
Demolishor grunts as he arranges Snowcat into a more comfortable position, kneeling closer to his chest as Snowkitty ducks under the bed. “I can do this. Can’t be too hard if fleshies do it, right?”
The first crack appears in Snowcat’s windshield and Demolishor resists the urge to look away.
"Slag..."
“How do you know?”
“I’m the one with six slagging parasites inside me, I damn well know when they’re thinking about coming out, and I know damn well that it’s going to kill me.” Snowcat groans and tries to sit up farther, resting his back against the wall. The tarp’s off his chest and six vaguely mechanical objects can be seen wiggling inside his driver’s compartment, suspended in a greenish murky liquid with numerous tubes coming from them. They’re quite large by now, and there’s barely any room for them.
Demolishor is crouched next to his bondmate, looking rather frazzled himself. “Look, I’ve got the medkit right here, and it’s not like we can’t replace your windshield. Stop being a drama hog and deal with it like a Decepticon.” He frowns, wishing he could just go outside and smash things for an hour and come back later.
“A Decepticon?” Snowcat shrieks. “Find me one Decepticon that has to deal with chestbursters and then I’ll stop complaining about incoming messy painful leaking death!”
“You’re not going to die, dummy. I’d kill you if you did.” Demolishor tries to find some sort of distraction. Something tells him a few dirty jokes won’t make Snowcat stop panicking and panicking when wounded-or about to be wounded-is never good.
In a burst of inspiration, he taps Snowcat on the mask. “One.” Snowcat looks at Demolishor confusedly as he points first to Snowkitty, then to himself. “Two. Three.”
“Is there some point to this or are you just trying to remember how to count?” Snowcat’s voice is pained, but he’s still the sort of mech who would make snarky comments at his own execution.
“Three people. Three witnesses.” Demolishor pulls Snowcat’s arm up and grips his hand firmly. “So if you are going to die, we should at least make this thing official, huh?”
“Official-you’re kidding.” Snowcat raises an opticridge, and then jerks as one of the things within him kicks. “Don’t tell me you’re going mushy on me.”
“Are we going to do this or what?”
Hands clasped and arms raised, they shout “mine!” three times simultaneously, the simplest form of a legally binding Decepticon marriage. Snowkitty concludes the rite with a resounding meow.
Snowcat cackles harshly, then winces as something else kicks. “Best ceremony ever. Where’s the refreshments?”
“Look by the door.” Demolishor links his hands together as Snowcat turns, then brings both fists down on the top of Snowcat’s head. Snowcat’s head falls to the side as he lapses into blessed unconsciousness.
Demolishor grunts as he arranges Snowcat into a more comfortable position, kneeling closer to his chest as Snowkitty ducks under the bed. “I can do this. Can’t be too hard if fleshies do it, right?”
The first crack appears in Snowcat’s windshield and Demolishor resists the urge to look away.
"Slag..."