New Fic.
So, this is a new fic. In an odd 'verse. Things will get explained as we go along. Hopefully. It takes pieces from everywhere, builds equally on canon and fanon, and if you think you recognize something, you probably do, but it's probably not how you expect it. If it IS how you expect it, I did something wrong. ^^
For now, it's called 'OC'verse.' It'll make sense later.
Roadstead was proud of himself. Justifiably so, he believed, standing in the little foyer with the other inductees. Hum... he wasn't sure he liked that word, it sounded like there were here involuntarily, which was far from the truth, even with that little red mech's twitching. But they were far from recruits by now, had attained too much to be called that...
The brown Seeker let his language musings go, looking towards the door and smiling tightly. They would go out soon, go out and be branded... His wings twitched, and Roadstead let them. It would be painful, they had all been told how it was the most painful thing they would ever experience. He didn't care. Soon, he would be a branded Decepticon... Hardly the first OC to become such, but that didn't matter. Roadstead wasn't concerned with being first. It was enough that he had made it, fought and suffered, obeyed and betrayed, and not gotten himself killed, and now he was here.
He straightened a little as the ping came, and then, since he was closest to the door, led the way out. The crowd was unimportant, though very noisy. Roadstead knew better than to give in to his Seeker love of attention right now, and carefully held his wings still. It was made much easier by the sight of Megatron, smiling at them all. Primus, Megatron was beautiful, beautiful and terrifying with the branding iron crackling in his hand. After the branding, Roadstead knew he might just have a chance with his lord, but he would also be content if it never happened. There would be a lot of performance anxiety, and Roadstead wasn't entirely sure it would be worth it.
“You who have chosen to take my brand, kneel,” Megatron said, voice rich and deep, and the line of un-marked mechs dropped. For this ceremony, they had been painted without their sigils. After this, they would never need them painted again. “And recite your oaths.”
Roadstead echoed the words, spark swelling with his pride. He barely noticed the nervous stuttering of the red mech beside him. So nervous... -If you don't stop fidgeting, someone might think you were afraid,- Roadstead said archly over comm. His gaze was focused passed the grounder, watching Megatron place the brand against the first inductee's armor. By coming out first, Roadstead had ensured he would be the last to be branded, but he could wait.
There was an agonized scream from the mech being branded, but every mech in the hall steeled themselves not to respond. They knew what was coming, had known from the start. The branding was meant to be the worse thing they felt, so they would not fear hacking and torture later. It would not hurt as bad as this.
-There's no shame in admitting fear,- a comm came back, and Roadstead glanced at the red mech. -Besides, why would I be... afraid? You're the one with the wings.-
Wings which meant two brands, and Roadstead watched the branding iron move as Megatron went to the second mech. The Seeker aborted the instinctual wing-twitch. He was not going to let this ground-pounder shake his confidence and rob him of his rightful glory. -I am, yes. And I am honored to receive this. Eager, even.- He was. He was eager for the honor, for the mark... Roadstead wasn't eager for the pain. -So since I do not fear, where do you get off?- Glancing down, the Seeker added a jibe which was sure to get a response, -Unless you don't believe that oath you took, in which case, nice knowing you.-
The red mech did not snarl, like Roadstead had expected. Instead, he went very still, watching Megatron as the Lord moved to the mech just before them. Roadstead resisted the urge to groan. -Idiot.-
Nothing more was said, and the two mechs watched as Megatron moved to stand before the red one. He shivered, and then visibly steeled himself and froze as the brand touched to red armor. Roadstead did hope he wasn't going to offline. If the mech offlined, he would be what everyone remembered about this ceremony, and that just wouldn't do!
Then the time for thought ended. Megatron side-stepped, and Roadstead looked up to meet the crimson optics. Because there were two brands to give on his frame, Starscream came up as well, in his role as Air Commander, crackling energy-brand held in his clawed hand as well.
"Lock your wings," the Air Commander, the Winglord, hissed softly, and Roadstead had no choice but to obey. It was a mercy, truly, a concession to Seeker vanity. Under that order, his wings could not quiver and twitch, and the branding would be even.
Moving nearly in unison, the two leaders touched their brands to brown wings, and Roadstead's world dissolved into pain.
It couldn't even have lasted a breem. He could hear the echoes of his own screaming as he came back to his processor. Starsceam must have released him from the order at some point, Roadstead realized, twitching his wings and biting his derma not to scream again from the agony of air against his damaged sensors. He forced himself to stand, as the others were, and slowly he realized there was cheering.
The crowd was cheering for him, for the newly branded. Roadstead was proud of himself.
For now, it's called 'OC'verse.' It'll make sense later.
Roadstead was proud of himself. Justifiably so, he believed, standing in the little foyer with the other inductees. Hum... he wasn't sure he liked that word, it sounded like there were here involuntarily, which was far from the truth, even with that little red mech's twitching. But they were far from recruits by now, had attained too much to be called that...
The brown Seeker let his language musings go, looking towards the door and smiling tightly. They would go out soon, go out and be branded... His wings twitched, and Roadstead let them. It would be painful, they had all been told how it was the most painful thing they would ever experience. He didn't care. Soon, he would be a branded Decepticon... Hardly the first OC to become such, but that didn't matter. Roadstead wasn't concerned with being first. It was enough that he had made it, fought and suffered, obeyed and betrayed, and not gotten himself killed, and now he was here.
He straightened a little as the ping came, and then, since he was closest to the door, led the way out. The crowd was unimportant, though very noisy. Roadstead knew better than to give in to his Seeker love of attention right now, and carefully held his wings still. It was made much easier by the sight of Megatron, smiling at them all. Primus, Megatron was beautiful, beautiful and terrifying with the branding iron crackling in his hand. After the branding, Roadstead knew he might just have a chance with his lord, but he would also be content if it never happened. There would be a lot of performance anxiety, and Roadstead wasn't entirely sure it would be worth it.
“You who have chosen to take my brand, kneel,” Megatron said, voice rich and deep, and the line of un-marked mechs dropped. For this ceremony, they had been painted without their sigils. After this, they would never need them painted again. “And recite your oaths.”
Roadstead echoed the words, spark swelling with his pride. He barely noticed the nervous stuttering of the red mech beside him. So nervous... -If you don't stop fidgeting, someone might think you were afraid,- Roadstead said archly over comm. His gaze was focused passed the grounder, watching Megatron place the brand against the first inductee's armor. By coming out first, Roadstead had ensured he would be the last to be branded, but he could wait.
There was an agonized scream from the mech being branded, but every mech in the hall steeled themselves not to respond. They knew what was coming, had known from the start. The branding was meant to be the worse thing they felt, so they would not fear hacking and torture later. It would not hurt as bad as this.
-There's no shame in admitting fear,- a comm came back, and Roadstead glanced at the red mech. -Besides, why would I be... afraid? You're the one with the wings.-
Wings which meant two brands, and Roadstead watched the branding iron move as Megatron went to the second mech. The Seeker aborted the instinctual wing-twitch. He was not going to let this ground-pounder shake his confidence and rob him of his rightful glory. -I am, yes. And I am honored to receive this. Eager, even.- He was. He was eager for the honor, for the mark... Roadstead wasn't eager for the pain. -So since I do not fear, where do you get off?- Glancing down, the Seeker added a jibe which was sure to get a response, -Unless you don't believe that oath you took, in which case, nice knowing you.-
The red mech did not snarl, like Roadstead had expected. Instead, he went very still, watching Megatron as the Lord moved to the mech just before them. Roadstead resisted the urge to groan. -Idiot.-
Nothing more was said, and the two mechs watched as Megatron moved to stand before the red one. He shivered, and then visibly steeled himself and froze as the brand touched to red armor. Roadstead did hope he wasn't going to offline. If the mech offlined, he would be what everyone remembered about this ceremony, and that just wouldn't do!
Then the time for thought ended. Megatron side-stepped, and Roadstead looked up to meet the crimson optics. Because there were two brands to give on his frame, Starscream came up as well, in his role as Air Commander, crackling energy-brand held in his clawed hand as well.
"Lock your wings," the Air Commander, the Winglord, hissed softly, and Roadstead had no choice but to obey. It was a mercy, truly, a concession to Seeker vanity. Under that order, his wings could not quiver and twitch, and the branding would be even.
Moving nearly in unison, the two leaders touched their brands to brown wings, and Roadstead's world dissolved into pain.
It couldn't even have lasted a breem. He could hear the echoes of his own screaming as he came back to his processor. Starsceam must have released him from the order at some point, Roadstead realized, twitching his wings and biting his derma not to scream again from the agony of air against his damaged sensors. He forced himself to stand, as the others were, and slowly he realized there was cheering.
The crowd was cheering for him, for the newly branded. Roadstead was proud of himself.