Glances Into a Spark - Smile
Title: Glances Into a Spark - Smile
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: ensemble
Rating: PG
Summary: Oneshots about any and possibly all of the movie cast, and then some.
Warnings: language
Notes: Old writing, in it's mostly original format (very minor corrections may have been made)
Table of Contents
o o o
Theme #14: Smile
o o o
Jazz was sitting in the middle of the crater, covered in lunar dust to hide his natural sheen from any passing human satellites. He hadn't moved in orns, and wouldn't answer any attempts at communication on the usual channels, and while Ratchet certainly trusted Jazz with his life, he didn't put near as much faith in the lieutenants common sense or sense of self-preservation.
"There isn't another human satellite due past for another three megacycles," Ironhide said, walking up beside the medic at the Ark's bay door. "If you want to go check on him."
Ratchet made a short noise of thanks before stepping out into the crater, passing from the shadow of the rock that hid the Ark and into brilliant sunlight. Jazz didn't look up as Ratchet approached, Ironhide not far behind. Nothing particularly strange showed on any of Ratchet's scans, only that Jazz's body was in a low-power consuming mode, while his processors were in just shy of overdrive, a not-uncommon state for the small mech.
The two circled around the seated figure to stand in front of him, and that's when they noticed Jazz's expression - blissful, just shy of ecstatic, expressive plating twisted into something that as near expressed pure joy as Ratchet had ever seen. He looked positively blitzed, like a youngling immediately after his first overload or his first taste of high-grade, and Ratchet was at an utter loss as to the cause.
Concerned, Ratchet crouched in front of Jazz, directly in the line of sight of unseeing blue optics. "Jazz?" He tried again, on a higher channel, officer to officer, the thin lunar air unsuitable to conducting sound. Ironhide heard too, he knew, and Optimus was probably listening in by now, alerted. "Jazz, what in the name of Primus has gotten into you?"
The answer was unexpected enough to make Ratchet's head reel, and he fell back on his aft with a thump and a puff of moon dust. Music - unfamiliar, strangely liquid, but undeniable - assaulted his processors over the channel, and even if Ratchet didn't understand the language, the raw emotion contained in the sound was enough to make his spark ache in resonance.
After a moment, the force of the sound was dulled, pushed back, and Jazz spoke aloud, the thin atmosphere no hindrance to the utter reverence in his voice. "Three thousand languages," he said, "Each one unique, each one different. And each one, every single language and dialect and accent, has its own music." His optics focused on Ratchet with unconcealed delight. "Their race is less than a megavorn old, and they have millions of songs."
Ironhide snorted from somewhere over Ratchet's head. "And here I thought you were doing research on the humans, not their music."
"Best way to understand a race is through their songs," Jazz replied, his optics focusing inward again. "Don't wait up for me, doc, I'll be out here for a while."
"Don't overdo it," Ratchet warned, clambering to his feet, but he knew his warnings would go unheard. Millions of songs; Jazz would sit and tap into the Earth satellites and listen until his central processor melted. He'd probably have to send Ironhide out here in a groon to physically haul Jazz back into the Ark to recharge. Shaking his head, his processor still ringing with the emotive force behind the music he'd heard, Ratchet turned and went back to the Ark.
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: ensemble
Rating: PG
Summary: Oneshots about any and possibly all of the movie cast, and then some.
Warnings: language
Notes: Old writing, in it's mostly original format (very minor corrections may have been made)
Table of Contents
o o o
Theme #14: Smile
o o o
Jazz was sitting in the middle of the crater, covered in lunar dust to hide his natural sheen from any passing human satellites. He hadn't moved in orns, and wouldn't answer any attempts at communication on the usual channels, and while Ratchet certainly trusted Jazz with his life, he didn't put near as much faith in the lieutenants common sense or sense of self-preservation.
"There isn't another human satellite due past for another three megacycles," Ironhide said, walking up beside the medic at the Ark's bay door. "If you want to go check on him."
Ratchet made a short noise of thanks before stepping out into the crater, passing from the shadow of the rock that hid the Ark and into brilliant sunlight. Jazz didn't look up as Ratchet approached, Ironhide not far behind. Nothing particularly strange showed on any of Ratchet's scans, only that Jazz's body was in a low-power consuming mode, while his processors were in just shy of overdrive, a not-uncommon state for the small mech.
The two circled around the seated figure to stand in front of him, and that's when they noticed Jazz's expression - blissful, just shy of ecstatic, expressive plating twisted into something that as near expressed pure joy as Ratchet had ever seen. He looked positively blitzed, like a youngling immediately after his first overload or his first taste of high-grade, and Ratchet was at an utter loss as to the cause.
Concerned, Ratchet crouched in front of Jazz, directly in the line of sight of unseeing blue optics. "Jazz?" He tried again, on a higher channel, officer to officer, the thin lunar air unsuitable to conducting sound. Ironhide heard too, he knew, and Optimus was probably listening in by now, alerted. "Jazz, what in the name of Primus has gotten into you?"
The answer was unexpected enough to make Ratchet's head reel, and he fell back on his aft with a thump and a puff of moon dust. Music - unfamiliar, strangely liquid, but undeniable - assaulted his processors over the channel, and even if Ratchet didn't understand the language, the raw emotion contained in the sound was enough to make his spark ache in resonance.
After a moment, the force of the sound was dulled, pushed back, and Jazz spoke aloud, the thin atmosphere no hindrance to the utter reverence in his voice. "Three thousand languages," he said, "Each one unique, each one different. And each one, every single language and dialect and accent, has its own music." His optics focused on Ratchet with unconcealed delight. "Their race is less than a megavorn old, and they have millions of songs."
Ironhide snorted from somewhere over Ratchet's head. "And here I thought you were doing research on the humans, not their music."
"Best way to understand a race is through their songs," Jazz replied, his optics focusing inward again. "Don't wait up for me, doc, I'll be out here for a while."
"Don't overdo it," Ratchet warned, clambering to his feet, but he knew his warnings would go unheard. Millions of songs; Jazz would sit and tap into the Earth satellites and listen until his central processor melted. He'd probably have to send Ironhide out here in a groon to physically haul Jazz back into the Ark to recharge. Shaking his head, his processor still ringing with the emotive force behind the music he'd heard, Ratchet turned and went back to the Ark.