Meant to Live
By Sinead
Author’s Note: Okay, my muse is gone wonky. I have two other authors who have been poking at my brain in funny ways. One with the infamous Cap’n Jack Sparrow, the other with a strange, oddly satisfying human version of Rampage who belongs to DragonsFlayme, or Dragony as some know her as. Overall, I’ve been going through a bit of a strange muse-exchange. And I kinda like it.
Chapter One
“Oh, my achin’ head . . .”
“You are the one who wished to try to figure out what I’m able to think about without hurting myself.”
“How d’ya do dis without . . .”
“Going insane?”
“Yeah.”
“Simple. I have you to laugh at.”
Fletcher Reeve laughed, then turned away, his tanned hands shoving deep into his jean pockets. Anthony Paco glared at the young . . . human’s back. “You, boyo, are gettin’ ta annoy me.”
“Well, Osaze does have a point!”
“I never said dat ’e didn’t! Stop laughin’!”
A large, dark-skinned hand held the small human back. “Easy, Tony. It’s hard for all of us to deal with the situation. ’Specially now, since we’ve found the rest of our crew.”
Sighing deeply, a lanky form with long black hair shifted from his napping with his head upon the table. He didn’t look up at anyone as he tried to fight off both a severe headache and jetlag. His voice was low, almost a growl. “And how should we deal with the situation?”
Liam Reeve sighed from the couch, his hands upon his face to block out the light as he pressed his head against the armrest. Human headaches made the Cybertronian equivalent to seem like a mild annoyance. What Osaze had just brought up about new developments was plain irritating and frustrating. “Will you all please just knock it off? We’re stuck on Earth, in human bodies, with human traits added onto our original personalities. Born into the human flesh, from human flesh. Primus is laughing mighty hard at us.”
“No kiddin’!” Tony snarled.
“One question,” Liam continued.
“Oh?”
“Where are the Predacons?”
Vance managed not to whine his dismay at that hole in their knowledge too loudly. His beloved was missing, apart from him again.
Another African man walked into the room, smaller than the first, a small Greek woman at his side with naturally curled hair down to her hips. Everyone looked at them, wondering where the married couple had been all this time. It had been almost a week since they had gone out to look for their adversaries, with not a word from them the entire time.
And then they grinned. Damara Agamemnon walked over to a map laying upon the table, causing Benjiro Watanuki to sit up and pull his hair back from his face into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, revealing his now-Japanese heritage. She grinned to Liam, their leader, who had sat up. “You’ll never guess where they are.”
New Story, "Meant to Live" Ch. 1 Preview
Moderators: Nurann, Starath, Sinead, Optimal Optimus Primal, Razor One
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Sinead
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New Story, "Meant to Live" Ch. 1 Preview
Uncle Iroh: I know you're not supposed to cry over spilled tea, but *cries* it's just so sad!
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Sinead
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(scene change, continued from before)
“We’re scrap.”
“Hush, Tristan. I’m thinking.”
“Yeah, I can see the smoke.”
“Yuriko, I am warning you . . .”
“Leader, we are not in what you would call the most . . . advantageous of situations.”
“I am well aware of that fact, Fernandez. Let me think.”
“He should have let me stay in charge . . .”
“Quillan O’Connor?”
“Yeah, crackhead?”
“You and I will have a chat about this later.”
“Whatever.”
“Daddy, I want to play over there!”
Sighing, the tall man picked the child up, smiling reassuringly to him. “Where about, little one?”
The small boy pointed, having inherited his father’s brown-black curly hair and violet eyes. “On that!”
Putting him down upon the ground, the man grinned. “All right, let’s go. Race you!”
Laughing, the boy ran off, his feet sending woodchips skittering and flying everywhere beneath his small feet. The large man pretended to fall behind and have trouble catching up with the little one.
“You know that seeing him switch from maniacal Predacon warlord to nurturing Daddy just creeps me out,” a red-haired, emerald-eyed hulking man said from his seat upon a bench, head aimed to look up at the sky in his boredom. “Does anyone else get the jitters from thinking about breeding the human way, or am I the only one?”
The once-Predacons stared at the brute.
“Guess not.”
Yuriko looked at the small child again, then replied, “What says that the kid has a Spark?”
“What says I don’t want to find out,” Quillan said through a sigh.
“What says that I can find out for you?”
“Upsilon, something tells me that what you’re thinking is very, very bloody,” Fernandez said, his Spaniard features somehow combined to create a redheaded and temperamental man who slipped into a British accent at the strangest times.
“Remember, I am still empathetic.”
They all mentally drew lines around their emotions and watched the father play with his little boy.
“We’re scrap.”
“Hush, Tristan. I’m thinking.”
“Yeah, I can see the smoke.”
“Yuriko, I am warning you . . .”
“Leader, we are not in what you would call the most . . . advantageous of situations.”
“I am well aware of that fact, Fernandez. Let me think.”
“He should have let me stay in charge . . .”
“Quillan O’Connor?”
“Yeah, crackhead?”
“You and I will have a chat about this later.”
“Whatever.”
“Daddy, I want to play over there!”
Sighing, the tall man picked the child up, smiling reassuringly to him. “Where about, little one?”
The small boy pointed, having inherited his father’s brown-black curly hair and violet eyes. “On that!”
Putting him down upon the ground, the man grinned. “All right, let’s go. Race you!”
Laughing, the boy ran off, his feet sending woodchips skittering and flying everywhere beneath his small feet. The large man pretended to fall behind and have trouble catching up with the little one.
“You know that seeing him switch from maniacal Predacon warlord to nurturing Daddy just creeps me out,” a red-haired, emerald-eyed hulking man said from his seat upon a bench, head aimed to look up at the sky in his boredom. “Does anyone else get the jitters from thinking about breeding the human way, or am I the only one?”
The once-Predacons stared at the brute.
“Guess not.”
Yuriko looked at the small child again, then replied, “What says that the kid has a Spark?”
“What says I don’t want to find out,” Quillan said through a sigh.
“What says that I can find out for you?”
“Upsilon, something tells me that what you’re thinking is very, very bloody,” Fernandez said, his Spaniard features somehow combined to create a redheaded and temperamental man who slipped into a British accent at the strangest times.
“Remember, I am still empathetic.”
They all mentally drew lines around their emotions and watched the father play with his little boy.
Uncle Iroh: I know you're not supposed to cry over spilled tea, but *cries* it's just so sad!
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Sinead
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(another scene change, still continued from the last one)
“So we are wandering, on our way back here, when we passed through a playground,” Watende, once called Tigatron, started, shuffling through the maps. He had only remembered his time in the Wars three years ago, and so spoke very stilted and accented English. All the rest of the Maximals knew since they were between the ages of sixteen and twenty-seven that they hadn’t originally been human. Fletcher was the last one to remember.
“Don’t tell me–”
“Not a chance–”
“I don’t believe it–”
“Of course you don’t,” his smooth, chuckling voice broke in. “Because you haven’t heard me say it yet. There was a group of adults there, speaking with one who was obviously in charge. Once we were hidden, we got pictures.”
Damara, once Airazor, pulled them up on Liam’s laptop, having uploaded them when she had arrived. They showed pictures of the group together, then closeups of individual faces. But one always stood out as being the leader. He was tall, built like a receiver on any given football team, with unkempt dark brown wavy locks of hair, and wary violet eyes. Liam’s grey eyes quickly spotted the man, and pointed him out, his finger resting upon the screen. “Megatron.”
“You got it,” Damara whispered. “And nobody will say his human name around him. But look at this next one.”
Scrolling ahead, she pulled up the one of him helping a young child climb up a ladder, his hands gentle. Then, the next . . . with the child looking into his face, grinning . . . and Megatron was grinning back. Benjiro leaned in closer, whispering, “Tell me that I am seeing things.”
“No,” Watende whispered. “You are not.”
“What?”
“What is it?”
“Choppuhface, you’d better not be holdin’ out on us . . .”
The Japanese man sighed, sitting back and staring at the screen, grey-black eyes dark with remembering. “If you cannot see that the boy is his son, then you all are blind.”
Fletcher blinked, then looked at the picture again, leaning over Tony. “But that’s not that big of a deal. This body is genetically Liam’ son . . .”
“And you have an elder twin sister who is not of our troops,” Vance whispered, looking at Optimus then at Cheetor. “Where is the boy’s mother?”
“Yo, forget who ’is Ma is. I’m just creeped out by da breedin’ thin’ goin’ on,” Tony muttered, gaze dark as he viewed the picture of the little boy.
“So we are wandering, on our way back here, when we passed through a playground,” Watende, once called Tigatron, started, shuffling through the maps. He had only remembered his time in the Wars three years ago, and so spoke very stilted and accented English. All the rest of the Maximals knew since they were between the ages of sixteen and twenty-seven that they hadn’t originally been human. Fletcher was the last one to remember.
“Don’t tell me–”
“Not a chance–”
“I don’t believe it–”
“Of course you don’t,” his smooth, chuckling voice broke in. “Because you haven’t heard me say it yet. There was a group of adults there, speaking with one who was obviously in charge. Once we were hidden, we got pictures.”
Damara, once Airazor, pulled them up on Liam’s laptop, having uploaded them when she had arrived. They showed pictures of the group together, then closeups of individual faces. But one always stood out as being the leader. He was tall, built like a receiver on any given football team, with unkempt dark brown wavy locks of hair, and wary violet eyes. Liam’s grey eyes quickly spotted the man, and pointed him out, his finger resting upon the screen. “Megatron.”
“You got it,” Damara whispered. “And nobody will say his human name around him. But look at this next one.”
Scrolling ahead, she pulled up the one of him helping a young child climb up a ladder, his hands gentle. Then, the next . . . with the child looking into his face, grinning . . . and Megatron was grinning back. Benjiro leaned in closer, whispering, “Tell me that I am seeing things.”
“No,” Watende whispered. “You are not.”
“What?”
“What is it?”
“Choppuhface, you’d better not be holdin’ out on us . . .”
The Japanese man sighed, sitting back and staring at the screen, grey-black eyes dark with remembering. “If you cannot see that the boy is his son, then you all are blind.”
Fletcher blinked, then looked at the picture again, leaning over Tony. “But that’s not that big of a deal. This body is genetically Liam’ son . . .”
“And you have an elder twin sister who is not of our troops,” Vance whispered, looking at Optimus then at Cheetor. “Where is the boy’s mother?”
“Yo, forget who ’is Ma is. I’m just creeped out by da breedin’ thin’ goin’ on,” Tony muttered, gaze dark as he viewed the picture of the little boy.
Uncle Iroh: I know you're not supposed to cry over spilled tea, but *cries* it's just so sad!