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seiberwing1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it’s over. No lingering afterwards!
4. Do ten of these, then post them.
1. Cat and the Fiddle - Heather Alexander
Blitzwing loved to dance.
A lot.
Most mechs filled up their database allotment with pornography, or music tracks, or historical artifacts. Or the first disguised as one of the latter two. But Blitzwing’s third’s third was devoted to dancing, jigging, Riverdance, waltzes, tangos—so much tango—and endless black and white films of strange humans managing to dance on the ceiling through some deceptive camera trick.
Blitzwing filmed himself dancing too, if only so he could review it afterwards. It was deleted out of embarrassment every time he captured the images, but he filmed it anyway just so he could see himself moving, swaying, the bangles around his wrists jangling in time with the fiddles and drums. He could be beautiful if he wanted to. He had fun so the other two wouldn’t have to show themselves as childish. He compensated, so they wouldn’t have to be weak.
2. That’s Where I Belong – Paul Simon
Flight was freedom, flight was everything to a Decepticon.
Freedom, defined by a foolish leader as breaking off one’s chains and seizing power by the throat until it bowed to your will. Freedom, defined by the true warriors, was diving through the dawn mist, dancing wing in wing in circles arcing up to the clouds, laughing for the sheer joy of freedom and life.
They belonged in the skies. The skies belonged to them by creation-right. The thrill of breaking the atmosphere barely rivaled the sensation of freefalling to their own deaths before pulling up again and shrieking through the clouds at speeds that might make a human pass out in terror.
Freedom was that little period right before and after dawn, when you could see the light growing across the plains until it touched the tip of your horns.
3. 15 Men on a Dead Man’s Chest – Michal Longcor
(Note: This is a piratey AU sort of thing, by way of this fic. May not make sense.)
Scourge liked his job. Not that job, not the one with the swordfightings and the ropepullings and so on, although that one had its perks. He liked the job he had after hours, when the crew passed the rum around and listened to his stories, all of which were true. For a certain definition of true, anyway, and it wasn’t their business to care whether they were true or not.
For murder stories he could be as gory as the real thing, sometimes worse. They’d all seen the color of a man’s intestines but it was so much more interesting when you compared it to something else. For the bawdy ones he made up things that were impossible and the men muttered that he couldn’t possibly have done that with that many women in such a small closet—but they listened anyway, because they had that tiny doubt and wanted to hear more. For the ghost stories he could make his voice as raspy as a death rattle, although he saved those for last. They gave him a sore throat and it was hard to be imposing when he couldn’t talk.
His half-breed heritage got him a lot of stares back home, and it got him a lot of stares here. But here it only made him the more terrifying, the more interesting, the more credible, because a man out of two worlds could see twice as more in a singe lifetime and make it all seem true. And so what if it wasn’t?
4. Too Much Love Will Kill You – Queen
People needed to stop envying him his position. Most people with sense didn’t want to be second-in-command, that just made you the most obvious target when Galvatron went on his rages. Third in command got the perks without the beating.
Yeah, no.
Scourge’s place was at the back of the line. His love went to Cyclonus, Cyclonus’ adoration went to Galvatron, Galvatron’s desires turned around and went right back to Galvatron and it left Scourge standing awkwardly in the corner and going back to the monitor room by himself.
He never made a big deal of it, that would be annoying and suicide on top of it. Galvatron would laugh if he didn’t shoot him, and Cyclonus would probably be too resentful to meet his gaze ever again, let alone sleep with him. The situation as it was could be dealt with as long as he played the faithful friend and helped Cyclonus repair himself when Galvatron hurt him. Spoke for him when he couldn’t speak. Gave him more than Galvatron could, and accepted that he would always be less.
5. The Last Saskatchewan Pirate – Arrogant Worms
“Canada. Really, who goes to Canada? Who’s ever heard of Canada being important?”
“Our mighty leader demands we find the Allspark fragment. We shall invade Canada and take its power for our own!”
“It’s Canada. It has mooses. Are ve bringing back a moose for Megatron?”
“Silence, Blitzwing!”
Blitzwing abruptly flipped over in the air and flew upside down before his common sense took over and turned him rightway up again. “It should be easy enough—or not.”
Upside down again. “Autobot alert! Man ze cannons!”
Because, of course, hijacking a plane was out of the question. Far too illegal, and not worth the effort to break in for two Decepticons. And Fanzone already knew which ships were insured by Powell Industries and would be mourned by none. So now the SS Autobot/SS Bumblebee Is Awesome/SS Magnifique was bring guns around to blast Blitzwing out of the sky.
Blitzwing, moments before turning flamethrowers on the ship, wondered what in the world the Autobots were wearing on their heads. And why they had a tiny skull painted on the prow.
6. Nemo—Nightwish
It was horrific, knowing you were created to die. The other didn’t see it, they were demented or cocksure, but he knew. Starscream had sent the last ones to their doom and they were doing the same, and they would die alone, pained, and nameless.
He wished he had a name. Even a bad sort of name. Slag, that would be appropriate to be what he was and where he was going, but it would be something to put in the records. Slag, died…this day, this hour, this amount of pieces. Melted down for scrap and nothingness, born from rust and perished in rust.
Well, nothing that poetic. But he’d die all the same, as they would, and it was going to hurt, and every fiber of his being screamed that he didn’t want to go out this way. He wanted to live. Maybe settle down, work at an energon café, find a bondmate and have a protoform. Get out of this nasty war he hadn’t started and didn’t want and run away from all of them.
He decided to devote his life to having a life, if he got out of this alive. Which he wouldn’t, just like the other Starscream clones. But it was for him—for Slag, because he was going to be Slag even if he was going to be slag—because it was something to live for. And he wanted to live.
Did that make sense?
7. Strangers Like Me – Phil Collins
Dinobot was born to be a Predacon, even if he didn’t know it at the time. He heard little drips and drops of what the Decepticons had been like at their moment of glory, and even in the desecrated ruins he saw what had once been beauty beyond any Maximal’s crude creation.
So he read voraciously, trading his savings for censored texts and illegal weapons installations. He risked jail just by walking the streets with what was in his CPU and he thrived on that thrill, that little rebellion.
And when Megatron came along—Megatron, beauty and the pinnacle of Predacon heritage—Dinobot had fallen for him as gently and inevitably as a leaf in the wind. Megatron would bring them back their honor.
8. A Most Peculiar Man
“Angst is not my color. Well, it wouldn’t be if my color was anything but blue. Maybe I should get repainted to something a little less depressing.
I mean, I’m not Dead End or anything. I don’t actually go out declaring my own doom, unless it’s actually there, which it is sometimes but that’s not really my fault. I just work here, you know?
Always I just work here. Me and the Sweeps. We’re here, nobody sees us, nobody cares. I could make them care, but that wouldn’t really be my color either.
Maybe I need a hobby that involves less sitting alone in dark rooms. Golf. Yeah, I could pull off golf.”
9. Belladonna and Aconite--Inkubus Sukkubus
There was a Cybertronian legend about a mech who drove so fast he outran time itself. In a spiritual sort of fast, not actually pushing it past some sort of ephemeral speed time barrier, but he did it. That was that you did when you had a problem that wouldn’t leave your mind, you kept moving. Meditation centered you, the speed swept your problems away on the wind.
The movement cleared Prowl’s head more cleanly than meditation anyway. He focused on his body, on the air, on the crickets and night birds around him, and found out where he was to the exclusion of all else.
Maybe, thought Prowl, he’d find that sweet spot in the universe, the right flow of wind over his body as he leapt through the trees, and the dull itch that craved power would be nothing more than dust on the breeze. And if not he’d keep running, keep leaping and clinging to branches until he wore himself into blissful unconsciousness.
10. No Day But Today – RENT
Scourge made Cyclonus smile, and for that he considered himself worth something. He cared, he would mourn if he was shot down on some forsaken world and having a mourner was more than most Decepticons would find once that final shot extinguished their spark.
Cyclonus thought about his death more than he’d want to let on, and he pictured Galvatron furious at his unauthorized abandonment, augmented by a somber ‘huh’ from the troops. But Scourge would bring his corpse back to the base for him, and as the new second he’d have to deal with Galvatron’s rage—would Galvatron be sad that he was dead, or only upset that he was gone? Cyclonus wished him the best either way.
He was never afraid to die for his cause. A warrior’s death was the most any Decepticon could hope for. But with Scourge there he didn’t worry as much about what would happen next. He would have his mourner and his scant but honored funeral pyre.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it’s over. No lingering afterwards!
4. Do ten of these, then post them.
1. Cat and the Fiddle - Heather Alexander
Blitzwing loved to dance.
A lot.
Most mechs filled up their database allotment with pornography, or music tracks, or historical artifacts. Or the first disguised as one of the latter two. But Blitzwing’s third’s third was devoted to dancing, jigging, Riverdance, waltzes, tangos—so much tango—and endless black and white films of strange humans managing to dance on the ceiling through some deceptive camera trick.
Blitzwing filmed himself dancing too, if only so he could review it afterwards. It was deleted out of embarrassment every time he captured the images, but he filmed it anyway just so he could see himself moving, swaying, the bangles around his wrists jangling in time with the fiddles and drums. He could be beautiful if he wanted to. He had fun so the other two wouldn’t have to show themselves as childish. He compensated, so they wouldn’t have to be weak.
2. That’s Where I Belong – Paul Simon
Flight was freedom, flight was everything to a Decepticon.
Freedom, defined by a foolish leader as breaking off one’s chains and seizing power by the throat until it bowed to your will. Freedom, defined by the true warriors, was diving through the dawn mist, dancing wing in wing in circles arcing up to the clouds, laughing for the sheer joy of freedom and life.
They belonged in the skies. The skies belonged to them by creation-right. The thrill of breaking the atmosphere barely rivaled the sensation of freefalling to their own deaths before pulling up again and shrieking through the clouds at speeds that might make a human pass out in terror.
Freedom was that little period right before and after dawn, when you could see the light growing across the plains until it touched the tip of your horns.
3. 15 Men on a Dead Man’s Chest – Michal Longcor
(Note: This is a piratey AU sort of thing, by way of this fic. May not make sense.)
Scourge liked his job. Not that job, not the one with the swordfightings and the ropepullings and so on, although that one had its perks. He liked the job he had after hours, when the crew passed the rum around and listened to his stories, all of which were true. For a certain definition of true, anyway, and it wasn’t their business to care whether they were true or not.
For murder stories he could be as gory as the real thing, sometimes worse. They’d all seen the color of a man’s intestines but it was so much more interesting when you compared it to something else. For the bawdy ones he made up things that were impossible and the men muttered that he couldn’t possibly have done that with that many women in such a small closet—but they listened anyway, because they had that tiny doubt and wanted to hear more. For the ghost stories he could make his voice as raspy as a death rattle, although he saved those for last. They gave him a sore throat and it was hard to be imposing when he couldn’t talk.
His half-breed heritage got him a lot of stares back home, and it got him a lot of stares here. But here it only made him the more terrifying, the more interesting, the more credible, because a man out of two worlds could see twice as more in a singe lifetime and make it all seem true. And so what if it wasn’t?
4. Too Much Love Will Kill You – Queen
People needed to stop envying him his position. Most people with sense didn’t want to be second-in-command, that just made you the most obvious target when Galvatron went on his rages. Third in command got the perks without the beating.
Yeah, no.
Scourge’s place was at the back of the line. His love went to Cyclonus, Cyclonus’ adoration went to Galvatron, Galvatron’s desires turned around and went right back to Galvatron and it left Scourge standing awkwardly in the corner and going back to the monitor room by himself.
He never made a big deal of it, that would be annoying and suicide on top of it. Galvatron would laugh if he didn’t shoot him, and Cyclonus would probably be too resentful to meet his gaze ever again, let alone sleep with him. The situation as it was could be dealt with as long as he played the faithful friend and helped Cyclonus repair himself when Galvatron hurt him. Spoke for him when he couldn’t speak. Gave him more than Galvatron could, and accepted that he would always be less.
5. The Last Saskatchewan Pirate – Arrogant Worms
“Canada. Really, who goes to Canada? Who’s ever heard of Canada being important?”
“Our mighty leader demands we find the Allspark fragment. We shall invade Canada and take its power for our own!”
“It’s Canada. It has mooses. Are ve bringing back a moose for Megatron?”
“Silence, Blitzwing!”
Blitzwing abruptly flipped over in the air and flew upside down before his common sense took over and turned him rightway up again. “It should be easy enough—or not.”
Upside down again. “Autobot alert! Man ze cannons!”
Because, of course, hijacking a plane was out of the question. Far too illegal, and not worth the effort to break in for two Decepticons. And Fanzone already knew which ships were insured by Powell Industries and would be mourned by none. So now the SS Autobot/SS Bumblebee Is Awesome/SS Magnifique was bring guns around to blast Blitzwing out of the sky.
Blitzwing, moments before turning flamethrowers on the ship, wondered what in the world the Autobots were wearing on their heads. And why they had a tiny skull painted on the prow.
6. Nemo—Nightwish
It was horrific, knowing you were created to die. The other didn’t see it, they were demented or cocksure, but he knew. Starscream had sent the last ones to their doom and they were doing the same, and they would die alone, pained, and nameless.
He wished he had a name. Even a bad sort of name. Slag, that would be appropriate to be what he was and where he was going, but it would be something to put in the records. Slag, died…this day, this hour, this amount of pieces. Melted down for scrap and nothingness, born from rust and perished in rust.
Well, nothing that poetic. But he’d die all the same, as they would, and it was going to hurt, and every fiber of his being screamed that he didn’t want to go out this way. He wanted to live. Maybe settle down, work at an energon café, find a bondmate and have a protoform. Get out of this nasty war he hadn’t started and didn’t want and run away from all of them.
He decided to devote his life to having a life, if he got out of this alive. Which he wouldn’t, just like the other Starscream clones. But it was for him—for Slag, because he was going to be Slag even if he was going to be slag—because it was something to live for. And he wanted to live.
Did that make sense?
7. Strangers Like Me – Phil Collins
Dinobot was born to be a Predacon, even if he didn’t know it at the time. He heard little drips and drops of what the Decepticons had been like at their moment of glory, and even in the desecrated ruins he saw what had once been beauty beyond any Maximal’s crude creation.
So he read voraciously, trading his savings for censored texts and illegal weapons installations. He risked jail just by walking the streets with what was in his CPU and he thrived on that thrill, that little rebellion.
And when Megatron came along—Megatron, beauty and the pinnacle of Predacon heritage—Dinobot had fallen for him as gently and inevitably as a leaf in the wind. Megatron would bring them back their honor.
8. A Most Peculiar Man
“Angst is not my color. Well, it wouldn’t be if my color was anything but blue. Maybe I should get repainted to something a little less depressing.
I mean, I’m not Dead End or anything. I don’t actually go out declaring my own doom, unless it’s actually there, which it is sometimes but that’s not really my fault. I just work here, you know?
Always I just work here. Me and the Sweeps. We’re here, nobody sees us, nobody cares. I could make them care, but that wouldn’t really be my color either.
Maybe I need a hobby that involves less sitting alone in dark rooms. Golf. Yeah, I could pull off golf.”
9. Belladonna and Aconite--Inkubus Sukkubus
There was a Cybertronian legend about a mech who drove so fast he outran time itself. In a spiritual sort of fast, not actually pushing it past some sort of ephemeral speed time barrier, but he did it. That was that you did when you had a problem that wouldn’t leave your mind, you kept moving. Meditation centered you, the speed swept your problems away on the wind.
The movement cleared Prowl’s head more cleanly than meditation anyway. He focused on his body, on the air, on the crickets and night birds around him, and found out where he was to the exclusion of all else.
Maybe, thought Prowl, he’d find that sweet spot in the universe, the right flow of wind over his body as he leapt through the trees, and the dull itch that craved power would be nothing more than dust on the breeze. And if not he’d keep running, keep leaping and clinging to branches until he wore himself into blissful unconsciousness.
10. No Day But Today – RENT
Scourge made Cyclonus smile, and for that he considered himself worth something. He cared, he would mourn if he was shot down on some forsaken world and having a mourner was more than most Decepticons would find once that final shot extinguished their spark.
Cyclonus thought about his death more than he’d want to let on, and he pictured Galvatron furious at his unauthorized abandonment, augmented by a somber ‘huh’ from the troops. But Scourge would bring his corpse back to the base for him, and as the new second he’d have to deal with Galvatron’s rage—would Galvatron be sad that he was dead, or only upset that he was gone? Cyclonus wished him the best either way.
He was never afraid to die for his cause. A warrior’s death was the most any Decepticon could hope for. But with Scourge there he didn’t worry as much about what would happen next. He would have his mourner and his scant but honored funeral pyre.
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no subject
Date: 2008-07-19 12:45 am (UTC)Great all around. <3 Very fun meme, yes? ^_^
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Date: 2008-07-19 02:06 am (UTC)Most of this turned out stream of consciousness, as I'm not good at plotting on my feet.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-19 12:55 am (UTC)I really, really liked these. They were good. (And it made me happy to know that I wasn't the only person who listened to some of these songs ^_^; )
My favorite was...a tie between...10 and 3. Though really I liked all of them.
9 and 1 (that's supposed to be a 2, I think *shrugs*) were really, really nice to read. Both of them were sort of...light while at the same time there was this really heavy weight sitting over the both of them that you could only just feel.
6 and 4 were sad in different ways. 6 was a sort of hopeless depression that doesn't really fit as sad because...it's hopeless and depressing but not said and I'm not making much sense, sorry ^^;. 4 was...well I just felt sorry for Scourge and that last sentence of yours, for that one, (all of them really but that one and 6 the most) were really...'nice' isn't the right word but writing wise they were great.
...is it wrong to like a writer mainly because their last sentences are pretty much always awesome? (On top of great characterization and being really good at catching moods and scenes...)
Yeah, shutting up now. Sorry ^^;
I liked them all! Really!
(Reply to this)
no subject
Date: 2008-07-19 01:07 am (UTC)3. I really do like the piratey AU, it's far too much fun to play around in.
6. Do know what you mean there. Not sad so much as inevitable despair.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-19 02:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-20 04:41 pm (UTC)I have mentioned before how much I love Scourge when you write him, yes? Adding Blitzwing to that.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-20 05:08 pm (UTC)