Flashback - Capture the Flag - [Closed]

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(( Guardian shenanigans! So obvs before the War broke out. 7th and 14th will be teaming up for a mission, etc. Guessing at a lot of technical stuff, feel free to poke me for edits; Neko especially <33 ))

Blackness.

It stretched out in all directions; a vast ocean of silence and space, its bacterial life little twinkling stars in the distance riding the tides of interstellar dust and methane clouds, lulled this way and that by the gentle pull of gravity. Whole solar systems serving as great titanium reefs, and this little ship swimming through it all as not but an undisturbed visitor in the home of the universe.

The great gas giants of N7-I813 loomed with an odd balance of welcome an--

"Primus fraggit, Backdraft, quit narratin' the flight!"

Dusk roared, the laughter bursting from him like water built up behind gates, rich and deep and unrestrained. The affectionate shove from 'Draft had bent him over his seat's arm rest, leaving Dusk to lazily sprawl with the momentum of the shove into a heap of giggles. "Aw c'mon, Drem, that was fairly poetic don't you think?"

"What Ah think," Drem said over the intercoms, in a completely different section of the ship, "Izzat Backdraft should be concentratin' on keepin' this ship in orbit an' not sucked into a gas giant an' YOU shouldn' be distractin' 'im. Y'ain't even s'posed t'be up there!"

-"I had lost myself in Backdraft's delicate prose."
"It was some pretty damn good narratin'." Backdraft puffed out his chassis.
-"Yes it was!"

In the other pilot's seat sat the calm and serene Corona, the grayish white of his undermesh catching the gleam from the monitors and light of the sun through the front shield, highlighting the greens and blues of his overplaying. "Be nice, Dusk. You know how he gets when we host." He was also forever one of the main peace keepers within the 7th.

Dusk merely raised his hands in surrender, sliding from his seat with a lopsided grin. He said nothing else as he exited the pilot's 'pit, only the sounds of restrained giggles and skipping steps in his wake tailing his exit. Only left a quick little note across frequencies: //Love you, Drem.//, before going about his business. Good-sparked and sincere, it was one of the qualities about Dusk that (usually) left Dremel, no matter how much grumbling involved, with a small smirk. Just like now.

They all handled joint-missions differently, but without a doubt they was almost always an undertone of excitement to everyone's field. Especially when those joining up were of the 12th or 14th. For this particular pickle, though, it was the 14th.

Dusk moved his way towards the bridge where he could view from the screens essentially a window of what was happening on the outside. The great orangeish gas giant loomed in the distance as they pulled closer to one of its 30 moons. The moon itself held little to no life, but filled with useful resources. The issue: they weren't the only tech savvy species seeking to harvest them. Their orders: to secure it for Cybertron.

He flopped his mass back against the railing, elbows slung over to support himself. His servos itched with a great number of things he'd gotten used to: eagerness most of all. He loved the rush of it all, loved being on the ground and able to stretch out and move and shove himself to his limits with his mates. That was where his interests were, more than the fire fighting itself. That was something he never wished for, because it always ended badly for both sides. But that was where the plan came in: combine forces, make themselves look intimidating, make fighting look like less an option for the enemy.

Shoulder joints popped nicely as he stretched them, readjusting the plating of his armor around himself as he stood back up. The details would be covered when the 14th arrived, a brief meeting to sit through, and then they'd take off after grouping. For now though, it was the idea of catching up with a couple 14s that kept him dancing on his pedes.

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After a brief search, Short Fuse found him in the very back of the ship, cozied up against a window in the corner. The window's ledge, having not been designed for sitting upon, was far too narrow for even his slime frame to fit entirely, so one leg was left to dangle while the other was pulled close to his chassis and held in place by his loosely slung-together arms. His gaze was fixed on the window, or rather, what laid beyond it. He watched, seemingly transfixed, as all the planets and stars and moons which were so familiar to him began to shrink and fade away into the distance.

He looked to be so distracted by the sight, Short Fuse wondered whether he had even noticed his entrance into the room at all. The possibility that the quiet little mech hadn't made Short fuse grin. Maybe he'd finally be able to sneak up on the little twerp. He managed a single step, then his fantasy was struck down before it could even truly begin.

“Evenin' Fuse.” Came a quiet voice from the corner. It's owner didn't even bother looking up.

Short Fuse threw his hands up and cursed, then abandoned his previous attempt at stealth in favor of stomping over to the red and white ball of metal that had adhered itself to the window.

“Every time. Every time. Y'don't got t'live up t'your name every klik, Red Alert.” He said with a melodramatic huff.

“M'not tryin' to.” The red and white mech replied lightly. “Yer steps are jus' as subtle as a punch t'the head is all.” 'Cos yer a great big clumsy wreckin' ball' Was implied, not stated, but said great big clumsy wrecking ball caught on regardless.

“I'll show you a punch t'the head you little smart-aft!” Short Fuse replied with a vicious grin, before promptly seizing his younger cohort in a head-lock with one arm and noogie-ing the absolute hell out of the top of his helm with his free hand.

Red Alert, trapped between the window and Short Fuse's considerable bulk, had no chance of avoiding the dreadful attack. He could do little more than curse and flail and tug futilely at the older-mech's arm, which refused to release the vice-grip it had around his neck.

“Fraggit, Fuse, I'm too old for this! I'm not a newspark anym---Oi, watch it!”

Short Fuse let out a low chuckle before finally releasing the younger mech, who glared daggers at him for a brief moment, before reaching up to rub the soreness out of his poor abused helm.

“Ach, c'mon, Red. I was jus' havin' a bit a laugh, dinnae get y'wires in a twist.” Short Fuse said with a jaunty smile. Said smile faded when the younger mech did not ease up on his death-glare. Sighing in a manner which suggested he was being very put upon, Short Fuse slumped his shoulders and favored Red Alert with a theatrically woebegone look.

“Alright, yeh, I'll admit it: tha' might've been a tad uncalled for.”

Red Alert simply raised an optic ridge at him, waiting for him to continue.

“...Aaan' I'm mebbe possibly sorry?”

The other optic ridge joined the first. Short Fuse sighed another long, overly-dramatic sigh, looking for all the world like a chastised sparkling.

“An' I promise t'never do it again 'less I forget or yer really askin' for it---an' dinnae give me tha' look, you know I cannae help m'self!” Fuse threw his hands up in the air, then gestured towards Red Alert with broad sweeping hand-motions, as if that would somehow help his argument.

Red Alert rolled his optics and pressed his lips together to keep himself from smirking. “Is there a reason y'came t'see me, Fuse?” he asked, deciding to let the matter drop and simply change the subject before Fuse actually blew a fuse.

The black and orange mech paused for a moment, taken off guard by the abrupt subject change, but after a few seconds he perked up, his face slitting into a wide grin.

“Ach, Primus, I nearly clean forgot! We're gonna be dockin' with the 7th in a bit. Jus' thought you might fancy a bit of a preview of some of mecha yer gonna meet, afore you meet 'em.”

Before Red Alert could even open his mouth to reply, Short Fuse had already begun his little preview speech.

“Lessee, there's Dremel---he's this great big fragger with a hot-pink paint-job, cannae miss him. Like's dancin' and blowin' things t'bits, usually does both at the same time. Then there's Dusk, he's a mean sonofa glitch, you'll want t'steer clear a'him. Punch ya just for lookin' at him funny, he will. An' let me tell you, tha's a hard thing to do, not lookin' at him funny, cos the mech's got a face like a welder's bench an' he's got this wanderin' optic tha' rolls 'round in his head an'---”

It was at this point Red Alert stopped taking a single word the other mech said seriously, as it was quite clear his older cohort was just having him on. Despite this, Red Alert indulged Short Fuse in his twisted little narration, nodding occasionally and feigning interest whenever the other mech paused his wild gesticulations to see if he was paying attention. Short Fuse managed to continue making up ludicrous (and rather unflattering) descriptions of the mecha of the 7th for a grand total of nine and a half kliks, at which point his blatant lies were halted---not by a lack of creativity on his part, but by their timely arrival at their destination. Upon glancing out the window behind Red Alert and catching his first glimpse of the 7th's ship, Short Fuse's face lit up like a supernova, and he all but dragged his younger cohort out of the room and down the halls at break-neck speed, leading him by the arm to the docking-bay, despite Red Alert's numerous protests that he knew where they were going and that there was no reason to rush.

Once they finally reached the docking-bay, which was quickly filling up with the rest of their cohort, Red Alert (who was understandably frazzled by being more or less bodily-hauled through the ship by a giddy, giggling-maniac) took a moment to regain his composure and reacquaint himself with his sense of equilibrium. Though the crowd was growing more and more dense by the second, he could still see Sky Breaker's massive build at the front of the bay-doors, waiting patiently for the 7th to allow them on-board their ship.

Beside him, Short Fuse waited not-so- patiently, rocking back and forth on his heels and practically vibrating with excitement.

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By the time the ship announced the 14th's arrival (with a loud thud of docks sealing together), most of the 7th were on the bridge. The young ones were mostly all on the floor, while a few of the older ones hung their elbows over the railing, watching with half smirks and smiles as their brothers in arms prepared to board. One would have thought a massive grotesquery was about to appear through those triple-locked doors, but this was an occasion. Not that it was uncommon to work with those of another squadron, but it was nevertheless exciting. They were, in some ways, like extended cohort. Especially the 14th.

"Y' 'bout 'es 'cited 'es a new spark." The accent was thick and rich with cultures that told his age. Quickstep lumbered up behind Dusk, an ironically large mech covered in rusty red and dull golds. His field was open, inviting, one of the longest wavelengths of their cohort. It enveloped him like a solid embrace.

"It's an excitin' time." Dusk said, leaning his head to grin up at him and moved to clap a hand on his shoulder. "I hear there'll be a new spark, though. One o' 'is first big 'things', y'know? Remember yours?"

"Don' we all?"

At that moment, the doors of the dock hissed open on either side, exposing a short passage with a dozen or so Guardians on the other side, now making their way through. And all at once it happened like two colliding asteroids: thuds and clunks and sounds reverberating throughout the chamber as two Squadrons mixed seamlessly. Quickstep hung back, finding his way with one armed and two armed hugs. Dusk himself was mixed in with head buts and chest bumps and arm claps, addressing those he's met before and introducing himself to those he hasn't.

And as the initial crowd began to disperse, he was able to feel through one spark resonance in particular, housed in the body of a black and orange mech. "'Fuse! Fuse y' big orange fragger, get over here!" Dusk shifted foreword to envelope Short Fuse in a great hug, noting only after he pulled away how familiar the youngling standing beside him seemed. Couldn't quite pin down his field or frame, though. "Don't think I met you before… have I?"

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Though he couldn't quite explain why, Red Alert found his posture shifting slightly as the doors separating the two ships hissed open. His back strut straightened, his shoulders squared themselves, seemingly of their own volition, and overall he stood just a little bit taller than he usually did.

He attributed this to his wanting to make a good first impression on the other squadron, and not at all on how very small he suddenly felt. That in and of itself was a strange feeling, considering he lived with mecha who towered over him, and yet he had never felt anything remotely like the strange nervousness that overcame him at the thought of coming face to face with these unfamiliar mecha.

Rather than expand upon it, Red Alert dismissed this strange feeling as the standard nervousness and uncertainty one typically felt when presented with a new experience. This was, after all, quite the first for him---he had never met, much less interacted with mecha outside his cohort before.

This thought did not quite occur to him until he was standing in the 7th's ship, having been pushed and pulled along by his cohort as they flooded into the room to greet the mecha they knew and acquaint themselves with those they did not. Watching them, the thought—or more accurately, the realization---that he had never met anyone outside his cohort before and thus did not know how to properly interact with them, hit him like the recoil from a canon.

Alarm flared through him in that instant, and he found himself at a complete loss for what to do. Glancing around, he saw mecha embracing, giving playful shoves, clapping each other on the shoulder, and preforming numerous other greetings and gestures of affection with which he was familiar. Nothing he saw was a foreign concept to him; that was not the problem. The problem was he didn't know what he was supposed to do. He didn't know what sort of response he was supposed to give. Was he supposed to just...walk up to someone and headbutt them? He balked at the idea of hugging someone he had never met; it just didn't seem appropriate. If anything it seemed invasive; grabbing a stranger without knowing whether they would welcome the action or not sounded to him like a terribly ill-advised thing to do.

He considered the idea of just...walking up to someone and introducing himself, but he didn't want to interrupt anyone while they were busy reacquainting themselves with someone else. That, and he found the idea of trying to strike up a conversation with someone without knowing if they even wanted to talk to him in the first place to be a bit intimidating.

These and numerous other concerns raced through his mind as he stood, seemingly rooted to the spot where he had halted when he first realized he had no idea what social etiquette was supposed to be applied in the situation he found himself in. He glanced anxiously about the room, looking just as lost as he felt, before his optics settled upon Short Fuse's black and orange frame. He immediately latched onto that familiar sight, his legs taking him to his older cohort before he could really even think about what he was doing. Before he could call out to the other mech, however, Short Fuse's attention was taken away by a voice calling out his name. Upon seeing the owner of said voice, Short Fuse grinned crookedly and threw out his arms.

“Well, frag me sideways! Look who it is!” He laughed, returning the other mech's embrace with a crushing grip which really was not necessary.

Red Alert, meanwhile, had shifted directly behind Short Fuse, who had yet to notice his living-shadow, who was doing his level best to hide avoiding calling undue attention to himself. Unfortunately, he was not successful in this endeavor, and the mech with whom Short Fuse had just spoke took notice of him. Though he would later deny it, Red Alert's optics brightened in mild panic, and he dawned an expression usually used by deer caught in headlights.

“Ah...” Fantastic. The first word out of his mouth wasn't even a word. “ ...No?”

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Why, yes, of course he had. He just didn't know where. Or when, he thought. Yes, it was perhaps definitely maybe a when situation. Something about the optics, the way they went wide and bright when he was noticed. Then again, that could just be the youngling jitters talking. But he decided not to press it (at least not right this second); the poor little thing look terrified enough as it was.

"No?" He turned to Short Fuse, having kept one hand on his shoulder after the embrace, and playfully swatted the orange bot in his abdominal plating. "Well wha're you doin' with your head up your aft? Not introducin' us. Primus." More playful jabs; as if Dusk wasn't going to just introduce himself anyway. "We'll have to remedy this!" His field leapt out, all welcome and warmth to bring the new face in. "Designation: Dusk. This one hasn't been givin' you problems, has 'e?" His hand moved from Fuse's shoulder to his helm, grinning. "Y' got a name?" Naming happened differently for different cohorts, different mechs; some served on missions a few times until they were named, others earlier. So glyphs for yet lingered in his field after he spoke, curiously venturing.

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Short Fuse stumbled backwards a step as Dusk gave him that playful-swat, doubling over slightly as if he had been struck much harder then he actually had been. He 'recovered' quickly however, and was standing upright again with a slag-eating-grin mere seconds later. His attention shifted then, from Dusk to his younger cohort, as the former attempted to introduce himself to the latter. Now, Short Fuse was, by his own admission, not the sharpest blade in the armory, but he knew how to read his own cohort, and Red Alert practically had the words“I am uncomfortable” written all over his face.

It was an expression which, Short Fuse realized, he probably should have expected. They had, after all, tossed an introvert into a room with a bunch of boisterous, casually affectionate mecha he had never met before; he was bound to be a little uneasy.

Realizing this, perhaps a tad too late, Short Fuse gave his younger cohort a knowing look, the edges of his grin softening slightly in sympathy. 'You're over-thinkin' things again aren't you?' his expression seemed to ask. It was an unspoken question to which Red Alert did not respond. Instead, the red and white mech focused his attention on Dusk, who's name spawned images from Short Fuse's earlier ramble. The mech before him and the mech who had been described were so completely different Red Alert found himself unable to hold back an amused smirk, which would have been accompanied by a laugh, were he not trying so hard to make a decent first impression.

“Red Alert.” He said, with the faintest hint of pride in his voice. Earning his name had been a fairly recent accomplishment, and he still found himself beaming a little whenever it was brought up.

“It's, ah, nice t'meet you, Dusk. Fuse's told me a lot about you.” He added, carefully neglecting to mention that everything he was told were either lies or gross exaggerations.