Author's note: This story was written in response to the "Use this Line" challenge on The Padded Cell. The line I chose was "One Monty Python quote and I'll rip off your manifold." This one-shot turned into a multi-chapter story, since most readers wanted a continuation of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's antics. Enjoy! Comments and critiques are appreciated.
Transformers et. al. belong to HasTak, not me. I write for amusement.
Ironhide was in the medbay when it started. A loud metallic clank echoed through the hallway outside Ratchet's domain, followed by another…then another. The old warrior and medic exchanged a glance that left neither the wiser to the commotion, then they both succumbed to curiosity and went to peer out into the wide hallway. "What the oil-drenched drain pan?" Ironhide exclaimed.
Sideswipe trudged down the large orange corridor pushing a makeshift wheel-cart in front of him, grinning furiously. The cart was shoddily constructed out of rusted junk, barely able to wheel down the level hallway without an audio-twisting number of clicks, squeaks and jitters. Every few astroseconds he would beat an Autobot-sized cowbell and call out. As the red Lamborghini moved closer, Ironhide was able to make out what Sideswipe was chanting.
CLANK "Bring out your dead!"
CLANK "Bring out your dead!"
"What is he doing?" whispered Ratchet to Ironhide, intensely confounded. Ironhide could only shrug, causing the medic to duck back inside the bay, muttering Cybertronian curses under his breath. Ironhide leaned against the doorframe, curious.
CLANK "Bring out your dead!"
"Here's one." With that line, Sunstreaker appeared from a side hallway carrying a very un-amused Gears. The Minibot, draped over Sunstreaker's left shoulder with his arms bound, was feebly struggling and looked to be monstrously unhappy to have been caught up in whatever the Twins were doing this time.
"Nine pence," replied Sideswipe, holding out one hand.
"I'm not dead," protested Gears, attempting to break out of Sunstreaker's grasp.
"What?" Sideswipe peered over the cart at Sunstreaker.
"Nothing, here's your nine pence." Juggling the Minibot on his shoulder, Sunstreaker mimed taking something out of subspace and handing it to Sideswipe.
"I'm not dead," repeated Gears, more insistently. He kicked once before Sunstreaker rather emphatically stilled the draped Minibot's feet.
"Here, he says he's not dead," argued Sideswipe, still subspacing the "something" but proceeding to start the cart back down the hall. Sunstreaker deftly stepped in front of the cart, blocking its path.
"Yes he is," insisted Sunstreaker, waving one arm in mock ferocity.
"I'm not," began Gears, but was quieted by a not-too-gentle nudge from Sunstreaker.
"He isn't?" queried Sideswipe loudly, not quite hiding his grin at the proceedings.
"Well, he will be soon, he's very ill," countered Sunstreaker, getting into the spirit of the game. It was FUN to torture Minibots, Gears in particular, who was inadvertently playing along so very nicely…up to this point.
Gears had had enough. "Let me DOWN!" He kicked violently, raising his bound arms up and bringing them down with a loud THUMP on Sunstreaker's back. Sunstreaker scowled. NOW things just became Unfunny: that was a new paint job! The Twins paused, then with a mischievous smirk to their rapt audience of one confused Ironhide, Sideswipe clonked Gears on his reset relay, rendering the struggling Autobot unconscious. Sunstreaker unceremoniously dumped the red-blue Minibot in the cart and turned to his brother.
"That didn't go well, bro," he observed, dusting off his hands and twisting to try and get a look at his back. "He didn't stick to the script!" The two Lamborghini twins traipsed down the hallway, leaving Gears and the cart right outside of medbay.
"Better luck next time, I guess," consoled Sideswipe.
Aha, thought Ironhide, returning to medbay, movie night was last night.
oOoOo
Red Alert frantically summoned Ironhide to his observation station the next day; rousing the grumbling warrior from a rather pleasant recharge session. "What's got your sensors in a knot this time?" grumbled Ironhide. He wasn't too fond of Red Alert, no one was, but he was duty-bound to respond to any…and all… of Red's calls.
Red Alert called up the front approach monitor. "Look!" he cried, pointing out a cloud of dust. "What are they doing?!?"
Ironhide took the seat next to Red Alert and peered at the monitor. Far, far out near the horizon, a dust cloud approached the front entryway to the Ark. It was one of the Lamborghini Twins, Ironhide would bet his next ration of Energon on it. He couldn't tell which one, but it was approaching fast, the dust cloud growing in size. He was about to turn the screen off when Red Alert stopped him. "Red, it's just one of the twins driving back here."
"No, no, no, you don't understand! Look!" Red cried, grabbing Ironhide's arm and pointing back to the main screen.
Ironhide suppressed a sigh, reclaimed his arm, and dutifully looked at the main camera angle. He wiped his optics and looked again. The dust cloud was again on the verge of the horizon, farther out than just a few microseconds before, approaching fast. As Ironhide watched, the cloud again increased in size, obviously one of the Twins but indeterminate as to which one. "What the?"
"No, don't look away!" cried Red Alert as the two mechs met optics. "Slag it!"
Ironhide and Red Alert both looked back up at the screen. The approaching Lamborghini dust cloud was back on the horizon's edge, approaching fast. Red Alert's helm sensors went into overload, sparking and blazing a variety of colored flashes. "No…not possible…they're driving me crazy…"
Ironhide was NOT amused to have to drag the Security director to medbay and Ratchet's tender mercies. Amazingly, both Twins met him at the door to the observation station with enormous grins on their faces. One look at the aggravation on Ironhide's face and Red Alert's fritzing condition decided them. "Run away, run away!" they cried heartily, prancing…yes, prancing down the hallway.
oOoOo
Ironhide found the movie still in the player, the case tossed carelessly on the table in the Dayroom. It was almost always bad news when the Twins got their hands on a new movie. This one was no exception. "'Monty Python and the Holy Grail.' Humans have the strangest ideas of humor," he rumbled, replacing the movie in its case and placing it back on the shelf with similar movies. "How long is this trend going to last?" he grumbled, tromping to Teletran-1's bay for his second shift in a row. Red Alert was still in medbay, and Ironhide was mightily irritated to have to pull both his and Red's duties because the Twins found a new hobby.
oOoOo
Clop-clop, clop-clop
Clop-clop, clop-clop
Clop-clop, clop-clop
Oh, Primus. Ironhide could not believe his sensors. Sideswipe came skipping up the hall into Teletran-1's main bay, one hand held limp-wristed in front of him as if holding an imaginary set of reins. What was even more amazing was the sight of a slightly hunched over Bluestreak, following closely behind, banging two halves of some sort of Earth nutshell together. That's what was making the noise. Sideswipe came to a halt a few feet from Ironhide and held up his other hand, causing Bluestreak to halt with a great clatter of nutshell halves. Sideswipe opened his mouth…
"One 'Monty Python' quote and I'll rip off your manifold," threatened Ironhide, too irritated to even TRY and figure out where this particular scene was going. He spun back around to face Teletran's screen, keeping one sensor on the two jokers.
Sideswipe visibly judged his options. Coming to a conclusion, he shrugged, motioned to Bluestreak and, with much clattering of nut halves, skipped back out of Teletran's bay. Ironhide pinched his temple plates between his fingers. He hoped the next new movie would be a nice, solemn drama.