Meme: Disheveled
Universe: G1
Warnings: Buckets and buckets of femmes. Also playing fast and loose with the prompt, but I liked this idea too much to let it go, and I didn't have any better fitting ideas.
Summary: When two armies that have been operating independently for four million plus years converge, corporate culture clash is inevitable. Oh dear.

Guest Starring in Order of Appearance:
Aqua, by Flameshield
Springshift, by Staringsideways (image at the – gearsmith – (dot) deviantart (dot) com / art / Springshift – commission - 107580437
Sneakthief, by Fields of Heather
Tempest, by A Midnight Dreary
Wirecrash, by Quelara
Sparklight, by Misao-CG
Violet, by Hiezen

Knockout and Vaportrail are the canonical green and orange femmes respectively.

When the Autobots on Earth decided it was high time to build a more permanent fortress to better protect the planet and fend off the Decepticons, it also provided a unique opportunity to support the Contingent still fighting Shockwave on Cybertron. They could now have supplies, energy, and reinforcements delivered as needed. Even better, with communications set up again and resources offered generously, if not quite "freely" by the humans, the Contingent could potentially set up new bases and try new tactics not open to them before.

With such an important partnership between the Army and the Contingent, Elita thought it would be best to bring the femmes with battle skills most suited to helping the Army in their alien environment and administrative skills needed to help get Autobot City going and create a usable communication and transit schedule. What she (and Optimus) had forgotten was the effect her bringing quite a few of her own troops to Earth would do to the population ratio, and how said ratio would affect some of the mechs.

All of a sudden, the rare and elusive femmes were EVERWHERE.

For a species were a mech could literally go a lifetime (depending on the generation) only seeing a femme perhaps a few times, and never more than a handful at once if even that, this new development was almost mind boggling.

Sideswipe had yet to stop grinning.

"Hey there," he greeted with his patented I'm-so-cool-and-confidant grin as he sidled up next to a sleek, graceful blue and teal-green femme. Said femme didn't even look up at him, she just kept rifling through the files as she tried to catalogue the latest shipment.

"You know," Sideswipe went on undeterred, leaning down a little to catch her vision (and showing of a rather flattering angle of himself completely on accident, of course), "I don't think I've ever met a femme with such golden optics before. It's very…exotic."

"You don't say," she replied flatly.

"Mm-hm. By the way, I'm Sideswipe."

"I'm bonded."

"Hi there, you must be Moonracer. You're a lot cuter in person, did you know that?"

"What?"

Further conversation was cut off when the first femme reached over and yanked Sideswipe back with a firm grip on the back of his collar struts.

"GAAK! What the slag?!"

"If I might make a suggestion, there is a lovely green femme in the rec room right now I think you would get along fabulously with," she said smoothly, as if she had not just nearly choked the taller frontliner. Sideswipe rubbed the back of his neck with a grimace as he eyed her suspiciously, but he had to ask:

"What makes you say that?"

"Call it intuition. Her name's Knockout."

Sideswipe was gone in less than a klick.

Moonracer edged up next to the older femme nervously. "Um, Aqua? Was that really necessary? I could have handled him myself, considering all the practice I've had with Powerglide. You didn't really have to sic him onto Knockout like that."

"Sideswipe isn't going to hurt your friend," Sunstreaker spoke up in a bored tone from across the room, reminding everyone that yes, he was there too and still not happy about it. "He likes to flirt, but he won't lay a hand on her."

Moonracer looked over at Sunstreaker. "Well, I guess that's good and all, but Knockout isn't the one I was worried about."

Aqua smirked.

Meanwhile, Sideswipe was just barely restraining himself from skipping down the hall (because skipping was not cool and charming), still grinning like a loon as he imagined what this mystery femme must be like, because she would have to be a real looker to honestly have a name like 'Knockout'!

The rec room wasn't terribly crowded, and a little asking around quickly directed him to a table in the corner where two mechs and three femmes were having a little conversation. Of the three femmes, only one of them was green, and this was the one Sideswipe zeroed in on. However, it quickly became apparent that what's-her-face had misled him a bit on what to expect.

"Wait, so you're Knockout?" Sideswipe asked, not even bothering to hide his disappointment.

The still seated, extremely ordinary, unremarkable green and white femme with the odd external audio's raised an optic ridge.

"Yes, I am," she said archly. "Got a problem with it?"

"Eh, not really, I guess," Sideswipe said carelessly with a shrug, still sounding disappointed but resigned to the situation. "It's just that, with a name like 'Knockout,' I was expecting and actual knockout."

Hound and Mirage gave Sideswipe identical aghast expressions for his incredible tactlessness, while Glyph and Firestar slapped their servos over their optics in identical motions because they knew what was going to happen next.

Knockout calmly set her cube down, and slowly stood to her full height, which nearly reached to Sideswipes chin.

KA-POW!

Sideswipe never even saw the punch; next thing he knew, he was literally flying backwards across the room, landing hard on his back and skidding a few more yards before he came to a stop with a throbbing face, staring up at the lights that kept spinning around making pretty patterns.

Said patterns resolved themselves into an upside down white face flanked by pink shoulder mounts.

"Did you know that Knockout has specialized pistons built into her arms that multiply the force behind each of her punches by more than ten times?" Arcee asked pleasantly.

No, Sideswipe did not know that. He was going to tell her this just as soon as the room stopped spinning.

A doorwinged blue mech and a bulky green femme, who had twisted around to watch the show, settled back down on the couch in casual fashion.

"Toldja Knockout was gonna throw the first punch," Springshift said, leaning back against the couch with one arm slung across the back, the other holding a cube to her lips. Her shorter companion nodded in reluctant agreement.

"Shame though. This is what I get for depending too much on Sunstreakers predictable aggression," Smokescreen said. "You'll get your winnings after my shift tonight."

"Nice."

"GET BACK HERE YOU PSYCHOTIC LITTLE THIEF!"

"Now now Tracksy sweetie pie, it's not my fault you don't lock up your stuff better!"

Springshift and Smokescreen twisted around again as a dark blue and black femme shrieking in laughter ran for dear life away from an enraged blue corvette. The speedy, lithe Supply Officer Sneaktheif would zig zag, leap, twist, pivot, and general have a grand old time running literal circles around the seething Tracks, and in one pass the pair on the couch caught a glimpse of the prize she was keeping away from her pursuer.

"You know, I get vanity, but does anyone else think that Tracks is over reacting just a little for a bit of wax?" Springshift questioned incredulously.

"Not when you consider that it's Pure Crystallian-light wax," Smokescreen noted, watching the pair jump over the still fallen Sideswipe. "Even during the Golden Age that stuff was rare and expensive, and ever since the manufacturers were either destroyed or converted to war prodution, no more have been made. The stuff is practically priceless, for anyone who cares for that kind of thing."

Springshift stared at him. "….How the flaming pit do you know about that about slagging wax??"

"I kept a small storage of it for trading purposes. You wouldn't believe the favors Tracks had to trade to get that little tub there."

"Ah."

They ducked in opposite directions as Sneakthief leapt over the couch like a champion athlete, leaving the heavier Tracks to take the long way around.

"…Double or nothing Tracks wins this little confrontation of theirs?" Smokescreen proposed. Springshift raised an optic ridge at him.

"You sure? The only reason Tracks even knows she has his precious wax is because Sneakthief is playing around with him. The klick she gets bored of it, she's going to disappear into thin air and Tracks is going to find the stuff back in his room in the exact same place he left it this morning. Pit, I've seen her do it half a dozen times back home."

Smokescreen shrugged. "Is it so wrong for me to have a little faith in Tracks persistence? He won't be so easy to shake off."

Springshift considered, and then held a hand out. "Double or nothing then."

They shook on it just as Sneakthief led the merry chase out of the rec room and back to the halls.

"Seriously though, Smokey, what makes you so sure Tracks has any chance at catching Sneakthief?" Springshift asked.

"Because, my dear, Tracks is a smart bot and he's going to realize sooner than later that he can fly a lot faster than she can run."

"….Well frag."

Laughter and curses reverberated far down the hall, and Vaportrail caught the blue and black blurs running past the open door. The former Towers femme made a static sound of high-class disgust.

"How immature," she sniffed.

"You get used to stuff like this after awhile. I don't think anyone else even notices anymore."

"You have my sincere condolences then," Vaportrail said sincerely. But then she started, and looked around the decidedly empty room. Who was that just speaking now?

"Mirage, if that's you, talking to disembodied voices does not amuse me," she said archly.

"Mirage's with Hound and, uh, Firestar I think. I'm down here."

Vaportrail looked down, expecting a minibot. Instead, the mystery speaker was a small, organic creature with blue and white coverings and yellow fluffy stuff growing out of its head.

The orange and purple femme practically leapt back like a startled cat. "Holy Primus, it's an organic!!"

The thing stared at Vaportrail oddly. "Um, yeah. Human actually. The native dominant species of the planet you're currently on?"

"What are you DOING here?!"

The human raised a tiny optic ridge. "I've been standing here for almost twenty minutes. How did you not notice me until now?"

It came forward a few steps, but Vaportrail backed up the same amount of space.

"No no no, don't come any closer," she ordered, making a shooing motion with her hands. "I know about organics: you're messy and smelly and you ooze stuff all over the place!"

"What the heck kind of literature have you been reading?" it said, putting its hands on its hips as if sounding indignant. "I'm not about to vomit on you, and until I get cut up, I'm not going to bleed on you either. Look, see, I'm going to – oh for crying out loud, it's not like you're going to melt if I touch you're freaking foot!"

"You excrete oils and mucus and all kinds of nasty things!" Vaportrail shot back, her voice increasingly tinny as she backed up to the table behind her. To the human's clear disbelief, the femme actually crawled onto it like a girl trying to get away from a mouse.

"Now scat! Go away and leave me alone!"

The human threw up its hands in exasperation. "Fine! You win! Just let me find my boyfriend and we'll get out of your way!"

"Thank you very…wait. 'Boyfriend?' There's another one in here?"

With stunned realization and mounting horror, Vaportrail slowly turned and looked down behind her.

A taller, broader human was mere inches away from her heel with a devilishly grin.

"Imma gonna lick you!"

"AAIIIEEEEEEEE!"

Tempest swirled her head around. "Hey Cliffjumper, did you hear something?"

"Nope. Alright, the little green target moving target in the far back left corner. Loser buys winner the first round."

Tempest promptly forgot about the little high pitched sound she thought she might have heard and pulled out her faithful Big Rusty out of Subspace, lined up for the shot, and fired with precision marksman ship. As testament to her experience and skill, the entire process took less than four seconds.

BOOM!

The blue jet hefted her gun and smirked down at the red minibot nearly a third her size, her downward swept wings twitching slightly in barely suppressed pleasure. "Perfect shot. Beat that."

"You can't say it was a 'perfect shot' when you destroyed the entire target," Cliffjumper pointed out as he eyed the liberally scattered, confetti like remains of the little green target.

Tempest answered with a casual, one shoulder shrug.

"Eh, same difference. Old Rusty gets the job done either way." She patted the oversized gun fondly.

Cliffjumper raised an optic ridge.

"Out of curiosity, is that your only gun?" he asked.

The room temperature dropped so sharply little ice crystals were nearly forming on the walls.

"You got a problem with my gun?" she asked dangerously.

"Not the gun itself," Cliffjumper clarified. "It just never made sense to me why anyone would only bother to carry one or two guns, even if it is practically is a small cannon."

"How many guns do you carry then?" she asked in challenge, still with the dangerous edge to her tone.

Cliffjumper took two steps back.

Blip. From his subspace he retrieved a minibot sized rifle, standard issue in the army but with a modified scope and muzzle. He laid it out on its side on the floor, as if putting it on display for the skeptical Tempests benefit.

Blip. Out came a matching pair of pistols, also standard issue but usually found with recon specialists, not something she'd have expected someone like Cliffjumper to carry.

Blip. A 47-K shotgun with a pit of a kickback but incredible force, meant for those with a great deal of firearm experience.

Blip. Tempests brow shot up at this one - a Silver Matrine 82-D2 sniper rifle, complete with stands to hold the obscenely long and expensive rifle steady. It was too long for easy handling, but it could hit targets the size of a bots pinky. It was definitely not regulation weaponry.

Blip. Blip. Blip.

Cliffjumper just kept pulling one gun out after another, laying them out until they littered the floor all around Tempests feet – assault rifles, shot guns, pistols, sniper rifles, grenades, even a few knives for variety – until there was enough firepower spread out to fill a small to mid-sized munitions store. Satisfied that he had emptied out his subspace, Cliffjumper crossed his arms and smirked up at the slacked jawed femme.

"Any questions?" he asked cheekily.

Tempest was unable to reply, too busy staring at an Avlon Grey 4451-Beta assault rifle that had to have been picked off a Decepticon.

For his part, Cliffjumper selected a favorite shotgun of his, programmed a new target identical to the one Tempest had so recently decimated, and lined up his shot to match her own to see if he couldn't do just as well.

Said femme absorbed the vast array of firepower casually displayed before her, up to the minibot, back to the guns, then at Cliffjumper again as he readied for his shot with a gun almost as big as he was, which comparatively made the weapon almost as big as Old Rusty.

"I think I love you." She said sincerely.

Cliffjumper jerked and his shot went wide.

BOOM!

Wirecrash snapped her head up.

"What was that?" She exclaimed.

"It came from the south east side of the ship and the external defenses systems haven't gone off," Prowl rattled off. "Most likely it's Cliffjumper and Tempest having that shoot off of theirs in the firing range, or whatever it is they were calling it."

"What he said," Ratchet said distractedly. "Fraggit Sideswipe, what the Pit possessed you to try and use the pistons in your pile drivers to win an arm wrestling match?"

"It was a matter of pride!" Sideswipe insisted, even with his right arm was practically dissembled to the bare bones on the table, so to speak. Against the wall, holding a sore arm close and waiting a turn, Knockout nodded in agreement.

Ratchet shuttered his optics and pinched the bridge of his nose, cycling a long breath of air in an attempt to keep calm.

"Alright you two, I'm only going to say this once so you'd better pay attention: Sideswipes pile drivers and Knockouts pistons are both designed for intense bursts, or even rapid successive bursts of energy focused on a single point, such as punching. They are NOT designed for drawn out stresses such as pulling or pushing or fragging arm wrestling against bots who also have pistons in their arms. It doesn't do any good, and all you do is warp and mess up the internals of your own arms. How the Pit do neither of you know this already?"

"It was an experiment," Knockout muttered, not quietly enough.

"If either of you show up in my med bay because of an 'experiment' again, you're walking out of here without either of your arms," Ratchet warmed ominously.

Prowl twisted his head around to look at the orange medic femme behind him out of the corner of one optic. "You trained under Ratchet, you said?"

"During my internship, yes," Wirecrash answered as she adjusted and aligned the tacticians wings for his regular checkup. "I ah, went through a bit of a career change, and he was the only mentor left available – he scared off all the other med students. I spent about a vorn working under him before I got my license, and spent a few more working for him before I transferred to Elita's unit."

"After working so closely alongside one another for so long, I'm a little surprised you didn't pick up more of his…unique mannerisms," Prowl admitted.

Wirecrash shrugged. "I guess it's because I'm such a spark-felt pacifist; I just don't get riled up easily. Besides, I don't think I have the energy for that kind of temperament. Bit of a shame though, since I can't put the fear of Primus in my patients the way Ratchet can. Alright, that should be it. Tell me how it feels."

Prowl slid off the table and gently moved his wings about experimentally. "Smooth and pain free. Thank you Wirecrash."

The femme waved off the gratitude. "It's easy to work when I have a patient who so compliant."

BOOM!

"I hope those two don't end up destroying the shooting range," Wirescrash said a little worriedly, as the aftershocks rattled a few of the containers lined up by the walls.

Prowl frowned as one wing twitched. "That didn't come from the firing range…"

The med bay doors slid open to let in a smoking, sooty, slightly sparking Wheeljack.

"Hi everyone, sorry about that!" Wheeljack said cheerfully, waving at everyone inside with his right hand…which he was holding in his left.

"HOLY PRIMUS FRAGGING PIT, WHAT THE SLAG IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

Prowl stared.

Sideswipe stared.

Knockout stared.

Ratchet stared.

Wheeljack flinched back and made as if to escape, but he wasn't fast enough to evade the white and orange hand that clamped down on one of his vocal indicators, pulling him in roughly and dragging him to the berth that Prowl was quickly (and wisely) vacating. She pushed the engineer roughly to the berth, forcing him to sit.

"It's been forty eight thousand, one hundred and ninety three vorns since I last saw you, and you're still blowing yourself to pieces!" Wirecrash ranted as she grabbed tools viciously, almost like she was attacking the work bench. "In all that time I can't believe you still haven't learned to be just a BIT more cautious! Fraggit, this is why I quit training to be an engineer and switched to medical school – I'd rather deal with Ratchet that risk getting blown up by YOU on a frigging daily basis!"

"Um, actually, I spent the last 4 million years in stasis, so for me it's only been less than a decade," Wheeljack tried to say meekly.

"That is completely irrelevant!"

While Wirecrash ripped poor Wheeljack a new manifold and Sideswipe and Knockout watched with mounting horror and recognition, Ratchet continued reassembling Sideswipes arm like nothing was happening. Prowl, the last sane mech in the room, took the opportunity to make his escape.

"It would seem Wirecrash picked up a few more of her mentors quirks than she thought," he noted to himself when he was safely down the hall.

Prowl needed to get to the tactical room, but he paused as he approached the closed inventory room. Jazz was gone for the day, and had asked Prowl to return the radio transmitter he had taken out earlier that week for a scouting mission and never returned (how could someone as smart and detailed as Jazz still be so absent minded sometimes?) if he had the chance. Well, Prowl was here, and he was 1.3 minutes ahead of schedule anyway. Running for your life tended to speed up your day.

Prowl checked his subspace to make sure he had the item on him. Still holding it, he keyed the door open, and stopped.

Instead of a dimly lit, overstuffed but peacefully quiet inventory room, the lights were on as bright as the settings could go, flashing off a blue femme with black and white highlights and the wings that twitched erratically, betraying her distress…as if the way she frantically searched every shelf and ran around like a panicked bird hadn't been enough of a giveaway.

"Has something been stolen?" Prowl asked sharply as he came in, grabbing the femmes attention.

The femme immediately stopped her frantic motions, spun around and stood at attention like a good soldier. She even started to answer ("We're missing a…"), until her optics flitted down to the transmitter still in Prowls hands.

Prowl's memories of what happened next would always be a bit fuzzy.

The next thing he knew, he was stumbling back out the door until he tripped and fell hard on his recently adjusted wings. Between that and his newly crushed nose, he was left seeing stars while the femme stood over him, framed in the doorway with one hand still up from the knockout punch and the other cradling the transmitter close like a mother guarding her sparkling.

"The next time you decide to take something out of inventory, sign out for it like everybody else has to!" she snapped at him, wings raised high and making her look larger than normal. "I just spend the last half joor looking for a missing transmitter that wasn't so missing after all, thank you very much! Just WHO do you think you are? The Prime?"

Ahhh…now Prowl realized who this femme was, if the stories he'd been hearing from the rest of the Contingent were true.

"I don't think we've ever had a chance to be properly introduced," Prowl said as he stood back up, one hand occupied with feeling his tender olfactory sensors. "You must be Sparklight, the Contingent Security Director. I'm Prowl."

Sparklight gaped at him.

"You're Prowl?" she asked meekly.

"Yes."

"As in the Autobot Second in Command Prowl?"

"Yes."

One.

Two.

Three.

Sparklight hopped backwards into the inventory room and shut the door as if raising a barrier against a coming enemy horde. Two beeps, and the green light over the keypad flashed to red to show the door had been locked. Strictly speaking, Sparklight shouldn't have been able to do that from the inside, but it was amazing what a bot could do if they were desperate enough. Prowl strongly suspected no one was going to see the femme again for a day or two, longer if she had the good fortune of having a cube or two in her subspace.

Turning, he headed back the way he came towards the med bay, turning on his comm. as he did so. So much for the 1.3 extra minutes in his day.

: : Violet, I'm afraid I'm going to have to post pone our meeting, : : he said. : : I hope to be down there within a half hour or so. Is that agreeable with you? : :

Violet grimaced, but she didn't let it color her tone when she answered.

: : It's alright, I understand. I can use the time to play with a couple of extra scenarios and be extra extra prepared for when you do make it. : :

: : Good. Again, my apologies. : :

: : It's alright Prowl. I'll see you in a bit then. : :

When Prowl cut the line, the defected Seeker femme focused every iota of her attention and concentration on the holographic topographical map display in front of her, spinning around the three dimensional image to focus on what she wanted and doing her level best to block out all other distractions. She and Prowl were going to go over ways to prepare for the foundation of Autobot city with carefully placed explosives to level out the area. Normally, she would have been fine with the extra time – she liked playing with the Arks toys – but today was a little bit different.

"So you like playing with bombs then? That's just great, you can lay out a line of explosives and take out an entire battalion of 'Cons and not even get your servos dirty. And if you 'accidently' blew up a few of your own Autobot comrades, you can just say 'oops, hope that doesn't happen again!', right?"

Violet wasn't annoyed that Prowl was delayed. Violet was annoyed because the high ranking officer wasn't coming to make the small annoying plane go away.

And blocking him out was getting harder and harder.

"Yeah, you could just have an accident every time there was some 'bot you didn't like out on the field," Slingshot drawled on casually. "Real common occurrence with the Decepticons, back stabbing each other all the time. 'Course, that's just a rumor I've heard, but I should probably run it past the expert. So tell me Violet, are the 'Cons really like that, or is that just bad press?"

Violet brought up the possible blast locations one at a time so they lit up as red dots against the green field and mountains.

"I mean, not a whole lot of mechs or femmes get to see both sides of the fence," Slingshot went one as he came around the table. He poked a finger through one of the cliffs casually. "Real learning experience I bet, especially when you spend, what, a millennia or two just straddling the fence? Boy, you'd think after the first city or two blew up you'd be able to make up your mind pretty quick about where you wanted to stand."

Violets hands twitched, but she kept entirely focused on entering the calculations to predict the flow and direction of possible landslides because she was far too professional and disciplined to be distracted by imagining herself throttling a certain amped up big-mouthed wanna-be jet.

Yep. Far too disciplined indeed.

"Seriously though, how do you look anyone in the optic, after everything you did with the Decepticons?" Slingshot asked in mock sincerity. "I bet Elita made you jump through a dozen hoops just to let you into the Contingent. Or maybe you brought a present to show you were serious this time, no really.

"Come to think of you, you Seekers come in threes usually, don't you? Some big cultural thing, from what I hear. What, did your partners get sick of ya, or did you bump them off when you turned traitor?"

Violets optics flashed white.

Air Raid walked into the room just in time to see the Seeker punt his teammate across the room.

oOoOoOo

Elita sat delicately perched over the edge of the Ark hull sticking out from the mountain, directly over the main entrance, watching the gorgeous sunset paint swathes of orange and red on the underbellies of the clouds and on the desert sands, stretching out shadows amongst the varied shapes of the terrain. It was simply breathtaking, like nothing she could see on Cybertron. She decided this right here alone would have almost been worth the trip.

A shimmering purple cube appeared next to her head. She turned to see the other perk of her trip.

"High grade, on the house," Optimus said, like a waiter at an expensive restaurant. Elita smiled as she took the offering.

Optimus settled down next to her, letting his legs hang over the edge and wrapping an arm around Elita's waist, tugging her just a little closer. She obliged by snuggling up next to him.

Privately, they both took a moment to be grateful to their crews for encouraging their commanders to take a little personal time together. Actually, 'encouraging' would be putting it lightly; some of them were entirely too excited about getting them out of the Ark for a day, stopping just short of picking them up and throwing them out. Sideswipe had even donated some of his High Grade for the occasion, though Optimus suspected this had more to do with the weird friendship-rivalry dynamic he and Elita had somehow created when Optimus hadn't been looking. Elita for her part couldn't help but grin every time she remembered how "enthusiastic" Aqua, Sneakthief and Moonracer had been about setting up this date for them.

Thinking about them brought back a certain small but persistent concern, one that wouldn't go away until she finally acquiesced to voicing it out loud.

"Are you sure it's alright for the both of us to be away like this?" she asked a little uncertainly.

"We're not exactly 'away', considering that everyone else is just inside the Ark." Optimus reminded her with a bit of humor.

"You know what I mean," Elita told him dryly. "This may be irrational, but I feel like a Creator leaving her younglings home alone for the first time."

Optimus chuckled. "I've met some of your femmes, and if they're half as bad as some of my mechs, I don't blame you. Still, it's not like we're leaving them completely to their own devices; we have plenty of level-headed, responsible mechs and femmes to balance out the more rowdy members of our crews. How bad could they possibly get in a couple of hours?"

oOoOoOo

"Outrun THIS you thief!"

"HEY! Flying indoors is totally cheating! Are you trying to KILL ME?!"

"WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE!"

"Stop chasing me you psychotic little human!"

"Cliffy, I think we're out of targets."

"Tempest, I think you just blew a hole in the wall."

"Tell me Wheeljack, are you TRYING to go offline in the most creative fashion of all time, or are you just a masochist?! And stop squirming or I swear to Primus in Cybertron I am going to RIVIT you to the berth!"

"Sparklight, it's Springshift. I know you're a bit embarrassed that you punched out the Autobot Second in Command and didn't even know it was him until it was too late, but if you don't come out of there I'm going to setting the temperature settings in there to subzero. That is not a joke."

"Alright, we've got two arms again. How about two out of three, loser has to explain to Ratchet why our arms are all busted up again?"

"You're on."

"I'm sorry for the delay Violet, I was…Violet, why are you sitting on top of two of the Arielbots?"

oOoOoOo

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Elita admitted, relaxing again against her bondmate.