Post by elphie on Oct 21, 2011 17:58:08 GMT -5
Optimus speaks…
Odd, that the worst thing I ever had the misfortune to smell would be an organic. But skunk spray was and still is, by far the worst thing I have ever smelled. Worse than burning Decepticon corpses, worse than dead fish rotting on the beach at Diego Garcia. No amount of sneezing could get that stench out of my olfactory receptors. It may seem as though I am making a larger deal out of it than I should…but those who think that should go kill a skunk and get back to me.
One might theorize that skunk smell would not stick to metal. One would be wrong. And we were all covered in it, with Ironhide being worst of all.
Half an hour and a McDonald’s drive through later, we took refuge in an abandoned barn outside of town. Jacob the Werewolf was banished to the chicken coop outside. It had begun to snow.
Bumblebee and Sam were sitting together with a bag of cold French fries between them. Bumblebee found the greasy snacks interesting, while Sam continued to munch them.
Mikaela was with me. I’d taken pity on her when I realized that she was shivering and I allowed her to sit in my cab as long as she kept a death grip on her coffee. I did not relish the idea of having liquid in my interior, but the poor girl was freezing and I was the only one whose vehicle mode had an adequate heater. Everyone else, besides the skunk-drenched Ironhide, was a sports car or something equally impractical. Also, I preferred Mikaela’s coffee—which at least smelled pleasant—to Sam’s fries.
“I find your various forms of nutrition fascinating,” Prowl said to Sam. “We subsist on Energon and a few bodily fluids, but you need many different substances.”
Mikaela snorted, still amused at Prowl’s naivety.
“I will tell you what Ratchet said,” Elita told Prowl. “When it comes to humans, there is food that they eat to sustain themselves and then there is ‘fun’ food.”
“The greasy strings of gross Sam’s eating is fun food,” Jazz added.
“This is for nourishment,” Mikaela said, indicating her coffee.
“But not all humans live on it,” Ironhide stated. “Just Mikaela. Sam lives on Red Bull.”
“Interesting.” Prowl gave Mikaela an appraising look. “Why is it that you are cold while your partner is warm? On our world, we are only cold when we must conserve energy.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Well, how complicated could it be?”
“Prowl, enough with the questions,” I warned. “We are here visiting our friends. Our close friends. We are not here to interrogate them.”
“If you had paid attention, you would know that I am also colder than my partner,” Elita added to Prowl.
“Why—”
“Prowl,” Sam interrupted, “have you ever hooked up to the World Wide Web?”
“No,” Prowl said slowly. “What is it?”
“It is an entity that knows everything that goes on here. All the information you could ever want.” Sam grinned. “Just tune into the nearest wi-fi.”
“That’ll take care of him for the next three days,” Ironhide remarked after Prowl had successfully tapped in. “Nice work, Sam.”
Mikaela glared at the now-occupied Prowl. They were not going to get along. But Prowl wanted to learn, and if he continued to annoy Mikaela he would learn quickly.
“Wait till he finds YouTube,” Sam remarked, nodding toward Prowl. “He’ll die.”
Bumblebee snickered. “Where I come from, we believe all sorts of things that aren’t true—we call it ‘history.’”
“Good analogy.” Sam ate a few more French fries. Disgusting. “I’m on Christmas break from school, so I don’t have to go back right away.”
“What is ‘Christmas’?” Elita asked, drawing out the‘s’ sounds. “A holiday of some sort?”
Sam and Mikaela exchanged a look, as though they were coming to a joint decision.
“You know who could tell you is my grandmother,” Mikaela concluded. “It’s not that we don’t know what it is, but it’s complicated. She’d explain it better than we could. Unless you want to call your Aunt Carol, Sam?”
“Nope. Rather chew glass.”
“Nice.”
“Will your relatives not find it odd that you ask such a basic question?” I inquired.
“Mikaela’s grandma won’t,” Sam said. “Nothing surprises her.”
“Except that time I pierced my belly button,” Mikaela reminded him.
“By pierced you mean ‘put a hole in it’?” Jazz demanded.
“Yeah.” Mikaela brushed her hair out of the way to show her earrings. “Like this. Poke a hole, basically, and stick something in it so the hole doesn’t close.”
Jazz stared at her. “So you put a hole in your stomach? Voluntarily?”
“I was young and stupid,” Mikaela told him. “I took it out a couple years ago.” She changed the subject blithely. “So, if you want to know what Christmas is, I’ll call my grandma right now. I’ll tell her we’re trying to explain it to foreign exchange students. Not quite a lie.”
“Good idea.” Sam tossed her his phone and she caught it. “Mine’s got better reception.”
“Thanks.” Mikaela set her coffee down to dial the phone.
“Young lady, just because I scanned a vehicle with cupholders does not mean you can use them.” I leaned to the right. “Out.”
She hopped down and called her grandmother. The explanation took two hours.
Odd, that the worst thing I ever had the misfortune to smell would be an organic. But skunk spray was and still is, by far the worst thing I have ever smelled. Worse than burning Decepticon corpses, worse than dead fish rotting on the beach at Diego Garcia. No amount of sneezing could get that stench out of my olfactory receptors. It may seem as though I am making a larger deal out of it than I should…but those who think that should go kill a skunk and get back to me.
One might theorize that skunk smell would not stick to metal. One would be wrong. And we were all covered in it, with Ironhide being worst of all.
Half an hour and a McDonald’s drive through later, we took refuge in an abandoned barn outside of town. Jacob the Werewolf was banished to the chicken coop outside. It had begun to snow.
Bumblebee and Sam were sitting together with a bag of cold French fries between them. Bumblebee found the greasy snacks interesting, while Sam continued to munch them.
Mikaela was with me. I’d taken pity on her when I realized that she was shivering and I allowed her to sit in my cab as long as she kept a death grip on her coffee. I did not relish the idea of having liquid in my interior, but the poor girl was freezing and I was the only one whose vehicle mode had an adequate heater. Everyone else, besides the skunk-drenched Ironhide, was a sports car or something equally impractical. Also, I preferred Mikaela’s coffee—which at least smelled pleasant—to Sam’s fries.
“I find your various forms of nutrition fascinating,” Prowl said to Sam. “We subsist on Energon and a few bodily fluids, but you need many different substances.”
Mikaela snorted, still amused at Prowl’s naivety.
“I will tell you what Ratchet said,” Elita told Prowl. “When it comes to humans, there is food that they eat to sustain themselves and then there is ‘fun’ food.”
“The greasy strings of gross Sam’s eating is fun food,” Jazz added.
“This is for nourishment,” Mikaela said, indicating her coffee.
“But not all humans live on it,” Ironhide stated. “Just Mikaela. Sam lives on Red Bull.”
“Interesting.” Prowl gave Mikaela an appraising look. “Why is it that you are cold while your partner is warm? On our world, we are only cold when we must conserve energy.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Well, how complicated could it be?”
“Prowl, enough with the questions,” I warned. “We are here visiting our friends. Our close friends. We are not here to interrogate them.”
“If you had paid attention, you would know that I am also colder than my partner,” Elita added to Prowl.
“Why—”
“Prowl,” Sam interrupted, “have you ever hooked up to the World Wide Web?”
“No,” Prowl said slowly. “What is it?”
“It is an entity that knows everything that goes on here. All the information you could ever want.” Sam grinned. “Just tune into the nearest wi-fi.”
“That’ll take care of him for the next three days,” Ironhide remarked after Prowl had successfully tapped in. “Nice work, Sam.”
Mikaela glared at the now-occupied Prowl. They were not going to get along. But Prowl wanted to learn, and if he continued to annoy Mikaela he would learn quickly.
“Wait till he finds YouTube,” Sam remarked, nodding toward Prowl. “He’ll die.”
Bumblebee snickered. “Where I come from, we believe all sorts of things that aren’t true—we call it ‘history.’”
“Good analogy.” Sam ate a few more French fries. Disgusting. “I’m on Christmas break from school, so I don’t have to go back right away.”
“What is ‘Christmas’?” Elita asked, drawing out the‘s’ sounds. “A holiday of some sort?”
Sam and Mikaela exchanged a look, as though they were coming to a joint decision.
“You know who could tell you is my grandmother,” Mikaela concluded. “It’s not that we don’t know what it is, but it’s complicated. She’d explain it better than we could. Unless you want to call your Aunt Carol, Sam?”
“Nope. Rather chew glass.”
“Nice.”
“Will your relatives not find it odd that you ask such a basic question?” I inquired.
“Mikaela’s grandma won’t,” Sam said. “Nothing surprises her.”
“Except that time I pierced my belly button,” Mikaela reminded him.
“By pierced you mean ‘put a hole in it’?” Jazz demanded.
“Yeah.” Mikaela brushed her hair out of the way to show her earrings. “Like this. Poke a hole, basically, and stick something in it so the hole doesn’t close.”
Jazz stared at her. “So you put a hole in your stomach? Voluntarily?”
“I was young and stupid,” Mikaela told him. “I took it out a couple years ago.” She changed the subject blithely. “So, if you want to know what Christmas is, I’ll call my grandma right now. I’ll tell her we’re trying to explain it to foreign exchange students. Not quite a lie.”
“Good idea.” Sam tossed her his phone and she caught it. “Mine’s got better reception.”
“Thanks.” Mikaela set her coffee down to dial the phone.
“Young lady, just because I scanned a vehicle with cupholders does not mean you can use them.” I leaned to the right. “Out.”
She hopped down and called her grandmother. The explanation took two hours.