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singularityderp2011-09-29 09:48 pm
notyourchauffer.livejournal.com) wrote in singularityderp2011-09-29 09:48 pm
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the song drabble meme
It's pretty simple and fun, folks. This is how this works!
( 01 ) Have a playlist ready! Don't use all your songs--try and narrow it down a little.
( 02 ) Let everyone know how many songs you're working with. Also, which characters you would be willing to write about.
( 03 ) Others tag your post, picking a character or pairing or friendship or familial relationship or whatever, and then choose a number from your list.
( 04 ) Write a drabble related to that song, using that/those character(s)!
Take as long as you need; there's no time limits here!
And here's some helpful HTML to make it pretty!
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-The Rookie || (
-System Monitor Anon || (
-Barricade || (
Number of Tracks: 74
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Barricade and Clu, 70. BECAUSE I CAN, THAT'S WHY.
Barricade and Clu 70. BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR...
"Eulogy" - Tool
How exactly do you handle a funeral for yourself?
More importantly, how do you handle the funeral of someone you’re not attached to when they’re attending?
Barricade had no clue (hah) what had compelled the program to ask him to give a eulogy over his… cubes. Ugh. Humans couldn’t even find a way to make their machines die in a useful way. How were you supposed to dismember a bunch of physical pixels for parts? At least he could strip Cybertronian bodies for everything they were worth to save a few lives later.
And why would Clu ask him to do it? After that EMP business, this was almost an insult. Ah, well. He’d do his best.
The dead were attending, after all.
The pixels had all fit snugly into a shoebox, which fit snugly into the hole that had been dug in one of the garden zones. And Barricade tried to think. He did.
All he came up with were song lyrics. Frag. Might as well. Just. Keep the unflattering parts to himself. True as they might be…
“Standing above the crowd, he had a voice that was strong and loud, we’ll miss him. You took a stand on every little thing and so loud. You sure could yell.”
No one ever said he had to do it well.
Anon and Clu, 13. The End of Anon's AU finally written because it's...
Five hundred cycles and he’d finally been caught by Clu’s soldiers. It had taken them a good long while to take him down, even with his energy reserves running low. He’d fought like a wild animal with the skill of a System Monitor. If Clu thought he could control the little program and Rinzler, he would have quashed the rebellious cells in the population instantly.
But Anon might just be too dangerous to leave alive. Even if he could have rectified him, what guarantee was there that Flynn wouldn’t find some way to get ahold of him and reprogram him again? No, he had to be gotten rid of.
In garish fashion, as usual.
Anon stood quietly in his cell, waiting to be thrown back into the games – probably for the last time. He’s heard who finished the competitions every time, and even he wasn’t that good. He was ready for it. He wasn’t certain he’d been meant to survive this long anyway. He’d take what he could get.
Besides, he could give Rinzler a tough opponent in the end. That would be a good end, the silent Monitor figured.
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Barricade and Alex. 69. Because I'm an awful person. c:
Barricade and Alex, 69. The worst title you could ever get as #69 is...
Talking about their pasts rarely strays from the territory of ‘vague’. M had serious problems with the military; so had RC. RC had lost just about every friend he had; not so far from M’s story really, was it? Admittedly, M couldn’t come up with something to match ‘my former commanding officer sifted through my head with tentacles weekly’, but RC probably couldn’t match ‘everything I consume is in my head and the noise is deafening’.
Not that they’d ever actually said any of that to each other. But they’re smart. Just enough clues, in private… not so difficult to figure out.
RC still never mentions Frenzy. Or Bonecrusher. Or what he’d learned in Axiom. Well, the important parts that he learned. The most important parts with Frenzy and Bonecrusher. He doesn’t know what M’s never mentioned. Probably big, nasty things too.
Though RC… could mention some of it. A little more specifically, just for the laughs. “So, she wanted to what?” M asked, obviously perplexed. RC sniggered.
“She wanted to ‘open my heart chakra’ because my bad karma was hampering ‘Crystalhugger’s’ spiritual journey. And I ain’t even gotten started yet.” Or the fact that the apartment had smelled like patchouli and sandalwood for a week after that mess.
“… People are strange.”
RC couldn’t help but cackle at that. “Of course. But we’ve got better things t’do than sit here and compare stories. You owe me a race.” He stood and shook his plating for a moment before folding down, turning on his lights. “Let’s see if you’re really as fast as you claim.”
Better to leave the past vague and live now anyway, wasn’t it?
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Anon & Nemvoy, 52.
Nemvoy and Barricade, 34. I feel like I should apologize about the song since not everyone likes...
They both play their cards close to the chest, he’s noticed. That’s fine by him. It’s not worth it if they aren’t playing the same game, and it’s clear enough to him that they are.
It’s called ‘Secrets’. And it’s Barricade’s favorite.
They figure out little things, every once in a while. From pushing each other just a little too far; he’d found something dirty in Convoy’s past, and Convoy found the side of Barricade that was reserved for those on his table for his little ‘sessions’. From the one wandering into a warehouse and catching the other dancing – better than a warrior maybe ought to.
From the fact that he could tell Convoy had been hollowed out and dumped here like him. Abandoned by the ones that did that to him. No one really familiar around. Certainly no one that could understand what he was and what he’d gone through. But sometimes he caught sight of a fire buried in there and was pleased to see it.
His arms and chassis are splattered with Energon, most of it not his own. When it came down to brass tacks, he only ever gave a little. Convoy isn’t the mech he’d lost that he’d willingly submit to, after all. Even all his power wouldn’t get that from Barricade. The Decepticon’s posture is relaxed, gazed fixed out the window. Couple people, far away. They wouldn’t notice either of them, likely. Human eyesight isn’t the best at dusk, after all.
He feels a hand slide along one of his pauldrons, gripping the tire and tugging, and he exvents slowly. “You’re paranoid,” a voice, rough but still familiar – the voice of somebody he respected and wanted to see dead – rumbles out, tugging him again.
He allows it, shifting on his feet to turn. “And you,” he starts, running a claw unkindly across a section of plating he’d diligently pried at for an hour, “worry too fraggin’ much.”
From anyone else, he’d expect at least a hiss. But the slight widening of a pair of red optics – how strange still, for an Autobot to have red optics – was reward enough for him. “Says who?” Defiance.
Well. He can play that game too. “Say I.”