In the Words of Moon

Disclaimer: I own nothing
Rating: PG-13 for language?
Crit: Meh, it’s crack anywho. I don’t care
Notes: Crossover with Transformers, because I AM GOD! *bricked*

‘Sometimes I dream of revolution, a bloody coup d’etat by the second rank - troupes of actors slaughtered by their understudies, magicians sawn in half by indefatigably smiling glamour girls, cricket teams wiped out by marauding bands of twelfth men - I dream of champions chopped down by rabbit-punching sparring partners while eternal bridesmaids turn and rape the bridegrooms over the sausage rolls and parliamentary private secretaries plant bombs in the Minister’s Humber - comedians die on provincial stages, robbed of their feeds by mutely triumphant stooges
- and - march- an army of assistants and deputies, the seconds-in-command, the runners up, the right hand men - storming the palace gates wherein the second son has already mounted the throne having committed regicide with a croquet mallet!
Stand ins of the world Stand Up!’
- Moon, The Real Inspector Hound by Tom Stoppard.

Moordryd was upset. And in the most violent, peeved sense of the word. It was bad enough that Word viewed him as a tool to be cast aside the minute it stopped functioning the way he wanted, but this was just...infuriating. To be told that he was to attend some stupid meeting with ‘investors’ in Word’s affairs (read: Every scumbag on the face of Dragon City) was the king of all insults. Usually Word got them to call him if they had any problems, but this time he had sent Moordryd to listen to the complaints about the Dragon Booster and his impact on whatever illegal goods the dredges of Dragon City were shipping about. How humiliating! Even their meeting place was awful - a dark, dank restaurant where the smoke was so thick it choked anyone without lungs of steel. The worst thing had to be the way one of the higher ups, a slug-drac of a man named Fat Valac who barely moved if it was at all possible, kept looking at him. Moordryd was a racer born and bred, and even the street racers were higher up on the social ladder than these slimy characters.

Even so, did Moordryd complain? Oh no, it was all ‘Yes Father, straight away father, how high would you like me to jump this time?’ The white haired teen huffed under his breath, venturing a glare toward Valac. only to be returned with a smirk and an appraising look. Ew. As if. Resting his arms across the dark metal of the table Moordryd tried to ignore the stares he was getting. The minute he had walked in everyone had been whispering about ‘Word’s Son’ as though he was the newest attraction in a bad theme park. Downtrodden and glum Moordryd didn’t notice the strange man at his side until it was too late.

“Hmph. I know that look.” Moordryd glanced up at the stranger, taking in the red eyes with a quick glance. Red eyes were rare in Dragon City, they were said to be a genetic link to the dark priests of legend. The man, who was maybe a few years older than Moordryd himself, dropped to sit beside him without asking and whistled sharply for service. A gesture that was half between a request and a threat made the young Dragon Eye racer’s mouth quirk up a little at the edges. The new comer wasn’t one of the smugglers, his eyes were too clear and his features too strong. The waiter scrambled over to take his order, which the stranger snarled out in a screechy voice.

“This isn’t a look, it’s my face.” Moordryd rested his chin against one arm, looking thoroughly bored while trying not to breathe so deeply.

The stranger smirked, a mean glint in his eyes. “That’s a shame squishy.” Kicking Valac’s chair viciously he slid closer, uncaring he had sent the lump tumbling to the floor. Valac‘s many chins turned red with rage and he looked ready to start bellowing only to be silenced by a look. Moordryd snickered at the obvious power the new man had over them. “Who’re you working for?”

“Word Paynn, blah blah Gear blah blah draconium blah blah.” He offered, liking the sadistic smile the stranger turned upon Valac’s henchmen. None of them wanted to go anywhere near him despite the humiliation he had just bestowed upon the underworld figure. “Moordryd. What does someone like you do in a place like this?” Moordryd asked, noting the way the new man flinched away from the handshake he offered. That was weird.

The waiter brought over some strong smelling, dark liquid and placed it in front of the stranger. “Sample the best in processor scrambling chemicals created by the insects here. There’s no finer way to find yourself wandering aimlessly with no memory of the last few cycles. And the name is...well, you can call me Screamer. Everyone else seems to lately.” He sulked. Moordryd’s smile increased and one side of his brow raised in question. “Don’t ask. I’d have to blast you.” The stranger rolled his red eyes and Moordryd caught sight of a symbol decorating his jacket. The crew symbol was one that he had never seen before, not even in the higher level races. Screamer took a swig of the liquid and wrinkled his nose in distaste. “That tastes like slag. Thank Primus the holo connects to my nervous system.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Moordryd muttered. Screamer’s eyes glinted again and a strange, grating laugh burst free of his chest. “What in Draconius’ name are you sniggering at?”

Screamer laughed harder, a clearly sardonic note tainting the happy sound. “Nothing soldier boy. Tell me, what did you do to deserve being gawked at by one of the most disgusting squishies I have ever laid optics on?” Screamer’s voice was interested and at the same time mocking. Moordryd glared half heartedly at his new companion before lowering his eyes and answering, raking one hand through hi gelled hair and feeling the dried stuff crack beneath his fingers.

“I didn’t listen to him, went out on my own and screwed up.” Moordryd sighed quietly, thankful that Valac had moved away to other guests after the Screamer-induced face plant. “As usual only his plan could ever have worked, I’m a disappointment to my crew and bloodline. Never mind his plan needed me to break my limbs to get into the Dragon Security Center.” Glancing up he was startled to see an almost sympathetic look cross Screamer’s face.

“That’s always the way though, isn’t it? They ask, we do with a few minor adjustments and it’s our fault he gets blasted in the face or dropped. Hah, as if their plans ever work anyway.” Screamer was growling now, eyes locked onto an imaginary point on the wall. He offered a second bottle of the stuff to Moordryd, who shook his head. He was a racer, he needed to be in top shape or he’d fall off Decepshun and splatter his brains over the race track. “What, scared Daddy Dearest will find out?”

Oh it was on. Moordryd snatched the bottle and took a deep gulp. He spluttered at the angry burn that raced down his throat and glared at Screamer’s chuckle. Okay, so he wasn’t a drinker, who cared? The Dragon Eye took another swig just to show he could and ignored the watering in his eyes. “Screw you. What the scale do you know about it?”

Screamer gave him a lop sided grin and bowed mockingly. “Meet Screamer, number one screw up and traitor of the forces. The day I’m not being accused of subordination the sky will fall to the earth and Ironhide will dance with fluffy, fluffy kittens. Inferno, you might even get bonded to Valac when I’m cleared of all charges.” He snickered at himself and enjoyed the obvious buzz he was feeling. “It will echo throughout the universe, ‘Screamer’s alright! He’s not been blasted or thrown around by either faction! Isn’t it slagging amazing?’” Screamer raised his arms and brought the bottle down onto the table, causing Moordryd to join his giggles. Hey, that buzz was nice after all...

“That’ll be the day. When Word isn’t hovering over me I expect Abandon will will get married to the Dragon Booster ‘s dragon and they’ll give birth to many black and gold draclets.” And what cute little draclets they would be, all glow-y red eyes and questionable morals. Moordryd laughed openly at the mental image and Screamer’s high pitched sniggers joined him. That made him laugh harder. What the scale was in that stuff?

An hour of drinking and awkward ‘what if?’ situations later and both men came stumbling out of the bar, giggling insanely. Screamer’s voice kept turning into a strange static-y sound and in Moordryd’s mind that only made him funnier. A huge red, blue and white machine lingered a few alleys away, and Moordryd gaped at the dented metal on the...were they wings? Large scratches littered the sleek body as Screamer stumbled toward it.

“What the scale is that?” Moordryd slurred, watching as the machine dipped low on it’s wheels. Screamer smiled drunkenly and gestured to the sleek body.

“It’s...it’s ME! Aren’t I pretty?” He snickered again, doubling over. For a moment Moordryd swore his whole body flickered, but he was too busy staring at the sweeping wings. Lifting one hand he rested his fingers against one of the deeper scratches, not noticing the way Screamer jerked and stared at him with wide eyes. Moordryd felt the shiver under his hand and was soon filled with a childish wonder he hadn’t felt for a long time.

“Wow...can it fly?”

“Can I fly...NO! I take a submarine everywhere you fragging organic!” Screamer snatched his hand away as he went to stop Moordryd all but petting the metal beneath his hands. “Of course I can fly!”

The metal warmed at his touch and Moordyd grinned. “How’ed it get all banged up? It looks like It was in a fight.”

“The guy I told you about, the one that wants to slag me did it. As lovely as it’s been to get ‘plastered’ with an organic it’s time for Screamer to go.” Moordryd turned only to find that Screamer’s voice seemed to be coming from the cockpit of the machine. It jerked away from Moordryd’s hands and began to roll slowly toward a long strip of race track. “Go home squishy, before you live up to your name!”

“Screamer? Wha...” The Dragon Eye clamped his hands over his ears as the machine exploded (because what else could make that kind of noise?!) into flight, wings dipping as it’s body rolled almost playfully through the air. Moordryd ended up on his back, knocked away by the massive force.

It was like this Cain found him, laying still outside the bar Word had sent him too all those hours ago. Moordryd was pulled up by his best friend and humoured as he told his story about his new friend who got beat up by someone called ‘Megs’ and flew away, because really, who would believe him? [I]

Why is it that a drunk Moordryd can provide hours of entertainment? Particularly if he ends up giggly? Words cannot convey the absurd amounts of amusement this provides me with. *reads again*

I'll toast to that, Renesh. ^_^ Aw, bored!Moordryd leading to drunk!Moordryd, topped off with Screamer, ESPECIALLY a drunk!Screamer, is too good to pass up an opportunity not to read.

Also the excerpt at the beginning being put there was just totally opening it up for crack. :) Haven't seen it done before yet in a crack story is why I take notice of it now.

Thanks guys! Something about Moordryd and Starscream meeting just stuck it's self in my mind...and drunk characters are just amusing!