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sakon76Something quick that popped into my head. Needs work. Note to self: mutual tactile descriptions.
Anthrophilia
by K. Stonham
prereleased 14th December 2007
One hundred and thirty-eight years after his species had first encountered human beings, he stood on the surface of the Earth's moon, and gazed at the gem-like planet which was now home to his kind as well as theirs. He was alone in the viewing gallery, and, to be honest, he was more comfortable that way.
There was a word in his language, one which shocked rooms and conversations into silence and prompted brawls, fistfights, and duels. It was not a word transmitted lightly. There was no equivalent for it in any human language, as it was not a concept their species had ever needed before. "Anthrophilia," Ratchet had once translated it into English, in a private room with a few cubes of high-grade littered around them both. "From Latin, as so many English words are. 'Anthro' meaning 'human,' and 'philia' meaning 'love of.' Anthrophiliac, as applied to an individual."
Human-lover.
Ratchet's optics and voice had been gentle, and kind, and sad for him, something not often seen from the generally cranky and terse Autobot CMO. It was in a way a tragedy in the happening, both of them had known. Entirely aside from differences of size and frame and construction, which should have rendered any relationship impossible, there was the sheer matter of scale. Humans died so quickly, passing on in barely the blink of a Cybertronian optic. He'd known that. Everyone had. Save a death in a Decepticon attack, he would outlive the human he'd cared for. By so, so very long....
It hadn't mattered. One could not simply choose where one's spark lay.
Only a few knew of it for sure, and he'd found over time who his true friends were. There were those who laughed in derision or scorn like Ironhide and the twins... and those who smiled sadly at him, as his leader and Ratchet did, and those precious, precious few who bristled on his behalf and fought back the slurs with words or fists.
After his human had died at last, of old age, something not even the finest doctor could prevent, he'd come here, to this base on the moon where there were more of the latter than of the former. Where he wouldn't have to feel asphalt beneath his tires and be conscious always of the slight weight that he no longer carried.
Still, on the offshifts when no careless camaraderie from Bluestreak or Blaster could break the sorrow of his loss and difference from his comrades, and when the pleasured sounds of overload from the rooms next to his as Prowl drove Jazz into raw sonic screaming became too much to bear, Bumblebee retreated to this gallery where he could look at the Earth and replay memories and music, remembering the human that he had loved and lost. Remembering his Sam.
*~*~*
Author's Note: Hmm, think this turned out better in my head while gnawing at me whilst I was boxing things up downstairs. Well, tweaking is for later.
Anthrophilia
by K. Stonham
prereleased 14th December 2007
One hundred and thirty-eight years after his species had first encountered human beings, he stood on the surface of the Earth's moon, and gazed at the gem-like planet which was now home to his kind as well as theirs. He was alone in the viewing gallery, and, to be honest, he was more comfortable that way.
There was a word in his language, one which shocked rooms and conversations into silence and prompted brawls, fistfights, and duels. It was not a word transmitted lightly. There was no equivalent for it in any human language, as it was not a concept their species had ever needed before. "Anthrophilia," Ratchet had once translated it into English, in a private room with a few cubes of high-grade littered around them both. "From Latin, as so many English words are. 'Anthro' meaning 'human,' and 'philia' meaning 'love of.' Anthrophiliac, as applied to an individual."
Human-lover.
Ratchet's optics and voice had been gentle, and kind, and sad for him, something not often seen from the generally cranky and terse Autobot CMO. It was in a way a tragedy in the happening, both of them had known. Entirely aside from differences of size and frame and construction, which should have rendered any relationship impossible, there was the sheer matter of scale. Humans died so quickly, passing on in barely the blink of a Cybertronian optic. He'd known that. Everyone had. Save a death in a Decepticon attack, he would outlive the human he'd cared for. By so, so very long....
It hadn't mattered. One could not simply choose where one's spark lay.
Only a few knew of it for sure, and he'd found over time who his true friends were. There were those who laughed in derision or scorn like Ironhide and the twins... and those who smiled sadly at him, as his leader and Ratchet did, and those precious, precious few who bristled on his behalf and fought back the slurs with words or fists.
After his human had died at last, of old age, something not even the finest doctor could prevent, he'd come here, to this base on the moon where there were more of the latter than of the former. Where he wouldn't have to feel asphalt beneath his tires and be conscious always of the slight weight that he no longer carried.
Still, on the offshifts when no careless camaraderie from Bluestreak or Blaster could break the sorrow of his loss and difference from his comrades, and when the pleasured sounds of overload from the rooms next to his as Prowl drove Jazz into raw sonic screaming became too much to bear, Bumblebee retreated to this gallery where he could look at the Earth and replay memories and music, remembering the human that he had loved and lost. Remembering his Sam.
Author's Note: Hmm, think this turned out better in my head while gnawing at me whilst I was boxing things up downstairs. Well, tweaking is for later.
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no subject
Date: 2007-12-15 07:03 am (UTC)Interesting drabble.
no subject
Date: 2007-12-15 07:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-15 03:38 pm (UTC)Where he wouldn't have to feel asphalt beneath his tires and be conscious always of the slight weight that he no longer carried.
^ is my favourite line
Ah, P/J always sneak in with the screaming...
no subject
Date: 2007-12-15 07:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-15 08:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-15 10:15 pm (UTC)But it really was wonderful and sad and beautiful.