[rd][fic][G1 Transformers] A Good Hunt
Sep. 16th, 2011 04:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sakon76A Good Hunt
by K. Stonham
prereleased 16th September 2011
Hound sat patiently in the parking lot, enjoying the predawn cool, the breeze that barely whispered against his chassis, and the activity he was (however marginally) engaged in.
Duck hunting. And today Sparkplug had taken Spike out with him and a few friends, to help "earn his stripes," as the elder human had put it.
Most of the Autobots, once they realized their human allies regularly consumed the flesh of the other living creatures, had been shocked. Nauseated. Muttering quietly (where Sparkplug and Spike couldn't hear them; they gave their friends at least that courtesy) about humans being a primitive, violent species.
Hound, if he'd been of a size suitable to accompany them, would have been waiting in the duck blind with the human hunters.
Back on Cybertron he'd been a wilderness guide. It was actually how he'd first met Mirage; the noble had engaged his services in several turbo-fox hunts. They were part of the sport and culture of the Towers. Hound had found a good part of his employment there, and felt that helped him understand the aloof spy somewhat better than most of the other Autobots did.
But that didn't change the fact that he and Mirage came from vastly different social strata. While the hunts had never been more to the noble than a pleasant way to pass the afternoon, they'd been a source of sustenance for Hound and those around him.
Nobles typically wanted the paws of the foxes for decoration, or the jaws of an alloygator, or the fine chain mesh pelts of petro-rabbits to make cushions. The rest of the carcass they carelessly discarded.
Of course, it was the job of the guide to harvest these trophies for them, and Hound, like the others of his profession, was both quick and skilled at these tasks. And if the rest of the animal happened to be slipped into his subspace? It was leaving the environment clean, so that further animals wouldn't be alerted to the presence of a kill and thus scared off.
That's what he told the nobles, anyway.
That's what they all told them.
In truth, subspace kept the energon and lubricants in the animals' bodies from coagulating or evaporating. They were carefully drained each night, after the nobles had returned home, into cubes.
The aluminum and steel and lead and zinc and oxides and all the other things that made up the cyber-animals were tasty, tasty things if you knew how to carefully dismantle the bodies and reassemble them into the treats that growing youngsters needed to help build their bodies.
There was stewardship involved, too; the gameskeepers talked to one another regularly, sharing counts and migration patterns, keeping the troops and herds from being thinned too heavily. Like Earth's humans, they'd pushed a few too many species too close to the edge and had to back off, disallowing all hunting until they'd recovered.
No matter how much some idiot nobles wanted the privilege of killing the last titanium moosebot.
So the duck calls and the decoys and the sharp, flat crack of the humans' hunting guns didn't bother Hound at all. Neither did it bother him when Mirage--always more observant than most of his Towers hunting parties--arrived and parked next to him for a while, observing.
And if the presence of the elite racing car disturbed Sparkplug and his hunting friends when they trooped out of the muck, much later, they didn't show it.
"Surprised to see you here, Mirage," Sparkplug commented as he skinned out of his swampy garments and into the clean, dry ones he'd left with Hound.
The noble didn't transform, but the careless shrug was evident in his tone. "On Cybertron, Hound was the one who taught me how to best hunt. Your methods on Earth are similar; I was hoping to refine my skills."
"Well, our targets are probably a little smaller than what you're used to, but you're both welcome to join us any time," Sparkplug offered.
"As long as it doesn't offend you," Spike added, surprising Hound. Either the Autobots hadn't been as discreet in their dislike as he'd thought, or the humans were more observant than he'd believed.
"Whyever should it offend me?" Mirage asked. "You're assuming we were all able to afford fine metals and energon. I know for a fact that Hound made sure the beasts we killed never went to waste, among those who needed them."
Spike blinked wide eyes and looked at Hound.
"It's... not something nicer bots like to think about," Hound admitted, shifting uneasily on his wheels.
"Well," Sparkplug said, "here on Earth it's the norm for most hunters to eat what we kill. So you don't need to worry about offending us with some good stories or unsavory habits."
"Thanks."
"Anytime. Thanks for taking us," the human said, opening the door and mounting up into the Jeep. "See anything interesting?"
"Well..." Hound replied, pulling out of the parking lot, with Mirage trailing behind. "You might want to try the north side next time; a lot more birds seemed to go there."
Author's Note: I blame this entirely on reading Hank Shaw's "Hunt, Gather, Cook," which is an excellent book.
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Date: 2011-09-17 12:31 am (UTC)I love how astute Mirage is in this, as well.
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Date: 2011-09-17 01:20 am (UTC)And, yes, Mirage is very astute. Kind of surprised me when he turned up....
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Date: 2011-09-17 01:23 am (UTC)LOVE this. Just an adorable little bittyfic about something that always bugs me.
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Date: 2011-09-17 05:09 am (UTC)This was wonderful; love new insights.
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Date: 2011-09-18 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-21 07:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-27 02:50 am (UTC)