Author: DragonDancer5150 PM
Typical Wheeljack. For as brilliant and capable as he is, he has his "moments", but he never lets the set-backs get him down. G1 cartoon continuity. COMPLETERated: Fiction K+ - English - Wheeljack - Words: 642 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 12 - Follows: 1 - Published: 01-21-11 - Status: Complete - id: 6673696
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note – A ficlet of sorts that I wrote for the first- and third-person samples for a character application to play Wheeljack in a LiveJournal rp. I kinda really like it and thought others might too, so I'm posting it. Enjoy. XD
Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.
"Um . . . hi, guys! You, ah . . . probably heard that big ka-boom? Y-yeah. I'm fine! Well, mostly. Hey, Ratch, ya gonna have time in a little bit for a limb reattachment? Most everything's still intact, it just . . . well, yeah, you'll see. I'd do it myself, but it's kinda a two-handed job. BUT! I think I know what went wrong. Cliffjumper, could ya come by my lab later? A-after I've had a chance to clean up a bit, that is. This new spike-gun should be able to deliver your glass gas a lot more efficiently than your current gun. I think you'll like it! Okay, anyway, I'll see ya then!"
Wheeljack shut off his communicator and turned his attention back to the mess on his table . . . and strewn across the floor . . . and embedded into the wall. That piece was the one that had taken off his right arm at the elbow joint. He sighed, ignoring the pain in his limb – the half that was still attached – as he stepped out from behind the blast shield that he'd not managed to duck behind quite fast enough and stooped to snatch up the other half. The hand and forearm seemed fine, and the engineer nodded.
"A'right," he muttered to himself as he stepped back up to the table, brushing twisted scraps aside and setting down the severed limb. His optics focused on the device and his charred notes, and he leaned on one hand and started to rest the other on his hip as he thought. Only . . . yeah, not present. He let the stump rest gingerly along his flank instead. "Gotta be the other configuration, then. I mean . . . that's the only one left, an' I know this works; I've done it before." Except that had been quite a while ago now, long enough ago that, while he knew one of the final two possible configurations had proven to be the right one, he'd long confused himself on trying to just reason out which one it was, and his original notes were in his old workshop back on Cybertron. In the end, he'd built two devices and had to just pick one of his choices and go for it, reserving the second for the other configuration in case . . . well, this happened.
But that would have to wait. He really did need to get things cleaned up before Ratchet got there to help him with his arm. He wondered how the medic's day had been going so far. That'd determine how much of a grousing he'd get for managing to "dismember" himself again. The engineer couldn't help a rueful snicker as he shook his head at the thought. Oh well. Now, where was that hand broom…?
After a moment's searching, he couldn't find it right away, and in a mild fit of ornery . . . something – even he couldn't have quite defined the impulse – he picked up the detached limb by the forearm and used the hand to start scooping the debris into a pile. Yes, it was silly – and depending on who was asked, admittedly kind of creepy – but . . . hey. He'd not gotten where he was in life without being able to poke a little fun at himself.