Title: Owls and Larks
Chapter Warnings: Mild violence
Pairings: None at the moment but future Sam/Bee
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, the any quotes or lyrics, or song titles in anyway, shape, or form. Basically, nothing you recognize is mine.
2007 Movie-verse AU: Sam is human. On his father's side that is. His mother's? Not so much. which was how he got roped into this gig in the first place. Eventual Sam/Bee
Chapter One: Paraselene
May the devil chase you every day of your life and never catch you. -Irish Toast
He was being hunted.
He stepped out of the club into the dark alley, his booted foot-steps echoing quietly against the walls. Enjoying the cool night air, he stretched his arms over his head, popping joints, his gem studded bangles clicking musically against one another as he started the long trek to his home.
His stalker followed quickly behind, staying hidden in the shadows. Had the stalker been of the human variety, he would have ignored or confronted it, depending on his mood. But since it something else entirely, the reeking scent of decay and death alerting him to this fact, he led it away from the club.
This particular creature's name eluded Sam at the moment, something long and in Latin. The only thing he knew for sure this creature was most likely responsible for the rash of murdered boys that kept turning up lately, bodies torn to pieces and faces missing. The cops thought it was the work of particularly vicious serial killer and would be bewildered as well grateful when the killings just abruptly stopped.
Slender to the point of delicacy, with pale skin, big kohl-lined brown eyes, plump red lips and flushed cheeks, Sam would have been the perfect victim for the entity, adding to the number of 'missing teens' who were never seen again outside of a morgue.
That is, if he had been fully human.
If creepy stalker only knew what it was hunting at the moment it would have run….but of course it didn't. The pendent on his choker hid his true nature from detection.
The stalker was getting closer, almost upon Sam, intending to tear him to pieces.
Sam could still hear the pounding techno beat from the club. It was loud enough he could hear the words. Perfect, no one would call the cops.
'You mean to say that's the best you can do?...ha ha ha ha….'
It was loud enough nobody inside the club heard the roar or screams or seen the blood spatter on the graffiti covered walls of the alley.
Judge me all you want, just keep the verdict to yourself. -From a Winston advertisement
Sam hid a yawn behind his hand and stretched as best he could in the small desk, laying his head down on his folded arms. Listening to someone drone on and on about their family history was not what he wanted to do at the moment or ever, come to that. Judging by the amount of creaking desks and bored looks for his fellow students, no one else did either. The teacher himself was dozing off at his desk, just waiting for the day to be over with just as much as his students did; only his wasted time would eventually result in a paycheck.
The boredom of Sam's was made worse by his skin, which felt itchy, dry and utterly miserable. He glanced at the clock at he starched a patch of red skin hidden by his sleeve. Joy of joys, there were only ten more minutes of class left, if he was lucky he wouldn't have to give his own genealogy report today.
"Sam," Miles tapped him on the shoulder, "You're up, dude."
No such luck.
With a sigh, he slid out of the school desk and went to the front of the class. He placed his great-great grandfather's possessions on the table in front of him and set his genealogy chart on the black board behind him. It featured mostly his father's family with only a small line indicating his father's and mother's marriage.
His cousin Daniel did a good job, and it only cost Sam a copy of Busty Beauties. Not a bad trade in his mind, though if his Aunt Carly ever found out that Sam had given her precious baby boy such a magazine; he would die a horrible death at the hands of an irate mother, though his own mother would find the situation funny, not that he was going to share that with her.
"My great-great grandfather, Archibald Witwicky, was one of the first guys to sail north of the Arctic Circle." The whole sentence was said in a bored tone and without looking up at the class. So Sam couldn't have seen Trent, with an athlete's skill, take aim and flick a rubber band at him while Sam flatly explained what each object was.
Had it been anyone else, the annoying piece of rudder would have hit them painfully in the face, the dozing teacher wouldn't stirred because the one doing the flicking Trent DeMarco, the star of the school's most cherished cash cow, the football team. Had it been anyone else, the status quo would have remained unchallenged.
Sam wasn't anyone else. Plus, he wasn't in the mood to put up with such crap today.
In a move almost too quick for human eyes to track, he snatched the offending rubber band out of the air and fired it back, hitting the offender in the face without even looking up. Needless to say, Hosney caught Sam's retaliation and felt compelled to do something.
"Sam…" he scolded. With a negligent gesture to the teacher, Sam continued on, still not looking up, missing a seething Trent and a pensive Mikaela Banes.
"Due most likely to recurring hypothermia, Captain Archibald's mental health began to deteriorate to the point he spent the rest of his life in the Psychopathic Institute for the Long-Term Insane in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, drawing bizarre symbols and ranting about an 'Ice man'."
Sam did not mention that the same odd symbols appeared on the old explorers cracked glasses. He doubted they could see them anyway.
Finally, finally, the bell rang ending Sam's torment. Students raced out as Hosney called, "Might be a pop quiz tomorrow. Might not. Sleep in fear tonight."
Sam quickly gathered his things and headed to the door, trying to make his escape with the other students, "Sam, a moment if you please."
As if he had a choice. Sam told Miles to go on without him while he stayed behind. When he and the teacher were the only ones left in the classroom, Sam asked, "What is it…sir?"
"This project is a significant part of your grade in this class." Hosney leaned back in his chair until it creaked. "Your chart doesn't include any of your mother's family."
"My mother's an orphan, she has no record of her family," Sam lied through his teeth; he ran his nails through the riot of brunette curls on his head, surreptitiously scratching his scalp, wondering where the hell this was going.
"Oh." Hosney looked slightly uncomfortable at that, "then I'll give your project an A-."
"Thanks." Sam said hitching his book bag higher on his shoulder and turned to leave.
'What now?' "Sir?"
"Are there problems at home?"
"What?" Sam asked, turning around to stare at the teacher, 'Where the hell did that come from?'
"Are there problems at home?" Hosney repeated as he assumed the caring teacher position, that Sam found condescending rather than reassuring, "You have a bright future, and I would hate to see something happen to it."
"What are you talking about?" Sam asked annoyed. His grades were fine as far as he knew.
"Well it's quite obvious from your dress style that something is wrong." Hosney stated pointing to Sam's attire.
'Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ,' Sam seethed. "I wasn't aware I was violating the school dress code…sir."
"It's an obvious cry for help." Hosney stated with an air of some one who had already made up their mind, "I've heard your mother drinks quite heavily and having an alcoholic parent who obviously lacks shelf control must-"
'Can't kill him, too many witnesses.' From a human standpoint, it probably did look like she drank too much, given the amount of wine bottles that came out of the Witwicky home. However, the implied insult to his mother made Sam counted to ten. Twice. Before slamming his hand down on the desk, making the teacher jump, "An educator should know better than to listen to gossip, sir." If he gave in to his anger and attacked a teacher verbally or physically, Hosney would have more proof of Sam's 'problems.' "If that is all?"
"Yy-es." Hosney stuttered, obviously nervous since his shelf preservation instincts had finally kicked in, "If you need some one to talk, I'll be here or you could talk to the school's counselor."
"I'll keep that in mind." Sam growled as he stomped out of the classroom.
'Who the hell does he think he is?' Sam thought as walked towards the student's parking lot, scratching skin, 'Stupid human bastard. Thank God, I only have one year of this shit left.'
"Sam!" Miles called as he ran up, "What did Hosney want?"
"He wanted to talk about to me about my 'problems'." Sam growled as he headed to his dad's green Austin Healey BJ8.
"So I'm not the only one who noticed your mental problems?" Miles asked with a smile.
"Cute. But no, he wanted to talk about my mother's drinking problem, after insulting my dress sense."
"Wow. Is he trying to kill himself?" Miles joked, walking backwards to face Sam. "You'd think he would smart enough not to bother after you displayed your ninja skills."
"Ninja skills?" Sam asked, wondering what the hell Miles was talking about. "Now who has brain damage?"
"Flick Rubber Band at Asshole." Miles replied in a crappy Asian accent, pulling his body into a pose reminiscent of The Karate Kid until he fell over. "Wax on, Wax off, Sam-san."
"Thank you, Mr. Miyagi." Sam said as he helped Miles up. "One of the good thing out of this is I have the grades I need."
"Dude, it's your money," Miles said, "Why kill yourself studying?"
"My dad said I had to make all A's and B's this year, which I'm sure I did." Sam shrugged as he open the car door, "To prove I'm responsible enough for a car or something, I don't know."
"So helping to keep the world a safer place for doesn't make you responsible?" Miles asked as he climbed into passenger side.
"But he trusts you with his car."
"I have given up trying to explain why my parents do anything. It's easier just to assume that they fried too many brain cells during their hippy-heavy-groovy days."
"So when is the blessed event happening?"
"Later today or maybe tomorrow, I have to go to Pearl," Sam said, scratching more vigorously and trying to drive at the same time, "I think I'm shedding again."
"Poor thing," Miles said in mock sympathy, "Puberty is a bitch, isn't it?"
With a rude gesture at Miles, Sam continued, "I have to call Alexis and I have to pick up groceries for Mrs. Sarah -"
"Ooo, Mrs. Sarah Lennox," Miles said mischievously, "How is my favorite M.I.L.F?"
"You really want to walk home don't you?"
"Come on, man. I'm kidding!" Miles said propping his feet on the dashboard. "She is hot though."
"She is pretty," Sam said with a shrug, "Her husband's cute too."
"You've met him?"
"Nope, I've seen his pictures though. He's in Qatar at the moment."
"Desperate Housewives, man," Miles said with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. "Is hot mom lonely?"
"Her husband is an army Captain who probably carries a really big gun." Sam said, shooting his friend a look, "I don't want to get shot in the ass. I'm rather attached to it."
"Just remember, guns don't kill people," Miles said wisely, "Husbands who come home early do."
"There's something really wrong with you isn't there?"
After dropping Miles off at his house, Sam drove to Pearl quickly as he could with out getting a ticket; his itching skin was driving him crazy. Pearl was a two story, very chic spa/salon that catered to clientele of the non-human variety. The cool air inside was a welcomed relief from the heat, the waiting room was calming, soothing with walls decorated in restful patterns of blues and greens with luxurious furniture.
"Good afternoon," The receptionist, a shapely blond, greeted with a professional if flat smile.
Returning the smile, Sam asked, "Is room Number Nine free?"
The receptionist eyes widen as she looked Sam up and down, her professional smile becoming a bit warmer, "Yes it is but there's no one free at the moment."
"That's fine," Sam said with a quick, discreet scratch under his shirt, "I would rather wait there, if it's not a problem."
"Not at all."
Two hallways and down a flight of stairs later, Sam was standing in front of the yellow door of room Number Nine. With a gentle touch, the door opened with out a sound. The room was gold, silver and platinum decorated with precious and semi-precious stones. Smiling at the soothing hum of metals and gems, Sam went over to a small storage locker and began to strip.
As he took his clothes off, placing them into the locker, he couldn't help but think about what Hosney said about his dress sense. Like most people, he like to think he had a unique style, A black button down shirt, simple black jeans and boots with amethyst drops and silver studs in his ears, gem-studded bangles on each wrist, and the simple velvet choker with a dichroic glass pendent that he always wore completed the outfit. He wore little in the way of cosmetics: a bit of eyeliner, lip-gloss and dark blue nail polish.
Hell, he was dressed conservatively, in his opinion. He resolutely put the jerk out of his mind as he shut the storage locker. He could have done this without being naked but it was so much easier without clothes.
Breathing deep, he shed his human form.
Song in this chapter:
Pimp Code: We Are The Best
I really liked the second quote so I had to add it somewhere.
Happy New Year!
I decided to celebrate the New Year with a new story (i.e.: the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone.).
Everything in the Transformers movie universe is concentrated on Sam father side of the family, yet nothing is said about his mother's family.
I wanted this Sam to be able to hold his own. So we'll see how that goes.
Can anyone guess what Sam is in this story?
Hint: he's not a werewolf or a vampire.
Thanks for reading,