Bunny by flamingmarsh of lj: Most of the bots in the Ark are red and some have red on them so one Autobot can't stand it anymore. He changes or wants to change their paint. (He chases Red Alert around trying to paint him a different color)

Red and Orange

From the moment he onlined his optics in the morning, to the moment he offlined them in the evening he was surrounded with orange and red.

Orange, the colour of their base, associated with the warmth of the sun. Red, the colour of practically everyone of their faction except himself, associated with life, vitality and passion. Both were warm colours, used probably to inspire them, to fill them with the will to live, to survive the next battle. Beautiful colours, filling him with warmth to the point of puking.

Each time he had to look at each colour, he burned. The colours filled his optics, attacking his very Spark every moment of everycycle. He sometimes had the feeling he would bleed the colour, like the humans did. He already puked the damn things, why shouldn't he bleed them too?

Each day he spent inside these sickly-coloured walls he wanted to rip his optics out. Each moment of having to look at yet another red mech the need to bang his helm against the nearest hard surface grew. The fact all of the non-red mechs were either so obnoxious he wanted to strangle them after a few kliks or were almost insane wasn't helping matters.

Nope. Not in the slightest.

He could feel himself cracking, the fine layer of not-caring thinning around the edges, large sensitive patches opening on his front, right over his processor and chassis.

He was starting to enjoy sneaking into the Decepticon base, just for the change in colour. The purple wasn't filling him with the need to hurt something. Or someone.

Then came the day of the newest arrivals. Coloured white-red, blue-red, yellow with red stripes, green with red accents, and fully red.

Red, red, red, red, red, red...

He had greeted them, taken part in the debriefing, went to the welcoming party. He had spoken with each mech, their colouring burning him to the point of an itch appearing right behind his optics, implying them wanting to fill with Energon tears.

Red, red, red, red, red, red...

And after his shift, he had returned to his quarters, sat on his berth, and snapped.

*~*~*~*~*~*

"SECURITY BREACH!! SECURITY BREACH!!" Red Alert yelled to the top of his vocalizer, running as fast as he could through the hallways of the Ark. His helm-nodes flashed a brilliant colour, glitch working overtime. "FOR THE LOVE OF PRIMUS, SOMEONE HELP ME!!"

A certain mech, giggling insanely, was running after him. Carrying something he did not want to think about at the moment.

Oh sweet Primus, someone really was out to get him! He never would have thought it would be one of his own faction though.

As he run past one of the private rooms, the doors slid open, an irate-looking Ironhide stepping outside. "What the slag is all the racket?!" he snarled, Red Alert's assailant stopping next to him. "Why is Red glitching this time?"

The madmech took one long look at Ironhide, taking in his bright, newly-washed and nearly sparkling red armour, and screamed. He shifted his grip on the container he was carrying, and sloshed the blue liquid all over the Weapon Specialist's front.

"What the slag, Mirage?!" Ironhide chocked out, taking a step back and trying to get the paint off his optics.

Mirage simply grinned at the new 'paint-job', then took off, un-subspacing another barrel of paint (green this time) and continued on his hunt for Red Alert.

If he had to personally re-paint every single Autobot to get some slagging change in the fragging ship, he would do so gladly.