Now, back by popular demand, Ironhide and Annabelle! After writing "Black Crayons," I had such a huge response, I decided to do a sequel. This time, I'm trying it from Ironhide's viewpoint. I figured his view of Annabelle's drawings would be interesting to see. This can come before or after "Black Crayons," or it can be read alone.
He had been alive for longer than any of these humans could imagine. Time meant something different for him than the short-lived inhabitants of Earth. What for them seemed an eternity barely caught his notice.
However, he was not the most patient Autobot. He preferred action (especially action involving the use of his cannons.) Currently, his patience was running out.
"Hold still," a young voice sternly commanded the giant robot.
Ironhide mentally groaned. He would face Decepticons head on. He would take on Megatron himself, if he had to. Annabelle, unfortunately, was a harder challenge and one he would never defeat it seemed. He didn't even know if he wanted to win.
She was currently laying on the grass, stretched out and concentrating on her task. The reason Ironhide was not allowed to move was because she told him she was going to "draw" him. So he now was standing perfectly still in the yard as she used her colored wax implements to render a two-dimensional representation of his appearance. He was still in position when Will Lennox came outside. His barely contained chuckle sorely tempted Ironhide to bend the "no harm" policy that the Autobots followed concerning humans.
"What are you doing, Sweetheart?" asked the captain to his busy daughter.
"Drawing Ironhide, Daddy," she answered excitedly. "Isn't it a pretty picture?" She tore the paper loose and handed it to him. After looking it over, Lennox informed her it was very pretty and handed it back.
Satisfied with her father's approval, she turned her attention to the subject of her work. "Do you like it, Ironhide?"
She seemed to realize her friend would have trouble grasping the tiny picture easily. Annabelle held her drawing up as high as she could while he bent down close to her. He began a detailed analysis of her work while her small fingers pointed out important features.
The paper she had chosen had blue, parallel lines stretching across, but all the sheets had similar lines. Most of the forms on the paper consisted of combinations of circles, rectangles, and triangles. Or rather, forms similar to those shapes, because the lines were neither straight nor constant enough to be true circles, rectangles, or triangles. Furthermore, the objects that she claimed the pictures were supposed to represent only had the vaguest similarity. Her "tree" was a circular green shape on top of a brown rectangular form. These colors were not consistent with the actual fauna Ironhide had become familiar with, but Annabelle's assortment of colored wax implements was extremely limited in spectrum, so that was understandable. Her "house" was similarly simple: a near triangle upon an almost correct square. Most of her shapes were drawn in think black lines, as unrealistic as the rest of the picture in portraying actual objects, and color was applied mostly within these shapes. Some places had the colors outside Annabelle's black divisions.
When she pointed out "the sun," Ironhide felt extremely perplexed. A simple, yellow, round object made sense with Annabelle's simplified designs, but the lines around it was less understandable. Was she trying to demonstrate the light being created? Heat? UV rays and other invisible forms of radiation? Why did she place these lines?
Finally, she pointed to the picture, "and this is you, Ironhide."
The form she indicated was black, like Ironhide. It was also blocky and awkward. The shape was made up of long rectangles, which he assumed were supposed to represent his servos, attached to a central squarish object. On top was a rounder object with two blue dots, possibly to represent his blue optics. Overall, the similarities between Annabelle's image and his actual appearance were minimal.
Then Ironhide took a closer look. Unlike her other representations, the one of him never had the colors crossing outside of her drawn lines. She had taken more care to maintain his appearance than the appearance of the other images. He could also see that the lines were straighter than the others. He realized most of her time had been spent of perfecting his shape.
He also realized he had been silent to long. Her features twisted into a sad appearance. Her arms began to droop. Lennox's own expression gained a look of concern for his daughter.
"It's just," began Ironhide carefully, "where are my cannons, Annabelle?"
"Oh, I forgot them," exclaimed Annabelle, snatching up her drawing implements quickly. She slowly drew an addition to her picture. Her concentration was fairly surprising. When she finished, she held the picture up again. "Is that better?"
"It's perfect," he told her.
I hope you like it. So many people asked for this story that I had to try it. If you enjoyed it, please let me know. Also, try some of my other stories. I can always do with more feedback. Thanks.
P.S. I own nothing.