Tailgate -- Old Age
Jan. 6th, 2007 03:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dunmurderinTitle: Untitled; written for 7 minibots, "Old Age" of the 7 ages of man
Word Count: 1470 words
Rating: G/gen
Characters: Tailgate, Elise Presser
Author's Note: Elise Presser is the human girl who showed up in B.O.T. I figured, if anybody would grow up to become a sociologist working among Transformers, it'd be her. Story takes place roughly in the year 2000.
# # #
Tailgate sat in one of the Ark’s makeshift workrooms, slowly reassembling a microwave oven.
It was an older model, practically ancient by the standards of such things. Up until earlier that day, it had been in the humans’ break room off the science lab. He’d heard them complain about it often enough -- how it would either burn food into unrecognizable carbon one minute and leave it raw and uncooked the next. It was only by pure chance that he’d happened along as Chip and Carly were about to throw it out.
It hadn’t taken much persuasion to get them to let him take it away, though neither one had thought it likely that he could repair it.
“It’s old, Tailgate,” Carly had said. “It’s nearly fifteen years old; appliances just aren’t meant to last forever.”
“She’s right,” Chip had said, nodding his agreement. “It’s called planned obsolescence. Companies want stuff to wear out so people will buy new things.”
“Does it hurt for me to try?” Tailgate had asked, holding on to his anger and disgust with an effort. Some of it must have shown through, because Chip had looked embarrassed and Carly muttered something to the effect of “no, of course not” by way of permission.
So, he’d brought the microwave to this workroom and had gone to work on it, carefully disassembling the microwave and laying the parts out. As he always did when he worked on an allegedly non-sentient machine, he talked to it, explaining what he was doing and why.
“Hey, Tailgate! What’s up?” The sound of Elise Presser’s voice made him look up. She was standing in the doorway, breathing heavily as if she’d run some distance. She brushed her hair out of her eyes as she walked forward. “Carly told me you were down here; you didn’t forget that we were supposed to meet up today, did you?”
Tailgate shifted in his seat. “No, but something came up.” He gestured to the microwave pieces in front of him. “I’m busy now.”
“I can see that,” Elise said as she approached the bench. “Carly mentioned you’d rescued Vesta. Any luck yet?”
“No.” Tailgate stopped working. “I just got started. I’m not even sure what’s wrong with her yet -- other than simple human thoughtlessness.”
Elise leaned against the table, head tilted to one side as she looked up at him. Tailgate knew she’d caught the emphasis he’d given “human” but he didn’t care. “I’ll admit,” she said, starting off carefully, “we didn’t always treat the old girl well. I’ve yelled at her a couple times myself, but I usually apologized afterwards.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Tailgate said. “That’s bad, but what I’m talking about is worse. A lot worse.”
Elise stepped away from the table and over to a packing crate. Pushing against it, she shoved it over against a table leg and climbed onto the crate and then up onto the table. “Okay,” she said, sounding a bit winded as she sat down. “So tell me what it is that’s a whole lot worse.”
“I don’t feel like being a test subject right now,” Tailgate said. “I’ve got to work on figuring out what’s wrong with her and getting her back together. You can question me later.”
“Tailgate, I’m not asking you about this because you’re a test subject,” Elise said. “I’m asking you about it because you’re my friend and you’re obviously upset and I want to know why.” She paused. “And, admittedly, if it’s something that might help me in my research, it’ll probably end up in my notes later on, but right now? I’m not Elise Presser, anthropologist. I’m Elise Presser, person who is still grateful to you for helping me get my car back into working shape.”
Tailgate hesitated before he answered. On the one hand, he still didn’t quite trust humans -- they were a race that enslaved machines with a casual cruelty that at times surpassed even that of the Decepticons. On the other hand, Elise was one of the few humans who actually listened to him when he talked.
And she’d done it from the moment he’d met her -- which admittedly had not gone well. She’d driven up to the Ark in a battered El Camino that was all but screaming in agony and Tailgate had just snapped.
“You did listen then,” he said, grudgingly.
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Elise said, wrinkling her nose as she grinned at him. “You were standing over me at the time, yelling about what a callous beast I was for driving him up there when any idiot could tell he needed repairs.”
“Well, it was true!” Tailgate said. “His timing was shot. He was clearly past due for an oil change. I don’t know what you were thinking.”
“At the time? I was thinking ‘I’m glad I’m wearing clean underwear,’” Elise said. “And I was wondering if Prime was going to faint.”
Tailgate allowed himself a small chuckle. “Yeah, Magnus let me have it over that,” he said. “I haven’t pulled that many third shift watches since I was on Cybertron.”
“I know,” Elise said. “I remember pulling a couple with you. Not that you were too thrilled about that, as I recall.”
Tailgate shifted in his seat, scanning the tools in front of him in order to avoid looking at Elise. "Yeah, well...how's Rusty doing?"
“Right as rain,” Elise said. “Purrs like a kitten and runs like a deer. You’d think he just rolled off the assembly line.”
“Good,” Tailgate said.
“Okay, so tell me what’s up with you and Vesta? What’s got you so upset?” Elise shifted so that she was sitting cross-legged on the table, her chin resting in her hands. It was, Tailgate had learned, her ’I am listening intently’ face and it meant that she was giving someone her full attention. It was also a bit unnerving -- though Pipes swore up and down that Tailgate had a similar expression when he was repairing things.
“It’s about planned obsolescence,” Tailgate said, studying the microwave's magnetron as he tried to start off calmly. “It’s bad enough that humans treat machines like objects, without any respect for them unless they’re particularly pretty or powerful, but to build them so they’ll break down just so they can be replaced by a new machine and so on and so on is just barbaric!”
Elise nodded. “I know a lot of people who feel the same way,” she said. “It’s wasteful and more than a bit counterproductive, especially when you consider how much effort we put into trying to recycle other materials. But, surely on Cybertron things broke down.”
“Yeah, but if they did we’d fix them,” Tailgate said. “We had to! It wasn’t like we could walk into a store and buy something new. We didn’t have stores and even the Decepticons couldn’t afford to throw out perfectly good equipment just because they wanted something new.”
Elise didn't say anything, just looked expectantly at him, waiting for him to explain further.
"We didn't -- we don't build things so that they'll wear out," Tailgate said. "We just don't do that. If we build something, it's meant to last."
"Even if it's something you had to jury-rig together?" Elise asked. "Like those spare motion sensors Wheeljack cobbled together last week? If I remember right, he took them apart after he was done with them. He even said that they were just temporary."
Tailgate looked up from the microwave, suddenly. "That's different."
"How?"
Tailgate looked down, keeping his optics on the microwave's internals, focusing on the magnetron. "I don't know," he said. "But it feels like it is. Those parts will get used for something else; they're not just going to be tossed out because Wheeljack doesn't like the color."
"Point," Elise said. "How is she?"
"Not good," Tailgate said. "Magnetron is shot. I know we don't have any in stores that'll fit her but...I don't know, I can ask Pipes to look around maybe."
"Or we could make a few calls," Elise said. "Give me the make and model and I'll see what I can do. There's a few electronics stores in town, somebody might have what we need."
"You don't have to," Tailgate said. "I mean...I've kinda been a jerk."
"Yeah, but you're still my friend," Elise said. "Besides, it's in my best interest to help you get Vesta fixed. Otherwise, Spike just might try to cook again."
"That's bad?"
"On a scale of abominations, it's right up there with New Coke but not quite as bad as Madonna's American Pie cover."
"And that's bad?"
"Tailgate, you have no idea," Elise said, sliding off the side of the table and dropping to the floor. "C'mon, I'll educate you while we make those calls."
-----
End Note: To those who may actually have fond memories of New Coke, I honestly can't remember it tasting any different than Old Coke. Then again, I can't tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi (though I did once take the Pepsi Challenge and chose Coke -- and felt like a bad*ass* for the rest of the afternoon [I was ten])
Madonna's cover of "American Pie," however, hurt me in my crotch.
Word Count: 1470 words
Rating: G/gen
Characters: Tailgate, Elise Presser
Author's Note: Elise Presser is the human girl who showed up in B.O.T. I figured, if anybody would grow up to become a sociologist working among Transformers, it'd be her. Story takes place roughly in the year 2000.
Tailgate sat in one of the Ark’s makeshift workrooms, slowly reassembling a microwave oven.
It was an older model, practically ancient by the standards of such things. Up until earlier that day, it had been in the humans’ break room off the science lab. He’d heard them complain about it often enough -- how it would either burn food into unrecognizable carbon one minute and leave it raw and uncooked the next. It was only by pure chance that he’d happened along as Chip and Carly were about to throw it out.
It hadn’t taken much persuasion to get them to let him take it away, though neither one had thought it likely that he could repair it.
“It’s old, Tailgate,” Carly had said. “It’s nearly fifteen years old; appliances just aren’t meant to last forever.”
“She’s right,” Chip had said, nodding his agreement. “It’s called planned obsolescence. Companies want stuff to wear out so people will buy new things.”
“Does it hurt for me to try?” Tailgate had asked, holding on to his anger and disgust with an effort. Some of it must have shown through, because Chip had looked embarrassed and Carly muttered something to the effect of “no, of course not” by way of permission.
So, he’d brought the microwave to this workroom and had gone to work on it, carefully disassembling the microwave and laying the parts out. As he always did when he worked on an allegedly non-sentient machine, he talked to it, explaining what he was doing and why.
“Hey, Tailgate! What’s up?” The sound of Elise Presser’s voice made him look up. She was standing in the doorway, breathing heavily as if she’d run some distance. She brushed her hair out of her eyes as she walked forward. “Carly told me you were down here; you didn’t forget that we were supposed to meet up today, did you?”
Tailgate shifted in his seat. “No, but something came up.” He gestured to the microwave pieces in front of him. “I’m busy now.”
“I can see that,” Elise said as she approached the bench. “Carly mentioned you’d rescued Vesta. Any luck yet?”
“No.” Tailgate stopped working. “I just got started. I’m not even sure what’s wrong with her yet -- other than simple human thoughtlessness.”
Elise leaned against the table, head tilted to one side as she looked up at him. Tailgate knew she’d caught the emphasis he’d given “human” but he didn’t care. “I’ll admit,” she said, starting off carefully, “we didn’t always treat the old girl well. I’ve yelled at her a couple times myself, but I usually apologized afterwards.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Tailgate said. “That’s bad, but what I’m talking about is worse. A lot worse.”
Elise stepped away from the table and over to a packing crate. Pushing against it, she shoved it over against a table leg and climbed onto the crate and then up onto the table. “Okay,” she said, sounding a bit winded as she sat down. “So tell me what it is that’s a whole lot worse.”
“I don’t feel like being a test subject right now,” Tailgate said. “I’ve got to work on figuring out what’s wrong with her and getting her back together. You can question me later.”
“Tailgate, I’m not asking you about this because you’re a test subject,” Elise said. “I’m asking you about it because you’re my friend and you’re obviously upset and I want to know why.” She paused. “And, admittedly, if it’s something that might help me in my research, it’ll probably end up in my notes later on, but right now? I’m not Elise Presser, anthropologist. I’m Elise Presser, person who is still grateful to you for helping me get my car back into working shape.”
Tailgate hesitated before he answered. On the one hand, he still didn’t quite trust humans -- they were a race that enslaved machines with a casual cruelty that at times surpassed even that of the Decepticons. On the other hand, Elise was one of the few humans who actually listened to him when he talked.
And she’d done it from the moment he’d met her -- which admittedly had not gone well. She’d driven up to the Ark in a battered El Camino that was all but screaming in agony and Tailgate had just snapped.
“You did listen then,” he said, grudgingly.
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Elise said, wrinkling her nose as she grinned at him. “You were standing over me at the time, yelling about what a callous beast I was for driving him up there when any idiot could tell he needed repairs.”
“Well, it was true!” Tailgate said. “His timing was shot. He was clearly past due for an oil change. I don’t know what you were thinking.”
“At the time? I was thinking ‘I’m glad I’m wearing clean underwear,’” Elise said. “And I was wondering if Prime was going to faint.”
Tailgate allowed himself a small chuckle. “Yeah, Magnus let me have it over that,” he said. “I haven’t pulled that many third shift watches since I was on Cybertron.”
“I know,” Elise said. “I remember pulling a couple with you. Not that you were too thrilled about that, as I recall.”
Tailgate shifted in his seat, scanning the tools in front of him in order to avoid looking at Elise. "Yeah, well...how's Rusty doing?"
“Right as rain,” Elise said. “Purrs like a kitten and runs like a deer. You’d think he just rolled off the assembly line.”
“Good,” Tailgate said.
“Okay, so tell me what’s up with you and Vesta? What’s got you so upset?” Elise shifted so that she was sitting cross-legged on the table, her chin resting in her hands. It was, Tailgate had learned, her ’I am listening intently’ face and it meant that she was giving someone her full attention. It was also a bit unnerving -- though Pipes swore up and down that Tailgate had a similar expression when he was repairing things.
“It’s about planned obsolescence,” Tailgate said, studying the microwave's magnetron as he tried to start off calmly. “It’s bad enough that humans treat machines like objects, without any respect for them unless they’re particularly pretty or powerful, but to build them so they’ll break down just so they can be replaced by a new machine and so on and so on is just barbaric!”
Elise nodded. “I know a lot of people who feel the same way,” she said. “It’s wasteful and more than a bit counterproductive, especially when you consider how much effort we put into trying to recycle other materials. But, surely on Cybertron things broke down.”
“Yeah, but if they did we’d fix them,” Tailgate said. “We had to! It wasn’t like we could walk into a store and buy something new. We didn’t have stores and even the Decepticons couldn’t afford to throw out perfectly good equipment just because they wanted something new.”
Elise didn't say anything, just looked expectantly at him, waiting for him to explain further.
"We didn't -- we don't build things so that they'll wear out," Tailgate said. "We just don't do that. If we build something, it's meant to last."
"Even if it's something you had to jury-rig together?" Elise asked. "Like those spare motion sensors Wheeljack cobbled together last week? If I remember right, he took them apart after he was done with them. He even said that they were just temporary."
Tailgate looked up from the microwave, suddenly. "That's different."
"How?"
Tailgate looked down, keeping his optics on the microwave's internals, focusing on the magnetron. "I don't know," he said. "But it feels like it is. Those parts will get used for something else; they're not just going to be tossed out because Wheeljack doesn't like the color."
"Point," Elise said. "How is she?"
"Not good," Tailgate said. "Magnetron is shot. I know we don't have any in stores that'll fit her but...I don't know, I can ask Pipes to look around maybe."
"Or we could make a few calls," Elise said. "Give me the make and model and I'll see what I can do. There's a few electronics stores in town, somebody might have what we need."
"You don't have to," Tailgate said. "I mean...I've kinda been a jerk."
"Yeah, but you're still my friend," Elise said. "Besides, it's in my best interest to help you get Vesta fixed. Otherwise, Spike just might try to cook again."
"That's bad?"
"On a scale of abominations, it's right up there with New Coke but not quite as bad as Madonna's American Pie cover."
"And that's bad?"
"Tailgate, you have no idea," Elise said, sliding off the side of the table and dropping to the floor. "C'mon, I'll educate you while we make those calls."
-----
End Note: To those who may actually have fond memories of New Coke, I honestly can't remember it tasting any different than Old Coke. Then again, I can't tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi (though I did once take the Pepsi Challenge and chose Coke -- and felt like a bad*ass* for the rest of the afternoon [I was ten])
Madonna's cover of "American Pie," however, hurt me in my crotch.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-06 08:55 am (UTC)And yeah... the only thing Madonna ever did that didn't make me gag and retch was Evita. But that's mainly because I spent most of that movie being stunned that Antonio Banderas can sing. But I digress. =)
re
Date: 2007-01-06 09:07 am (UTC)I like some of Madonna's stuff, though "Papa Don't Preach" got on my last nerve because a friend of mine thought it was actually a reasonable response to being a pregnant teen and I was like...stop being my age! You are making my age look stupid!
But her cover of "American Pie" hurt, mainly because I get used to how a certain version of a song sounds and that can make it almost impossible for me to like another version. That and she made it upbeat. American Pie is NOT an upbeat, happy funtime song! It's about the death of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Richie Valens! ARRRGH!
Upbeat happy funtime...
Date: 2007-01-06 12:35 pm (UTC)"Weeeeeeeeeee've got a TORNADO WARNING in western St. Charles and EASTERN WARREN COUNTIES!"
Said as though Bob is declaring western St. Charles and eastern Warren Counties the winner of the lottery, with the tornado as the jackpot.
[/total topic derailment]
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-06 05:20 pm (UTC)Have a good weekend!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-07 03:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-07 05:16 pm (UTC)Covers That Should Not Be: Madonna's American Pie, Marilyn Manson's Sweet Dreams, and the all-time worst: Pat Boone's Smoke on the Water.