milliways_bar | (no subject)

The pig blinks.

"Before I came here, I didn't know any animals that couldn't talk."

The bird narrows his green eyes.

"You came from Earth, right?" His tone is still very demanding, which doesn't make his squawky voice easier to take. Maybe it's his default tone.

"Correct comrade. I came from near Willingdon in England."

Somehow, using the past tense to describe his home... hurts a little.

"Apparently Earth has a load of talking animals," the dactyl comments, vaguely suspicious. You'd think the history files he'd read would have said something about that.

The large red dino hops closer to the fire, giving the pig some space, and opens his wings. From underneath them falls the body of a dead, partially-charred rabbit.

Snowball watches the creature. Whilst he can accept being carnivorous as a fact of nature, he is quite prepared to sink his large teeth into the creature should it prove agressive.

"May I as what you are?"

"I'm a Transformer," replies the bird. "Uh, but my beast mode is a pteradactyl."

He doesn't explain further - instead, he nips at a piece of charred rabbit flesh, tugs it off, then throws his head back and swallows it.

"You are able to change your shape? This seems to be common around here."

Terrorsaur tilts his head at the pig.

"Really? Who else can do it?"

The question is punctuated with another dig into the rabbit and another gulp of fur and flesh.

"Whiskyjack. I was frightened at first because I'd never seen it happen before."

"What's this Whiskyjack turn into?" the dactylbot asks, a bit worriedly.

"A bird. But the fact it changed was scary if you aren't used to it."

The pterodactyl looks the pig over. "Bet you were scared," he sneers.

After anothe gulp of rabbit, Terrorsaur asks, "What kind of bird? Did it have a hooked beak or what?"

"A jay I think."

He glares at the pterodactyl. "Maybe I was, but there was only me there. Had it threatened one of my comrades, I would have stood my ground until the bitter end. I see no point in standing in front of the gun just to prove you are brave."

Terrorsaur doesn't show much recognition at the mention of species.

"Awwww, such a brave little Maximal piglet," mocks the bird, the corners of its beak stretching up in a grin.

The pig says nothing, but turns a little to show the pterodactyl the two large bullet scars down his back. He doesn't need to prove himself to this bird, or anyone else. A warrior and leader, even if he had to leave his medal behind he knows he won it. And that is enough for him.

"I take it you are a gallant warrior in your parts comrade." he replies instead, perfectly amiably.

Terrorsaur isn't impressed with bullet wounds.

He's impressed with himself, however.

"Naturally." He raises his crested head proudly. "I've fought everything the Maximals have ever thrown at me.

"Who took a chunk out of you? Anyone here?"

"Mr Jones. A man I met said he drinks here, but I haven't seen him yet. What is a maximal, and what did it throw at you?"

The birdbot tilts his head.

"You should get him back before he gets you, if you know what's good for you.

"Where I'm from - the planet Cybertron - we've got two factions: Predacons and Maximals. The ancestors of the Maximals won a war a few centuries back, and they've been oppressing the Predacons ever since. I was with a group of fighters that left Cybertron to find the power to reclaim our rightful place as rulers of Cybertron. We would've gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for a ship of meddling Maximals that followed us. We've been fighting ever since."

"Why don't you just fly away from the ship? Nobody can catch a bird easily."

He twitches an ear. "It is against the rules to fight here, but there is a death warrent upon Jones anyway."

"Well, both our ships crashed on this unexplored planet. So the Maximal ship can't fly, but neither can ours.

"I'm sure there'd be an exception to the 'no violence' rule for someone that tried to kill you once."

He lifts his wings in a shrug, then rips off another rabbit chunk.

"How did a ship get to a planet? I didn't think any ships could fly, unless you mean a hovercraft."

He rests his chin on his trotters. "I don't know if it's appropriate to stoop to his level."

"It's a spaceship," replies Terrorsaur, as if that answers everything.

"Stoop to his level?" the bird scoffs. "It's keeping yourself safe!"

"You mean, it goes up?"

He eyes the bird. "I would like to think that I am more civilised than him. But should it come down to it, my teeth will meet his jugular with sufficient rapidity."

"Of course spaceships can fly. They go into space."

"Civilized?" The bird tilts his head, then scornfully says, "You're a pig. Did you know that?"

"Yes, of course I do."

I can understand advanced physics thank you very much. Why should I know about unimportant things like Up?

"Pigs aren't supposed to be civilized."

Then again, Terrorsaur hasn't met any pigs that talk, either.

He turns back to the rabbit, plucking out one of its eyes this time. Mmm. Eyeballs.

"Why not?"

" 'Cuz you're animals. Animals don't know the first thing about civilization." A thoughtful head-tilt, then, "Okay, maybe talking animals might know a bit more, but not really."

"Don't be ridiculous. I have been leader of a perfectly civilised collection of animals running our own farm for months without the slightest hint of human intervention. You should give yourself more credit."

"Animals run a farm?" Pause. "What's a farm?"

After another hunk of rabbit, the bird adds, "I'm not an animal. I'm a Transformer. I just look like an animal sometimes."

"We grow things. To feed ourselves."

"Oh. That's how primitives like you get food."

There's a slight sneer to Terrorsaur's voice.

"Well considering that you have chosen the form of an extinct species, I think primitive is somewhat inappropriate."

"Hey!" The dinosaur spreads its wings menacingly. "Watch it, bacon-breath!

"This form's better than yours." He snorts. "You can't even fly."

"Merely pointing out fact comrade." the pig remarks, amused.

"Well, watch what kind of facts you point out," growls the bird. "And what's the with the 'comrade' slag, anyway?"

"I, as a civilised creature, have a culture. All animals, no matter how unpleasant are comrades."

He turns away. "You, however, are not civilised enough to be an animal. Good day."

He walks away.

Terrorsaur narrows his eyes at the pig.

"Some creatures are just asking for more wounds," he mutters angrily, then continues eating his dinner.