Multiple ratings within
Chapter 49: Lockdown and Swindle III
Title: Lockdown and Swindle III
Rating: T
Waking up with a large, too-warm,
wasted-energon smelling mass practically smothering him to death was
too familiar a feeling that the devon rex was easily made nauseous by
the fact.
Actually.... scratch that. That wasn't
what was making him sick to his tanks and he had to purge. NOW.
With a desperate wriggle and a
non-too-gentle shove and slap to the albino's faceplates, Swindle was
bouncing and twisting over in the berth; managing in his hectic style
to get free just enough to empty his tanks right over the side of the
berth.... and straight onto his floor and a pile of what looked like
clothing. Fantastic.....
Growling lowly, Lockdown pushed himself
up, rubbing at the budding ache between his optics. “....the
frag?,” he grumbled, jaw slowly working. “I was sleepin'.....
Where the frag am I anyhow?”
The entrepreneur purged one last time
before groggily trying to sit up, hitting the tiger limply with the
same servo he wiped his mouth with. “Y....y-you're in....
m...ngh.... b-berth. I-idiot!,” Swindle forced through a sour
glossa, “S-stupid, drunk.... a-aft....”
Lockdown leaned casually back against
the headboard, scratching at his chin. “Ah....,” he said slowly,
optics still dim with sleepiness. “Well, that explains why I feel
good.” He focused on the devon rex as he retched quickly over the
side again. “Ya stink....,” he added.
“F-frag.... n-nngh... you!”
“I'd say we already did that last
night, babe,” the tiger chuckled, servo sliding under the pillows
idly. When Swindle had straightened up again, it was to find that the
other mech's searching had unearthed a flask from beneath the sheets.
A flask, that once the cap was popped, exhumed a horribly, rich scent
of cheap but strong high-grade.
“Y....y-you have more of that
stuff?!,” Swindle shuttered his optics in surprise, torn between
annoyance and want. Lockdown must of caught the look, because a smug
smirk drew across his lip components immediately after and he gave
the flask an extra little shake tauntingly.
“What? Thirsty, doll?,” came the
greasy words, the albino leaning forwards, breathing into the other's
face with his rancid breath. The flask glimmered like a star just off
to the side of the tiger's face, drawing in the devon rex's grasping
attention. “I don't mind sharing.... for a price.”
At the word 'price', black ears
immediately perked. Purple optics narrowing with a glare, Swindle
leaned far back away from his companion, hissing a little. “You
sleazy, no-good, dirty, cheating fr-”
“Just call it a 'business
transaction',” Lockdown pushed, shaking the flask again.
“That's not business, that's
extortion!,” the entrepreneur snapped back.
The tiger shrugged, his greasy smirk
fading a bit. “As if there's any difference in yer line of work.
'Sides, I ain't ever heard ya complain 'bout suckin' spike for a lil'
trade-off before.”
As disgusting as it was -and as much as
he'd probably come to regret it later- Swindle reached over the side
of the berth, scooped up a handful of his own vomit and threw it at
Lockdown. Just when the larger mech went to finish the flask. “GET
OUT!,” Swindle literally shrieked, clawing quickly at the thug,
before scrambling a safe distance away from his roaring partner, “GET
OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!!”
Thankfully for the devon rex, Lockdown
was quick to comply; albeit snarling and cursing up a vicious storm
as he marched from the room, heading directly for the washroom.
xxXxXxx
Having a deal go south was not in
his plans. Getting backed into the end of a dingy alley by
said-companion, plus three of his buddies, was definitely not part of
Lockdown's guide-to-successful-thughood. Of course, what did he
expect when some whimpering stray approached him out of nowhere to
pull off your average heist?
“So.... finish a job, and then ya
get yer loser buddies to beat up the brains behind the plan and split
the profits?,” the tiger asked, keeping his servos loose by his
sides as the other kittycons tried to back him further into the wall.
“Real strategic there, afts.”
The tabby he'd made the deal with
chuckled nasally, swinging his two switchblades easily. “I don't
see any holes in that plan. In fact, it's worked at least a dozen
times over,” he boasted. “'Sides, you're not the smartest apple
in the barrel now if you fell for such an 'obvious trap'.”
“Maybe not,” Lockdown shrugged.
“At least I don't look like some ugly aftwipe, sucking from his
momma's valve for too long.” Well, if you couldn't beat them, at
least insult the idiots until you lost all feeling in your glossa.
Smirking, the thug couldn't help but
be amused that his opponents immediately got riled up -especially the
thin geek leading them. Holding up his one good servo, the albino
crooked a finger to the other kittycons, daring them to attack.
Raising their crude weapons, the gang let out their best war cries,
charging the tiger.
Immediately, the crack of a few
shots rang out and mechs were tripping over themselves; screaming,
yelling, bleeding and scrambling to get away, if they didn't drop to
the floor right then and there. And that included Lockdown. Punching
the one slagger that stumbled too close for the fun of it, the thug
turned to see where the gunfire had come from and whom. He was
somewhat startled when his optics landed on a tan youngling standing
confidently in the middle of the alley, gun held knowingly in his
servos; unfazed as the other kittycons ran past him fearfully.
What the slag was a fresh-faced punk
doing in back street alleys like this?
Lockdown looked the tiny kittycon
over -the one that had arguably saved his life- and felt the corners
of his lip components twist downwards in a deep scowl. “Just what
the frag do ya think yer doing?,” he snarled, smacking the dust
from his leather coat.
The devon rex returned his look.
“Saving your aft, you nimrod.”
“I didn't ask for ya too,”
Lockdown replied, picking up the spiked bat one of his foolish
attackers had dropped. He gave it a few, experimental swings. “And
if I were ya, I'd watch that lil' mouth of yers.” The tiger turned
to the youngling, unsurprised to see the pistol now pointed at him
and the smaller mech a safe distance away from him.
“.....I won't hurt ya.”
“Forgive me if I don't believe
you,” the devon rex shot back. Lockdown canted his helm at the
youngling. Smart answer on his part.
“Now... I'd like to offer you a
proposition,” the short kittycon was saying next. The thug snapped
to attention at that, glaring. “You give me a place to stay for a
while -protection- and I'll make sure you're well compensated.”
“I don't get my kicks from
fragging underage brats,” Lockdown spat, turning away from the
youngling. “Why don't you run along back to your carrier.”
“T-th-that's-,” the other
kittycon sputtered, “T-that's not what I meant at all! I meant
p-payment, connections!! Cash!”
The albino found his path out of the
alleyway blocked by the short mech; the gun foolishly lowered in the
devon rex's ire. “I'm not- acck!” Taking advantage of the
opportunity presented, the thug shoved the unsuspecting youngling
into the adjacent wall, twisting the gun from his servos. Purple
optics flared up at him in fright; finally the slagging cub knew his
place.
“I could break yer face in and
leave ya here for some scumbag to pick up for trade....,” the
larger mech said lowly, leaning in more, “But I ain't actually that
cruel, kid. I just want to head home and I don't take to kindly to
being hounded.” Straightening up, Lockdown turned around for the
exit once more.
“B-but..... but I-i do have
cash!,” the unknown youngling pressed, bending quickly to pick up
the gun. “And I can get more of it! Fast too! I won't be a bother
and I promise any business to be made I'll give you a fair percentage
of -I just need a safe place to stay at for a bit until my papers
clear with municipality and I can get my own apartment!!”
“Business?,” the tiger scoffed,
“What the slag do you know about 'business', kid?”
“I know that if one's smart,
ruling any market in this sector of Iacon -even outside the city- is
possible. Narcotics, erotica, assassination.... It's all a business.
And every business needs a head to control it and others to connect
in opposing trades.”
Slowing down, Lockdown looked to the
youngling, finding him standing back in the alley. No fear, no
hesitation anywhere to be found on his frame or face. This stranger
knew what he was talking about.... and he felt no qualms at all that
the work he was determined to involve himself in was shady and more
than illegal. Something akin to respect came to the thug and he
remained paused for a few astroseconds longer, thinking.
“Well then....,” he began to
smirk, “Maybe we can work out an arrangement after all. 'Sides, who
knows,” the tiger shrugged, waving for the shocked kittycon to come
forward, “This could develop into an interesting partnership.”
Shoulders rolling in return, the
youngling drew up to Lockdown's side. “Perhaps. Swindle,” he
introduced, holding out his servo politely.
The taller mech chuckled, slinging
an arm around the devon rex, ignoring his servo entirely. “Lockdown,
kid.”
xxXxXxx
Tea Time. That's essentially what his
life had been reduced to. Spending the last few, precarious weeks at
his sire's house: pestered by Brawl for his roundness, anxious about
having another run-in with that psychopath lynx, playing pleasantries
with his new step-mom and step-siblings -and all for the sake of
keeping Onslaught off his tail as much as possible.
“Everyone,” Blast Off said, his
perfectly even-toned vocalizer still managing to rise over the
chatter of the living room, “We have an announcement to make.”
Skydive mercifully turned his attention
away from the devon rex, allowing Swindle to vent quietly under his
intakes. Any more questions about how excited he was to be a carrier
and the entrepreneur thought he might shoot himself. Turning bored
optics to the fidgeting Cosmos and his dull brother standing beside
him, Swindle hoped this afternoon would speed along faster, so
Onslaught would finally take him back to his apartment and his
less-torturous-than-this co-habitation with Lockdown.
“I-i-i....,” Cosmos stammered,
trying to look at everyone now watching him but unable to keep his
chin up. A shy, uncertain smile grew and shrank on his lip
components, back and forth. “I-i.... I-i'm sp-sparked. B-blast
O-off and m-me are g-going to h-have a bornling o-of our own!”
There was a stunted sort of silence
that filled the room after that statement, interrupted only by Brawl
knocking over the tea tray in clumsy absent-mindedness, Motormaster
deciding to squeal viciously because he was being ignored and Skydive
applauding, saying, “Oh, congratulations Cosmos! Blast Off! That's
wonderful news!!”
Holding onto the wriggling Motormaster
with one servo, Onslaught cleared his vocalizer a tad, trying to
smile at the pair. “Um.... yes! That's wonderful news, Cosmos,”
the serval finally managed, without sounding one bit sarcastic. “This
calls for even more celebration, I think. Sons, would you be so kind
as to go make another pot of tea- Brawl, keep playing with your
blocks.”
“But why do I-” Swindle scowled as
Skydive immediately changed seats to sit with Cosmos, clasping the
other autodog's servo and breaking off into excited chatter; giving
his sire full permission to ignore the devon rex without having to
excuse himself. Huffing and puffing (more out of the effort of
getting up with an unborn spark kicking and rolling around within
him), the entrepreneur grudgingly followed the siamese into the
kitchen to adhere to Onslaught's orders.
“....so you actually sparked the
nerd, huh?,” the smaller kittycon started putting the kettle on to
boil. Swindle wasn't all that surprised when he got nothing back in
response; his brother pulling clean teacups and plates out of the
cupboard. A few kliks later, the pot began to whistle, signalling
that both the water and his annoyance had hit its boiling point.
“I can't believe you would want
kids,” the devon rex continued grumbling, uncaring that water
splashed on the counter from the kettle as he poured the hot water
into the teapot the other kittycon set out for him, “I don't even
want this kid.”
“You should not speak like that,”
Blast Off coolly chastised, wiping up the spills. Swindle gave him a
look of disgust, before moving the cups onto the tray.
“Don't tell me what to say,” he
snarled lowly. “You're not my sire, and you're certainly not my
carrier. Slag, we can't even be sure that you're my
brother.... Don't know why Onslaught even bothered to keep us when
that lying glitch ended up-”
“Whether,” the siamese cut in
sharply, his tone a notch higher than the smaller kittycon's in
rapidly deteriorating patience, “Our energon ties are questionable
or not, it does not change the fact that we are his sons. He loved
her, he accepted us as his own and he raised us even afterwards. That
makes him our sire; that makes us brothers.”
Swindle pouted as Blast Off carried on
where he left off, setting the milk and sugar bowls onto the tray and
even grabbing the plate of biscuits that Onslaught had set aside.
Aggravatingly, the devon rex took hold of the secondary plate of
goodies for Brawl, turning away from the other mech. “Still, don't
see why you wanted a sparkling as well. Since when have you liked
kids?,” he grumbled.
His brother followed him to the door
with the tea. “Things change.”
Swindle snorted at the cryptic answer,
trying his hardest to keep from rolling his optical sensors. “Yeah,
sure, and I'm the poster-mech of the excited carrier.” The grey
mech did not respond to his last comment as they left the room.
xxXxXxx
It was almost dark when he was finally
taken back home, and to moderate silence and peace no less.
Surprised, Swindle stood in the entry hallway of his apartment,
staring in at the kittycon watching t.v quietly.
“....you're.... clean,” the devon
rex noted, slowly walking forwards. He looked around the living room
(which was equally as tidy) before turning his attention back to
Lockdown. “Got some more piss-grade there too, huh?”
The tiger glanced at him, lifting the
remote and actually turning the volume down a couple more notches,
taking a swig from the bottle he held in his other servo. “Yeah.
Have to say, your sire can be fairly accommodatin' to his hostages,”
he replied. “'Course, I gotta play 'nice' or whatnot, but this
ain't a bad trade-off.”
Snorting, Swindle turned to head down
the hall to his room; exhaustion after the orn's events finally
setting into his joints. But a simple “Hey” cut through his
daydreams of a hot bath and snuggling under his sheets, causing him
to face the thug once more. “Hey....,” Lockdown repeated, “Why
dontcha come sit? Ya gotta keep up with the news, right?”
Keeping up with the news -actually,
knowing what it would be ahead of times and everything else in
between the lines the media fed the general population- was indeed
vital to his job, but the smaller mech's optics could only focus on
the hook gently tapping the couch seat beside the tiger in mute
suspicion. Lockdown caught the look and his jaw locked in an equally
deep scowl as his companion.
“Oh fer the love of..... Would ya
just git yer aft over here?,” he grumbled, turning his optics back
to the television. “Frag. Grow up, ya brat.”
“I'm not a brat!,” Swindle
returned. That didn't stop his pedes from stubbornly taking him to
the couch, slowly sitting down to avoid aggravating his aching hip
joints. The larger kittycon didn't say anything; merely nudged the
t.v remote closer to the devon rex and drank his booze.
Despite hating what was on the screen
(Cage wrestling? Really? Didn't Lockdown have better tastes than
this?), the entrepreneur didn't move to change the channel. After
all, he wasn't much one for cable to begin with and exhaustion was
still tugging a little around his optics as he melded comfortably
back against the couch cushions.
“Ya're awfully quiet there,
doll.....”
Swindle snorted softly, trying to keep
his optics online. “'Course I am.... idiot.... I'm tired. And
sparked with your kid.”
Something heavy slithered up just
behind the devon rex, and if he'd been more aware, the tan mech would
have realized that Lockdown now rested his arm just behind his helm.
Of course, such a fact went straight over his weary processor, and
soon enough Swindle wasn't even able to pay attention to the t.v
anymore.
“Ya get tired often there,
Swin.....,” continued the tiger's casual rumble, “Gettin' round
as a pumpkin too. How much longer this gonna last for, huh?”
He was barely even awake at this point.
Struggling to decipher the words in his rapidly deteriorating
conscious, the entrepreneur mumbled, “D.....don't....know....” to
the thug, before gravity and nature slid him sideways and into
recharge. “...so......sleepy.....”
It was warm where his helm landed; warm
and thrumming gently. Limp against the softly rising wall, Swindle
groggily buried his face into the comforting scent he could pick up;
a dying purr escaping him for a few astroseconds as the tip of an ear
was tenderly rubbed, sending him the last of the way into a deep,
restful recharge.
xxXxXxx
Lockdown shifted slightly in his sleep,
finding his recharge disrupted by the white noise sputtering in the
background and something damp along his leg. Scowling, the thug
slowly onlined his optics, visual pixels taking a moment to readjust
to the glaring white coming off the t.v -the only light currently
filling the room.
“....swin?,” he mumbled groggily,
turning his helm to the flattened ears he could just see twitching
intermittently on the edge of his peripheral. Swindle still laid
against him, right where the devon rex had fallen asleep earlier, but
he was curled more into himself; fingers clutched in the other's
shirt and soft whimpers escaping him in recharge. And the way he
squirmed only brought more attention to the wetness that had seeped
into the leg of the tiger's pants.
Cursing, Lockdown dropped the bottle he
still miraculously held in his servo, grabbing hold of the
entrepreneur, wary of his hook. “Frag... Swin? Swindle?,” he
called, tone getting stronger with every syllable, “Swin, what's
wrong? C'mon; wake up!”
The thug felt a slow panic start to
take hold as Swindle continued to remain mostly unresponsive. If he
had managed to stab the devon rex with his hook while he'd been
passed out, like the smaller mech kept saying he would if he didn't
take the slagging thing off before recharge, then he'd be in a hell
of a lot more trouble come dawn. “Swin! Hey, Swin! Doll....
dollface.....?”
Lockdown's helm snapped up as the front
door suddenly swung inwards; the serval from before marching past the
threshold in a quick, even pace. He was accompanied by a taller, grey
siamese that the tiger had never seen prior.
“Move,” Onslaught commanded as he
drew up to the couch, his servos already grasping Swindle under the
arms and lifting him away from the thug. Quietly, Lockdown let the
other be taken away, his servo and hook held up placatingly. Not even
giving him a second glance (the rude fragger), the green mech
immediately began to inspect the devon rex.
To the albino's great relief there
wasn't any energon on Swindle whatsoever, though it seemed the
wetness he'd woken up to had come from the smaller mech wetting
himself.
“....d.....d-dad...?,” Swindle
uttered weakly, dim optics trying to focus on the larger kittycon.
“Hush, son,” the serval replied,
almost gently. “Your water's broke; you're going into labour. We're
going to take you to the hospital now and everything will be okay.
Just bear the pain a little bit longer, understood soldier?”
The entrepreneur hissed sourly at his
sire's words (or maybe it was out of pain), servos clutching his
belly as he was lifted up into the other's arms. “N....n-not a.....
s-soldier....”
“That's it. Stay tough,” Onslaught
said, shifting so that Swindle was held securely in his arms before
turning his attention to the siamese. “Blast Off, bring the punk.
He should be present during this miraculous moment.”
Dusky, blue optics drilled holes into
the thug's helm, as if daring him to try and disobey. Lockdown glared
back but didn't attempt to move or even vocally protest as the
serval's companion drew up to his side. Nodding, Onslaught left,
leaving the two kittycons alone for a few moments.
“..... ya gonna grab me or
something?,” the tiger grumbled, glancing up at the towering
siamese. “Got cuffs? Baton?”
Grey optics slowly shuttered back at
him coolly. “I have no need of such barbaric things,” Blast Off
answered softly. “You will come cooperatively.” Lockdown wanted
to laugh at that.... but the stranger was correct. He would come and
he would behave. Getting up, the thug walked forward, uncomfortably
aware of the silent mech following in his pedes behind him.
xxXxXxx
Several cycles later, the screaming
finally finished and the nurses began to tidy up the horror picture
show that Lockdown had just been forced to endure, front-row seat.
Ear twitching, the thug sat mutely while his warden, Onslaught,
talked to one of the vets present; taking the bornling from the other
mech's servos and cradling it easily in one arm. He barely responded
when he was nudged next.
“I'd look up, if I were you cub,”
the serval commanded with little patience. “Unless you're enjoying
the view.”
At the poorly-veiled threat, Lockdown
tore his optics away from the devon rex slumped tiredly in the
medical berth, scowling up at the green mech. Onslaught, of course,
did not seem perturbed by the thug's ire and instead wiggled a finger
gently into the bundle of blankets he held. “Another grandson.... A
shame it's not a femme, but perhaps it's for the best,” he said
aloud, casually talking to no one in particular. “Lil' cub looks
like he'll grow to be a good, strong mech.”
“Oh......,” the serval vented next,
a jeering smirk growing on his lip components, “And would you look
at that. He's got a striking resemblance to his sire.”
Lockdown would never admit that he felt
his ears and tail stiffen with dread as Onslaught lowered the bundle
down to his level; making sure that the tiger could clearly see the
bornling swaddled within. Bright, red optics shuttered back at him in
quiet study just as he studied the mechling in return. With the
exception of that fanged mouth and his colouration, the bornling
definitely was the spitting image of him -and Lockdown was even more
loathe to admit that to anyone.
“Still think he's not yours?,”
Onslaught poked cruelly.
Scowling, the albino turned his helm
away, doing his best to ignore the triumphant smirk the other
kittycon bore. “I ain't stickin' 'round,” he grumbled, “I'm no
parent.”
“No, you're not,” the green mech
returned, straightening up and handing the bornling off to one of the
nurses waiting by patiently. “I won't even force you back to the
apartment with my son.” That caught the thug's attention. Meeting
his incredulous gaze with a hard one of his own, Onslaught continued,
“But don't think for a moment that I won't be keeping tabs on you.
Whatever money he needs, whatever assistance or when he needs a
babysitter, you will be there to provide -or I'll make certain you
don't get very far in this lifetime.”
This was a threat that he wouldn't take
lightly, but one that the other kittycon was determined to not let
show bothered him. Sniffing in disdain, Lockdown rose to his pedes,
moving past the serval and for the door. He paused only for a moment
to look back at the exhausted Swindle -now recharging peacefully
again with the help of some heavy painkillers- before he left
entirely; shoving all thoughts of his associate and newborn from his
processor.
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