A Wolf in Sheepdog's Clothing

[Wreckage]

OOC: Month 1 Week 2 Day 5. Open. Mention of Frenzy with player permission.

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On recommendation that his military vehicle mode would be yet more obtrusive on the average city street when the standing orders are to remain as subtle as possible, Wreckage has scanned and adopted a large emergency vehicle as his secondary mode instead. Had he known beforehand what sort of consequences this particular mode would carry with it, he would have insisted he keep the Stryker.

As the Stryker, he could have physically shut out the screaming, shrieking children currently running amok in his interior under the abiding and somewhat resigned supervision of the firefighters who drove him to this visitation. As a ladder truck, however, under order to maintain his disguise as an innocuous and non-living Earth vehicle, he has no choice but to sit and endure the sticky little fingers prodding and poking at his consoles, the tiny hands yanking on his steering wheel and doors, the repeated attempts to pull the line to his horn only for the firefighters to gently warn off the obnoxious little pests.

As soon as he returns to Ship, he will be looking for another viable secondary mode. One that does not attract tiny humans like a magnet. He will also need to have words with Frenzy for suggesting it in the first place.

"Who wants to take the ladder?" asks the captain. Wreckage ponders all the ways he can kill the little man once he has the opportunity.

[Lugnut]

The kids are mighty annoying, but as far as hyperactive little children go, they are tolerable.

Except for one.

One kid with brown hair, who is dressed in a light gray jumpsuit with blue detailing, and a yellow D placed over his heart.

And who is currently climbing over Wreckage's interior with wide eyes full of wonder, exclaiming one shrill excited noise after another at an impossible volume. He's holding an icecream in one hand, but more ends up on the interior then in his mouth, leaving sticky melting puddles everywhere.

"FIRETRUCKS ARE SO COOOOOOL!"

[Wreckage]

Wreckage can feel that cold muck dripping all over his upholstery. And he hates having upholstery into which it can dry. And he loathes the child responsible for the mess.

"Cap," says one of the firefighters in a low voice, "who let that kid in with ice cream?" The captain mumbles a curse under his breath where the kids can't hear.

"Dunno," he drawls, frowning. "But he's gonna get it from me when we get back to the station." He heaves a deep, aggrieved sigh and scrubs his face with one big, square hand, then scratches his fingers back through his buzz-cut hair. "After he's done cleaning everything up," he adds darkly. Wreckage, filtering the hushed exchange through the cries and laughter and questions from the children, can at least appreciate the discipline. And not having to lift a finger to wash out the squishy mess. He also appreciates the captain's intervention, though he baulks at being ingratiated to a human.

The ice cream-wielding kid will find at the other side of his crawl through the cab that there is a wall of a man standing at the door. While the captain is by no means a man who tries to intimidate, he is a large man, barrel-chested and broad-shouldered, taller than most of his firefighters and towering over the kids. Sometimes he scares without meaning to, and he certainly has no intent at the moment, not with that patient smile on his face. Kids will be kids, after all.

"Son," he says gently with a heavy twang, "I know you know you aren't supposed to bring snacks on the rig." If only, thinks Wreckage, he could get away with tilting the seat and dumping the little boy out the door and into the captain's face. It would be most indiscreet, but he would feel considerably better about the day.

[Lugnut]

Oh, silly, silly firemen. They do not know who this little hellspawn is, what he is capable of, and who his parents are, do they?

Before he can get to the other door, the kid makes sure that he can get into every little nook and crevice that he can, sticky fingers pushing against grates and having molten icecream drip down onto the fans and circuitry beneath. When he does get to that door he looks up at the big, bad firemen, eyes wide and his mouth agape in childish wonder! "Coooool, a fireman!"

He isn't scared by that sight. Far from it, it just makes him more excited! The kid gets to his feet and practically bounces up and down, grinning and waving wildly, sending the rest of the icecream splashing against the seats, dashboard, window and if the man isn't careful right into his face, desperately trying to get his attention while ignoring what he says. "OH! OH! ARE YOU CALLED A FIREFIGHTER BECAUSE YOU FIGHT WITH FIRE? CAN YOU PUT YOURSELF ON FIRE? WHY DO YOU USE WATER AND NOT JUST BEND IT LIKE IN THAT CARTOON? CAN YOU SHOW ME YOUR AXE? CAN YOU PUT THE SIRENS ON? CAN YOU DO THAT PLEASE MISTER?"

[Wreckage]

"Settle down, son!" says the captain, wide-eyed, ready to catch the boy if he jumps himself clean off the seat.

That. Does. It. And with the child madly bouncing, Wreckage has sufficient cover to dump him and avoid much notice. He simply waits until he feels those tiny knees lift from the seat just an inch or so. Just enough that it could be excused as lost balance when he abruptly tips the driver's seat, turning it into a child-launching catapult aimed squarely at the captain.

Wreckage will eventually kill the child and then track down his entire family to prevent further offspring. It will achieve nothing important, he is certain, but it will salve his badly bruised pride.

[Lugnut]

Settle down? Surely that means bouncing and being hyper even more! And then suddenly he goes flying, straight at the captain's face, icecream flying everywhere, oh no! But the captain is quick and catches the kid before he can smack into him, brown eyes blinking and looking from the fireman to the firetruck, before jabbing a finger in the red engine's direction and screaming. "THAT FIRETRUCK IS MEAN AND A JERK AND IT THREW ME!!"

[Wreckage]

The captain does indeed catch the kid; it's hard to miss a broad man like him with anything larger than a football. He reflexively curls one arm around the boy so he doesn't fall and hitches him up so that the crook of his elbow becomes a seat of sorts. Then and only then does he look, dubious, from the boy to the driver's seat, which sits inert and innocuous as ever.

"Son," he says gently, trying not to smile or to wince at the increased mess, "my rig can be a little temperamental sometimes, but it doesn't throw people. I think you were just gettin' a little too into all that jumpin' around."

Wreckage is as smug as he has ever been in his entire life. It will only improve when he has the chance to murder them.

[Lugnut]

Now the kid is perched on the big fireman's arm. Under any circumstances, this would be a dream come true! But right now he's busy glaring daggers at the big red firetruck, taunting him. He just knows it! "NUHUH! HE!" Snort. "IS A MEANIE BAG!" Snoooort. "And my dad always says that meanies shouldn't get away with things!" Then, he snorts again, puts a finger to his nose, and launches a big, wet, filthy, slimy green booger at the firetruck with an almost explosive force, letting it splatter on the red metal.

[Wreckage]

The truck does not react to the mucous oozing down its panel. It is, after all, just a fire engine. Wreckage is better than others of his persuasion; Bonecrusher would certainly have lost control and gone on a rampage had he been in Wreckage's place, or so the Stryker-at-heart likes to think. Wreckage consoles himself with the thought of crushing the boy in his hand, preferably in front of whatever father taught the little monster to spew his fluids on command.

"Arright, that's enough," says the captain in a severe tone, very swiftly removing himself and the kid from spitting distance of his rig. "Son, I think yer dad has a few more things to teach you about manners. For one, you don't go spittin' at people's cars." He walks the kid to well past the others, all the way back to their monitor's side, and gently but firmly sets the boy down. "Ma'am," the captain adds, looking at the monitor while she adjusts her glasses, "I need to take my rig back for a wash-down now. Sorry to cut this short."

He'll have to make up for it some other time.

[Lugnut]

The little tyke from hell crosses his tiny arms stubbornly, still glaring at the fire engine. He's not convinced that this thing isn't actually an evil firetruck that will eat them all in their sleep when their backs are turned! He lets the captain carry him and put him down in the seat, a grumpy look still on his face, though he can't actually see the firetruck in question anymore.

The chaperone, the class' middle aged teacher, can only sigh when she sees the captain bringing in the troublemaker. She already knows who it is even before she can see that jumpsuit. She covers her eyes with her hand, shaking her head disapprovingly at the child. "Daniel, how many times do we have to tell you to behave? What would your father think?"

The kid perks up from his sulking at that and actually looks somewhat ashamed, but then he breaks out into another wide eyed shouting contest. "BUT BUT I DID NOT START IT TEACHER THE FIRETRUCK DID IT IS EVIL AND MEAN AND A BULLY AND AND-" One stern look from the teacher is enough to shut him up and return to his sulking.