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“How dare you! You weren’t even watching your own feet! I said, what kind of goddamn fool are you?!”

“An innocent, if clumsy one.”

The newspaper cloud cleared with a rustle, falling to the ground to soak up the coffee that wasn’t already absorbed into the Italian shoes; wincing, Optimus looked up. A broad-shouldered man with swept-back silver hair, sporting a grey silk suit and a crimson tie, literally had the skinny coffee-man by the neck, thick fingers clamped atop the nape. The younger man had gone stiff, teeth bared, hands hooked into claws—Optimus was reminded immediately of a snake caught just below its head.

“Terribly sorry.” The older man smiled, absurdly deep voice making Optimus’ white bones vibrate. “It seems I forgot to bring his leash today.”

The snake dared to give a stung thrash, narrow nostrils flaring. The businessman released him—or dismissed him, as per the flicking motion and the way the other man stumbled to the bar, neck flushed as he glared hatefully over his shoulder—and stepped toward Optimus. His equally expensive shoes were right in the coffee puddle, and Optimus opened his mouth to say so, but the businessman held his eyes so intently that all the clumsy officer could do was stare back.

“Optimus. Third Prime of the DPD,” the man nearly purred, embarrassing Optimus with a steady, calculating sweep of his current state: already-graying hair tousled, jeans soaked through with coffee. Only his white shirt and old red Academy jacket remained untouched, but his sneakers were another disaster altogether. The businessman only arched a marvelously thick brow.

“An honor. You appear just as dashing out of uniform as you do in the newspaper—and that is more and more often, isn’t it?”

“Yes… sir?” Optimus said, if only to fill a pause—that awkward pause that always occurs when somebody knows you but you can’t return the favor. The man nodded, unperturbed.

“Very good. With you, as with all officers, I am so very… grateful for what you do for this city.”

Maybe it was the pause, maybe it was the buttery, indulgent tone he used, but Optimus’ eyes widened. Something simply refused to make sense to him, like he should know this man, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight; like he didn’t fully comprehend what this man could do to him, even as he did nothing more than offer his hand.

Despite the other’s velvet demeanor and his timely half-rescue, Optimus had to swallow and make his own hand move forward to accept the gesture.

“Yes—uh, yes, sir. I, uh—yes. Thank you.”

They shook firmly. Startled, Optimus looked down: besides the strong, callused grip of the other man, there was a definite crinkle of paper against his wet palm. The man’s calm, waiting smile sent a chill through him for reasons unknown, only doubling when he drew back and found a one-hundred-dollar bill crumpled in his hand.

“I apologize for my… young companion. He is unforgivably tetchy in the morning. Make certain your shoes are properly replaced.” When Optimus raised his hand, mouth once more uselessly open, the President raised his own hand, then pressed it warmly against the younger man’s fist and held it for a moment. “No, Prime. Consider it my thanks for protecting our fair Detroit. You more than deserve it.”

The chill, never completely gone from Optimus’ blood, returned with a vengeance when the man slowly, gently swiped his thumb over the top of his hand, grey eyes locked on his handsome face.

“Who knows what would happen, were there no Primes to give our world order?”

Unseen by one man and disregarded by another, the bitter young man was seething just feet behind them, narrow face sharp with impatience and disgust alike. Giving Optimus a deferential nod and releasing his hand, the older businessman began to walk away at a pleasant pace, without honoring his ‘companion’ with so much as a glance. That was too much for the skinny man in the stained suit, who obviously craved more than a quiet departure. Optimus almost felt the man wind up for a shriek.

“Mega—“

“Starscream,” the older man rumbled, raising his fingers and snapping once.

It was as though the man had grabbed him by the neck again. Starscream went rigid, claw-like hands whipping into fists. Staring at the older man’s back, he seemed to boil beneath his pale skin, thrashing inwardly. He shot one last look of venomous hatred at Optimus, then stalked off after his boss with a tinkle of the diner bell, still clawing at his ruined ‘mauve’ suit.

Optimus watched the two men go with a lost expression, then sighed deeply. He looked down at the one-hundred-dollar bill in his hand almost mournfully before sliding it into the tip jar at the counter, then kneeled down to sop up the rest of the spilled coffee with his newspaper. Some days.

Just… some days.

-.-.-.-

PSSSST CRAPPY PICTURE SUPPLEMENTED BY STORY = OKAY PICTURE. Starscream could I draw you any uglier I think not. *FAIL*

TFA (c) Hasbro
Odd Moments (Odd Couple off-shoot) found here: [link]

Description
“How dare you! You weren’t even watching your own feet! I said, what kind of goddamn fool are you?!”

“An innocent, if clumsy one.”

The newspaper cloud cleared with a rustle, falling to the ground to soak up the coffee that wasn’t already absorbed into the Italian shoes; wincing, Optimus looked up. A broad-shouldered man with swept-back silver hair, sporting a grey silk suit and a crimson tie, literally had the skinny coffee-man by the neck, thick fingers clamped atop the nape. The younger man had gone stiff, teeth bared, hands hooked into claws—Optimus was reminded immediately of a snake caught just below its head.

“Terribly sorry.” The older man smiled, absurdly deep voice making Optimus’ white bones vibrate. “It seems I forgot to bring his leash today.”

The snake dared to give a stung thrash, narrow nostrils flaring. The businessman released him—or dismissed him, as per the flicking motion and the way the other man stumbled to the bar, neck flushed as he glared hatefully over his shoulder—and stepped toward Optimus. His equally expensive shoes were right in the coffee puddle, and Optimus opened his mouth to say so, but the businessman held his eyes so intently that all the clumsy officer could do was stare back.

“Optimus. Third Prime of the DPD,” the man nearly purred, embarrassing Optimus with a steady, calculating sweep of his current state: already-graying hair tousled, jeans soaked through with coffee. Only his white shirt and old red Academy jacket remained untouched, but his sneakers were another disaster altogether. The businessman only arched a marvelously thick brow.

“An honor. You appear just as dashing out of uniform as you do in the newspaper—and that is more and more often, isn’t it?”

“Yes… sir?” Optimus said, if only to fill a pause—that awkward pause that always occurs when somebody knows you but you can’t return the favor. The man nodded, unperturbed.

“Very good. With you, as with all officers, I am so very… grateful for what you do for this city.”

Maybe it was the pause, maybe it was the buttery, indulgent tone he used, but Optimus’ eyes widened. Something simply refused to make sense to him, like he should know this man, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight; like he didn’t fully comprehend what this man could do to him, even as he did nothing more than offer his hand.

Despite the other’s velvet demeanor and his timely half-rescue, Optimus had to swallow and make his own hand move forward to accept the gesture.

“Yes—uh, yes, sir. I, uh—yes. Thank you.”

They shook firmly. Startled, Optimus looked down: besides the strong, callused grip of the other man, there was a definite crinkle of paper against his wet palm. The man’s calm, waiting smile sent a chill through him for reasons unknown, only doubling when he drew back and found a one-hundred-dollar bill crumpled in his hand.

“I apologize for my… young companion. He is unforgivably tetchy in the morning. Make certain your shoes are properly replaced.” When Optimus raised his hand, mouth once more uselessly open, the President raised his own hand, then pressed it warmly against the younger man’s fist and held it for a moment. “No, Prime. Consider it my thanks for protecting our fair Detroit. You more than deserve it.”

The chill, never completely gone from Optimus’ blood, returned with a vengeance when the man slowly, gently swiped his thumb over the top of his hand, grey eyes locked on his handsome face.

“Who knows what would happen, were there no Primes to give our world order?”

Unseen by one man and disregarded by another, the bitter young man was seething just feet behind them, narrow face sharp with impatience and disgust alike. Giving Optimus a deferential nod and releasing his hand, the older businessman began to walk away at a pleasant pace, without honoring his ‘companion’ with so much as a glance. That was too much for the skinny man in the stained suit, who obviously craved more than a quiet departure. Optimus almost felt the man wind up for a shriek.

“Mega—“

“Starscream,” the older man rumbled, raising his fingers and snapping once.

It was as though the man had grabbed him by the neck again. Starscream went rigid, claw-like hands whipping into fists. Staring at the older man’s back, he seemed to boil beneath his pale skin, thrashing inwardly. He shot one last look of venomous hatred at Optimus, then stalked off after his boss with a tinkle of the diner bell, still clawing at his ruined ‘mauve’ suit.

Optimus watched the two men go with a lost expression, then sighed deeply. He looked down at the one-hundred-dollar bill in his hand almost mournfully before sliding it into the tip jar at the counter, then kneeled down to sop up the rest of the spilled coffee with his newspaper. Some days.

Just… some days.

-.-.-.-

PSSSST CRAPPY PICTURE SUPPLEMENTED BY STORY = OKAY PICTURE. Starscream could I draw you any uglier I think not. *FAIL*

TFA (c) Hasbro
Odd Moments (Odd Couple off-shoot) found here: [link]