Happy Halloween!

__________________

Sometimes, having a mask comes in handy.  It can be invaluable in
preserving his dignity, for example.  Or, in this case, someone
else’s.  

“Hi,” Wheeljack says evenly, grateful that the faceplate hides
his grin.

“Hi,” Starscream replies, craning his neck to look up from where
he’s wedged between Wheeljack’s frame and the back of the sofa.
He stretches one arm over his head as best he can in that position,
trying hard to look casually seductive, and not as though he just let
out a squeak and dove behind Wheeljack because of a horror movie.  A
human horror movie, at that.

Which is a bit of a futile effort, given that it happened two seconds
ago and they were both there, but Wheeljack valiantly bites back the
laughter.

“What was it?” he asks kindly.  This movie isn’t particularly
gruesome; it’s not even supposed to be scary, exactly,
according to the recommendation from Sideswipe.  It’s one of the
Alfred Hitchcock human’s tamer offerings:  Vertigo, about
a human who meets a doppelgänger of his dead lover.  It’s nice and
eerie for the Festival of Mortilus, sure, but not exactly
scream-and-hide terrifying.

“What was what?”  Now
Starscream’s other hand is trailing sensuously over his cockpit,
but Wheeljack refuses to be distracted by such an obvious ploy.

“Star.”

Starscream turns on his side with a
huff, and pulls a cushion over his head.  From beneath it, muffled,
come the words, “The roof.”

The mask is equally good at hiding
Wheeljack’s frown of puzzlement.  The main character is standing on
a roof at the moment, but there’s nothing scary up there.  He’s
just recoiling because the
eponymous vertigo is kicking in, making the world seem to sway and
ripple in front of the camera, as if the human is about to fall…
oh.  “Is this a flier thing?”

The cushion nods miserably.

“Well, we don’t need to finish
it.”  Wheeljack stops the vid, filing it away for himself to watch
later.   “How about some horror that just takes place on the
ground?”

“You don’t have to make fun of
me,” the cushion reprimands him.

“Hey.”  Wheeljack tugs the
cushion gently, and it eventually comes free, revealing two red
optics watching him balefully.  “I’m not making fun.  Everyone’s
got a thing – ’specially after the war.”

“Reaaaaally?”  Starscream’s
tone is trying for dry, but comes across a little bit too raw for
that.  “If that’s true, what’s yours?”

“Helplessness.”

Starscream sits up, listening.
Wheeljack is slumped forward, his elbows on his knees, not looking at
him.

“When you’re watching a vid, and
– and someone’s getting hurt, or killed, and their friend is
watching but they’re tied up.  Or they’re listening to it happen
but they can’t get in the room.  If there’s a scene like that,
sometimes I need to stop watching.  I used to have nightmares like
that.”  There’s no used to about
it.

Wheeljack feels tapered, clever
fingertips trace one of his audial fins.  “Scaredy cat,”
Starscream murmurs, a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m definitely
the scaredy cat,” Wheeljack answers, rolling his optics.  “What
do you say?  Want to switch?  I’ve
got ghost stories, murder mysteries, a vid about a guy who kills
people with something called a Texas chainsaw…”

Starscream scoots closer and lays
his head on Wheeljack’s shoulder.  “As long as everything happens
on the ground and no one gets tied up.”

“You got it.  Those are the best
rules for movies.”

“And the worst rules for
fragging.”

“Oh, for spark’s sake, shut up
and hand me the popcorn.”