Disclaimer; I do not down Transformers.
Sequel to 'Praise Him.'
The words didn’t flow. Did they ever flow? Were the words just wrong? Her spelling? Pronunciation? Her lack of intelligence?
‘No. Don’t think like that. Only he would say that to me.’
Rameara shivered as a ghostly hand touched her shoulder and drifted to the soles of her cracked and blistered feet. The young girl continued to carve words into the wall, but she could never see them through the blinding darkness. Rameara sighed, biting her lip in anxiety. She wanted the words to be close to her.
That was the only thing she had left.
The girl took the sliver of glass, pressing it to her shaking arm. The captivating handwriting bore into her skin, fluids trailing on to the metallic floor as if fell from her arm. ‘P.’ The letter stared at her, daring Rameara to move on. The ‘P’ was soon given a companion as an ‘R’ was detailed and finished with a flare that curved the length of her arm, ending precariously at her wrist. Rameara cracked her bottom lip open as she finished writing the word.
Once the pain was lifted, only leaving a dull ache, she smiled. A loving smile, as if she was looking down at a young child. ‘Praise.’
Rameara was a religious person, but she always questioned her faith in trying times. He never listened to her, it seemed, until now. She was given a second chance at life after the incident.
The pretender licked the energon off her arm, staring at the pool beside her feet as she did so.
She soon managed to slow the flow of energon bleeding from her left arm, and soon enough, she returned to her new ritual. This time Rameara closed her eyes, not even bothering to watch what she was slashing into her arm. When the ordeal was through, Rameara looked at the completed word.
She couldn't decipher it.
Rameara wiped at the energon only to see a strange alien symbol adorning her skin. 'That can't possibly be..."
Her CPU throbbed with pain and raw confusion. Her words were ruined by the presence of this... thing. The pretender scowled, plunging the shard of glass into her thigh and carving a new set of alien symbols.
Unbeknown to her, the glyphs rendered a familiar name to the pretender. 'Prowl.'
The chartreuse medic heightened his stance, setting a palm on his metallic hip. "Why would you pull such a stupid stunt? If Bluestreak hadn’t come to check up on you, you would have bled to death."
Rameara rested a hand on her newly bandaged thigh, silently hoping for a good comeback to come to mind. Nothing happened.
"I expect an answer," the medic pressed, clearly becoming annoyed with her silence.
"The words meant nothing. I wanted to change that. I felt... alone." Rameara knew fully well that the excuse was incompetent, but it was the truth, nonetheless.
"You wrote in Cybertronian. Where did you learn it from?" Ratchet activated his hologram, pressing an alcohol-soaked cotton ball to her damaged forearm.
She was speechless for a minutes, not knowing the answer herself. "I... it just came to me. I closed my eyes and-" Rameara stopped speaking when she felt tears slide down her neck. "Oh God..."
Ratchet's human form went rigid at the panic-stricken expression adorning Rameara's face. "What is it?"
"... I did that all in my sleep."
Rameara looked at Prime through glassy eyes, still panicked from her earlier realization. Ratchet insisted that she talk to Prime, Prowl, and Smokescreen about it, hoping that they come up with an answer.
So far they were nowhere.
Smokescreen 'hmphed' to himself. "So you dreamed you were a pretender, and carved Cybertronian glyphs into your skin."
"I saw the energon," Rameara added quietly.
Smokescreen nodded before leaning forward in his transformer-sized chair, looking over at the black and white tactician.
Prowl took the invitation, "Do you know what you wrote in Cybertronian? Did you understand it in your dream?" Prowl kept a straight posture, but his spark slumped at the sight before him.
Rameara shook her head slightly, keeping her gaze locked on the floor. "No, but Ratchet told me what they meant."
Prowl gave her an expectant look.
"The symbol on my arm means 'change imminent.'
"And on your thigh?" Smokescreen prodded gently.
"Prowl."
