literature

If you wanted my attention (Metonic Drabble 10)

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What made a thing dangerous? A pertinent question, to be sure, and it was one Metal had spent a few dozen billion clock cycles considering. He had a working hypothesis.

If a group of objects shared a label, it meant they shared a common feature. So what features made something dangerous? What did a snake in the bush, a rockslide, a deadly plague, and lack of adequate tax planning share? It was the fact that knowledge of these dangers was easily accessible; they were known unknowns. You could plan for these. They were dangerous, but in a contained, underwritten sort of way.

Now, the unknown unknowns: that was where the real danger lied. These things were dangerous, and you didn’t even know they were dangerous. Things you thought were safe. Contingencies you didn’t plan for. Proper risk management consisted of making the unknown unknowns known, and buying insurance for the rest.

And Metal knew, for a fact, that Sonic didn’t have insurance.

“Mets—hand me the pepper, would you?” Sonic said. Holding a cutting board in one hand, he slid a small mountain of diced onions into a pot of liquid that was, according to Metal’s infrared sensors, at least 97.32+/- 2.2 degrees centigrade.

Metal turned. Pepper was a spice. The spices were inside the cabinet. How were they stacked inside the cabinet? To a lesser mind, this would have been a mystery. But not to Metal. Metal knew. He knew because he had seen it on television. In 100% of all cases, whenever someone open the spice cabinet on television, the same thing happened to them. Spice jars, made of heavy, shatterable class, would come raining down upon them, smashing their face, destroying their livelihood and their children in a single, violent, angry storm.

“Oh wait—it’s right here. Never mind.” Sonic threw the cutting board into the sink without sparing a second thought to ponder the biohazards of crosscontaimination and scooped up the pepper shaker hidden inside the labyrinth of dishes scattered across his kitchen counter.

Sonic sprinkled the pepper into the pot. He then stirred the liquid with a discolored, wooden spoon. He brought the spoon up to his lips and took a sip.

“Mmm. Yup, this is just about the best chili I ever made.” He set the spoon back on the counter and glanced toward Metal. For a brief instant, a frown crossed his lips. Then he shook his head and smiled, a bright, beaming smile, so beautiful, so perfect, that Metal had to shut his processors off for several clock cycles lest he overheat.

“I wish you could taste it,” Sonic said. “For you, I mean. It’s good. I think you would like it.”

Now Metal was really in danger of overheating. Less power to his processors, more power to his fans.

Sonic cocked his head. “You okay? Come on, Tails is waiting for us.”

Sonic rummaged through the dishes until he found a lid. It was slightly too big, but he slapped it on top of the pot anyway, then shuffled toward the door. He was trying to open the door with his foot when Metal ran behind him and tried to take the pot of chili from Sonic’s hands. In the resulting skirmish, Sonic’s fingers brushed over the copper panel on the back of Metal’s hand. The same copper that was in his ears. The same copper that was in his sensors.

Metal dropped his hands then straighten his back. He really did overheat far too easily. It was overpowering his LEDs now, turning the very bottom of his optical screen flush.

Sonic leaned into the door and it flung open. The resulting lack of support make Sonic nearly stumble—with the boiling pot of chili in his hands, no less—but he quickly regained his balance and stepped outside.

He jerked his chin over his shoulder. “Let’s go. Tails is just over there.”

Tails was, in fact, just over there. He had reserved a picnic table in the park, and he was waving at them, pausing only to turn over the grilling hot dogs.

It was in that moment, when Sonic crossed the street into the park without even looking for cars, that a spark of enlightenment clicked through Metal’s processors. Sonic’s fur was sleek and beautiful. His skin was soft and muscular. His quills, while perhaps unkempt, had the same sort of emergent, unorganized beauty you saw in termite mounds. All of these things were very nice, but to focus on them at the expense of Sonic’s safety, to let them distract him while Sonic needed him—

Wait, no! It had happened again! Sonic was already by Tails, Metal had to launch himself over the traffic with his engine, and when he reached the otherside, Sonic winked at him.

“Looks like I win again. Wanna chili dog?”

Metal nodded, and Sonic slid a plate over to him. It was simple, paper plate, and atop it, sat a freshly grilled hot dog smothered with chili inside a toasted bun.

Sonic gave Metal a chili dog even though he knew Metal couldn’t eat it. Sonic didn’t want Metal to feel left out. Sonic was so kind. There was no one more kind than Sonic. There was no one more beautiful than Sonic. There was no one—

No, not again! This had to stop. And yet, Metal knew he couldn’t stop. This sort of thing would keep happening until he told Sonic. He had to tell Sonic.

Sonic was leaning backing in his chair, his hands behind his head, munching on a mouthful of chili dog when Metal marched over toward him. Sonic swallowed then glanced up at him.

Metal Sonic still couldn’t speak. Tails was working on his voice chip, but in the meantime, he had made his own plans. This would work. He had seen it work on television.

His hand flat, Metal fanned himself and pointed toward the sun. He was just poor, helpless Metal Sonic, and it was so hot out here. He was feeling faint. If only there was some speedy, blue hedgehog here to help him.

Metal leaned forward, further and further, then went completely limp. When he fell, there was simply no possible way for Sonic to not catch him.

Sonic blinked. “You fainted...straight into my arms.”

Metal looked away, then glanced back at Sonic sheepishly.

Sonic shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Before Metal even had time to process this, Sonic leaned a breath away from him, and when Sonic spoke, he was so quiet that not even Tails could hear. “I know what you want. It’s all the small things. It’s the way you look at me. You’re skittish around me only me. Whenever I do this—”

Sonic picked up Metal’s hand and ran his thumb over the smooth, copper panel. At first, the sensation was too much, and Metal stiffened, his fans roaring. But as Sonic continued to stroke, Metal relaxed a little, picking up all the tiny details of Sonic’s touch with his sensors.

Then, as quickly as it had began, it was over. Sonic set Metal back on his feet and turned to Tails.

“It must be the heat,” he said, gesturing to the sun. “You know how hot he can get, even without this weather.”

Tails nodded and took a bite of his own chili dog. “I’ve been looking into that. Despite all that technology, Eggman only used conventional cooling methods when he made Metal Sonic. But we might be able to reengineer his cooling system. Although, given his power consumption…”

Tails continued to ramble, lost in the world of coolant pumps and circuit boards.

Metal returned to his seat sheepishly and spent the next several minutes memorizing the shape of his lumpy chilli and considering Tails’ latest theory of HVAC systems. When he finally mustered the courage to look at Sonic again, he noticed it.

Sonic winked at him.
Prompt: "You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes."

Shout out to cottonuu for this one. We have a long conversation that's basically a series of perfect metonic prompts that are so flawless I still have more to write.
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NocnaFuria8532's avatar
Now when i read this again.......... THIS IS STUPID.... I love it... XDDD <3 <3 <3
When was the last time that i read this? maybe 4 years? Something like that?  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯