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Slingshot stared dumbstruck as Optimus read him the charges. He blinked, hoping the act would help him wake up from this madness and return to reality. It didn’t work, not even on the second try. Slingshot gave it a third try- since Fireflight had once told him that was ‘the charm’- only to come back with the same results. He was still here, and so were the disappointed faceplates of Optimus Prime.
“Slingshot, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“I… I’m sorry?” Slingshot stammered out, in a too shocked to be even slightly apologetic way. The young flier shook his helm, boggled by the sheer insanity of the situation. “Wait, no I’m not. This is slagging ridiculous!”
“Language, Slingshot,” Silverbolt chastised in from where he stood to the right behind the Prime’s chair.
Slingshot couldn’t decide what was worse. The disapproval Silverbolt was flaring through the gestalt bond at him or the displeasure that radiated off of Optimus. One look at the latter's usually warm yet currently cold, blue optics had him deciding quickly. His temperament had faced the ire of his oldest brother countless times before, so he was used to it even if it never really stopped hurting. But he had never done something that attracted this sort of attention from Optimus before- and once this was over, Slingshot never wanted to face it again.
Optimus leaned forward slightly as he laced his digits together. The Prime’s battle-mask, usually in place even when on the Ark, folding away, greeting Slingshot with the full force of his leader’s deep frown. “You’re being charged with 12 counts of murder, Slingshot. This,/i> is a grave matter of the utmost importance. As Autobots we can not condone such-”
Slingshot’s optics widened as the lecture began. This seriously could not be happening right now…
“Of geese!” The young flier interrupted voice turning defensive. “Not humans! Not Cybertronians! GEESE!”
Before Silverbolt could berate him for ‘inappropriately yelling indoors, and at the Prime no less,’ Slingshot continued. “And I didn’t murder them! If anything they attacked me! I was flying my patrol route like normal. I'm bored out of my mind. Because like normal there's no 'Con activity to be found. And then boom! Out of nowhere all these weird blobs start bouncing off me. My cockpit shattered! My engine exploded! I crashed in a lake! So how the slag is this my fault?! Who’s claiming this?!”
It was clear that Optimus did not receive this kind of reaction often, as the Prime faltered before answering. “The Washington for Waterfowl Organization. They are a non-profit designed too-”
“So it's not even the fragging Feds. It’s a slagging group of nosy fleshies.”
“Slingshot!” Silverbolt exclaimed harshly. “Behave, will you? Look, I understand your frustration, but you are acting irrationally. Be grateful that they’re only asking you to pay a fine, in the form of community service, instead of prison!”
“Be grateful?” Slingshot echoed with indignation. “Bullslag! I’m taking this-” he emphasized as he grabbed the damned oversized letter from Optimus’s servo, “-to court! ”
“With what laywer?” His older brother questioned in a likely attempt to delay him.
Unfortunately for Silverbolt and the now startled Prime, Slingshot had no problem providing an answer as he stomped out of the office. There was only one bot who was so knowledgeable about the law and its loopholes and contingencies. What was more- his chosen mech had the most experience and skill in arguing over it successfully than any other bot he knew.
“Sideswipe.”