Here's to  Lynxia as she is having a bit of trouble to find a decent alt-mode for her newest awesome fembot

what can i say, i'm a REALLY big sucker for pretty faces, shaped lips and long, slender necks.
besides, i'm creepy enough to like the skull design too :P

i hope you figure something soon, love. i'll gladly put more words down for any manner of encouragement.

(EDIT; wow, holy balls the fic looks short. well, it's only slightly more than 1 page. ENJOY!)

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A whip of thunder, the bay lights up for less than the blink of an eye, but it is not the first crack of thunder this night and it does not look to be the last. There is rain in the distance and the air is thick, not only like it always is with insects and the pungent odour of the watery marsh, but it seems alive with energy, crackling, humming, sparking out of the air in little bursts of energy. A long, crude array of cables and wires hang from the twigs and branches of the crooked, clawing trees, along with all the moss and fungus of ages past.

The next crack of lightning reveals a different module in one of the thicker trees, something spinning, something whirring. A contraption to catch the lightning, a rough coil of metal, clearly taken from something else, finely bent and welded to create the instrument of someone's desire. Wires and cables light up and burn, playing a wicked show of electricity and fire, flaring out over the water and between the small patches and mounds of dry peat and vegetation.

The swamp is clearly inhabited but by who or by what? Fetishes hang from nearly each tree and seem to have an extra cluttering where ever the wires and cables gather or have their glowing, crackling joints. No huts or shacks, no tents or campfires but a rather peculiar array of seemingly hand-built machinery, connected to the wiring, connected to the lightning-coil, drawing energy from the sky to fuel some manner of purpose.

The rain soon falls softly, almost like a salty mist flying on the night breeze, having the cables crackle more and longer between the whips of lightning, having both crude and fine joints burn out faster when they are set on fire by the sudden surges of energy.
The night is dark, but the moon is bright whenever it peeks down from its shelf above, safe from the raging lightning that tears through the dark, dank landscape, showing its pale reflection in the grimy waters, looking silently on the malicious array of metal and wood, formed between the gnarled trees and taking energy out of the very air.

Between the clawing arms of the swamp-trees, behind the veils of green and black that hangs like curtains all around the desolate marsh, sits a slender, femininely curved being like a statue, watching the sky for each stroke of thunder, each bolt of lightning. She is like a statue, silent, unmoving, nearly blending in with the surrounding if it was not for her sheer size and the very material of her body. She may be covered in grime and dirt from the heart of the wetlands but her body is entirely made up out of metal, from the very tips of her fingers to the flexible lips on her calm, still face.

Her head turns slowly, almost too slow to see between the cracks of lightning, she looks across the sky above, thoughtful, serene, seemingly at peace with her position, sitting propped up on one of the few solid patches of land between the gnarled growth and dark waters.

Did she build the sinister-looking machine that harvests the sky? What is her intention with harnessing lightning, gathering energy and how come the marshland glade is completely covered in malicious fetishes and decorations. Some manner of sign to keep others out, some manner of territory.
With a resolute motion, she gets up, stepping into the muddy waters to wade through the soft undergrowth and seems to do her best not to disturb the swamp too much as she goes. Silent, careful, graceful.

Soon over by one of the nodes that seems to pick up the raw power of lightning, a crackling central of unworldly technology, she soon taps the bulky container that seems small enough for her to hold in her hands. Seemingly pleased with the results of the crude coil, she looks around the salt-sprayed marsh-glen to see the glow from her network of cables and wires, along with their ends in other small containers, spread throughout the decorated area.
“Soon”
She mumbles for herself, tilting her head to the side as she lifts the container slowly, opening a small hatch to peer at the glowing contents in all its glory. Lightning in a box? Would seem so.
“Soon I'll have enough to move on, soon I'll have enough to find a shape on this wretched planet...”
looking back up to the thundering sky, she cracks a small smile on her shaped lips, watching the display of nature's fury again, silent, still, calm.