C.M.D: Believe it or not, this was a fanfic NOT removed from Fanfiction. Anyways, normally I research material before I write about certain topics, but honestly I just wanted to have fun with Soundwave and Tracks, and so I mish-mashed my simple knowledge of ancient civilizations together, tied in with some artistic rights, to create a roman-englishlike setting. I hope you enjoy it all the same!
Originally posted October 15, 2011
It was a dank, dark sort of place; the kind only vagabonds kept when dealing with illegal merchandise. Considering the specific mech who owned this establishment, such a place was fitting. Soundwave followed at Swindle's pedes quietly, his gaze discretely analyzing and cataloguing everything around him. He would need to remember this data for later, when he reported to Megatron.
"We've gotten a lot of new wares," the dealer was saying. He glanced back over his shoulder plating, that same greasy smirk on his faceplates that he usually wore. If he thought that it made him more appealing, then he was sorely mistaken.
For the most part, Soundwave ignored Swindle, only glancing at the objects the smaller mech pointed out. The piles of stolen goods were not what he was looking for. What care did Megatron have for pots and clothe? No... the warlord wanted something of a different nature.
At the councilor's continued silence, the merchant stopped making mention of various items. "But, I can see that none of this interests you," Swindle grinned, leading the pair of them further down the hall. "What you want is something a little more...special, after all. The perfect kind of item for an elite mech like yourself."
Soundwave's visor flashed as Swindle walked toward a steel door. With another sleazy look, the tan mech pulled out a ring of keys; inserting the largest and most rusty into the door's keyhole and unlocking it with a loud thump. The door was opened with a nasty grind, granting them entrance to yet another thin, black hallway. Swindle gestured for the other Decepticon to go before him, and Soundwave obliged, but not without caution. The merchant had a terrible reputation for dealing out messy ends to the ones he felt interfered with business.
Swindle did not do any such thing though, and the councilor enjoyed himself a relatively quiet trip down into the building's depths.
The hallway ended when it opened up into another room; this one as wide as it was long, and filled with numerous cages. Things shuffled within the shadows of these cells, things that Soundwave could not see at this moment in time. His guide took the only oil lamp off the wall and moved further into the room. "As you can see, we've had a fairly good haul this season," Swindle explained. The lamp's light fell onto the cages, exposing the creatures within. Some were odd monsters, of fur and teeth, that snarled or squawked from the illumination. What surprised Soundwave most though was the other cages... bound, and in some cases gagged, were various 'bots, of all manner of size and model. The telepath recognized them immediately as slaves.
"Slaves for every occasion!," the merchant exclaimed merrily. "We have ones for cleaning, cooking, manual labour...and for more intimate work, if you're seeking such." Swindle let his optics shutter suggestively, that sick smirk turning into a leer on his face. "Please, please," he waved eagerly, "Take a look around and see if anything catches your fancy. This lot over here, is especially lovely. A whole batch of sealed 'bots! Had to keep them far away from the others... wouldn't want to damage such profitable property..."
Swindle hurried further into the room, the lamp light swaying with the merchant's quick steps. Soundwave though only followed at a slower pace, not at all intrigued by the other Decepticon's merchandise. He had found out all that he cared to this evening; he could make his report for Megatron come the morning. Snouts and shaking servos poked from between the bars, reaching for the telepath. The sight of such grubby appendages annoyed the councilor, who made sure to keep far away from either. Only one cell did not have pleading digits poking out from the darkness.
Soundwave stopped, inclining his helm slightly towards this cage.
He did not even ponder to think it empty, because he could sense life huddled within it, but there was no sound of thought, which greatly perplexed the mech. Coming to a decision, the silent Decepticon approached the cell.
"So that's where you've gotten off to." Swindle sidled up to the telepath, lamp swaying in his servos. The circle of light chased the darkness off, allowing Soundwave to see which creature occupied this cage. To his surprise, it was another mech -an Autobot, to be exact- unclothed, with his arms bound behind his winged back and his mouth spread wide around a gag. Half-shuttered optics turned to the two Decepticons, barely acknowledging their existence.
"Oh, you don't want this one," the merchant said, trying to catch the councilor's attention. "He's lost certain merits, I'm sad to say... Very unfortunate indeed, because he is one of the few of his kind with wings, making them a rare find indeed. He would have been quite a winner too, with the lovely build."
Swindle shook his helm, spitting distastefully. "Never pay good coin for a motley crew to do your hunting for you. Those buffoons decided to have themselves a sample. Not that he wasn't already somewhat aged anyhow... but still! They've cost me thousands of credits and damaged my wares as well! I don't know how I'll ever sell this wreck now... only thing he'll be good for is scrubbing floors I suppose..."
The Autobot turned his helm away, once more staring into the corner of his cell. With that motion, Soundwave found his focus returning; the dents and scuff marks coming to his attention. He could easily see the damage that had been inflicted on this mech, and a slight prodding into the merchant's mind elaborated on the details.
"Inquiry: how much?"
"He's not useful for anything else, really, I mean- wait, what?" The sudden question startled the tan Decepticon from his ramblings, who shuttered his optics stupidly for a couple astroseconds. Uncertainly, he looked at the councilor. "Sir, I must insist, I have plenty of young and healthy virgins to pick from... any of which would be better than this broken-in piece of scrap. Surely you would like one of those 'bots better."
Soundwave turned an annoyed look to Swindle, again repeating his question. "Inquiry: how much?"
"Well... uh," Swindle lifted a servo to his chin, glancing quickly at the caged Autobot. "Well, considering the state that he is in, and taking into account his rarity... I'd say about two hundred thousand credits."
Much too high a price for a "broken-in piece of scrap" but Soundwave was not about to barter with the infuriating merchant. It was already obvious to the telepath that the smaller mech was desperately trying to make a profit, while at the same time being relieved that was someone was taking this worthless merchandise out of his servos. Besides, it wasn't like he did not have the coin enough to pay for such a purchase. With a quick motion, the larger Decepticon slipped a servo into his robe, pulling out his purse. He tossed the heavy sack into Swindle's greedy, waiting servos, before turning his attention back to the Autobot. "Fact: shall take him."
"Right away, sir!," Swindle grinned, hooking the lamp onto a ring jutting from the cage; grabbing his keys and hurriedly opening the cell door. With not much gentleness, the merchant crouched into the cage, yanking the Autobot to his pedes and dragging him out of his prison. The battered mech obliged to the rough treatment silently, barely even shuttering his optics as he was thrust toward Soundwave.
"If you'd like, councilor," the merchant was grinning still, "For a small additional fee, I can get him cleaned up and dressed before you leave."
Soundwave merely pulled a smaller purse out from his robes, handing it to the tan mech. "Thank you very kindly, sir!," Swindle bowed quickly. "Please, let me escort you back to the lounge, where you might enjoy a warm glass of high-grade while you wait." He pulled a chain down from between the two cages, securing it to the collar about the Autobot's neck cables, before collecting his lamp and leading them back to the room's door. The telepath followed quietly, his gaze never straying far from his newest purchase.
xxXxXxx
The lounge was a chaotic mix of elegant couches and persian rugs, adorned with plush throw pillows and soft silks; all of their individuals colours and definable region marks clashing in a torrent of design that jarred the looking optic. Heavy, perfumed smoke filled the room, coming from the sticks of incense burning on various small, round tables; blurring everything around the edges. Though there was a window through which light filtered through hazily, several more oil lamps were burning, increasing the heat and drowsiness of the area. Soundwave, beginning to feel a processor-ache coming on, wanted nothing more than to escape this offensive mockery of fortune that the room tried to masquerade as. His glass of promised high-grade, and accompanying jug, sat untouched on the little table by his side. He could not bear to touch it, let alone think about it, while he waited for that greasy merchant to return.
It seemed unlikely that Swindle would try to cross him now that he had bought an "unsellable" product, but the councilor was not about to put anything past the smaller Decepticon. Dealers like that, especially underground dealers, did not have much care for elitists. It was all about the coin... and if Soundwave could part with so much for a broken slave, who was to say who else might do the same?
The telepath seized that train of thought as he sensed the merchant's presence -a well of thoughts mostly consisting of calculations and product taxes. Quickly, Soundwave muted the rest, not caring to glean too far into the other mech's mind, unless the context involved himself, his lord and any attempts of assassination. True to his readings, Swindle turned the corner, pushing his newly acquired slave before him.
"Here you go, my lord," Swindle smiled sickeningly. "Your new pet."
Soundwave did not reply, his attention fixed wholly on the Autobot. In the excess light, the mech's beauty was much more recognizable. Cleaned and waxed well, light gleamed off the slave's plating, highlighting the arch of his helm and chevron. Captivating, ice blue optics stood out on handsome red features; startling behind the glittering frames positioned neatly upon the bridge of his olfactory sensor. Glasses that Soundwave was sure had not been there before... A simple, dull burgundy robe covered his frame now, billowing about his pedes and hiding his servos from view. Though the material would look horrendous on others, it could barely subtract from the Autobot's looks, especially when it flowed neatly down his curves; white, glossy wings fluttering intermittently behind him. That ugly, steel collar was still about the mech's neck cables, but that was something that could be corrected at a later date.
"I hope that everything is to your liking."
The councilor lifted his helm slightly, glancing at the merchant. Swindle's grin had grown more, a knowing glimmer in his odd, purple optics. Annoyed, Soundwave flicked his helm quickly at the tan mech, reaching forward and taking the chain from his greedy servos. He led himself and the Autobot to the front door, Swindle's cheerful farewell following at his pedes. He did not reply back; stepping out into the light of a busy Iacon.
Decepticons moved back and forth before him; most dressed in fine clothe like himself, and also toting servants and slaves. Barely any gave him a glance, and when they did, they were quick to look away again. Staring at the Warlord's chief staff could be considered a crime on any given orn. Soundwave did not even have to call for his carriage, before it was pulling up to the merchant's doorstep; footman jumping down quickly and opening the door for his master. The telepath quickly looked over each of his servants' processors, and finding no ill thoughts there, climbed into the carriage, pulling his slave in behind him. The door was closed again, the blue mech seating himself across from the Autobot, as the carriage rolled into motion.
Things were silent between them.
The slave did not utter a word -as was typical of most who had resigned themselves to their fate- and Soundwave was currently preoccupied with studying his newest possession further. The councilor attempted to read the other's thoughts, but as before in Swindle's basement, the Autobot did not seem to exude any conscious or subconscious musings. There was simply a blankness, layering a blanket of tumultuous emotions, so chaotic and vague through the veil covering them, that they were hardly to be understood let alone trusted.
Perplexed by this, Soundwave folded his servos on his lap restlessly, determined to understand this mech who could defy his natural-born gift.
xxXxXxx
"Good evening, lord." His servants bowed as he strode between the front doors; keeping their optics to the tiled floor, even as they straightened up again. None commented on the Autobot trailing slowly behind Soundwave, instead moving forward to either close the door or else take their master's cloak. The telepath allowed them to do their duties, before gesturing to one of the quiet 'bots. At the Decepticon's beckon, the femme hurried forward, bowing again subserviently.
"Order: prepare a room for this new slave in my private hallways," he commanded, "Facing the gardens."
"Right away, lord," the servant replied, bowing again, before turning and padding away lightly to comply to the councilor's demand. Glad that motion was now accomplished, Soundwave grasped the Autobot by the elbow, gently guiding them down the limestone hallway on his immediate left.
"Fact: this is my villa. Status: own thirty acres of land within the city; fifty more outside of Iacon," the Decepticon said, curious to know how his slave would react to such information. "Duty: act as councilor to the mighty, Emperor Megatron. Advise him in all manner of subjects and keep him informed him of all affairs within and without the city. May his reign be eternal."
There was no change in the other's processor, with perhaps the exception of shifting emotions. Outwardly, only those dim optics shuttered at him; their owner still silent.
Soundwave frowned behind his battle mask, turning his attention back front again. Their trip was short -the telepath had wanted to bring the slave to his changing rooms, so he might dress him in something more appropriate and remove that hideous collar from his neck. Three mechs were waiting there when they arrived, one a servant, and the other two slaves. They all bowed at their master's entrance, keeping their gazes lowered as they stepped forward to tend to the blue mech.
"Negative," Soundwave told them. He pushed the Autobot forward. "Demand: change him into suitable attire." Their helms nodded at the command, before they grasped the new slave and brought him before the large mirrors set against the room's farthest wall.
The councilor watched as the mechs set about their task silently; undressing the Autobot and picking up various articles of clothe. They held each to the winged mech's frame, making their judgements on the colour and style. In their processors, Soundwave could hear their reverence for this new slave's beauty, and the desire to make sure that he was pleasing for their master. Eventually, they settled on a deep wine robe, with silver and gold hemming. A complimentary silk scarf of the softest lilac, adorned with a leafy pattern in silver and lime green thread, was tied tightly about the slave's slim waist. His staff used small, feather brushes to dust off any stray strand or fleck of dirt; one slave bringing out a pocket jar of ground moonstone and lightly applying the glittering powder to the Autobot's cheek arches.
Only one thing remained: that ugly, steel collar.
The mechs brought out a pair of screwdrivers, quickly undoing the three large bolts positioned at the left, right and back of the collar. Creaking, the metal came apart, falling into the attendants' servos easily. They tossed away the scrap, running a damp clothe along the winged slave's neck cables, and cleaning away all dirt and grime. Once they were certain it was satisfactory, one of the mechs padded over to the dresser sitting in the corner of the room; opening a drawer and removing a small, lacquered box from within it. They opened it once they had returned to the others' side, displaying the golden braid within.
Carefully, a slave brought it out, looping it around the Autobot's neck and fastening it place with three golden bolts, similar to the steel collar. The finishing piece was a sheer veil that they draped over the slave's helm, letting it flutter down around his wings. With a bow, all four faced their master.
Soundwave took a moment to inspect the beautiful sight in front of him, before dismissing the others. They quickly left, helms bent respectively. Once he was sure they were gone, the Decepticon walked forward, until he was pede to pede with the Autobot. To his astonishment, the other mech did not look away or bow his helm, but instead kept his unfaltering gaze fixed on the councilor. It was an experience that Soundwave could not entirely decide if he liked or hated.
He decided not to comment on it in either case.
His golden fingers lifted, fingering the new gold braid about the slave's neck. It was tight to the Autobot's throat, so as to ensure that he could not slip or break it off of his own free will. Weaved into the precious metal were glyphs and symbols, declaring his house and status. This proclaimed that the Autobot belonged to him, and only those with a death wish would dare lay a servo on him otherwise. "Status: are now part of my house," Soundwave informed the winged mech. "Welcome."
Something alive flashed behind those polished lenses. It drew the telepath's attentions, before it was gone again.
Cocking his helm slightly, the Decepticon continued to study his slave. "Fact: can not call you slave forever. Inquiry: do you have a designation?"
The winged mech shuttered his optics more quickly this time; a sure sign that he was a lot more responsive than he seemed. Soundwave, curious, decided to pursue his line of question.
"Inquiry: designation?," he asked again.
The Autobot did not seem as if he would answer at all for a moment. But then he lowered his gaze a fraction, saying in the sweetest undertones, "My name is... Tracks..."
Tracks... The councilor mulled over the name, still having yet to remove his optics or servo from the other mech. Such a lovely name, and an even more beautiful vocalizer. A rarity, indeed, to have such cultured tones like that in a simple slave. Soundwave smirked a little behind his battle mask, releasing the golden collar and instead grasping the Autobot's servo. He would enjoy discovering more about this 'bot.
"Order: come, Tracks. Shall show you the rest of your home."
