Russet looked at her schedule once more, a more reflexive gesture than anything. By the fifth look, she had memorized everything displayed save for the map, but she couldn't help but be nervous at all the strange looks she was getting as she ambled down the hallway. The looks themselves weren't that bad, but it was the whispering that made her nervous.
Thankfully the students meandering up and down the halls were heading to class, no doubt to pass on the word of the strange new student, but at least they were leaving. Russet bit her lip, looking down at her map again. She felt awfully lonely without her sister, and missed the feeling of her beside her, but they had long since gotten over their compulsion to follow each other around.
A wave of loneliness swamped her and she paused, leaning against a smooth wall. The shuttle driver had dropped them off on the landing pad before lifting off again, having gotten a call from Sentinel Prime just before they landed. Kup had met them there, and had led them inside to choose their classes.
While they already had fighting experience, Gold wanted to take the warrior classes, and had signed up for them. Her classes were way on the other side of the complex, and she lived in the barracks with the other soldier-students. Russet, though, had wanted to learn the finer things – music, art, science, and math. She had opted for science or medicine, though thankfully the two classes were somewhat combined so until she chose for sure, she could meander along in that combined class.
So now she was in the science wing, looking for her class. Maps were so not her strong point. The subtle sound caught her sharp audio receptors, and she paused. Odd, there were no fighting classrooms near here, so why did she hear…
Becoming invisible was like having a blanket tossed over her – she felt as if she stood out, even though she couldn't see her own hands. Russet glided along the halls, following the sound until she heard voices, too.
Long practice allowed her to identify four mechs by their voices and the sound of their systems. The thin, high whirring of laser cores and pulsing sparks allowed her to believe – correctly – that all four of them were feeling strong, intense feelings such as anger, fear, and pain. Though she could deduce due to the heavy smell of fear in the air as she neared the noises that at least two – probably three – of the four were afraid. She paused to unravel the scents. Two of them smelled angry, and three smelled of fear – one of the ones who were afraid was also angry. Then she sifted through the noises and voices.
She heard the hum of a standard stunner, and low, malicious laughter. The angry smell of one of the four was fading, drowned out by the sick glee he or she felt at the cries of pain. Russet snorted, olfactory slits flaring angrily as she stamped her clawed foot. This won't do!
She threw off her invisibility cloaking and turned the corner, grabbing the perpetrator by the neck and tossing him roughly aside. They were three mechs in front of her, two on the ground cowering while the third stood in front of them, bearing the brunt of their attacker's hits even as he shook in his red and white armor.
Russet's thick armor twitched as the jerk tried to shoot her with the stunner. "What are you doing?" she snarled, voice deep and angry.
"What's it to you?" the mech snarled back, shrinking slightly. It was a defensive gesture, the snarky reply; she was taller than all four of them, and obviously stronger, and the new mech couldn't scare her by acting tough as he was with the other three. "It's not your problem."
She growled, deep and low, and smiled inwardly when the mech's optics went wide. "It becomes my problem when I'm walking to class and I see a warrior who thinks he's the best warrior in the Academy terrorizing those he's supposed to protect."
The mech swung wildly at her, and with a clawed hand, gripped his wrist tightly, so much so that he gasped in pain, shuddering. She moved her face close to his and snarled. "Leave. Now." When she let his wrist go, he spun around wildly, slipping in his haste to get away.
Russet felt the Pit-Dragon part of her shift in anger, but she was used to it and pushed it aside easily as she turned to look thoughtfully at the three mechs she saved. By now the halls were absolutely empty; the last student she saw was walking around a breem ago. She inspected the three mechs who stared openly at her, jaws – when visible – open and gaping.
She bent down carefully (they looked so spooked that she felt that if she moved too quickly, they'd bolt) and began to collect the data-pads scattered on the ground. The standing mech was the more hot-headed one, and reminded Russet of her sister as he turned around and inspected his friends critically. He was red and white, with a gray chevron and a boxy body that seemed awkward to Russet.
The first mech who spoke to her – a white, green, and red mech that wore a gray face mask over the lower half of his face – seemed to smile. "Hi," he shoved his hand into the space between them. "My name's Wheeljack, but my friends always call me Jack."
Russet tilted her head to the side and nodded, carefully taking his hand in her clawed one. He gulped nervously, but bravely shook her hand, vocal indicators flashing a nervous green-blue. "My name is Russet. Uh…" she handed the data-pads to him. "Here." She got to her feet slowly, looking at the third mech, a light blue and red mech who stared up at her with open fear.
She bit her lip gently, and her olfactory slits twitched. Fear assailed her senses, and she gave an imperceptible shudder at the thick, sharp smell. The masked mech exuded a sense of…cheerfulness? He was almost happy, and it was strange to Russet, who was used to serious, angry, sad, or fearful expressions and scents. The red and white mech was still defensive, giving off a feeling of calm wariness.
"I don't remember seeing you here," Wheeljack continued cheerfully, getting to his feet. "And I thought I could at least recognize all the students in the Science Academy."
Russet looked down to avoid the three identically blue optics directed at her. "I'm new here. Me an' my sister were dropped off today."
The red and white mech calmed down slightly, enough to give a wry smirk. "Well, what a first day, huh?" Russet realized then that he wasn't sure if she was going to bully them or not. He shook his head. "Well, we're all late to class now, thanks to that jerk."
She gave a low, irritated rumble, and the three mechs jumped. She was immediately sorry, and cut the noise, giving a nervous shuffle. "So…" Wheeljack said, handing the data-pads back to their owners. "Why aren't you going to class?"
Russet bit her lip ruefully. "I'm lost." She admitted. "Maps aren't my strong point," she said defensively when they all raised optic ridges at her.
"And fighting is?" the third mech asked, voice dry. Russet's armor shivered and she narrowed her eyes in irritation. Throwing caution to the wind, she threw her invisibility over herself and stalked away with an irritated switch of her hips.
"Thanks anyway," she snarled. "I'll find my own way."
Well, there goes my attempt at being friendly, she thought sourly as she stalked silently through the halls, looking on occasion at the map in her hand. Right out the window. The Pit-Dragon in her grumbled in irritation and she gave a low snarl that no one in the halls – if there was anyone in the halls – would be able to hear. Pit-Dragons didn't make friends; they were loners. But she was also a femme, as Sentinel Prime had always told her. Femmes were social creatures, and social creatures thrived in society with friends around them.
She clenched her fists tightly, feeling the gentle prick of her claws digging into her palm. She was always trapped in between. She was a femme and also a Pit-Dragon – a social creature and a loner. She stopped abruptly in the hall, looking down at her map before looking back up at the sign. There it was! With a relieved sigh, she shucked her invisibility and opened the door.
The class looked up, and she paused in the doorway, feeling like an intruder. The professor looked up from his table and smiled amiably, walking over. Any reservations she had about coming late were brushed aside by the kind mech whose name was Bomb Tech. Briskly he welcomed her to his class, and found her a seat, giving her data chips and –pads for the notes she missed. He waved off her apologies, claiming that 'even the best of us must admit that we're not perfect at some time.' Then he gestured humorously at his bomb-scarred armor and face, causing the class – and Russet – to laugh.
The door opened and three meek heads popped in. "Ah, thank you for joining us. We now have a full class," Bomb Tech exclaimed jovially, ever-present smile firmly in place. Even though it had scarcely been a breem since she walked in, she was firmly convinced that the smile didn't fade from his face ever. Pit, he probably recharged with it.
"Sorry we're late, sir," it was the red and blue mech Russet had saved earlier. He shuffled, looking down at his feet as Wheeljack and the red and white mech filed in as well, looking abashed but not to the extent of the red and blue mech.
Bomb Tech gave a hearty laugh. "No, no, it's all right. So long as you don't make it a common occurrence, I don't mind tardiness if there is a sound reason behind it." With that, he moved on to the next topic: the late mechs' seating and the syllabus of the combined science-and-medicine class.
The red and white mech was assigned to sit beside Russet, while the other two were assigned to the table just behind them. The upper layer of her back armor bristled, a Pit-Dragon reflex to possible threats, but she otherwise ignored them, very much aware of the hurt they had inadvertently caused her.
Likewise, the red and white mech seemed to be reluctant to bother her too much, so other than sharing his name with her (it was Ratchet), he said nothing. Judging by his smell, he was also rather intimidated by her size, which kept him from speaking at all.
"And now it's all time for your favorite class," Bomb Tech said dryly, looking at the chronometer on the wall nearby. The chime sounded for the class to end, and the professor bid them good day.
"Where's your next class?" Russet looked down and to the side where Wheeljack looked expectantly up at her.
She dug around in her bag and handed the data-pad with her schedule to him wordlessly. While he was extra careful about her clawed digits, he seemed much more comfortable around her. He gave a low, whistling sound and Ratchet looked over his shoulder. "Same as us," he said with a shy smile up at her. "You know mine and Jack's names, but this," he jerked his head at the red and blue mech. "Is Perceptor, but we mostly call him Percy."
Russet grunted, still a little miffed though her face remained as smooth and expressionless as ever. "Don't want to be late," she said at last.
Their next class was in a large room with a small arena in the center. Russet recognized the setting well; when she used to work for Keel Haul, her and her sister used to fight in arenas like the one she was going to study in. They were infamous in the illegal fighting arenas for being cold, ruthless fighters. It also kept their skills sharp.
Their teacher was the exact opposite of Bomb Tech. By Russet's very accurate calculations, he was around three to four times her age, with a thick body and thick limbs. He had a few scars, but when visible, they were rarely life-threatening ones. Russet herself liked to keep her scars, but she doubted that he did it out of a liking for the souvenirs of battles; most likely to scare his students into submission. Her olfactory slits twitched slightly as she took in the smells of the arena. The other science students were apprehensive, that much she could pick up, but the teacher – who introduced himself as Upper Cut – exuded a scent and feeling of cockiness that immediately rattled the spines on her back.
"In line, against the wall, now!" Upper Cut barked, and the students scrambled to obey while Russet followed at a more dignified pace, making sure she was situated near Ratchet, Perceptor, and Wheeljack. She had a feeling that she'd have to intervene on their behalf. Again. Upper Cut shifted into a parade-rest position, and Russet regarded him thoughtfully as he spoke, immediately deciding that she didn't like him. After describing the course, Upper Cut went over the reasons for it. "As you all know, Cybertron is at war."
The students murmured amongst themselves, and the three beside her shuddered, a fresh stab of fear-smell rising in the air. Russet curled her lips in disdain; it was making her sick.
"Silence!" Upper Cut roared, and the Pit-Dragon in her wanted to roar in reply to the challenge. With practiced ease, Russet quieted it and listened to the instructor. "Now, sadly, I have to deal with you sissies and teach you how to defend yourself so you don't get killed or lose any of your work to the wrong hands." He huffed derisively. "Who knows? You may be a scientist, engineer, or medic in the Autobot ranks and may end up having to defend your work against the Decepticons, or vice versa." He walked up and down the line, eyeing them as Russet would have, searching for flaws and weaknesses in order to adapt the lessons accordingly. Though Russet could tell that he was looking for the ones he could pick on the most as well. "If you've had combat training – formal or informal – before, take two steps forward."
Russet's spine twitched, and with a quick glance at her self-proclaimed charges, took two steps forward. Though she could hardly remember it, she did remember that her and her sister had formal lessons in fighting basics near the beginning of the time she worked for Keel Haul. After those formal lessons, they were taken to informal lessons which taught them improvisation and melee fighting. With the basics beneath their armor, they had been able to excel at the melee fights, which made them as deadly and infamous as they were.
Upper Cut scowled as everyone took two steps forward save for Wheeljack, Ratchet, and Perceptor. Russet had a sinking feeling in the pit of her fuel tanks, but did nothing. "If you've had intensive lessons, take two more steps forward." Russet and three others obeyed, and Upper Cut's scowl deepened. "If you've had lessons for a majority of your life, take a step forward." This time, Russet was the only one to move.
Upper Cut circled her and her spines twitched almost invisibly when he at last grunted. He stopped his inspection of her and looked at the three still against the wall. "Well, it looks like you have a lot to catch up on." This time, Russet's spikes flared upward until they were at nearly-ninety degree angles to her back; Upper Cut's voice held twists of malicious glee, and even his scent attested to his eagerness to bully these three.
"I can tutor them," Russet found herself saying, and the instructor turned sharply to look at her.
"What was that, soldier?" hearing the associated name for her appearance, made Russet's spines twitch, and the Pit-Dragon in her growl. The instructor had obviously been a soldier – a good one – but he certainly wasn't an officer. Russet had seen her fair share of both good and bad officers while working with Sentinel Prime, and had learned from the best how to gauge which mech – or femme – fit into which category. He was a soldier thrust into an officer's position, or a position of power. No longer could this poor soldier bully others around him; now he had to learn tact and diplomacy. Or he'll find his innards shoved down his throat, the Pit-Dragon side of her murmured and she shushed it once more.
"I said that I could tutor them." She replied levelly, gold optics narrow and trained on the slightly (very slightly) taller mech. A quick movement put her between Upper Cut and the three against the wall. "I assume that I am ahead in the class, having taken intensive and formal lessons in combat and fighting for most of my life. What better person to instruct three beginners in the basics while the instructor himself brings the rest up to par?"
Upper Cut regarded her shrewdly, lips curling in disdain. "How can I know you're telling the truth?" Yes, definitely not an officer.
Her olfactory slits flared and twitched in irritation, jerking her head at the arena. It was rather obvious, really, but the instructor, as expected, took the bait. She didn't need any other action to know for sure that this mech in front of her was never an officer, or in a position of power over others; he was a simple soldier chosen for his fighting skills to teach at the Iacon Academy.
Optics narrowed, she gauged his reaction. He won't wait to go to the arena, the Pit-Dragon side hissed.
I don't doubt that, her more civilized side – the part of her that was Russet – murmured in reply. But I cannot strike an instructor without first being invited to or without just reason; he must attack first.
The Pit-Dragon in her grumbled and snarled but didn't debate the logic. As ever, it simmered beneath her consciousness, ever aware, and ever ready for a good fight. Her back-spines twitched as she waited for the verdict. "How fast can you disarm someone?" Upper Cut asked.
"I was never timed," Russet admitted. "I can say for certain that I move faster than you give me credit for. Sir." She added challengingly.
Upper Cut grunted and went into a wrestler's crouch. "Let's see what you got, then." A golden glare made the students move back against the wall, and Russet settled for a balanced stance, though she remained upright. The Pit-Dragon in her knew better than to take over, but it swam in the reaches of her cortex, eager for the fight ahead. "Armed or unarmed?"
Russet shrugged. "I don't usually fight with weapons; I prefer close combat. But you're welcome to, if you want." It won't make a difference, she muttered to herself. The Pit-Dragon side of her snarled with glee. Upper Cut took out a pair of charged batons, spinning them in his hands.
Upper Cut feigned left, and Russet remained steady. Part of being a Pit-Dragon was knowing when someone was pulling her tail and when they truly meant to rip it off. And it also gave her a bit of satisfaction seeing the confused look Upper Cut gave her when she didn't retaliate. He narrowed his optics at her as he spun his batons, dancing to the side. Like many warriors, he went for style and finesse rather than function. Russet and Gold were of the belief that if it looks ugly (or stupid) but works, that's all that matters.
A chance blow caught her in the leg, but it was her foreleg in Pit-Dragon form, and since she was in her mech form, it wasn't important. With a quick spin, she kicked his feet out from under him, and leapt away when he lashed out with his batons. Upper Cut caught himself with one hand and true to her word, she moved faster than he believed and twisted his weapon arm behind his back, placing a taloned foot on his other arm, preventing him from moving.
He tapped out and she took a step back, Pit-Dragon mind simmering beneath her own. Why would he give up? It hissed, and if it could, it would be pacing.
Because he didn't really tap out. Russet replied. He's planning something.
Sure enough, a moment later Upper Cut lunged at them, meaning to go totally hand-to-hand. However, he underestimated her strength and with quick twitches of her surprisingly strong arms, had his arms crossed painfully over his head while her foot pressed on his skidplate, preventing any other movement. He couldn't even tap out. When he tried to jerk his hands out of her grip, she unsheathed her claws, letting him feel the razor-sharp tips against the unprotected wires of his wrist. Giving him a minute to let his anger boil, Russet waited until she felt him sigh.
She took a step back, letting him drop. The bell rang and the students fled, save for Ratchet, Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Russet. Quickly, Russet jerked her head to the door, and the three fled with the femme close at their heels.
Reading her data-pad, Russet ignored the comings and goings (but mostly goings) of the mechs and femmes around her. It was a well-practiced game; everyone always cleared out from the area she was in, whether consciously or unconsciously. So it was with great surprise that she looked up to find Ratchet, Perceptor, and Wheeljack sitting in front of her almost nervously. She snorted. "I don't bite," she said at last, going back to her course syllabi.
She could tell that Perceptor opened his mouth, but judging by the sounds, Wheeljack, Ratchet, or both of them clapped their hands over his mouth. She grunted and took a sip of her Energon. "And yes, I am aware that I look rather scary, not to mention that I handed an instructor his skidplate not two groons ago, but honestly. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't have stopped that bully."
"That's why we're still here," Wheeljack said, ever-cheerful.
"Don't know how you keep putting up with us," Ratchet muttered, shaking his head.
Russet looked up at them, face twisted in a wry smile. "I don't know either."