Sorry this took so long! With getting a new computer, battling bunnies that didn't want to cooperate and fighting off other, more personal, matters It was hard to find the time to get this written. Experimental is being a spoilt child again *grumbles*

Yet again unbeta'd because I honestly have no idea how to put these files into an email like how do I even find the damn thing (I'M SORRY BETA ;A;)

Units of time as I use them:

Klick – a second

Breem – a minute

Joor – an hour

Cycle – a day

Decacycle – 10 days

Groon – a month

Orn – a decade

Vorn – a century

{bond chatter}

::Comm. chatter::


Prowl had left mid-cycle, so I still had a few joors to burn before I had to recharge again. I hadn't seen Smokescreen all cycle as he was speaking with his Sire, the Lord of Praxus, and I was feeling quite alone. It was a strange feeling – I'd been with someone almost constantly my entire stay in Praxus and now I was suddenly alone.

To remedy that, I decided to go down to the Darbietung and see who was performing there. If I could, I would get a ticket and listen to them.

Getting around was easy in Praxus. For starters, nobody batted an eyelid at seeing me strolling around. Nobles weren't in a highly-regarded position of power right now – the Prime and his family would be swarmed at all times, however other nobles like myself would be noticed but not badgered. Unless they were a Noble enthusiast. In which case you would be treated like Primus himself. Reporters usually stopped you and asked a few questions before shooting off to their next target.

The decacycle before bonding was a different story and you would be swarmed, however the fact I was to be bonded soon wasn't known outside of the council, Prowls family, my own and Mirage. That would change in just 5 cycles. Might as well enjoy the silence while I could.


As I expected, the Darbietung was swarming with activity. The markets were full of mech's furiously trying to sell their wares, waving lavishly decorated items at me and rattling away lists of names, codes and numbers that had been practiced for orns beforehand. There were groups of femmes and mechs busking and performing for loose credits along with stages waiting to be opened in the evening.

It'd be lonely going to see a performance without Prowl, however it was something I knew I had to get used to. The mech was chief enforcer – he'd spend 80% of his time working. I bought a ticket to a performance called 'Peter and Alice' and kept it in my subspace for safe keeping before strolling around the building again.

I was disappointed to not see Blaster or Mirage. I missed them. Once I was bonded, I was sworn by duty to Prowl to remain in Praxus unless I had to leave. This meant I couldn't leave to see my creators, home city or my friends if I didn't have to. Suddenly I felt nervous. Could I do it? I didn't realise I had stopped walking until I felt a hand fall heavily on my shoulder, making me jump.

"Credit for your thoughts?" Smokescreen said, grinning. He knew he'd scared me and he loved it. I resisted the urge to pout.

"It's nothin'." I replied, looking back down at the floor. His optics still made me feel uncomfortable. He laughed, giving my shoulder a squeeze before he let go and took in his surroundings. "I dunno Jazz, you staring off into space in the middle of the room tells me something's up."

I looked at Smokescreen, carefully avoiding his optics, and took in his expression. Concern. Genuine concern. "Ah'm just a lil' nervous."

"A little?"

I allowed a small smile. "Okay, maybe a bit more." Smokescreen laughed, clapping me on the shoulder.

"Understandable. Come on, we should probably get moving. We're getting glared at."


I didn't tell Smokescreen that I planned to go and see the play – it almost felt as though I'd be cheating on Prowl if I had gone with him. So, on my own, I drove down to the Darbietung and arrived in good time to get to my seat and wait for it to begin.

The set showed a small room with a sofa, two dressers complete with shelves packed with datapads and surfaces covered in more, however they looked significantly less aged than the ones on the shelf, which were scratched, chipped and battered, and still had a shine to them. Between the two dressers was a door, above which was a clock. The floor was checkered, brown and cream, and there was a door to the far right of the scene, right on the edge of the set.

The clock was ticking, the sound echoing around the dead silent theatre. The door beneath it opened, and a femme who was slightly hunched over wearing a long, sweeping blue coat with a fluffy collar walked in, clutching a brown folder and an umbrella. She looked around uncertainly as she closed the door behind her, revealing a white helm, before she shrugged off her coat and perched on the edge of the sofa. She had a blue body with white hips, hands and shoulders. She lay her coat down on the arm next to her. She wasn't alone for long, as the door opened not even two minutes later as a mech walked in. He was entirely mocca with a black helm.

As the play went on, I learned more about the culture this play was taken from. They weren't so different to us.

Childhoods were stripped from them and responsibilities thrust upon their too-small shoulders, forced to bare the burdens they weren't ready for. Getting lost in fantasies of dazzling colour, dreams and music before being suddenly dropped back into the harsh, cruel reality of the world that left them in shock, and no one there to help them pick up the pieces left behind.

They, too, had gone to war. They too had lost loved ones, the truth hidden within a golden envelope or a knock at the door to reveal a grim-looking enforcer with their helm bowed.

These people weren't characters, they had really existed. Immortalised by what they resented.

Peter was forced to go to war alongside his brothers. He left the war not long after he had joined it from being mentally scarred. His brother, George, sustained a gunshot to the head. In our race, that wouldn't be fatal. Just painful – incredibly painful. To the organics in which this story came from, it was. Dead before they even realised it.

Then there was his brother Michael whom had a passion for art. He died, and the circumstances of his death were shady. He drowned with his friend Rupert in a pool notorious for its deadly currents, and it was unknown whether he died because he was a bad swimmer or because he and Rupert had made a suicide pact. A witness said that they didn't see them struggling. Their bodies were found clinging onto the other.

While Alice had been given the original manuscript to the story she had inspired, Peter hadn't. Alice could thrive off it, often selling the rights to keep herself fuelled and warm, but Peter had to scrape together what he could. Both bonded. Both had creations.

However, Alice died alone, forgotten in a library of a huge house with just the ghosts of her creations and mate to keep her company. Peter was chased by the ghosts of his past and the crushing reality of illness and threw himself into the path of an incoming train.

Peter wasn't entirely alone. He still had his bonded, his creations, and a brother.

Of the five brothers, only one remained – Nicholas. Two orns later, he followed.

Alice grew up surrounded by her nine siblings, and she had gained the interest of a photographer. Such an interest lead to the creation of a book where she was the namesake for the main character, a little femme called Alice.

She married happily and had three creations, however two were cruelly stolen by war and never returned home.

The fate of Alice's siblings weren't told, however we learned that she had a burning jealousy of her older sibling Lorina and was close with her younger sister Edith.

I left the theatre feeling slightly numb. They were immortalised in some of the greatest stories ever to be told on that planet, however they weren't happy. They died forgotten, forever living in the shadow of their characters. They weren't known as themselves. They were their characters, no matter what they did. Their deaths were reported as if the character had died, ignoring the people behind them who tried their hardest to break away from the stories.

The drive back was slow. I was mostly lost in my thoughts, keeping my speed low to avoid crashing into anything. The play did nothing to help settle my fears and doubts. When I finally got back, the last dregs of starlight were lighting up the crystal gardens. I quickly ran through them, reaching the door to the castle hidden within the maze of crystals breems before the stars finally finished setting and the last light faded from the structures.

My quarters were empty, as I expected. I briefly considered going into Prowls quarters and stealing a pillow, however if I were to be caught it would be, needless to say, embarrassing and difficult to explain. Then again, I did need the sleep and without even the smell of Prowl I knew it would be hard. Questions would be asked.

A few joors later I was starting to reconsider this.

I had been lying there restlessly. I was tired – there was no denying that at all, and I was craving sleep. It wasn't coming and it wouldn't any time soon.

I briefly considered Prowl but a quick glance at the time told me not to. It was early morning, and he would most likely be asleep. He didn't appear to be having any recharge problems.

Lucky.

I'd had recharge problems since I was a youngling. One terrible night cycle was all it took for the issues to develop, and it ended up with me having to go through flooding to 'cure' it. Now that I had been spoiled with Prowl, they were starting to come back again.

That did it! I was getting that pillow and I was getting it now!

I snuck out of my room and checked both ways before creeping up the hall. It was almost dead silent and I could hear my quiet pedefalls, however they mercifully didn't echo. I encountered no one on my way there and I quickly entered in the code before slipping inside. The lights didn't come on, but I knew my way around his quarters like the back of my hand. I didn't trip over anything as I made my way over to the berth and I swiped a pillow, taking a deep intake as I crushed my face into it.

It smelt just like Prowl and I relaxed almost instantly. It smelt like his favourite wax and the polish he always liked to use along with the heavy scent of oil and something that was undeniably Prowl. Satisfied, I quickly subspaced it and snuck back to my quarters before curling up on my berth, cuddling the pillow like a youngling would a toy, falling asleep almost instantly.

I onlined again to a room that was bright. My chronometer told me that it was midcycle.

Frag.

I'd slept for most of the day! I hopped up and stashed Prowls pillow in my subspace – I didn't want the cleaning staff seeing it – before running down to the kitchens and getting a cube. The chefs there struck up a conversation with me and we were talking until the head chef came over to see what the commotion was about and scolded them, making them return to work.

Before I could distract anyone else from their duties I scuttled away and thought about what I could do with my free day. Now I didn't have Prowl with me, I could go to the areas he wasn't too keen on. See: loud places. He didn't last long in places with lots of loud sounds and noises as his doorwings would send him so much data back and would get sore, resulting in them aching after. I'd always feel bad and we wouldn't return again. But now, now I could. Despite having sensitive audial horns, they were built to handle soundwaves so I never had any problems with them. In fact, it just made music that much better.

I knew what I was going to do today.


If anyone has any advice on iMacs that'd be greatly appreciated. I'm so glad that you can get Microsoft office for these things or I'd be so lost.

Anyone else here seen 'Peter and Alice'? I hope I remembered it correctly, it was a while ago…

Flooding is a type of treatment for a phobia. It's the more effective, but less ethical way of doing so. Say you had a fear of baked beans, you'd be put into a bathtub full of baked beans and forced to remain in that bathtub until the fear response stops and you start to relax around them. The theory goes that you will start to associate the feeling of relaxation with the baked beans and thus, phobia cured!

Also, thank you all so much for your reviews! They're what keep me going! I'll find the time to respond one day *sweats*

~Llama