VIII

The cool evening air wafts across the dancefloor, bringing with it the faintest scent of Cybertronian Moon Flowers. I watch a dozen Decepticon sympathisers embrace and sway, dancing in time with the orchestra, locked in the embrace that I have never known. Someone laughs much too loudly at a comment made in jest, a clear sign that the energon is flowing freely tonight. I have rarely felt more out of place.

I am standing in the main amphitheater of Achron Hall, an estate in Victory Hills. While ancient Decepticons slaved away in the slag pits of Kaon, their feudal lords established these grand palaces on the only hill for any distance. While the fortresses of old had been defensible, they also served as a psychological maker differentiating the classes. The suburb still serves as a status symbol even to this day.

While officially remaining neutral during the war, it's proximity to Kaon meant that Victory Hills was inhabited by the wealthiest of Decepticons, and was also one of Megatron's first soft victories. He needed their money, and he needed hostages.

I walk to the veranda, surveying the lights of Kaon twinkling below be. The subdivision has spectacular views, I will give it that. While Megatron himself had never dained to set foot on Victory Hill, Starscream had taken a passionate liking to it. Rumor held that it took four generals to pry the Air Commander away from this opulence and back to the front.

Someone laughs behind me, and I try to ignore them and enjoy myself as best I can. A lost cause indeed. Tonight sees to be full of them. I wonder how the others are faring, and try not to think about it.

The Ivory Spire fundraiser for war orphans is already well underway. I pass bots I will never be allowed within a hundred yards of again. Business owners meet dukes and barons, while clergy rub elbows amongst warlords. I swear I have seen no less than three Autobot Court justices. They make sure to pay no attention to me.

In the past year under Blade's employment, I've discovered a few things. First, he is flat broke. All his inheritance and capital have long since vanished. The second thing I've learned is that the first thing doesn't slow him down at all. He still acts like an aristocrat, and spends money like one too. But if there is one things he holds in spades it is charm and charisma.

So here we are. We've come to this gathering of former friends and associates for one reason: to beg. He still has the connections and is even still liked in some circles. Decepticon memory is nothing if not extensive. Someone here will be willing to throw him a bone, I'm sure. Blade is wagering on it.

Everyone ignores me. I hang back, trying to plant myself in the wall and not be seen. But I still notice their futurative glances. I am big and awkward, and technically not welcome.

Bodyguards are strictly not allowed at this fundraiser. We'd committed a grand faux pas when Blade had been announced "and company." I hadn't even ranked as his plus one. That honor would go to Mischief, of course, wherever she had gotten herself to. All heads turned my direction. No one seemed to object to my inclusion, but everyone had gossipped about it to no end.

Everyone here was dressed in some manner. As regal Deceptions of a proud heritage, they kept to traditions foregone by most of the populous long ago. The concept of clothes is uniquely foreign to robots, and had been introduced to Cybertron by interstellar traders long ago. We found them useful for protection from acid rain and corrosion. Soon, those with the means began keeping up with the styles and customs of other cultures. For a short time, Cybertron had experienced a veritable fashion boom! Then the war happened, and practicality took precedence. There are simpler ways to protect oneself from acid rain beyond throwing a sheet over the head.

As I scan the room, I see most of the males have taken to capes or sashes. All the easier to adorn defunct war medals upon. The females are a bit more adventurous, with shawls and scarves worn on the head or shoulders. I notice a few are wearing traditional combat skirts from the Remnant. I think they look a bit funny without the top half of the ensemble, but far me it from me to correct my superiors on fashion inspired by warrior poets of Oum.

There are, of course, outliers. The last batch. Those who push the boundaries of both fashion and taste. Several of the femmes are wearing full length dresses, woven from the most exotic glimmer silk. I have to admit, they are absolutely stunning. The cuts are tailored exactly to their forms, and there is none of the alt mode kibble to get in the way. There are perhaps five of them daring enough to pull the look off. I see green and gold and red, all gliding like ice across the dance floor. Their dance cards fill up first, and with good reason. They are remarkable.

And then there is me. My dress doesn't fit right and it hangs in odd places. I feel naked from the way everyone keeps staring at me, and from the bare patch on my back where my cannon should hang. We couldn't afford a custom fit, and there is no way we could have gotten enough glimmer silk to cover me, so the dyed material is rough and scratchy. I look like I am wearing a circus tent.

I sigh and turn back to the evening, leaving their party goers to their revelry. I don't mean to sulk, even if it comes out that way. I find my own enjoyment in the quiet moments.

"Not dancing?"

I glance up. Blad has joined me. He has been at his cups, just enough to lighten his mood. He still needs his wits about him to negotiate later. Tonight he is wearing a vibrant purple cape that brings out the red in his eyes. His traditional gray steel has been chrome plated, making it quite easy to see my slack-jawed expression in his reflection. I can barely look at him, he is so damn beautiful.

"I don't dance." I turn back to the view.

"You know," he offers me his cup I profusely refuse, so he takes a sip instead. "I grew up not far from here."

"Really?" I perk up.

He nods silently. "Some of these people here were my friends and comrades before the war."

"But not anymore, I guess."

The sad smile on his face almost breaks my heart. "War has a way of doing that."

"At least you had friends."

He finishes his drink and grabs my hand. "Come on."

"What are you doing?" My voice goes up an octave as he drags me towards the floor.

"You're going to dance with me."

"But- but I don't dance."

"You can make an exception just this once." Couples swirl around us he stands before me.

I hang my head, unable to look him in the eye. "I can't dance. I don't know how. No one ever taught me." I admit, shamed.

He lifts my chin, looking me in the face. "Then I will teach you."

He takes my right hand and places it just so, before taking my left. With mathematical cadence he begins to move, and my own feet follow suit. I only stumble twice before I no longer have to watch my freakishly large clodhoppers. We begin to flow around the floor amongst the other dancers. To and fro, we twirl in rhythm. The song changed and we dance more. His eyes scan the room, ever alert. But I notice him smile, just a bit.

There is so much passion in his eyes. Hatred, yes, but passion and desire as well. Right now, it is all directed at me. And for a moment, the world fades away. It is just he and I in a sea of music. The blade and his bodyguard.

The orchestra plays a Rosanna cover of Selena's "I Could Fall in Love" and we sway in time. His feet move, and mine follow. It doesn't matter that I am large, or gangly, or that he is my employer. He sees me as I am, and he makes me want to be better. He pulls me closer, and I smell the Moon Flowers on his neck. I can't help myself. I know it's wrong, but I can't help it. I lay my head on his shoulder and close my eyes. I've never wanted a moment to last longer than this perfect moment right now. I will hold it in my spark forever.

"I just heard from Sparrow." he whispers in my audio receptor.

I try, I try so hard to ignore him, to drown him out and stay in this moment just an instant longer. But the world comes crashing back down on me. I am tripping over my feet, I am dancing with my boss, and I am wearing a dress. The song ends, and I am the only one who enjoyed the Earth music it seems. No anti-virus patch could calm the anxiety and embarrassment I feel. I recognize a migraine coming on. Another error icon pops up in my vision.

"A pearl of great price has fallen into our hands. Your unmagnanimous retreat on Algorus IV has been presented to us as a fortuitous opportunity. The Autobot began poking around the ruins after your failure there, and discovered our relics. I believe they do not yet know what they possess, or they would have taken more drastic means to secure them. You are to take Sparrow to where they are being transported tonight and retrieve them with extreme prejudice."

I reflect on his words. He blames me for calling the retreat, even though it meant saving his life. Stealing back the artifacts would go a long ways to putting things right with him.

I open my mouth when I hear the faintest gasp from across the room. One of the musicians misses a beat, and I watch as a wave of heads turn towards me. No, not my direction; behind me.

Mischief has made her entrance. Like myself, she has eschewed all transformation kibble and weapons for a more slimmer outline. Though, I have no doubt she is still fully armed and quite deadly. Her black and red pinstriping only accentuates the naturally ample curves of her body. The brilliantly glossy black, low cut, backless glimmer silk dress clings to her like a second skin. She pauses in the foyer, surveying the portico like a queen. The smirk on her lips tells me she knows exactly what she is doing. She begins walking, and I can only guess she has tweaked her transom, because the sultry sway of her gait is anything but natural. She looks like the luxuriant halfbreed daughter of desire and death itself. She would be a knockout in any species; she is easily the sexiest thing in the room tonight.

I have never singularly hated and loved anything so much as I do at this exact moment. She sashays towards Blade and myself, and I know my night is over.

"Were you waiting long?" She purrs to Blade, ignoring me entirely. I melt away as she slinks into his arms.

"I managed to distract myself, though I will admit, it was frightfully boring." He possesses her, dipping her low. He looks at her in the way no one has ever looked at me. He kisses her the way I long to be kissed. I just want to die.

The band picks up on the the change in mood and begins to play something steamy with Iberian undertones. I back away until I find myself in a wall again. Blade and Mischief begin their dance in earnest. The slits at the side of her dress allow her legs freedom of movement and she utilises them to the fullest. With one knee crooked around his neck, she spares me the briefest of glances as she twirls around Blade. I drop my gaze to my heavy calves in shame. She truly is a combat artist, and her skills allow a range of movement I could never attempt.

Demoralized and degraded, I rip my dress off two seconds after I am out the door. The memories I had just sworn to cherish forever have turned ashen in my mouth. The blade and the bodyguard? Please.

What a joke.