I promised myself over and over that I would wait to post this chapter, that I would write Serendipity Kiss's chapter first, but this one was just sitting there so nicely, staring up at me with great big puppy dog eyes. Sadly, this is a little bit of a boring chapter; I know interest in the story is starting to wane, but I swear things are going to get interesting very soon. I'm terrible when it comes to stretching thing out, and I'm a wretch with taking up space with absolutely mundane detail, but there are great things ahead for this fic. Readers of other WE pieces kind of already know what's to come, and it's looming on the horizon. I really, truly hope you all enjoy this chapter. Please, read and review to your heart's content.
***On a special note, I've noticed in a lot of your reviews that you all have your hate-pants on for poor Flashdance. I'm really starting to feel sorry for the poor guy. I mean, look at it from his point of view; he's the youngest of the troop, not even fifty vorns old yet, and has only reformatted into an adult frame in the last few vorns, fresh out of his apprenticeship. He had the attention and love of the entire circuit, and then the twins come along and everyone acts like the sun shines out their every orifice while Flash is left behind. He's just being the jealous older brother, but he does love the twins as much as the rest of the troop.
***On an intensely awesome note, FunkyFish1991 did the most extraordinary piece of fanart for this fic and the link is posted in my bio. I encourage everyone to go take a peek! It will blow your mind when you see it! As well, I want to issue my most heartfelt apologies to dear FunkyFish for not saying anything in the last chapter. Your artwork is a masterpiece tenfold and deserves praise to the tenth degree.
Elita One- They're young, they'll hate anything until something shiny distracts them. ^^;
DitzyMusicLover- My dear, keep in mind they're young- kids will dislike anyone until something distracts them. The war is still a vague and unheard of monster looming unspoken on the horizon.
FunkyFish1991- I hope you stick with the story to find out what happens! There's so much more story to tell~
Bluebird Soaring- Don't you hate it when the day you're all excited for turned into a crappy one? =( Poor Sides, indeed. But everything will turn out as its supposed.^_^
Shimmershadow30- Thanks for the love, my dear.^^ I do hope you enjoy this chapter.
Balrog Roike- Um, my dear, you must be taking from somewhere else with some of those assumptions, because no one here wants to kill the Council and become a Decepticon. In fact, the Decepticons will not be created for a very, very long time. Anyways, your questions regarding Starscream are a little misplaced here- you would have done better asking them in the fic that at least features him as a character. Most of the questions you're asking were answered in the main body fic of WE, As We Come Together, chapter 8. As for Unicron hating him- he just didn't want him there; Megatron was the one Unicron was calling. And Flash- just think of him as the spurned and jealous elder brother.
Shizuka Taiyou- The story will be told as it's supposed to be told.^^ Thank you so much for commenting.
Silveriss- We'll see where the story goes from here.^^
Bunnylass- Gah! You. Are. The. Best! You must be getting tired of me ranting on in these replied about how much I adore you and your reviews, but you are the most wonderful woman on the face of the planet. Every time I read one of your reviews, I'm blown away by how perceptive of the story you are. You must be some kind of super sleuth or something, because you're a genius when it comes to picking up on the puzzle pieces! And your enthusiasm for the details is beyond fantastic. You must be an angel, 'cause I swear you're straight from heaven~ xD
Much love and cyber-hugs to you all! :)
Surface of the Sun
Chapter 4: Part II
'I hope they get here soon,' Megatron transmitted on a private channel, glaring pointedly at his brother.
'They'll be here in their own time.' Optimus replied patiently.
'The others won't stop staring at us, though.'
Staring was an understatement. It seemed as if the entire Centaurie Tetrax troop had gathered in the common room to do nothing but stand nearest the door and glare at their small group of guests. Hostility was practically radiating off them. It would have been unnerving, if only they weren't painted to look like rainbows.
'They're only concerned for their sparklings,' Optimus soothed, perfectly aware of how much they must feel like intruders to the troop. Next to him, Ironhide tapped his fingers impatiently along the arm of the chair he was seated in, rumbling softly at several stuntmechs who hadn't stopped glaring at him since he'd sat down. One of the stuntmechs, a blindingly-painted neon blue and green mech, was crouched as if he meant to attack.
Copperfield and Mend Me appeared to be having less trouble with the unfriendly atmosphere. They had been to enough one vorn visits to remain unbothered by the hostility some bots might harbour; performing the same function for eons helped prepare them for almost every eventuality. Ignoring the heavy atmosphere, they simply conversed in quiet tones, seated comfortably in the deep seats farthest from the doors.
Those having the easiest time of it were the three bots sent from the Sector; their medic, engineer, and, of course, the accompanying Guardian. Since they were regular visitors to the coliseum, and on relatively good terms with much of its inhabitants, they were spared only lacklustre glares. For the most part, even the lacklustre glares were sad, translated best as piteous silent begging to spare the sparklings. Ignoring the pleading looks before their sparks broke, the Sector mechs conversed in low voices, though the silence was so great that even their whispers carried.
"So you say you'll be reformatting soon?" Ratchet enquired curiously to the speckled green Guardian he stood with.
"Oh yeah, I finally found a backer on Monoluna who's willing to support my extended anthropological studies," the Guardian replied happily. "He's even willing to donate the ship I'll need and pay for a new frame. That's more than I ever could have hoped for."
"Sounds like a very generous mech," Ratchet reasoned. "Anyone we've heard of?"
"I'm sure you've heard of him; you'd have to be living in a hole not to have. He's been interviewed on Soundwave's informational channels before."
Wheeljack rolled his optics. "Blaster's channels are more my taste."
The Guardian nodded. "Yeah, I like Blaster's programming more, I just meant, well- he's really quite a well-known mech, that's all. His designation's Mirage."
The engineer's and medic's optic ridges shot up.
"Whoa- Lord Mirage, Council Representative of the Planetary Treasury, Head of the Luna Society, that Mirage?" Wheeljack exclaimed.
The Guardian looked quite flustered. "Yeah, that'd be the one."
"He practically owns half of Monoluna!" Wheeljack laughed.
"I heard something like that," the Guardian shrugged, scuffing the floor. Wheeljack gushed proudly, clapping his hands over the Guardian's, praising him until Ratchet was able to pry the engineer off.
"You're lucky to have caught the interest of such an influential mech," the medic commented, patting the speckled mech on the shoulder with one hand while he kept Wheeljack at bay with the other. "I could understand the supply of a ship and new frame if you had found a research group to back you, but seeing as this is an individual endeavour, you should certainly count yourself lucky. Lord Mirage is one of those reclusive mechs you don't hear from very often. This is a once in a life time chance."
"Don't I know it," he replied breathlessly. "As soon as my contract with the Sector is up, I'm taking full advantage of the offer; first thing I'm doing is getting out of this frame!"
"Eager much?" Wheeljack needled.
The Guardian nodded. "I love my function here, don't get me wrong, but the size requirements I could live without. Minibots and under may be a requirement for Sectors, but it's too short for me. I need something a little taller, with a little more power. I feel so compacted in this frame."
Wheeljack laughed, swinging his legs idly from the table he perched on. "Yer telling me. Can't wait ta move on ta bigger and better things beyond the Sector; open my own lab or something- anything ta get me out of this femme frame! The model's nice an' all; Wrenchwire did a good job on its construction, but the lack of height bothers me. Gotta run double time ta keep up with anyone, unless they want me riding on their shoulder."
"You've only been in that frame for a vorn or two," Ratchet accused, eyeing his old friend caustically. "You chose to reformat out of your minibot frame into that one. You were doing just fine with your last frame."
"I wanted a change, is all. Change is what our species is all about, isn't it?" Wheeljack shrugged exaggeratedly, looking completely unconcerned. "Now I want ta be back in my original frame- good old mech-sized me. No more microbot, no more femme, and no more minibot. Is that so wrong?"
"It is way too much stress on your spark to be flouncing around from frame to frame," the medic chastised. He knew Wheeljack was only emulating his old mentor, who had changed his frame like some bots go through paintjobs, but all the jumping around got tiresome. "Plus, think of the stress you're putting on the mech that has to do the reformatting, namely me. I'm getting damn tired of having to juggle your spark this way and that."
"That's his roundabout way of saying he loves me," Wheeljack mock-whispered to the Guardian, then, returned to his normal voice (which was adjusted from the normal femme default to resonate in the lower vocal range of a mech). "When you reformat, ya taking a new designation, too?"
"Sure," the speckled mech shrugged. "I don't think I can stand being called Dream Chaser for much longer. It was cute when I first got into the frame, but now it's getting annoying."
"Do ya have a designation in mind right now?" the engineer enquired.
"Don't know… Hound maybe, in honour of all the mechs who've hounded me over never getting to function as an explorer," Dream Chaser said with a lopsided grin. "I'll get into the anthropological core, yet!"
"Well, there are worse reasons ta name yerself," Wheeljack shrugged.
A minor commotion in the entryway caught the Sector bots' attentions, looking up in time to watch five new bots enter, all of which they recognized. Flip came into sight first, ordering the rest of the troop out with quiet, sharp words. Blindside and Wildride solemnly stepped in behind their director, in each of their hands sat a curled sparkling.
Optimus was instantly on his feet to greet the bots, the rest of the delegation following closely. Flip met the Prime's gaze evenly, and then bowed, his two fellow mechs copying. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, however, glared and hissed.
After returning a courteous bow, Optimus cast the twins an amused glance. "Temperamental today, are they not?"
"They just don't like the idea of being taken away," Wildride retorted, unchecked.
Ironhide huffed, crossing his thick arms over his massive torso in an act of pure disapproval. Wildride clearly looked like he was about to take on a mech twice his own mass, but Blindside intervened, treading heavily on his mate's foot. Satisfied that the stuntmech remembered his station now, and more specifically remembered who he was talking to, Ironhide smirked.
Optimus, for the most part, took no offense to Wildride, pretending not to notice the short exchange. "I wouldn't imagine anyone would enjoy the idea, would they?"
"No, sir. It's doubtful anyone would appreciate the idea of being taken away," Blindside said humbly.
Prime regarded the short star-spangled mech with a measuring gaze. "Stunt troops form unusually strong bonds with each other, don't they?"
Flip made a small noise, intercepting the question before Blindside could speak. "I can't speak for all troops, Prime, but I know this one is close and we are all reluctant to entertain the idea of letting go of any of our own. I would hope that that is kept in mind during today's proceedings."
"I assure you, all of that will be taken into consideration when deciding what is best for the sparklings," Optimus replied. He gestured to himself, Megatron, and Ironhide. "Seeing as we probably all know each other from one venue or another, I believe it would be more pertinent to skip further introductions to get these evaluations underway. We are only here out of curiosity to see the twins; we'll let the bots with actual purpose for being here perform their functions."
Copperfield and Mend Me took their cue, stepping up and bowing formally, returned quickly by the stuntmechs.
"I am happy to see that everyone appears to be operating at optimal capacity," Copperfield commented warmly as she consulted her tiny data pad. "I believe it would be best to undergo the sparkling interviews and evaluations first before the Creator interviews and environment inspections, seeing as they are a little fitful at the moment-."
"Excellent!" Wheeljack chimed, grinning happily. "You can interview one sparkling while Ratch' an' I perform the frame and file overview on the other. Seeing as little Streaker's closest, we'll take him." The sparkling was handed down to the femme, despite protestations from said sparkling. Sideswipe growled as he was placed in Mend Me's palm.
"Will our presence be needed?" Blindside asked anxiously.
"Not necessarily," Copperfield informed. "But, I'm sure you will be a comfort to your sparklings."
"Don't leave!" Sideswipe howled, flailing his arms. "Don't leave us here alone!" Sunstreaker sent up a mirror wail to better get the message across: their Creators were NOT to leave.
Wildride tugged his mate to the couches and sat firmly. "We'll stay, then."
Dream Chaser smiled understandingly and plopped himself down next to the sparkmates, slinging a friendly arm around the far-too-anxious Blindside. "Cheer up. It'll all be over before to you know it."
Wildride growled, peeling the Guardian's arm off his mate and dragging Blindside to him. "How is that any comfort to us?"
Sunstreaker sat miserably on the tabletop with Wheeljack crouched next to him, the engineer's usual cheerful grin firmly in place. As often as Ratchet had come to do check-ups on the twins, Wheeljack was just as frequent a visitor. Though the twins would never say it, they looked forward to Wheeljack's visits a lot more than Ratchet's. The medic could be downright scary when he wanted to be, but Wheeljack was almost as fun as any of the stuntmechs- and he blew himself up a lot too, which was funny.
"Not yer orn, huh?" the engineer asked teasingly as he expertly examined each of Sunstreaker's limbs while the sparkling remained unmoving, just as he had been taught to do when being inspected.
"No," he huffed grumpily.
"Don't worry, it'll all be over soon and then Dream Chaser will go take you an' Sideswipe out ta play. I even brought Tungsten with me so ya play with it," Wheeljack told him amiably, his long digits delving into a crevice in Sunstreaker's plating, feeling around the wires that lay beneath to judge their condition and conductivity.
Sunstreaker brightened marginally. He was a fan of the microbot-sized drone that the engineer trooped everywhere with him. Drones were usually so large, even the ones around the coliseum were the size of mechs, meaning they were no fun to play with. Having something sparkling-sized was always a treat.
"Where is it?" he asked curiously.
"Ratch' got it in subspace right now," Wheeljack replied, nodding briefly to the medic who hovered nearby, scanning Sunstreaker carefully while Wheeljack did his evaluations. Suddenly, the femme paused, faceplate furrowing. "Hey now, we got a foreign substance under the plating- right arm, under the foreplating, near the wrist joint."
Instantly, Ratchet was there, plucking Sunstreaker up to be optic-level with him. Sunstreaker sagged even more under the medic's sharp gaze, pouting as he felt the ethereal tickle of deep scans being run over his person.
"I haven't touched any foreign substances," the sparkling grouched.
"Arm out, little one," the medic ordered as his free hand transformed, fingers suddenly unfolding into long, spindly instruments meant to deal with tiny creatures such as sparklings. Obediently, the sparkling's arm went out, subject to the gentle torture Ratchet put him through as his long, pointy digits weaved under the plating of his right arm to biopsy the substance underneath.
Blindside was there in moments, his star-spangled head peering into the fray. "Is everything alright?" he demanded fretfully.
"We found somethin' under his plating," Wheeljack informed. "Ratch' is just checking him out."
A laugh suddenly drifted from the soft-blue medic. "It's paint," he announced. "Blue paint."
"Paint?" Blindside squeaked.
Sunstreaker grumbled unintelligibly, kicking at Ratchet's palm. "I was helping Flashdance touch up his paintjob a couple of orns ago. I was small enough to paint the places he couldn't reach."
"Some paint must have slipped under," Ratchet reasoned.
"We'll have ta clean ya out so the paint doesn't erode yer circuits," Wheeljack said, pulling out some diluted cleaning solution from subspace to begin the minor task. "Fer future reference, make sure ya get ta the wash racks right after ya do paintin' of any sort. Big mechs like Flashdance got thicker plating, with backups and redundancy circuits in case something gets damaged- yer just a little thing; paint can do ya a lot more damage ta ya. It'd be a real nasty thing if Ratchet had ta rewire yer entire frame- ya'd never hear the end of it."
"Or maybe you could just give me a new frame. I hate this one," Sunstreaker pouted, watching as his plain brown plating was stripped off, the wires below cleansed, and then plating replaced moments later.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but there are laws prohibiting that," Ratchet informed him while Blindside flinched, looking quite subdued. Both he and his sparkmate knew that Sunstreaker had a lot of problems with his frame and even more problems because of his frame. Even if no one had called him ugly in a long time, Sunstreaker still hadn't forgotten the word from the first orn he'd been online.
"What laws?" the sparkling demanded obstinately.
"Laws that say you are too young to be making any decisions regarding the modification or reformation of your frame, which means no repaints, no mods, and no new frames until you are considered prepared and mature enough to graduate to adult status."
"Those are stupid rules."
The medic rolled his optics, patting the sulking sparkling on the head. "They've served well in the past." His gaze strayed to the hovering Blindside. "You can sit down now, the crisis has been averted."
"Oh- right… going." Blindside was welcomed back to the couch by his mate and Dream Chaser, both holding out their arms to offer a hug of comfort.
Wheeljack chuckled amusedly as he sat back, finally done with Sunstreaker's evaluation. "Paintin', huh?" he asked.
"Yeah," the sparkling replied, somewhat defensively.
Wheeljack chuckled, looking thoroughly interested. "Do it often?"
"Whenever I can..."
"How long have you been painting?"
Sunstreaker shrugged. "Don't know... awhile, I guess."
Wheeljack smiled. "Do ya like paintin'?"
"Sure. And I think I'm getting good at it, too," Sunstreaker replied, emboldened to speak a little more by the engineer's interest.
"Really?"
"Uh-huh. The others let me help touch up their paintjobs whenever they get a scratch, or I'm allowed to help polish if they're about to perform a really big show." Since looks were a key in a function in presentation, the stuntmechs' paintjobs were considered high-priority. The fact that they even allowed Sunstreaker anywhere near them with a paintbrush or polishing cloth was something extraordinary on its own.
"How about your brother? Does he enjoy painting, too?"
"Sideswipe really isn't as good as I am with the application," Sunstreaker confided as Wheeljack went about his business and Ratchet continued his scans. "He fumbles with the paint, and has trouble with colour coordination, mixing, contrasting, layering… Actually, he has a lot of trouble with everything that has to do with painting."
"That's too bad, but I guess not everyone's spark can be in a paintbrush," Wheeljack chuckled.
Sunstreaker nodded. "Nobody will even let him near the supplies anymore ever since he had a tantrum and added black dyes to all of the paint." It had been the Flashdance incident all over again.
Ratchet snorted, frowning. "I'd expect nothing less from that little imp."
"Little scamp," Wheeljack chuckled good-naturedly. They had had their fair share of pranks and spills with Sideswipe. The bot seemed destined for mischief of the highest order.
Sunstreaker continued to look pensive. "It's weird, though. If he and I come from the same spark, why are we so different? Why am I so good at painting and he's not?"
"Connected as you are, little one, you and Sideswipe are still your own mechs," Ratchet reminded softly.
"But we're from the same spark," Sunstreaker insisted, harkening back to the times when he and his brother had once thought they were the same.
"No matter your origins, you are capable of making your own decisions and of developing strengths in different areas. There may be very little we know about how you two came about, but I do know for a fact that you have your own sparks to follow," Ratchet said calmly as he flipped open the sparkling's chest panel to inspect the status of the sparkcase and spark residing within. "Think of it like sparkmates- they are connected, and yet have wildly differing strengths and interests."
"You got a point, and I really do like to paint..." Sunstreaker murmured, scooting around when Ratchet indicated he needed to turn around to access the interfacial port on his back.
"And that's okay, even if Sideswipe doesn't like it," the medic assured. "Do you think you would be interested in operating with that as your main function some orn?" It was still very early for any sparkling to decide what they wanted their function to be, but home-cared sparklings always seemed to figure it out earlier than Sector-raised ones, although their chosen functions tended center closely to the functions of the bots who raised them.
Sunstreaker paused for a long while, his gaze dropping to his own ugly, brown pincer-hands. "I don't know… maybe. Painting's nice, after all... It would be nice not to be brown anymore," he said, sighing. "I don't like brown. It's ugly." He flinched when he used the word. Then his gaze strayed to his brother, in the middle of being interviewed by Copperfield. Sensing Sunstreaker's gaze, Sideswipe peered over at him and waved merrily.
Ratchet disengaged his own interface cable from the panel just below his neck column, the "plug" to it suddenly elongating into a long, narrow point so as to be fine enough to fit into the small port of a bot Sunstreaker's size. "Perhaps while I'm assessing your files, I could upgrade your status from sparkling to youngling. That would enable you to start streamlining your downloads to focus more on the functions of a painter. The sooner you have that done, the sooner you can reformat out of that frame and take up an apprenticeship under a real painter."
The excitement that suddenly dawned on Sunstreaker's faceplate was priceless. Sideswipe was hit by the backlash of it, making him laugh for no reason.
Wheeljack tipped his head curiously. "Don't ya think he's a little young ta be upgrading his status?" he asked. "I mean, give him at least another couple vorns ta think over what he wants ta function as."
Sunstreaker, on the other hand, was far more for the idea. "That would be awesome!" he cheered, then paused, thinking of where that would leave Sideswipe. His twin was like every other sparkling, wavering between what he wanted to be every few orns. One morning, he'd want to be an aerial like Skyfly, by mid-orn he'd want to part of the pyrotechnic team with Blaze, and by evening he'd be whining to be a regular stuntmech like his Creators. He wouldn't come to a real decision about what he wanted to be for another couple of vorns, meaning Sunstreaker would leave him in the dust. The thought subdued Sunstreaker immensely. "On second thought… I'll wait a little longer."
"Are you sure?" Ratchet pressed, optic ridge raised.
"Uh-huh, I'll wait."
Sideswipe shifted restlessly as his brother's previous excitement died down. It left tickles in his spark that made him giggle every so often, which made Mend Me and Copperfield look at him funny. He didn't mind the looks so much, but he was anxious to get the stupid interview over with. He didn't like one thing about it. He didn't even like Copperfield or Mend Me that much- they were nice, but in a really old and official sort of way. He liked it better when bots were loud and crazy.
Copperfield, ever a well of patience, waited kindly for Sideswipe to calm down. She read through the remaining list of questions she needed to adminster in the interview, continuously taking down notes about Primus only knew what. When Sideswipe was finally calm, he let her know it in the best way he knew how- by whining.
"Is this going to take much longer?" The face he pulled was one of the most exaggerated look of boredom that he appeared to be in pain.
Mend Me's large hand descended upon the little sparkling's head, patting him gently. "Not much longer, little one. We are simply trying to be thorough for your own sake."
Sideswipe crossed his arms in a huff. "I wish you weren't. I love it here with Sunstreaker and Blindside and Wildride and all the other stuntmechs. This entire troop is the best and I'm not leaving. You can't make me."
"It's not our intention to take you away arbitrarily," the medic assured. "We must find due cause first."
"If we may continue with this interview?" Copperfield interjected, sitting cross-legged before Sideswipe's sprawled form. She was actually quite a bit smaller than him, since he had been constructed to be along the larger scale models of sparkling/microbot frames while she had designed her frame to be along the smaller range. Her tiny optics peered over the next question to be asked- "In your opinion, what has been your level of contact with other bots of the same status as yours- meaning within the sparkling to youngling range?"
Sideswipe scrunched his faceplate, thinking. "Does Flashdance count? He acts like a youngling."
Copperfield immediately consulted her files regarding the troop, access's Flashdance's file. Almost instantly after, she was shaking her head. "No, I need an estimate of how often you interact with Cybertronians who are within the same developmental stage as you, actual sparkings and younglings."
"I guess not that much, then," Sideswipe sighed. "We haven't really met a lot other sparklings or younglings. They all live in the Youth Sector, and Sunstreaker and I have never been there before."
"So you've never played with a bot within your range before?" Copperfield asked pointedly.
Sideswipe could feel the cream-painted microbot's critical gaze on him like a cold touch. He didn't like the way she asked that question, and he knew he couldn't lie for the answer. "We've played with a few when the troop goes on a circuit, but that's it really."
"I see…" she made a few notes, which instantly made Sideswipe even more nervous.
"Not that it bothers us any," he said quickly. "I mean, we get to play with all the stuntmechs here, and they're a lot more fun. We learned to somersault and tumble- Flashdance is teaching us some footwork, Thrillride gives us rides, and Flicker lost us once in his armour, and- and-."
"Thank you, Sideswipe, that's quite enough," Copperfield soothed, though never pausing in her note taking.
"Are you sure? I got more!" Sideswipe asserted, desperately eager to give the best impression of his circuit possible. A warm boost from his brother bolstered him further- an astral hug for strength.
Copperfield seemed lightly amused. "Would you be interested in further socializing with others within the same developmental range?"
"I guess so." He'd never really thought about it before... What was so good in a Youth Sector that he and his brother couldn't get in the circuit?
The femme pressed on efficiently. "What would you say your level of exposure to bots of various functions has been?"
Sideswipe had to ponder about that one. "Well... Flip's a director, Blaze does pyrotechnics, Wildride and Blindside do ground stunts..."
"No, no, little one, she means your exposure to other functions beyond the circuit," Mend Me kindly elaborated.
Sideswipe looked disheartened. "Not very high, I suppose." They were aware of different functions- some bots were programmers or painters, moderators or manufacturers, fabricators or distributers, but they had yet to personally meet many bots with those functions. Their lives were mostly restricted to the coliseum and what went on within the walls.
"Not very high?" Copperfield repeated. Mend Me's optic ridges rose in a way that made Sideswipe sickly nervous. This could possibly be the first time he hated being the center of attention.
"Me and Sunstreaker live here... we don't get out much," he said, choosing his words carefully.
"Alright." More notes were jotted down, Copperfield's fingers flying.
Sideswipe started to fiddle with his funny shoulder plate, wiggling it until it started to make the funny squeaking noise. Being anxious was not fun. "Is there much more?"
"No," the cream-coloured microbot replied, looking up. "We're almost done. Would you be interested in visiting the Youth Sectors on a regular basis in the event that this evaluation deigns it appropriate for you and your brother to stay in this environment? It will allow the both of you greater access to both playmates of similar ranges and exposure to a variety of bots with various functions when they come for scheduled informational sessions."
Sideswipe puzzled over the question, peeking over at his brother to see how he was fairing. Sunstreaker, as it turned out, was face down on the table as Ratchet accessed and evaluated his accumulated data. Not wanting to bother his bother while he was in that predicament- it was quite disturbing to all parties when they attempted to access each other their they bond and feel a third awareness in there floating around- Sideswipe shrugged and replied, "That'd be pretty neat, I guess."
"Wonderful," Copperfield exclaimed warmly, reaching up with her slim digits to pat his faceplate. "Thank you for your time and patience. You may have a break now."
"Finally."