Script Title: Lease or Buy
Warning to Audience: Pet play
Show Rating: PG
Continuity Stage: G1
Characters: Swindle, Combaticons, Thundercracker, Astrotrain, Reflector, Soundwave, Constructicons
Theatre Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.
Acting Motivation (Prompt): A kinkmeme request ( . ?thread=8406153#t8406153) + writing warm-ups and a need for something no-pressure to write.
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Part Ten
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Swindle stopped dead in the airlock from the launch tower as the message pinged his inbox. "Not again." He was either being courted or stalked. He couldn't decide which was creepier.
He shut off his optics long enough to draw in a steadying breath. Not that it helped, since Thrust immediately tripped over him. His sense of calmness went out the airlock as he almost kissed the floor.
"The frag - ?!" The Conehead stumbled, caught his balance, and turned to scowl. "Stupid groundpounder! Watch where you plant your grubby feet!"
"Charming as always, Thrust," Swindle said, smiling on the outside and hip-deep in exasperation inside. "No wonder Megatron sent you with me to persuade our Comrade Soviets that an outpost in Siberia would be a mutually beneficial venture. I can't believe he put a choke order on you, what with that silver tongue of yours." He strolled past the jet while Thrust was still sputtering indignantly. "Don't let me get in the way of the first conversation you've been allowed in weeks. By all means, go report our success to Starscream." He would just love to see how Thrust tried to spin that report to feature one Conehead, no speaking allowed. The Soviets had been impressed by Swindle's silent bodyguard.
Almost as much as they'd been impressed by the bribes he'd brought to the table. That still hadn't gotten him anything but a bare concrete garage to park in for the weeks he'd been in and around Moscow, however. The humans had the weird belief that Cybertronians with vehicle modes were comfortable in parking lots or on air strips. Swindle had at least gotten a roof over his head, most nights. Thrust had frozen his tailfins off exposed to winter weather out in the nearest airstrip.
Toward the end, Swindle had been piling on the confident salesmech attitude to detract attention from the fact that he sported a thin layer of grime everywhere. His undercarriage was a mess of salt and sand from the ice-slick roads, and he itched. A small animal of some kind had sought shelter on his motor while he'd recharged, leaving bits of fur and unpleasant squishy things he was afraid were droppings up out of reach under his hood. Two of the highest KGB officers had ridden inside him frequently, and as a result, his interior stank of cigarette smoke and human sweat.
In short, Swindle felt disgusting inside and out.
Soundwave messaged him again, marking it 'Urgent'. It seemed he hadn't responded quickly enough for the Comm. Officer's tastes. Yeah, well, Soundwave would just have to learn patience. As little as Swindle wanted to strain their professional relationship with a personal issue, Soundwave's timing was ridiculously poor.
"I'm not in the mood for a session," the merchant responded curtly. He was in the mood to drown himself in solvent until his upholstery no longer reeked of tobacco and shit.
Three more messages hit his inbox. Soundwave skipped actual subject lines and just put increasing monetary amounts in the header.
...the mech did know how to get his attention.
Swindle hesitated for approximately thirty seconds. That was thirty seconds of greed versus gross feeling. For once, the greed lost. "No. I'm sorry for my current condition causing you inconvenience, but if you check our previous correspondence, you'll notice I expressed a preference for scheduling sessions in advance." Polite, short, and to the point. Business was as business was, and this wasn't business. This was - slag, he didn't know.
Soundwave throwing away his savings, apparently. "Name price."
That wasn't a message; that was the Comm. Officer himself rounding the corner ahead of him and blocking the corridor. Swindle backpedaled. "Soundwave! Such a, uh, pleasure to see you!" Emergency! Activate automatic smarm while searching for escape route!
Long legs closed the distance between them despite how the smaller Decepticon backed away. "Swindle. Session desired." The impassive visor swept him from head to foot. Was it Swindle's imagination, or did the red darken? "Name price for rental of pet into Soundwave's care for entirety of day."
Retreat became sputtering. "24 hours?! Are you kidding me? No! I'm due to patrol in 12!"
"Arrangements will be made," Soundwave insisted. That visor looked him over again, and it lingered on the salt-crusted wheelrims and spattered undercarriage. Swindle wanted to turn away to hide the mess, but Soundwave lifted his visor to pin him with another intense look. "Price for pet?"
Purple optics gazed up at the officer, one slightly wider than the other and both a little wild around the edges. "I'm tired, I'm grubby, and even if I were in the mood, I don't do sessions that long. Really, Soundwave, this just isn't the time." That might have been a bit harsh, but no meant no. Politeness hadn't worked so far, after all.
Although he tried not to loudly think bad words about the mech's timing and tenacity. A smart Decepticon didn't have thoughts about fraggers who didn't shove off and die instead of pestering innocent Jeeps. Not when around a telepath who could order an unthinking merchant into barnacle duty for the rest of eternity.
Speaking of unpleasant duties, it struck him as odd that Soundwave wasn't threatening him. Badgering him, being a pain in the aft, and getting uncomfortably into his personal space, but not threatening him.
Swindle edged to the right. Soundwave stayed directly in his face. He edged to the left. Bam. Wall of Soundwave. Soundwave everywhere.
"Set price," the Comm. Officer insisted again, ignoring his arguments.
The Jeep edged one way and back the other. Soundwave continued looming over him.
"I don't want to!" Swindle barked finally. "I'm not interested, thank you!"
Soundwave froze, and the conmech hide a flinch. Primus, but he felt like an amateur! Letting anyone get under his plating that way was a newbie move. Rudeness did not culture a good working environment, especially rudeness to a superior officer in a notoriously violent military hierarchy. He opened his mouth to spout the usual soothing words of insincere apologies, but Soundwave beat him to speaking.
"Query: Swindle objects to Soundwave specifically as client?"
He eyed the taller, bulkier, higher-ranking, telepathic, and singularly manipulative mech. "Of course not! Why would you think that?" That sounded brittle to his own audios, but he projected jovial friendliness as hard as he could to cover his fear. "Soundwave! You know me. You know how much I like having you as a client." For weaponry, specialty parts for the Cassetticons, and information. Not so much for this.
The not-quite-lie got a penetrating look as if that red visor could peer right into his mind. It was entirely possible that's what Soundwave was doing. "Understood." Swindle had the feeling he really did understand. "Query: would presentation of contract of limitations and agenda of intentions make session more appealing?"
He opened his mouth to respond and left it open for a moment as he gave that some real thought. "...yes," he decided cautiously. "If," he added, "I wrote the contract." Soundwave couldn't block every one of his business channels. If the mech put his name to a contract, it'd given Swindle leverage on Cybertron and Earth if the contract were broken.
Keeping Soundwave out of his head and sworn not to harm him in any way would certainly do a lot to reconcile him to the idea of a session. He still wasn't convinced, however. He really was tired, and increasingly grumpy the longer this dragged out, and -
"Query," Swindle backed up until his tire hit the wall as Soundwave advanced on him, "given agreement through contract and agenda, time limit negotiable?" The merchant stiffened, ready to deny that one flat, but Soundwave raised a hand to cut him off. "Given adequate compensation for inconvenience and extended session."
The same moment he said that, the blocky blue mech updated his latest offer in Swindle's message queue. The merchant twitched. Then he realized those last two zeros weren't after a decimal point like he'd assumed because he was a rational mech, and his world abruptly tipped on end as the numbers recalculated. This time, Swindle wheezed.
He had to beat back greed with reality. "I - while that's definitely a, uh, generous offer!" He'd be able to afford Tahiti. Buying it, not visiting on vacation. "I truly am in need of recharge and, well, look at me." He spread his arms in a helpless shrug. "I need more than a quick trip to the washracks to clean myself up. As much as I wish I could accept your offer," more like a demand, but he was totally okay with demands under that kind of price tag, "I'm in no shape for a session tonight. Even if I didn't look like this, I just don't have the energy to stay awake for the next 24 hours!"
Although now he really wished he could. He could hack accounts and steal money, but it made sense that Soundwave would be better at it. Communications specialist, after all. The way he cut through human programs, he had to have lots of human cash on hand. The stuff was worthless on the galactic market, but Earth currency featured big in Swindle's current sales. All it cost Soundwave was the time and effort to make his theft untraceable, which was invaluable to Swindle's deals.
Soundwave reached out, waiting half a second to give him time to dodge, but the merchant stood his ground this time. A big hand settled on his shoulder, and the thumb rubbed over the gritty layer of dried winter slush near the wheel well. "Aware of condition. Soundwave specifically interested in disarrayed pet. Wishes to clean, care for, and," a fraction of a hesitation, "rest with."
Swindle's wheel jolted under careful fingers. "You want me to sleep with you." If Soundwave had any of that telepathy turned on him at that moment, he was probably deafened by the resounding 'NO!' blasting from his head. "I don't do that. Ask someone else to - "
"Assumption incorrect." That almost sounded rushed, Soundwave interrupted him so fast. "Soundwave desires to hold pet in recharge." The red visor darkened, glanced away for a second, and returned as if it hadn't happened. "Pet: clean, fed, and recharging in peace. No sexual connotations. Caring for pet is relaxing. Soundwave: enjoys." The hand on the Jeep's shoulder squeezed slowly, thumb rubbing in the grime again, but it released when Soundwave seemed to realize what he was doing. "Session agenda to include one standard period of recharge and one shorter rest period. More acceptable upon condition of pet after secondary maintenance completed."
Swindle stared at him. He looked down at himself, at the dirt and bit of fur stuck in his grill. His vents were full of the smell of spilt vodka, stale cigarette smoke, and unwashed hairless ape. It had never occurred to him to wonder why the naggingly persistent offers kept coming in only when he returned to base in this condition.
"Let me get this straight," he said somewhat numbly. "You want to clean me up, feed me, let me sleep curled up beside you," the hand that'd been touching him closed into a loose fist while the fingers worked, and a bewildered smile crossed his face as he watched it, "polish me up, and tuck me in for naps."
For a mech with a face mask, visor, and not a single loose joint in his body, Soundwave certainly seemed to squirm a teensy bit right then. "Agenda available for further negotiations," he suggested. "Revisions possible during session."
Swindle looked down to sigh and drag a hand down his face. He was slagging exhausted.
When he looked up, however, those pretty purple optics were at their widest and most spark-melting. "24 hours is a long time," he hedged, artfully reluctant, because he smelled a desperate customer under that cover of scary-aft Comm. Officer. "I don't know…"
Tahiti wasn't going to buy itself, after all.
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