Summary- Two mechs bump into each other in the most literal of ways.
Viianta very distantly orbited a far off blue star that showed as a very small circle in the dark sky from the surface. It was bigger than the other stars and much, much brighter but not much of a cheerful sun. The thin atmosphere of the planet didn't help in that regard and so the sky was rather dark in daytime and night cycles both. Still, it was always pretty neat to get to watch that distant star show in faded lightness on the horizon in the mornings. Tailgate reasoned that that was why he operated his shop with an early schedule. It let him sit on top of the roof of the place and enjoy the dim sunrise; by knowing he had to open doors early anyways, he would just end recharge before the star would appear and then enjoy a city bathing in what morning light was offered (not much, but it was the thought of the matter).
This cycle was like the rest tended to be. He had a new shipment coming in that he'd need to deal with later, a relatively common occurrence. He likely wouldn't have that many customers to get in the way of restocking and organization; also a relatively common occurrence. For now, he'd watch the thin atmosphere particles catch the light on the horizon and issue a dim glow. A little cube of pink energon sat between his ankles as he leaned back to watch it.
Then it was on with the day. Tailgate got the lights on in his place to make it look invitingly open from the outside windows and slid in place behind his desk. So much of his job happened from there. It was better than rusting in a cave system or disposing of waste all his life, he supposed, but quite honestly, Tailgate rather liked getting to go out back and carry in new shipments or organize his shelves. It let him move around. He'd done enough sitting in place during all those vorns trapped underground.
A few people came in and obliged him in conversation while they browsed. He liked it when customers and visitors were talkative and friendly, even if he never saw them again. Tailgate got up from the desk during a lull of customers and tried to jump around. Calisthenics, and whatnot. Then it was back to the desk again.
And finally he was given the pinging alert that a shipment had been dropped off out back. Since no one was in the shop at the moment, he took his chance to deal with the new stuff now.
He really did like it out here. There was so much life and chaos to this city on Viianta. It was nothing like the colony operation he felt like he'd been at just a few years before. He wished he hadn't missed all those vorns involved in letting this place grow and take form into what it was now. But he was making the best of it now. He wasn't missing any more sunrises or chances to stretch out and move.
Tailgate carried the first batch of crates into a free storage room through mostly muscle memory. He had the habit of stacking them rather high to cut down on the trips back and forth needed and, as a result, couldn't see over the top of that stack. Then again, sometimes the boxes were too big for him to see around just on their own. He was rather small for an autobot and they erred on the small side to start with.
On his way back, he missed the shadow. He missed it until he'd already picked up the next load and turned around with it in his arms right into the mech the shadow belonged to.
Tailgate lost his grip on the boxes with an 'eep'. It was lucky there was nothing valuable inside.
The mech overhead took a slight step back from the crash. The three boxes sat on the ground in various positions of being tipped over. Tailgate recovered quickly and moved to pick them upright again. Before that, though, it was courtesy to see the reason he'd been interrupted. The former waste disposal bot looked up into a face he could only describe as stern. Other than the slight parting of a mouth that closed into a line when the surprise of all the crates dropping wore off, the expression being worn was almost hostile in its flatness. Maybe that was just a misrepresentation of a stony expression based on the fact that its owner was towering overhead in all his pointy glory. Tailgate didn't consider it hostile, not with the soft open-mouthed surprise he'd seen a minute ago displayed there. It'd just been an accident was all.
"So sorry!" he waved his servos in friendly apology. "I didn't mean to bump into you there."
The mech didn't respond. It was a little sad how frozen he seemed at the little accident. Maybe he was shy. If so, Tailgate would try to reassure him that he was fine.
But before he could speak up, the other had looked back down to the crates on the ground again and spoke instead.
"Need help?" the mech asked.
Some of the others he sometimes caught energon with might tell him that it was a dangerous voice. Deep, a bit raspy, fitting a tall warframe painted in decepticon purple. They were all autobots and neutrals and the occasion organic he'd recently met on the findafriend kiosks he had more than once caved to using. All people who'd seen the various autobot-decepticon wars. All people who'd actually been aware of the last few millennia. People unlike him, in other words. They had reasons and experience and stories to fall back on when they saw decepticons and felt like they were in danger of being ripped apart or abducted helplessly or melted in an acid pit somewhere.
Tailgate...didn't. He'd missed all those life events that would have given him such cautions.
This mech in front of him was unquestionably a warframe and the tips of two greatsword's hilts were visible peeking up from between his tall shoulders and neck. Plenty of people walked around Viianta with fancy weapons. Plenty of people on Viianta looked deadly. Sometimes, he would watch one taking energon or organic food alone at a bar stool while he sat with small chatty civilian frames and wondered if that intimidating figure being avoided by intimidated patrons felt as displaced and lonely as he had ever since reaching the surface of this wildly different world and time.
It wasn't hard at all to find an answer for the stranger.
"Sure!" Tailgate decided.
He crouched to pick up one crate and saw the other kneel with cautious slowness, like he was worried he'd break the things on the ground just by moving with normal speed. Either that or he was worried about spooking Tailgate himself, but the minibot didn't get the sense that that's what it was.
"They're not too fragile, don't worry," he started, waving at each one and feeling the chatter come easily. "This one is just coils, extra wiles in spools, you know, and this one is just new parts for training dummies for people that fight and stuff, they won't break either, and this one is synthetic furs! Because there turns out to be a good market for that here, anyway, they're really soft, super soft! and they definitely won't break. And at this point you're probably wondering what I even specialize in selling in my shop and I couldn't tell you!" Tailgate giggled. "A bit of everything, I guess. Anyway, you can pick-"
Claws scratched the exteriors of the boxes as the mech grabbed the crate of training dummy parts and bulk supply of furs. Tailgate almost wondered if he'd picked them on purpose or just by chance and left him with the lightest box (tightly packed synthetic material got rather heavy no matter how lightweight a single piece was alone). He'd take it either way. It wasn't as though he couldn't carry any heavy crate; Tailgate didn't look it, but he was actually rather strong. It was a big part of being able to deal with some of the nonsentient tankers in waste disposal. A total stranger that felt guilty after running into a blinded-by-his-load minibot wouldn't know that though.
They stood again and he took the lead, head poking over the top of the crate in his arms.
"This way, just follow me! I'm just going to drop all these in my storage rooms for now."
Organizing came later, after all. It was best to get all the new supplies out of the open.
It only took a few trips to finish. After that, Tailgate knew he really ought to get started on actually organizing before this place got even more cluttered than it already was (not to mention that he really should have been in the shop itself in case any customers did arrive). Instead, he plopped down on the closest box and looked up at the guy that'd given him a helping servo.
"Hey, thank you! You really didn't have to do all that, but thanks-"
The other didn't move other than the most incremental of nods.
Well, help aside, it was about time for an introduction! He was pretty sure that'd have been the social thing to do back in his old time period and that much couldn't have changed in this modern world.
"So, what's your name?" the little autobot asked.
The quiet mech stayed silent for a long enough moment that Tailgate felt sure he wouldn't be answering. Surprisingly, he did.
"Cyclonus."
Well, now he had a name for the unlikely, no-doubt-a-decepticon friend.
"I'm Tailgate!" he introduced and waved rather than offered a servo. Not yet, at least. The mech- Cyclonus- didn't seem like the type that'd take it. He certainly wasn't the type to offer a wave back. Tailgate didn't let it get him down. Past, present; he'd always been a bit friendlier than most people he ran across and tried to remember that when his enthusiasm didn't seem shared. Appearances didn't actually give the most correct assumptions, after all.
Conversation didn't exactly get any smoother after that. Cyclonus had hovered there and Tailgate had sat quietly for a bit, waving his legs from his seat and wondering what next? The mech answered it by asking if he needed help putting anything away. Maybe it was based in something the people he got together with here would call stupidity, but Tailgate had shrugged and said sure. He explained where some of the supplies went on the shelves and felt comfortable that nothing was getting stolen from what he could see. The occasional visitor popped in and Tailgate would help them out cheerfully all the while noting that Cyclonus would remain stationary by whatever shelf he'd been at last before the door's opening interrupted them.
Then the shelves were all restocked and there was no more 'help' to offer.
"Do you...get any more next cycle?" the mech asked stiltedly. It was rather like he wanted to hear an affirmative, to show up again and carry boxes around that the autobot was used to carrying alone.
Any more shipments? No. Tailgate explained as much and swore he could see disappointment through the stiff demeanor.
It made him feel a little bad. And maybe a little melancholy for himself too. He'd tried to get friends in this new Viianta quite a few times and it still felt like most of those connections were lacking. This mech could walk out the door and never be seen again. What then? Would he feel like he'd missed an opportunity for cycles to come? This wasn't really any weirder than meeting people at little meetings meant to introduce strangers together and hope a friendship stuck.
"They come every five cycles, typically," he found himself elaborating. "Between that time, I have to find which things to throw out and what stuff to keep and where to put it, you probably saw the mess, hah."
Cyclonus didn't laugh at his lightsparked tone. Or really change his facial expression at all. But he did shift against the wall behind him.
"...Sounds busy."
That was the point of a job, yes.
"It is," Tailgate agreed.
There was another pause. A 'beat', he'd heard it described by less awkward people enjoying humorous plays and films.
"You operate this solo." Something apparently noted by the newcomer. "Do you ever need help?"
Help with boredom and loneliness and the confusion of being stuck in a world that seemed like a futuristic dystopia to him, yes.
Start with manual labor like crate lifting, though. Start there, get to the rest later.
Tailgate smiled with his optical band.
"Sure," he echoed his answer from the first question the mech had asked him this cycle and prepared to see the other again another day.
AN- Originally, I'd intended for Tailgate's POV to carry most of the third section of this fic and leave Cyclonus through that lens. In the end, I went against that to give Cyclonus more room to recover and start moving forward, a pretty necessary step before he would run into TFA's Tailgate, and we'll likely swap back to him a few times more to come. That aside, Tailgate is a treat to write for and I plan to let him keep the narrative for the chapters I'd planned him to have.
