Mirage had as a mechling enjoyed leisurely promenades with his creators along the fashionable arcades of Iacon, They had visited similar pedestrian districts in other, cultured, polities such as Praxus or Crystal City. He had imagined strolling with his own creations, sharing intellectual conversation with his conjunx for while he might not love his partner they would understand and respect each other.
Later, when the war had ruined every shining hope his young self had held, Mirage had let himself invent new avenues. A rebuilt city, perhaps a bit shabby but thriving, fascinating shops and avant-garde galleries, a conjunx or amica who was patient with the world and kind. He hadn't let himself think about sparklings. That was a dream too unreal.
The great cities of Cybertron had been reduced variously to rubble, irradiated waste, or unstable craters. Mirage had assumed on returning to the planet that the Decepticons would be camped out in Polyhex. He didn't know why they weren't. Stanix had been a middle-ranked light industrial nowhere region. Its capital of the same name had been notable for a major node in the global communications network and boutique wine production.
There may have been promenades in Stanix. There weren't any now. The streets had been bulldozed clear, sealed with melted slag for a semi-passable driving surface, and left to fend for themselves. Intermittent sidewalks existed where mecha had claimed areas. Mixmaster's bar had the equivalent of a beer garden with benches and awnings. Thundercracker steered them away from it.
They ended up down a road flanked either side by even, smoothed walls both about two storeys in height. The buildings themselves were gutted and braced inside with extensive scaffolding. A blue mech with an oddly cut-down frame stood a pace away from the left wall with a white mecha-cougar curled over his shoulders.
"I like the hue. Still a bit flaky." The mech remarked to their companion. Who was cabled into his helm, Mirage saw as he and Thundercracker approached. A medical link not a hack, the noble noticed because that was something that was very important to notice.
"We can adjust the polymer medium. You have to accept the ephemerality of the product." The beastformer said in a melodic tone before turning to address the new arrivals. "Greetings, Thundercracker. That is a cunning little sling you have there."
Mirage had improvised a carrying wrap for Tempest so he could have his hands free. The sparkling had briefly chewed the blanket then ignored it, which settled the matter for Thundercracker. It was an organic notion but it worked. At least until Tempest's magnets were strong enough to keep him attached naturally.
"Mirage, this is Glit, medic and independent mini-con. Glit, this is my secondary conjunx Mirage." Thundercracker introduced them by social precedence with polite-but-not-formal glyphs as one should in a public setting between peers. Decepticons got intense about social signifiers attached to their designations.
"I'm Triggerhappy." Triggerhappy introduced himself cheerfully. "Aren't you an Autobot?" He asked Mirage then twitched. "Ow, the whatnot is doing it's thing again." He shook out his arms where his empty gun mounts were itching, and flicked yellow paint everywhere. "Oops, sorry, sir. It'll wipe right off."
"Greetings, Mirage." Glit reciprocated before running a correction program through the link. Triggerhappy fidgeted as his combat protocols fell out of active processing. "The paint is not toxic for sparklings and easily cleaned."
"'Cause some of the nutjobs drink it." Triggerhappy laughed. He put the paintbrush in his hand in a cup of solvent to avoid splattering any other officers. They got cranky about that kind of accident. "Not me though. My cognitive functions are optimal."
"Greetings, Glit. Triggerhappy." Mirage took a polishing cloth out of his subspace and wiped off the sunshine yellow specks. Thundercracker did the same. Anyone around sparklings always had cloths in their subspace. "Art therapy?"
"That's right." The blue aerial waggled the ends of his truncated wings. "I was stood down. Finally got my glitched targeting suite pulled. They had to chisel it loose. Took out all sorts of other cross-wired functions. Primus, it's weird being able to finish a thought process without needing to shoot something."
"The policy against mnemosurgery still stands, which leaves us with slower therapeutic rehabilitation options." The small 'Con clarified, courteously not eyeing the bundle on the Autobot's chestplate. "If you have any medical training in any field, we would appreciate your assistance. After parole and other obligations."
"My focus will be on Tempest for the foreseeable future." Mirage temporised rather than mention his actual skill set. He'd also teeked Thundercracker's field flicker with disapproval. The Seeker was a private mech who kept his feelings to himself. Except when it came to his creation.
"Laudable." Glit commented neutrally. Triggerhappy chirped something presumably in Vosian then the pair went back to considering the colour on the wall. Mirage walked on as Thundercracker's wing nudged his back in a strong hint the conversation was over.
As they strolled, the noble spent several breem considering phrasing and tone. He could simply not ask but he felt that would set a bad precedent. He wasn't going to pretend his audials were deactivated. Asking for a language download for Vosian would look needy or suspicious. It was too soon to seem too invested in helping Tempest's development so he couldn't use the sparkling's likely first language as a screen.
"Did Triggerhappy say anything impolite?" Mirage ventured in what he intended for the Decepticon to hear as an ordinary query not a demand.
"Mannerless not rude. Like jumping in with his introduction." Thundercracker had put aside the bulk of his social training when Starscream threw their lot in with the Decepticons. Guttermecha from Rodion and labourers from Tarn despised the high caste with good reason. He'd believed. He'd wanted to help. And then the destruction of Vos made everything precious and utterly moot. "Triggerhappy said 'fast and light'. It's a compliment."
"With connotations of 'what a nice pet you have'?" He needed to know if it would be necessary to avoid the 'Con. Mirage already had a list.
"Definitely not." The Seeker answered quickly. "More like I'm dating out of my league." He wasn't sure how the 'Bot would take that. "He shouldn't have made such a personal remark about your appearance but there wasn't anything behind it."
"Thank you for clarifying." Mirage lightened his tone. Not quite enough, judging from the side-glance he got.
"Not what it would've sounded like in Iacon?" Thundercracker had been to the Autobots' former capital exactly once. He hadn't landed.
"Very much not." He chuckled to further ease the mood. He was enjoying the walk and didn't want it to end prematurely. "Buymecha are described that way. Conventional attractiveness was for solid frames with boxy lines; a stately presence."
"So Ironhide was hot?" The jet had never looked at a truck and gone vroom.
"To most, yes." Mirage didn't add that he'd found the weapon specialist as alluring as a cube of his namesake. No contours, no style. "Individual Towers varied. Some lineages had a classic look they strove to maintain. Mine had always valued speed. We had extensive ties to Velocitron so having the right engine was important."
"Who'd want to be slow?" Thundercracker nodded, quietly pleased they could chat. "Barricade has a race track. Commercial one, well run from what I hear. If you'd like, I can book some time for you. Privately." Did that sound sleazy? Maybe. "I mean, time for you alone so you won't have to put up with any gasket-breathers."
"You'd need to be there. Unless there's someone else you can nominate to chaperone." He meant 'supervise parole'. They both knew that. Chaperone was a polite fiction Mirage was surprised to realise he found reassuring. Possibly that was the caste coding, possibly wishful self-delusion.
"I don't mind. I get the need to move. Flight restrictions were the worst." The Seeker did not miss being stuck in the Nemesis with fish making faces at him through the windows.
"Then, yes, thank you, I would like some track time." Being able to shake off the dust, to push himself just for the joy of speed, would be a balm. He was fully fuelled too. Their rations that morning had been enough to fill his tank even without the medical supplements. Solar energon didn't taste the same as energon from the planet core. Nothing was quite as good as the essence of Cybertron. He had no complaints however.
"I'm not rich." Thundercracker occasionally wondered if there was a disconnect between his motivator, his intellectual functions, and his vox-box. What he meant to convey was while he was high caste by birth, the resources of his family had vaporised alongside Vos. "No one is. Except maybe Swindle. I wouldn't trust him not to have something horded away. The Galactic Council hasn't rescinded the trading moratorium."
"There were always rumours certain Neutrals had absconded with the reserves from banks or looted vaults in the general exodus." Cybertron's financial system had collapsed early in the war, fragmented and gutted. The Autobots had shifted to an energon economy bolstered by barter. Business with aliens was limited to the grey or black markets. "I presume you draw a salary as a serving officer."
"A small one. There's a sparkling stipend to encourage creators." Thundercracker set a reminder to get that allowance transferred to himself until 'Warp and 'Screamer stepped up to caretake. "I have a bit put aside. There were shares of loot depending on campaign, survival, and repairs. You didn't get extra for being a reckless idiot."
"What do we require beyond accommodation and energon?" Mirage could name a thousand different things he would like. Like, not want or need. An abstract personal preference. The war had pared every aspect of existence down to essentials.
"I don't know. We aren't the 'we' I'd planned for." His wings twitched down before he could steady them. Thundercracker deliberately canted them back up so anyone looking would see casual confidence. "I don't want to stay long in the barracks with Tempest. Won't be nice for you there either."
"Can we afford to rent somewhere? Is there a rental market?" Had the 'Cons got that far? Mirage couldn't even guess how stupid his questions might be.
"Pick a squat, clean it up like you like it, register the location as your quarters. No rent." His trine had put a lot of work into their apartment. It had just started to feel like a house. Not a home yet but his in an indefinable way. Somewhere he could scatter cushions and put up posters. "We might not have to bother if I can talk Starscream and Skywarp around to accepting you."
"I don't see that happening quickly." The noble had to be honest.
"Yeah, probably not." Thundercracker's optics drifted to Tempest, beeping happily to himself cuddled against the racer. "Frag them then. I made the right choice."