This was the moment he had been expecting.

Tracks entered into the large room, his optics noting the massive canopy bed and its lush pillows, dressed with fresh, clean sheets for its newest occupant. Everything had been scrubbed, the lacquered furniture dusted and polished; various articles of mundane and hobby set neatly on the armour and vanity. Incense burned and floral petals had been spread across the vermillion tiles and on the silk sheets. On the walls were painted breath-taking murals, depicting various scenes, ranging from great battles and noble debates, to private serenades between lovers and fools within the darkness of the night. The entire room seemed to gleam in the dying light of the orn, bathed in passionate fire from the light pouring in through the large, bay windows.

The Autobot did not bother to look out them.

He knew the only view they would provide would be of stone walls and creeping vegetation. The specifics of his newest imprisonment.

"Status: hope everything is to your satisfaction," the Decepticon said. Tracks did not respond. He could feel the other mech's optics on him as he padded further into the room. He waited, almost expectantly, for the moment when this stranger would come in after him and use him in the purpose that he had been bought for.

Surprisingly, it did not come.

"Fact: servant shall be along shortly to bring you your meal. Goal: refuel and recharge well. Shall see you in the morning."

The Autobot turned around slowly, wings fluttering slightly as he gazed upon his new "master." The Decepticon was silently looking back, his emotions unreadable through that visor and battle mask. "Good evening, Tracks," the blue mech said, inclining his helm slightly at the slave. He stepped away from the doorway, grabbing the door's handle and gently pulling it close behind him.

Not once did the councilor tear his optics off of Tracks, nor did he speak another word.

Only after the latch had clicked audibly, and the Decepticon walked away, did the winged mech sink into the cushioning of the thin seat set at the foot of his bed. His dead optics shuttered at the shut door, something flashing across their depths before again disappearing.

xxXxXxx

The guard was doing his rounds when he noticed something slivering through the shadows of the pavilion. It was quick and quiet, remaining close to the bushes and blossoming flowers that made up his lord's garden. Thinking it to be a spy or assassin, the guard tightened his grip on his spear and gave silent chase to the flitting darkness. He twisted around columns and past the thriving vegetation, quickly getting closer and closer to the unknown creature. When a flash of white met his optics under the moons' pure light, is when the guard made his presence known.

"Halt!," he ordered. The shadow jumped, spinning around before bolting off in the opposite direction of the guard. The Decepticon ran after him, cutting the distant between them within mere astroseconds. When he was near enough that he could almost reach out and touch the stranger, the guard swung the butt of his spear back behind himself; clubbing the intruder straight across the backstruts. The other fell to the ground silently, tumbling slightly with the force of their momentum.

An orange glow cut through the darkness, making its way quickly to the pair; another guard had heard the commotion, and lighted his lamp. "What is it?," he asked, coming up to the other Decepticon's side. Together, they stared down at the unknown 'bot. Red faceplates lifted slowly, dead optics staring at the two mechs unflinchingly.

"He must be the councilor's new slave," the second Decepticon commented. He lifted his lamp higher, studying the fine robe the other one wore -now dirty from his fall to the ground- catching the glimmer of the gold slave braid around his throat. "The rumors really are true. He is beautiful."

"So what?," the first guard snapped. He reached to his hip, unwinding his whip. "It is our duty to punish the slaves that attempt to run away. New or not, he was most certainly fleeing, and that is worthy of fifteen lashes, at least." The mech walked forwards, drawing his arm back again. "Stay where you are, glitch; it'll be easier on you."

"Order: stop."

Those two words cut through the night like a jagged blade, tearing at the tension that had filled the garden and replacing it with an impregnable silence and a touch of dread. "Councilor," the two guards said, immediately facing the blue Decepticon and dropping to a knee.

Soundwave looked at each of them silently, his cold gaze fixed firmly on the whip held in the one mech's servo. Glancing upwards, they both noticed this, and the first guard tried to explain himself. "M-my apologies for the disruption, my lord. But we caught this slave attempting to run, and law dictates that we-"

"Punishment: unnecessary," the councilor cut off the guard's frantic rambling. He stared at them both for a moment longer, before turning his attention to the winged mech still crouched on the ground. Tracks had turned his own optics to stare at the newest addition to the group. "Fact: shall deal with this one myself. Order: inform the others as well, that all punishment for this mech will be mete out by myself. Consequences will follow if my command is disobeyed. Dismissed."

Glad for the simple scolding, the guards quickly rose again; the second mech handing his lamp to Soundwave before both returned to their posts. Their processors reeked of fear and worry, even as they left. Tension increasing, the telepath turned to face his slave. Even when he pressed, there was nothing he could read from the Autobot, and that was perhaps more infuriating than the others' actions. Tracks was still looking up at him, refusing to budge from his spot. Silently, Soundwave held out his servo for the slimmer mech, only for it to be ignored completely. Taking alternative action, the councilor simply reached down further and pulled the slave to his pedes.

"Actions: futile," he told Tracks. "Escape: impossible. Fact: you shall remain here as my slave until I have either grown tired of you or you have bought your freedom. Running does not help your case."

The mention of freedom seemed to spark something within the Autobot, because for the second time that evening, he finally spoke. "Freedom?," he hissed, lip components curling back distastefully at the word. "Do not try to play me for a fool. I know that there is no freedom to be had. Why would you simply let me go when you can easily sell me again if I should eventually bore you?"

Tracks tugged his arm free, hurriedly putting space between himself and the Decepticon. Soundwave attempted a second time to prod into the slave's helm, but found the thoughts to still be lacking within. How could a being so successfully block him out? Was it a conscious effort, or entirely accidental? His growing frustration at this anomaly added fuel to his irritation this night, and the councilor stepped forward again; grabbing Tracks' arm once more and tugging the Autobot back along through the garden. The winged mech stumbled along silently; all of his emotion and life seeming to have been sealed up within him again. He did not even react when their destination turned out to be his new room.

Soundwave pushed Tracks ahead of him into the room, quickly closing and bolting the door behind him. He set the lamp down onto the vanity, grabbing the slave again and moving him to the bed. For an astrosecond, he thought Tracks might fight him on the path, but he remained resolutely nonchalant; even when the telepath forced him to sit on the edge of the mattress. Frowning behind his battle mask, Soundwave forced his fingers under the Autobot's chin, lifting his faceplates to the light. What he saw there made him scowl further, and the Decepticon withdrew for a moment to collect the basin and clothe set earlier upon the vanity; untouched, by the looks of it.

He said nothing still as he knelt on the floor before the winged mech, dipping the clothe into the cold water and wringing it out firmly. What the councilor did next would have been a motion many would be shocked to witness... Soundwave, as if it were the most casual thing in the world, began to clean Tracks' face. The Autobot whipped his helm back at the action, and found a golden servo wrapping firmly about the back of his neck cables, keeping him from struggling. Soundwave calmed after this moment of rebellion passed; his forceful pressure decreasing until he was gently wiping at the slave's cheek arches. The powder from before came away at his tender ministrations, along with the dirt that was from the other's fall. Already, the Decepticon could see the scuffing on the plating. In the morning, it would be sore and sensitive to the touch, and altogether unsightly.

"Action: apologize for the guards' treatment. Fact: shall not happen again,"

Tracks pursed his lip components at the telepath's words, his optics narrowing somewhat, but he did not speak on them this time.

Soundwave himself refrained from any further comments. He wet the clothe once more, patting softly at the other's bruised plating, almost hypnotized by the ice blue optics glaring at him fiercely. On any other, such a stare would have meant a swift and painful whipping for daring to be so disobedient. The Decepticon was loathe to admit that on the Autobot, it was almost a charming quality. Certain that he had cleaned Tracks enough, Soundwave withdrew his servo; collecting the basin and returning it once more to the vanity.

"Order: recharge," the blue mech said, dimming the lamp. "Long orn awaits."

His slave did not say anything, optics glowing brightly in the faint light and wings twitching behind him angrily ever few astroseconds. Soundwave ignored both, leaning back against the wall beside the vanity, his gaze fixed directly ahead at the Autobot. The kliks passed and it seemed evident that Tracks would rather spend the entire night glaring at the Decepticon than sleep, but even his determination could not overpower his exhaustion, and the slave eventually slumped onto the mattress, slipping deep into recharge.

Once he was sure that Tracks was really asleep, Soundwave left.

xxXxXxx

The following orn started as any other. Soundwave left a small list of duties for his Chief of Staff, expecting the servant to know exactly how to carry them out in a way that was satisfactory to the councilor. On that list, were special made exceptions and guidelines in regard to the Autobot still asleep in his room. Confident that nothing disastrous would occur while he was gone, Soundwave took his carriage uphill to the Emperor's palace. Court today was as sparse as it usually was. A small band of courtiers flocked about the large hall, their chatter barely a murmur over the tiny group of musicians playing in the east corner. Servants and slaves moved between them all, cleaning, or otherwise tending personally to the lords and ladies. Surrounded by his own gaggle of attendees, with either food, drink or fan in servo, sat Megatron; Emperor of Kaon.

The silver Decepticon was the very picture of power and lethal force, even as he lounged easily upon his black throne; violet cape spread across his wide shoulders and half-shuttered optics taking in the audience before him.

"Ahh, Soundwave...," the smooth baritone passed the quirked lip components as the councilor approached the podium. "I didn't think you would be coming to me so early in the orn."

Soundwave stared up at the warlord, his expression mutely perplexed. He did not dare press upon Megatron's processor, already well aware of how efficiently the other Decepticon could shield his thoughts from the telepath. Besides, such an action would lead to a heavy punishment for daring to act so bold with the Emperor. Megatron's glanced irritably at his throng of servants, waving them off with a flippant shake of his servo, before turning his growing smirk back to the blue mech.

"Word in the court is that you have a new slave, my friend," Megatron elaborated. "One who is quite a beauty if the rumors are to be believed."

Ah... Soundwave really shouldn't have been that surprised. As a top-ranking official in the Emperor's court, there would be many optics on him -some of them even hired informants, meant to keep tabs on him, such as he kept tabs on others. Megatron was efficient in retaining his power, if nothing else. Twenty-four cycles was more than enough for news to have circled back around to the silver warlord about his subordinate's latest buy.

"I take this to mean then that Swindle is keeping up on his business odds and ends then. No plans to move out of Kaon, I hope?"

"Negative," Soundwave replied. He bowed quickly, coming closer. "Status: details documented here." Before he could even rest his pede on the first step of the podium, a shadow was slithering out from behind Megatron's chair, moving forward to intercept the report.

"Hello, Soundwave. How do you fare this orn?." Shockwave stepped half-way down the podium, his servo held out to receive the scroll. The other Decepticon gave it to him immediately, staring the cyclops square into his optic.

"Orn: progressing well," Soundwave answered. The assassin gave one flick of his helm, before turning back around and handing the report to Megatron with a bow. After the warlord had taken the document, Shockwave straightened, reclaiming his post to the left of the throne.

"Still, to leave your estate so early to bring me a mundane report..." Megatron shook his helm in mock disappointment. "Is your new slave so unsatisfactory? I would have thought you'd be well into recharge even now, after a long and eventful night."

The subtle, lewd comment brought more than a few different reactions. "Ewwwww," hissed one irritating voice in particular. Starscream stormed up to the podium quickly, having entered into the hall from one of the numerous corridors. The commander made a face as he drew up to the other Decepticons; his arms crossing over his chassis. "This dead sparkplug fragging any bot?! The very thought makes me want to purge!"

"Ah, Starscream...," Megtron almost sighed. He looked at the soldier blankly. "I was wondering when you would be showing up again."

The winged mech turned to the Emperor, his disgust becoming down-right hatred. "Well, my glorious leader," he cooed sickeningly. "Perhaps I would not be inclined to bask in your delightful presence each and every morning, if it weren't for the fact that someone still refuses to acknowledge that the idiot Lugnut is not fit for the role of sub-commander, and needs to be quickly demoted back to the ranks!"

"There is a more painless way to submit your complaints, Commander," Shockwave said dully from the side. "One that would involve less of your screeching and wasted time on both parties."

This of course, drew a horrendous cry of indignation from Starscream. "Be quiet, Starscream," Megatron growled. "We were having a lovely discussion about Soundwave's new slave before you arrived. Were we not Soundwave?"

"...Affirmative," the telepath was slow to reply. He tried not to look at the commander, feeling dark, murderous thoughts seep into his processor from the irate mech. Starscream, sneering, turned his attention back to the warlord.

"Is that so?"

Megatron smirked cruelly, his red optics catching Soundwave's gaze. "Indeed. I was just about to propose to Soundwave, that if he found his new slave so unpleasing, I would be happy to take him off his servos. A winged Autobot would look absolutely stunning at my pedes I think. Wouldn't you say so, Soundwave?"

The councilor was finding himself growing tense as this banter continued. The thought of giving Tracks away, to anyone, let alone Megatron, was a thought that did not sit well with the Decepticon at all. He couldn't even be certain if his lord was being honest in his interest in the Autobot or just taunting Starscream further. All the same... "Fact: if Lord Megatron wishes, shall give him Autobot." Megatron was his Emperor and you did not deny them the things they wanted.

Obviously cocky now, the silver warlord turned to his commander, arrogant smirk almost spread across his entire cheekplates. "Such a loyal mech...unlike others I know. Commander."

Starscream's wings hitched up behind him, trembling avidly with his rage. Through clenched denta, he said, "Might I be excused, oh, supreme and wondrous leader?," to which Megatron thankfully waved the Decepticon off. With a quick and mocking bow, Starscream hastily left; his thoughts screaming insults and threats to the very air. Soundwave frowned behind his battle mask, somewhat annoyed that he was not given the same silent reprieve as the others were.

"You may go as well, Soundwave," Megatron announced, rising to his pedes. The Emperor swept his cape behind himself, not paying attention to the gaggle of servants that moved to be on the ready, should their master beckon for them. "I'm sure you'll want to return to your estate to check on your new slave."

The councilor bowed, ignoring the lecherous gleam in his lord's optic. With his freely given dismissal, Soundwave made his way back down the hall and to the courtyard out front. It could be said he was practically relieved as he climbed into the carriage. Just the thought of returning home was enough to soothe the Decepticon.

It of course did not deter from the fact that he wished to check on Tracks as well.