The sound of the door opening was what had Tracks jolting out of recharge.
He threw himself up off the mattress, turning to the doorway. His angry optics and bared denta did not land on the Decepticon who had bought him though, but a small, pink femme with sparkling blue optics similar to his own. "G-good morning," she said, her smile a little concerned as she stared at the other Autobot.
Tracks felt all his rage fade as numbness overtook him again; he turned his helm away from the femme, looking out his window to the gardens beyond.
"My name is Arcee," the Autobot said to his side. No doubt she curtseyed a little when she introduced herself. "And from now on, I shall be your maidservant."
She stepped further into the room, coming directly into the mech's line of sight. "I apologize for waking you, but breakfast is ready, if you would like to eat. There are also many other things to do today, if you wish to partake in them. I'd be glad to show y-"
"Why are you here?," Tracks asked, cutting off the servant's ramblings. He glanced at her quickly, noting the golden braid around her throat. Catching his glance, Arcee lifted a servo, touching her slave collar.
"Yes, I am a slave, the same as you," she smiled softly. "But you must forgive me when I say that I do not mind. The master has been good to me, to all of us, all these years. You might not believe it, but he is not like the others."
The other slave did not respond to that, looking out the window again. Arcee bowed her helm, quickly moving past and to the armoire. "We'll start with a bath and then getting dressed. After which, you are free to do as you wish for the orn. Breakfast today is fresh, baked bread with molasses and fruit, but if you are not hungry, then we can wait until later to get something to eat."
The femme looked through the articles of clothe hanging in the armoire before selecting an outfit of red and silver. "We have such a poor selection at the moment...," she sighed to herself, "But the Master will take you out for shopping soon no doubt, if not buy you some new clothes himself."
Arcee turned around, starting a little when she realized that Tracks was now standing and facing her. "I-i didn't even hear you stand...," she mumbled to herself as her fear tittered away.
The mech's optics were like dull mirrors, but his wings were high behind him, fluttering momentarily every few astroseconds. "Why," he asked again, "Are you here?"
The Autobot femme looked apologetically at the other slave. "I'm sorry... Master Soundwave thought that you might like some company. I presume he thought that if you were with another of your kind, then perhaps you might not be so rash," she explained. The winged 'bot's optics narrowed, a firm scowl coming to his lip components.
"Wanting my freedom is 'rash'?," he hissed.
Arcee backed against the armoire quickly as the other Autobot marched towards her, looming over her in a fit of sudden rage. "I refuse to remain here any longer and play doll for this sick fragger," Tracks growled, knocking the clothes out of her servos. "I am no one's whore."
Quickly, the mech spun back around and stormed out of the room. The femme, scooping the clothes back up hurriedly, rushed after him. "W-wait!," she called desperately. But the winged slave refused to acknowledge her cries. Arcee followed after his heels all the same, even as they moved from hallway to hallway, the other servants and slaves staring at them in confusion.
She could not answer their inquisitive stares, more concerned about the mech that she was supposed to be tending to from this orn forward.
xxXxXxx
"Request: ...repeat that."
Soundwave looked first to the room, and then to the femme by his side. Arcee, her optics lowered contritely, repeated her last statement. "He refuses to eat anything, my lord," she mumbled quickly, "Nor will he change, bath, or otherwise leave this room. After this morning, he... well..."
The maidservant gave up trying to explain, recognizing that she could not really tell Soundwave what was going on, when she herself didn't really have a clue. Chasing after the other slave had been an ordeal in itself this morning, but the winged mech must have tired himself out eventually, because he just circled back to his room, where he then refused to move. Arcee had tried to bring him some lunch, but that was quickly tossed to the floor, and any mention of grooming or the like was met with an icy glare. Perplexed, and more than a little anxious, the femme had retreated; giving the other Autobot his space.
The councilor though, had a fair idea of what the reasons might be. Slavery was not a kind fate, even to the ones kept in his household. Some were not nearly as lucky as his slaves, and to someone robbed of their freedom, so late in their life, it was no surprise that they would fight with everything they had to regain what was stolen from them. Tracks, evidently, had somewhat given up on physically escaping. No doubt, the guards posted at every exit and window within the villa would have upset the Autobot during his rampage this morning. So it appeared that the winged mech would take the next alternative route open to him: he would let himself waste away, until he was either sold again, or he died from the process.
Neither were things Soundwave wanted to happen.
Arcee remained behind as the Decepticon stepped into the room, respectively giving her Master and charge the privacy they deserved. Those dead optics turned to him as he entered, once again drawing Soundwave in. He could barely comprehend why such void orbs could sparkle still like they did. Not even bothering to try and probe the other's processor (again, there was nothing but silence), the councilor instead walked closer to Tracks, before pausing a few feet from the bed.
"Inquiry: you are not hungry?," he asked.
Tracks was resolutely minimal in his responses. Not even his wings were fluttering. Soundwave cycled a long intake, folding his arms behind his back. "Fact: If you should require nourishment, Arcee will get you something immediately. Anytime of the orn. Inquiry: would you care for anything else in the meantime?"
Again, their was no reply.
The telepath inclined his helm politely to the Autobot, before turning and leaving the room. Arcee stood just a little a ways down the hall; at the sight of her master, she padded up to him, glancing quickly at the other slave's door. "My lord, is he-"
Soundwave shook his helm.
The femme sighed quietly, looking at her pedes. "Arcee," the councilor began. The maidservant perked up at the call of her name. Looking her firmly in the optic, the Decepticon continued, "Order: are to tend to Tracks. Should he decide he wishes to eat, you are to fetch him some food immediately. Inquiry: do you understand?"
"Yes, yes!," Arcee replied, bowing. "Of course, my lord!" Soundwave merely nodded, leaving the slave to her duties and heading for his own study.
xxXxXxx
His fuel tanks groaned hungrily, making themselves vocal as they churned painfully. Tracks shuttered his optics slowly, staring blankly at the wall as he laid stretched across his bed. His systems demanded that he move; that he give into their demands to feed. But, food would only give him strength, nourish his battered frame... allow him to live longer... That was something the Autobot did not want. If the Decepticon kept him only because he was beautiful, then he would scar himself in anyway he could. Starvation, especially, had such a lovely way of strangling the chassis and emancipating a 'bot's appearance.
The Autobot shuttered his optics tightly as pain lanced through his abdomen -the second stages of hunger.
With shaking arms, Tracks pushed himself up off the mattress, setting his pedes onto the floor. The pain kept him from sleeping, but he refused to give in and eat something, even if to quell the agony, so he would have to find something else to occupy his processor with in the meantime. Quietly, the slave crossed his room, opening his door. No guards stood outside of it, he found to his surprise, though there was that other Autobot slave curled up and recharging at the foot of his door. Lifting up the hem of his robe, Tracks simply stepped over Arcee's unconscious form, before aimlessly wandering down the halls.
The hallways were dark and empty as he walked, with barely the wind stirring a sound in the corridors. Unsurprisingly really, since it was well past sunset, and possibly somewhere in the early hours of morning. No guards came to accost him during his wanderings, though Tracks was certain they were still around. He could always hear them, as if from a distance, but still did not see a single one. A shadow seemed to move among the others, drawing the Autobot's attention. He came to a slow stop as his helm turned to the fleeting spectre, before the slave was padding softly forwards, in the general area from where he first saw the shadow move.
The shadow was actually prelude to a doorway; which was tucked away neatly into an alcove, pitch-black, and away from the lamplight of the hall. It was open just a crack, and the light pouring out from the unknown room was what had the shadows flickering, making them seem alive.
Hunger forgotten entirely in the face of his curiosity, Tracks walked up to the door, leaning in closely. He set his optic to the crack, peering inside. After the initial glare had faded some, he saw that the room within was an office of sorts. Hunched over the desk, working studiously, was none other than Soundwave. The Decepticon did not tear his attention from his paper, keeping the rhythm of his swaying feather pen going, as he unrolled another segment of the scroll; starting on that section as he continued his report. It was a peculiar sight, to see the other mech deeply immersed in so natural a task.
The winged slave slowly pulled away, feeling something vague squirm within him. He didn't quite know what it was, nor did he really care to find out. His emotions were like ash... dark, clouting and utterly useless. It was better if they all just blew away, he figured.
Feeling the numbness grow stronger, overpowering even his distressed fuel tanks, Tracks turned and continued his random stroll through the villa.
xxXxXxx
Better if they're gone...
Soundwave lifted his helm as the faint words brushed along his processor, whispered from another's mind. Confused by the sudden thought, and the weakness with which it had been projected in, the Decepticon turned in his seat, gazing about the room. There was no one in here, save for himself, and the guards should have been too far away for him to hear anything from them, unless they were under great stress or being attacked. Since there was no alarm bell ringing, and the thought had been so soft as to be almost non-existent, Soundwave didn't think it was any of his guards.
But then where had it come from?
An image of his newly acquired slave came to mind.
The councilor tried to shake the idea off, but it was quickly gaining root within his processor. He had not heard a single thought drift from the Autobot's helm, nor could he properly discern any emotions from that mess of muddied conscience, though Soundwave was more than certain that Tracks was very much alive and thinking. The few moments where something slipped past the slave's facade were proof enough. But it seemed ridiculous that Tracks could even block his thoughts from the Decepticon. After all, how could he even know that his master was a telepath?
It would be nice though, a small voice whispered in his helm. Soundwave frowned behind his battle mask, turning forwards in his seat. He couldn't deny what the voice said. To finally be able to know what the Autobot was thinking, would give the telepath a much larger range with which to respond to the slave with; not to mention erase some of the unease he felt when faced with a processor that he simply could not read, no matter how hard he tried. As things were now, it was most certainly frustrating, and Soundwave almost wished he hadn't bought the winged mech in the first place.
If he had only kept on walking by that dark cell... hadn't stopped to peer inside...
Soundwave shook his helm a second time, picking up his pen once more. It was foolish to sit here and regret actions made in the past. There was no way they could be undone, and it was not as if he really had much to complain about. He would handle the things that would come, one by one, and hopefully, perhaps, Tracks would begin to trust him and stop being so stubborn.
And then maybe the Decepticon could figure out why an ignorant slave could avoid his invasions so easily...
xxXxXxx
After a small rest and being dressed for the day by his attendants, Soundwave made his way to Tracks' bedroom. Arcee stood outside the door, a tray of breakfast in her servos. The femme greeted him tiredly, looking somewhat drained, despite her clean appearance. The councilor barely had to glean her processor to find out that the maidservant had followed through with her duties and remained by the door all night; waiting, should her charge call on her. Such dedication would have to be rewarded, Soundwave noted.
"Inquiry: has there been any change?," he asked, looking to the closed door.
Arcee followed his gaze, sighing softly. "No, my lord," she replied. "He has not come out of his room, and still refuses to eat anything."
Soundwave debated silently for a moment, before walking forward and entering the room. Tracks was seated on the edge of his bed when the Decepticon entered. At the sound of his guest, the winged mech turned his helm to the councilor, optics shuttering slowly. "Good morning," Soundwave greeted. "Fact: is a beautiful day. Inquiry: Would you care for a stroll outside?"
Tracks merely turned his helm away at the offer.
Soundwave frowned, remaining where he stood for a few astroseconds longer, before he finally left. Closing the door behind him, he caught Arcee's gaze, and the femme's shoulders sagged at the silent response.
"My lord... what shall we do if he continues like this?," she hesitantly asked, glancing quickly up at the councilor, before dropping her optics to the floor again.
The Decepticon quietly mulled over the options available to him. "Fact: shall do nothing," he eventually answered. "Status: is his own choosing. Shall not interfere."
Arcee whipped her helm up at Soundwave, her lip components moving as she gaped in shock at the callous words. "B-but, my lord-!"
"Negative," Soundwave said, cutting off the slave's protests. "Order: shall not interfere. Actions opposite of command will be punishable. Inquiry: is that understood?"
The maidservant bowed slightly, taking care not to tip her tray. "Yes, my lord," she mumbled sadly.
The telepath nodded his helm, turning and starting down the other end of the hall.
xxXxXxx
The femme slave attempted to get him to eat.
Tracks watched as she came in every few hours, a tray in servo, and a dish on its glossy surface. No matter how enticing it smelt, or how much his aching fuel tanks begged for it, the mech refused to touch anything. It disheartened Arcee each time, but still, she was resilient.
She began to speak of her own life: about how she was young when fire and plaque had wiped out many in her town. She was taken into slavery shortly afterwards, and soon after that, bought by Soundwave. The Decepticon was a saint in her optics, because he had rescued her from the grunge of her "store life" and had swept her away before she could have been sold to a cruel master who would have no doubt whipped and raped her.
If the maidservant thought that these tales would lull the other Autobot into trusting this unknown mech, than she was sorely mistaken. All it did in fact, was stir flecks of disdain and disgust to this other slave who could let herself be so easily swayed by the Decepticon. And still, Tracks refused to eat.
Starting to lose her hope, Arcee once again left the room; the rising shadows of evening, the backdrop to the femme's exit.
Tracks didn't even bother to watch her go. His optics still fixed to the window before him, and the stretch of sky above that reminded him tortuously of the freedom he had lost.
