Enough was enough.

"Aaah!" Tracks screamed as he was thrown into the tub, resurfacing a moment afterwards, his clothes clinging to his frame and spluttering up a storm. Desperately, he wiped at his optics and glasses before turning in the water, glaring fiercely as he faced the Decepticon standing at the tub's rim.

Soundwave stood there, his arms folded behind his back, silently nonchalant. Servants stood in astonishment along the back corner of the room, their attentions flickering from their master and to his slave, then back again.

"Inquiry: Do you wish to bathe yourself, or would you like some assistance?," the councilor asked, making it quite clear that one way or another, the Autobot was going to get clean. Tracks said nothing, standing up in the tub, his gaze turning several degrees more frigid as steam wafted from the water. His wings were stiff and high behind him.

Nodding his helm in understanding, Soundwave shooed the servants out from the wash room. They went, still quiet and somewhat perplexed, throwing curious glances over their shoulders as they did. Tracks only gave them the barest notice as they went, before turning his icy scowl back to the Decepticon.

After a week of having that same indignant look cast his way any time food or bath was mentioned, the sight of it now did very little to bother Soundwave. "Status: lunch shall be waiting for when you are done bathing," he informed the slave, giving no room for debate. "Shall be waiting for you in the gardens when you are done. Fact: Arcee will guide you there."

Inclining his helm slightly, the councilor turned and started heading for the door. "Enjoy your bath," he said one last time before leaving entirely.

Tracks' fist curled at his side as the other mech disappeared; sinking back into the water and slapping it angrily.

xxXxXxx

Half a cycle later, Arcee was walking into the garden, a reluctant Tracks trailing behind. The femme was positively buzzing, no doubt overjoyed at the change of events. Perhaps not the kindest of methods -Soundwave barging into the room and literally tossing the winged mech over a shoulder plating, before proceeding to order him to wash and eat- but any change was good change in the maidservant's opinion.

The two were heading to a moderate-sized table that had been set in the gazebo, piled lavishly with many delicious and enticing dishes. Just the smell alone was enough to make a 'bot begin to salivate. Soundwave already sat waiting there; upon catching sight of both of his slaves, he rose to his pedes, waiting respectfully for Tracks to join him. Drawing to a stop just before the garden structure, Arcee bowed, smiling up at her master. "My lord," she announced formally, "Tracks."

"Request: come," the councilor said, gesturing for the Autobot mech to join him.

Tracks narrowed his optics, obviously still furious, but eventually stepped up into the gazebo, sitting across from the Decepticon. At the other's fairly agreeable action, Soundwave dismissed Arcee, sitting down himself. "Fact: you may help yourself to whatever you'd like," he offered, waving a servo above the table. "Inquiry: would you care for some wine?"

The slave did not decrease the vehemency of his glare, nor did he take his attentions off of the blue mech. "No," he replied tersely, when it became apparent that Soundwave was expecting a verbal response.

The rejection somewhat disappointed the councilor. It was an odd feeling indeed, but he brushed it aside quickly, squashing his budding frustration in the process. He had hoped that Arcee's company might better Tracks' mood, but the winged slave only seemed to have gotten much more tense in the past week. If it wasn't for the fact that Soundwave didn't want to leave the Autobot completely alone, then he might of assigned the femme some other duties instead.

After a klik or so more of their continuous staring, the multi-coloured mech was unable to stave off his hunger any longer. His fuel tanks literally groaned in agony, his optics glancing guiltily to the feast laid out below him.

"Status: go ahead," the telepath invited. "Eat."

He was again thrown a nasty glare, to which he decided to take alternative action against. Soundwave took the chance to pour himself a glass of wine, dishing a small selection of fruits onto his plate. At his own willingness to eat, a strange sort of behaviour overtook Tracks. The slave clenched his servos tightly on the table top, before he broke out into a sort of flurry, grabbing something from a dish here and there, taking a bite out of it, before throwing it down on his plate and reaching for something else. The councilor could only stare on, astonished by this act of ravenous feeding, lifting a servo and gently lowering the bottom of the Autobot's glass when he hurried to get a drink next.

"Careful: you will choke," he said. Those beautiful, blue optics met his over the rim of the glass, Tracks swallowing his mouthful before proceeding to scowl at the other.

He half-expected the slave to curse him or something once again, but no such response came. Baffled, but somewhat not concerned, Soundwave took this moment to study the winged mech. Obviously, the servants had returned to the wash room after the Autobot's bath, because it seemed unlikely that Tracks would have chosen the garment he now wore. He was dressed in a soft, cerulean robe, with a low-neck line that showed off bits of his gleaming chestplates. A raspberry coloured shawl, with blue-grey embroidery and tassels, was cinched across one shoulder tire with a golden pin in the image of a rose. The rest fluttered down his back, just behind his wings, and circling his waist. Today, the servants had even sought fit to put golden bangles on each of Tracks' wrists; their gems and warm metal caught the light, sending it reflecting in a million other directions like tiny, little sprites.

Even without the additional accessories, the winged mech would have been beautiful.

"Stop it," came the eventual hiss.

Soundwave lifted his gaze slightly, once more locking optics with Tracks. The Autobot's wings quivered behind him, his cheekplates flushed with a livid blush. "Stop looking at me like that," he continued, drawing his servos back to his lap and clenching them there. "Stop with the gazes, the games, the pleasantries... I know for what reason you've bought me for, so spare me the trouble of your foolishness!"

The telepath was confused. "Inquiry: what are you-"

Tracks leapt to his pedes, glaring down at his 'master'. "I am not some weak-willed buffoon like that simpering little femme!," he shouted, his optics flaring brightly in his fury. "I refuse to bow to you or spread my thighs like a single penny whore. If you want your frag so bad then you'll have to take it! But I refuse to suffer your stupid masquerade any longer!"

Grabbing fistfuls of his robe, the slave rushed out from the gazebo, stomping through the gardens. With no where else to go, no doubt Tracks would just circle back to his room after his anger had left him, but until then Soundwave would not give chase.

The Decepticon leaned back in his chair, his visor turned in the direction that the winged mech had rushed off in. He had not expected such heated words to come from that quiet mouth, or for the wave of raw and blistering emotions to assault his processor suddenly. They were still too conflicted for him to make out anything absolutely clear, but one thing was certain: Tracks was definitely enraged to be trapped like this, possibly a tad afraid as well. Soundwave's actions with the tub earlier hadn't helped matters either...

The councilor sighed softly. It seemed he had much to correct if he wanted the Autobot to see reason.

xxXxXxx

Seeing as the weather was fair the next orn, Soundwave thought to approach Tracks about a trip into the market square. He went after a quiet breakfast alone, knocking on the slave's door, waiting a moment before entering. Arcee was just finishing dressing Tracks when he came in. Blushing at the near incident, the femme quickly bowed, glancing at her charge before she hurried from the room. The winged mech barely acknowledged Soundwave as he looked over a shoulder tire.

"Inquiry: How are you?," the councilor asked, coming up to the vanity where the Autobot sat. The slave said nothing, turning his helm back to the mirror. His optics were flat and lifeless as he stared into his reflection.

It looked like it was going to be one of those days.

Soundwave decided to ignore this, holding his servo out for the other mech. "Come: we head for town," he said, not bothering to make a request of it this time. He did not wish for Tracks to refuse him, not after he had already made his plans for the orn. "Status: the carriage waits."

Along with his silence was a disturbing obedience. Tracks rose to his pedes, facing the telepath fully. When nothing was said, and winged mech made no other motion, Soundwave decided that this was as good as a confirmation as he was going to get. He gently grasped the slave's wrist, leading the other out of the room and down the hall. True to his word, the carriage was already waiting just in the courtyard for them. The blue mech let Tracks climb up inside first, before he got in himself. Once they were all seated, the driver whipped the horses into moving; the carriage slowly winding down the drive way and to the bustling city down the hill.

xxXxXxx

Everything seemed to be going well.

Soundwave felt his chestplates puff out slightly in pride, unreasonably glad to see the Autobot browsing through the marketplace. At the moment, they were looking at one merchant's wares, of various gems and baubles. Tracks was looking over them with a disinterested optic, but at least his attention was there and not simply roving the crowds, waiting for the moment when they would return to the councilor's villa. They had already been over at a couple other stalls, perusing the different fabrics and clothes on display. Soundwave had chosen at least twelve of them, sending them back to the carriage by his attending servant for later use at his home. Which reminded him... he would need to call for a seamstress as well.

It seemed that something had caught the winged mech's optics. The telepath stepped forward, brushing the other's processor out of habit more than to glean any information. As usual, there was nothing to be read, but the nagging feeling that something was... familiar. "Inquiry: have you found something that you like?," Soundwave asked, taking a look at the jewelry Tracks was almost touching. It was a simple bead necklace with moonstones weaved throughout intermittently. Certainly not extravagant, and no doubt had been ignored by many others already for its blandness.

"You may try it on, my lord, if you'd like," the merchant said, lifting the moonstone necklace up. Soundwave moved to grab it, to put it around Tracks' neck, when the Autobot flinched violently, glaring at both of them before turning and storming off again. The councilor's attendants startled at the unexpected action, glancing from their master and to his fleeing slave. Confusion was obvious in their optics, as was the question of whether or not they should give chase.

Soundwave held a servo out, gesturing for them to stand down. "Correction: shall not be buying anything," he said quickly to the stunned merchant, before slowly weaving through the bustling crowds after his wayward mech. He was perplexed himself, if not a little frustrated as well, by Tracks' silent escape. He did not know what had set the Autobot off, but it was obvious that the winged mech rather risk another desperate attempt for freedom than stay in the Decepticon's company any longer.

xxXxXxx

"Would you look at that," the skinny mech leered, peering out from a tiny alley. He gestured quickly to his comrades, pointing with a knobbly digit. "Take a gander friends," he cooed greasily. "Isn't that there a lovely prize?"

His partners, another mech -burlier in size- and a femme -as twig-like as himself- squinted their optics in study. "You mean that dandy there?," the second mech rumbled, scowling at the richly dressed mech rushing down the street. It was obvious from the way the stranger twisted his helm about that he had no clue as to where he was, or the danger he could fall into being so far away from the main roads. "Never seen an Autobot with wings before..."

"I know, right?," the first 'bot chuckled in dark delight. "He's obviously precious."

"Probably is a lord's slut," the femme sneered, picking at her rusted skin with clawed fingers. "I ain't know any rich knocker who be an Autobot in this city. And that dress be too fine for a regular 'bot."

"Wouldn't mind a slide between those thighs...," the second mech growled lustfully. The other one murmured his agreement.

The femme scoffed, cocking her bony servos on her hips. "I ain't care what your sick processor would like," she said. "I want that there dress."

"And what like would you do with it?," the first ruffian hissed, glancing back at her quickly. "You'd be like a crow plastering on peacock feathers, covering that crone-like body of yours in that dress."

The second one laughed while the femme growled angrily at the taunt. Not concerned, the skinny mech waved her off, turning his attention back to the wandering Autobot. Their victim had slowed down some now, his optics flickering from one darkened doorway to another alley anxiously; coming ever closer to their hiding spot. "Hush now," their "leader" ordered of the other two. "He be coming this way. When he gits closer, we'll make the snatch! And then you can git your dress, and we can have ourselves our own taste of richness."

His two companions grinned wickedly at the other's words, hunkering down with him to lie in wait.

xxXxXxx

Tracks didn't know where he was going. He just knew that he had to get away, run, flee, before Soundwave could catch him again. It was the Decepticon's own stupid decision to bring him outside -did he not think that he wouldn't try and run? Tracks didn't know, but he didn't care. He'd suffered the first couple cycles as it was, being dragged from stall to stall and forced to have different clothe held up to his frame. Clothe that no doubt would be used to make him more "pleasing" to his "master".

He would not let that happen.

Now he was running through twisting streets and tiny side alleys, getting further and further away from the main square. Even though he had distanced himself from the other mech and his over-bearing lackeys, it hardly felt like freedom. The looming buildings on either side climbed high to the sky, making the gap between him and that stretch of blue all the more distant. And there seemed no end to this endless labyrinth of sideway stone walls.

Slowing down a little, Tracks attempted to get some bearings on his location. He didn't want to keep running like a turbo rat in a cage; he'd only be captured again that way.

He did not notice the glowing sets of red optics in the alley to his left, until the servos were lashing out for him, wrapping around his chassis and mouth, tugging him into the dark.

"See!," a voice hissed out, tugging at his collar. "A slave braid! He is a slagging whore!"

"Who cares," said another of his assailants. Their servos were trying to worm under his dress, leaving greasy-feeling streaks in their wake. "Just means he'll be nice and slicked for me."

Terror overcame the slave as he realized what the strangers were talking about; writhing violently in their hold, trying to escape. But his hunger strike and his ill-prepared dash through the city had left him weak, his struggles meaning nothing to his jeering attackers. Laughing, they pulled and tugged at his clothes, trying to get them off of his frame without ruining the dress. In between, large, nasty servos groped beneath the fabric, touching his chestplates and wings with frenzied lust.

Tracks cried and screamed as this happened, whimpering helplessly as they finally managed to get his robe half-way down his chassis. In the darkness though, and with his mouth covered by a filthy servo, he knew no hope could be had.

"Hold his arms!," a thin voice snapped, coming from directly in front of him. "I can't git the fragging dress down any further."

"Don't ruin it!," the first voice screeched again. It definitely sounded female.

"If he don't stop struggling, the dress will have it!," growled a third. "I won't be denied my frag, glitch! 'Sides, you can sell the scraps for some credits." A round of cruel laughter from the other two, but the femme was unimpressed.

"Hurry up then!," she demanded, clawing forwards at Tracks. Her fingers dug into his paintjob, scratching at his chestplates and his face. "I'll take that there pretty lil' leash also! Should help keep my pedes warm after I snap it from his neck."

"Why do you get the collar! I spotted him first. You two morons wouldn't have taken any notice at all if I had said nothing! The collar is mine! You can have your dress, and the stupid tank here his fr-" The speaker was cut off by a sickening thunk, something falling to the ground at Tracks' pedes.

His other two assailants cried out in dismay, quickly releasing the slave and scrambling up. They did not get far before two more cracks could be heard through the darkness, heavy, wet sounds hitting the alley floor behind him. Lying there still, Tracks did not even bother to move, expecting that this newest arrival would just carry-on from where the others had left off. He shivered when someone did grab his arm, but gasped in shock when that same person tugged him off the ground. The Autobot huddled into himself, lifting servos to his optics as he was led back out into the dull light; staring confused and uncertain at his rescuer.

It was Soundwave...

Tracks struggled to draw up his fathomless anger but it was quickly fading, along with everything else, leaving only exhaustion and sickness to wrack his frame with tremors. He didn't know why the Decepticon had saved him, but he didn't care. He just wanted to curl up somewhere and purge his tanks.

"Status: ...you are safe now," the councilor said, keeping his distance from the other mech. Seeing that the Autobot was still shivering, he undid the clasp on his chlamys, draping it across Tracks' shoulder tires. Tracks unconsciously drew the clothe closer, gripping the stretched fabric of his robe and the chlamys together as a means to cover himself.

Slowly, Soundwave moved closer, setting a comforting servo on the slave's backstruts. "Come: carriage is up ahead," he informed softly, leading Tracks up to the mouth of the street. The attendants waiting there stepped back as the telepath made his exit, opening the door of the carriage himself, and helping Tracks within. When the multi-coloured mech had taken a seat, Soundwave shut the door, turning to his other servants.

"Order: clean up the mess," he told them tersely, before opening the door and getting in as well. They bowed quickly before the door was shut and master and slave were hidden from view.