C.M.D: I'm posting a day earlier because, well, I'll be a little busy the next couple days so I figured now was better than later. Anyways, please enjoy the influx of updates I have this night (mostly on Tooth and Claw but, meh) and I'll see you all next month~!
Once more, dawn had risen, and again the councilor had not slept a wink throughout the night. How could he? His processor was a restless trap, filled with despairs and snapping vocalizers of some unknown presence, keeping his circuits humming non-stop even as they throbbed with exhaustion. Pulling away from his berth, Soundwave lazily washed his face and servos, before donning his mask and heading for the bath hall. Servants saw him approaching and they hurried to draw the Decepticon fresh, hot water; pulling out robes and towels and vials of oils and waxes. As much as he wished to brush them off, Soundwave knew he needed to be clean for this morning and seeing as he did not have the care to do so himself, he allowed the staff to start on scrubbing his dusty plating. It seemed to take forever, but eventually, the servants finished bathing their master. Just in time for another slave to hurry through the doors.
"Master," he cycled quickly, bowing so deeply his face almost touched his knee joints. "There is a Judge and metalsmith to see you."
"Acknowledged," Soundwave responded, rising from the tub. Immediately, a couple of servants moved forward to cover and pat down the telepath's wet frame. "Order: Escort our guests to the gazebo in the garden. Provide food and drink for their arrival."
As the slave turned to leave to his duties, the councilor pointed to one of the servants not preoccupied at the moment, gesturing for them to come closer. The femme did so and Soundwave was quick to give out his second round of orders. "Command: Shall collect the seamstress and have her meet me in the work station immediately. Once finished, summon miss Arcee to join us."
"As you command, milord," the femme replied, bowing before she too left the room. Soundwave said nothing more as the other servants finished waxing and dressing him; setting to work draining the tub and putting away the vials as the Decepticon pinned his sash to his robes.
"Status: Not to tidy up just yet," he informed them, being met with a round of surprised faces. "Shall draw another bath and tend to the guard Springer. Fact: Expect him to be shining when finished and dressed in fine robes."
There came a silent buzz, as the servants minds started chattering all at once, but Soundwave ignored it as he did many things. He waited and stood by until they'd overcome their shock enough to echo a round of "Yes, Master," before he himself left. Now though, the councilor found himself standing outside of the bath hall, feeling directionless and weary. He had to go see the seamstress and then his guests. He knew that. Yet he couldn't bring his pedes to move and after a klik, the blue mech realized he was staring back down the hall he'd first come from; optics focused in on the door that led to Tracks' room.
No, Soundwave thought, feeling hesitant. Going there would be stupid. Suicidal, if anything! Tracks had fled him, again, so why should he punish himself by visiting the Autobot?
But, a little vocalizer niggled, the telepath also hadn't seen or heard anything from the slave in two orns now. Was Tracks even alive still?
The tiniest flicker of concern was enough to coerce Soundwave into motion, heading back up his private halls and towards the Autobot's own quarters. Food sat at the door step, still steaming a little, showing that its delivery to the recipient hadn't been completely successful. Visor dimming, the councilor knocked on the door, not surprised when he received no response. Venting, Soundwave waited about a klik more, before he decided to just enter, finding himself in the center of chaos.
"Query: Wha...?," he mumbled, looking around the room in alarm. Sheets, clothing, pillows... They'd been thrown around the room, slashed and ripped, leaving their insides to spill out where they'd been tossed and trailing strips of brightly, mutilated colours in a tangled web one would be easy to trip over. Chests had also been overturned, jewelry yanked from its cases and broken into disjointed segments, leaving beads and gemstones to roll around in the mess as if they were sparkling beetles out to make a nest in rainbow sands.
Feeling weakness weigh heavier in his joints, Soundwave slowly roved his gaze over the mess, tracing over the mutilated berth to a pair of white wings barely visible over the side. "Inquiry: Tracks?," the councilor called out hesitantly. He shut the door behind himself quietly; it had been a while since he'd ever seen this room in this sort of disrepair, and he didn't need the other staff overhearing if the slave had regressed back to his previous state. "Fact: It is Soundwave."
The telepath tried to probe into the dark space where Tracks hid, but he sensed nothing and it sent an chill of unease down his spinal struts. He was only minutely grateful when he saw those wings flinch at his vocalizer a klik after, the sound of movement echoing from the other side. "...I know it's you," Tracks' vocalizer mumbled, low and hoarse. "Get out."
Soundwave wanted to do nothing else, yet he refrained for the moment. He had to talk to Tracks. Had to make this better before the Autobot returned to madness once more. They'd been so close last time... "Query: Why are you hiding and refusing food?," he asked, keeping his tone even, "Inquiry: Are you needing medical attention?"
"I said GET OUT!," Tracks shouted, lifting himself into sight, naked and scratched. Soundwave could only stare on in horror. What monster had plaqued the slave so much that he'd harm himself? "Stop standing there like a mute idiot! Leave! Get out of here! I don't want to see you again!"
Lifting his gaze, the Decepticon stared at that beautiful, contorted face as it screamed profanities and curses at him; blue optics flickering as a dark veil engulfed Tracks' processor once more. Is this what the other mech had been reduced to? Were they really circling back to the beginning, all of Soundwave's efforts and Tracks' progression up until this point meaning nothing to the crazed slave? The councilor felt his fists tighten at his sides; sorrow, exhaustion, fear and concern melting away to one emotion: Anger.
"Get out! Get out now before I-"
"No," Soundwave intoned, cutting off Tracks' ranting.
The slave shuttered his optics in shock, falling silent for a moment as his processor reeled from the unexpected interruption. Rage bleeding once more into his expression, Tracks leaned across the mattress, fisting the edges of its tattered edges as he bared his denta at the Decepticon. "No?! No to you! I demand you leave-"
"Fact: Is my house," the telepath interjected again, vocalizer snapping as he let loose for once. "Tracks: Commands have no effect here!"
"Well, isn't that just great," the Autobot hissed back, a sneer contorting his beautiful face more. "'Master' has finally dropped the farce and left the truth show! No one has power here but you!"
Soundwave glared, feeling his patience begin to slip the longer he looked back into that loathing face. Taking an imposing step forward, he hunched his shoulders high, pointing a rigid finger at the slave. "Tracks: Had anything and everything he desired! Status: It's you who has decided to act like this! It was you who decided to share my berth! Fact: I refused!," he accused, visor flashing as his second fist tightened.
"Liar!," Tracks screamed back. He was beginning to look panicked and afraid, more than angry and disgusted, yet Soundwave couldn't care. The Autobot had pushed the blue mech this far without any remorse; Unicron be damned if the Decepticon continued to take it so submissively. "I-i never wanted that! I want my freedom! GIVE IT TO ME; SET ME FREE!"
The councilor froze for an astrosecond in astonishment before erupting entirely. "Status: Tried to set you free! Planned to have you released before your madness grew too great but you refused! Tracks: Was the one who decided he didn't want to be free! Tracks: Commanded I send the metalsmith away, choosing slavery over freedom!," Soundwave yelled back, feeling his vocalizer catch as grief bled into his rage. "Fact: It's your own fault you're not free now!"
"T-that's... No... I-i, you...," the slave mumbled, lost and dazed. He was grasping at straws, his processor a fluctuating mess of emotions and memories, being corrupted before the telepath's very sensors. He couldn't care though. Tracks had abused him enough in his own ways and Soundwave could feel no sympathy or love towards this mech.
"Status: Your freedom is lost now," he continued, rage falling back into a quiet storm, twisting up inside his spark and making everything burn. Blue optics, welling with tears on a slacken face, turned up towards the councilor as he spoke. "Fact: Gave you so many chances... but now I've reached my limit, legally. Others shall be receiving their freedom as deserved. Intent: And come the new year... Tracks will also be released. Status: Am done."
"Permission: Can hole yourself up in here until you have your slagging freedom," Soundwave spat at last, turning and storming from the room. The slamming door shook some of the tattered fabric loose from its hanging place, drifting down over top of the stunned Autobot as he stared wide-opticed into the empty space the telepath had just vacated. A vent escaping after kliks, Tracks collapsed to his knees, gazing into nothing in particular as his optics spilled coolant to the floor below.
xxXxXxx
"M-master, th-this is too much!"
When Soundwave had sent an escort for her, Arcee had been surprised that it was to bathe -in the Lord's own bath hall!- after her rich breakfast. Already so overwhelmed, the femme had allowed the other servants to aid her in her scrubbing, lavishing her with fragrant oils and soothing waxes after she'd been toweled off. Then there was the order that she was to head for the seamstress' shop immediately and Arcee's processor was in a whirl. To what purpose did she have to see the seamstress for? Indeed the only thing Soundwave had promised the night before was a metalsmith and judge to seal her right to freedom; yet neither such officials had been mentioned to arrive so far by the staff as they herded her about.
Now, in the seamstress' shop, Arcee was being told that the stunning silk gown before her was her own and that she had a matching veil for the wedding ceremony. It was too much! "M-master, n-no, I couldn't," the femme stuttered, turning to the telepath.
Despite the strange weariness that seemed to overtake the Decepticon, he waved off Arcee's stammers of protest; gently grasping her servo and pulling her close to the dress. "Bride: deserves a dress as splendid as her for such a precious moment. Suggestion: consider it a token of goodwill for the many stellar cycles of trust and loyalty you have given to me," Soundwave said, visor dimming gladly when Arcee began to weep in happiness.
These rare moments of utter joy were as precious to him, as they were to the ones who experienced them.
"Order: come," the councilor kindly urged, summoning a pair of servants forward, "Springer: will be along shortly to be dressed as well. Fact: we wouldn't want him to see his blushing bride just yet."
At the mention of the other mech, Arcee flushed deeply, hugging the gown as Soundwave put it in her arms. She mutely nodded her agreement to her Lord's statement, glossa silenced by the surreality of this orn so far. It was like a dream- a beautiful, magical dream that the slave hoped would never end. Finding her vocalizer quickly enough to spout her sparkfelt gratitude, Arcee hurried to another room with her escorts to get dressed, beaming brighter than the sun ever could.
xxXxXxx
"Suggestion: Head West. Mountains clear of bandits and fertile farmlands are not too far. Status: also void of slavers, last the Empire's reports dictated."
Springer finished saddling the horse, taking the bag Soundwave held out for him. It was still a wonder to process- his former master giving him advice, as if they were old friends, while helping out as the other prepared their mount for the long journey ahead. A horse, the guard might add, that was one of many gifts from the Decepticon this orn.
"Won't these protect us from slavers?," Springer asked, fingering the new collar around his neck.
In the Empire, only a Decepticon could fully shed the mark of ownership once freed, whilst an Autobot would forever bear some form of band. Thankfully, the guard's collar had been traded in from one of cold iron to a warm braid of gold -thin enough to hide or masquerade as mediocre jewelry- and a trio of marked gems imbedded into the weave. Each gem signified a different message: one showing the house he had belonged to during his slavery, a second to declare his bought freedom and a third announcing that enslaving him again, for anything but a crime against the Empire, would result in severe punishment to his captors. Was Springer not than protected by the Emperor's own law as a free mech?
Soundwave hesitated to answer, walking around the horse to buy time, helping the guard secure the sack to the saddle. "Autobot kin: not well respected in central cities. Fact: Most Autobots, Decepticon property."
That was true, Springer frowned, but he had a distinct feeling in his tanks that this was not the reason the Decepticon was encouraging them to head out into the wild territories, far from the Emperor's reach. It wasn't fear or doubt to make him question his former master once again, but concern. For himself, for Arcee and for every 'bot that inhabited the councilor's house. Soundwave included.
"My lord... is... is something ill brewing in the Emperor's court?," the guard asked softly, glancing around for any eavesdroppers to their conversation. There were none, thankfully, but the Decepticon remained silent, diverting his gaze when Springer tried to catch his visor persistently.
"West: good this time of season," was all the councilor would say after a klik, and Springer was forced to accept the poor response.
He may not have felt love towards the blue mech but Soundwave had earned his respect long ago. Whatever terrible burden his former master carried now, he hoped it would bring no misfortune to him or his household. "Very well, sir. We will take those headings," Springer said. "Thank you."
Soundwave visibly relaxed at the freed slave's willingness to take his selected path and the guard thought to say something else to the secretive Decepticon, when Arcee stepped out from the estate. Once again, the green mech was left speechless by the femme's beauty and he could only grin goofily, aware that he had earned his freedom and this damsel's servo, all in one orn. No 'bot could ever be so lucky.
Pushing her veil out of her face shyly, the femme approached her newly-named bondmate and former master; uncertain of whom she should turn her attention to first. Soundwave saved her the conundrum by stepping up to the Autobot, halting her path. "Status: wished to give you one more gift before you departed," he announced, reaching into his sash at the others' surprise. Whatever the two were expecting, the heavy purse of coin that the councilor withdrew was not it
"N-no, please!," Arcee squeaked, covering her face, coolant collecting in her optics. "M-master, I can't-!"
"Fact: is your dowry," Soundwave insisted, smiling beneath his mask as the femme shook her helm harder; Springer slack-jawed in amazement. "Status: every bride to receive one for their new future. Arcee: no exception."
"O-oh...," the femme hiccuped, before suddenly throwing herself at the Decepticon. Soundwave almost staggered from the tiny Autobot plowing into his front, visor winking in shock as he looked down at Arcee hugging him tightly. "T-thank you! Thank you so much, Master!," she spewed in an endless stream, spark overfilled with gratitude, "This i-is more than I ever could hope for! Thank you!"
Awkwardly, the councilor handed the purse to Springer, gently patting Arcee on the shoulder, trying to softly pull her away. "Suggestion: should head out now," he kindly spoke up as the femme finally withdrew. Her adoring, wet optics remained turned up to him still. "Journey: is long but the orn is not."
"Y-yes, of course," she conceded, venting slightly as she withdrew entirely. She turned to look at Springer then, who'd tucked the purse safely out of sight, and waited with a loving smile for his bondmate now.
"Wishing: many stellar cycles of happiness and health," Soundwave blessed, as Springer lifted Arcee up to the saddle before swinging up top himself. The guard nodded his thanks, while the femme turned another teary smile to the councilor.
"Oh!," she exclaimed suddenly as the green mech took the reins, steering their mount to the road. Arcee leaned over Springer's arm to see the Decepticon as she spoke. "My lord, I gave my farewells to Lord Tracks but I fear he is in distress again. Please, you will ensure he is well, won't you? I know he can be happy if only you were to look out for him."
The telepath didn't know how to respond. His emotions towards the winged slave were still toxic, but the concern and tenderness of the femme's own mind soothed some of his ill, leaving the councilor vastly aware of how much he still wished to make Tracks happy even now despite the raw state of his spark. "Promise: will do all I can," he replied, waving shortly to the two Autobots as they rode from the estate.
Soundwave remained in place until he had seen the pair disappear from the hillside road entirely, before he turned and stared at his home in uncertainty. Arcee visiting Tracks had been unprecedented; her mild concern even more so. It seemed the Autobot had calmed from his earlier fit, but what state did that leave him in now? The councilor could not guess and he did not care to investigate. In fact, he'd be happier if he saw nothing of Tracks for the next few orns.
And with that, Soundwave headed inside and to the sanctuary of his office.
xxXxXxx
What was becoming of him...?
Dusk was settling in once more, bringing life to the shadows as they curled tighter around the Autobot, the first airy nip of winter coming through the open windows. Tracks merely drew his legs in tighter to his chestplates, huddling closer to escape their reach. The mess had been cleared away, miraculously, by himself earlier, but now the hollow spaces where the wreckage once had been haunted him in substitute.
He just wanted to be left alone.
...didn't he?
His unfocused optics shuttered offline as Tracks vented weakly, fighting back trembles. He recalled when Arcee had come into his room earlier. Annoyed and perplexed by the sound of voices in the garden, accompanied by the ringing of a bell, the slave had been like a hornet trapped in a glass. He debated furiously over storming from his room or staying and quietly forgetting the world outside his sanctuary. When the knocking had come, Tracks was reluctant to admit that he'd retreated to his corner in fear, convinced that Soundwave had returned to make another show of his anger. His first display was already enough to make the Autobot realize that he meant nothing to the councilor and he couldn't understand why it caused his spark so much agony.
Yet when the door had opened half a klik later, it wasn't the blue mech that came through but a tiny femme. She approached, decked in glittering white, and looking up at her from his little corner, Tracks could of sworn it was Moonracer's spirit come for him. That illusion was quick to fade though, the femme's mouth opening, and Arcee's vocalizer coming forth.
"Lord Tracks... what's happened?" She knelt before him, optics dim with concern and sympathy as she took in his ragged appearance, tattered clothing and hazy gaze. In the face of her sweet love, the mech couldn't respond.
That she would come see him again, after he'd turn her away violently each and every time, especially since he'd forced himself on her not too long ago -how could she care, even now, despite all that? Coolant threatening to rise, Tracks merely withdrew into himself, creating a fortress from his arms and legs that he could hide behind. Arcee's worry only grew at the action and she set down the bouquet she carried with her so as to pull something out from under her dress' collar.
"I... I had hoped to come say goodbye to you and wish you well, but this is not the farewell I would have hoped for on such a blessed orn as this," she said softly, thumbing the small object in her cupped servos. The femme gave a short giggle to something that the mech could not understand, looking up with tears at the corner of her optics but the most loveliest smile on her lip components. Tracks had only ever seen one like it before... "Master Soundwave," she told, tone a touch breathless, "He... The Master has given me my freedom."
Tracks flinched slightly, chin lifting an inch from his fortress.
"H-he," Arcee continued, beaming even brighter now, growing more likely to cry with every passing astrosecond, "H-he has even wed us. M-myself and a guard in t-the estate. I-i... I thought surely t-the Master would h-have us punished for such the c-crime of intimacy, but n-no, he... he d-decided to r-release us both last night and g-give us a ceremony as well. He's given m-me so much more than I c-could ever dream..."
Tracks watched as the femme wiped her optics, sniffling in happiness, while the other Autobot felt his processor whirl in a frenzy. She was... free? She was one of the ones Soundwave mentioned? Arcee was leaning forward and sluggishly, the mech was forced to focus on her, noticing that she held out a small, wood carving to him.
"I have to leave shortly...," the femme was saying, regretfully, "I wish I could stay longer and help you on your path, but as free people, we are expected to go and spread our roots elsewhere. My love is already preparing for our long trip. But, I... I want you to have this. It's my token of Primus; my good luck charm. It has held all my prayers and helped me through many things back in the my sparkling orns. I want you to have it now."
The mech could only stare.
Aside from his lack of faith, how could he possibly dare to take this precious item from the other slave?
At his relentless gaze, Arcee pushed out her servos more, optics pleading. "Please... take it?," she whispered. "It's all I have left to give and I fear for your wellness, Tracks."
The taller Autobot wanted to laugh. But he couldn't. He was incapable of sound, of emotion, of even his own thoughts. Wrestling with lethargy, he reached out one servo uncertainly, watching as the femme kindly placed her token in his waiting palm. Already, the carving felt heavy in his grasp and Tracks wondered how he even kept it aloft still.
"I know I've said it a hundred times, but please, don't despair," Arcee said softly, "Master Soundwave is not as evil as you believe. I know he can help you find peace, Lord Tracks, if only you'd let him earn your trust."
No answer from the frozen mech. Sighing, the femme gave her sparkfelt farewell, even daring to reach out and hug the slave, rising to her pedes afterwards and heading for the door. She paused, on her way around the berth, looking at the empty jar on the otherwise void vanity top. Without hesitation, Arcee placed her bouquet into the glass, gently fondling the flowers and leaves so that they were spread out at their fullest; filling the room with their fragrance and vibrant faces. Then she was gone and once again, Tracks found himself alone in growing darkness, unable to move and not certain what he'd do even if he did.
Optics glanced at the makeshift vase in the dim light, catching the beautiful flowers still there, and an aching sensation overcame the Autobot. Fingers curling tightly around the prayer token in his servo, the slave folded deeper into himself, weeping silently as the night wore on.
What was becoming of him?
C.M.D: Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?
