Waking to the matron's sour face was becoming too familiar an experience. Helm throbbing sharply between his optics, the councilor attempted to sit up, only for the old femme's servo to shove him back down.

"Lie still," she ordered crisply, allowing no room for the Decepticon to wiggle. "The marks are shallow, luckily, but the physician still demands you remain in the berth for another full solar cycle. No doubt due to the egregious amount of wine you have been helping yourself to nightly, all to the servants' unknowing."

Soundwave wanted to berate the brazen servant for her tone, but his processor was still swimming nauseatingly in his helm and little snippets of the matron's thoughts brought Tracks' image to the forefront of his mind. "...Query: Where is Tracks?," the councilor all but demanded, pushing up against the femme's hold. "Fact: That beast-"

"The creature is being seen to by lord Tracks," the matron answered sourly. She gave another push to force the telepath to the mattress, ignoring his stunned look. "And once you have recovered, you may set whatever consequences you deem necessary upon him for purchasing such an animal... But until then, you are to rest!"

Watching with a baleful optic to see if the mech would move again, the matron nodded once at her Lord's sudden subservience; rising to her pedes and heading for the door. It did not escape Soundwave's notice that the door had been removed from its frame, or the fact that a full guard of four mechs -at least- were stationed directly outside. Somehow the telepath didn't believe they were there to "protect" him.

A rod of ire pierced Soundwave's spark, festering until it motivated the Decepticon to sluggishly lift himself from the berth, his pedes straightening after the first initial tumble. There was the sound of motion -the guards stood ready, servos upon their sheathed weapons, watching with drawn expressions as the councilor stomped out of the room. "Order: stand down," Soundwave growled, growing increasingly unamused by this turn of events. "Status: do not need an audience hovering about my door. Now: move aside. I wish to see the Autobot."

A quick round of concerned looks passed between the nearest guards and that alone was enough to give Soundwave pause. Were they actually... worried about Tracks? Because of the councilor?

"The matron ordered that you rest, undisturbed," one brown mech spoke up.

The telepath glared at him. "Status: I am the Master," he nearly snarled back.

The guard opened his mouth but a second mech -lavender this time- interrupted him before he could vocalize even a grunt. "We would be happy to escort you to lady Tracks, milord. He is currently in the foyer, taking council with the palace quests at this time."

"My lord- Wait!"

The guards clanged about loudly as they moved to regain their footing, having been bowled over by the blue mech as he shoved aggressively past; his awkward and feeble pedefalls transforming into a booming reproach of a sure-footed gait. First he was expected to stay kept in his room, like some miscreant sparkling, and now this? The slave play-acting proprietor, seeing to the Decepticon's guests and discussing his private matters?! Fuelled by his intense, and still mounting, rage, Soundwave stormed through the estate; unaware that he had lost pace with his guards, his only focus the foyer door that he was quickly approaching.

"Demand: What do you-?!"

"Yes, that does seem a sensible solution. A- Ah, councilor Soundwave. What an unexpected surprise."

The door bounced off the wall from the force in which Soundwave rushed into the room, causing the current discussion to grind to a halt. The blue Decepticon found his pedes following suit moments after passing the threshold, optics tracing the waxed emblem of the Emperor's sentries, glowing in the warm afternoon light, with muted alarm. The robust frame of Lady Strika sat upon the most decorative of the chairs provided, her unnerving scowl meeting the councilor over top the turned helms of her assigned unit.

"I see you are not so unwell," she spoke, eyeing the blue Decepticon critically. "We had been informed otherwise."

Her narrowed orbs tracked slowly then towards the Autobot standing on the other side of the table where they sat -Tracks, donned in robes of gold and embellished in tones of sapphire blue matching Soundwave- and her escort responded by reaching for their swords at once.

"Status: Not wholly well either," Soundwave was quick to lie as the other soldiers moved an inch toward the calm slave. "Fact: was... detained... by troubles with new acquisitions. Did not wish to keep you waiting."

"You are so weak to be bedridden because of a simple beast? Bah!," Strika huffed disapprovingly, "You are unworthy of even bearing a cook's ranking in the Emperor's army with such a pitiful composition. And sending ahead a concubine..." Her disgust was rich in her tone as she spat her final words; all the same she waved a servo and her mechs took to their relaxed positions again.

Despite the uneasy conversation that had taken place, Tracks moved about, performing a servant's duty: pouring the high-grade, dividing the proffered meal and wiping dripping wax off the table, all while his safety was in question. Once the soldiers were seated in their chairs, the winged mech then silently took up place near, and slightly behind, the councilor's left side. As every good slave should. That realization stalled Soundwave's thoughts for a moment, and he stumbled to catch up with Strika's continuing words.

"-the plans are adequate enough, so we shall claim your unused land for the Emperor's needs," the femme droned on, standing up and sweeping the sheets of papyrus into the decorative sash around her broad waist. "Lord Shockwave will receive these proposals immediately. All the same, I suggest clearing the least used of your halls, councilor. It is the Emperor's wishes that his soldiers be provided optimal spaces to be of better service to his kingdom. Our surveyors will be in later."

There was a cacophony of swishing leather and clanging metal as the soldiers rose alongside their superior officer, falling into line as Strika marched purposefully toward the door; clipping the stunned Soundwave's shoulder plating as she passed.

"Keep the tramp tucked in your armoire next time," the femme sniped over her pauldron armor, turning into the front hall, the sound of her pedefalls fading upon her exit.

One by one, the Empire guards marched from the room in the shadow of the femme, until it was only the Decepticon and Autobot remaining. Slowly, Soundwave turned to find Tracks, helm bowed, studiously tidying up the leftover food and drink from their guests' refreshments. A distraction no less, and one the telepath didn't feel like indulging in. With four easy strides, he crossed the room, pulling the tray from the slave's stunned fingers and causing the dishes to clatter about messily again. Before Tracks could collect the poor silverware, Soundwave grabbed the other's robe; yanking him around to face the councilor's stormy expression.

"Query: what gives you the right to commandeer control of my estate?!," Soundwave demanded, fighting the urge to shake the dumbfounded look off of the winged mech's face. "You are not of a station that you can use my credits or give my land away; you are in the position only of-"

"Of a whore," came the fragile interruption.

The confidence and surety that had surrounded Tracks, before the telepath had barged into the meeting with Strika, was fading in front of him now; blue optics dimming until they no longer gazed up at the Decepticon, but instead stared distantly at the floor. "I am aware, my Lord," Tracks continued in the stillness; his vocalizer barely louder than a mumble, "And I apologize for my heinous crimes. The household needed guidance during your absence... I overstepped."

"Define: Guidance?!," Soundwave yelled, yanking the slave closer, forcing him up onto the tips of his pedes. The blue mech paused as he caught a flash of gold swinging about the Autobot's chestplates; anger fanning into a wild rage.

"You are not to be out of the berth, milord!," a vocalizer shouted, interrupting the pair.

"What is the meaning of this?!," the councilor bellowed, whirling on the matron. Her entourage of servants stumbled back a half-step, cowering in the wake of their master's rage. He ignored the others, grabbing Tracks by the neck cables and yanking him before the group roughly; fat, gold fingers pulling taut at the bronze chain dangling from the slave's chestplates. "Explain: how did this one credit spike-rest get his servos on this?! This is my ring- my personal property, my house symbol! No one but myself is to touch this! Status: Am the master of this estate. Me and me alone!"

"Release Autobot Tracks, milord," the old femme urged gently, glancing between the quiet mech and her fretful companions shaking behind her skirts. "Surely you do not wish him to come to harm."

They were concerned...? All of them, about a slave?! Brashly, the councilor snapped his stolen ring from the winged mech's neck, before shoving Tracks behind himself and out of sight. Horrified expressions passed around the servants, making a loathesome-rich bile rise up past his spark, as Soundwave stomped up into the matron's face, shaking the ring menacingly.

"Query: Was this your decision? His? Demand: Who is it that I should be punishing for this sin?"

"You will not punish that mech!," the matron shouted over the councilor, shooing the frightened servants from the room. They fled without hesitation; their lord's visor the devil's banner as it flared at the older serf's insolent response.

"Status: You dare-?!," the councilor began to hiss.

"I dare!," the old femme cried, pitch cracking for a moment. The servant's face was pinched with raw emotion as she gazed up into the telepath's looming form; yet barely a sliver of anger could be seen in her optics. It was not an expression Soundwave anticipated and he stalled in his tirade.

"I know you take this as a personal affront, but what of us?," the matron challenged, her regular, firm tone taking over once again, touched by wetness still, "Someone needed to act as Lord and Master of this estate, and you were not here to continue your sanctioned duties. So, yes, I did give the Autobot your ring. I had no choice; without his farce, Lord Shockwave would have had us all ripped from the rooms and flayed alive, the orn he came."

A feeble intake bled out of the blue mech's lip components. Shockwave had been here...? Soundwave turned about to face the winged mech, but the floor tiles where he had tossed the slave were empty. Somehow, Tracks had slipped away unnoticed during his rant. The sudden realization of the Autobot's absence and the news of the Emperor's assassin drained the rest of the councilor's anger from his frame; all ability to stand flowing from the imagined pus-holes alongside his toxic emotions. He fell, quickly, into the nearest chair as he began to sag. Certainly, the telepath knew he'd chosen to take time away from his own duties for a while, believing all would be handled by the matron, but...

"You wish to harm that mech now- for what? Damaged pride?," the femme was continuing, an anger now rising in her spark; one which caused Soundwave, mute in his seat, to flinch minutely in shame. "It was you who abandoned us! I don't dare understand or control your actions, milord, but you did not wish to do your part- the Autobot, Tracks, did. He's been master and delegator to all the snooping 'bots the cyclops has sent over. His act has protected us all while you've hidden yourself away, drinking a dying mech's quota, during that time; and more than that, he's a perfect fit to the role. Natural-protoformed, I'd even say."

The matron watched on coolly as the councilor's personal guards marched into the room then, surrounding the hunched Decepticon; two of them bending slightly to aid their master to his pedes. Soundwave offered no resistant, did not assist them either, remaining as empty weight to move only as much as they dared. The cyclops had been here...?

"The decision is yours, of course," the older servant said, urging the returning serfs to their tidying duties, "To turn us in or maintain the presented standings as is, but if you are the Lord I once knew you to be, I trust that you will do well by us all."

The matron cast one last, sympathetic glance to her master, before she too returned to work while the guards returned Soundwave to his room.

xxXxXxx

The moon had begun its eventual waxing this evening. Dim beams fell down upon Iacon, highlighting only the bare edges of objects as the world slumbered on. That is, all for one sinewy form that wandered through the garden. Secretly, Soundwave watched from his berthroom window, optics soaking in the ever-transcendant beauty of Tracks. Dressed in a loose, silver gown, the Autobot circled in whimsical abandon over the cobblestone pathways; his little torch held aloft steadily, adding a secondary layer to his already ethereal charm.

The slave looked so peaceful... and as the councilor watched, a dark form slithered from the underbrush, rubbing against the mech's legs, pulling the gown's fabric taut across shapely hips. Where one might have screamed in terror or fled at the sudden creature, Tracks instead slowly knelt to the ground, his expression kindly as he returned Ravage's affectionate greeting.

It was a sight to behold and Soundwave felt his spark putter pitifully as he looked on. He never would have guessed that the seed of rebirth for Tracks lied in the spark of a slim wild beast, yet the whispering around the estate awed at how well the panther bonded itself to the Autobot. The staff even remarked how brighter the slave seemed since procuring the creature fondly named Ravage. Though certainly uplifting news, all it did was dip the councilor further into icy despair. So much had taken place while Soundwave had hidden himself away in drunken abandonment; so much, that he felt utterly ashamed. Despite any opinions or statements he had made in the past about Tracks, the slave proved the better mech. Not only had the Autobot put himself at risk -before Lord Shockwave, no less!- but he'd ran the household efficiently and fairly, garnering the affection and respect of all the other servants. No one would have expected that turn around.

It was just another reason for Soundwave to feel like a failure- to both his loyal staff and to Tracks. He'd let them down so much... Risked all of their safety for selfish reasons... It was enough to make the councilor denounce all his titles and privileges. He clearly didn't deserve them for they way he'd acted. It would take much now to regain the trust of his servants that he'd so easily broken.

The blue mech returned focus to his view of the garden, but Tracks and his new pet had already moved on and were nowhere to be found. Soundwave shoved away from his post, sighing heavily as he rubbed at his tired optics beneath his visor. Recharge would be a better option after all the orn's mess and the exhausting prying the Decepticon had forced his recovering processor to do, yet he knew he couldn't rest just yet. There was something else he had to do first. Shaking his helm to force the processor-ache down, the councilor meandered out into the hall, glancing at the guards posted several meters down the hall.

They remained to keep the telepath from sneaking back into the pantry and another high-grade barrel. An unnecessary action, as Soundwave had already vowed to never have another drink. He didn't need the extra help to ruin his life again. Ignoring the watchful gaze cast his way, the councilor moved on from the rooms -both his own and, recently discovered, Tracks' abandoned room. That there presented its own issues. Word around the estate was that the winged mech had claimed a smaller, unused room for his private quarters, refusing all that Soundwave had given the slave. That created a sort of challenge for the Decepticon, yet if he was right, Tracks may have taken one of the storage rooms in the south-eastern halls. They were far enough away from the other servants to almost be considered isolated and were semi-furnished, though none of the furniture had been used in quite some time. They'd make a sensible alternative.

Convinced, the councilor made his way through the estate, finding that the guard watch actually thickened as he headed to the empty halls instead of thinning. So he was on the right path.

Soundwave increased his pace, wary that he might be stopped by some well-meaning guard. He did not wish to cause a scene or harm the Autobot this time, he... The blue mech slowed, noticing that all the torches were lit in the corridor he had just turned into; six guards at arms several paces apart, leading in a straight line toward an aging, gilded door. Tracks' new quarters.

So, he had found it.

He'd hoped he would not have. Unease gripped around Soundwave's spark, retreat tickling in the back of his processor. Though the idea was tempting, the Decepticon held fast to his courage, shuffling the last several pedesteps to the old door. A muffled vocalizer whispered gently on the other side; warm light edging out from beneath the door's heavy frame. Good. The room was occupied. Without thinking about it too much, Soundwave pushed on the door, opening it and entering quickly. A building growl was heard before the door had even shut behind the councilor, blue optics snapping towards the telepath in surprise.

"Ravage, don't-!" Quick servos caught the beast about its nape, bringing it to a pause. Its' wild optics glowed vibrantly red as it growled at the councilor- a solid promise to bring the blue mech harm.

Soundwave forced himself to cycle an intake slowly, his limbs locked in at his sides. He looked on -first, from the razor-sharp fangs bared toward his person, up the sinewy arms restraining the creature gently, to the masked visage of the seated Autobot- and pushed the words to come tumbling out past frozen lip components. "Status: Wished to... talk... Only talk."

Tracks did not immediately rise from the floor. Instead, he slowly looked to Ravage, stroking his helm in silence for a lengthy klik, until even the panther turned its attention to the slave curiously. "...I am not certain there is anything to discuss, milord," he finally mumbled.

Soundwave couldn't express the sorrow that gripped his spark right then. "Fact: Just..."

"I already understand the crimes I have committed," the winged mech continued, rising finally to his pedes. Like everything he did, the motion was graceful and seamless, drawing the telepath's gaze up to Tracks' dull optics. "Therefore, you may skip the lecture and continue on to my punishment, Master."

The title felt like a cupped slap against his audio. Ignoring the painful ringing it brought to his helm, Soundwave took a hesitant step forward, barely feeling his pedes as they stumbled across the room, the world turning vague and distant all around him. As if he'd slipped into the veil of a dream. Before him, Tracks drew himself in tighter, mouth thinning against anxious words, holding the budding fear under a flimsy cap of strength, The growl came again -tapering on the edge of an unholy shriek- to which the councilor dismissed; watching in ignorance as slowly -ever so slowly- the Autobot cast his helm to the side, a servo lifting to the air outside the edge of the tunnel that made up his vision, a desperate plea etched on his face.

"Ravage, no... Keep your distance...," the Autobot ordered softly.

The torchlight flickered for an astrosecond, causing a swell of red to bloom across the room. But it did not immediately fade; gathering together and hanging instead like a dying sun along a canvas of black, boring into the telepath as it clawed away at self and sanity with its dangerously calculating presence. Shivering, Soundwave tried to take a step back from the unnatural disc, a tightness suddenly squeezing around his neck cables. The Decepticon thought to shout out, and almost fell to his knees when he realized the pressure was hard enough to prevent any sound, when the red light disappeared in a single optic shutter, leaving Soundwave cold and weak in its wake, staring into the expressionless visage of Tracks -now only a few inches away from himself. That had been no dream. That was a memory...

Tracks' memory.

"...Master?," the slave pressed cautiously.

Tracks made a fragile sound as he was unexpectedly grabbed, swinging clothe catching his arms at his sides and trapping him under the bow of his lord's frame. Confusion was shoved aside for a moment as he heard heavy paws whispering against the tile, no sound to discern where Ravage had slipped away into the room. "R-ravage," the Autobot stuttered, trying, but unable to pull his arms free or see where the wild creature had disappeared, "Ravage, d-don't... don't attack. Please. He will not hurt you."

An almost scoffing huff came from one of the shadows of the room, yet no attack followed thankfully after a few long, unnerving astroseconds. It seemed the panther had heeded the winged mech's words. For now. Cycling shallowly, Tracks angled his helm a fraction of the way, turning the whole of his focus on the Decepticon. He could not see Soundwave's face though, buried as it was in the crook of his shoulder plating. Testing the councilor's grip only found the other's arms circling tighter around his slimmer frame. There would be no easy escape.

Thus, an uneasy silence descended upon the pair.

"Beg: Forgiveness," came Soundwave's vocalizer after several kliks, so frail as to barely break the tense air, "Confess: Have been in the wrong again and... a-again... Plea: D-don't make me let go."

He couldn't contain the tears. The shame and grief were too strong; for so long they had been disguising themselves as anger and pride, but the spark-felt threat of Shockwave's visit upon the Autobot had finally batted away the masks, leaving the telepath all alone with his numerous sins cupped in his servos like so many shards of glass. And now they bled out from him physically, unable to be restrained, bawling like a sparkling before the one he had so greatly wronged time and time again. Soundwave felt Tracks shift strongly once more, tugging to break free from his master's cage. The obvious rejection caused a loud sob to flee the councilor's clenched denta, but he let his arms go limp all the same, allowing the slave to get free.

It was what he deserved after all, he told himself miserably, taking a step backwards.

Soundwave was forced to pause in his blind retreat, feeling warm servos touch lightly at his cheek vents. Fearfully, he onlined his optics, seeing Tracks looking up into his own face. Blue optics searched back and forth, their colour deepening until coolant gathered on the opposite orbs as well. The Decepticon opened his mouth to comment in alarm at the sight; only clicking his mouth shut again when the winged mech pushed back into his embrace, arms winding tight around his neck cables. Fresh tears overcoming the councilor, he collapsed to his knee joints, dragging the Autobot down with him, holding Tracks as close to his spark as possible while he shook.

"Tracks: Love you."