Transformers: Still Before the Storm
V3.0.1
By Waspinatrix (waspinatrix@hotmail.com)
Legalese: Transformers, Autobots, Decepticons, Cybertron and the Matrix concept are trademarks and copyrights of HasKen. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit.
This story, The characters: Pi, Stray, Tork, Prima Omni, Roc, Raz, Loq, Winger, Cord, Trak, Tesh, Ping, Straxion, BlackIce, Tricrom, AlphaWave. The Seuq game, and the Shade/Shadow assassin concept are copyright of Waspinatrix 1997-2000. The story is not to be redistributed in whole or part with out my permission. Please do not use any of my characters without my permission.
Part Ten:
So you should take away the energy
Of their armies, and take away
The heart of their generals
--Sun Tzu
Trak studied the so-called 'serving size' container of energon. An exaggerated expression of cynicism on his face. They had to be kidding. This portion might have been perfect, three vorns ago. Now days it was ridiculous to say the least. "Come on!" He muttered discontentedly, as he reached to pick the container out of the dispenser.
"Me first!" A femme sneered, as she swooped in and snatched Trak's stempent.
"Hey!" Trak growled, spinning to face her. He had a momentary double take. He had to look down. Way down to make optic contact with her. She only came to the bottom of his chest.
He misread his open-mouth gape, as she said. "Ah, wats wong? Pohw wetro-wit lose him num-nums?"
"Go Raz!" a Decepticon chortled from the lunch crowd.
"Does you want it back?" she taunted as she lightly danced out of his reach, and waved the container tantalizingly in front of her. He took a step forward. "You does." She smirked, and took a large swig. Trak grabbed for the container, she merely dodged out of the way, as she spit the mouth full of energon at him and tossed the container at the same time. "Here you go." She laughed.
Trak automatically caught the container. His glare hard and piercing from under an energon-sopped and dripping brow. There was more on his face than what remained in the container. He wiped his face clean with a low, exaggerated motion, like a cat with wounded pride. As he took a deep breath, flushing his systems with coolant. He suddenly gave her a wide, mischievous smile, as he sucked the energon off of his finger.
"Your breaking my pump, little 'Bot." He chimed saccharine-sweet, as he turned away from her. Raz was tiny, not worth his time or frustration.
"Who you calling 'little'?" Raz hissed, losing her cool. He had hit upon her most sensitive issue. In a male dominated society, where height was greatly admired. She had had to compensate.
"Who do you think, Squeaky?" He asked rhetorically, as he began to walk away. He was intent on at least enjoying what miniscule amount of energon she had gracefully left him.
The spitfire 'Con tackled him, knocking him down as she got tangled in his legs. He rolled on to his back as she gouged her way up to his face. "You slag-eating! Stupid! Hydraulic-bound oaf!" Raz screamed, as her clawed hands flew for his optics.
He grabbed her wrists as he sat up. She had taken him by surprise. Usually his shear size was enough to intimidate his fellow Decepticons. In his social life that intimidation factor was as hindering as it was helpful. Her ability to be unaffected by his economy size, especially with her 'trial-offer' build, this sparked an interest in her. He grinned at her.
"Is this how you sweep a date off of his feet?" He jokingly asked, as he stood up. Her face was livid, too angry to speak. "I'm flattered, mind you," he continued, "but - I'm surprised you haven't shattered by just holding my hand." He gently shook her by the wrists to emphasize his point.
"Go flirt with someone of your own caliber, alright sweetie?" Trak suggested as he dropped her. She landed on her feet with a cat-like grace.
"I'll slag you!" She seethed.
"Then who'd share their energon with you, my little femme? You look half stunted as it is."
**
Part Eleven:
And you have made all things new;
You have shown me all things shining.
You have granted me perfect ease;
I have become like Paradise.
--Song of Solomon
Straxion found himself in reverent awe. He had entered an immense, self-contained world of order and symmetry as he came into the hangar bay. No more of the chaos and mind numbing boredom. Something to actually challenge him. So many beautiful machines. So few Transformers anywhere in sight. If this wasn't heaven, it was close! A giddy grin tried to surface through his iron countenance.
No! He reminded himself. He wasn't some witless labor 'Bot that ran on whimsical emotions. It irked him to be reminded that he still had something of his mother in him. Self-Mastery, he had to restore the 'distance' he had between Pi and himself.
"You Straxon?" a gruff voice asked suspiciously, from behind.
Straxion turned to see who had mispronounced his name, and involuntarily took a step back as he gaped at the inquiring 'Bot. He was huge! Even by labor-class standards. Straxion was caught off-guard; he wasn't used to being out-sized. The other Autobot just grinned.
"You're Pi's boy, hey? Shame about the whole thing between your mammi and father." The behemut commented with gossipy, conversational tones. He watched as Straxion's face flashed surprise. Curiosity. And anger, before setting in a mask of indifference.
"Who's in charge here?" Straxion asked, his voice at 'absolute zero'. He had no desire to discuss his mother or his past with anyone. ...Though that strange comment had piqued his interest, and his ire at being interested at all.
"I am, Straxy. Name's Roc," the old mountain announced, his grin growing wider. "But you can call me 'Primus'!"
"If you insist, Primus," Straxion shrugged, suddenly and completely indifferent. "Just point me to a job. I'm here to work, not pray."
Roc lost his carefree grin, as he seriously re-assessed the boy. He had his sore spots. Yet hard to ruffle, at least for long. Obviously serious, too serious for his age. Still, all-in-all, he liked the youth. A more natural smile graced his face, as he gestured for Straxion to follow him. "Sure do. Come on, I'll get you started."
**
Part Twelve:
[...] The 'robot' has been working continually,
even obsessively, to discover its own nature.
--Neil Freer
"Ah, Omni," Tricrom greeted amiably, finally deigning to look upon her. She had waited, patiently, on her knees. Winger was at her side - the little shadow echoing her posture. Omni raised her chin as she was acknowledged.
"I am here as you bade me -" She was announcing, when he held out his hand: a command to wait a moment longer in silence.
"Come, Winger," Tricrom beckoned. The boy rose and approached his father. Tricrom scrupulously studied the youth. The youth was a runtling. Small and skinny. Still, he carried himself with a sense of confidence and pride. His midnight black hide was obviously from his mother. "How old are you, boy?" Tricrom asked.
"Two vorns, sir," Winger answered proudly, as he drew himself up to his full height.
"Yes," Tricrom conceded, "that is a good and proper age -" Tricrom's friendly demeanor changed light lightning. "Enough. Get you gone!"
Crestfallen, Winger's head dropped as he retreated. Utterly confused by what had just transpired. What had he done to offend or disappoint his father? He missed the reassuring glance his mother shot him as he left the room. Omni's optics followed her son, helpless to help him, and her fuel-pump breaking for his pain.
Tricrom also watched, unconcerned for the boy's hurt feelings as he impatiently waited for the youth to completely disappear. With Winger gone, Tricrom turned back to Omni. "It's time he joined the rank-and-file Decepticons." He commented matter-of-factly.
Omni stared at Tricrom with disbelief and horror on her face. How could he? Winger was highborn. He had an inheritance of the highest echelons of both factions. He had the seeds of great leadership potential in him. There was not one reason from the Matrix to the Pits of Inferno that Tricrom could sight to label his son defective or substandard. Why was Tricrom doing this to him? To them? Tricrom's dismissal of the child was also disgrace on the mother's good name.
"As for you," Tricrom purred condescendingly, as if he were privy to her thoughts. "I want you to gather your personal affects, you have forty-five breem to report to the transport. -Your pet project shan't wait another orn."
Omni, still stunned, opened her mouth to protest. Shut it, then opened it again. Her head felt like spinning. Shocked and dismayed at how easily he washed his hands of first his son, then his wife - Concubine, she reminded herself. She had never fooled herself into thinking that he'd ever love her (it was beyond his apparent capacity), but she had always assumed that her social status of her birth and breeding would hold some esteem in his optics. Was she that blazingly wrong?
... Pet project? Pet project? Omni's optics widened. Could it actually be? Had he actually listened to her report? To her advice? But, was this her unofficial dismissal?
"Forgive my impertinence, but is this the termination of our marriage contract?" He had to ask. She had to know.
"I shall think about it."
--At you own leisure! Omni thought bitterly, as she rose wordlessly. She fought her urge to take further issue over the futures of her son and herself. They were both tenuous, but not sealed. Not yet. She clung to that faint, feign hope, not daring to agitate Tricrom.
Tricrom watched, with the same fascination of a casual observer, the bombardment of reactions marched across the landscape of her countenance. She departed his chamber in haste, as he had instructed. He chuckled softly. Such a beautiful creature he possessed. As he succumbed to the tremors of pain that wracked his body. Exhausted, he leaned back.
"...Arrange for Winger's personal guard..." Tricrom instructed, weakly.
"Would it not be simpler to keep the youth secluded?"
"You are not in the habit of questioning me, my friend..." Tricrom laughed, only to be ripped apart by another spasm of pain. "...No... My friend... It is better that he learn the nuances... Of the social machine from a hands-on... Point of view..."
"As you wish, My Lord."
**
Part Thirteen:
And into the night of his very own room
Where he found his supper waiting for him
[...] and it was still hot.
--Maurice Sendak
"What is this, Omni?" Winger asked as he accepted an old hand comp his mother gave him, and studied it.
"It is 'Seuq'. A game that my father gave me the orn that -" That she had married Tricrom. "That my life changed. It was something to remind me that my father was only a thought away. That even when I was alone, I wasn't lonely.
"I want you to have it. To remember me. To remember that I am proud of you, my son. " She said gently. "To remember that I love you." She finished and smiled warmly at him. Reassuring him gave her strength to face her own storms of uncertainty.
Winger looked up at her pensively, as if seeing her for the first, or perhaps the last time. "Will I ever see you again?" Omni clasped his had.
"My precious Winger, I will never abandon you." She soothed, as she traced the sign of the eternal Primus into his palm. "I am her now, and for vorns to come."
Relief washed over Winger, and he almost smiled at his foolish fear. He had always been able to trust, to please one parent. Omni's approval of him had never been conditional, withdrawn on strange whim. Again, he was strickened with the acrid question. Where, how, when exactly had he failed Tricrom?
**
Part Fourteen:
In a flame let me lift myself off,
And thunder away!
--Lugalbanda
"Why did you do that?" Winger's voice shook with shock and disbelief, as he stared at Raz from under a haze of energon waste. The petite femme 'Con sneered.
"I felt like it," she snapped, as she postured to fight. Winger backed away, not wanting to hurt her. She sidled up, trying to coerce him into action. In a blur, her carefully cultivated, intimidating reputation was shattered as she was swept into the air and she let out an involuntarily squeak of surprise. She flopped as the momentum stopped, landing her in the crook of one arm, to dangle by her waist. Raz screeched and started clawing at Trak's knee and thigh.
Winger had to back up another step, and lift his head to see the giant's face. If not for the 'Con emblem, Winger would have mistaken this 'Con as a common labor 'Bot. Looking back at Raz, Winger noticed, from the old scraps and scars, that this was a fairly common thing between the two of them.
"Ah Raz," the Trak chucked with a rich baritone voice of neo-maturity. "Are you flirting behind my back again? Tantalizing the pre-pubescent your vivacious charms." As he flipped her easily onto her feet and nudged her away by the small of her back, and gave Winger a mischievous grin.
Raz spun on him, slapping his hand away with a snarl and a glare before she stomped away. Her 'fun' with Winger ruined beyond recovery. The giant laughed as she left, then, suddenly sober, he turned to Winger.
"Don't mind the little hellcat," The giant said to Winger, confidentially. "She's just the local Hazing Wagon: Greets all the new Mid-Barrack 'Cons that way.
"By the way, I'm Trak," He continued, thumping his chest with a resounding 'crack' that made Winger flinch.
"I - My name is Winger." He introduced himself, as he tried to collect his wits. This whole orn had been troublesome at best. Oft times, Winger just wished he could go back home. Only... Winger remembered that the life of privilege was over.
Trak sighed. He had seen that look on Wingers face many times; even he had that look when he first came here. It was homesickness. Trak grabbed Winger in a huge, one-armed bear hug, startling the younger 'Con out of his depression. Trak handed Winger a half-empty container of energon. Saying, "here, drink up. Raz is occasionally generous enough to leave me pittance."
Winger reluctantly accepted. He peered in at the not-quite-premium contents before consuming it. "Thank you," he murmured as he put it to his lips.
"No problem," Trak said jovially, as he gave Winger a friendly pat on the shoulder. Winger fell forward coughing, spewing energon everywhere.
"Sorry about that..." Trak offered, embarrassed that he'd forgotten his own strength. Winger was struggling to catch his breath, as he started laughing. He had chosen to see the humor of the situation rather than make it an issue. Trak looked at Winger, surprised at first. Then he smiled, and started laughing himself. He liked Winger, the 'Con's ability to laugh at his own expense was a rare character strength. Trak knew that they were friends.
**
(More to come...)
V3.0.1
By Waspinatrix (waspinatrix@hotmail.com)
Legalese: Transformers, Autobots, Decepticons, Cybertron and the Matrix concept are trademarks and copyrights of HasKen. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit.
This story, The characters: Pi, Stray, Tork, Prima Omni, Roc, Raz, Loq, Winger, Cord, Trak, Tesh, Ping, Straxion, BlackIce, Tricrom, AlphaWave. The Seuq game, and the Shade/Shadow assassin concept are copyright of Waspinatrix 1997-2000. The story is not to be redistributed in whole or part with out my permission. Please do not use any of my characters without my permission.
Part Ten:
So you should take away the energy
Of their armies, and take away
The heart of their generals
--Sun Tzu
Trak studied the so-called 'serving size' container of energon. An exaggerated expression of cynicism on his face. They had to be kidding. This portion might have been perfect, three vorns ago. Now days it was ridiculous to say the least. "Come on!" He muttered discontentedly, as he reached to pick the container out of the dispenser.
"Me first!" A femme sneered, as she swooped in and snatched Trak's stempent.
"Hey!" Trak growled, spinning to face her. He had a momentary double take. He had to look down. Way down to make optic contact with her. She only came to the bottom of his chest.
He misread his open-mouth gape, as she said. "Ah, wats wong? Pohw wetro-wit lose him num-nums?"
"Go Raz!" a Decepticon chortled from the lunch crowd.
"Does you want it back?" she taunted as she lightly danced out of his reach, and waved the container tantalizingly in front of her. He took a step forward. "You does." She smirked, and took a large swig. Trak grabbed for the container, she merely dodged out of the way, as she spit the mouth full of energon at him and tossed the container at the same time. "Here you go." She laughed.
Trak automatically caught the container. His glare hard and piercing from under an energon-sopped and dripping brow. There was more on his face than what remained in the container. He wiped his face clean with a low, exaggerated motion, like a cat with wounded pride. As he took a deep breath, flushing his systems with coolant. He suddenly gave her a wide, mischievous smile, as he sucked the energon off of his finger.
"Your breaking my pump, little 'Bot." He chimed saccharine-sweet, as he turned away from her. Raz was tiny, not worth his time or frustration.
"Who you calling 'little'?" Raz hissed, losing her cool. He had hit upon her most sensitive issue. In a male dominated society, where height was greatly admired. She had had to compensate.
"Who do you think, Squeaky?" He asked rhetorically, as he began to walk away. He was intent on at least enjoying what miniscule amount of energon she had gracefully left him.
The spitfire 'Con tackled him, knocking him down as she got tangled in his legs. He rolled on to his back as she gouged her way up to his face. "You slag-eating! Stupid! Hydraulic-bound oaf!" Raz screamed, as her clawed hands flew for his optics.
He grabbed her wrists as he sat up. She had taken him by surprise. Usually his shear size was enough to intimidate his fellow Decepticons. In his social life that intimidation factor was as hindering as it was helpful. Her ability to be unaffected by his economy size, especially with her 'trial-offer' build, this sparked an interest in her. He grinned at her.
"Is this how you sweep a date off of his feet?" He jokingly asked, as he stood up. Her face was livid, too angry to speak. "I'm flattered, mind you," he continued, "but - I'm surprised you haven't shattered by just holding my hand." He gently shook her by the wrists to emphasize his point.
"Go flirt with someone of your own caliber, alright sweetie?" Trak suggested as he dropped her. She landed on her feet with a cat-like grace.
"I'll slag you!" She seethed.
"Then who'd share their energon with you, my little femme? You look half stunted as it is."
**
Part Eleven:
And you have made all things new;
You have shown me all things shining.
You have granted me perfect ease;
I have become like Paradise.
--Song of Solomon
Straxion found himself in reverent awe. He had entered an immense, self-contained world of order and symmetry as he came into the hangar bay. No more of the chaos and mind numbing boredom. Something to actually challenge him. So many beautiful machines. So few Transformers anywhere in sight. If this wasn't heaven, it was close! A giddy grin tried to surface through his iron countenance.
No! He reminded himself. He wasn't some witless labor 'Bot that ran on whimsical emotions. It irked him to be reminded that he still had something of his mother in him. Self-Mastery, he had to restore the 'distance' he had between Pi and himself.
"You Straxon?" a gruff voice asked suspiciously, from behind.
Straxion turned to see who had mispronounced his name, and involuntarily took a step back as he gaped at the inquiring 'Bot. He was huge! Even by labor-class standards. Straxion was caught off-guard; he wasn't used to being out-sized. The other Autobot just grinned.
"You're Pi's boy, hey? Shame about the whole thing between your mammi and father." The behemut commented with gossipy, conversational tones. He watched as Straxion's face flashed surprise. Curiosity. And anger, before setting in a mask of indifference.
"Who's in charge here?" Straxion asked, his voice at 'absolute zero'. He had no desire to discuss his mother or his past with anyone. ...Though that strange comment had piqued his interest, and his ire at being interested at all.
"I am, Straxy. Name's Roc," the old mountain announced, his grin growing wider. "But you can call me 'Primus'!"
"If you insist, Primus," Straxion shrugged, suddenly and completely indifferent. "Just point me to a job. I'm here to work, not pray."
Roc lost his carefree grin, as he seriously re-assessed the boy. He had his sore spots. Yet hard to ruffle, at least for long. Obviously serious, too serious for his age. Still, all-in-all, he liked the youth. A more natural smile graced his face, as he gestured for Straxion to follow him. "Sure do. Come on, I'll get you started."
**
Part Twelve:
[...] The 'robot' has been working continually,
even obsessively, to discover its own nature.
--Neil Freer
"Ah, Omni," Tricrom greeted amiably, finally deigning to look upon her. She had waited, patiently, on her knees. Winger was at her side - the little shadow echoing her posture. Omni raised her chin as she was acknowledged.
"I am here as you bade me -" She was announcing, when he held out his hand: a command to wait a moment longer in silence.
"Come, Winger," Tricrom beckoned. The boy rose and approached his father. Tricrom scrupulously studied the youth. The youth was a runtling. Small and skinny. Still, he carried himself with a sense of confidence and pride. His midnight black hide was obviously from his mother. "How old are you, boy?" Tricrom asked.
"Two vorns, sir," Winger answered proudly, as he drew himself up to his full height.
"Yes," Tricrom conceded, "that is a good and proper age -" Tricrom's friendly demeanor changed light lightning. "Enough. Get you gone!"
Crestfallen, Winger's head dropped as he retreated. Utterly confused by what had just transpired. What had he done to offend or disappoint his father? He missed the reassuring glance his mother shot him as he left the room. Omni's optics followed her son, helpless to help him, and her fuel-pump breaking for his pain.
Tricrom also watched, unconcerned for the boy's hurt feelings as he impatiently waited for the youth to completely disappear. With Winger gone, Tricrom turned back to Omni. "It's time he joined the rank-and-file Decepticons." He commented matter-of-factly.
Omni stared at Tricrom with disbelief and horror on her face. How could he? Winger was highborn. He had an inheritance of the highest echelons of both factions. He had the seeds of great leadership potential in him. There was not one reason from the Matrix to the Pits of Inferno that Tricrom could sight to label his son defective or substandard. Why was Tricrom doing this to him? To them? Tricrom's dismissal of the child was also disgrace on the mother's good name.
"As for you," Tricrom purred condescendingly, as if he were privy to her thoughts. "I want you to gather your personal affects, you have forty-five breem to report to the transport. -Your pet project shan't wait another orn."
Omni, still stunned, opened her mouth to protest. Shut it, then opened it again. Her head felt like spinning. Shocked and dismayed at how easily he washed his hands of first his son, then his wife - Concubine, she reminded herself. She had never fooled herself into thinking that he'd ever love her (it was beyond his apparent capacity), but she had always assumed that her social status of her birth and breeding would hold some esteem in his optics. Was she that blazingly wrong?
... Pet project? Pet project? Omni's optics widened. Could it actually be? Had he actually listened to her report? To her advice? But, was this her unofficial dismissal?
"Forgive my impertinence, but is this the termination of our marriage contract?" He had to ask. She had to know.
"I shall think about it."
--At you own leisure! Omni thought bitterly, as she rose wordlessly. She fought her urge to take further issue over the futures of her son and herself. They were both tenuous, but not sealed. Not yet. She clung to that faint, feign hope, not daring to agitate Tricrom.
Tricrom watched, with the same fascination of a casual observer, the bombardment of reactions marched across the landscape of her countenance. She departed his chamber in haste, as he had instructed. He chuckled softly. Such a beautiful creature he possessed. As he succumbed to the tremors of pain that wracked his body. Exhausted, he leaned back.
"...Arrange for Winger's personal guard..." Tricrom instructed, weakly.
"Would it not be simpler to keep the youth secluded?"
"You are not in the habit of questioning me, my friend..." Tricrom laughed, only to be ripped apart by another spasm of pain. "...No... My friend... It is better that he learn the nuances... Of the social machine from a hands-on... Point of view..."
"As you wish, My Lord."
**
Part Thirteen:
And into the night of his very own room
Where he found his supper waiting for him
[...] and it was still hot.
--Maurice Sendak
"What is this, Omni?" Winger asked as he accepted an old hand comp his mother gave him, and studied it.
"It is 'Seuq'. A game that my father gave me the orn that -" That she had married Tricrom. "That my life changed. It was something to remind me that my father was only a thought away. That even when I was alone, I wasn't lonely.
"I want you to have it. To remember me. To remember that I am proud of you, my son. " She said gently. "To remember that I love you." She finished and smiled warmly at him. Reassuring him gave her strength to face her own storms of uncertainty.
Winger looked up at her pensively, as if seeing her for the first, or perhaps the last time. "Will I ever see you again?" Omni clasped his had.
"My precious Winger, I will never abandon you." She soothed, as she traced the sign of the eternal Primus into his palm. "I am her now, and for vorns to come."
Relief washed over Winger, and he almost smiled at his foolish fear. He had always been able to trust, to please one parent. Omni's approval of him had never been conditional, withdrawn on strange whim. Again, he was strickened with the acrid question. Where, how, when exactly had he failed Tricrom?
**
Part Fourteen:
In a flame let me lift myself off,
And thunder away!
--Lugalbanda
"Why did you do that?" Winger's voice shook with shock and disbelief, as he stared at Raz from under a haze of energon waste. The petite femme 'Con sneered.
"I felt like it," she snapped, as she postured to fight. Winger backed away, not wanting to hurt her. She sidled up, trying to coerce him into action. In a blur, her carefully cultivated, intimidating reputation was shattered as she was swept into the air and she let out an involuntarily squeak of surprise. She flopped as the momentum stopped, landing her in the crook of one arm, to dangle by her waist. Raz screeched and started clawing at Trak's knee and thigh.
Winger had to back up another step, and lift his head to see the giant's face. If not for the 'Con emblem, Winger would have mistaken this 'Con as a common labor 'Bot. Looking back at Raz, Winger noticed, from the old scraps and scars, that this was a fairly common thing between the two of them.
"Ah Raz," the Trak chucked with a rich baritone voice of neo-maturity. "Are you flirting behind my back again? Tantalizing the pre-pubescent your vivacious charms." As he flipped her easily onto her feet and nudged her away by the small of her back, and gave Winger a mischievous grin.
Raz spun on him, slapping his hand away with a snarl and a glare before she stomped away. Her 'fun' with Winger ruined beyond recovery. The giant laughed as she left, then, suddenly sober, he turned to Winger.
"Don't mind the little hellcat," The giant said to Winger, confidentially. "She's just the local Hazing Wagon: Greets all the new Mid-Barrack 'Cons that way.
"By the way, I'm Trak," He continued, thumping his chest with a resounding 'crack' that made Winger flinch.
"I - My name is Winger." He introduced himself, as he tried to collect his wits. This whole orn had been troublesome at best. Oft times, Winger just wished he could go back home. Only... Winger remembered that the life of privilege was over.
Trak sighed. He had seen that look on Wingers face many times; even he had that look when he first came here. It was homesickness. Trak grabbed Winger in a huge, one-armed bear hug, startling the younger 'Con out of his depression. Trak handed Winger a half-empty container of energon. Saying, "here, drink up. Raz is occasionally generous enough to leave me pittance."
Winger reluctantly accepted. He peered in at the not-quite-premium contents before consuming it. "Thank you," he murmured as he put it to his lips.
"No problem," Trak said jovially, as he gave Winger a friendly pat on the shoulder. Winger fell forward coughing, spewing energon everywhere.
"Sorry about that..." Trak offered, embarrassed that he'd forgotten his own strength. Winger was struggling to catch his breath, as he started laughing. He had chosen to see the humor of the situation rather than make it an issue. Trak looked at Winger, surprised at first. Then he smiled, and started laughing himself. He liked Winger, the 'Con's ability to laugh at his own expense was a rare character strength. Trak knew that they were friends.
**
(More to come...)