Thundercracker didn't shoot him but slag did he think about it. Mirage put a hand on his arm, not to hold him back, there was no grip to his digits, just to steady him. The Seeker vented in deeply then ex-vented. And still didn't shoot the red grounder.
"This is the Book Club, yes." Thundercracker said heavily. "Are you aware dross is a recreational substance and thus its use is regulated?" He didn't quite manage 'mild inquiry' though he skimmed close enough to casual that no one backed away. They were chatting. Nothing to see here. No need to be alarmed. No one was getting shot.
"It's legal on Caminus." The Neutral sensibly didn't shrug.
"You're not Camien." This was going to be one of those conversations, the ones where he wished he could call in an Interrogator and just get it over with.
"No, I'm from Peptex originally. My creators left Cybertron when I was still a bit." His shoulders twitched as though he was uncertain whether he should raise his hands or turn them over to show he was unarmed. "I'm SlipLane, off the Jaunty Rocketeer. We landed last orn." He eyed the Decepticon. "Am I under arrest or something?"
"Where did you get the dross? Are you selling it as a means of general income or for a disruptive purpose?" Thundercracker quoted the regulation. He had this section memorised because Skywarp would try anything once. Twice if he could remember his own designation when he rebooted.
"Ah, definitely not." SlipLane hurriedly denied. "I picked it up on Caminus. We did the temple tour, you scan, and the stuff was good so I packed some for the trip." This did not appear to mollify the Seeker so he continued. "One of my crewmates is a mining engineer and he got work with the moon survey so I bolted on as labour for the shanix then I got talking with those two."
"It really is just to take the edge off." Beachcomber jumped in to defend his acquaintance rather than see the Neutral pilloried. Mirage was not surprised by his compassion though he wished the geologist had kept his vocaliser switched off. "Coming back to Cybertron has been wonderful but..."
"Not how you expected it would be." Thundercracker relaxed infinitesimally. He wasn't happy about the dross. "Use of recreational substances is restricted to off-duty not merely off-shift." He reminded Fractyl, who should know that.
"We're rostered off for two orns. Stood down until the start of the new rotation, sir." The Predacon didn't hesitate to add the honorific, and his acknowledgement of the Seeker's authority brought the blue jet up short. He didn't want to do this. He wasn't here to throw his rank around or flaunt his wings.
"You're on notice." A finger jabbed in SlipLane's direction. Thundercracker took an image capture of the Neutral. If he heard of a second incident, he'd report the grounder. "And the Book Club is a sober zone. We'll have people on all sorts of shifts hopefully. I don't want anyone accidentally testing active from exposure." He swept the gathering for consensus and got a plethora of confirm pings. "So."
"So we should begin discussion on the first reading." Mirage stepped into the lull after his conjunx stalled. He continued to direct the conversation as several others straggled in. Rewind and Jazerant showed up only a little late without any suggestive paint transfers visible. The noble made no comment on their tardiness.
It was quite a productive little meeting actually. Ten mecha participated, they agreed on a reading (Mirage's second choice), and set a date for the next get-together. Everyone diffused affably then the conjunxes drifted home. A nice outing. Thundercracker and Tempest had a nap afterwards. Mirage did not.
There was something. He did not know what it was, which was intensely frustrating. He tidied his room. The anxiety from Soundwave's colour choice had abated as the unpleasant surprise had staled. Still, Mirage considered redecorating. He contemplated throws and hue accents as he picked at the something.
He'd vaguely dreaded Deadlock showing up but that was so unlikely it was clearly nerves. And it hadn't happened. There'd been no incident to set his diodes sparking. Primus forfend he was turning into Red Alert. No one had caused a problem other than the Neutral and the dross, and Thundercracker hadn't filed a report.
Mirage rearranged the cushions. The Seeker was fine. Beachcomber had been his usual mildly gauche. Rewind's personal issues were firmly not going to be of any interest to the spy, he reminded himself. Fractyl had hung around his parolee in a not-suspicious way. They did not appear to be more-than-friends. Had he noticed something to suggest otherwise?
His intuition was sufficiently vague that the more he tried to coalesce it, the more he doubted himself. It wasn't enough to mention it to Thundercracker and he didn't want to go to a fellow parolee for advice in case whatever the something was got them in trouble. Where did that leave him?
Fussing about his quarters trying to distract himself with interior decorating.
Feeling he had to do something proactive, Mirage went into the Hub. He scrolled through threads, commented on a few, read more, and simply absorbed the public front of the social life of Cybertron. Nothing on what it had been nor did he have permission to access Decepticon-only forums. No public reports of hostile Autobot activity.
Did he believe his faction... his former faction had acquiesced to the loss and accepted exile?
He did not.
So where did he stand in regards to the regime? Did he feel comfortable reporting a vague impression of something off at a private social gathering; an intuition based on his espionage training honed against Decepticons? Soundwave would likely sense his disquiet whether he chose to keep quiet or not. How much was he excusing his collaboration via the telepath's passive attention?
Assuming it was passive.
Mirage made himself stop fussing with the haberdashery. He lay down on his berth, plugging in to run a stand-by cycle to give his thoughts time to process. Leaping into the unknown was not his style. Calm and smooth with a well-polished controlled response. Primus, he longed for a confidante he could trust.
The noble rested there chasing his own circuits. What was actually bothering him? Could he be imagining trouble to excuse enjoying a pleasant afternoon chatting? There had been Decepticons there. There would be more present for the next meeting now they'd decided on a text because 'Cons were averse to 'standing around venting' as Jazerant had put it.
He didn't think he was giving himself sensor echoes over a little peaceful contact. But if this was a lingering trauma stress reaction or his reality matrix struggling to reconcile the change in circumstance, would he know his own feelings? Red Alert regularly drove past Reasonable and Sunstreaker had no moderator and... and some of that dross was awfully appealing.
Ultimately, the urge to blot himself out so he didn't have to deal with his own worries was what convinced Mirage to seek out Soundwave. The Host would know if he was spinning his wheels or if he had genuinely noticed something stubbornly under conscious acknowledgement. If the Communication Specialist was interested then clearly there was something to be interested about.
Soundwave was in the kitchen washing platters in a pyrrhic effort to tidy up. It looked like there had been a riot. Or a lively lunch hour with a houseful of deployers on holiday. Mirage picked up a cloth to begin drying, accustomed to a lack of staff and appliances. Prowl had insisted on having a clear up crew assigned before he gave permission for any party.
Soundwave looked at him in a complicated way Mirage paused to decipher before saying, thinking, or emoting anything. The considered result was layered as to be expected from a mech so opaque. Chiefly patience, a willingness to listen due to professional courtesy with a sprinkle of anticipation. He liked knowing, collecting little confidences; an amuse-bouche for the mind.
"It isn't confirmed." Mirage temporised. He couldn't imagine the 'Con 3IC wanting a rich speculative narrative with his intel. "Something has been bothering me about the Book Club meeting. I cannot feel what the burr is but I can't polish it out."
"Parolee consent required." Soundwave emptied his hands and rinsed them. "Autobot consent not required." He added bluntly.
Was Mirage coming to him as an informer or as a recent enemy seeking to curry favour? The noble stiffened, hearing the tacit categorisation. Decepticons were expected to snitch. Autobots worked around authority to come to a socially acceptable compromise so everyone could stay friends. Who was he protecting?
"I consent to a surface scan for the purpose of anomalous sensory data resolution." Mirage spoke carefully, keeping his stance open. This was just a processor hygiene action. Practically a medical procedure. Soundwave had no cause to hurt him and had not in the course of the war garnered a reputation for sadism.
He flinched at the first mental touch.
