Introduction: This takes place some time between chapters 5 and 7 of Revolution.
Blurr crossed the room, noting how mecha lowered the volume of their conversations as he passed. He could feel a dozen pairs of optics on him and he tried not to look at anyone, but couldn't help overhearing whispered snatches of the discussions around him.
"Was he invited?"
"…that's that racer…"
"…for vorns. I wonder how they got him to come…"
Blurr ignored them and make straight for a solitary table off to the side of the room.
Mirage looked up as he approached.
"Hey, 'Raj."
"Why, Blurr," Mirage gestured elegantly for him to sit. "I haven't seen you at a party for vorns."
"Yeah," Blurr lowered himself cautiously into the seat across from his friend. "Can we talk?"
"Of course," Mirage said. "You know, you're the first mech to speak to me all orn. You'd think I'd be offended, but it's been kind of nice, actually. It's given me time to consider things." He picked up a cube of colored energon from the table. "Go ahead, what did you want to talk about?"
Blurr leaned forward on the table, tapping one pede on the ground nervously. He liked some kinds of attention, but he didn't like the way the whole room seemed to hang on to every word of this conversation.
"What?" Mirage said.
He seemed completely oblivious to the hush surrounding their table and the way mecha were drifting toward them, listening carefully. This was probably going to be the highlight of the decaorn for the whole noble class—two popular subjects of gossip coming together in a grand moment of entertainment.
"I meant, can we talk somewhere else?" Blurr said.
"Why?" Mirage said, sipping his energon. "If you needed to talk about something privately, you could have done so before the party."
"I couldn't find you earlier," Blurr said.
He was worried. Mirage hadn't been acting like himself since he'd invited the Autobots into his tower. Blurr could understand that to some extent—especially after talking to the Prime. He'd been impressed enough to join the Autobots himself.
But Mirage giving up his entire fortune…
Something was wrong.
"Well, you can talk to me afterward, then," Mirage said dismissively, and louder than the occasion dictated. "I'm determined to enjoy this party and I'm not leaving."
"Uhuh," Blurr said, looking at the mostly empty cube of energon in his friend's hand. "And how much high grade have you had?"
Mirage leaned toward him with a conspiring smirk. "You know, it's hilarious I even got invited."
Blurr frowned.
"It just goes to show, it's all fake. It's all about what you know and what you don't know. It's all in the way we act."
Blurr narrowed his optics. "What are you talking about?"
What was he doing? It was like he was trying to start rumors about himself—trying to cause a stir? Maybe this was some act of politics that was beyond Blurr's comprehension.
No… this was something else. What Mirage had done two orns before—handing everything he owned over to the Prime—was not politics. That was unthinkable, unheard of. Blurr had joined the racing leagues to get away from all the confusion of high tower life, but he was still nobility. As much as he disliked the culture he'd grown up in, he was still very much a part of it.
Mirage, on the other hand, liked politics. He liked fancy parties and all of the scheming and double-crossing and gossiping. So why would he give it up?
"What am I talking about?" Mirage echoed. "Oh, Blurr, you never understand anything. I said all of this…" he gestured around at the fancy tables, the servants carrying trays of many-colored energon cubes, the wall hangings and the fancy crystal decorations. "…is an illusion. You can't see through it, can you? You're blind to it just like everyone else."
Blurr glanced over at the neighboring table, where all of the mecha were very carefully trying to look like they weren't listening.
"Mirage, can we talk somewhere else?" Blurr repeated.
Not that they'd necessarily have a productive conversation since Mirage seemed somewhat overcharged.
"Why?" Mirage said. "Why bother? I know you don't care about what all of these mecha think."
"But you care," Blurr said. "Don't you?"
Mirage sighed.
"I'm a little worried," Blurr said.
Mirage met his optics. "You? Worried about my social status? Look… it's none of your business what I do or why." He looked suddenly solemn and sober. "I don't know whether you would understand anyway. Please don't ask me to explain."
Even the whispers in the room died out for a moment.
Fine then. Blurr sighed and got up from the table. "Okay. You don't have to tell me, mech. Just so long as… everything's all right."
"I'm fine," Mirage said. "Thank you for your concern."
Blurr nodded and left the party. A low, excited babble filled his audios as he stepped through the doorway into the hall.
He wondered whether the other party attendants would be able to make some sense of the conversation, because Blurr had no idea what Mirage was getting at.
Fake? An illusion?
Was the mech only realizing this now?
High tower life had always felt stale and artificial to Blurr.
He stepped into the elevator and leaned against the wall as it started down toward the ground.