Not much to say about this chapter.
Chapter 1: The one with the tattooist
12,751 Words
May 19
"What do you mean you're not doing custom?" The irritated snarl easily silenced the numerous freshmen in the tattoo parlor, though Nikki was past noticing. Her green eyes narrowed as she utilized all five foot two inches of her height to lean over the glass case in an impressive Southern Momma Loom. Her fisted hands offered her leverage as the case reached to the middle of her chest, and the brunette baby hairs currently frizzed out from her head nicely complimented the mildly insane look in her eyes.
Honestly, I would've been a little afraid if I were on the receiving end of that glare.
The inked chick behind the counter remained impressively unmoved. Moss-colored eyes narrowed behind large, trendy glasses, further hidden behind pitch-black bangs. The piercing in her lip twisted, no doubt a nervous habit of fiddling with the backing with her tongue, as she shifted her weight to her left hip. Her arms crossed over her chest, revealing a stunning Yggdrasil tattoo on her forearm, though my eyes retrained on her face when she spoke.
"Look, we've got, like, at least twenty people in here, and it's only been an hour. We ain't got the time for anything other than flash tats!" If anything, the light in the slightly older woman's eyes grew more dangerous.
"Then why'd you advertise custom?" Nikki demanded, that country twang riddling her words as her ire grew. "I still got the Facebook ad on my phone!" And there was no doubt that she did. After all, the three of us had each cleared our day for this, had planned it a month ago when the ad was put up on Facebook, and after the shitty week most of us had suffered through, a new tattoo offered a healthier release from the built-up stress. I was hardly the type to argue a point to death like Nikki, though. Instead, I shied away from the escalating verbal battle between the unstoppable force and her current unfortunate target to lean over the stapled papers outlining the tattoos covered under the $30 deal.
God, they looked awful. Not that that was overly surprising; I had fully expected cheap offerings the second the chick mentioned flash tattoos. Hell, from the second we walked in, I had a sinking suspicion. With a fleeting gaze around the shop, I found I couldn't exactly blame them for having to downgrade, either.
There were easily twenty teenagers crowding the front section of the tattoo shop. A ridiculous amount of them wore sorority or fraternity t-shirts, and each of them looked like they had just reached the tender age of eighteen, eager children that were finally old enough to make dumb decisions, each one of them grabbing up the chance at spending only $30 bucks on their first tattoo. A pity, really, because looking at the options laid out before me, there was no doubt in my mind that choosing any of these flash tats for their first was a really dumb idea.
"I am not impressed." The deadpan tone sounded almost sarcastic in the deep voice. I glanced down at the red, blue, and silver robot currently seated in my grip, looking much like an oversized action figure in a child's grasp. My left arm was wrapped firmly around his chest while the right curled under his thighs, offering him an impromptu chair and a fairly good view of the room. A few glances were shot his way, and a few patrons stared, which always surprised me for some reason.
Personals, pronounced like "personality," had been quite mainstream for a good three years, despite the fact that the first had been released nearly ten years ago. I could easily recall my first experience pulling the Optimus Prime Personal from the box, and nothing could replace the magic that was the imprinting process. Of course, back in 2012 when Optimus had been released, Personals cost a whopping $600, and that was on the lower end. It was no wonder, either, as the bots in question acted exactly like the figures they were built to emulate. Optimus Prime had the memories of G1 Optimus – with a few random areas that had obviously been thrown in in the name of artistic liberty – the decision-making process of G1 Optimus, and the ability to learn and grow as the owner did. There had been some hitches, like his PTSD, but overall, I found we meshed together fairly well.
"See?" Nikki stressed, leaning back enough to gesture wildly to the Personal in question, effectively dragging me from my train of thoughts. "Even the robot thinks these tats are crap!"
"Nikki!" Optimus scolded, though I noted with a wry grin that he didn't disagree. I turned the page past the line-work lotus flowers and skulls and grimaced at the following page filled with more stereotypical line-work images. How could anyone want to put any of these on their body permanently? A discontented hum from my left pulled my attention from the papers before me, and I lifted my gaze to Megan inquisitively. The Latino girl twisted a lock of her mahogany red hair around her pointer finger, biting her lower lip as she stared down at the images in dissatisfaction.
"This isn't really what I wanted, Lizzie," she confided, though we both already knew that. Today's tattoo was supposed to be of a prickly pear cactus on her upper arm, not an outline of a palm tree or an arrow with the infinity sign in the middle. 'That ain't even the crux of the matter,' I decided, pursing my lips as I returned my attention to the ongoing battle at the receptionist desk. 'I ain't gonna wait two hours for a cheapass tattoo.'
"Hey, Nik?" I called gently to the other "adult" of our group. The words easily cut through the older girl's tirade, and she leveled an even stare in my direction, tightened lips daring anyone to talk her down from her hissy fit.
"There're other parlors in town," I offered with a weak smile. "Let's check 'em out."
Nikki deflated with a huffy breath through her nose. She pointedly pivoted away from the counter, brushing non-existent dust off her shirt as she stepped in the general direction of the entrance. With a decidedly prim expression on her face, she strode out the open door and into the sweltering Texas heat with Megan on her heels. I paused to give the beleaguered worker a weak, "sorry, thanks," before following after them.
The second I stepped outside, sweat began pooling between my shoulder blades and boobs. Texas summer burned like a scorned ex-wife, and she made sure you were fully aware of her temper. Today's forecast called for a high of 104F and 80% humidity with absolutely zero cloud coverage, and at noon-thirty, the sun was nearly directly above us. A slight breeze whispered past my skin, strong enough to fluff my shoulder-length hair but unfortunately nowhere near strong enough to offer anything but the slightest hint of relief. I jogged a few paces to catch up with the two girls moving towards Megan's 2006 Nissan Murano.
The area was relatively quiet for being in a college district, most college students were either packing up to go home or prepping for their upcoming classes. The end of the spring semester was, strangely enough, a quiet affair once you escaped the campus itself, which is probably why Texan Tattoo hadn't expect such a huge outcome to their Graduation Special ad. Dormers had to be completely moved out in between semesters, so anyone who lived on campus generally dispersed for the summer, homeward-bound, with the exception being the few summer students. Fall semester move-in still wasn't scheduled for another couple of weeks. As such, the street noise was minimal, and for once, we didn't have to worry about dodging the cars of texting drivers as we made our way back to the parking lot across the street.
"Okay, so that was a bust," Megan announced as she fished her keys out of her back pocket. "Suggestions for how we will be spending the rest of the day?"
"We can try Electric," Nikki proposed lightly as she yanked her ponytail holder out of her hair. We all paused for a few seconds while she bent forward at the waist, tossing her hip-length hair over her head to gather. We continued our trek when she straightened, twisting her hair into a huge bun atop her head.
"I'm getting a tattoo today," I interjected firmly. "If it means we all drive to Dallas, we're getting tattoos today." After all, we had been planning this day for a month.
"Hell yeah, we are!" Nikki grinned at me over her shoulder, deeply proud anytime I asserted my opinions, and we all piled into the roasting hot car. I shoved our three backpacks to the side as I climbed into the car, carefully setting Optimus onto the seat beside me as I slammed the door shut. Megan wasted no time in turning the engine over, groaning irritably when the AC blew hot air into the already blistering vehicle. I pulled the seatbelt over my shoulder and secured it as Nikki checked her phone for the address of our new target shop.
"Lemme check the hours," I interjected, not willing to waste time at another busy shop. The internet was slow in this part of Fort Worth, even the 4G, but the website eventually loaded, and with a sigh, I reported, "They only take reservations. No walk-ins."
"Of course, all the close places're gonna be difficult," Megan grumbled, and I breathed out an impatient, "Give me a sec," as I googled other tattoo parlors in our section of the city.
"Perhaps this is a sign that you should save your money in lieu of wasting it on this?"
"Aw, c'mon, Optimus!" Nikki moaned. She twisted in the passenger seat and gave the robot an exasperated look. "This is our last hurrah! We gotta do something memorable!"
"Yeah, and you wouldn't let Lizzie go partying tonight," Megan chimed in, gaining a raised optics ridge from the pseudo-Cybertronian in my lap.
"You feel like my decision was the wrong one?"
"Hell yeah, it was! She's gonna have to grow up eventually. You can't keep her from alcohol forever!"
"Guys, I am literally right here." I paused in my task to glance up at the other occupants in the car. Not-so-innocent grins shined back at me on every face except for the metal one covered by a mouthguard, though his smile was evident in his bright cobalt optics, and I gave a little scoff as I returned to my phone's screen.
"Then tell him, girl! Stand up for yourself!"
"Optimus," I grumbled in a flat voice without looking up, "when they visit in two months, I'm going drinking and dancing. Happy, Nik?"
"Yes!"
"Lieutenant, you don't even enjoy those kinds of environments. You hated your prom dance."
"Optimus, everyone hates their prom night unless they get some," Nikki informed him with conviction. "And I doubt Lizzie got any that night. Or any night." I shot her another brief exasperated glare, despite the warmth rushing to my face, before turning my attention almost desperately back to my phone. "Let her have some fun! Besides, she'll love it once she has a few drinks."
"God, I can't wait to see what kind of drunk she's going to be!" Megan clapped her hands together before settling them over her wide grin. She twisted in her seat with a little more difficulty than Nikki did, wriggling her wider hips to squeeze around the steering wheel.
"My bet's on loud," Nikki claimed, leaning back against the door for only a second before immediately shifting away from the overheated plastic with a hiss of pain. Megan reached over to aim one of the AC vents at her in response.
"Definitely gonna be dancing on a table," Megan declared.
"Oh, please don't let me dance on a table," I requested as my hazel eyes darted up to meet Megan's conspiratorial smirk. I felt my eyebrows furrow as my lips twisted into a grimace.
"Girl, I'm gonna let you do whatever you want. You need to let your hair down." I made a little sound of pain as I curled into myself a little, preemptively embarrassed by the stupidity I would likely tout under the influence.
"Just don't let me go home with anyone."
"Primus," Optimus's head snapped toward the front seat in a panic, "don't let her go home with anyone."
"Chillax, little dude." Nikki smirked down at the Autobot as his optic ridges began to tuck inward to match the scowl that he hid under his mask. "We'll keep her safe."
"That's still two months away anyways," I interjected with a sad smile, expertly changing the topic before Optimus could say something uncomfortable about just how much, or rather how little, he trusted my two friends. "I can't believe today's our last day. Are you two packed?"
"Yep. Mom's moving my crap back to Houston tomorrow."
"Ditto. Ethan's picking me up, and we'll move everything to Austin over the next week."
"Honestly, you're the one I feel bad for. I mean, dorm life means we don't have any furniture to move." Megan tilted her head to the side a little as I peeked up at her in askance.
"Yeah, but the apartment was worth it. B'sides, I pro'bly won't be moving to a new place for a good couple a' years. I like my place."
"Plus, moving out would mean carrying all that furniture down two flights of stairs again."
"That's also a d'fining factor in my d'cision."
Silence fell over the car for a surreal moment, each of us caught up, if superficially, in our own thoughts. Four years. We had been friends for four years, seeing each other nearly every single day, struggling through classes and depression together, learning life lessons. Everything would be different tomorrow. A three-hour drive to see either of them. I read about these kinds of goodbyes before, the ones where you don't know if you'll ever see that friend again, but I never imagined it would happen to me.
A part of me shuddered at the knowledge that I would very soon be losing the only two friends I had in my life. My part-time clinic job would become a full-time job, and I would be forced to find new friends amongst my petty coworkers or, God forbid, the general public. I grimaced as I tapped on the fourth tattoo shop on the list, having discarded the three before it, my thoughts still a million miles away.
Did I really need friends? I mean, I had Optimus… did I truly need human interaction, or just interaction in general? Optimus was an amazing conversationalist, and most of my hobbies were self-sufficient anyways. And working full time… How was I even going to find time to hang out with any new friends I made? Did I even want new friends? We clicked when we met, Megan, Nikki, and I, and we continued to somehow fit together seamlessly as the years went on. We were a triad: Nikki as our intrepid trine leader, me as the timid second, and Megan as our impressionable left wing. How was I supposed to ever find something else like that, something was worked so well?
"Artistic Realms," I announced after a few moments of frustrated searching. Nikki and Megan jolted a little in their seats, each as wrapped in their thoughts as I. "No website, but the pictures of Google Reviews are pretty good."
"Lemme see," Nikki ordered eagerly, reaching back for my phone as I obediently handed it forward, an amused grin on my face. I leaned back in my seat as she thumbed through the photos, and a gentle weight on my thigh gained my attention.
"So you have not changed your mind then," Optimus noted quietly as the girls up front started a conversation between themselves, debating on the quality of the pictured tattoos. I snorted lightly as I cocked my head to the right lazily, blowing a puff of air up to my blonde bangs to get them out of my left eye. I'd have to get them trimmed soon. While Optimus was not as staunchly set against the tattoo like certain medibot, he didn't really agree with the particular tattoo I had decided on.
"Optimus, I've wanted the Autobot insignia for months," I informed him as I reached forward to reclaim my phone from the girls up front. "I won't regret it."
"Keep questioning it, and she's gonna think you don't want her on your team," Nikki teased from the front as she typed the address into her phone's GPS.
"I simply wanted to double check," Optimus responded lightly as Megan pulled the car out into traffic, though his optics darkened.
We almost drove right past the shop, saved only by Nikki's abrupt shout of, "Oh, my god, it's right there! Turn here! Here!" accented by excitable smacks on the dashboard with her left hand as the right pointed to the innocuous building. The small parking lot offered only five parking spaces, each blessedly empty save a single pale blue vintage Buick with California license plates parked farthest from the entrance. The building was small, and a boarded-up drive-through window bespoke of its past function. The faded brick façade, weathered down by the elements, appeared as vintage and old as the solitary car parked in front of it. A glass door and a large tinted window graced the front entrance, and a large sign that spelled out "Artist Realms" in a cursive font hung above them, the only identifier visible. A heavy feeling pervaded my gut as I stared at the building.
"Well this place doesn't look too shabby," I offered generously as Megan stomped the stubborn parking brake down and shifted the car into the matching gear. The three of us twisted backwards in our seats to gaze out the back window at the façade pensively, judging the reliability of the pictured tattoos on the Google reviews when held up against the rundown reality in front of us.
"It's pretty small, don't ya think?" Megan noted hesitantly, eyes flicking to Nikki as I shifted back around to better converse. She pursed her lips as she scrutinized the building in question. There was no telling what was going on behind her eyes. Out of the three of us, Nikki had, by far, the most experience in this field, and I knew if she chose this place, it wouldn't be out of the laziness of not wanting to find a new tattooist.
"Great things come in small packages," she announced decided as she unclicked her seatbelt, still facing backwards as she opened her door. Sweltering heat rushed into the car, choking the cool air as it dominated the inside of the vehicle. I groaned a little as I breathed in my daily ration of H2O.
"Says the walking fortune cookie." Megan's playful retort was met with matching eye rolls.
"Think we should've called first?" I questioned as I unbuckled my seatbelt and levered the door open. It was second nature to pull Optimus gently into my arms before hip-checking the door closed.
"Naw," was Nikki's unconcerned reply as she trotted toward the glass door, offering the warning sign against alcohol, cigarettes, and stupid people only a small glance before striding confidently inside, her two best friends trailing after her.
If the outside looked vintage and worn down, it still had nothing on the inside. The door opened into a turquoise room, the six-by-four-foot entryway separated from the actual tattooing area by a tall oak counter with a swinging door that appeared to be a reconstituted, rusty car door. Three diner-style barstools offered rest to those waiting in line. White crown molding stuck out in a stark contrast to the black ceiling, and gold and copper colors accented the rest of the room, steampunk pipes roaming the ceiling like a long, thin snake. A single pipe reached all the way down to a huge old-fashioned quarter bubblegum dispenser that had been modified into a goldfish tank.
Past the counter stood two tattoo chairs acting at the central pieces of furniture. A door teased at idea of a back office in the center of the wall across from the entrance, and two oak shelves leaned against the back wall, evenly spaced away from the door, each surface holding framed art presumably drawn by the tattooists. The final pieces of furniture, two antique writing desks, were pressed against the two outside walls, perpendicular to the shelves. The desk covers were down at the moment, but I was fairly certain the tattooing paraphernalia was located there. Each desk neatly hid a tattooing machine between its far legs and the wall nearest to it. Actually, a pretty unique way to store what would otherwise look like clutter.
In the middle of it all was an East Asian man with wild blue hair that added an exotic element to his otherwise average features. He was taller than I was, at least from what I could tell as he moseyed up to the five-foot counter that separated us. His earlobes were stretched, decorated with gauges that looked like coke bottle caps, and his left ear held an industrial piercing bar. Tattoo sleeves decorated his arms, black ink accenting beige skin from the wrist up, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his plain white t-shirt. His face was unassuming. Clear of tattoos, the only memorable feature were his emerald eyes, deep pools of mossy green that seemed almost at war with his electric blue spiky hair. The dude actually kind of reminded me of an anime character.
"Can I help you?" was his laidback greeting, utterly devoid of any accent. His voice was unexpectantly deep, though not as low as Optimus's. Still, I had assumed he would have a higher tone of voice for some reason, probably because of the hair color. His eyes met mine briefly before travelling down my frame to rest on the robot in my arms. His eyebrows furrowed in an unnamable emotion before Nikki demanded his attention.
"Yeah, you accepting walk-ins right now?" The guy's eyes shifted back to the brunette before him almost reluctantly. He glanced up at the clock over the entry door and offered a shrug in response to the question.
"I have an appointment in at 2, but the day is otherwise open." As one, the three of us glanced down at the time on our phones. 1:26 pm. Not much time, but enough for maybe one of us to get done. He leaned his elbows on the countertop, shifting his weight as he glanced at each of us in turn, lingering uncomfortably on me again before focusing again on Nikki. "What are you looking for?"
Without a second's hesitation, Megan whipped her phone out of her pocket and scrolled madly through her screenshotted photos. The tattooist glimpsed in my direction one last time before turning his full consideration onto the tattoo ideas the Latino girl had laid out in her electronic device.
"C'mere, Liz," Nikki muttered, and I followed her as she took a few steps aside to sit in one of the barstools with a leather-bound look-book in front of her.
He kept glancing at me, and it was kinda freaking me out. Don't get me wrong, I know I'm pretty, but I'm not drop-dead gorgeous, and I'm definitely not pretty enough to have guys just staring at me. My dirty blonde roots were showing through the bottle platinum I tended to lean towards. My hazel eyes were lined by long but non-mascara'd lashes. My lips, I knew, looked thinned and paler than they actually were, a testament to my growing dehydration that I knew would probably come back to bite me in the ass after this tattooing session. A pity that my skin was water-tight or I could forego the effort of drinking water and just osmosis it into my body via Texas humidity… even if that was not even close to how osmotic balance worked.
I felt his gaze again, only for a second, but it was enough to make my ears burn. I resisted the urge to run my hand over my face to check for some sort of glaring blemish that might be grabbing the guy's eyes. I had decided to forego foundation today, so if a giant whitehead decided to make an appearance, I had no coverup. Had a missed a hair when I was plucking my brows this morning? Was the blond peach fuzz above my lip finally starting to turn brown? Cuz I could Nair that shit if it was grabbing that sort of attention. Maybe. Shit, I'd probably have an allergic reaction. Waxing hurt like hell, though, didn't it?
"He does some great work." Nikki's voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I glanced over to find that my friend was already half-way through the book. Optimus stood on the counter fearlessly, gazing down at the photos severely as the brunette flipped through the pages, pausing only to examine a work closer. "I was iffy about the shading in some of those pictures, but these later ones look pretty great. This guy is learning."
"I only care about the linework," I hummed, pointing at a geometric tattoo with remarkably even lines. I was a perfectionist at heart, and I knew I would be gazing at this tattoo on and off for the rest of my life. The lines would have to be straight and uniform. The last thing I wanted was to have a single bold line mixed in with a bunch of thinner lines. Consistency was key.
Nikki glanced to the side when Megan called her name, and I shifted the book closer to myself when she hopped out of the stool to talk to the artist. Optimus sent a brief look my way, returning his gaze back to the book when I turned to the next page.
"I am impressed by the level of skill," Optimus admitted at length, ending the statement with a hum of approval at the detail black and white wolf tattoo.
"Yeah," I agreed absently as I turned the page, "he definitely seems to know what he's doing."
"Did you notice his last name?" I blinked at the odd question and lifted the front cover of the book, keeping my hand in place as I stared at the name embossed on the front.
"Adrian Primus." I snorted a short laugh. "Well, that's ironic."
"Indeed."
"Do you feel better knowing your deity will be the one tattooing my ankle?" My playful grin was met by a baleful stare.
"Not in the slightest."
"Huh." I shrugged, that grin still in place. "Well, it was worth a try."
"Of course. I applaud your persistence."
"Well, you know how it is. Gotta persuade your boss to appreciate you sometimes."
"Liz, come tell 'im what you want!" My head popped up from where I was hunched over the book, and I grinned at Megan as I hopped off the stool to approach our tattooist. He was staring at me weirdly again. I can't even explain it. You know how sometimes when people look at you like they're trying to figure out where they've seen you before? Like, they get all squinty-eyed and kinda cock their head to the side as if the angle might jar the correct memory into place? They look a touch suspicious and a little confused? Well, Adrian Primus had that expression on his face, and I really hated being stared at. I placed my ID with a little more force than was probably strictly necessary, but it worked! Primus's – Adrian's – eyes flitted down to the ID as he slid it off the counter and into his hand.
"Marie…" he hummed, as if tasting my name, and I wondered if maybe he was socially awkward like me and didn't realize how creepy he was being. Or I was just overthinking it like the socially awkward turtle I was…
Still, I corrected him without hesitation, "Lizzie, act'ally," as I pulled up the Autobot insignia on my cell phone. "I want this on my ankle."
"Transformers nerd?" Adrian mused, and when I glanced up at him, he wore a wry smile. I forcibly shoved back the random inclination to tell him how pretty his eyes were, choosing instead to match his expression with a smirk of my own and a raised eyebrow.
"You couldn't tell by the Autobot leader on the counter next t' me?" Because sarcasm is the best avenue when you're mildly uncomfortable. Adrian snorted once in what I assumed was amusement before turning his attention back to the computer screen in front of him
"Email that image to the address on this card," he instructed as he slid a printed waiver across the counter towards me. "What size you looking at?" I hummed a little as I obeyed his directions on my android.
"I dunno," I mumbled. "You've definitely got more experience here, so whatever size you recommend is what I'll go with."
"Well," Adrian announced, clapping his hands together with a wide, strangely excited grin, "yours is going to be the easiest and the quickest, so might as well start with you. Just give me a sec to print this out."
With that parting command, Adrian shifted away from the counter and trotted into the back office. Megan bumped my shoulder playfully with her own as she and Nikki drifted toward the barstools to wait for their turns. I hovered at the swinging antique car door that acted as a saloon door and met my two friends' grins with a weaker one of my own.
"First tattoo…" Nikki breathed, as if proud of her child's first rite of passage. Then again, to her, a tattoo probably was a rite of passage. "You nervous?"
"Not really," I admitted as I glanced at the open office entrance. "I don't think it'll hurt."
"Famous last words," Megan scoffed, and my response was a shrug. She'd lived with me for nearly a year during the Great Dorm Shortage of 2018. She had seen me smash into enough things to make her own assumptions. I caught Optimus's eyeroll, though, and it warmed me to know that the bot had faith in my pain tolerance. Of course, he had a good seven years of watching me hurt myself with stupidity and clumsiness on which to base his claims.
"We'll probably end up coming back for ours. Y'all wanna eat between sessions?"
"Points to Nikki for being the den mother again," Megan snorted.
"Dude, I am totally down for food," I groaned, ignoring the small roiling noise my stomach made in protest of the mere mention of sustenance.
"That is because you haven't eaten today," Optimus tattled, his optics narrowing in unison with my two friends, as they chorused a chastising, "Lizzie!"
"That is a bald-faced lie, Optimus Prime!" I argued, poking him with an accusing finger. "I ate an apple this morning."
"That is hardly enough nourishment to support you throughout the day, Lieutenant," Optimus chided with crossed arms, speaking a little louder to be heard over Megan's sarcastic, "Wow, Liz, a whole apple?"
I was grateful that Adrian chose that moment to appear out of the back room again because they weren't wrong. In my defense, though, who's hungry when they first wake up?
"If you pass out because you didn't eat, I'm taking a picture and posting it on the door as a precautionary tale," Adrian threatened, though the teasing smile on his face belied the warning.
"I'm not gonna—I hate all y'all." I rolled my eyes as I crossed the barrier and followed the man to the padded chair on the left. A glance back showed Megan and Nikki crowding over the same photo album from earlier, but Optimus's optics remained locked on my form. We had spoken earlier and reached an understanding. I had initially been against Optimus coming to the tattoo shop with us. Heck, I was still against it, but Prime didn't trust the man tattooing me to not give me ink poisoning and as such, demanded he be present during the tattooing. Because, you know, his sheer presence can remove that threat. So, as a compromise, Optimus was allowed to attend, but he had to hang out with the other two Triad members while the actual inking took place. Because nothing made an activity more awkward than Optimus Prime standing over your work, judging silently yet somehow loudly at the same time. Spoken from experience.
Adrian caught my look and followed my gaze to the sharp pair of optics currently spearing him like a fish on a stick. Luckily, the man seemed to find it amusing, if his huffing laugh was anything to judge by. "Little overbearing?"
"You have no idea," I grunted as I seated myself in the chair, grimacing a little when the skin not covered by my shorts caught on the leather and made that awkward rubbing sound. The tattooist appeared unaffected by the noise as he started fiddling with the tattoo machine he had pulled out during my distraction.
"Which ankle you want this on?" I shifted so that I was seated with my right leg flat on the seat with the inside of the ankle closer to him, my left leg crossed over the other in a way that probably should have been uncomfortable. The inked man held the stencil over the exposed flesh, fingers lightly touching the skin's surface for steadiness as he placed it where he wanted it. He followed the stencil with a wet cloth, transferring it onto the skin much how one does with any temporary tattoo.
"How long have you had him?" Adrian began, effectively breaking the silence. Relief washed over me that he would pick a topic I could easily chat about. Small talk had never been a skill of mine, and this part, the part where he tattoos and I stare at the gun as it glides slowly over my skin, had been the only part I had feared coming in. I liked my hairdresser because she was a Chatty Kathy who could keep a conversation running with little to no input from me, and I decided on the spot that, creepy staring aside, I liked this guy for his ability to grab an easy topic from the get-go.
"I got 'im a little over 7 years ago," was my easy answer, adding for clarity, "for my eighteenth birthday."
"I'm surprised I don't see more of him walking around nowadays. Persobots made a huge splash when they first showed up." He pressed his hand over the cloth for a moment before turning back to his machine. I shrugged, even though he wasn't looking to see it.
"They're pretty e'spensive, though. It took six paychecks to afford 'im, and my parents still called 'im a waste of money. And there's so many different ones now. I think I see more Avengers than anything else. Plus, the programming glitches were kinda rough for some owners."
"I heard about those. They programmed them with all the memories of their fictional counterparts, right?" I took a brief moment to appreciate this guy's vocabulary before responding.
"Yeah. He remembers ev'rything, and 'e misses ev'ryone 'e's lost, too." Adrian looked up at that statement, his eyebrows pursed.
"Like the bots that have died?"
"No, the friends and family tha' literally no longer exist. He had a rough time of it when 'e first onlined." Adrian's mouth twisted into a grimace.
"I hadn't thought of that." I cocked my head to the side nonchalantly with a small, sad smile.
"That's why so many of 'em got returned."
"Well," Adrian began as he turned his attention to the black ink he was about to pour into the well atop his tattoo gun, "you've obviously done good for that Personal. I've heard some horror stories of PTSD flashbacks and severe depression in some Optimus Personals. Yours seems well adjusted."
"Yeah, but 'e helped me with my depression as much as I helped him with his," I confided, then had a moment of self-consciousness. Yeah, I'd helped Optimus, but he had honestly done a huge chunk of that healing on his own, too. I could only help him fight his demons; he had to defeat them. And I couldn't discount how much he had helped me through the years. I wouldn't have survived my freshman semester in college if not for him.
"So no regrets?"
"Absolutely none." The words were utterly confident, truths spoken from my very heart. We had come so far together, Optimus and I. From simple companions to something more. Family, perhaps. The mech could practically read my mind, and I was the only person I knew who could read the expressions hidden behind his facemask. When I purchased him, I never imagined we would have inside jokes, mutual friends, and such relatable experiences. If I had to choose between friendships and the relationship I had with my Optimus, I would give up humans forever.
"This good?" Adrian's voice pulled me from my train of thought, and I blinked down at the blue stencil that outlined Primus's face on the skin about an inch above my ankle. The tattoo was about an inch and a half tall and an inch wide. Small, but easily visible. I loved it.
"It's perfect," I complimented, though I knew the only skill shown so far had been his ability to place a stencil straight and central. Adrian nodded to himself before grabbing the prepared tattoo gun and holding it to my skin.
The first few pricks were the worst, the gun biting into my flesh and leaving behind a trail of black. Every few seconds, Adrian lifted the gun to wipe the excess ink away with a wet towel before continuing. The vibrations heated the skin around the needle, feeling remarkably like a continuous cat scratch. I'd honestly had worse at work. And Megan thought I couldn't handle this. A visible eyeroll accompanied the sarcastic thought, and I resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation.
"Is he your favorite Autobot then?" Adrian questioned absently, his attention clearly split between the conversation and his linework. I felt another swell of appreciation at the easy subject change.
"Not really, I don't think," I answered vaguely. People always seemed to get offended in my Personal's defense whenever I told them he wasn't my favorite. It was kinda dumb, really, because even Optimus knew Prime wasn't my favorite Autobot. It didn't change the fact that he was the most important being in my life, even if he wasn't technically alive. "I love most of the popular bots. Jazz and the twins. Prowl. I really love Prowl. Well, not that crappy IDW, Bombshell version of 'im where 'e gets pissy all the time."
"Not a fan of table-flipping Prowl?" I snorted.
"Yeah, not really. I love how IDW did the twins, though. And even Prime. I always saw 'im as more of an unconventional, 'I-didn't-choose-this-life' kinda leader. I feel like I could relate with Ratchet on a medical level. I work in the veterinary field, so I think he could relate to some of my stresses."
"You should get one of those Ratchet Personals," Adrian suggested thoughtfully, though his attention remained on his work. "Those are supposed to be for medical personnel, right?"
"Those models are pretty 'spensive… Any of the med-special bots are 'cuz of their programming."
"What if you could afford one, though? Ratchet Personals are pretty useful. I know one would fit my plans perfectly."
I hesitated a moment before answering, feeling a little shallow as I said, "Sometimes. I don't know if I'd want 'im picking apart my health and daily habits."
"Ah," Adrian huffed with a wry grin. "The 'not eating' thing?"
"And the not working out, not drinking enough water, and twelve other things I'm sure I'm doing wrong." Adrian huffed another amused laugh through his nose.
"So only a mild Ratchet fan."
"Sorta. Besides, Persobots is having a sale on Personal: Prowls soon." I resisted the urge to pull out my phone as I rambled to check the countdown on the Persobots: Transformers forum I frequented. "I'm planning on snagging one, and there's no way I could afford a Ratchet and a Prowl. And I'm not sure I'd particularly want two nags living in my apartment with me. Now, if I could afford a Drift Personal… I'd jump at that chance. I adore Drift."
"Every girl loves Drift."
"He's extremely likeable!"
"I just appreciate his faith," the tattooist claimed with a lofty grin.
"Of course, you do, Primus."
He lifted the buzzing gun to laugh aloud at that. His kelly green eyes sparkled with a strange light as he fixed me with an oddly expectant look. Before I could question it, though, his next sentence pulled a wry smile to my face and easily averted my attention. Kinda strange. I'm normally pretty obsessive about things I notice that are out of the ordinary.
"Caught that, did you?"
"Optimus did actually. So, Primus, who's your favorite?"
Adrian sent me a sardonic look as he turned his head back down to his task and said with complete levity, "Drift." I released a positively girly giggle at that answer.
"No!" I negated, "You gotta pick a prime! They're your servants or whatever."
"They are supposed to be Cybertron's spiritual leaders," Adrian shot back, sounding almost offended, "but you see how well that went. Ratchet is Optimus's best friend, and he's a raging atheist!" He sounded strangely bitter by the end, and I felt compelled to defend my commander, even if the persobot wasn't even the one on debate.
"Well, it's not like Drift changed that either, and they bonded in the comics."
"That's valid." A thoughtful pause suddenly fell between us, Adrian obviously contemplating something and myself uncaring to break the silence. The gun continued its buzzing, stinging away at my skin like a bumblebee. "Windcharger is my favorite, I think," Adrian finally decided. I blinked at him with wide eyes.
"Really? You are the first person I've met who knows Windcharger even exists."
"I like the Point One Percenters. They're always important to the plot."
"So is pretty much every other popular Autobot. Like Rodimus."
"Now that is a fascinating prime."
"I have a Rodimus Star sticker on my laptop," I bragged with a haughty grin. "Literally my favorite sticker." Adrian snorted, and I didn't miss his eyeroll as he lifted the tattoo machine to the blue outline of Primus's crest on my ankle.
"Okay, superfan, which 'verse is your favorite?"
"Ooh, that's a toughie." I clapped my hands together, resting the tips of my fingers on my lips. "I like that IDW is so fleshed out, but I also love what they did with the Prime cartoon. Honestly, I like any of them that have humans that aren't annoying. I friggin hate Sam Witwicky."
"Everyone hates Sam Witwicky. I don't know what he was thinking putting faith in that boy."
"What do you mean?" Adrian paused in his work to blink in surprise at his words… or perhaps at being caught in them.
"Optimus. Why he trusted Sam with the Allspark."
"'Cause he destroyed it?"
"Amongst other things." Said absently before returning to work. "What kind of human would you be? Would you be the next Jackson Darby?" I snorted delicately and took a brief second to wish that my momma had been there to hear it. The one time I manage to sound ladylike, and it's in a tattoo parlor. The irony was fantastic.
"Hardly. I'm Gretchen Weiners, not Regina George. Best friend in the movie, not the main character."
"I don't know about that," Adrian began.
I cut him off with an unaffected, "Who walked into the shop first? It wasn't me." Adrian hummed in consternation. "If it makes you feel better," I added after a moment of pointed silence, "it doesn't bother me to play second fiddle."
"You don't even know your strengths, do you?" The strange question took me aback, and I blinked a little.
"Nooo…" I began hesitantly, not really sure if I felt like having this conversation with a complete stranger. "My strengths lie in being a supportive person. I'm an introvert. I like working b'hind the scenes. Nikki's an extrovert. She can work a crowd when she needs to." Adrian paused in his work, lifting the buzzing needle as he lifted his head from the tattoo.
"Would you want to be the main character of the story, Liz?" Mossy green eyes locked with mine, and despite my momma's voice whispering about the rudeness of staring, I found myself unable to look away. They were a strange shade of green, a deep hue that reminded me of a forest floor, mixed greens that formed the basis for so many ecosystems. Almost like a Disney movie, his eyes seemed to light up with an unnatural glow. 'Hadn't they been a brighter shade earlier?' I pondered.
As I stared, the lights around me seemed to dim a little, like a cloud drifting over the sun, and my peripheral vision blurred as sounds drifted away, the idle chatter of my two friends lacing with static and the sounds of waves beating on the shore. Even those sounds faded underneath the sound of my rapidly beating heart.
Through it all, my eyes stayed locked with his glowing kelly green orbs, trapped in a staring contest with a faerie king that I was woefully unprepared for. 'Hadn't they been a shade darker earlier?' The feeling of déjà vu registered in my mind only fleetingly.
Then the moment ended.
Adrian grinned as he went back to his work as if… whatever just happened… hadn't happened at all. Like a flipped switch, the lights brightened with his smile, and Megan's inane babbling about her current crush filled my ears. I blinked past the remnants of… what had he done? Was that my imagination or something?
"So Prime-verse!" Adrian's chirping voice yanked my thoughts back to the present. "Miko didn't irritate you?"
"I…" I trailed off a little, struggling to place my thoughts back in a working order. What had happened? Why was I confused? Talking… We were talking. Why…? Prime-verse. We had been talking about Prime-verse and why I liked it. But why had we paused? Had I said something awkward that caused the pause? No, I'd remember that. Why couldn't I remember? "I hated 'er for the first couple of seasons," I finally finished, the previous moments fading from the grasp of my memory. Well, if I couldn't remember it, it must not be too important. It'd come back to me eventually. "I don't like attention seekers. She grew on me, though, after that episode where Bulkhead got hurt. Guess she's your fav'rite human?"
"Nope. Lennox, hands down. Gotta 'preciate a man that will fight for his freedom. Epps was pretty rad, too."
"'Rad?' Who even says that anymore?"
"So sue me! I'm an old soul." Said with a grin and a weird light in his eyes. He had really pretty eyes. That mossy green that reminded me of a forest floor, mixed greens that formed the basis for so many ecosystems. That sense of déjà vu flitted across my mind again and was similarly dismissed. "So what are your thoughts on Primus and Unicron and that stuff?"
"You're… really upset that Optimus ain't the ragin' Primus extremist you think 'e's supposed to be, aren't you?"
"No, no! It's just, we're living in the Bible Belt, and it's interesting to get the thoughts of others on the Cybertronian belief system."
"So what about it? I mean, I don't really know much 'bout Primus aside from what I read in More Than Meets the Eye. I 'aven't gotten past Dark Cybertron yet, so I don't know what else was uncovered. I think Earth being Unicron was weird in Prime."
"Do you think they should believe in Primus, though? Do you think they should worship him or anything?"
"I mean, faith is faith, right? Some people can believe in something or someone from stories or examples of existence. Like I believe in God from my experiences in my life. Some people need a li'l more to go off of. Some like Ratchet, ruhfuse to believe. I mean, he saw Unicron. I'm not sure how you can fight the Unmaker, then not buhlieve in the Maker. I d'nno about worshipping, though. Do you think they should?"
"Kinda. He made them, didn't he?"
"True, but in their d'fense, if he's their god, why 'asn't he transformed and ended the war? Led them back to peace?"
"Why does your god allow suffering if He exists?"
"Touché. There is evil in the world, in our very nature. To end evil would be to end us, I suppose. That's the big thing about the Second Coming."
"Perhaps there is an event like that in Cybertronian prophesies, like the one about the Great Evil arising again in the Prime-verse."
I hummed deep in my throat as I picked at that thought. "I guess it kinda sucks to be Primus then, don't it? None a' your creations truly acknowledge ya." I said it with a playful smile, but Adrian only offered a sad little uptick of his lips in response.
"Yeah. It kinda does." His expression reflected his internal pain. An old wound, I assumed, as his expression was weirdly similar to Optimus's whenever we ended up on the topic of how underappreciated his brother felt. Was this guy's last name actually Primus, or had he related somehow to this fictional god and changed his last name accordingly? Perhaps he was divorced, and his kids didn't want anything to do with him. I opened my mouth to comfort him, only to snap it shut again when no words came to me. Emotions had always been my weak point, and I wasn't really sure what to do when someone revealed deep pain other than to pat them on the shoulder and mumble platitudes.
"If it's any cons'lation," I finally hedged, picking a little at my thumb's cuticle as I watched Adrian finish out the last line, "Primus's creations still love 'im. They just don't realize that he's still cares about 'em. Sometimes, when we can't see the ones who love us or they aren't 'round enough, we think we don't love 'em anymore, but once that person comes back into our life, starts making a concerted effort, we find that love again."
Adrian lifted the tattoo machine from my ankle, wiping away that last puddle of ink above the skin. Slowly, almost dramatically, his eyes rose and locked with mine. They were moss green again and narrowed with a strange, calculating light as he digested my hesitant advice. I resisted the urge to chew on the inside of my lip.
"Take a photo before I cover it," he finally recommended. "Keep the bandage on for twenty-four hours, and keep it as dry as you can for two weeks. Try to keep it out of the sunlight for a couple of weeks, and put moisturizer or antibiotic cream on it twice a day. Don't pick at it." He looked pointedly at my hands, where my thumb was still captured between the thumb and forefinger of the opposite hand. I clenched my hands together in response. "Don't forget to post on Instagram. Hashtag Primus to send people my way."
I yanked out my phone to take a photo as Adrian Primus cut a black bandage that looked remarkably like a Telfa pad to fit the tattoo and began slathering it with ointment. I allowed myself a brief moment to appreciate at the straight lines that made up the Autobot's faction symbol after the photo was snapped. God, it looked so good! The black of the tattooed lines stood in a stark contrast to my pale skin, and the literal white space between the outline touched some artistic part of my brain.
"How much do I owe you?" I asked as he taped the bandage over my new ink.
"For this? Sixty." Really? That cheap? Well, be it far from me to argue a price like that. I pulled my credit card from my back pocket and handed it over, watching his hands absently as he ran it through a Square reader on his phone.
"It'll probably take about an hour and a half to finish this next appointment," Adrian called to my friends. A glance over showed them chatting amiably with an unknown, nondescript white guy. Optimus's gaze was still locked on the tattooist and me, though his optics, I could tell even from a distance, held a thoughtful light. I glanced down at my phone's clock curiously. 2:15 pm. We had been talking for that long? Well, I guess with the awkward silences and thoughtful pauses, I could buy that. Adrian handed the card back to me, and I signed his phone dutifully after giving him a $20 tip for the conversation. He took his phone back without even looking at it. "Come back, and we'll get you taken care of."
"I vote we eat while we wait!" Nikki announced as I sashayed through the swinging car door between the counters, a little proud skip in my step at the very thought of my new ink acquisition. Oh, yes, I could definitely see how this could become an addiction.
"I agree!" Megan chirped, and the two of them turned for the door.
"Wait, wait! I gotta post this first!" I protested as I scooped Optimus up like a doll, holding his waist securely inside my elbow. I grimaced as I trotted after my two friends back into the inferno that was Texas outdoors.
"You may post it while we drive, Lieutenant," Optimus assured me, then his voice took on a censorious tone. "You have not eaten today."
"Fiiine," I acquiesced on a groan, taking the high road and not pointing out again that I had indeed eaten an apple earlier. I gripped the car door handle for only a second before I yanked my hand back with a hiss, shaking away what felt like a second-degree burn
"The door's hot," Megan informed me helpfully with an unrepentant grin. I responded like any adult would, sticking my tongue out as I retried the door with the bottom of my shirt. I climbed in, breathing slowly against the stifling heat that was even more intense inside the car. I set Optimus on my lap as I pulled my phone out and opened my Instagram account.
"Tattoos with the girls! #Primus #Girlsday #graduation2019 #autobotsrollout #optimusdidntwantmetogetone #rebel #autobotinsignia #realisticrealms #Optimuspersonal #Persobotsinc"
Lunch would be a cheerful affair where the three of us rehashed our post-grad plans, promised to stay in touch, and gabbed out what we knew of some of our classmates' plans. Optimus chimed in here and there. The waiter complimented my robot, noting how lifelike he acted, and I took a brief moment to recommend he look into Persobots for one of his own. Megan and Nikki teased me about being a living ad for Persobots Inc. Looking back, it was a nice way to say goodbye, even if we didn't plan for it to be so.
When we went back to the tattoo shop and hour and a half later, Primus was no longer there, and the last tattoos were done by Freddy Adams. When asked, Freddy said that he actually didn't know the other tattooist's name. Said he was a temp who came and went as he pleased. My friends were quite happy with their tattoos, and Freddy proved to be just as skilled, if not more so, than Adrian. At the end of the appointment, Megan dropped me off at my apartment, and we said our goodbyes before parting ways, not even realizing what the future would bring.
Sometimes I wish I could go back and redo that whole day, because from then forward, nothing would ever be the same.
SGT (E5) Espinosa
Hashtagging is what the guys jokingly called it, the duty that every newbie had to deal with, the one that Command adamantly expressed was absolutely vital to their cause. Sergeant Espinosa was the "lucky" newbie that got this particular duty that afternoon. It was a simple job for an army communications officer: scan the internet for keywords that might hint at a leak or a sighting. With new Cybertronians arriving every year, both Autobot and Decepticon, there was little room for error when it came to coverups. Any stray post or leaked picture had the potential to tear their operation down. Sgt. Espinosa knew from experience how some people reacted when confronted with someone different.
He didn't want to even imagine how they would react when faced with a giant sentient robot from another planet.
It still got to him sometimes, the sheer magnitude of the bots he had been introduced to not even six months ago. There was something about having to worry about being turned into jelly on the tarmac due to a stray foot… yeah, it still got to him sometimes. It didn't mean he wanted them to be revealed to the world and hunted down, though. He could get over his stupid fears enough to see the personalities of those bots, and beneath all the metal, they were pretty much the same as humans. At least, that's what he thought.
Hence why he didn't complain about his current duty, the same role he'd played for the past two months: hashtagging. Was it bad that he didn't even remember what the official name was off the top of his head? He could recognize it in a lineup of words, but the actual official name escaped him most days. Still he scrolled through the hits dutifully, ignoring most uses of the word "transformer" and "cyberverse."
Honestly, in his whole time working the position, he'd only had a serious hit once, and that was a picture of the Autobot insignia on a certain red Lamborghini who hadn't followed orders about staying away from the busier parts of the small town their mission had been set in. Nothing draws the attention of farm town people like a flashy, clean Lamborghini Murciélago rolling down main street. The look on Prowl's face had been memorable, and Sideswipe spent the following week stuck as a Volkswagon Jetta as punishment for his vanity, pulling double duty to boot so that he couldn't hide away in his quarters. Still, that had been the only hit he'd ever seen, and it had only been by happenstance. A simple deletion and easy datascrub removed the picture from the internet.
#autobotsrollout
Which was why SGT Espinosa's mouse immediately clicked the hashtag that contained not just one, but two mentions of both the Autobots and Optimus Prime.
"Oh, my god," Espinosa breathed, pausing considerably between each word as he scrolled through the Instagram feed. "Primes_Texan" was a Caucasian girl from Texas (made obvious by the username), blonde with hazel eyes, if the woman in the photos matched the user. The girl wasn't in every photo, but Optimus Prime was. An almost surreal feeling hazed over Espinosa's mind as he took in picture after picture of the Autobot leader doing household chores, helping form meatballs, gazing thoughtfully at the blonde woman as she held out a dress in front of her frame, and performing other random tasks or simply posing for the camera. A few photos seemed to be taken without his notice, like the image of his profile seated in an open window, feet suspended in a kicking motion as he observed the sunrise, with a caption of, "You know, I might hate getting up early, but seeing his face kinda makes it worth it. #sunrise #Optimusprime #wouldnttradehimfortheworld."
It was ironic, though, looking through the photos… He had just been thinking about the height difference between the bots and humanity, and in the photos where the girl held the small bot, he was very obviously the size of a stuffed doll, not even a half a meter tall, he'd bet. Some photos held a caption explaining the pic, but most of them held random facts…
"Ratchet was a politician before he was a medic."
"Shockwave was once Optimus Prime's friend before the Senate reprogrammed him, removing emotions and replacing them with cold logic."
"Polyhex was known for its gladiator battles, the smelting pool, and the Empties that roamed the street. Empties couldn't afford food or replacement parts. Kinda sad, really."
"Hey, Master Sergeant!" Espinosa finally announced, his eyes still locked on his computer screen as he scrolled through the photos until he finally reached the bottom. "I've got a hit! A really, really big one!"
In the back of his mind, Espinosa followed the light tread of his commanding officer as she made her way across the communications bunker to stand behind him. Master Sergeant Johnston was silent aside from her breathing as she loomed over Espinosa's shoulder, taking in the pictures and their captions as her underling scrolled up slowly.
"Where the hell did she get these pictures?" Master Sergeant Johnston mumbled.
"Uncertain, ma'am," Espinosa responded. Master Sergeant Johnston grunted as she straightened.
"Download it to a datapad, then scrub it. Shit, it's going to suck trying to figure this out. I want every byte of data we can get on this girl in the next twenty minutes so I can report to Lennox. The Big Bot's going to want to know about this."
He only waited outside the door for half a klik after he chimed his presence to the owner of the office before the door opened remotely. Unsurprising, as Optimus had been expecting him. Prowl stepped across the threshold and saw, to his great surprise, that Jazz had actually managed to arrive earlier than him. The ops mech was currently lounging in one of the two massive chairs situated in front of Optimus's desk, behind which was seated the Autobot leader himself. Optimus was currently leaned forward on his elbows, fingers laced loosely as he smiled up at his Second-in-Command and Head Tactical Officer. His facemask was down, implying that the conversation he had been engaged in with his Third-in-Command had been a pleasant, non-work-related one.
Jazz, on the other hand… Prowl had learned long ago not to even bother correcting the mech's lack of decorum, and in fact, a part of him had come to appreciate it in this long-standing war. Jazz was slouched back in the fairly uncomfortable chair, his legs propped up on Prime's desk and crossed at the ankles. His hands were laced back behind his head under two sensory horns specialized for his work in the field. His visor was bright with laughter, a match for his wide grin.
"Prowler!" he greeted, throwing his hands wide and tipping his chair back dangerously. "Ya made it!" Prowl resisted the urge to roll his optics, knowing it would only encourage the mech-child seated before him. Instead, he turned his attention to his prime, allowing the grimness of the situation to settle in his expression. This was something that needed to be dealt with sooner than later.
"Communications Master Sergeant Johnston sent this up the line twenty minutes ago," he began without preamble, handing both Optimus Prime and Jazz a datapad with a copy of the information he had just received down the line from Lennox. He paused as the two mechs accessed the glass screens wirelessly and began scrolling through them. He watched as Optimus straightened, and Jazz dropped his legs from the desk, sitting up to lean over the pad as he tracked through it.
"Damn, Prime. When'd you go on vacation, and why didn'cha invite me?" Jazz sent his leader a sly grin, though his optic band was dim as he no doubt searched the internet and any other less-than-reputable sources for information on the girl in the photos. Prowl sent his friend a disapproving frown in response to the jibe, his wings tilting just a centimeter downwards. He otherwise ignored it as he continued with his report.
"Primes-underscore-Texan, otherwise known as Marie Elizabeth Campbell, lives in Fort Worth, Texas with what appears to be a minibot version of Optimus Prime."
"Op don't look like that, though," Jazz interrupted. "That frame type's too old. Don't nobody aside from Ratchet wanna be seen in a boxy-bod."
"Regardless," Prowl continued, his voice a little strained at the interruption, "his vocal pattern, general appearance, and designation match the prime's. The earliest photos date back to 2016, which begs the question of how this has slipped our notice for this long."
"I ain't findin' anything puhticularly fishy 'bout 'er." Jazz leaned back again, visor blank as he stared at something on his internal datastream. "Graduated two days ago with a Bach'lors in Biomed Science. Vice pres'dent of the pre-vet club on campus. No crimin'l record. Pit, this femme ain't even 'ad a speedin' ticket. Blue colluh fam'ly. Instagram seems t' be 'er only social media ou'let." His visor brightened a little as he shifted from internal datastream to his visor's HUD. "Looks like she's got a small group a' friends. Not the mos' social girl out there, though. Wait a sec… Aw, look. Femling's got a BumbleBFF account. Mus' not be the best at meetin' new people."
"I was unable to find anything out about the minibot," Prowl added, completely ignoring Jazz's comments on the human's social life, or lack thereof. "Miss Campbell mentions a company known as Persobots Incorporated, but no such company exists."
"Lemme double check," Jazz mumbled as he reentered the datanet.
"Her Instagram has been deleted, any photos and captions removed from the internet. I triple checked to ensure our security."
"I have no doubts in your methods, Prowl," Optimus assured him, his deep voice crushing the silence. "Discounting the minibot, is there any other way she could have gotten this information? Perhaps a friend or family member working on the base who could be a possible leak?"
"I was unable to find any such connections, but I have no doubts that Jazz will—"
"I'll double check," Jazz interrupted, talking over the entire last half of Prowl's sentence until the other bot simply gave up. "It'd have t' be someone close t' the bots, though. Some a' those 'facts' 're pretty close t' the truth."
At that statement, Optimus turned his gaze back to his pad, scrolling through the captions and noting that the TiC was right. Facts about Iacon, about Megatron, about himself that few humans had ever heard, and some that—
"I have not shared Elita's existence with any organics to date." Jazz's helm shot up, visor brightening nearly to white as Prowl's head snapped to the right to stare at his leader. The prime's voice was flat with grief, but his optics were bright with shock as he stared down at a picture of the minibot holding a remarkable rendition of a pink Cybertronian femme. The image was done in crayon, and because of that, it looked a little crude. t matched the femme nearly exactly, though, right down to her uniquely styled helm and her uncommonly oversized shoulder bracers, both used to trample mechs larger than herself. No, Optimus hadn't mentioned his sparkmate to any humans, and the likelihood his soldiers would let something like that slip were nonexistent as well.
The saboteur's expression darkened as the severity of the situation finally sunk in. He pushed himself to his pedes and paced away, never one to sit still whenever there was a call for action. "'Kay, so femmeling knows some stuff she shouldn'. What we gonna do 'bout it?"
"The best course of action would be to bring her back here, where she can be questioned, watched, and if need be, protected," Prowl mused as he scrolled wirelessly through the datapad, noting the mentions of city-states long destroyed in the femme's notes.
'Nova Cronum is where the best theoreticians come from. That is, when it's not, you know, exploding. #unamusedoptimus #Ialreadyknewthatfact #obscurecybertroniancities #NovaCronum'
Above it was an image of Optimus Prime, his optics rolled upwards and an indulgent uptick on his lips. It was an expression he hadn't seen on his commander's faceplates for decavorns, an exasperated look that he wore frequently early on in the war while dealing with the shenanigans on base. Now, he just looked tired. Pit, they all looked tired.
Jazz's pacing captured his attention, and he let that thought loop through a separate processing unit as he focused in on the other bot. Jazz's left hand was curled around his waist, his right elbow supported by his forearm as he tapped a pointer digit against his lips thoughtfully.
"So we gonna jus' keep 'er 'ere then? Don' get meh wrong, I ain' seen this kinda leak since the Battle of Fort TrioFlax—tha's a lie," Jazz cut himself off, with a wry smile. "Those facts were sens'tive. This femme's a fount of useless knowledge."
"That you are aware of." Prowl pinned Jazz with a solemn look. "There is no way of knowing just how deep her knowledge goes. The location of this base, perhaps? Or the names and locations of the family members of our human allies? Perhaps the exact locations of fellow Autobots who have yet to reach Earth?" Jazz hummed noncommittally in response.
"My question is: even if we managed t' miss this fuh three years, why 'aven't the cons tak'n notice? You can't tell me Soundwave ain't noticed comments 'bout his cassettes."
"Indeed," Optimus mumbled, his optics locked on one of the femme's images, a picture of a smaller version of himself smiling widely in the arms of a femmeling just barely a quarter of a vorn old, with a caption of, "Graduation coming up, folks! So surreal! #biomed #autobotproud #seriouslythanksoptimus #emotionalsupportbot"
As he took in the photo, the Matrix nestled beside his spark whispered to him, old voices mumbling about a chosen being, answers to a distant prayer. It frustrated him sometimes, that fact that the Matrix of Leadership, this relic that supposedly linked him to past primes and to Primus himself, often only gave him hints when he truly needed concrete answers. Who was this femme, and was she a danger to his people? Was she in danger from his people? The impression of hope trickled across his spark, along with a protective urge that marked the femme as his. In what form or fashion, he wasn't sure, but the Matrix was very clear: this femme was meant to be with them.
"Jazz," Prime spoke up, breaking the silence. Jazz straightened to attention, a stance he only ever took in front of his prime. Optimus's spark always warmed at the rare show of respect from his Third. "Find this femme. I want to know about the knowledge she holds, and I want to know more about this minibot."
"You got it," Jazz responded with a grin. It had been a few years since he had been able to hone his special ops skills. Most missions on earth consisted of hunting down stray Decepticons before they could reach the Nemesis and searching for said airship, and even those were a lot sparser than he was accustomed to with the human bureaucrats blocking their every attempt to move forward on the planet. He was still trying to talk Optimus into letting him go behind the scenes and pull some strings, do some sabotage. The Autobot leader was way too worried about keeping the peace with the little fleshbags they worked for – with. Worked with.
"I want a report a week in. If she appears to be in danger, I want her and the minibot secured and taken to the nearest NEST outpost."
"Aye aye, Boss Bot." Jazz snapped a sloppy salute that made Prowl want to groan and rub his optics in a particularly human fashion. Optimus looked a little put out himself.
"Be careful with her. I believe she may be important."
"You know meh, Prime. I keep our assets in line."
"Dismissed. Leave as soon as you can gather whatever resources you may need." With that said, Optimus turned his attention back to the datapad. Jazz remained in his spot though, optics ridges furrowed behind his visor.
"No red tape? Don' you need ta make sure I'm cleared ta go?" It was a low blow, that sarcastic little bit, but it was something that had been bothering Jazz for a bit, and passive aggression was all he was willing to pit against his leader. Optimus was unaffected, though, merely fixing Jazz with a suspicious, yet concerned stare.
"I am uncertain our human comrades would approve of how we will run this mission," he said bluntly. "For Miss Campbell's safety, I would prefer they not be made aware of the amount of knowledge she appears to possess."
"You think they'd hurt her?"
"I could not say. All I know is my intuition tells me she would be unsafe with human authorities."
"Ain't gonna argue tha' point. I'll see ya on the flipside, then!" Jazz pivoted on his heel and sauntered out of the office, his speakers flicking on to play his latest jam as he trotted along to the beat. The door closed behind him, and Prowl immediately turned a suspicious glare onto his leader.
"Why not Bumblebee? He has significantly more experience with the native lifeforms, and he is more personable."
"Than Jazz?" The incredulity held in that deep voice was almost amusing.
"You know what I mean. Jazz may work well with fellow Cybertronians, however—"
"I have not heard any complaints from the human personnel. It has been too long since Jazz has had an Ops mission that doesn't involve torturing somebot. Perhaps this assignment will cool his transistors a bit."
"Or he'll end up terrifying the femme."
"You know he wouldn't—"
"He may not be prejudice against humans like Sunstreaker, but make no mistake, he has not forgiven their race for what they did to his team."
"I have faith that Jazz will complete this mission successfully. Perhaps you should have a little faith in him too." Optimus picked up a stray datapad from a nearby pile, pointedly turning his attention back to his work with a final, "Dismissed."
Prowl obeyed, pushing his worries to the back of his mind. He had a meeting with the Joint Chief of Staffs over an energon mine to prepare for.
There we go! Don't ask me what 'verse this is set in, cause I kinda don't know - So let's take an adventure to see hwat would really happen if someone were to be pulled into the Transformers verse. Beware: ahead there be drama and angst! Soon. And fluff. I don't do any fics without fluff! Review, please!
On a different strand, do y'all think I should keep the prologue? Did it make any of y'all shrug a shoulder and go, "ehh..."? Be honest, cuz I'm seriously tossing it around in my head, and I tihnk I'm attached to it because I like the Optimus/Tex(Lizzie) interaction.