Title: What Happens In Kaon...
Universe: Transformers G1
Rating: G
Pairings: None, kinda
Warnings: One sided flirting (is that a warning?)
Word Count: ~6000
Author's Note: This is a (long overdue) commission for Valong, on DeviantArt. While this one could fit into my All for One series, I choose to post it separately since it's theme was a bit different than that series. (Speaking of All for One, the new chapter is at about 7k words, and is getting pretty huge. I'm writing an action scene... which I suck at, so I'm a bit stuck. Um. I will get through that!) It was a lot of fun collaborating on this idea, getting the trine into trouble (a favorite pastime of mine) and creating these OCs. I do believe this is my second fic with OCs that play anything more than a passing role. I do enjoy these characters and I'd like to explore them more in the future. I have a fun mental image of the gestalt (who I've tentatively named Reclaimer) combing the battlefield, gathering scraps and body parts, regardless of if the Cybertronians are still alive and using those parts. Decepticons, am I right?
"So, uh, TC, did you deliver the message?" Skywarp asked, casually running a finger down the desk edge. Behind him, a steelglass window overlooked the glittering Vos skyline. Distant fliers streaked from building to building. Skywarp's optics roved the chamber, landing on everything except the mech he spoke to.
Thundercracker leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "What are you up to now?"
"What? Me? Why would I be up to anything?" Skywarp put his hand against his chestplates, optics wide.
"Yes, you. And you're always up to something. Especially when you try to act innocent. You don't do innocent well. So, again, what are you up to?"
"Nothing! I just want to make sure Screamer got that communique. I don't want him tearing me a new exhaust pipe! He does that enough, thank you very much." The purple and black mech crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders, pouting.
Shaking his head in resignation, Thundercracker sighed through his vents. "Whatever. And, yes, I did."
Skywarp crowed with laughter. "Perfect! Let's go watch!"
"Wait, what?" Thundercracker stared at him blankly.
"I wanna see how Screamer deals with this," the teleporter said, laughing so hard his words were barely decipherable.
"Stop. Just a klik ago, you said you weren't up to anything. What's Starscream supposed to 'deal with'?"
"The femme, of course."
"You mean, the scientist that wants to discuss molecular," Thundercracker paused, trying to remember the specifics, "um, molecular something-or-other with him?"
"Correction," Skywarp said, "the femme Screamer believes is a scientist who wants to discuss science babble with him."
Thundercracker ran a hand over his faceplates. "Why would he be meeting with her, if she wasn't a scientist?"
The corner of the teleporter's mouth quirked up in a mischievous smirk.
Seeing that infamous grin, Thundercracker shuttered his optics. "I hate it when you get that look." He shook his head. "Why did you have me deliver that message? Do your own dirty work. Starscream still trusts me. Well, as much as he trusts anyone."
"Exactly! Starscream wouldn't believe a random message I gave him. He sort of trusts you. C'mon, we don't have much time to catch up to them."
"Catch up…? Why would we want to do that?"
"Why wouldn't we?"
"Explain?"
"Well, Screamer thinks he's meeting a fellow scientist, and Smolderwing expects, well, heh, something else."
"Skywarp," Thundercracker said, dragging the words out, "what exactly does she expect?"
His trine mate snickered. He briefly shuttered one optic in a wink. "Let's just say, the invitation she received suggested something a little more… personal."
"You didn't."
"I did!" Skywarp laughed again. "Let's go!"
"No. I'm not going to watch you embarrass Starscream. Neither are you. We're staying here."
"Uh-huh," the teleporter said, smirking. "Just curious, how are you stopping me?"
Thundercracker paused, seeing the problem. His natural teleportation ability made Skywarp almost impossible to contain. The only reliable ways to keep him in place involved disabling his teleportation (which was beyond Thundercracker's skills) or stunning him (a favored punishment of Starscream's, and one Thundercracker currently wished he could employ).
"Fine," he conceded. "I'll just tell Starscream what you did."
"What? No! Aw, TC, please don't!" Skywarp's earlier mirth vanished. He rushed over and clenched his trine mate's arm. "For me!"
"Why?"
"We're trine! We help each other!"
Thundercracker shook his head. "So is Starscream. Or did you consider that? By your logic, since he's trine, I should help him and, therefore, tell him."
"But he doesn't act like it. Usually. And I help you, so please, pleasepleaseplease, help me! We're trine!" the teleporter pleaded, hands clasped together.
"When do you help me? I never need anything!" Thundercracker held his arms wide.
"But if – no, when you do, I'm here! Would Starscream say that?" Skywarp watched his fellow Seeker slump his wings. "C'mon, TC, we're trine."
"You're only making this much fuss because you don't want to get in trouble."
Skywarp smiled. "Punishment's only worth it if the prank works."
The two Seekers, aided by Skywarp's teleportation, made quick time to Kaon. Thundercracker attempted to rationalize his presence and involvement, reminding himself that he truly hadn't known of Skywarp's trickery. Besides, if he came along, he could monitor his rowdy trine mate and make sure the prank did not get out of hand (a very real possibility when the teleporter was left to his own devices).
They warped in above a street in the 'nicer' side of Kaon: still a rough-and-tumble slum by most standards, but nice when compared to the rest of city. Skywarp twisted a bit to get his bearings, then pointed and dove towards a boxy structure squatting at the end of the lane.
Seeing their destination – a modest, by Cybertronian standards, drinking and entertainment establishment named the Dented Grill – Thundercracker grabbed his wing mate. "You didn't drag Grill-what's-her-name into this, did you?"
"Grillcrusher. And of course not! I like my shape the way it is." Skywarp turned hurt optics towards his wing mate. He shrugged. "Just her bar. C'mon."
The blue Seeker bit back a sigh and followed Skywarp into the establishment.
Thundercracker only knew the Dented Grill by reputation. It began its existence as a hanger, before Grillcrusher nabbed it for her personal use. The seam and mechanisms could still be seen across the ceiling where, many vorns ago, it had opened up to allow clear access to the sky. Now, it was welded shut, with metal plates slapped on as extra security against intruders. This was Kaon, after all. A wide selection of tables, benches and chairs, appropriate for almost any size Cybertronian, were scattered about.
One of the few individuals that could not fit in any of the furniture – Grillcrusher herself – hunched near the entrance, always watching over her establishment, checking femmes (and the rare mech) in, and generally intimidating everyone into behaving themselves. She moved on treads, not legs, and instead of arms or hands, had massive sweeping limbs that could grab full-sized Cybertronians and pull them into her trash-compacting compartment. After a few mechs were "cubed" in that manner, the others learned to respect her wishes.
Most Cybertronians were constructed for one role, and they fulfilled that role until their deactivation. Grillcrusher had been waste reclamation but had chosen a new path when the need presented itself. Her loyal customers equated this to Lord Megatron's refusal to be oppressed and his glorious rise to power. Others, more pragmatic, pointed out she had most likely been tired of working at the dump.
Grillcrusher, like her fellow Decepticon femmes, had been vastly outnumbered by mechs every day of her existence. Tiring of rowdy mechs and lewd comments, she had offered her quarters as a safe zone for femmes to gather and relax. Soon, numerous femmes had heard of this new haven and her quarters grew too cramped. She had moved to a larger space to house them. Eventually, she established the Dented Grill, a mostly femmes-only bar, with few mechs allowed in.
"You in trouble?" a gravelly voice demanded once they entered. Grillcrusher loomed over them.
"I haven't done anything, Grill!" Skywarp protested.
"That's not true," Thundercracker said, arms crossed.
"I haven't done anything yet," the teleporter amended.
"Also, not true."
Grillcrusher burst out laughing. "He wouldn't be 'Warp, if he wasn't in trouble, yeah? Just don't be wrecking up my place, got it?" She reached over and affectionately bumped him with one of her sweeper arms. The Seeker stumbled backwards, almost losing his footing. "Hey, we're getting low on Praxian high grade. You know the kind I like. If you 'find' any, you know where to bring it, yeah?"
"Sure thing," the purple and black Seeker said, steadying himself. He grinned at Thundercracker and nodded up at the massive femme. "We have an understanding. I bring in some of the good stuff I 'find,' and she lets me in whenever."
"Just don't bring trouble, 'kay?" The femme nodded and smiled, then looked at Thundercracker. "You a friend of my boy here? Keeping him safe like? You want a drink?"
The blue Seeker opened his mouth to refuse – he wasn't here to relax, after all – but then he remembered why he was there. "Yes, please. Something strong. Really strong. How about two of them?"
"That bad, huh? I'll make it three." Grillcrusher nodded the order to one of her staff.
"Thanks, Grill," Skywarp called out, waving to her and dragging his trine mate away. He found a table far in the back, partly hidden behind a pillar. He pointed to the center of the room. "There's Smolderwing. Starscream should be here any time now."
Starscream barely glanced at his surroundings as he entered. He did, of course, keep his scanners running constantly, checking for weapon power-ups, explosives, listening devices, individuals standing too close, the plethora of minute details that had become common place for him since becoming Air Commander. One could never be too careful.
While he devoted part of his processor to his well-being, the majority of it tackled his duties and various projects, not all of which were sanctioned by the volatile leader of the Decepticons, Megatron. Starscream had never let a lack of approval stop him before. He should be fully attending those duties, but a rather interesting message had caught his attention from a fellow scientist named Smolderwing. More interesting was the fact that this Smolderwing was a Seeker, like himself. He'd never heard of another Seeker attending and successfully graduating from the Academy. Seekers were built for speed and combat, and never cared for anything else. Starscream had been the sole exception to that rule, at least as far as he'd ever known.
And then, Smolderwing's message had arrived.
Starscream entered the bar – odd choice for a meeting of the minds, but he decided to question it later – and glanced around. He paid more attention to the any possible threats, than the individual Cybertronians themselves. The massive mech – wait, dear Primus, was that a femme?! – guarding the door seemed the most threatening thing here. He doubted anyone would be foolish enough to start trouble with that monstrosity nearby.
A winged figure raised its hand and waved him over. It leaned back in its chair, legs crossed at the ankle.
Still keeping a wary eye on the massive femme guarding the door, Starscream worked his way over to his contact, Smolderwing. Turning around, he glanced at the Seeker clearly for the first time. The individual was mainly black and gray, with dark maroon highlights.
"You're a femme," the Air Commander said, staring blankly.
Smolderwing placed her chin in her palm and smiled. "My, observant, aren't we?"
Starscream stared at her for several moments, then glanced back at the massive femme by the door. Decepticon femmes were not unheard of, but they were rare. Slowly, his gaze traveled around the room. This time he actually looked at the individual Cybertronians and noticed the disproportionate ratio of femmes to mechs. With only a handful of mechs here, there were easily three times as many femmes, perhaps more.
Looking at the multitude of femmes surrounding him, and the one in front of him, Starscream could only think to say one thing. "Um."
The Air Commander shook his head again. He must have been hanging around his wing mates too long, because he could almost swear he heard Skywarp laughing in the distance.
"Why don't you sit down and relax?" the femme suggested. She gestured to the seat beside her, her claws tracing idle swirls across its surface.
"Um," he repeated. Starscream held up a hand to stall her. Relaxing didn't seem to be a viable option right now. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Glancing around, he tried again, "What's going on here?"
Smolderwing tilted her head, considering him. "Are you playing?" A sly smile tugged at her mouth. "Very well. We're sitting – well, alright, I'm sitting, you're not – about to have an entertaining refuel, enjoying one another's company. Please, won't you sit? You're drawing Grillcrusher's attention." She waved a clawed hand toward the massive femme.
Starscream threw a glance at the monstrosity by the door and, deciding that he did not want to anger that thing, sat down across from Smolderwing, as far from her as the small table allowed. The femme looked at the distance separating them and then empty seat next to her. She pouted.
Shrugging her wings, she leaned forward, optics staring deep into his own. Or they would have, if he'd have looked in her direction for more than a nano-klik. His gaze traveled about the room with a single-minded determination not to look at her. If his optics roved toward her vicinity, the femme eagerly tilted that way, trying to catch his optics. After several moments of shifting right and left at varying degrees, she slumped back in her chair, wings drooping.
After several quiet moments spent in this fashion, silent except for the constant background chatter and clinking of drinks, a server – another femme – walked by, carrying multiple cubes of high grade. Half rising from his seat, Starscream hailed her.
"I need some of that." He pointed at the cubes. "A lot, in fact. Just keep it coming until I say stop." When she paused and shot him a quizzical glance, he waved her off. "Go."
"Hey, me too," Smolderwing added, raising a hand. She turned back to her companion. "So…"
"Um." The Air Commander resolutely refused to look at her. Staring into the distance, he said, "So."
She placed her chin in her palm. Her red claws clicked as she tapped them against her jaw. "You know, you have wonderful vocals."
"What?" Starscream turned to her, optics wide. His vocals had been referred to as many things: shrieking, horrible, audio-shattering, akin to the wails of Pit spawn, among other, less cordial, descriptions. 'Wonderful' certainly had never been used in conjunction with them.
"I find them quite striking." Smolderwing smiled, reaching across to touch his hand. He yanked his hand back as if she were composed of some type of corrosive material. Nonplussed, she continued, "It takes a powerful voice like that to command respect in a galaxy such as ours. To raise as high as you have. I admire it."
"Is this a joke? Who put you up to this?" the Air Commander said in a low growl. He narrowed his optics, fist clenched.
"Put me up–? No. I'm serious." She tilted her head. Her earlier playfulness vanished, and she met his glare evenly. "I like your vocals. I'm not joking."
Starscream leaned away from her, crossing his arms. "Fine. If you're not joking," he raised a hand and gestured around them, "then what is all this?"
"What do you mean? It's the Dented Grill." Smolderwing shook her head slightly.
"Why summon me here, then act all, all, well, like you are, if this isn't some sort of joke?"
"With all due respect, sir, but I think you have your facts slightly… mistaken. You summoned me."
"Don't be absurd. I did no such thing." The Air Commander waved off her comment.
The femme held up a small data chip. "Wait. So, this message didn't come from you? And you're not interested in 'providing me with so much pleasure that I'll blow my fuses?' Slag."
"What? You think I said that?"
"So much for my promotion," Smolderwing muttered. Her wings sagged and she grimaced. "And now I'm stuck here with Screechy."
"Excuse me?"
"My apologies. I meant, Commander Screechy."
"I beg your pardon?" Starscream said, his vocals rising in pitch.
"Have you heard your vocals?" the femme said with a shrug.
The Air Commander stared at her, mouth agape. Snarling, he gestured at her. "Not a klik ago, you told me how much you liked them. And you insisted you weren't joking."
"I wasn't joking. I was lying."
Starscream narrowed his optics, one finger tapping slowly on the table.
"Don't tell me you're surprised," Smolderwing said. "You didn't believe me anyway. But it's the only thing I could think to say. You really weren't giving me much to go on. Not that it matters." She glared at the tiny chip she clenched.
"Of course, it matters! You lied to your commanding officer!"
"You want the truth? Okay, your vocals are horrendous. And they're certainly not improving the louder you get. Happy?"
"No! I am Second in Command of the Decepticon forces, and your Air Commander. You will respect me." Clenching his fists, he began to rise. A low rumble drew his attention to the front entrance. The behemoth guarding the front revved her engines again. Starscream considered the massive femme for a brief moment, then regained his seat.
"Yes, sir," Smolderwing said, giving him a lazy salute. "Permission to ask a question, sir?"
He regarded her through narrow optics. "What?"
"Were your optics malfunctioning before, or is that just a defective behavioral matrix due to close proximity to a femme? …Sir."
"What?"
"Your inability to look directly at me. I think there may be a short circuit somewhere. Although I notice that that glitch seems to have cleared up." Tilting her head, she rested her cheek against her palm. "Sir."
As he opened his mouth to reply, the server returned and placed two cubes of high grade before them. In the dim light, the fuel glistened, casting pink-tinged highlights on the two Decepticons. Smolderwing sipped at hers, while Starscream glared. Casting another glance towards Grillcrusher, the Air Commander tapped his finger thoughtfully against the table.
"Why are you here?" he asked, grabbing his cube a downing it.
"You should have at least tasted that before chugging it. It's pretty decent stuff."
"There's more coming. Answer me."
"This," she said, indicating the data chip, "is a message, supposedly, from you. It promises–"
"Yes, yes, I remember! Let me see that." He held his hand open, fingers gesturing for the chip.
Starscream nabbed it from her as soon as it was within his reach. Retrieving another data chip, he placed both inside a built-in analyzer on his arm. He scanned both and ran comparisons, checking their content, computer signatures and any other relevant data.
"You should always verify the sender and legitimacy of any transmission," he said. "Especially written messages. Truly, even a simpleton can accomplish that."
"Yes, sir." Smolderwing nodded. She pointed to his arm where he'd inserted the chips. "Did you receive a message that was marked from me?" He grunted. Taking this as an affirmative, she continued, "Of course, you must have verified the sender and legitimacy of that transmission. After all, even a simpleton can accomplish that. Sir."
He paused. "Shut up."
"Can I ask what you expecting? It certainly wasn't the same message I got."
"Certainly not. I came here to meet a fellow scientist, someone with similar interests and background. Your message," he tapped his arm, "is… vulgar, to say the least. Whatever were you expecting to gain from that?"
"A promotion. To get off the front lines. To not be expendable. Do you know where I'm stationed?"
"I can find out."
"No, you can't," Smolderwing cut him off. "The records have me in Tarn, but I've been transferred six times since then. I don't matter enough to update those records. You know why? Most likely, I'll be dead before they ever need to find me. I'm just a number. When there's a fight, they find the closest troops and throw us at them. This – you – were supposed to help me get away from that. I cozy up to the Air Commander, get him to notice me, and maybe I could get my name back. I could be someone again."
Starscream leaned back, arms crossed. He'd never been on the front lines, but he'd heard the stories. What she said was true. Troops shuffled around as needs dictated. Worse, at least from a Seeker's viewpoint, there were few true trines on the front lines. Trine mates rarely lived long enough to from a true bond. When front line Seekers flew, it usually involved whichever three were standing closest together when their commander selected them. To fly without a trine, a true trine, would be horrible.
Speaking of trines…
Starscream narrowed his optics. "Skywarp."
"What?" Smolderwing glanced at the ceiling. "I can't be certain while inside, of course, but I can make a fair guess that the sky's not 'warping' anywhere."
"No. He's my trine mate. My irresponsible, irrepressible, irrational, irritating trine mate. He did this." The Air Commander tapped his arm and the chips within.
"That's a lot of irrs."
"It is similar to 'err,' which is something else he does, quite often."
"He sent us those messages? Why'd you believe a message he gave you, if he's… all those words you used?"
Starscream waved his hand dismissively. "No, Thundercracker handed me the message."
"Then this Thundercracker must have set us up."
"This sort of prank is not in his nature. Thundercracker has a strange earnest, and honest, quality about him. It's a flaw, I'm sure. However, Skywarp certainly has the nature and the desire to perform idiot tricks of this kind. And that same flawed nature of Thundercracker's makes him the perfect unwitting pawn for Skywarp."
Smolderwing tilted her head. "You just used over fifty words to say, 'Skywarp used Thundercracker to do it.' Do you see the difference, fifty versus six?"
"Add to that," Starscream continued as if she hadn't spoken, "is the fact that I thought I heard Skywarp laughing when I first met you. He did this, and he's here, now, watching us." He narrowed his optics, glancing around.
"Stop that," Smolderwing said, lowering her vocals. "Don't you know anything? You don't find people in a bar by looking. You … ah, perfect." She smiled as their server approached with more high grade. "Play along."
The server handed Starscream a new cube, which he gratefully sipped on, and cleared his old one away. Smolderwing stopped her from leaving with an upraised hand.
"Excuse me," the femme purred, "I'm here tonight for some fun between battles – some adventurous fun, if you get my meaning – and while I'm quite content with my companion, I was wondering if you've seen any more mechs here we could 'invite' in our fun? I'd love a three or foursome." Starscream choked on his high grade. She rose her vocals, trying to drown out his sputtering. "Nothing against groundies, but I have a type. I'd was really hoping for some more Seekers."
The server watched Starscream as he coughed and said, "Um, well, usually we don't see many, or any, mechs by themselves, but there are a couple Seekers in the back corner. If you care about paint, one's mostly black, the other blue. Are you okay, sir?"
"Just wonderful," Starscream bit out.
"Perfect, thank you," Smolderwing said with a smile. The server nodded and left. Once she was clear of audio range, Smolderwing grimaced. "I said 'play along,' not, 'spit high grade all over the place.'"
"I did not 'spit high grade all over the place.' And what were you thinking? I am the Air Commander. I can't be seen or even believed to be involved in… what you suggested. I have a reputation to maintain. There will be rumors from this!"
"Trust me, I know your reputation, and the rumors. This is an improvement compared to what the troops say about you."
Starscream stared at her, wings stiffening. "What, exactly, do they say about me?"
"Hmm? Oh, nothing." She shook her head.
"What. Do. They. Say?"
"Um, put it this way, imagine the most leaky, broken-down, rusty femme possible, make her an Autobot and a ground-pounder, add about six or seven more just like her for some grimy 'group action,' and apparently that's where your tastes lay." She shrugged. "Happy now?"
"Certainly not!"
"You asked. Okay, we have two other Seekers here, one black, the other blue. Are those your trine mates?" Smolderwing asked as he continued to glare at her. When he didn't reply, she said, "You have two options. You can continue glaring me, and getting us nowhere, or we can move on. And I think I have the perfect payback for this Skywarp."
The Air Commander stared at her for a few moments longer. He snorted. "Very well. Yes, those descriptions match both Thundercracker and Skywarp. What's your idea?"
Smolderwing pointed to a lone femme, just seating herself at a large table. Starscream could not place her alt-mode by appearance, but she sported four sturdy wheels across her back. So, a grounder, certainly. Her main color was purple with yellow highlights on her helm, hands and feet. She carried no weapons or other obvious armaments. Most likely, non-military.
Starscream looked back to his companion, optic ridge raised in curiosity.
"Like the bolt spins, Commander," Smolderwing said with a smirk, using an old Cybertronian saying that meant what goes around, comes around.
"Can we please go, now?" Thundercracker asked yet again. Three empty high grade cubes sat in front of him, and he felt their tingling effect already working its way through his limbs and processor. However, no amount of high grade-induced euphoria helped him forget their reason for being there. Skywarp's constant giggling and pointing weren't helping either.
"C'mon, TC! Wait a bit more, and I'm sure Screamer'll do something hilarious. Did ya see him back down to Grill?" Skywarp muffled his laughter behind a hand. An equal number of empty cubes lay before him, and he wobbled slightly in his seat. "Beautiful! I'm gonna remember the look on his face forever!"
"Look, they're just talking now. It's not funny anymore," Thundercracker said. He didn't feel like pointing out that, really, it hadn't been funny at all. Ever. "The joke's over. We should go before they catch us."
"They don't even know… oh, hi there." Skywarp interrupted himself as a petite, purple and yellow femme approached. He smiled at her, then giggled. "Hey, I like purple, too." He pointed to his own purple highlights.
She smiled. "It's a good color. Can I join you?" At Skywarp's eager nod, she moved closer. The femme glanced at their small table, and its two chairs, both of which were occupied. "I'll get another seat."
"No, that's not necessary," Skywarp said, holding up a hand. "TC was just saying that he wanted to go. Didn't you?" He turned to his wing mate and nodded with a wide smile.
Thundercracker sighed through his vents. He should be thankful. If this femme kept his trine brother occupied, then perhaps he'd forget about his fool prank and they could leave. Or, at least, Thundercracker could leave. He just needed to stay around long enough to be sure that Starscream was clear of this idiotic trick.
"Fine, sure." Thundercrack raised his hand in a dismissive wave and left them. He worked his way around the edges of the room, hoping to stay out of Starscream's view. He needed to a place where he could watch Skywarp and stay hidden from their trine leader. Glancing around, he slipped away.
"Hi," the femme said with a shy smile, seating herself in the recently vacated chair. "I'm Spotter. What's your name?"
"Skywarp," the teleporter drawled, smiling and taking another swig of his cube. Femmes rarely approached him here. And the ones that did didn't stay long (for some reason). Determined to make a good impression, he pointed at his wings. "Can you do this?" He flexed his wings up and down.
The femme – Spotter – shot a dubious look at her own wingless back. "I can honestly say no." She grinned back at him, a mischievous gleam in her optics. The four wheels folding against her back spun to life. "Try that."
Skywarp giggled, the high grade buzzing pleasantly through his systems. "Does this mean I rev your engines?"
Spotter tilted her head a bit, considering. She pointed at his drink. "I think I could use some of that."
"It's good. You'll like," he said. Listening to his own shortened speech, Skywarp snickered again. He seemed to be having problems controlling his mirth. But, hey, he was having fun. He waved at a passing server and pointed to his drink.
"I'm sure." She nodded. "You know what I'd like? Inviting my sisters over here for a drink." Spotter traced her finger down his wing edge. He shivered. "That's okay, right?"
The teleporter giggled as Spotter tickled his wing again. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Sounds fun."
"Wonderful!" Her faceplates lit up with joy. She gestured behind her, waving someone forward. Beaming, she said, "You'll love them."
"Mmmhmm, I know I will – uh, who's that? And that? And them?"
"My sisters," Spotter chirped. She grinned broadly.
"Um."
Skywarp shook his head. How much had he drunk? Glancing first at the Spotter, he shifted his gaze to the four monstrosities approaching their table. All five of them shared similar color schemes and were grounders, but any other similarity ended there. Where Spotter was trim and petite, her sisters were large, clunky femmes, reminiscent of Grillcrusher although not as large. From the various bits showing of their alt-modes – a hook, scoop, lift bars, treads – Skywarp placed them as laborers, perhaps in construction.
He didn't ponder their alt-modes long, since their root-modes concerned him more at the moment. They surrounded him. Still hazy from his drinks, he blurted out, "You're femmes? I've seen femmier-looking slag piles." As the femmes towered over him – the smallest newcomer easily twice as big as the teleporter – Skywarp's processor caught up to what his mouth had just spewed out. "Oh. And that was a joke. 'Cause that's how Seekers say 'hello.' But, seeing that you lot aren't Seekers, I'll, uh, just say it normal." He ducked his head. "Hello."
"Who's your little friend?" one said, looming over the seated Seeker. She dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder, forcing a surprised squeal from him.
"This," Spotter gestured at the mech with a slow wave, "is Skywarp. Skywarp, this is Hookswing, Raker, Sweeps, and Framer."
"Look at him," Hookswing purred. She grabbed his wing, tugging on it and examining both sides.
"Um, pardon me? Ow," Skywarp said in a small voice. Squirming, he tried to rise, but Hookswing's firm grip held him down.
"Top grade materials, that is," Framer said, poking his wing. "It's a little scuffed, but otherwise in great shape. Nice find." She nodded at Spotter.
"Sp-Spotter?" The Seeker shook his over-energized head. What was going on here?
Spotter smiled sweetly at him. "Isn't he perfect?"
"I always, heh, thought… so…," Skywarp muttered, his vocals trailing off as the four new femmes crowded around him. They prodded him, pinching and examining every bit of him. He fidgeted, but with so many – too many! – hands on him, he didn't dare teleport. Even if he weren't muddled from the high-grade, it'd be a risky teleport: too much additional mass to configure in. Half-tanked as he was, he couldn't chance it. Desperate, he turned to Spotter. "Nice family. Nice and grabby. That, uh, a family thing?"
"You could say that," she said, lounging back in her seat. "It's our function. We're a reclamation gestalt. I'm the scout; they're the heavy lifters. Our main job is to find spare parts, anything that can be recycled and put to good use."
"Not very often we find us a Seeker either. And in such good shape." Hookswing nodded her approval to Spotter.
Skywarp stared at them as his drink-impaired processor meandered through what seemed like important information. As the femmes watched, some amused, some assessing the value of his bits and pieces, he silently replayed the last few sentences for a third time. "Wait, spare parts? Recycled? Seeker? No, no and no! I'm using my spare parts. And they're not spare!"
The gestalt's intentions revealed, Skywarp started to panic. He craned his neck, trying to see past the wall of femmes surrounding him. They blocked his view of Grillcrusher. No help there. Scanning the bar, he couldn't see Thundercracker anywhere. He tried his comm but, at some point during the unwanted prodding, the femmes had disabled it.
That left one option.
Starscream still sat with the Seeker femme. Those two were actually laughing and, by all appearances, enjoying themselves. Not the end he'd planned for this prank. Nor had he planned to reveal his presence, nor his culpability, to his trine leader. However, he'd rather face Starscream's wrath – something he did on a regular basis – than try to escape this femme gestalt in his current condition.
"He's looking this way," Smolderwing smirked, sending a live video feed of the purple and black Seeker's situation to her companion. They shared a laugh.
"I admit, this is quite pleasurable." The Air Commander stared at a point just past the femme, the live feed playing on his HUD. "Play imbecilic and asinine pranks on me, will you?"
"You really love words, don't you?" she asked, taking a swig of her drink. "How much longer do you think he'll last before crying for help."
"Not much. Unfortunately, this establishment is somewhat loud and I can't hear him."
Over the bar's din, they heard scattered bits of Skywarp's vocals. "… Seeker? There… Starscream!"
"Nor did I hear that," Starscream said, a smile playing at his lips. "It was possibly one of the most satisfying things I never heard. I could stand to not hear that again and again." The distant vocals squawked his name again and he chuckled. "There it wasn't again. Beautiful."
"About time you noticed."
"What?" Partially turning his attention from not hearing his trine mate, he met her optics.
"I've been dealing with your trine mates' pranks, helping you plot and keeping you company this entire time. Everything's been about you. It's about time you noticed something about me."
"What?" he repeated. In the distance, Skywarp tried again to call out to his leader.
"You said, 'beautiful.' Yes, I am."
Starscream shook his head. "No, I was referring to Skywarp's pleas. Those are beautiful. Wondrous, even."
"Ah, I see. So, it's the plan you're calling 'beautiful.'" At his nod, she continued, "Who noticed Spotter sitting at the bar? Who knew what her and her sisters did? Who approached her with the idea to talk to your trine mate?"
Starscream leaned back, arms crossed.
When he didn't respond, Smolderwing answered her own question, "I did. Every part of that 'beautiful' plan, was mine. So, in turn, that makes me beautiful. Thank you."
The Air Commander snorted. "You are arrogant, willful, and entirely too full of yourself."
"So…?"
"You show promise." Starscream smiled grimly. "Too much promise for the front lines, in fact. Find yourself a real trine and I'll see if you can live up to that promise."
The femme stared at him, optics wide. "Are you serious? Even after the crack I made about your vocals?"
"Bring that up again and you're back on the front lines."
"Understood."
Skywarp's plaintive vocals mixed in with the background noise, calling out. Raising an optic ridge, Smolderwing tilted her head in the teleporter's direction. "Not that I don't enjoy this, but how long are you not going to hear him?"
"Are they going to dismantle him here?" the Air Commander asked, not sounding concerned.
"Nah. They'll move him before slicing him up. I don't know if Grillcrusher'll let them walk out with him."
"Doubtful," Starscream said. At her quizzical glance, he nodded at the door. "Thundercracker snuck over next to her. Regardless if that monster of a femme allows them to or not, he won't let them leave with Skywarp."
"Where's the fun in that?"
"Thundercracker is not known for his sense of fun. Usually, that's an asset." He shrugged. "Let them enjoy themselves for now. I'm bored of not hearing him, as pleasurable of a sound as it may be. Thundercracker can rescue him… later. I'm ready to feel the air under my wings." Starscream stood. Looking down at Smolderwing, he said, "Care to join me?"
"Love to."