Love Is Kind
Mirage sat cross-legged in his cell, his face impassive, his optics cool under the pulsing light of the energy bars. He would betray no emotion, and neither would he yield; this, Ravage knew. But he would weaken, and as the years went by, ultimately, he would crumble, and the cat only wished to be there to see it.
You know, Ravage said in his unique dialect of Cybertronian, as he regarded his ages-old foe, no matter how hard you try, you can never match my skills.
Impassively, calmly, the Autobot on the other side of the bars did not move, and only gazed quietly on the cat. He had shown no surprise at Ravage's approach, no sign of foreboding, because it had always been this way. Prisoners came and went through the dank bowels of the Decepticon brig, but when Mirage was a guest, Ravage always came for him. Alone. And then the games began.
What, the cat purred, and sat curling his tail around his forefeet, no witty repartee before we begin with the entertainment?
The look on Mirage's face did not change, but he raised his chin just so, and if Ravage had hoped to se defeat in the well of the Autobot's optics, he saw now that he would be very disappointed. "Really," the Autobot replied, voice smooth and low in the soft dim, "don't you think we're a little beyond the insults stage by now?"
Ravage chuckled, optics gleaming red. I should say not, he rumbled, pleased, and all but purring. You do know I take such enjoyment at your expense.
"And I yours," Mirage answered smoothly, optics full of steel.
Ravage tilted his head. Am I to believe, then, he asked, that after all these year, you still think yourself to be in my league?
At that, Mirage chuckled, a rich, cultured sound that rolled over the audios like fine drink over the tongue. "Ah, no," he laughed politely, his impassive face never changing, "no, indeed, my dear amateur, I believe that I am out of your league entirely."
The end of Ravage's tail twitched but only just. The fine, cultured mech before him would never do him the pleasure of showing fear; that, Ravage knew. Neither would he ever admit defeat, no matter what the cat inflicted, and that, above all, made Ravage nearly admire him. So, he rumbled, after a pause, shall we get on with it then?
Still cross-legged, hands placed lightly on his knees, Mirage regarded the cat evenly. It was always this way, and always would be; the Autobot knew it to be so. Other prisoners, Ravage ignored, but Mirage was…special…and the Decepticon cat would have his pleasure no matter what Mirage or anyone thought about it. "You know I do not fear you," the Autobot said.
And Ravage smiled, just a showing of teeth, and asked, Shall I let you choose what it will be?
"What," the Autobot came back, voice velvet, "and take away the surprise?"
As you wish. The cat moved to the door of Mirage's cell in one dark, sinuous motion. With one fine claw, he unlatched the lock, and out of subspace, he pulled a flat, white box. To your liking? he purred, optics narrowed and bright.
And quite suddenly, Mirage's smooth face split into a most disarming smile. "Excellent! We haven't played Life in ages." He looked up, and added, "You do know it would be terribly dull in here without your visits."
With surprising dexterity for a cat, Ravage was already arranging the board. Yes, well, you will remember to scream once in a while. Appearances and all.
"Oh, of course, of course, you can scratch me up later as you like. Hey," the Autobot asked as he selected the blue car and set it down on the square marked 'start', "are we playing by those rules which allow one to sell one's children on the black market?"
Of course, the cat nodded. To do otherwise would be boorish.
"Good," Mirage replied, helping to set the last pieces on the board. "Because the rules that came with the box are so five minutes ago."
Now, you know I go first, Ravage reminded him. Home advantage and all.
"Yes, yes, of course," Mirage assured him in that cultured way of his. Then he added, without looking up, "It's been entirely too long, you know."
Yes, it has, Ravage agreed as he sank down to lay on the opposite side of the board. With one paw, he reached out to spin the dial, and watched the numbers blurr. Too long, indeed.