Nature of the Beast
One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight
Part 7: Musical Medicine
*As an astronomer I believe a large planet like Cybertron would not only have longer days (36 hours like I hazarded) but it would also necessitate a longer "month" or lunar cycle. Since Cybertron is so large and there are two moons – not just one like Earth – and from what I gather they orbit as a pair, I believe the way to calculate it would be like this:
Once both moons have done a complete orbital circuit and the first one re-appears in the sky, that equates a lunar cycle on Cybertron. When the first moon re-appears, that starts the lunar cycle over again in the sky. Now, I would like to think they orbit at different distances, like Masser and Sacunda in Skyrim. So thanks to their different orbital rates it is not uncommon for both moons to appear in the sky at times, though it doesn't happen every single night. So considering Cybertron's long days I would like to think a lunar cycle or "month" there would be equal to about two or three months on Earth.
Smokescreen was thoroughly and utterly bored. Bored to the nth degree. Bored to the point a singularity of boredom would open up in the room at any point and swallow him and anyone that came in. It hadn't even been three solar cycles yet since his fall and he was bored to the point of considering ways – any way – to annoy any of the doctors that came in to check on him despite it still being painful to move too much. He wanted to move for slag's sake! He wanted to be up and doing something! The most movement he had ever gotten in this place so far was whenever he was in power down, dreaming of racing across the open flats or sparring in an envisioned practice ring with Optimus. And those weren't even real. He kind of wished those spars were real. They sure felt real. But he knew they weren't. The aches he felt after them were from his fall, not from thrown punches or kicks. If he'd had a choice he would have gladly swapped the fall with some plain physical injuries from some of the Chargers. At least then he might've gotten out of here sooner.
Ultra Magnus and 'Bee had come to see how he was. Knowing a valued soldier and friend had toppled into the upper stratum of the Underworld wasn't what you heard ever solar cycle, and it was bound to cause worry and some curiosity. Bulkhead had even said he'd stop by one solar cycle after work, but since he was way over in Vos at the time of his call it might be a while.
So here he was, alone in a room, unable to move from the constant ache in his frame, bored to death.
The painkillers did work, naturally – the docs had made sure of that – but they weren't one hundred percent effective, and the medics in the clinic were a bit leery of giving him anything stronger than what he was already on. Knockout had said that'd be like giving a mini-con Predacon-strength tranquilizers. Nice as that sounded on first hearing it, that probably wasn't a good idea.
He gave a hollow groan of boredom. If he didn't hurt so much he'd get up off this slab and walk out of here. Lying here doing nothing was not productive. And Ultra Magnus had put him on medical leave until the docs were happy with his condition. Knowing Knockout's perfectionist attitude that might be an entire stellar cycle. He was not willing to stay cooped up in here for that long. He'd wind up in a mental hospital at that rate thanks to boredom and stir craziness. From one sort of clinic to another; psh. No, not happening. Soon as he could move around without feeling like a combiner was stomping on him he was bolting. He turned his helm to one side on hearing voices outside. Two voices. That was one thing he liked about his room and his care-takers: they'd left the door open so he could people watch and do a bit of innocent eavesdropping to keep entertained. Smokescreen recognized them with ease. Knockout and his cute assistant Charity were coming down the hall in this direction. He could hear them talking. Charity sounded concerned. Knockout sounded close to aghast. Interested, the blue and yellow mech strained to overhear.
"...n't believe that idiot didn't come in sooner!" That was Knockout. "An entire wing torn at the pivot hinges by scraplets, and he avoids medical attention for an entire lunar cycle?! I knew Predacons were mad but that – that's insane!" A pause. "So. What was your prognosis and healing regime, sweetspark? Ripclaw is the first Predacon I've let you tend to without my supervision."
Part of him bristled at the affectionate term. He put that aside as he listened more. The two medics were getting ever closer, and once they reached his quarters their topic of conversation might switch to something else entirely. Ripclaw...Name didn't ring any bells to him. Granted the main names he knew were of the Well Guardians, some of the Raging Chargers and, of course, Zodiac. But whoever he was this Predacon was so stubborn he'd avoided medical care for a sundered wing for an entire lunar cycle? Wow. And here he'd thought Predaking was a mule.
"Starboard wing we'll have to remove. It's useless now. Thankfully the nerve bundles are salvageable. But I've taken a blueprint of the undamaged port wing and I'll have the technicians begin forging it in a few solar cycles. Ripclaw will be grounded until the wing is complete and re-attached, but I suggest we keep him here as an in-patient to keep him from gaining another wound as severe. Not to be mean or anything but he strikes me as the kind to either search out trouble or aimlessly blunder into it."
"Excellent prognosis and treatment plan, my little hummingbird," purred Knockout happily, "Of course, I could have said it with much greater panache but you always were one for sticking to the simple explanation."
He heard Charity give a faint snort but for some inexplicable reason he could picture her smiling. He was a bit baffled by their relationship. Knockout wanted it to be something more but Charity was content to keep it purely as a student and teacher one with plain hints of friendship. She was happy to leave it there. Smokescreen nearly laughed. Pretty as the femme was she was not interested in any kind of courtship entanglement just yet. Her medical practice was more important to her right now. Smokescreen caught sight of them as they passed his quarters. He was a bit surprised when they passed by entirely, still talking medicine. But then he heard one set of pedefalls, the lighter set, pause and return back. An excuse was muttered but it was too low for him to decipher the words. Charity's gently curved helm peeked in a few astroseconds later, a friendly smile on her lip-plates. She stepped in, but there was something in the way she moved that made it look like she was dancing. He had to admit she really was pretty cute. He couldn't really blame Knockout for trying to win her over. There was something about her that made you look at her.
"Hey," she said. "How are you?"
"Bored to the point of insanity," Smokescreen admitted dryly. "And feeling like a combiner is trying to fold me into a Volkswagen beetle."
Charity laughed – a sweet, gentle laugh. The sound alone made him smile. She was such a stark contrast from Knockout and Ratchet. One was preening and gloating, the other dry and acerbic. From the interactions he had had so far with her he was of the opinion she was sweetness incarnate. She never had been harsh with anyone here so far as he knew, and she didn't yell. But one thing he still hadn't figured out was that photoharp. She had it on her right now. He could see it on her hip as she moved around, tidied the room, and generally kept the place looking spruce. She drew nearer to him and checked the medic equipment and gather some data. The femme turned to see him looking at the instrument with a deeply quizzical expression. She returned it. A few glyphs for confusion flickered in her warm field. They were quickly replaced with ones for learning and happiness.
"You want to know why a clinic apprentice has a photoharp?" she asked, smiling.
"Why do you have it? You're not a professional musician..." his optics widened. "Are you? Because that'd be so cool if you were. Sweet nurse by day. Epic rocker by night."
She laughed again, "Hardly so dramatic as that, sir. I picked up music as a hobby thanks to a femme friend of mine, Harmonichord. She's not a professional musician like the Artist or the Knights of Unicron but she's always had this fascination with music ever since she was a sparkling. I guess you could say it rubbed off on me. I've been teaching myself how to play for the past few groons and teaching myself some songs, all in my spare time. I'm not an expert either – really, I'm just a hobbyist – but I've been told I'm rather good at it. Patients here really seem to enjoy it at any rate. Knockout doesn't seem to mind."
He kept his quizzical expression. He'd never heard any music from his quarters. That could just mean she kept the doors to whatever chamber she was in shut so as not to disturb anyone else. Conscientious of her. Now he was curious to know how good she really was. There was an unidentifiable something in her voice that told him she could sing beautifully.
"So...you know any songs on it?" he wondered. "Can you show me?"
She blinked. A shy, sweet smile broke out. The look on her faceplates then made him think she might be blushing internally. Obviously she wasn't used to people asking her questions like this. Primus, she really was cute.
"I know a few," she admitted, "They're mostly Terran songs. That's – that won't be a problem with you, will it?" she asked, tapping two of her slender digits together like a sparkling who might be scolded.
He snorted, "I listen to the Council's rules about as much as I can make myself sit still for joors on end. Meaning I don't. I used to work on Earth for crying out loud. I kinda liked a lot of 'em. I mean, these are the same people who are so musically oriented that they can make a dubstep remix just by tapping pencils on different surfaces at different rates and patterns. I'm not even kidding. I remember Miko showing me the video online one time. Primus...that feels like a lifetime ago now."
"Well. Alright then. Do you have any preferences – any songs in particular?"
"Nope. Just pick one you like and impress me."
He watched her in silence as she sat in one of the few guest seats. The photoharp detached from her hip with a faint metallic clicking noise. Smokescreen's mesh tingled when the femme healer ghosted her slender digits over the strings, the notes changing as he listened. The noise it made – it was haunting and beautiful and mesmerizing all at once, and she hadn't even begun playing yet. That thing must've cost her a ton of credits for it to sound this amazing. How much did a medical apprentice even make for that matter? He'd never really thought about that before now; he'd never had a reason to. His pointed questions ended when he thought for a moment the medic had acquired an acoustic guitar somehow. But no – it was the photoharp. She'd tuned it to sound more like that instrument. Weird. But it still sounded amazingly good.
That was before she even started strumming.
And before her voice joined.
"Sometimes you think you'll be fine by yourself,
'Cause a dream is a wish that you make all alone.
It's easy to feel like you don't need help,
But it's harder to walk on your own.
You'll change inside when you realize,
The world comes to life and everything's right,
From beginning to end when you have a friend by your side,
That helps you to find the beauty you are when you open your heart and believe in...
The gift of a friend. The gift of a friend...
Someone who knows when you're lost and you're scared,
There through the highs and lows,
Someone you can count on, someone who cares,
Beside you wherever you go.
You'll change inside when you realize,
The world comes to life and everything's right,
From beginning to end when you have a friend by your side,
That helps you to find the beauty you are when you open your heart and believe in...
The gift of a friend!
And when your hope crashes down, shattering to the ground
You, you feel alone.
When you don't know which way to go and there's no sense leading you on,"
Her voice suddenly dropped in volume, becoming gentler. She opened her shuttered optics to look at him squarely, shimmering jade meeting vibrant blue.
"You're not alone...
The world comes to life and everything's right,
From beginning to end when you have a friend by your side,
That helps you find the beauty you are when you open your heart and believe in...
When you believe in,
You can believe in.
The gift of a friend..."
Her voice trailed off and the strumming became gentler. Eventually the two faded into beautiful oblivion. Charity's hands removed themselves from the photoharp and her helm rose to look at him as if for approval. Smokescreen gawked back at her, baby blue optics as round and large as a freighter's wheels. He was trying to compute everything he'd heard and seen and felt. Her voice – her voice didn't belong in a clinic. It belonged in one of the temples or on the professional stage. Her behavior had altered when she'd played, too. The sweetness he'd come to associate with her had been there alright but there'd been something else in it – something he had been able to physically feel. His minor bodily aches had simply washed away as he had listened, and his restless boredom was now less acute. Unless he was imagining it, a small series of cracks on his wrist were gone as well. Just gone. Zip. Nada. And he was about ninety-eight percent sure they'd been there before the song, too.
Smokescreen's optics scanned the miraculously healed wrist crack. "How...? What...?"
He looked at her sharply. The mech recalled something he'd read a long time ago in a data pad while he had been serving as a guard to Iacon's head archivist, Alpha Trion. It had been a data pad filled with old stories of mechs and femmes granted unusual but powerful abilities, supposedly granted by Primus himself. Relkana they were called in the old stories. In English it translated roughly to "blessed" or "chosen." In the modern day and age they were known more simply as "Blades." None had been found for many ages, and by the time of the stories being written down had been dismissed as legends and folk stories, intended to teach lessons of morality and faith during previous ages. And, interestingly enough, the stories said they appeared only before a crisis. Some had immense strength, equal to that of a full-sized combiner; some had been able to control the weather around them. Some could read minds like open books. And some of them, he remembered, had been potent healers, reported to have been able to heal with a touch and even revive the near dead. Stories like that didn't just come up out of the blue. Someone had to concoct them – or else observe them.
"...Relkana...?" he murmured. It was the only thing that made sense to him. Music couldn't heal. Yet here was a minor injury healed near perfectly. Either that or he was going nuttier than a fruit bat from lack of activity. Or both. Maybe his processor was just bored and making connections and interpreting things that weren't really there. He could be imagining there had been a crack on his wrist.
Charity looked shocked.
"Oh! No, no. I'm honored you label me as one, sir. Truly. But I'm just an apprentice medic whose hobby is music. I'm not one of the blessed. At least, I don't think I am. I thought those were just old tales...?" she looked at him curiously.
"Stories have to start somewhere," he reminded her pointedly.
She granted him that.
Neither of them spoke for a time. Smokescreen's staring subsided. His stunned silence bore way to fascination. For someone who hadn't been playing for a long time she was scary good at music. She had a natural gift for it it seemed like. She'd get along really well with the Sky Painters if she ever met them. Those guys were naturally gifted, too. Oh! Maybe he could introduce Zodiac to her at some point? She was a Sky Painter. Charity was so sweet he had a hard time believing Zodiac would try to avoid or hide from her. 'Course, with someone like her, he wasn't exactly holding his breath.
"...Could you do another?"
The femme smiled and said: "Sure. One more. After that I have to go."
The photoharp was once more re-tuned. This time it began to sound more like its terrestrial namesake. The tune itself was much softer, less energetic. Vague recognition stirred. He'd heard this melody before but the name escaped him for the moment. But the first stanza remedied that.
"Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling.
From glen to glen, and down the mountainside.
The summer's gone and all the flowers are dying,
Tis you, tis you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow.
And I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny Boy, oh Danny Boy I love you so.
But when you come and all the flowers are dying.
If I am dead, as dead I well may be.
I pray you'll find the place where I am lying,
And kneel and say an 'ave' there for me.
And I will hear though soft you tread above me,
And on my grave will warmer, sweeter be.
For you'll come and tell me that you love me,
And I will sleep in peace until you come to me..."
The music had been so soothing that the Elite Guardsmech hadn't noticed his processor gradually slowing during it. He wanted to fight it, to hear the medic's voice and music some more, but halfway through he decided against it. By the time the final soft notes were echoing around the chamber he'd slipped back into power down. He wanted to say he'd imagined it, like he might have imagined the seemingly healed wrist crack, but this time he swore he heard, right at the end before the world blacked out peacefully, another male voice join with the medic's own, one his voice recognition programs failed to pin a name on.
Charity rose and re-attached the photoharp to her hip. As quiet as a mouse she moved to shutter the window in the room that looked out onto the sun-bathed landscape of Iacon. The room dimmed. Considering it still a bit too bright to permit undisturbed power down – which in her opinion a patient like Smokescreen needed even if he'd never admit it – she strode over to the door and pressed her hand onto a panel. The lights above dimmed to a comforting early twilight. Dim light levels always served to stimulate power down protocols. She'd always been curious about that. Her kind were not bound by day and night cycles like many other races in the galaxy, yet some processor functions were affected at different times of a full five and a half joor solar cycle. Some were more active during daylight joors, some more active during nighttime joors. Apparently this hadn't always been the case. There were no medical journals from previous ages reporting this. It was new. Why this was was the subject of discussion among many in the medical and neurological fields.
As she went back over to get a reading of his injuries with her arm-mounted scanner she passed a certain point in the room and paused at it. Unlike where she had been in the past couple of kliks this particular spot was decidedly warmer. It was...nice. Like someone unseen was standing there with their arms wrapped around her in a kind embrace. Smiling, she stood there for an astrosecond or two and drank in the peculiar sense. She didn't know what or who it was, but perhaps there was a friendly spark in the room lending a hand. Such things were reported to happen every so often. Some small part of her thought it might be Primus – but in that case she felt she would know, deep down. She did not know. All she knew was that sense was pleasant and had to stem from something.
"Ah...hello?" she asked quietly, "Is someone here?"
She listened and watched. She'd read a few reports from a few sensoriums that sparks tended to make their presence known in strange ways. Toying with electronics was one such method. Being unable to interact with anything physically they often resorted to this method since it really only required energy manipulation which a spark could purportedly accomplish. But nothing happened with any of the equipment or lighting that she could observe. The warmth faded, sort of wafting away like it had drifted from where she was standing.
"Hello?" she asked again.
No answer.
"If you're going to stay here, could I make a request that you not wake my patient or disturb him in any way? He got badly hurt. He needs his rest."
No answer. Then, as she watched, a light above flickered every so slightly. A beep of the medical equipment made her look back down to see the Elite Guardsmech's neural activity ease down from highly active to a steady rise and fall. That was all the answer she felt she needed. There was someone in the room, someone who had merged with the Allspark at some point and had returned to assist in what ways they could. It seemed whoever it was was just as concerned about his condition as she was and was ensuring pleasant dreams to keep Smokescreen peacefully under for a while.
"Could you keep an optic on him for me for a few breems? I need to go talk to my superior. If he wakes up, make sure he doesn't do anything silly. Like try to escape when he can barely move still. I heard him mumbling in his recharge the other night about racing or bolting or something like that."
The light above flickered again, this time more visibly. She might've imagined it, but the ways the lights flickered reminded her of a pattern of laughter. She smiled and bowed her helm respectfully.
"Thank you. I'll be back in a little while."
She left the room.
If she had turned to look back she would have noticed a disturbance in the air within that roughly resembled a tall, modestly built figure. She would have also noticed the air behind it was disturbed, and arched out like a skeletal but rounded set of wings. The figure lingered there by the medical berth for a while. The air shimmered as it appeared to reach out with a hand and lay it on the slumbering mech's chassis. But then the air shimmered as it moved away to take the seat the medic had been in not even a breem previously. It shimmered again as it folded one lower limb over the other and leaned back. A voice, old and powerful but gentle as a summer breeze whispered around the room:
"Tzo a'qigja lux. Ylve'o Æfæn"
Smokescreen stirred a little as if he was receptive to the faint voice. He then fell still again.
One deca-cycle later...
[...Hey, Zodiac?]
Taken unawares, Zodiac gave a little yelp and jolted instinctively, whacking her helm on the underside of the table where she was busy re-organizing all the information on her research data pads. The muffled bang the impact caused made Lattice peek out from her quarters in concern, searching for the cause of the noise. She eventually located her under the table.
"You alright, hon?"
Zodiac assured her she was fine even as she rubbed the minor ding on her helm a bit ruefully. Lattice thus ducked back into her quarters.
Deciding it was best to take this conversation elsewhere, Zodiac flew into her own quarters and perched on the sill of the open window. In the near distance Iacon's city center gleamed in the sunlight. She missed the sight of the Manganese Mountains of her youth. That was where the Painters stayed through the winter months in their travels. The mountains and the small city tucked within the peaks offered a safe haven from the harsh ammonia ice storms that whipped through the northern hemisphere. Though the people there fell under the designation of city-dweller, they were religious folk and unbiased. She remembered they'd always been welcoming of the nomadic fliers.
"Lieutenant Smokescreen?" the Avioid demanded. "Um. W-Why are you calling? Is something wrong?"
[What? No. I mean, I'm still stuck in the clinic. Whoop-de-doo. I was actually calling to see if you were okay and what's up. Anything exciting happen to you lately?]
She thought about that for a while. Considering Smokescreen's definition of "normal" that she'd heard the last time they had spoken to one another, she was unsure of what constituted "exciting" to him. She led a pretty normal life when not gallivanting around the galaxy in the Bolt with her crew. Oh! Maybe that was something she could tell him that was somewhat exciting news – well, really exciting news for her anyway. Because it was.
"Ah. Well. My ship's fixed. The Tieyeian Bolt. If you've been to the docks you might've seen it. Its the real small, speedy, kinda sleek looking scout ship. Technically its classified as a survey ship. Technicians assure me the thing's sound as a bell now. Even got the shielding matrix upgraded a bit thanks to one of the engineers. Windstorm I think his name was. Apparently the guy's, like, a prodigy in the field of star-ship engineering, even among the Crystallines. So, I mean, there's that. Does that count?"
[That's great news! So that means you're off on more missions soon? Planet hopping and stuff?]
"Erm. I'd like to but there's a bit of a roadblock that's kind of keeping me ground bound at the moment."
[Oh? What kind?]
She explained, "Well. Erm. You know that Predacons as a whole have a hard time getting mainstream careers and jobs because of all the political and racial scrap going on, right? Um. That kinda brings me to the roadblock. The Predacus is supposed to meet with the High Council within the next lunar cycle or so – no definite date's been put down because I guess they're still debating among themselves or something. Anyway, a bunch of my space buddies – Neutrino, Corona, Sunflare, Coma; y'know all them – they think it would be a good idea if I serve as intermediary and representative when the time comes since I'm such a nice and super smart Predacon apparently. I had a talk with some of my wing mates in the Sky Painters a couple solar cycles ago and they think it'd be a great idea. Skyshine and Nightscream said they'd come along. The Artist is gonna be there by default since he's an alpha and all the alphas have to be present for this sort of get together. It's just how it works. My space buddies'll all be there, too. I decided not to bring some of my crew because tensions'd already be breaking the stratosphere at that point. They're all pseudo-beasts in case you didn't know."
[...Sounds like a great idea if you ask me. You got a lot of voices helping you out when the time comes. But, uh...something's bothering you about it either way, huh?]
Zodiac shuddered. She nodded despite Smokescreen not being able to see her.
"All the High Council's gonna be present," she said. "All the alphas. Reporters galore probably, too. All those people watching me...I'm scared outta my mind I'm gonna lock up and turn into a mess of nerves and ruin the whole thing. That entire meeting is a performance. And I don't perform in front of large crowds. Aside from some of the alphas and my friends they're all complete strangers to me! I can't do it! I can't! But if I don't I might make everything worse for my kind! And if I do go and screw it up it'll be made worse anyway!"
She very nearly broke down as the panic began rising with a vengeance. An endless stream of possibilities began to form in her processor as she began to think of the infinite number of ways this sort of high-tension political meeting might go. Most of them ended up badly. A few tears formed in her optics. She began shivering and wringing her hands.
[Okay, Knockout'll be probably kill me for suggesting this...but you think it'll help if I go with, too?"
The Avioid blinked.
"B-But you're in a clinic," she blubbered almost incoherently, "And you don't even know for how long! You fell into the Sonic Canyons for Onyx's sake! I'm amazed you even slagging survived! I can't imagine your physical condition right now!"
[You said this thing is gonna happen about a lunar cycle or so from now, right? I may be berth-ridden right now but I may be a lot better by then. I'm pretty sure I'll be able to walk and talk without problems. So how about it? I got a bone to pick with the Council anyway about some of their policies. Also, I really, really, really want a good excuse to blow out my vocalizer at Star Saber, the demented rust bucket. Thanks to him my buddy's stuck as a beat cop and can't get any higher on the ladder, and he's monitoring me and Magnus pretty tightly. Oh, and he has this thing against Preds. Which, by the way, is not cool. Just 'cause they look like animals doesn't make them not people. I'd bring Wheeljack as some sorta wild intimidation factor but...he might blow up the building or try to shoot one of the Councilors. Wouldn't put it past him. Magnus might be present along with some of the Guard. I dunno. I'll ask him. There are usually guards for this sort of meeting since, y'know, Preds are involved. Not that they're bad or anything but, ah, they kinda got tempers. One wrong word and boom. All the Pit breaks loose.]
She wiped away some of her panic-induced tears. "O-Okay. I-I guess. I won't demand you go with. Just come if you're up to it. But...you said your guard pals or your boss might be there?"
[I'll give 'em a ring soon and see if they'll be there. If I can't make it, they'll back you up. Sound good?]
A small smile broke out.
"Sure. Um. Thanks. Before I go, what's Ultra Magnus like? I've never met him."
Smokescreen laughed on the other end: [He's cool. Don't worry about him. 'Bee, Arcee, and everyone on the old team calls him the Awkward Uncle. 'Jackie and Bulk call him Old Dragonslayer as an inside joke. He's kinda stern and sometimes sounds a bit mean or harsh at times but he's not so bad once you get to know him. War veteran, too. Translation? He's a total badaft. Don't get into a fight with him. You will lose. Painfully. This is the same guy who was trained by Optimus Prime and was not afraid to go toe-to-toe with Megatron and Predaking – and who repeatedly bashed Predaking with the Forge of Solus Prime when he was under 'Con control during the War. Just puttin' that out there. Actually, I think the Well Guardians have a title for him because of those bashings: Hoevala ae tyq Triklava'ch. I think it means "Bane of the Beast" or something like that.]
"Technically," Zodiac interrupted quickly, "it means 'One with the strength of the mountains' in Draconian. Simplified it just means 'One who is mighty.'"
[Oh, that's what it means? Huh. Okay. Thanks for that tidbit. May have get to get you to tutor me in Predacon.] He paused. [So yeah. Awkward Uncle Dragonslayer. That's Magnus in a nutshell for ya.]
Zodiac actually managed a laugh of her own.
"He sounds nice," she said.
Author's Note: The meeting of the two Councils will be chapter after this or so. I wanna do a purely dialogue one to do some building with the Sky Painters and the Predacon language.
