Dancing With The Autobots

Chapter 6: Auditions and Finalists

O.O.O

When Dancing with the Autobots returned from its commercial break, the Decepticons had yet another hearty laugh at the visuals that greeted their optics. Obviously, a significant amount of time had passed between the filming of the previous segment and this one: All the Tap-Dancing Dinobot-induced damage to the stage had been expertly repaired. The surface was solid and gleaming as new, the velvet curtains hung in elegant, heavy folds without a rip or tear to be seen, and the hosts and judges clearly had plenty of time to collect themselves after the incident.

"I can't help it!" Starscream laughed snidely when he saw this. "I just HAVE to say that this is the funniest thing I've seen since we got to this stinking planet!"

Megatron did not answer, but it did not escape Starscream's notice that he didn't argue the point, either.

O.O.O

"Welcome back to Dancing with the Autobots!" an onscreen Bumblebee announced cheerfully. "Time to watch another audition or two. Let's see who's up next!"

As he turned to face the action, the camera panned beyond his shoulder strut towards the stage, where a bulky, tough-looking red mech and an equally tough-looking blue femme were stepping into the spotlight. Both of them stood and cast unwavering looks of challenge at the judges, as if daring them to say one single snarky word.

"Let's see, Ironhide and Chromia," Carly said for the benefit of the audience, pretending to refer to her notes for their names.

"Yes ma'am, that's us," Ironhide confirmed with a nod in her direction. Even though bristling and glowering at the mech judges seemed built into his very nature, Ironhide was, if anything, always unfailingly polite to the ladies of any species.

"And what are you going to perform for us today?" Carly continued with genuine interest.

"We're here for some old-fashioned swing dancing," Chromia answered plainly.

"Good choice," Kup interjected while kicking his foot servos up on the table, which earned him a silent but spectacularly murderous glare of distaste from Tracks. "You just can't beat the old classics." Most of the viewing audience would have assumed he was talking about the style of dance, but anyone who knew the real Kup could easily surmise that he was fondly referring to himself with that statement.

"Ain't that the truth," Ironhide agreed, some secret code passing between the two old-timers.

"So, how long have you been practicing swing?" Carly asked to keep the show rolling.

Chromia and Ironhide glanced at each other. "We haven't," the blue femme admitted with utter frankness. "Not really. We've run through it a couple times and pretty much got the hang of it."

Carly looked slightly taken aback, and Kup looked like he was suddenly fighting a headache, but Tracks utterly beamed at this revelation. "How brilliant!" he smiled. "I understand that the two of you have been sparkmates for a very long time. So perhaps you have chosen to eschew a more formal, rehearsed routine in favor of an improvisational dance, to better reflect on the enduring spontaneity still present in you long-term relationship?"

Everyone, from the hosts to the contestants to the other judges, stared at Tracks as if he'd suddenly sprouted a second cranial housing. Finally, giving up on the futile process of decoding what Tracks had just said, Ironhide made a slightly rude and dismissive gesture. "Ah, slag you an' yer formal foo-foo scrap. We're just gonna dance!"

"Now you're talking!" Kup agreed, then glanced over to the side of the room, where a highly advanced and brightly lit sound mixer board was being manned by the show's deejay. "Cliffjumper?"

"The classic dances deserve the classic tunes," Cliffjumper announced as he set the next musical track to play. "Here's a little Glenn Miller Orchestra, with In the Mood."

The dancers swung into action at the first iconic notes of the saxophones. From surly and argumentative a moment ago, Ironhide and Chromia suddenly looked like they were having the time of their lives as they stepped, twirled, shimmied, and kicked in time to the energetic big band sound.

Kup could just be seen tapping his foot in time with the music. "Hey," he commented as Ironhide flipped Chromia in a backwards somersault over his shoulder struts, "they're not half bad!"

"Indeed," came an answer from beside the judges' table, where the slightly amazed Sky Lynx had felt it necessary to add the gravity of his opinion yet again. "Before these auditions, had any mech told me that Ironhide and Chromia had parlayed their unschooled dancing style into what appears to be a real opportunity to progress in the competition, I would have immediately referred him to Ratchet for a mental evaluation!"

O.O.O

"Well," Spike said to the camera after having watched four more auditions of various skill levels and seriousness."That was fun and entertaining. It looks like tryouts are going well."

"So for now, we'll leave them to their judging," Bumblebee continued as he and Spike exited the audition hall. "In the mean time, we're going to see if we can sneak a peek and have a chat with some more of our - WHOA!"

Just in the nick of time, Bumblebee's reflexes saved him from being kicked in the face by a fast-moving orange streak. Spike dropped to the ground on pure instinct, and a moment later, the orange blur slowed down, righted itself, and coalesced into a young-looking Minibot who was barely much bigger than Bumblebee himself. He had a card printed with the number "20" taped to his hip.

"You'd better watch your chin, when I'm practicing my spin!" the orange 'Bot informed the hosts cheerfully.

"Gee, thanks for the warning," Bumblebee answered wryly while feeling his chin, just in case. "So, with a spectacular entrance like that, why don't you go ahead and introduce yourself?"

"Wheelie's the name, breakdancing's my game!" the little 'Bot informed the audience, as he threw himself backwards onto one hand and kicked both legs into the air. "I got the moves, I got the cred, I'm gonna knock those judges dead!"

"Not bad, Wheelie," Spike said after determining it was safe to pick himself up off the floor. "What do you think of your competition so far?"

"It's gonna be tough, but it's gonna be fun, and some of the dancers are second to none," Wheelie admitted thoughtfully.

"Well, keep that enthusiasm going, because your number's going to be called soon," Bumblebee told him, then turned back to the camera. "So, as I was saying, auditioners are rehearsing up to the very last minute, so let's go check out the moves that are going on in some of the smaller gymnasiums around Metroplex." The hosts took a few steps down the hall towards a large, double door they seemed to have chosen at random. Bumblebee keyed in the first few characters of his pass code.

"Not something I'd do, not if I were yooouuu!" Wheelie called after them in a teasing singsong.

Frowning at each other, Spike and Bumblebee looked back over their shoulders, but Wheelie was already engrossed in spinning on his back on the floor. So the hosts just shrugged it off, and Bumblebee finished punching in the door code. Followed by the camera, they stepped into the relatively small gymnasium and were greeted by the rhythmic strumming of a single Latin guitar.

They stopped in their tracks. Bumblebee stood completely frozen, with the exception of his mandible dropping visibly, and could only stare as the two of them encountered exactly what Wheelie had been warning them about.

Spike, who somehow marginally kept hold of his wits, uttered an intelligent-sounding, "Buuh?"

In the middle of the gymnasium floor, Springer and Arcee were ... well, it wasn't quite clear exactly what they were doing. It might have been dancing. Whatever it was, their movement was strikingly graceful and intensely sensual at the same time. Arcee's left leg was locked around Springer's waist, and, with one hand supporting her back, he dropped her into a backwards dip so deep that her head nearly brushed the floor. Neither of them seemed the slightest bit aware of the hosts' entrance. As the pink femme arched lithely into the dip, Springer spun them both in a quarter-circle, then swung her upright with a sharp but smooth snap that put their faces just millimeters from one another. The smoldering smiles they exchanged definitely upped the show's parental-guidance rating a notch or two.

"Sí, señorita, I will definitely have a second helping of that," Springer declared, taking two serpentine steps forward before sliding smoothly to one knee and dropping his partner into a full-body dip that artistically laid her almost completely on the floor.

"Mmm," Arcee purred seductively, "someone's engine is running a little hot, now, isn't it?" She had both arms around Springer's neck strut, and the expressions in their optics clearly implied that passionate dancing was about to give way to passionate kissing at any moment.

"Then pour some coolant on me," Springer smiled suggestively, and moved in for the kiss.

Just in the nick of time, Spike managed a polite cough.

The dancers quickly glanced up from their shockingly provocative pose, acknowledging their hosts for the first time. "Oh, hi," Springer grinned impishly. "Care to watch?"

Bumblebee's vocal processor seemed to have shorted out completely, though his mouth worked in a valiant but futile attempt to make some sort of sound.

"We, uh," a rather embarrassed Spike managed to fill in before the shocked silence grew too thick. "You do mean watch you dance, right? Wait, I mean ... ahem." Straightening himself quickly, he managed in a more collected, host-like manner, "Bumblebee and I are chatting with some of the contestant hopefuls before their big moment on the audition stage today. So, what exactly is this ... routine you're working on?"

Arcee gave a kitten-like giggle as Springer effortlessly lifted her to her feet. "Music, off," she addressed the ceiling, and the prerecorded guitar ceased instantly. To the hosts, she explained, "We're rehearsing the Milonguero-style Argentine tango, of course," while quite shamelessly draping herself on her partner even though they weren't technically dancing any more. It wasn't entirely certain if they had been technically dancing to begin with.

"Of course," Spike agreed in a mutter just loud enough to be picked up by the camera. "Sure you weren't inventing some new style of plug-and-play hardware interface?"

Frowning as if he hadn't quite heard, Springer asked, "Come again?"

"Nothing, nothing," Spike said more clearly. Addressing the camera, he added, "So, for the benefit of our audience, this is Springer and Arcee. I have to say, it certainly looks like these two have already created a ... signature style for themselves."

Gazing lovingly at Arcee rather than addressing the hosts or the camera, Springer answered, "The tango's been called the dance of mutual seduction, and it certainly helps to have such a creative and … flexible partner for doing it just right. You have no idea how this sassy lassie with the classy chassis can blow my diodes with some of her moves." Though the editors had zoomed in and cropped as much as possible so that this shot only showed the dancers from the waist up, the way the two of them were standing made it perfectly obvious that both Springer's hands were firmly planted on the aft portion of Arcee's classy chassis as he spoke.

"Ah. Well, you two certainly make it look … um, very ... sensual," Spike succeeded in expressing his thoughts in a manner that was acceptable to national broadcasting standards.

"Plenty of carnauba wax, that's our little secret," Springer explained with an unabashed smile as Arcee's fingers wandered obviously over his broad chest plate. "Makes it extra smooth and sexy. We spent at least an hour … buffing and lubricating each other before auditions."

Bumblebee looked like he was ready to flee the area. If he'd been human, his face probably would have turned several shades of pale green by now. With a mighty effort, he managed a vague, "Eep ..."

"And we've had plenty of opportunity to ... mmm ... practice the tango in the privacy of our own quarters," Arcee added as Springer pulled her even closer to him, which he somehow managed without causing any obvious paint transfer between the two of them. "Would you like a demonstration?"

Bumblebee recovered control of his vocal synthesizer just in time to blurt, "NO! Uh, no, no thanks," while backing towards the door with awkward haste.

"Thank you, but ... we're ... a little short on time," the quick-thinking Spike managed hurriedly. "We're going to have a visit with some of our show's sponsors now."

Bumblebee, already halfway out the door, could be heard babbling, "You just … go back to, er, rehearsing. Whatever you want to call it. We'll just be going now! Bye!"

The obviously flustered hosts hustled out of the gym as quickly as they could without making it look like an all-out evacuation. Just before the doors closed behind them, the two dancers could clearly seen going back to … well, whatever it was, it didn't quite look like the tango. Certainly, it started with a dance-like lunge, but ended with Arcee pinned up against the wall with her arms wrapped around her partner's shoulder struts, and with both dancers exhibiting a sudden, high level of enthusiasm for ardent kissing rather than intricate footwork.

"Heh," Spike breathed in a rather unnerved manner, with a shell-shocked glance towards the camera. Hooking his thumb in the direction of the closed gymnasium doors, he tried to laugh the whole experience off. "Sparkmates, young and in love, what can you expect? Right, Bumblebee? Um ... Bumblebee?"

No answer would be forthcoming. Bumblebee was already long gone down the hall.

O.O.O

Metroplex's rec room was filled with the sound of good-natured wolf-whistles and teasing as the scene came to a close, and both Spike and Carly were firmly covering Daniel's eyes and ears until they were certain the segment had finished.

However, the attitude of the two tango dancers was vastly different than what had just been televised. Arcee, who, like Chromia, had ultimately found the only available seat was on her sparkmate's lap, had her face buried against his shoulder in humiliation. Above the cheerful hooting and hollering of their friends, she could very clearly be heard saying, "I TOLD you we overdid it!"

This was one of the few times when Springer's ubiquitous grin looked a bit sheepish. "Well, I didn't think they were going to show the whole thing," he attempted to apologize lamely, which proved that he really didn't understand the lines that reality show producers thought along after all. "I thought, you know, they'd just use a little clip or a couple sound bites or something."

"Where's my gun?" Arcee whimpered in embarrassment. "I'm going to kill myself until I'm dead."

An evilly smirking Hot Rod, of course, chose that exact moment to add unhelpfully, "And you know the Decepticons are watching this, too, right?"

Arcee's head shot up, and both she and Springer leveled Hot Rod with an unreadable expression.

"Well, they are," Hot Rod added, a little defensively.

"On second thought," Arcee decided as she turned back to Springer, "I'm going to kill Jazz instead. Give me your gun."

"My gun?" Springer repeated with a confused look. "You've got your own. Why do you want mine?"

"Because your gun is much better suited for blowing really big holes in things I'm mad at," Arcee explained dangerously.

Jazz, who had clearly heard this entire exchange, knew better than to push his luck when any of the sharpshooting, martial arts-practicing femmes were furious at him - even if he deserved it for suggesting the whole 'sexpot' act to begin with. So he quickly used his most obvious escape route. "Um, Boss?" he addressed Optimus. "Didn't you say that the next 'Bot who interrupted the show was gonna have to report to Ultra Magnus's office tomorrow mornin'?"

"Hm?" Prime asked, calmly looking back and forth between the somewhat less than cool Jazz and the hotly seething Arcee. "Oh. No, actually, I'm rather interested to see how this one turns out."

A brief flicker of panic crossed the part of Jazz's face that was visible beneath his visor. Ducking behind Blaster - thus turning his best friend into a living shield - he pointed at the television and babbled a little too loudly, "Hey, look, this here's a great part comin' up, I've been waiting for this all evenin', everybody watch the purty TV now!"

O.O.O

"Here we are, backstage at the auditions," Bumblebee informed the viewing audience as the two hosts walked around several small clusters of Autobots who had either just performed or were among the next few acts on the roster. Both of them had visibly recovered from the shock of the previous scene. As they continued their narrative, neither looked behind them to notice Fireflight and Air Raid hopping up and down while waving enthusiastically at the camera. "We're very fortunate today. Not only do we have an abundance of talented dancers onstage, but we also happen to have one of Dancing with the Autobots's main sponsors here for a chat."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Spike took over as the camera panned to include a brunette woman, about Spike's age, in a well-tailored, understated lavender and gray business suit, "this is Astoria Carlton-Ritz, CEO of Hybrid Technologies. Ms. Carlton-Ritz, it's a pleasure to have you here today."

The years had been very kind to Astoria. Gone was the flighty, spoiled, poor little rich girl Spike and the Autobots had met nearly twenty years ago. In her place stood a sharp, savvy businesswoman who had finally found the intelligence and acumen to take the reins of her late father's corporation and steer it to the forefront of both the electronics and energy industries. Quite simply, life had finally given her the opportunity to grow up. "It's a pleasure to be here, Ambassador. Bumblebee," she answered with the practiced ease of a woman who employed an expert publicist. "But please, after the way we first met, I insist that you all call me Astoria."

"Astoria," Spike agreed. "Well, that leads me to my first question for you. When you say 'the way we first met,' that implies a bit of a history with the Autobots. Care to elaborate for our audience?"

"Oh, I certainly have a history," Astoria laughed. "To make a long story short, soon after I'd taken a controlling interest in Hybrid Technologies, I was in possession of some confidential industry information that I'd inherited from my late father, along with the company. One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew, I was attacked and kidnapped by the Decepticons who wanted that information ..."

O.O.O

... several Decepticons shuddered visibly at the memory, and Megatron scowled so deeply that it must have made his faceplate hurt ...

O.O.O

"... but fortunately for me, I was rescued by Powerglide," Astoria finished, never knowing the mental trauma her reminiscences inflicted on the Decepticons. Instead, she gave a light laugh. "It was certainly an adventure. He was my knight in shining armor - literally. I admit it: At the time, I was thoroughly infatuated with my rescuer. I thought I was so incredibly in love with him."

"In love with Powerglide, huh?" Bumblebee asked with a barely-smothered grin. While he looked like he was tucking the information away to tease his fellow Minibot with later, in truth he was encouraging the topic of conversation because, in a roundabout way, this was another example of the positive human/Autobot relations that Jazz wanted to showcase. "Well, that's certainly ... er ..."

"Unorthodox?" Astoria supplied, smiling widely. "If ever there was a relationship doomed from the outset, that was it. Fortunately, I've come to my senses since then. But that doesn't change the fact that it's because of the Autobots, and especially Powerglide, that I'm alive today. I'll always be grateful for that, and because of that, I'm proud to have the opportunity to be a part of Dancing with the Autobots."

"So after your little adventure with the Decepticons, did you keep in touch with Powerglide?" Bumblebee asked, just a little too innocently.

"Occasionally," Astoria replied. "I went flying with him a couple times not long after we'd met, but in the long run, life had this tendency to get in the way: running a company, getting married, getting divorced, and so on. Sometimes I see him in the news or get an email from him, letting me know what's up here in Autobot City, and he's very thoughtful to send me a card along with a nice letter every birthday and Christmas, but I don't think I've seen him in person in around fifteen years or so."

"Well, guess what! It's your lucky day, Astoria," Bumblebee exclaimed with a grand gesture towards the wing of the stage, where two auditioners had just made their exit, "Powerglide's coming off the stage right now!"

Momentarily oblivious, Powerglide and Moonracer came enthusiastically bouncing off the stage with an overabundance of positive energy. The teal femme had a length of yellow silk tied around her waist like a fancy sash. "That was great, Moon!" Powerglide was practically cheering. "We really nailed it!"

"Salsa!" Moonracer exclaimed, striking a pose which forced Powerglide to snap his head backwards to avoid being smacked in the face when she abruptly extended her arm. "The judges loved us!"

"And you didn't even trip me that time," Powerglide teased. Still amped up on the Cybertonian version of adrenaline, he grabbed Moonracer's hand and sent her into a quick twirl, which caused the yellow silk to flare out airily. "So now we just ... uh ... we ..." He trailed off into a dreadful silence, having just now noticed their human guest, and he could only stare at her in utter shock. The vaguely horrified expression in his optics made it abundantly clear that this was the very first moment he'd known that Astoria Carlton-Ritz was in any way involved in Dancing with the Autobots.

Coming out of her spin, Moonracer realized that something was wrong with her partner, but she was unsure what the problem was and so didn't know if she should be alarmed or not. She stopped, stared at Powerglide, followed his gaze to an unfamiliar human woman, and then looked back as if expecting someone to explain the joke to her.

"Powerglide," Astoria broke the ice sweetly. "It's good to see you again."

"I ... uh ... Astoria?" Powerglide finally managed feebly, glancing helplessly at Moonracer. He looked like the proverbial human child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "You're, you're ... um ..."

"I'm here representing Hybrid Technologies as one of Dancing with the Autobots's sponsors," the smiling woman filled in helpfully. "How have you been?"

"I, er ..." He glanced again at Moonracer, but wasn't quite able to look her in the optic.

"Excuse us," came a new voice just at the height of Powerglide's crisis, and everyone looked up in surprise. Like many of the behind-the-scenes segments, this ambush of a reunion had been set up with the foreknowledge of at least some of the participants. But despite Jazz's best efforts, some actual, unscripted reality occasionally snuck into the show, and this was one of those incidents.

Silverbolt had since sworn adamantly that he hadn't realized they were filming when he and the other Aerialbots passed through the backstage area; he, Slingshot, and Skydive had simply been looking for Air Raid and Fireflight. "You two," the Aerialbot team leader said to his errant brothers, thoroughly unaware of the cameras they had been waving at, "were due on the tarmac three breems ago."

The two lost-and-found Aerialbots didn't look the least bit ashamed of themselves. "Well, Bolt," Air Raid began, "in case you didn't notice-"

"Hey Powerglide!" Slingshot suddenly spoke over everyone else, and he, at least, seemed perfectly cognizant of the rolling cameras as he flashed his abrasive, smarmy grin. Obviously he recognized the situation they'd stumbled onto for what it was, because he looked pointedly back and forth between Astoria and Moonracer before adding, "Well, aren't you glad you upgraded to a fembot these days?"

Spike, Bumblebee, and Silverbolt all cringed and looked like they wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear in embarrassment. Skydive's mandible dropped in shock, while Air Raid and Fireflight just looked as if they hadn't quite caught on to whatever their brother was talking about. Powerglide, stunned, was about to jump to Astoria's defense, but as it turned out, it was hardly necessary. The woman who had once frustrated Megatron himself to near-insanity had never lost her touch. In fact, years in the boardroom had only honed her natural ability. "Interesting. I'm wondering if you'd care to explain that comment a little more fully?" she challenged calmly.

Skydive, who had learned enough humility over the years to be chagrined by Slingshot's perpetual rudeness, quickly jumped in and tried to explain, "What I think he meant to say was-"

"- he'd look ridiculous trying to dance out there with a human!" Slingshot finished with an overconfident laugh.

"Really," Astoria commented evenly, studying her elegantly manicured nails for a moment before looking up at Slingshot and asking curiously, "Why don't I see you out there on the dance floor?"

Slingshot just laughed again, unimpressed with her comeback. He clearly failed to realize she had not yet begun to fight - unlike Powerglide, who was frantically looking for the nearest solid object to hide under. "Why bother showing off on the ground when we do it all the time in the air?"

"Su-u-ure," the woman answered, sarcasm dripping delicately from her voice. "You can fly. Trust me, dearest, you don't hold a lit afterburner to Powerglide's flying skills."

For the first time in this discussion, Slingshot looked slightly taken aback. "You can't be serious," he sputtered, turning to his brothers for support. "We can fly circles around that Piper Cub, right guys?"

The silence that answered Slingshot was deafening. The only thing that would have made it more perfect would have been the sound of a lone cricket chirping. Eventually, when the unnatural quiet had made its point, Silverbolt cautioned, "You're not dragging us into this one, Slingshot."

Now fully and politely on the offensive, Astoria made her next move before Slingshot had the chance to regroup his thoughts. "Slingshot, is it? Powerglide told me all about you. I found it to be a bit of a yawner, really."

Since Autobots didn't breathe, neither did they yawn, but Slingshot was perfectly aware that the word was an insult tantamount to 'boring.' "A yawner?" he demanded angrily. "Lady, we pop Seekers out of the sky every single day!"

"And twice on Tuesdays!" Air Raid interjected, deliberately tossing more fuel on the verbal fire. Obviously he'd finally caught up with the conversation.

"Yes, and?" Astoria asked. Just over her shoulder, Spike could barely be seen desperately signaling the cameras to 'cut,' but the operators had steadfastly ignored him. Astoria's tirade had far too much entertainment value to pass up. "Do I, a mere human, need to remind you that Powerglide was dogfighting Decepticreeps while you were all mothballed in a hangar somewhere?"

Powerglide looked like he was ready to curl up and die on the spot. The Aerialbots, to varying degrees and with varying levels of success, were trying to hide their amusement at their brother's stubborn foolishness. Slingshot himself seemed to be on the verge of an engine flareup. "Well, that's only because-"

"-Only because you came online a few cycles ago. Mmm-hmm," Astoria agreed wryly. "That is what you were going to say, right? Quite a classic excuse there. But really, when you think about it, you're admitting you're just a bunch of rookies compared to him."

Slingshot was practically livid that this tiny human dared to insult him so blatantly. "But we're a gestalt combiner team that can merge-"

"-Into a bigger doofus who had to get saved your first time out by Omega Supreme because a bunch of mean little earthbound cars were giving you a hard time," Astoria finished smoothly. "I watched it on the news, sweetheart, so trust me, I know. That's as opposed to Powerglide, who I personally witnessed outmaneuver and fight off the so-called conehead Seekers while outnumbered three-to-one. Oh, I'm sorry, you were saying?"

Slingshot's mandible worked for a silent but furious moment. "That's..." he seethed, then abruptly turned on his heel plate and stormed off, muttering something in one of the Cybertonian languages that the Autobots involved in production had steadfastly refused to translate for the show's editors.

Shaking his head slowly, Silverbolt addressed his brothers with a tone of long-suffering patience. "Well, come on, guys. Let's go try to talk some sense into that wingnut."

With knowing laughs, the other Aerialbots quickly chased after Slingshot, though Air Raid and Fireflight paused a moment to give the camera one last round of cheerful waves. Silverbolt started out right behind them, but then he, too, paused and turned back to face Astoria. Thumping his fist to his chest plate in a respectful salute, he told her, with real admiration in his voice, "Congratulations, ma'am, that's the fastest I've ever seen Slingshot get shot down."

Astoria laughed and returned the salute by jauntily tapping two fingers to her forehead. "Well, some machines and I don't get along very well," she explained, as much to the camera as to Silverbolt. "Especially when they mock my favorite flyboy! Right, Powerglide?" she asked, turning back to the mech in question. "Just like old times, isn't it?"

"Um," the normally confident Powerglide stammered uncertainly. The episode with Slingshot hadn't helped with his immediate problem, namely, he was obviously caught between two women and had no idea how to handle such a delicate situation. "Old times. Er, yeah. I ... um."

Moonracer had a somewhat deserved reputation for clumsiness, but she was not, by any stretch of the imagination, stupid. Remaining silent during this entire exchange, she studied Astoria with a calculating expression and seemed to be filling in the blanks, coming to the conclusion that they'd all been set up. Astoria, for her part, just gazed right back, and after a moment or two of sizing each other up, both females seemed to know exactly where they stood with one another and with Powerglide.

Not only smart and canny, Moonracer also had an evil sense of humor when she felt like it. Those who had arranged this little meeting had predicted six possible reactions that Moonracer might have to the situation. She surprised them all by choosing the seventh, one which even Jazz hadn't foreseen. "So you're Astoria!" she exclaimed, bursting into a thousand-watt smile. "I've heard so much about you! So glad to finally meet you! Since no one's being polite enough to introduce me," she added with a pointed glance in the stuttering Powerglide's direction, "I'll have to introduce myself. I'm Moonracer."

Clearly realizing that Moonracer was deliberately putting Powerglide further on the spot for the cameras, Astoria played along and gushed with strangely wicked glee, "Moonracer! Oh, how wonderful! Powerglide has told me all about you!"

Suddenly transforming into her sporty Cybertonian vehicle mode, Moonracer opened her door and giggled guilelessly, "Hop in, Astoria! I'm sure you and I have a lot of stories to share with each other!"

"Aack!" Powerglide managed desperately.

Giving Powerglide a coquettish grin, Astoria agreed, "Sounds like fun! I'd love to hear about what kind of routine you two are putting together for the competition!" The door slammed, an engine revved, and Moonracer zipped off at breakneck speed, leaving an abandoned length of yellow silk to flutter forlornly to the floor.

"Stories?! Wait! Hold it! Wait for me! Hoo boy!" Powerglide shouted as he took two quick steps, hopped into the air, transformed into airplane mode, and chased after the ladies as fast as his wings would allow.

"Careful!" Bumblebee shouted, forgetting for the moment that the cameras were still rolling. Waving his arms in an ineffective attempt to get Powerglide's attention, he hurried after the retreating figures on foot, shouting, "Remember, the halls are a no-fly zone!"

"On that note," Spike addressed the camera, the epitome of utter calm despite the situation rapidly decomposing around his ears, "we'll be right back after this commercial break." Unfortunately, he misread the camera crew's signals, so filming hadn't quite stopped before he let down the cool and collected facade. "Bumblebee!" he shouted, frantically dashing off after his friend. "You do NOT want to get in the middle of that!" His voice could be heard disappearing down the hall.

For just a moment longer, the camera panned over the startled Autobots who had been milling around backstage, before finally settling on Silverbolt. The Aerialbot team leader had been so surprised by Moonracer's actions that he had stood rooted to the spot, watching the action instead of chasing down his huffy brother. Finally, noticing the camera focused on him, he gave the audience a helpless grin. "Don't look at me," he said with a confused shrug. "I have no idea what just happened, either."

Then, and only then, did the scene finally fade into an image of the glittering, slowly rotating Iacon Trophy superimposed with the words We'll Be Right Back, and then segued into a commercial for alternative energy options by Hybrid Technologies.

O.O.O

There was another round of cheering and clapping amidst the demands for fresh fuel cylinders and energon goodies in Metroplex's rec room, and with it all came plenty of friendly ribbing directed at the Autobots' now most famous two-timer.

Powerglide ignored it all with unruffled dignity, since technically he wasn't two-timing either girl - the unexpected reunion had caught him off guard, and the editors had gone out of their way to make his surprised reaction look like he was in deep scrap when the women found out about each other. The two ladies in his life certainly hadn't helped the situation any. Instead of getting mad or embarrassed, though, he simply turned his head to face Moonracer, who was still seated on the arm of the couch next to him. "You," he informed his longtime friend with calm, cool composure, "are evil, and must be destroyed."

Moonracer just tossed her head back and laughed with unabashed gusto. She was shamelessly aware that what she and Astoria had done was nothing short of wicked, and Powerglide's reaction to it was the funniest thing that she'd seen in several vorns. In fact, her vast amusement was so complete that she momentarily forgot exactly where she was, and threw herself a little too hard into her hearty laughter.

WHUNK!

Overbalancing, she slipped off the arm of the couch and landed squarely on her aft with a yelp of surprise. Powerglide made an ineffective grab and failed to catch her before she fell. They stared at each other for a shocked moment, then all either of them could do was laugh even harder.

In the back of the room, several credit chits were quietly exchanged as the bets over how long it would take Moonracer to fall off her perch were duly paid. Smokescreen, the Autobots' resident bookie, made quite a tidy profit on all the wagering.

O.O.O

"Welcome back to Dancing with the Autobots!" Bumblebee greeted the viewing audience as the episode came back from its final commercial break. They were in the wings of the stage, and just over their shoulders, the Jumpstarter brothers, Topspin and Twin Twist, could be seen on stage receiving their critique from the judges. "Auditions are winding down for now, but we've got a few more on the docket before the judges call it a night. Let's hear what they have to say."

"-absolutely stunning that you've developed such a fabu little trademark for yourselves," Tracks was gushing giddily as the scene cut to the judges' table. "And such a perfect musical selection, too! Van Halen's Jump, Jumpstarters, I see what you did there!"

"Yeah, I saw what they did, too," Kup grumbled. "Jump. And jump. And jump and jump and jump. Okay, so maybe you two have some skills. At least you jumped with the beat, and that's more than I can say for some of the acts I've seen today. And I'll admit I don't think I've seen anyone else that can complete a transformation in four-tenths of a second. That's impressive." Again gnawing on his ever-present cy-gar, he added bluntly, "But can you do anything else?"

Kup's blunt criticism definitely earned a reaction from at least one of the dancers. "You want to find out?" Twin Twist snarled, balling up his fists and taking an angry step towards the judges. "Come on, you want to see what else I can do?"

Carly could just barely be heard saying, "I love your enthusiasm!" as she ducked under the table, but fortunately for her and everyone else present, a second rampage in the audition hall was forestalled by Topspin.

"Don't," the Jumpstarter said, clamping a viselike hand on his unstable twin's upper arm. "Just don't. I will personally kick your aft into next week if you do."

"Go slag yourself," Twin Twist growled at his brother. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't rip his manifold out his tailpipe right now!"

Topspin gave the judges one heavily loaded glance before leaning forward and whispering something into Twin Twist's audio receptor. The effect was obvious and immediate. As he spoke, a frightening grin slowly overtook Twin Twist's belligerent expression.

Topspin stepped back with a knowing smirk. "Yeah?" he asked simply.

Twin Twist gave the judges an expression that was just as loaded as the one his brother had shot them moments before. "Yeah," he agreed dangerously.

"Take a bow!" Topspin instructed, and the two of them made elaborately synchronized dips at the waist. Half a nanoklik later, they were in their Cybertonian vehicle modes, driving off the stage and laughing maniacally. Little scraps of the numbered card that Topspin had torn off his chest fluttered to the stage, tossed about like autumn leaves in their wake.

"Hmph," Kup grumbled, glancing at Tracks. "Were we just threatened?"

"Maybe you were, darling," Tracks simpered as Carly scooted herself out from under the table again. "Just remember, I called them stunning."

O.O.O

The hosts stayed to watch a few more auditions, then went behind the scenes for one final sneak peek at some of the dancers rehearsing their routines.

"So, rather than just two partners or maybe a trio, as we've seen so far," Bumblebee was explaining as he and Spike stepped out into one of Metroplex's open courtyards, "here we have an entire all-mech dance troupe. No Dinobots involved." Gesturing to a group of six gyrating dancers ranged out in various positions, he told the camera, "This is Jazz, Blaster, Bluestreak, Sandstorm, Rewind and Eject, who seem to be putting together some sort of lyrical dance that you might see in a Broadway production. Let's take a look."

The routine had ended as the camera zoomed in, which allowed them to catch the last few sentences of Jazz's critique of their own performance. He seemed fairly pleased with their progress, then told everyone to take their positions so they could try it again. Blaster hit his Play button and started the music at Jazz's signal.

"Ready, five, six, seven, eight!" Jazz counted, and on a coordinated cue, the dancers all clapped their hand servos once and stepped into a lively and expressive routine that involved rhythmic stomping, tight twirling, and intricately choreographed arm gestures, an energetic fusion between ballet and jazz dancing. Spike and Bumblebee both could be seen tapping along with the beat.

Disaster struck about thirty seconds into the dance. Hitting a spin awkwardly, Sandstorm fell to the ground with a cry of pain, frantically clutching his left hip.

"Oh, scrap!" shouted Jazz, the closest one to the fallen Sandstorm. Skidding to a halt in the middle of a dance step, he rushed to the Triple-Changer's side and dropped to his knees next to him in concern. "What happened? Where does it hurt, man?"

"I think..." Sandstorm painfully managed through a gritted mandible, "I think I shattered the double-ball joint in my hip rotator."

By now, the other dancers had realized something was wrong, and were hurrying over to see if they could offer assistance. "What happened?" Blaster demanded of Jazz, since it was obvious Sandstorm was in too much pain to answer.

"Sandy broke his balls!" Jazz answered urgently.

"Slag!" Blaster answered emphatically, though not reacting to the double-entendre like the human portion of the audience doubtlessly would. "We gotta get him to Medical. Bluestreak, help me get him up. Rewind, radio ahead to Ratchet."

The pint-sized Rewind hurried to a comm panel in the courtyard wall, deliberately set low for use by various Minibots. As he punched away at the control buttons, Blaster and Bluestreak slowly and carefully hefted Sandstorm upright, and, each placing one of his arms around their shoulder struts, gently hobbled their fallen partner indoors, and down the hall towards Medical. Jazz and Eject followed in obvious concern.

O.O.O

In the packed rec room, Ratchet looked away from the giant screen to glance questioningly at his medical colleagues, but the answer to his unspoken question was a silent chorus of confused head shakes. Turning to face Sandstorm, careful not to dislodge the comfortably lounging Firestar as he did so, Ratchet began, "I don't remember you coming in to Med-"

"It was an act," Sandstorm interrupted with an unrepentant smile. "I didn't actually want to dance or try out or anything, but Jazz talked me into that much. You know, just to help with some drama he had planned. Don't worry, my balls are just fine."

Resting his forehead in his hand in exasperation, Ratchet asked, "Did any reality make it into this reality show of ours?"

"The dancing was real-" Optimus began, but was immediately silenced when half the audience shouted "QUIET!" at him in perfect unison. This caused the entire room to then burst into laughter.

"Let me reassure everyone that I will personally escort him to Magnus's office tomorrow morning," Elita announced with a nonchalantly straight expression when the laughter finally died down.

Optimus Prime just slowly shook his head, and said nothing. He'd earned that one, fair and square.

O.O.O

"...gonna take Sandy outta the action," Jazz was saying onscreen. Right now, it was just him and Eject, urgently conversing in the breezeway. The hosts were politely staying out of the crisis. "I ain't sure what we're gonna do. Our audition ain't until next week, but that don't really give us enough time to come up with a whole 'nother routine that works now that we got us one less mech."

"Well, we can't call the game just because of a little rain," Eject answered in his perpetual sports lingo. "Is there anyone we can pull off the bench to fill the hole in our lineup?"

"We ain't got a bench to pull from," the Specialist answered, looking around forlornly. As he did so, his optics seemed to fall on something off-camera, because he suddenly paused, his focus away in the distance but growing more thoughtful as the seconds ticked by. A slow smile crept its way onto his faceplate. "Hang on a nanoklik," he mused, "maybe we do. C'mon."

Eject, and the cameras, followed Jazz through the breezeway and back to the courtyard, where a sulking Hot Rod had just stomped his moody way to one of the Autobot-sized benches. His expression wavered between snarling fury and glum dejection as he kicked vaguely at an imaginary rock.

"Hey, Roddy, my man," Jazz called conspiratorially as he kept walking towards the young mech he was addressing, even though the camera was now holding a stationary position several dozen meters back. "Heard you had a bit of a fallin' out with the Lambo twins today. Are ya maybe interested in a chance to show those sons of glitches a thing or three?"

"Yet another interesting development," Bumblebee said as he and Spike stepped in front of the camera, obscuring both the view and the audio of whatever conversation had engrossed Jazz and Hot Rod. "Be sure to tune in this same time next week for the rest of the auditions, and see if they can pull it off."

"Also next week," Spike continued smoothly, "ten semi-finalists will be called back to dance again, this time in front of the human instructors who will be training the dancers for the finals. Three acts will be eliminated at that time, and then, the seven finalists will be announced. Next week, on ..."

"Dancing with the Autobots!" he and Bumblebee announced in unison. They smiled in farewell as their images dissolved into the Iacon Trophy once more, over which the end credits began to scroll.

O.O.O

Jazz later said he couldn't remember the last time one of his projects earned as much applause as he and Blaster earned that night. And this coming from a showy mech who was quite used to earning applause.

O.O.O

At the same time the next week, both the Autobots and the Decepticons, as well as one of the Nielsen Ratings' highest viewing audiences of the year, tuned in for another round of auditions that ranged from the ridiculous to the sublime. Not so oddly as one might expect, the truly horrible auditions got the most screen time, while performers whose routines actually involved thought, effort, and talent were lucky to get a few seconds.

In and amongst the outlandish costumes and spectacularly uncoordinated presentations, Optimus Prime and Elita One were briefly seen waltzing across the stage like they owned it, and a bit later, Sunstreaker and Sidewsipe's hip hop routine took the judges by storm. Shortly thereafter, Jazz's lyric troupe shined through the rubble to wow the audience, with the "substitute dancer" Hot Rod truly amazing everyone who actually believed he was a real trouper who had only been practicing with this team for one week.

Nobody saw a clip of Springer and Arcee's tango, which fed a massive but entirely untrue internet rumor that their audition had been censored due to FCC broadcast regulations.

At about the twenty minute mark of the second episode, callbacks began. The judges, having patiently - for the most part - critiqued all the acts, had narrowed it down to ten who were to dance again for the human trainers.

Spike and Bumblebee duly introduced the professional dance instructors - Reynard, Cyl, Adrienne, Darius, Lessandra, Madiera, and Bob - who were given carte blanche to not only pick the finalists, but to select which Autobot acts they would be training over the next few weeks.

Brought back to dance for this high-pressure audience were Optimus Prime and Elita One, Ironhide and Chromia, Inferno and Firestar, Springer and Arcee, Twin Twist and Topspin, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, Powerglide and Moonracer, Wheelie, Jazz's troupe, and Huffer and Brawn.

It was widely believed that Huffer and Brawn were brought back to dance just so the instructors could witness for themselves how truly awful some of the auditions had been - otherwise, the humans just might not have believed it. They didn't stand a chance of going further in the competition, and both Huffer and Brawn knew it. Still, game for a little more screen time, duly got up on stage when called, fluffy white tutu and all.

Powerglide, it was noted, studied the audience very, very carefully before he and Moonracer danced. Whatever, or whoever, he was nervously searching for, he did not seem to find it, and this appeared to be quite a relief to him.

There was heartbreak for Wheelie, who breakdanced very well, but whose juvenile, smart-alecky attitude and insistence on speaking in singsong rhyme managed to annoy the instructors to the point that none of them wanted to work with him.

The Jumpstarter twins were so stunned that they'd gotten called back after having threatened the judges, that they were completely thrown off their routine. Their formerly choreographed dance dissolved into a bunch of random jumping, which utterly failed to impress the instructors.

And so, to much cheering and applause, the finalists were announced: Elegant Optimus and Elita performing the waltz, crusty Ironhide and Chromia swing dancing, Arcee and Springer (whose audition turned out to be reasonably tame, but whose reputation was already sealed) dancing the tango, highly focused Inferno and Firestar exerting their precision training on the quickstep, bad boys Sunstreaker and Sideswipe showing off their machismo through hip hop, Powerglide and Moonracer earnestly attempting to improve themselves with salsa dancing, and Jazz's tight, energetic team overwhelming the stage with lyrical exuberance.

As the judges and instructors retired to another room to discuss which instructor was going to train which act, Spike and Bumblebee followed the finalists backstage. They were greeted by the noisy, happy chaos of all the excited finalists congratulating each other. Hugs, laughs, handshakes, slaps on the back, and bouncy squealing abounded, so much that the hosts didn't know where to turn first. Even Chromia had forgotten her crotchety persona for the moment, and was giddily hugging and congratulating Moonracer.

Hot Rod, who had been thoroughly warned of the perils of cooperation and camaraderie by Jazz, was the ringer who was supposed to stir up conflict and drama whenever possible. So, after jumping on Bluestreak's back long enough to give the surprised mech an embarrassing noogie, he bounded over to the smug and self-congratulating Lamborghini twins. "In your faceplates, guys!" he shouted with all the bad attitude he possessed, poking a finger servo at Sunstreaker's optic and just missing by millimeters. "In your FACEPLATES! That'll teach YOU for kicking me off the team!"

"Oh, transform and slag off!" Sunstreaker snapped back nastily. The twins, too, had been prompted by Jazz to instigate a little drama for the sake of ratings; Hot Rod was currently the perfect target. "You've still got to beat us in the finals!"

"Suck my exhaust, you wind-up go-carts," Hot Rod sneered, and bounded off towards his own team as the hosts finally managed to calm down some of the finalists enough to conduct some quick interviews. The commotion only died down to the level of an impromptu party, so Spike and Bumblebee were lucky to get a few useable sound bites out of Optimus, Ironhide, and Firestar.

Soon enough, the competitors started getting messages informing them which professional dancer they would be working with. Powerglide and Moonracer, first to be assigned, wished everyone else good luck and left the backstage area to go meet with their instructor. A few moments later, Firestar and Inferno were also bidding everyone well just as Arcee and Springer received their own message.

Hot Rod, still stirring up trouble as per orders, followed these last two out of the backstage area and into the hall. A camera had obviously been set up out there, as it showed the couple walking a few steps down the empty hall before Hot Rod hurried out the door after them. "Wait, wait!" he called, catching up and taking Arcee by the hand, which caused the femme to turn quickly in surprise. "I just wanted to say congratulations," he told her, while pointedly ignoring Springer. "May the best dancers win," he added, bowing like a gentlebot and giving her hand a long and obvious kiss for luck.

Hot Rod glanced up just in time to see a jealous-looking Springer punch his lights out.

O.O.O

Shocked silence followed in the rec room as the scene cut from Hot Rod sprawled blearily on the floor and went back to the hosts for their final comments of the evening. But nobody was really listening to their exhortations to tune in the same time next week. They were simply all too stunned by the completely out-of-character behavior they'd just witnessed on the television. Even Jazz hadn't known about that particular altercation, and as a result, he was more surprised by it than anyone else.

The uncomfortable silence was not, in point of fact, completely silent. It was almost immediately rent by a double, "Woo-HOO!" and the sound of Hot Rod and Springer high-fiving each other.

"That was perfect!" Hot Rod laughed.

"You called it!" Springer agreed, then, noticing the room was otherwise quiet, he looked around at the other Autobots, who were all staring at them both with various expressions of shock and surprise. "What?" he asked blankly. Then, after a moment, he seemed to realize what everyone was thinking. Throwing up his hands in exasperation, he exclaimed, "Oh, come on! I barely even tapped him!"

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Everyone just stared.

"You guys have got to be kidding!" Hot Rod quickly added, verbally running to his friend's defense. "Springer knows how to pull a punch, and I know how to take a fall so it looks real."

"Um ..." someone said, slowly and carefully in the otherwise uncomfortable quiet.

"And for everyone's information," Arcee finally added in a tone that clearly conveyed she couldn't believe she actually had to say this out loud, "what you just saw was take number four, at least."

"Ohhhhh..." was the relieved chorus that echoed through the rec room.

O.O.O

Not long after that, the episode came to a conclusion. The last dregs of mostly-empty fuel cylinders were polished off by their owners, a few friendly scuffles broke out for the last energon goodies and plasma bytes, and the thoroughly entertained crowd slowly dispersed back to their posts or their off-duty leisure time.

"Wait! Hold up a nanoklik!" Jazz called after the gaggle of first responder 'Bots as they joked amongst themselves and headed towards the door. "Hotpants! Inferno, I got it! I finally got your schtik!"

"Our... what? Our stick?" Inferno asked quizzically as the group paused to look at Jazz in confusion.

"No, man, not your stick!" Jazz explained, emphasizing his point by randomly waving his arms a lot. "Your schtik! Your trademark! Y'know, like Ironhide an' Twinkie are playin' it all ornery and abrasive, or Sunny an' Sides are pumpin' up the bad boy routine. That's their schtik, now I got yours!"

Inferno and Firestar glanced at each other uneasily. "I don't like where this is going," Firestar admitted.

"Isn't it a little late to be trying this now?" Inferno asked in a panicky attempt to nip this one in the bud, whatever it was. "I know we just watched the second episode, but I don't have to remind you that we're weeks ahead of that in filming. We've only got one episode left before the finals."

"I know, I know," Jazz agreed. "That's why if we're gonna introduce somethin' this late in the game, it's gotta be a shocker. See, it's like I been sayin' all along, as far as our human audience goes, sex sells, an' that's a fact."

"Um, I think that's Springer and Arcee's, er, schtik," Red Alert began, but Jazz just talked right over him as if he hadn't said a word.

"So, Hotpants, that li'l scene with Roddy an' Springo got me to thinkin' how we can play things. Let's set things up an' suddenly reveal that you an' Red Alert here are havin' an affair behind Inferno's back!"

"WHAT?" Red Alert yelped in horror, with a bright flash behind the shocked mech's optics that warned of a near-glitch in his neural net.

"It's perfect!" Jazz explained. "Think about all the fights an' the drama! We can just say you were hidin' it real well, that's why nothin' about it came up before ..."

"No, Jazz," Firestar interrupted, with calm and firm finality. "I'm not pretending I'm having an affair with Red."

"Okay, fine," Jazz shrugged easily. "Inferno, let's set it up so YOU an' Red are havin' an affair ..."

"WHAT?" Inferno and Red Alert shouted in unison. Red Alert almost fell down that time.

"Man, that was worth it just to see the looks on your faceplates," Jazz grinned, while in the background, Ratchet shook his head and muttered something about his crazy hope that a little more reality might accidentally find its way into their reality show. "But seriously, you guys are the only ones without any schtik. Even Optimus an' Elita have their trademark super-elegant extra-dose-of-class goin' for them. I think this here's the perfect way to make people sit up an' take notice of you guys."

"Actually," Firestar countered evenly, "Inferno and I already worked out our schtik, you just haven't realized how we're playing it yet."

Jazz lit up like a firework. "Yeah?" he asked with boundlessly hopeful exuberance.

"Yeah," the red and orange femme agreed, taking her partner's hand and spinning herself into the quickstep's beginning stance. "We're portraying ourselves as the Autobots who are deliberately avoiding all the drama and who are in the competition simply because we want to dance." On the cue of that last word, she and Inferno aimed for the door and practically skipped out of the room, with Ratchet, Red Alert, and Ratchet's closest friend Wheeljack hot on their heels.

Jazz could only stare after them, shocked to the point of an uncharacteristic silence which he was later glad that nobody witnessed. Here they were in the spotlight on national television, and they wanted to avoid the drama?

The idea was utterly baffling.

Finally, unable to wrap his neuroprocessor around the thought, Jazz shrugged helplessly. Speaking to the ceiling as if addressing Primus Himself, he asked in true confusion, "Where's the fun in that?"

O.O.O

Continued in Chapter 7 ...