Hello, My Name is...
"For the hundredth time-" said Megatron.
"The hundred-fifty-seventh time," corrected Prime.
"Frag off! For the hundred-fifty-seventh time, I don't want a replacement Soundwave!" hollered Megatron. "There isn't going to be another one!"
"I never said there was," replied Prime mildly.
"But you're the one who suggested she might have some of the same kind of... usefulness!" said the gray mech, pointing an accusing finger.
"I did," said Prime. "But I never said you had to take her on as a lieutenant. I never said you had to do anything, in fact. But I do think you should meet her and make the decision for yourself."
"Get smelted, Optimus."
"Eventually," said Prime. "But not today." He glanced at Megatron. "At least, I hadn't planned on it..." He grinned, and bounded from the room.
"That slag-heap is a hundred-thousand vorns if he's a day," Megatron grumbled to himself. "You'd think by now he'd learn to act like it!"
We're on our way, commed Prime a few orns later. Are you decent?
Megatron commented at some length regarding the comparative 'decency' of himself and the Autobot Commander.
Now, now, said Prime. No swearing in front of the lady.
Megatron rolled his gaze up to the freedom of the sky, then downward in exasperated piety. "Do you glitches hear this?" he demanded in a stage whisper. "This is what I have to put up with every day. I hope you're happy!" He jerked his head aggressively. "And don't give me any guff about knowing what it feels like, because I don't fragging-well care what-"
He stopped as the door to his office opened with a swish.
"Who were you talking to?" asked Prime, looking around.
The Decepticon just glared at him.
"O...K," said Prime. "Right then. This is the applicant I was telling you about."
A relatively tall, but thinly-built femmebot stepped smartly out from behind Optimus. By habit, Megatron checked first the color of her optics, to see whether she was friend or foe. But they were yellow, not the simple red or blue.
He sighed. He still longed for the old days; things were simpler then. Lately, optics for the newlings came in every color of the spectrum. He'd admonished the creators time and time again to show restraint ("You don't have to cram all of your ideas into the first bot you construct!"), but it seemed no one was listening.
He inspected this new femme. At least she seemed to have been spared the worst excesses of giddy inventors. A simple, single alt-mode – vehicular rather than airborne, by the looks of things – and a blessed lack of flashy fins or calligraphic inlay on her plating. She was painted in shades of dark slate-blue, with flashes here and there of silver chrome and yellow-orange. There seemed to be a hint of iridescence in the enamel; but he supposed he could forgive her that. Though there was something odd about her feet... he wandered a few steps to one side, and – "Ah." A kind of built-in rocket-pack was mounted on her back, and secondary thrusters were installed behind her feet. Oh well. It might be handy, he supposed.
"What is your name?" he asked.
The thin femme squared her shoulders, raised a sculpted brow, and set her chin in what the old pit-fighter clearly recognized as belligerence. "My name is RainbowSparkle," she declared. And then she waited, watching.
"Is it?" said Megatron. "That's nice." He sounded bored.
"It's got a pleasant cadence to it," put in Prime.
"It does," agreed the gray mech, "Bit long, though. What do your friends call you?"
"They call me RainbowSparkle," she said, sidling along the wall to where she could watch both mechs equally.
"Do they. Well, RainbowSparkle, what is it that you do?"
She gave him a long look, the kind a scientist gives a new specimen of slimy, multi-legged creature. Then, "Red," she said. "Dark maroon-red, with swirls of blue in it. Indications: Desire for power is foremost, followed by-" she flashed the gray mech a look of some surprise, "A need for close companionship. Strengths: physical stamina, mental determination. Weaknesses: Easily provoked to anger, can be driven from logical course by that anger." She looked down, avoiding Megatron's astonished gaze.
"And mine?" Prime asked her gently.
"Blue," she said, without bothering to look. "A rich, dark blue; but mixed with ribbons of warmish-white and red. Indicates a gentle, caring disposition, but with a rooted strength of will. Positive aspects: kind, fun-loving. Negatives: a tendency to self-recrimination and depression of spirit in response to past mistakes. Unwillingness to let others take risks instead of self."
Prime huffed. "Sounds about right," he commented dryly.
"But Prime and I are easy," Megatron protested. "I bet that information's fairly common knowledge now. So much for privacy," he sniffed. "But what about a bot who's less well-known. Someone whose information can't be found on medical records. One of your fellow newlings, perhaps."
Optimus protested, "But that's- We can't ask anyone to bare-"
"You'll just have to trust me, then," said the blue femme, a little sharply.
"Hang on," said Prime. "Wait here. I'll be back in a couple kliks."
The Decepticon mech and the newling femme stared at each other, warily. "So," said Megatron. "You're... RainbowSparkle. Forged two orbital cycles ago by..." He glanced down at a datapad, and tapped at it impatiently.
"I'm one of Sunstreaker and Thundercracker's batch," she replied glumly.
"Oh?" He looked her up and down. "Well, those two have certainly begun to show some sense. Have you met some of their previous creations?"
"Yes," she said meaningly.
"I know," he agreed. "No sense of proportion. I had to talk them out of designing a femme with four arms the other quartex. You're lucky you don't have six alt-modes and a flamethrower."
"Thanks," she said, and folded her arms across her chest.
Megatron shuffled a bit. This wasn't going well. He began re-tidying his desk, just to have something for his hands to do, something to take his optics off the strange femme standing there.
"I'm not... a lot of fun to work with," he admitted. "And although the legend may say different, neither is Optimus Prime. We're both old mechs, set in our ways. And ornery. And mean. Well, I'm mean, anyway," he amended. "But if you really can do what Op's says you can, then your abilities would be a great asset to us here. We need to be able to help our soldiers-" he broke off. "Our... fellow New Cybertronians, to find niches where they can be happy. And..." he sighed. "We need to know which ones to watch out for, which ones might not be trustworthy."
"That doesn't sound like such a great gig," she said flatly.
"No," said Megatron. "It doesn't."
"I didn't come here so that I could spy on all my friends," the slate-blue femme declared.
"I know," said Megatron.
"I came because Optimus Prime asked me to come."
"You trust him?"
"With a spark like that? Of course I do. Doesn't everyone?" she asked.
Megatron snorted. "Of course they do," he said.
"But not so many bots trust you," she said. It wasn't a question.
"No," he said. "I'm evil."
At this, the slim femme laughed.
"It's not funny," said Megatron. When she continued snickering, he slammed a fist down on his polished obsidian desk. It cracked. "It. Isn't. Funny," he repeated.
RainbowSparkle's vocalizer clicked. "You're right," she said. "I apologize, Lord Megatron."
He blinked. Few but the Decepticon old guard still called him that. "I..." He looked at her. "I'm sorry, too," he said.
It was at this point that the door slid open, and admitted Optimus with a ragtag group of volunteers he'd gathered in a walk-through of Central Command. Megatron's optics widened as Grimlock shouldered his way in. "Here are our test subjects," said the Prime. Then, turning to the other mechs, he added, "Feel free to opt out if you wish. There's still no obligation."
"Me Grimlock not care," said the big Dinobot. "Me curious." He turned to face the smaller femme. "Here," he barked. "Tell me about me spark."
RainbowSparkle slid back a step, but kept her concentration. She stared at broad Dinobot for a few nanokliks, then said with conviction, "Yellow."
"Really?" interrupted Prime, surprised.
"Yes," she said impatiently. "An older, darker yellow, like that of an ancient star, but yellow nonetheless. Think of the embers in a forge."
"I guess I could see that," said Prime. But he still looked a little startled.
"Core traits," continued the blue femme, "Unpredictability. A sense of mischief. Unwillingness to play by rules. And yes, a strong sense of fun."
"Yes," Grimlock rumbled. "That me all right."
"Strengths," went on the femme, "Undeviating pursuit of a goal. Weaknesses..." She looked up at him and grinned. "Same as the strengths."
"It one of those double-edged sword things," Grimlock commented.
"Right," said Prime. "Now... Do you mind?"
Without making a fuss, the heavy bot unlatched his armored chestplate, and opened his spark chamber. The others craned to see. Deep in the dark recesses of his frame, there burned, just as the femme had said, a smoldering orange-yellow glow. Tendrils of energy almost seemed to drip from it. It was an ancient thing, and heavy, somehow. But still, it glowed with something that resembled joy.
Optimus slapped the big Dinobot on the back, as he was closing up his chassis. "We'll have to have a chat sometime, old boy," he said. "It seems I have misjudged you all these years."
Shockwave was next. He was always among the first to test and expand new technology; and viewed this as an opportunity not to be missed.
"Purple," was the verdict from the femme.
"Really?" asked Megatron. "Are you actually that boring?"
The tall, purple mech gave him a slow, yellow-eyed look.
"There are some darker swirls, almost black," the femme put in, almost as if to defend the one-handed Decepticon.
"Hooray," said Megatron sardonically. "Anything else?"
"Indications: Pursues knowledge over all other activities; respects authority, unless he deems it misguided" (Megatron's brow lifted a fraction); Self-sufficient almost to a fault. Strengths: logical deduction. Weaknesses: Improvisation in unforeseen circumstances."
"Yes, yes, we knew all that," said Megatron impatiently. "Shockwave, would you care to demonstrate the lady's accuracy?"
Shockwave's spark was indeed purple, just as the blue femme had said.
Optimus met Megatron's gaze. "What did I tell you?" he whispered.
Ironhide stepped forward. "Le'see if ya can make it three-for-three," he drawled.
The femme of the improbable name peered at the hard-bitten red mech's flat chestplate. Her response this time was a bit longer in coming. "It's a hot red-orange," she replied carefully. "But there's another color, wrapped within..."
Ironhide's features softened. "Yeah. That'd be Chromia," he said gently.
"It's hard to see... But it... It looks a militant white," she said, squinting. "If such a thing is possible." She looked up at Ironhide. "I can't be entirely sure..."
"I think in this case, we only need to hear your impressions of my friend here," Optimus said gently. "We'll leave Chromia out of it, I think."
"Thanks, old man," said Ironhide.
"For starters, you should not be calling any bot 'old,'" said RainbowSparkle. "Your spark feels as ancient as the universe."
"I'm no older'n Optimus Prime, or Megs here," Ironhide protested.
Megatron shot him a dirty look. He hated the nickname.
"But Primus had all us first bots forged right about the same time," Ironhide persisted. "It ain't like I been around any longer'n these two twerps."
"But you feel older," she said.
"That I do," the red Autobot admitted. "It's a character flaw, I guess."
"Really? I was about to list it among your strengths," the femme protested.
"Well, it depends on where yer comin' from, I guess," said Ironhide.
"You're doing well," Optimus Prime put in, "But I think it's time to wrap things up, don't you think, er, RainbowSparkle?" He felt his friend had endured this strange examination long enough.
"Yes, of course," she said briskly. "Loyalty, dedication, bull-headedness, kindness, perception." That's Ironhide, in a nutshell."
Prime gave his bodyguard a nod, and Ironhide flipped open his chestplate. The orange-red of his spark glowed almost as heavily as Grimlock's had done.
"Thank you," said Prime. "Ironhide, Shockwave, Grimlock, you are dismissed with my sincerest thanks."
The trio of bots shuffled from the room. "Good luck!" called Ironhide as he left. "You've got a firecracker in your hands now, and no mistake!"
Megatron collapsed into his chair, and looked up at the thin blue femme. "That was different," he declared.
Optimus shook his head. "Life's one big never-ending surprise party!"
RainbowSparkle shifted her weight. "Am I done here?" she asked, rather more plaintively than she'd intended.
"I'm sorry, yes of course you can," said Prime. "Thank you for coming. For everything. I hope you don't feel like we've railroaded you into all this. It's just that, with your abilities..."
"I could be your little secret spy," she said, with not-quite-hidden tartness. "Megatron told me."
"It's not just that-" the gray mech protested. He had no idea how to say what he was feeling. "I- I'm just used to having someone who can tell me what the other bots around me are thinking. That's all." It sounded lame, and he knew it.
The blue femme peered at him again. "But you're evil," she said. "Why should I agree to work with you?"
"Because... Because I want you to," said Megatron, barely above a whisper.
She looked at him again. "All right," she said slowly. "On probation. I'll give it a try."
"Thanks little one," he said.
The blue femme quirked a brow up at the Autobot Commander.
"It's not an insult," Optimus assured her. Behind his hand, he added in a stage whisper, "The big lug's just soft on femmes."
"I am not!" huffed Megatron. "It was an accident, that's all."
"All right, all right," replied the femme, still wary. She looked from one mech to the other. "I'll be off."
"Right. See you tomorrow."
RainbowSparkle gathered herself together, and headed for the exit. But she stopped just as her finger pressed the button, and turned back.
"All of them," she told them.
"What?"
"All of them. My spark is all the colors of the spectrum. Hence the name. It seemed like such a good idea at the time."
Megatron grinned. "Fitting," he agreed. "I'm looking forward to working with you, 'Spark.'"
She paused in the doorway. "'Spark'," she repeated. She mused a nanoklik or two, then smiled. "I think that I could live with that."
Later, when their shifts were finished and the two mechs had a few breems to refuel and wind down, they dropped onto adjacent stools at the long, black, semi-circular bar of the local Maccadam's. Prime ordered a large cube of 95-octane Regular, and Megatron a smaller cube of high-grade Unleaded with a long straw. They cupped their hands around their drinks, and savored the refreshing, warming fuel. Prime's cube was half-empty before he accidentally met Megatron's optics.
"Rainbow," hissed one.
"Sparkle," whispered the other.
And then the two Commanders put their heads down on their arms and laughed until their vocalizers hiccuped.
A/N: With many, many thanks to Terry Pratchet and all the wonderment he's given us over the years. I so wanted to borrow the Cheery Littlebottom introduction from him, for this, my poor beleaguered femme OC.
FYI:
The morning after I wrote the first draft of this, Imaginary Megatron bounded into my room (I was still very groggy), scooped me (small m) up, and whirled around in badly-suppressed glee. "I met a girl," he fairly squeebled. "Don't tell Prime!"
It makes no sense, but it was cuter than I can possibly describe. Hooray for Imaginary Robots in my head!