Oh would you look at that, a semi consistent update.
What I thought would just be a flashback continuation eventually evolved into... this. Yep, more rambling with Elita and Ironhide popping up (and some daily dose of Chromia, oh my). Not entirely happy with how some parts came out, but such is life in the zone.
Also The Circle is a club from the IDW comics (specifically Spotlight: Blurr) and I'm using the IDW representations for Jazz, Prowl, Blurr and Ironhide.
xx
The interior of the club reminded Orion of the time he passed by one of Kaon's industrial smelting pools, on an Academy tour of the city. It was mandatory that every attendee of the trip see how the miners of Kaon worked and lived- a rule that the supervisor was obviously not fond of by the way he wrinkled his olfactories when the time came to see the energon creation process. To this day Orion could not recall anything he learnt on that trip without as well bringing forth the searing scent of singed metal, raw energon and gallons of oil, as well as a buffeting heat on his faceplate. The situation wasn't so different here. Boxed in at a table booth with adamant Prowl on one side, Jazz and Mirage on the other and a sea of other assorted mechs stretching out as far as the optic could see- in this case it was to the glimpses of catwalk and stage stationed at the front that Orion caught when someone was kind enough to move their helm out of the way. He found himself trapped here by stupidly following Jazz inside, with Prowl automatically trailing after him. Mirage had led them past the crowded entrance, passing under the shadows of ledges and balconies that broke out of the dark surrounding walls and gliding along the red tiles underped. Other bots milling in the corners or sat at tables barely glanced at them, and when they did it was to catch a rare glimpse of Mirage mixing with the 'common' folk- or as common as could get in a club like this. 'The Circle' was one of Iacon's elite nightclubs that catered to only the highest profile of clientèle; be they politicians, entertainers, military personnel and every illustrious in-between. Of course neither three of the invited mechs qualified for that, but Jazz had many friends. And friends of those friends managed to land him in a cosy little friendship with The Circle's owner, Mirage. Orion had seen him enough in 'Cybertronian' magazine, once even on the front cover, to know that just being in his presence should have been an honour. Should have been.
More neon flares, more bots at tables- Prowl made a sound of disgust at the sight of some of them hooked up to Simultronic- and one long tunnel of dark after the other. Somehow through the maze of spotlights and scarcely-armoured servers Orion managed to keep Mirage and Jazz in sight ahead of him, and finally sat down at the booth where he was effectively barricaded behind now. At first he thought he'd finally have a chance to ask Jazz what the frag he was supposed to do, or be waiting for, but he could barely get a word in edge-wise to the white mech's conversation with Mirage. Orion's weary sigh and the slump of his servos on the table was enough to set Prowl off.
"I'm assigning myself to the bar," he announced in monotone, dropping his data pad back into subspace and stiffly raising himself from his seat to march to where the high-grade was circulating. Orion spared a glance back to Jazz- engrossed in an account of his infamous 'The Curious Incident of the Turbofox in the Night-time' story- before following suit, letting Prowl part the crowd with the abrupt authority that came with his job- or maybe it was him shoving aside the mechs in his way. From how Prowl all but riveted himself into the barstool, Orion guessed it was the latter as he took a seat much further down. He motioned for some standard high-grade to calm his circuits, keeping his glass close to him and taking small sips as his optics focused on the catwalk now right in front of him. There was still a crowd of shadows blocking a clear view, but at least he didn't need to break his neck cables just to see.
"First timer 'ere, huh?" A gruff voice asked to his right. Orion turned to face it, recognising the red cannon mech that almost decapitated him in line now sitting next to him. He chuckled at Orion's small nod, throwing back his high-grade and slamming the glass back down. Almost immediately the bartender appeared to refill it as he continued; "Ah' reckon ah know 'bout every bot in here, but ah never seen ya' 'round 'ere, ya' see." His accent sounded Hydraxian- the speed capital of Cybertron- but from the weight of his plating there was no way he was a racer. Probably a bodyguard or some security mech for a hotshot out to drown his pride and processor in 'grade.
"I'm accompanying a friend," Orion replied, to another raucous laugh from the red mech.
"Ah, a central Iacon boy!" Another laugh, another long swig of high-grade."Ah yeah, never would'a expected ta' see one'a you down 'ere." Orion wasn't sure what to make of the mech's disbelief, instead choosing to sip instead of speak.
"Ya' don't look it though," he said with some contemplation, drawing an eye-ridge heavy look from Orion. "Most centro-'Cons, they'd be shakin' in their cases in a place like this."
"'Like this?'" Orion asked somewhat hesitantly, making the other bot splutter past his high-grade from another roar of laughter.
"Ya' don't know a lot 'bout 'The Circle', don'tcha?" A shake of the helm answered him. "Oh boy oh boy..." he said through his chuckles with rough pats on Orion's back, almost jolting his high-grade glass out of his hand."Let's just say... you're in for a show ta'night, uh... what was your name again now?"
"Orion Pax," he answered slowly, to an affirming grunt from the red mech.
"Ironhide." He stuck out his glass to hit it against Orion's, tipping it back and emptying the rest of the high-grade dregs down his throat. 'Primus, how much can he take?' Orion wondered as the lights suddenly dimmed around the stage, spotlights switching on to full glare and highlighting the area.
"Here we go..." Ironhide said as he swirled himself around to face the stage, bracing his servos on his knees with blue optics narrowed, glossa clicking with anticipation. As Orion made to copy his stance, he saw why.
While before the stage was but an empty raised platform, it was now holding aloft a single shadowed figure at the very back and centre. As soon as it appeared, a rally of whistles swept up from the mechs gathered beneath and some let out premature cheers. From the shape Orion could discern that it was Cybertronian- all dark curves blended together and topped with bulk that defined a helm. It tipped up slightly, still shrouded in shadow even as it was surrounded by filtering light purple light overhead, and from hidden lips came a sound that Orion swore made his spark skip several beats. It was a single sweet tone of song, obviously from a femme, plucked from the very pits of her vocaliser and polished to shine out of the darkness that cloaked her from the prying optics of the mechs that Orion now realised had gathered solely to hear and see her. And hearing her... this femme that he had never known even existed, let alone had known would be here...
"Who is that?" The awestruck whisper left Orion's mouth without him realising it, all other senses focused on the lingering note that still rang in his audios and blocked out the rousing catcalls.
"Ya' never heard'a Elita One?" Ironhide didn't sound surprised, rather amused at the Iacon native's naivete towards his own city. "Then you have not lived, Pax..."
The note wavered ever so slightly, dipping down in a soft wave that washed over Orion and numbed his frame, his optics fluttering above the smile that spread on his faceplate. 'Elita One...' His upturned lips formed the name as her's weaved lilting words into her melody. He'd seen little on Cybertron that he could call 'pretty' in the many years since he first emerged from the Well of All Sparks- to be subject to such a startling show of beauty tonight was a pure shock to his systems. When his optics refocused themselves, Elita's veil had dropped away to reveal regal rose armour layered over dusty pink protoform- of which was scarcely covered by the scandalous uniform that designated her as an dancer, a member of Iacon upper classes' renowned burlesque scenes.
That revelation wasn't what made Orion's shuttered optics suddenly snap open, nor his smile to falter and the spell that was offered by song to shatter in his audios. Of course he'd heard of the femmes that fell prey to the art caste and found themselves at the centre of many a mechs pointed lechery every night- he'd heard enough stories of smug politicians at the front desks of the Hall of Records to have at least a basis of that scene sorted out. He looked the femme over again as she sauntered along the catwalk, now accompanied by a backing band at the sides of the stage and still spilling out a harmony that had all but entranced the rest of the audience just as he had been.
Dusty protoform. Rose armour.
Unless his memory was glitching as he thought his optics were, it was an inversion of Ariel's native colours.
She never did say what caste she'd been put into... A shoulder jabbing into Orion's side halted the whirring of his processor as it slotted the new facts together.
"That's ma' girl," Ironhide whispered in a chuckle, jerking a servo at the blue-armoured femme now at the side of the stage, a back-up dancer to further compliment Elita- No, Ariel's performance. 'Primus, she's even more beautiful now...' Orion thought even as he tried to respectfully veer his locked optics away from her. He shouldn't be seeing her like this, not after so long apart in such a shady circumstance...
She swooped down in an extravagant move, sweeping her gaze over the crowd and causing several impending spark attacks before she suddenly caught a flicker that was frantically darting from the stage to the floor. A curious sight that made her optics stall, and the flicker to meet with them. Blue with familiar blue, when Orion had a chance to take in the graceful contours of her faceplate before it twisted into shock.
Not the reunion reaction he was expecting.
Before he could even blink though, her expression was covered by a professional coolness that most would mistake for haught as she wrenched herself away from him, slipping back along the catwalk and strutting around the back of the stage. Her vocaliser carried on her signature tune as if she hadn't just suffered an implosion in her spark.
'Of all the times, of all the times, of all the fragging times he could have seen me...' Still she had to go on with the show, strategically keeping her optics away from the central line of sight and trying to distract herself from the searing heat in her faceplate. At Elita's side Chromia threw a worried glance to her friend - pausing her glare at Ironhide who valiantly cheered at her embarrassment- but the lights went down again before Elita could make any sign of a reply. Finally the finishing act, always klicks too late...
Orion noticed how quickly she scurried off the stage when the final spotlight went out, the applause drowning out the last note of her music.
"Wha'did ah tell ya' huh?" Ironhide laughed around a fresh glass, oblivious to Orion's discomfort. "Ya' never forget your first show... though it doesn't hurt'ta refresh your memory every now an' then." All Orion could think about was how long Ariel had been working here, catering to Primus knows how many mechs here tonight and wandering drunk outside. Did she... enjoy it? The last thing Orion wanted was for Ariel to be stuck in work that she hated, of course, but... the thought of her basking in the limelight that was the glow of optics all around her saturated his spark with its first taste of envy.
"Ah slag, there he goes again," Ironhide groaned at what was happening further down the bar- a blue racer mech had all but pinned Prowl down to the bar counter. "I'll see ya' when ah see ya," Ironhide bade farewell to Orion with a hard pat on the shoulder before he shot off down to pull the blue bot away ("Dammit Blurr, whaddav' ah told you 'bout drinkin' the charged high-grade!"). Seeing Prowl obviously occupied with spitting threats at Blurr and Jazz still trying to get in Mirage's good and guest books, Orion had the feeling that he wouldn't be missed by his companions if he was so inclined to slip backstage for a few klicks...
After the moderate chaos of extracting himself from the sea of seated mechs and emerging at the other side with only a few dents in his chassis, it was surprisingly easy to find and shove himself through the door that led to the dancer's dressing rooms- he just needed to be mindful of the security drones stationed at the corridor intervals. Forward, forward, left, hold back, right, forward, collide faces with the pink femme coming around the corner-
Orion was beginning to suspect that Ariel was all but used to hiding and recovering from shock as she barely stumbled from the impact, pointing her face towards him even as she rubbed where his crest had hit against it.
"Orion!" Elita hissed, falling back into the shadows behind her and bringing her servos up to cover her torso, still baring burlesque armour that was in the process of being unclasped. "What the... what the frag are you doing here?!" Both here as in 'this club' and 'seemingly on his way to raid the dressing rooms'. Primus, it was bad enough that he saw her on display like that...
"I should ask you the same thing, Ariel," he answered with servos crossed, baring a scowl of disapproval. Even with his harsh expression she couldn't help appreciating how damn handsome he was. Well, he was good enough before but now... 'Not the right time, Elita. Not the right fragging time.' Her faceplate mirrored his own, features twisted in outrage; humiliated on stage, embarrassed beyond system recognition, not getting to say goodbye...
Most confrontations ended in tears, fears or- in those extreme cases- gears spread across the floor. Those that ended in abrupt outbursts of laughter usually did not even qualify as a confrontation. But here it was. Blue glare to blue glare, denta gritted and lips pursed... little details that dissolved in the next five klicks from the corrosive bubbles of laughter that suddenly burst past Orion's mouth. His servos hugged his chest as his cables ached from the strength of his guffaws, and he couldn't have kept eye contact if he had a cannon pointed to his head. Which he conveniently did another five klicks later- wielded by a surly security drone.
Elita was still trying to understand what the slag was going through Orion's processor. Is he... enraged? Happy? Partially insane? She didn't understand his chain of reactions, from anger to amusement even in the face of the glowing gun barrel at his helm.
"Is this bot bothering you, Elita?" a robotic standard drone voice asked, powering up its weapon as it asked. Elita looked from the drone back to Orion- drone to Orion, drone to Orion- for a long moment before realisation dawned.
'We've known each other for stellar cycles... separated for less, and when we finally meet again, we're... embarrassed?' Friends as close as they were weren't allowed to be so hostile over something so... so stupid! Orion understood how ridiculous it was before she did, which explained why he was struggling to work his vocaliser through the peals of laughter now accompanied with Elita's own. Even more they laughed because of... happiness. Pure undeniable happiness that came along with reunion of dear friends no matter the time or place.
"We-we're fine, r-r-really, I i-invited him here," Elita spluttered as she stumbled, unable to even hold herself upright from the force of her laughs. The security drone frowned at Orion reaching to hold Elita up, still heaving out chuckles while the gun retreated from his helm.
"Mirage will not be pleased with unauthorised visitors."
"I don't think he'll notice too much," Elita countered breathlessly, tugging on Orion's plating to pull him past her dressing room door. Before the drone could protest further the door slid closed, and the two bots collapsed on the floor in a giggling heap.
xx
"You still haven't said why you're here."
Orion raised an eye ridge over his energon cube, looking to the dressing screen that Elita had disappeared behind.
"I believe you phrased it just a bit differently." She chuckled for another countless time that night, giving Orion another reminder of why he missed her so. Her laugh was much like her singing- brimming with stray strands of music and melody that only needed to be threaded with sweet words to make a spark melt. He'd never heard her sing before, but he recalled days spent in the academy library listening to her hum under her breath while he pretended to be studying data pads.
"Remember when Blaster tried to drag us into Praxus before our graduation?" A weary groan answered him, and he smiled against the glass at his lips. "Think that- except he was successful."
"And who would this worthy replacement for Blaster be?" Elita emerged from behind the screen donned in a set of thin but modest recharge armour, seating herself on her berth just across from the lounge where Orion was placed.
"Jazz- the one who was following Mirage around like a swarm of Scraplets all evening."
"Oh, that's who he was..." Elita stretched along the berth surface, stifling a yawn.
"I can leave now, if you wish to get some sle-"
"Are you kidding, Orion?" Elita shot up in disbelief, optics gleaming and lips grinning. "After three stellar cycles we're finally back together- and I'm just gonna throw you out?" She shook her helm while humming 'nuh-uh' and threw herself next to Orion, resting her helm on his lap just like she did during many a lazy school day afternoon. "I don't care if I'm about to offline, I'm making every klick matter here." She turned to rest on her back, looking up at Orion as he set his energon down; two matching smiles.
"Well, maybe we can start with how you ended up here..." Orion offered, stopping himself from stroking a servo across Elita's helm. "And where 'Elita One' came from." With small sighs and little grins Elita described how she received her designation to the art caste after graduation, and from further guild-specific training in Praxus ("Be glad we never went there, Orion- Ratchet would have thrown a fit at all the high-grade thrown around") she was picked up by Mirage to work in The Circle. At first she was just a back-up dancer, but the mechs obviously took a liking to her and eventually she rose to be one of the shining stars of the shows- Elita One was her stage name.
"Explains how I'd never heard about it..." Orion contemplated, feeling the warmth of her processor reflected against his palm that rested beneath her helm. "So what happened to Ariel?"
"She's still here," Elita said with an air of hesitancy. "But I feel like... I've left that part of my life behind. I know it's... strange, seeing me up there like a trophy or something but... Ariel could never have done that. Never could have paraded in front of strangers, because she never needed to. But Elita- me, I mean..."
"Being Elita One makes you feel confident?" Orion asked to help spur her thoughts on. She nodded, sighing again past another yawn. "And does she- do you... like being like that?" Elita pointed her optics upwards, looking through Optimus' for a long while with a slight frown before she gave a reply.
"I don't know... At first I was terrified, of course. Of seeing all those optics on me, judging every move I made... But in the end... every day I'd hear about femmes looking up to me... like some kind of role model. Pit if I know why they do but... I guess I just like being that mentor figure. Someone that others can turn to for help. And in a business like this, there isn't much help that you can get from other femmes..."
"How so?"
"When I first started, the starring dancers might as well have spit oil over us all from how they treated everyone. No explanation why, they just liked to... glitch for the sake of glitchiness. Thank Primus they were gone by the time I stepped in to replace them, but it makes you think of how it is in the other cities..." Iacon's entertainment industry may be cut-throat at times, but it was heavenly compared to what might happen in cities like Kaon. "Chromia's got a habit of being juuust a bit rough sometimes, but she means well. I saw you met her mechfriend, Ironhide?"
"Oh, don't remind me..." Orion automatically reached a servo to rub at where a cannon managed to ding against it. Another bloom of beautiful laughter filled the night- swiftly cut short by the sound of a door slamming open.
"Ah, Oreo, there you are!" Jazz exclaimed with twitchy optics and an even twitchier tone, barely noticing the femme spread across his lap. "Listen, hate to cut the meetin' short- hey. how you doin' honey? Anyway, we need to go. Like now. Like ASAP now." Every word was punctuated with a frenzied step forward, ending with Jazz grabbing onto Orion's servo and hauling him off of the lounge.
"I'll- uh- see you around, Elita!" Orion waved in farewell to a still-giggling Elita sprawled on the couch, waving weakly back before the two were separated by a familiar red mech- cannons at the whirring-barrel ready.
"I told you we need to get outta-!"
"GET BACK 'ERE YA' SORRY PIECE'A SCRAP!" Ironhide bellowed as he chased the duo down the thin corridor, massive shoulders scraping the walls as Jazz all but dragged Orion behind him in his bid to escape.
"Jazz-agh!- what the frag did you do now?!"
"Do not hit on the blue one, Orion. Whatever ya' do, do not-" Jazz's pro-tip was sheared off along with a digit as he stretched a servo to the handle of the club's back exit. He paid no mind to his minor maiming as he threw himself and Orion out of the door- crashing down on metal pavement two stories below it.
"Who puts a door up there anyway?!" Jazz asked to no-one as Ironhide frantically aimed a cannon in all third-dimensional sanctioned directions except straight down into the shadows below. Orion grumbled something as he assessed the new series of dents and scrapes now adorning his frame, and Jazz took a cursory glance over the sparking sheared stub that was what was left of his middle digit.
"Say, uh, who was that girl you were with?" Jazz asked as he picked himself up and worked on brushing off the metal shavings that found their way lodged into his paintwork.
"Ar-Elita One. She's a... dear friend of mine's."
"Huh." He opened up a commlink to Prowl, sending several hundred two-worded messages of 'pick up'. "So, uh... is she single?"
"Don't. Even. Think about it."
xx
And here come the people to bite my head off for making Elita something other than a warrior/soldier/etc. Or for my general crappy explanations. Though I wouldn't blame them, but dammit it just felt right making her a dancer.
Oh boy that shameless flirt Jazz tho.