So, I have about 60 pages of this typed; expected about two chapters uploaded at a time or when i feel like it, maybe once a day. I found some wifi on my lawn. Yes, I know, i should probably type Forced Resentment...

Onwards, my readers!

Chapter Two

When the star came over the horizon above Iacon a groon later, much of the city had come to life. Bluestreak was up and about, going to the museum to work his shift in the memorial hall of Praxus. He said his goodbyes to Smokescreen before transforming and driving off to the city's central. Iacon was lively with mechs walking or driving up and down the streets. Licensed vendors were out on their street corners, offering their products to the public. Upon arrival at the museum, Bluestreak returned to his bipedal mode and entered, finding his way to the office to check in. He received a great pay, a decent amount of 25credits per cycle; his shifts were 15 cycles an orn for six orns out of the eight in a cyber-week. Bluestreak was satisfied

He went to his designated hall and waited for the reserved groups to arrive. It was a simple job, giving tours of the memorial hall for a cycle. It was mainly him with a few assistants running the hall. Bluestreak never tired of retelling stories; not only did it inform the younglings and adults, but it helped him tell the stories without hesitating or having a breakdown.

After working the first third of his shift, Bluestreak took his first break, retiring to the rec room for the employees. The mech sighed, eager to sit down and eat a small meal and down his energon cube within the comfortable confines of the rec room.

"Hey, um, excuse me?" a femme called.

Bluestreak pivoted on heel, facing a light blue and white femme. She had sapphire diamond crystals studded on her forehelm and chest; her optics were such a pale blue, they appeared to be white; the femme's lips were a rich red. She smiled softly, speaking quietly and almost shyly, "Hello, I'm Cloudmist. To be blunt, I am hiding from my brothers because I refuse to be courted by peacocks in Vos. Would it be alright if I hide somewhere in here?"

Bluestreak took a brief moment to think it over before nodding with a small smile, "Come with me. I'm Bluestreak, by the way."

"Thank you, Bluestreak. I appreciate it." Cloudmist said as she stepped closely to Bluestreak, following him to the rec room through the weaving of mechs and femmes.

Upon arrival, Bluestreak typed in the code to enter, then stepped back for Cloudmist to go through. She nodded in appreciation, then stepped through before Bluestreak followed her in. The rec room was a well-decorated room with replicas of famous portraits hung on the walls with a kitchenette in one corner with a counter and stools to sit on. There was a small collection of tables in the center with chairs around them at their respective table. Bluestreak made his way to one of the tables with Cloudmist on his tail.

"If I may ask, why are seekers from Vos wanting to court you?" asked Bluestreak as he pulled out a chair for her to sit.

She made a grunt of disapproval, her upper lip twitching upwards in distaste, "My Sire wants to bond me off with a noble. He doesn't care who the he is, he just wants me gone from the Towers. Those prissed up peacocks are only interested in me is because my Sire carries the Crown of Vos."

Bluestreak tilted his helm, face full of surprise and interest, "If your Sire carries the Crown, then why does he reside in the Towers?"

"We go back and forth from the Vosnian Palace and the Towers. My Carrier lived there when she was courted before the war and my Sire likes the view from the penthouse." she replied, looking rather disgusted, "I do not like living the luxury; it is better than fighting for our lives, however."

Bluestreak hummed as he pulled out his cube from subspace.

"Enough about me; what about you?" her grimaced face turned into a softer appearance, smiling softly.

The Praxian chuckled, "Well, I'm a war veteran, Cybertron's finest and well-aimed sniper. I was born and raised in Praxus in the middle class where I lived until the war began and my home was destroyed. I am the lone survivor of the destruction and one of the last three Praxians in existence. My brothers, Prowl and Smokescreen, came to the city after the seeker's carpet bombed it and they thought I was offline until they caught my field weakly pulsing in a distress pattern. At that time, they were enlisted in the Autobot army and I soon came to join as infantry. I later became sharpshooter after I set my servos on my first sniper and pulled the trigger during training. I aided in the final plan to eradicate the Decepticons and now, I work here. The manager offered me a job to run the Praxus Memorial Hall when he heard I resided in Iacon and the Head Chief of the Construction Department came to me to ask what I wanted to do with the remains of Praxus. So it is currently in repair today." Bluestreak paused, realizing he had went on, "Sorry, I tend to go on without end. I almost gave you my entire life story."

Cloudmist giggled, "It's quite alright. So you and your brothers must be an exotic race if you are the last three."

"Well, um, yeah. Rare would be my definition; I had not thought of exotic before. Actually, our count will go up by one. My older brother is carrying and I'm excited for him and his mate. The bitlet will be a half breed, but who cares? The little one will still be Praxian in coding."

"Which brother? Smokescreen, is it?" she asked with a slight helm tilt.

Bluestreak laughed, " No, Prowl is the one carrying. Smokescreen, as far as I know, has not courted in a long time due to the war and even before that, he was caught up on the slot machines or playing poker with mechs from all around Cybertron who claimed to be the best poker player."

This caught Cloudmist's interest, her field flickering that interest briefly, "So Smokescreen is a gambler?"

Bluestreak nodded, lifting his cube to take a sip from it, "Oh, yeah. He has several hundred thousand credits in his savings account. He can be such an impulsive gambler at times and lose a few Gs, as the humans put it." He saw Cloudmist's confused face, brows furrowing together in misunderstanding, "A few grands in credits. He only does that when his mood dips and he has had a very off orn."

"How often does that happen to him?" she asked.

The Praxian shrugged, "On small occasions. He can get very lonely at times and all I can do is offer brotherly cuddles. Smokey doesn't like going out to find berth partners because he contracted spark disease once when he was a young mech and he received treatment for it, so it's gone. I feel a bit sorry for him because he doesn't have that special someone to make him happy, you know what I'm saying right?"

Cloudmist nodded, thinking for a brief moment, "I haven't that special someone; then again, I'm hounded by suitors so I hardly ever get the chance to. I believe you are the first mech that I've held onto a conversation without screaming or feeling bitter."

Bluestreak smiled, "Glad to be the first. If you ever want to talk with me, my comm is open for a chat."

She beamed, "Sure! I'd love to keep in contact. Perhaps I can meet your brothers sometime?"

"If the time allows, I believe I can arrange something." he held out his servo for her to hold. She set her servo in his and their data panels in their forearms opened. A cable slithered out from their respective holders and connected, passing comm link codes to one another. Once the transfer was completed, they disconnected and their data panels closed with their cables safely tucked in.

::Work?:: asked Bluestreak, giving the comm a try.

Cloudmist smiled, ::It works.::

The Praxian returned the smile, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Cloudmist."

He stood up, putting what was left of his cube in subspace. She followed his example, smiling as she did so, "As it was meeting you, Bluestreak. Perhaps I should drop by the museum more often to speak to you."

"Then, you will have to visit me during my break."

"That sounds reasonable unless I would like a tour of the hall you work at."

"Anytime."