Summary: No-War, No-Factions AU. Festival of the Five: They were two stars circling a single gravitational point. One driven by faith, the other by desire. They came together only with the blessing of the Guiding Hand, and when they did all of Cybertron was caught in their orbit. They weren't destined for each other, but as Primus said: There is destiny, and then there is destiny.
Warnings: Sexual Content, including one (mild but detailed) tactile interfacing scene. Cannon-typical violence. Alien Religion and various issues thereof.
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Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory
Part Two: Festival of Solomus cont…
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Under the watchful optics of his creator, Mirage remained still and poised as they waited for their visitor. Phantasm was expecting some sort of misbehavior, it was clear. His creation had been too well behaved for the aftermath of another fight, when a servant had timidly come to both their sanctuaries to tell them Virtue and his creator were at the gate. He'd been prepared to scold a seething bundle of adolescent angst into a semblance of proper behavior, not confronted by the ghost of an obedient creation he'd not had in a century. Even his EM field was smooth as unblemished crystal rather than its recent default of lashing out with resentment.
Phantasm was pleased with the change, but also suspicious.
A servant entered, announcing "His Lordship, Earl Virtus and his creation Lord Virtue," and their visitors followed. Phantasm stood; Mirage had never sat.
"Welcome to our home, Your Excellency," Phantasm bowed with every expression of courtesy. Mirage followed suit, silently, thankfully doing nothing that would embarrass his creator in front of their guests. "We have your suites prepared and energon nearly ready to serve."
"Show us to our rooms," Virtus spoke for them both, as Phantasm did for both himself and Mirage. "We will join you for your meal as soon as we've washed the stink of travel off our plating."
"I can show you the way," Mirage said quietly, speaking out of turn, but not in any way he could be reprimanded. Virtus simply nodded and Phantasm was forced to allow Mirage his minor rebellion.
The rooms were lovely, the best Phantasm as a mere Baron could furnish for his guests. Still, Virtus looked over everything critically before pronouncing it "adequate". Mirage kept his optics and EM field blank throughout the inspection and pronouncement. He didn't actually give a flying frag what the Earl thought about the rooms. They were the best their rank could afford, given their allotment of Iacon's resources as it was calculated by the Office of Resource Management. Iacon's Council of Earls were always trying to pry a greater share for the nobility out of the merchant caste, but they were jealous of their duties.
Mirage supposed that's why his creator had arranged this courtship. An alliance between his faction within the Iacon Council and the corresponding faction represented by the City Governor of Stanix…well it was perfect from a political standpoint. Uniting the Functionalist faction within their cities with a bonding between himself and the Earl's heir would allow more pressure to be put on the Council of Dukes — the Senate — which translated to more pressure on the Prime who could pressure the Office of Resource Management.
Apparently Sentinel Prime had grown reluctant to accede the concessions the Functionalist Party insisted on. He had been one of the Party's staunchest supporters when he'd been chosen to succeed Guardian Prime and through the early vorns of his reign, resisting only when it came to curbing the liberties of the priest caste or altering the specifics of ancient religious ceremonies like the Festival. But in recent centuries it required more and more pressure to force the Prime to act in their favor. No one knew why, but Mirage and Virtue's wasn't the only political bonding being arranged for this purpose.
It was all very convoluted, but it made sense to Mirage, with just one teeny, tiny bug in the programming: Mirage didn't care.
Especially not right now. He hadn't come up here to listen to Virtus verbally snipe at the details of the room he was dissatisfied with, but to assess Virtue. Nothing really encouraging there. Maybe he was wearing the mask of obedient creation just as Mirage was at the moment, or maybe he really was the little copy of his creator his name suggested he was.
That thought made Mirage's fuel tanks sour.
He stayed, playing the perfect host until Virtus dismissed him to tidy himself up for the meal then made his escape to his own rooms. Where he put a truly monumental effort into not trashing his things; as it was he let his EM field lash out with every bit of frustration he was feeling and ignored the fact that his servants drew straws to see which one of them would approach to give his plating the quick rinse-and-buff that was all they had time for before he had to meet the Earl for dinner.
His mask was firmly back in place by the time he joined his creator in the antechamber of the dining room.
The two creations were seated next to each other, supposedly so they could "get to know each other" but given that the conversation went in one audio and out the other without making an impact in between, with him contributing only enough to be polite, Mirage thought that was a useless gesture. Neither Phantasm nor Virtus cared if their creations "knew" each other before bonding. It was all politics. Just like the dinner conversation. Just politics. He kept the mask in place but inside Mirage felt like tearing his own plating off. There was more to life than politics. There was exploration and knowledge and love and adventure…There was risk, but also triumph.
Sunstorm had shown him how to fly. Metaphorically, only, but it was still something beyond the nobility in world in which he was trapped and he wanted, needed, more with the same intensity that he needed energon.
And more than that, he rarely agreed with his creator's politics anymore. When he listened, which he rarely did now but when he did, he found Phantasm's words to be shallow and petty, greedy and bigoted, and he wanted to tear his creators plating off as much as he wanted to rip at his own with the frustration.
So to avoid any embarrassing armor-ripping incidents, he mostly ignored everything that was being said. He was just listening for the conversation to turn away from politics and towards a perfect opportunity to interject, to begin putting the plan he'd come up with yesterday while sulking in motion.
He was getting ready to pounce his creator and start tearing out wires for his self-centeredness and despairing hearing them talk about anything but how the merchants gave too much of Cybertron's GNP to the scientist caste for medical research and equipment instead of assigning it to those who needed it most, namely them…he was beginning to think that he'd have to bring it up, but if he broached the topic they might suspect something was off…when:
"Well now that we've established that our creations will be a good match for each other," Virtus said with a fond look towards Virtue, who seemed to be hanging onto every word, "we should discuss the courtship itself."
Finally! Mirage could have jumped up and down waving his arms and singing his praises to Primus, but didn't. "If His Lordship will forgive my presumption," he interjected calmly instead, "I've taken the liberty of arranging to take Virtue to the Festival Race in Altihex." Phantasm's optics snapped to his only creation and narrowed in anger, but Mirage ignored him; he was talking to the Earl. "I've researched these bondings and it's supposed to be auspicious for new couples to be present when the Prime gives his blessing to the Champion and his Choice."
Oh he wasn't fooling Phantasm at all. But the Earl's presence kept him from exploding lest he embarrass himself. All he could do was hope Virtus vetoed this little outing.
No luck there. Virtus didn't know Mirage's personal agenda. "Of course, that sounds like a lovely idea. Perfect for a new couple."
Mirage smiled, not letting even a hint of how he was practically vibrating show through. "I've of course made all the arrangements for the two of us. I can send you a copy of our itinerary first thing tomorrow?"
"Perfect," Virtus turned back to Phantasm who's polite expression looked a bit ragged around the edges for an instant before he controlled himself. "What did you think of this season's crop of new laborers? Vector Sigma failed to produce enough sparks to allow for lower wages once again. Proteus informs me that he is currently drafting a bill that would allow for the production of clones for castes besides military. I'm certainly hoping you will…" Mirage tuned him out again. He had what he wanted.
After their meal he offered to walk their guests to their rooms again, warning Virtue that their shuttle would leave the next morning and offering to send a servant to wake him if he was not already up, then disappeared to the garden before his creator could come looking for him in his room.
The gulf of caste between servants — most of them laborer, a few members of the lower-ranked technician subcaste of the science caste — and nobility — himself — was as wide here in his home as it was anywhere else on Cybertron. For all that their jobs put them into constant interaction with the nobles it was their job to serve, they rarely associated. If he was looking for companionship, he might as well have been searching the void of space.
Still, it may have taken Mirage the better part of a century, but he'd discovered some of the servants' secrets. Like the gardening shed.
As befit such an unsightly necessity, the shed was hidden from outside view — so well hidden that all his life he'd not suspected it existed until he'd found it during the epic sulk following a fight with his creator. The shed itself was unremarkable, but it served a purpose for Mirage and that purpose was that Phantasm would never think to either look or send a servant to look for him here. It was debatable if Phantasm knew it was here at all since it, like most of the manor, predated his creation.
It was a fitful recharge on the floor, but it was out of any potential acid rain.
He woke his servants early, before dawn's light, to buff out the scratches caused by spending a night in the garden and sent one to wake Virtue with strict instructions that he wasn't to wake either Virtus or Phantasm. He didn't have to waste time packing; he'd packed his things yesterorn while he was throwing his snitfit and setting up his plan. Mirage apologized profusely to Virtue for the inconvenience but explained that this was the only shuttle to Altihex that had two seats open. Virtue complained bitterly about the early hour, but agreed that without his own creator's connections, Mirage, the creation of a mere baron, had been limited. Mirage bristled at the condescending tone but didn't comment. This courtship was going to be horrible, he could already tell.
It still couldn't drown out the thrill of outwitting his creator and setting out for a minor adventure on his own. Mostly on his own. Maybe he could find a way to ditch Virtue later, at least for a while…
Dutifully, Mirage sent both their creators their itinerary. They wouldn't be up to receive the messages for another two joors, he hoped.
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tbc