Ep1.5 - 'Lost Luggage' - Closed

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Ordinarily, she wouldn't have given half a thought to what his hand would have felt like around her. Because that would be ludicrous. Any reason his hand would be around her would likely end in something bad. Shaking came to mind, but that may have been because Shockwave was prone to grabbing her by the nape and giving her a solid maraca rattle to get her to behave. Not often, but enough that she was starting to associate large hands with "shake the femme like a musical instrument."

However, his hands were...kind of...not horrible. Which was so confusing her mind practically refused to follow that route. Because his hands weren't built to be not horrible. They were weapons. Or rather, an extension of himself which was still a weapon. But they'd been exceedingly gentle and the slight rasp of edge against her dermal plates had been-

WHY THE FRAG WAS SHE THINKING THIS?

Stop mind, just stop. At least not right here! Go get drunk and muse on this later or something! Just, cut it out!

Carefully, calmly (as forced as she could make herself) she drew her hands together and knit the fingers through one another. She could focus on the touch of her own hands and forget about the touch of his fingers on her hip line for two primus-damned seconds. There it was, the calm center of control she only shakily held on any given day. Calm. Collected. Detached. Detached was good.

Right, I am going to look him in the face, tell him this was...erm, something, and then we are going to part ways never to speak of this again. I can leave with some dignity, slag it.

Her field smoothed out to something less resembling a koosh ball. Even if the edges were still fluttery with idle embarrassment she couldn't quite shake. That was going to take some time letting go. But she could at least find her footing, so to speak and turn to look at him, gaze focusing on the outside rather than her internal tangled yarn ball of emotion.

"Do technicalities count on a battle field, sir?" She bit the soft juncture of her mouth, mildly denting the painted purple line. Yes, it felt better being off of him. She could think more and not focus on every move he made. Except for the, again, overwhelming fact that he was huge in comparison to her. She looked at him, focusing on his face and looking away just as fast to skim over his chest and down. Primus knows what else she would have added to that line had she not spotted an irregular shape at the door.

Oh no, no no, no this isn't happening. How long has he been there?! The look she gave the 3IC was probably more suitable for the coming of End of Days.

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Ah, finally.

One couldn't wish, one couldn't plan for the kind of entertainment and enlightenment Soundwave was currently enjoying. He'd been there when Megatron had whipped entire armies into a frenzy by force of words alone. He'd seen his liege lord wade through enemy legions beyond counting, powered forward by the unshakable force of his self-confidence, of his utter faith in himself and his ability to triumph over any obstacle, through any situation.

Unless, apparently, you threw a femme at his face.

What made the entire scene so deliciously, so perfectly ironic was that Megatron had started this. He'd been the one to lead the way down here, and Soundwave did not doubt that Roulette had balked ever step of the way. Well, inasmuch as one could politely balk before the Liege Lord and Commander of the Decepticon Armies, even if he was on medically leave. Or perhaps even more so because of the latter.

As things stood, Soundwave was glad he had not offered help. It had made things even more entertained. When Roulette at last noticed him, the 3IC was slouching against the wall, arms crossed. He lifted one hand cheekily and waggled her talons at her in greeting.

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Roulette's banter was what had brought Megatron down here, and her in turn at the mech's insistence. To hear her slip back into that vein, though she hadn't yet recovered quite enough to bring her posture to match, quelled some of the unease that their previous... position had brought about. They would move on from this event, likely with a mutual and unspoken decision to pretend it had never happened. The only ones who knew of the debacle that had been the latter half of a sparring session were themselves and Fairwinds, whom Megatron trusted could be bribed and threatened most effectively. Certainly if she was the Decepticon Commander's personal cassette, the little bird could keep secret and knew when to keep her smiles to herself.

Then Roulette had looked away with such an expression of abject horror and terror that he'd instinctively begun to prime his canon for action.

Soundwave waving at them was worse than any of the logical possibilities that had crossed mind. Megatron, stripped of a lifetime of experience in schooling his expression into the steely visage of command, looked suddenly suckerpunched.

It was a brief, fleeting thought to snarlingly invite Soundwave to step in and have a go so that he could knock that tilted screen back upright with his own waving hand. Just the fact that the deceptively slender mech was Third in Command of the Decepticon army kept the goad in check, however. Doubtless he would make a formidable opponent whom Megatron had no memory of combat experience with that he could fall upon.

But that didn't stop the feeling that wasn't embarrassment or anything so trivial. It was rage he was feeling, Megatron decided. Good, wholesome rage. Soundwave had obviously been spying on him again, and come down himself when Fairwinds had told him not to in the sparring room. His presence was a betrayal of his privacy, trust and autonomy.

"Can I help you, Soundwave?" he bit out, arms folding across his massive chassis as he turned to face the uninvited observer. Roulette was, momentarily, out of the fore of his mind.

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He is really, really mad...why is that funny to me? She should have been just as pissed at the intrusion. The horror of realizing that their embarrassing moments were not only witnessed, but likely recorded for prosperity (twice. Fairwinds) was a faint reminder that would have Roulette blushing if she could. But other than that, Megatron's reaction was...downright precious.

Putting aside her own mortification, she found his own cranky reaction far funnier than she should have. Hell, at this point she'd run the full gamut of emotions from terror to relief in one long roller coaster ride. Quite simply, she was tapped out. This last doozy from Soundwave was enough to drain whatever caring capabilities she had.

Megatron mad? Sure, made sense. But it wasn't at her, so hey, things were looking up. Soundwave about to mock them for their questionable position? Almost assuredly. But he wasn't going to sell their secret to anyone because that wasn't how he operated. He held onto them like some weird, pervy little spy. Fairwinds was the real threat there but Roulette was starting to think that bribery would keep her from alerting the ship to the more interesting position they'd caught themselves in. That or Megatron shook her until the sense fell out.

Speaking of, the Warlord turned his attention and his back to her which left her room to relax behind him. She was thinking that being behind his broad form was the more comfortable place. The view wasn't bad either, she decided after taking a leisurely look now that she had the time and scrutiny was put off of her. She tilted her head, optics studying him from helm to hock. Well, she couldn't be faulted, she decided. She was studying him for..weaknesses or something.

Betcha they broke the mold when they made you. Snorting to herself, and at her foolish actions, she bent over to retrieve her gun before Megatron decided to step on it in his rush to strangle Soundwave.

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Oh, his Liege Lord was so angry. Soundwave truly wished he could draw less amusement from the situation. He couldn't, he really couldn't. It was entirely likely he was about to get dragged into a less-restrained sparring match, or possibly simply stapled into a wall, and yet he was looking forward to even those possibilities.

The thing was, this was the most animated he had seen Megatron in aeons. He was emotional, uncertain yet plowing onward; his vast tactical expertise gone, nonetheless he bulled forward on instinct. Or perhaps foolhardy stone-headedness, but still forward. He was alive as he'd been back when life was a struggle and the war just a frail ember of rebellion.

It was a nice reminder of how it all had once been, even if it was not to last.

Besides, did Megatron seriously believe he was miraculously exempted from his head snoop? Please. Soundwave went through everyone's trash.

At Megatron's question, slender talons touched Soundwave's chest, helm tilted in a gesture of utmost innocence. Him? Oh, surely not. And speaking of matters best left in the proverbial recycling bin, Roulette seemed to have found herself entirely distracted from her medically-unsound commander, or her previous embarrassment, or a great many things other than the view...

Soundwave lifted a talon to draw Megatron's attention (not that he needed to) and then pointed to the femme hiding behind his vast bulk. On his faceplate appeared a tiny image of the warlord and his sparring partner, detail reduced to something as might show up in a videogame. A dotted line appeared, sourced on Roulette, and pointedly followed her appreciation of the warlord's back(side).

Just in case the Decepticon commander wanted to know.

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Something truly incandescent erupted into Megatron's field. He crossed the sparring room in thunderous steps, immediately angling his path so that he would block Roulette's view of the screen with his body. She had been pulled back and forth between terror and humiliation over the course of the last ten minutes, almost entirely because of him, and he would not see her further upset by Soundwave's mocking of them.

Of him.

Megatron had never developed much of a sense of humour, as there had simply been very little in his life to laugh at. He despised pranks, was irritated by puns, and he absolutely could not tolerate being mocked. Over the years, the Commander had become used to Soundwave's very particular and infrequently glimpsed brand of humour. The memory of those interactions were gone, however, and the warlord was operating entirely on instinct.

The actual content of Soundwave's screen was of secondary concern. Indeed, Megatron wasn't convinced Roulette was doing anything behind him. And even if she was, the mech had no right to remark upon it.

Megatron was growling outright when he reached the Third in Command, who had straightened but otherwise held his ground. He snapped up a massive hand to take hold of the mech's chassis and drag him forward, then leaned down to speak into his reflection in the oil-dark screen.

"What business is this of yours?" he snarled, quiet and harsh.

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The problem, Roulette narrated to herself, was that she was always so isolated. So of course she didn't know how to handle someone (scary) with an explosive temper. Shockwave didn't have a temper. Shockwave was about as passionate as a turnip. Roulette was used to being the only one having hot emotions that she had to deal with. It was a void of emotion that she was usually exposed to.

I don't know what to do here. I don't. Am I missing something?

These two may have been used to the hostile negotiations (as most Decepticon dealings went) but she wasn't. She didn't know what to do. Instinctively she took several steps back until she caught herself retreating.

The slag am I doing? He's not mad at me.

The anger thrumming through Megatron's body made her want to duck, cover, and say, "I didn't do it!" Which was absurd. She should be used to this. Or at least able to adapt to shifting moods. Perhaps she spent too much time in Shockwave's labs...

How did they get any thing accomplished if they were like this behind closed doors? Do I...do I watch? I don't want to watch. I can't turn my back on them. That's rude. I can't leave because I have been dismissed and a crimped finger hardly dictates an emergency. What do I do now??

Sheepishly, Roulette turned her attention to her pistol and inspected the gun for damage. The fall off of the Warlord hadn't been that bad but any impact could cause minor problems ranging from a jam to a crooked firing pin. With the ease of someone dealing with an extension of themselves, the femme snapped open the breach and peeked inside at the tiny parts. Nope, everything looked in place. Blast. Surreptitiously, she peeked over at the two commanding officers before returning her attention to the gun once more.

Next, she angled the weapon forward to peer down the barrel. Surprisingly, there was a misplaced unspent shell off track. The jam would have done minor damage, as it was a paint round, but it would have caused a mess if it had exploded inside the gun. Grunting, she jiggled the gun before pulling back on the slide and popped the round out which she caught with her free hand.

All this fuss over a stupid round. Dubiously, she eyed the pellet and shook it. Damn things make a....mess...

"Son of a bitch, that's how they did it...vacuum sealed rounds..." She squeezed the pellet in her fingers until it burst like a grape, with matching bright purple paint to match. "...that was stupid of me..."

[Deleted]

Well, this was terribly familiar. Still amusing, though.

Soundwave went relatively limp as Megatron laid hands on him and yanked him closer. There were very few mechs that would willingly get within arm's reach of the warlord when he was so blatantly in a mood to rip someone's arm off and beat them to scrap with it. Even less who'd actually survived the experience. Soundwave, on the other hand, knew that Megatron belonged to the select few that knew getting within physical reach of Soundwave and trying to pick a fight ranked in the same Epically Bad Idea territory. Well, he would. Once his memories came back.

His helm tilted a little bit. With utmost gentleness he sought to lay a hand, light as a feather, on the wrist of the fist secured to his chassis. Megatron's snarling reflection was replaced by a simple, linear pyramid made out of tiny Decepticon symbols, with Megatron's own glyph of command at the top. His free hand reached up and one slender talon tapped the screen; the pyramid flipped, the entire weight of all that was the Decepticon Army coming to rest on one glyph, one single fulcrum point. It seemed unbothered by the flip in position until a miasma, made of flickering question glyphs, began to plague it. The seemingly immovable foundation of the pyramid faltered, and the pyramid itsel began to lose cohesion. Bits of it began to blindly attack their very bastion of leadership.

Obligingly, two new figures: a necky bird and Soundwave's own glyph, appeared on either side, shielding Megatron's glyph from attack. Soundwave knew even he would never hold the Decepticon forces together, not without Megatron, not without the promise of him; even the ghost of him would never be enough. It was Megatron alone, alive and vital and unbreakable, that kept their goals equally alive, equally real. Soundwave could, at most, be his shield at times like the present, when circumstances forced the warlord to take a step back, to catch his metaphorical breath. Neither his glyph nor the necky bird could restore the pyramid, but they could fend off other attacks so that Megatron's glyph could stabilize it.

And yes, that did involve spying on him. Assassins would not wait for a convenient time, and Soundwave trusted no one, not even little Fairwinds, to do as thorough a job of protecting the warlord as he could do.

Of course, the entire show also had the added goal of focusing Megatron's attention on the answer to his irate question while Soundwave, quietly and slowly, deployed his hacking tentacles. The slithering appendages rolled behind him until the tips reached the floor, and slunk forward by their pedes, soundless and as calm as the 3IC. One waved cheekily at Fairwinds, should she have kept her perch up on the room's rafters. The other rose behind Megatron and, unless noticed or intercepted, would tap on the Decepticon leader's shoulder and wave a greeting.

Between the two of them, where it could only be seen by Megatron and Soundwave, the 3IC pointed a talon towards Roulette when she spoke, and flicked it towards the door, before pointing it lastly at Megatron's chest. The pixelated Roulette returned to his faceplate, fleeing for the door with all the glee of a freed prisoner.

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Megatron's ire was eased in increments by Soundwave's knowing manipulations. A light touch, a distraction, a clear graphic and a cartoon placated the warlord in seconds. It was remarkable how rapidly his being primed itself for violence, and reassuring that he could master his rage and dispel the urge to destroy as quickly as it rose.

Soundwave's pictographic justification of his presence and ongoing observation was... enlightening. And a little troubling. Doubtless the inverted pyramid of the Decepticon empire teetering upon the shoulders of a lone mech was a gross simplification, but that the 3iC considered him that irreplacable suggested some very worrying things about the stability of the army.

Context, he reminded himself. Whilst his processor was still healing, he was utterly lacking in any real understanding of his current situation, that of those around him, and of the underlying motivations to their behaviour. It also meant that such subtle and borderline cryptic communication as Soundwave used could not be understood at face value.

What was clear was that the mech was not spoiling for a fight, but would oblige (and doubtless with lethal capability) should Megatron's welfare be in danger, even from himself.

And that he'd totally forgotten about Roulette.

Megatron released his grip, setting the mech back down on his long pedes, and stepped back with faith that the tentacles would keep themselves out of harm's way. He kept his gaze on the now-darkened visor that served as Soundwave's face, then gave his reflection a short nod. Understanding, apology, acceptance, deference - Soundwave could take the gesture however he wished.

The large mech turned in the direction of the tentacle that had tapped him, stopping when Roulette was within the periphery of his vision. He... couldn't quite seem to look directly at her, just yet.

"Thank you for the spar, Roulette," he rumbled, his tone carrying a note of dismissal. "It was most... illuminating."

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Hunched on the rafter, Fairwinds cast the tentacle waving at her a salute with one wing.

She'd been giggling silently since Roulette had ended up sitting on her Master, and screen-capping choice moments from an ongoing montage of awkward hilarity. When Soundwave had come in, she'd felt a flicker of an emotion so singularly foreign across the bond with her carrier that she'd jerked upright. Embarrassment.

And hadn't that just made the whole sitcom even more delicious a spectator sport...

Then Megatron had snapped, anger and rage and toe-curling darkness flashing like a whip against her spark, and Fairwinds had spread her wings to intervene. It had been purely instinctual to want to put herself between her carrier and 3iC, because no one picked a fight with Soundwave. There were quicker ways to commit suicide, for a start. And her Master, acting out of an emotional state, didn't know right now how dangerous Soundwave was.

But Soundwave, as always, was a step ahead. Fairwinds didn't see exactly what he did or 'said' to calm the Commander, but she felt the tension bleed out of him and resettled on her perch. When the tentacle waved at her, and sent a glyph of gratitude for his actions.

Fairwinds hopped about to peer down at Roulette. If the sniper took her leave now, then she would too.

Unless her Master was going to spar with Soundwave. Then she'd be setting up a livestream and charging access.

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Freedom! The femme was steps away from getting out of this hellish place, otherwise known as the sparring room. She'd been given the green light and fairly ached to get out of there. No, really, she did ache. Her hand was throbbing, reminding her of the crimped metal that still needed to be attended to.

Now, the question was did she go back to Shockwave's lab and work on the injury herself? It was mild enough, she could possibly get away with just popping out the dent on her own and fiddling with the wires in the safety of the sterile lab. However...Shockwave was going to ask questions because he was a nosy busybody. And if he didn't ask questions, he'd just outright order her to tell him what had happened because pulling rank was actually an available strategy at the moment. Possibly he wouldn't want to know what had happened to her hand and would saddle her with a menial task but did she want to gamble that risk?

The medbay, as tedious as the trip was likely to be, was looking better by the moment. Even if Knockout was likely to ask a few questions. But she could get away with white lying to the doc. So she pinched her hand between metal plates? Could have been a door! Could have been a shelf! Certainly couldn't have been between the plates of their Warlord and resident behemoth.

Urgh, why did I phrase it like that?? Guiltily, and perhaps a bleeding flicker of embarrassment pulsed through her field and she stood up straighter, snapping a salute to Megatron. I gotta get out of here! And never speak of this again. Ever.

"I'm just going to get the p-" she caught herself from swearing in front of him, but just barely. "...pain in my hand looked at." She grimaced at her blunder before heading for the exit at a calm, if not strident, walk. She wouldn't flee. Fleeing was for cowards! But she couldn't resist one last little, well, dig at the Warlord. This was all his fault, after all. She'd just been minding her own before he'd literally ran into her. Her path took her by him, close enough for her to reach out and trail her fingers right behind his knee to smear the fresh paint over the plating. Then she really did flee in a controlled, if not resolute march outta there before he said something.

Got'cha.

[Deleted]

And just like that it was over before it had ever even begun. It always puzzled Soundwave, if only a little, the number of officers and soldiers all who thought Megatron was always just the wrong word away from a bloody slaughter of all those around him, be they friend or foe. His liege was not a sparkling, for Primus' sake.

Soundwave was well aware where another mech might throw a dozen unnoticed temper tantrums, his liege was unfortunately under such close scrutiny all the time that any sort of temper he might show could, and would, be blown entirely out of proportion. Decks would be awash in fluids at the wrong word; body parts would fly for the slightest mistake. One can spin such rumors into useful propaganda, but the 3IC was not such the fool that he'd believe his own share of the spin. Yes, he could best describe Megatron's fuse as... 'short', but that temper was yoked by the mech's intellect.

He also knew that, in an unfortunate fashion, he was a stranger to his liege and friend; it was the injustice of the war that had brought them together, that had forged whatever ties bound them, and there was no way to truly quantify what, if anything, Megatron knew of Soundwave. The spindly mech could guess, however, that for all intents and purposes his liege would see a stranger, uninvited, stepping into a highly private and embarrassing moment and making fun of it.

Which was almost entirely true, except for the stranger part.

When his pedes touched the floor, Soundwave stepped back, his manner once again deferential and his tentacles reeling back and out of the way in twin, graceful sweeps. He gave his own, polite nod to Megatron, waiting for him to leave that he might return to his remote survei-

And then Roulette all but goosed the Decepticon Warlord as she half-sashayed, half-fled the scene. Soundwave touched thin talons to his blank faceplate, the faintest ripple of flat-out amusement passing like mist through the non-entity of his field. His free hand flicked a talon at the fleeing femme, pointed at Megatron and tapped on his own, narrow chest. Apparently the giant siege engine that was his liege had made quite an impression.

[Deleted]

Roulette's had was a whisper of contact against his armour, there and gone again, and Megatron would have had to contort himself in ways he wasn't prepared to outside of the privacy of his quarters to see what she'd done. Because there was no way that the femme would have touched him in mere, innocuous passing after that disastrous session.

And Soundwave's reaction supported his theory of mischief, too. Megatron remained equally silent, expression a steely mask of vicious control.

Up until Fairwinds landed on his shoulder.

"Awesome fight, Master," the little cassette said, her whole body wobbling with delight and amused energy. With a little respectful bob to both mechs, Fairwinds spread her wings and lurched forward towards the doorway.

At the threshold, she called back, "You should totally have a rematch!"

Megatron watched her vanish into the corridor, his gaze fixed above the rising plane of Soundwave's shoulder until the doors slid shut and left them alone again. Then, with a frown that exposed the very tips of his dente, he looked down to the surveillance mech whom had apparently made him his sole subject.

"Did you need something, Soundwave?"

If words could strip paint...




OOC: Close to you, or it can fade to black here. =)>>

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OOC: Looks plenty good on my end! I'm hoarding this one forever.