And thus once is taken, careful digits (small and flat and light-scorched, an exact mirror to the hands he may one day have again) running across that mighty helm and the dip and curve of light across beaten silver plating.
A red shimmer catches in the dip of a long, serrated scar. It looks like war paint, he thinks, or the violent crimson that some infected plating takes as it tries to heal.
“You have a lot of scars,” he says, lacking much else to say (stuttering in wonder, a strange pride and admiration rising in his thick spark). “And yet they are lessened in other places along your plating. Why is that?”
He had expected Orion to perhaps flick a light or two, but the gentle caress has him take a him a moment to react. After allowing the young one to trace the scars that run from his optics, he reaches up to take Orion’s servo in hand, gently pulling it away.
“Some scars run deeper than others, and some must be allowed to remain.”
On Muse A’s 18th birthday, a trickster (Muse B) appears and claims their parents offered to give them their newborn child as part of a deal…18 years ago.
Above them, the sister moons cast a soft glow upon the world below. Yet the light was cold and distant, and the wind moaned fearfully through the lonely alleyways of Kaon. The two mechs stood across from one another, one a gun-metal gray and the other crimson-and-cobalt. The latter held himself tall. Yet despite his bright colors and decorated plating, he looked to be exactly where he belonged and intended to be.
“You were promised to me long before your forging, young one,“ the other-worldly mech rumbled. “Your creators begged for my favor, and I granted them as much. Now I have come to collect…”
Megatronus dropped the datapad he’d been reading, staring at the mech before him. No… This thing surely wasn’t a mech. His finials arched and twisted over his helm and into the ether, like the antlers made from the branches of an ancient tree. Never having been to Earth, the young fighter could hardly comprehend such organic forms.
“What do you mean… promised to you?” He took a step back, away from the thing pretending at being mechanical. “I am no trinket to be sold, no payment to be bartered… The creators you speak of are long-since dead, and I refuse to be… claimed!” Megatronus unsheathed his sword, but took another step back.
(After he’d lost everyone else, he couldn’t let his lord go. Hurt on top of hurt weighed down every day of his life until this book offered him that one shred of hope. He’d drawn and redrawn the circles, made the sacrifices and spoken the words. He couldn’t bring himself to kill anything, no, but he was certain whatever forces were listening to him would accept something.)
(The magic rings pulled the offers pieces of himself inside violently, and for a few unbearable seconds, Bee couldn’t think for the agony. His right arm and leg were gone, ripped rough from their sockets, leaving mangled and dripping stumps behind.)
(He just had to wait for him. He’d come back. This had to work.)
The primary circle began to glow, brighter than the rest of its array. Electricity arced from his severed limbs to peaks in the drawn lines, which raised to dissolve the offerings piece by piece. The shapes swirled and the ground swelled in the center, pulsing until something bright burst forth from a mighty crack in the Earth.
As the light began to dim, it became clear that the form was an orb, spinning and jagged, a brilliant white with purple tinging the edges. Megatron’s spark floated down to Bumblebee, tendrils of energon drawn to his leaking sockets.
From far below came the creaking of ancient laughter.
It’s scary – Bell, Cineplex, Shaw, and Rogers are trying to censor the internet and force the end of net neutrality in Canada. And worse, they’re trying to do it behind closed doors.
These 4 companies, led by Bell, are pushing to create an internet “blacklist” of certain websites that all internet service providers in Canada would legally have to block. They know this outrageous proposal would never pass, so first, they tried to sneak it into NAFTA negotiations – and now Bell is expected to introduce its proposal to Canada’s telecom regulator TOMORROW.
Critics are calling this move “unprecedented” and dangerous. If these companies get their way, this internet blacklist would have absolutely zero oversight in the courts. We need to stop this urgently.
Your intelligence is unmatched, but your smart mouth is going to get you into trouble one of these days. Everyone says so. Odds are you’ll make one witty remark too many and meet a tragic, easily preventable end that surprises no one in the least. You’ll be mourned, of course, but we all saw it coming, and you kind of deserved it.
Rung was born in a place that was considered close to Primus, the Pious Pools were a place of reflection and meditation for acolytes and priests alike. A spot where travelers could go to seek themselves and find answers that were just out of reach and waiting for them. It helped to make him more aware at times and this was such a time. A shiver rode up his spinal struts and he peeked his eyes open, taking a vent as he stared at the burning candle.
This didn’t happen often and he had never had the chance before so he hoped that his vocals didn’t break when he did this. His lips parted and he sat up a little straighter, a hymn passing from him in a way that made the silver paint on his lips shimmer and then spark when he put all of himself into the words
(Bee glances over his shoulder to check- yep his optics are open- and puts his gaze right on his knees. The most he can manage is a light hum along with the tune. Not that he knows it, of course, but he can kind of predict where the notes might fall and just quiet himself when he’s wrong.)
(But he doesn’t feel anything. Megatron’s hand went to his face, and Rung was singing, and he wasn’t…)
(Maybe this just wasn’t his Prime. He didn’t have the personal connections that Megatron and Rung did, so maybe he just wouldn’t have a big moving moment at the altar like they did. Quietly adjusting his legs and puffing out a breath, Bee checks on Attrition and holds his tongue until the other start to stir.)
The song wasn’t one he knew, but its tones were familiar and Rung’s gentle voice carried in the relative silence. Megatron turned to watch him sing, the paint on his bespectacled face shimmering in the light. He really was beautiful. There was beauty in his practice too; though Megatron wasn’t inspired to match it, he could appreciate how devoted Rung was to maintaining his traditions, how he shared them without impressing them on others. So unlike the zealots he remembered.
Bumblebee was still, but uneasy, and then there was Attrition. The tank seemed less nervous than the first time they had met, likely prepared this time for his presence. He gave a nod to the both of them, forgetting the telltale discoloration of his tainted optics.
As Rung finished his song, Megatron laid his servo across the orange mech’s back. “A musician on top of it all! Rung, you are ever full of surprises.” He couldn’t wait to uncover more. “Now that we’ve paid our respects, what does the rest of the evening entail?”
Megatron's back up 