Dull lighting from the weapon hangar pulled Ironhide from his thoughts as he strolled across the base, prompting a soft, less than amused, rumble from his engine. He could have sworn he told those recruits to be sure that everything powered down when they left, lights included, and to shut the fragging door. He walked closer to the room’s entrance, distantly wondering if he had the authority to make human soldiers run laps, and peered in.
Of all the strange happenings in the base, the last thing he’d expected was to find the red frame of Mirage watching old hoographic images flitter across the walls. Okay, maybe there were one or two things he expected less, like the twins reciting Shakespeare or something, but this was certainly high on the list.
Rapping his knuckles on the frame of the entrance, Ironhide let himself be known before he spoke.
“Doin’ alright there, kid?”
He understood full well the impact this war was having on his friends and team, how much it could hurt at times. They’d all lost people they loved and cared for, whether or not they cared to admit so. He’d never really talked all that much with Mirage, but he was willing to listen if the other was willing to talk.
The red frame’s doorwings instantly lifted in a startled manner, helm twisted around to face the other mech. The break in his focus caused the hologram around him to flicker out into nothing, darkness sweeping over and leaving behind the blue glow of his widened optics.
“Ironhide?” The name slipped out as the spy stumbled to his pedes, palms out and servos up in surrender; as though he expected to be attacked or scolded. Either were not uncommon. “Mi dispiace -- I’m sorry -- I thought everyone had gone to recharge. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
It took a moment; Ironhide didn’t sound angry, had used a nickname of sorts. Digits twitched and Mirage averted his gaze.
“Homesick,” he added in an attempt to answer Ironhide’s question. He settled back down but soon found Ironhide with his optics, allowing the doorwings to lower and rest against his back. “Unimportant. The medic -- was his name Ratchet, I think so -- would probably scold me for wasting the energy on such silly things. Perhaps we keep this between the two of us.”
A short pause, “you may join me. I have captures of all over Cybertron. Name a place and I can display it.”
gracieabrams
romaincrisis
origamiaround
dailybridgerton
gummygunk
ellievsbear
theartofmadeline
blakekathryn
