Have some thirsty ahh fumbletron not at all because I'm projecting how I might've just fumbled a baddie for coming off too strong 🥀
Leaning back in his chair, digit tapping the seat handle, Megatron interrupts Sentinel while reviewing his insurance policies. “You seem…familiar.”
No Primus whyyyyyyyyy! Please please please no! Politely setting down his datapen, he maintains the strained professional smile. “I apologize, I can’t say the same.”
Megatron hums, tapping his chinplate with his digit, before nodding at Sentinel to continue, who is absolutely fuming baaed on his taut shoulders. The remainder of the meeting goes relatively smoothly; Megatron makes astute observations Orion had included in the report that Sentinel had deleted last minute. Regardless, he’d seems content with their first official meeting and even expresses it.
“I appreciate this immensely. The consolidation of everything, along with the prioritization of next steps. I'm not very good, admittedly, with taking care of my own needs.”
Gratingly loud laughter from his counterpart nearly crumbles his stoicism. “Of course Megatron! It's what we specialize in. Know your needs are taken care of, and you can relax in…where are you headed next?”
“Back to Chaar.” Megatron rumbles.
What Orion would ask next, because he'd actually read through Megatron's life, is if he's going back to the Xaia sea to maybe catch a few local mechafish and use that new grill he'd bought last stellar cycle. Instead, Sentinel says some generic slag. “Of course! Returning home for a nice long relaxing end of your deca-cycle! I'm sure your berth misses you.”
With a weary sigh, Megatron agrees. “And I miss my berth. Traveling private means nothing for these aged struts.”
“You don't look a cycle over five million vorns Megatron! What's your secret?” Sentinel asks, guiding him to the door.
Scoffing, he replies. “Plenty of rest, little stress.” Shaking Sentinels servo to conclude the meeting, he begins to turn.
Orion adds, because he’s a blinkin exhaust port that doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone. “Please, don't forget to look into that list of estate planning attorneys.”
He feels the withering glare from Sentinel, but Megatron turns back to face Orion. “I apologize, how rude of me. I didn’t say goodbye.”
“That’s alright.” He smiles cooly. “You’re a busy mech.”
Shaking his helm, Megatron gives an….oddly…sweet smile. “Nonsense. Unseemly on my part-” taking Orion’s free servo, he kneels, connecting it with his helm for a moment. “To ignore the only mech brave enough to challenge me upon my return to Cybertron. Forgive me, Orion Pax. I’ll remember to do so, and I look forward to our next meeting.” He gazes forward steadfast, full of mirth and a quirk of his derma, before rising with a decisive turn. Upon the door closing, Sentinel yanks the datapad out of his servo and stomps off, yelling, “Halfbelt! Halfbelt!”
Orion is left shocked and horrified, staring at the door Megatron left through with his servo disparagingly hot. The same dominant servo that grips to the point of creaking metal as he ignores the screams of the dummy he battles in his garage. Decisive hack after decisive hack, his swirling processor isn't content with the rainfall of fluff, only seeing amused glowing optics, every twitch of those angular derma, and every microklick they held servos.
Hack, slash, hack again. Orion twirls the axe, bites his derma, before lunging at the poor dummy again.
Why did he mention it? Is it some…some kind of psychological torture he's playing at? Some kind of…mind game?!