M A E S T RO

• a distinguished musician — usually a conductor of classical music •Indie • Headcanon predominant • Highly Selective • Mutuals Only • AU!Maestro (Jazz) of Polyhex —[ 18+ ]   

[mxestro]

                      ‘σн, ωнαт α тαηgℓє∂ ωєв ωє ωєανє—

                               ωнєη ƒιяѕт ωє ρяα¢тι¢є тσ ∂є¢єινє’                                         Independent | Headcanon | Inspired                                           Shattered Glass! A/U Jazz of Polyhex                                                       About | Dossier | Rules                                                             promo psd: @byluna​

[the-exotic-lounge]

Shadows are dancing in broken rooms. Two ghosts twist in through a fissure in the tower at its bottom. The winds at this level of Vos howl as the air cools during the later hours- the thin artificial gravity of Cybertron pulls it down and funnels through empty streets. Causing debris to kick up and skitter.

Those shadows twist with them, winding up the lifts and mid-floors like the detritus themselves. The slimmer of the two is the one that hacks still-functioning security systems, the thicker wrenching open stuck machinery and doors with brute strength. It does not take them long as they work with ease of long association.

Until they reach the spire's pinnacle..

— and their target.

Vos is still broken. Repair to the city in the sky is going painfully slow, the Temples put up and places for the citizens to stay held together with carefully placed rocks and wires. The towers aren't much better, rocking and groaning under the winds. Withstanding them by a thread.

The towers were quiet, most the mechs recharging and the guards floating in and out of the rooms. None to notice the twisting shadows, and fewer to care.

Skyfall was pacing his office, wings swept wide and growling low. Soft mesh cloths draped across sky blue form, white and silver lined and dotted his frame, bright golden optics glaring at the desk.

No One hadn't returned when he was told, wasn't answering his pings. The thing had been taught to obey after failing their Sire and Carrier, and it had been obedient since.

So why now?

And empty flute was grabbed and thrown at the wall, a snarl coming from his engine. Things were falling apart before they even began.

[mxestro]

The sound of a temper above them makes the shadows face each other briefly. Amber flashes red for a moment, and they continue upwards. Maestro is the first to clamber over his brother as they breach the top floor. Ricochet isn't far behind, hopping out into a crouch before moving the debris back over their entry point. The faint vibration of thrusters against flooring makes the first of the two tilt his helm. They utilize the tempo and pitch as they move, keeping a bead on the other's location via doppler effect. Once he's at the furthers from their next entry point, do they slip in. Colors and hues shift over the first's plating, breaking up his outline as they move ever closer. Ricochet is next, and together- they crouch, waiting silently for their target moment.

[the-exotic-lounge]

Skyfall hadn't really been known to keep his temper. It hissed and flared in anger, sputtering and spitting, especially when the only one he could really take it out on wasn't there. It had been Dart's insistence that No One go to the Prime, give him the statue and keep him away from the Predacon caves...

He took a vent, growling low and as he stormed out of his office and into the secondary room, door slamming behind him. Engex grabbed and popped open, vents harsh and engine rumbling low.

"Frag it.." A growl and hiss before shaking himself out. They'd fund him in the morning, probably coaxing out the Predacons from there caves...

No One was convinced he could reintegrate the feral things into there society.

[mxestro]

The larger of the two waits until the mech has passed by them to the right, before he stands. One claw puts a field emitter onto the wall, setting it to dampen on his command. Maestro watches this, before going after the winged figure. He keeps his field tight against his frame, staying in the other's shadow. When the other hesitates to take a drink of his engex, he strikes- leaping onto the spot between the other's wings. And bringing his magnets online as his palms bracket the other's helm.

[the-exotic-lounge]

The Seeker is fuming, wings flicking with anger, before a spit of static leaves his vox. Wings flap as he stumbles, arms flaring out and claws slashing what he could. Things were dizzy, the world suddenly tettering. One wing snapped inward, trying to slap whoever was on his back as he lurched to the side to swipe at... whoever.

Only so many lights worked in Vos, they had to find new ways to get lines and powers everywhere.

And Skyfall didn't have the greatest night vision, not like some others.

[mxestro]

A mech nearly the size of the seeker slinks in from the other side of the room to help his sibling with the flailing mechanism. Ricochet snarls silently behind his mask as he dodges the swiping talons, sweeping with one leg to knock the other's thrusters from underneath him.

Maestro hops back as he feels the Seeker list and tumble, landing in a crouch behind with one hand tucked in his subspace. A hardlight net is brought out, and while Skyfall might not know what has hit him.

It'll be a sound he recognizes.

He's laid out between the two of them- with a large looming bipedal frame in front of him, sharp sickled claws dangling at his sides. And his mirror behind, two of four arms palm down on the floor with support- and the other two spreading out the net in readiness.

A heavily modulated voice- deep with a malicious resonance.

"The Prime awaits."

[the-exotic-lounge]

Skyfall isn't hard to knock down, he had grown lax in his position of power, believing himself safe from all harm. Little care for those under him made them ignore any odd sounds, figuring he was throwing another fit. The medic who had to continuously repair No One grumbling to herself at the sounds and preparing to be called.

The bright blue seeker looks between them, golden optics flickering to a dark blue.

"W-Wait! W-Wait, hold on! There must be a misunderstanding!" Struggling to shake off the feeling, wings trembling and jerking. "I-I would never do anything to undermine the Prime! O-Or the Council!" Wings lowering and twitching, struggling to get his peds under him.

[mxestro]

Maestro rolls his optics behind his visor- points of light that flicker to Rico's sharp vision. He lets his brother continue his distraction, the larger mech stalking towards the seeker. He, meanwhile, straightens up as he stands— shaking out the net as he does so. Ricochet, meanwhile, snatches the Seeker's clavicle fairing- hauling him up off the ground into the air a good few inches off the ground. This close, Skyfall can see the muted reds and blacks on the other's plating- chromatic shifts that flex in the dimness.

Skyfall will feel inhibitor clamps put on the base of his wingjoints, and another set on the dangling thrusters before the slimmer of the two mechs steps back. He waits until Rico unceremoniously drops the other, before tossing the net over and immediately hitting the command to compress. The stasis net will knock off extraneous feed to joints and limbs, as well as dampening long-range comm capabilities. It's not perfect, but that's also why they're armed.

"Your ego has no place here," the shorter speaks now, tone soft and modulated- different than the rasp of the other. "It is His wish. It is our command."

Ricochet inclines his helm in silent question to his sibling. His answer is a slight incline of the helm, tilting it to the right- at least, outwardly. Their Hivebond, however, is full of chatter between themselves, the Prime, and the Clade. Skyfall will see the twitch of their claws and tilt of helms.

But nary a word of conversation between them.

[mxestro]

Rico Sideblog to Maestro?

Rico

No Rico

Voting ended onNov 7, 2024

[mxestro]

Should I create Rico as a sideblog to this one?

[mxestro]

[the-exotic-lounge]

Shadows are dancing in broken rooms. Two ghosts twist in through a fissure in the tower at its bottom. The winds at this level of Vos howl as the air cools during the later hours- the thin artificial gravity of Cybertron pulls it down and funnels through empty streets. Causing debris to kick up and skitter.

Those shadows twist with them, winding up the lifts and mid-floors like the detritus themselves. The slimmer of the two is the one that hacks still-functioning security systems, the thicker wrenching open stuck machinery and doors with brute strength. It does not take them long as they work with ease of long association.

Until they reach the spire's pinnacle..

— and their target.

Vos is still broken. Repair to the city in the sky is going painfully slow, the Temples put up and places for the citizens to stay held together with carefully placed rocks and wires. The towers aren't much better, rocking and groaning under the winds. Withstanding them by a thread.

The towers were quiet, most the mechs recharging and the guards floating in and out of the rooms. None to notice the twisting shadows, and fewer to care.

Skyfall was pacing his office, wings swept wide and growling low. Soft mesh cloths draped across sky blue form, white and silver lined and dotted his frame, bright golden optics glaring at the desk.

No One hadn't returned when he was told, wasn't answering his pings. The thing had been taught to obey after failing their Sire and Carrier, and it had been obedient since.

So why now?

And empty flute was grabbed and thrown at the wall, a snarl coming from his engine. Things were falling apart before they even began.

[mxestro]

The sound of a temper above them makes the shadows face each other briefly. Amber flashes red for a moment, and they continue upwards. Maestro is the first to clamber over his brother as they breach the top floor. Ricochet isn't far behind, hopping out into a crouch before moving the debris back over their entry point. The faint vibration of thrusters against flooring makes the first of the two tilt his helm. They utilize the tempo and pitch as they move, keeping a bead on the other's location via doppler effect. Once he's at the furthers from their next entry point, do they slip in. Colors and hues shift over the first's plating, breaking up his outline as they move ever closer. Ricochet is next, and together- they crouch, waiting silently for their target moment.

[the-exotic-lounge]

Skyfall hadn't really been known to keep his temper. It hissed and flared in anger, sputtering and spitting, especially when the only one he could really take it out on wasn't there. It had been Dart's insistence that No One go to the Prime, give him the statue and keep him away from the Predacon caves...

He took a vent, growling low and as he stormed out of his office and into the secondary room, door slamming behind him. Engex grabbed and popped open, vents harsh and engine rumbling low.

"Frag it.." A growl and hiss before shaking himself out. They'd fund him in the morning, probably coaxing out the Predacons from there caves...

No One was convinced he could reintegrate the feral things into there society.

[mxestro]

The larger of the two waits until the mech has passed by them to the right, before he stands. One claw puts a field emitter onto the wall, setting it to dampen on his command. Maestro watches this, before going after the winged figure. He keeps his field tight against his frame, staying in the other's shadow. When the other hesitates to take a drink of his engex, he strikes- leaping onto the spot between the other's wings. And bringing his magnets online as his palms bracket the other's helm.

[the-exotic-lounge]

The Seeker is fuming, wings flicking with anger, before a spit of static leaves his vox. Wings flap as he stumbles, arms flaring out and claws slashing what he could. Things were dizzy, the world suddenly tettering. One wing snapped inward, trying to slap whoever was on his back as he lurched to the side to swipe at... whoever.

Only so many lights worked in Vos, they had to find new ways to get lines and powers everywhere.

And Skyfall didn't have the greatest night vision, not like some others.

[mxestro]

A mech nearly the size of the seeker slinks in from the other side of the room to help his sibling with the flailing mechanism. Ricochet snarls silently behind his mask as he dodges the swiping talons, sweeping with one leg to knock the other's thrusters from underneath him.

Maestro hops back as he feels the Seeker list and tumble, landing in a crouch behind with one hand tucked in his subspace. A hardlight net is brought out, and while Skyfall might not know what has hit him.

It'll be a sound he recognizes.

He's laid out between the two of them- with a large looming bipedal frame in front of him, sharp sickled claws dangling at his sides. And his mirror behind, two of four arms palm down on the floor with support- and the other two spreading out the net in readiness.

A heavily modulated voice- deep with a malicious resonance.

"The Prime awaits."

[yourlocalxenomorph]

please can we do inbox trick-or-treating this year. can we make that a thing on tumblr. please please please please please

[yourlocalxenomorph]

literally all it entails is sending people "trick-or-treat" asks and people answering those asks with pictures of candy or those silly spooky plastic toys or whatever else you would give a trick-or-treater. please. please can we have some whimsy

[coelii]

Don’t forget trick or treating this year everyone!

[marvelmaniac715]

I won’t forget this year

[bigmilkymantatas]

You'll all get treats this year if you send those asks my way!

[that-mf-under-your-bed]

Mutuals

Get ready

[the-exotic-lounge]

Shadows are dancing in broken rooms. Two ghosts twist in through a fissure in the tower at its bottom. The winds at this level of Vos howl as the air cools during the later hours- the thin artificial gravity of Cybertron pulls it down and funnels through empty streets. Causing debris to kick up and skitter.

Those shadows twist with them, winding up the lifts and mid-floors like the detritus themselves. The slimmer of the two is the one that hacks still-functioning security systems, the thicker wrenching open stuck machinery and doors with brute strength. It does not take them long as they work with ease of long association.

Until they reach the spire's pinnacle..

— and their target.

Vos is still broken. Repair to the city in the sky is going painfully slow, the Temples put up and places for the citizens to stay held together with carefully placed rocks and wires. The towers aren't much better, rocking and groaning under the winds. Withstanding them by a thread.

The towers were quiet, most the mechs recharging and the guards floating in and out of the rooms. None to notice the twisting shadows, and fewer to care.

Skyfall was pacing his office, wings swept wide and growling low. Soft mesh cloths draped across sky blue form, white and silver lined and dotted his frame, bright golden optics glaring at the desk.

No One hadn't returned when he was told, wasn't answering his pings. The thing had been taught to obey after failing their Sire and Carrier, and it had been obedient since.

So why now?

And empty flute was grabbed and thrown at the wall, a snarl coming from his engine. Things were falling apart before they even began.

[mxestro]

The sound of a temper above them makes the shadows face each other briefly. Amber flashes red for a moment, and they continue upwards. Maestro is the first to clamber over his brother as they breach the top floor. Ricochet isn't far behind, hopping out into a crouch before moving the debris back over their entry point. The faint vibration of thrusters against flooring makes the first of the two tilt his helm. They utilize the tempo and pitch as they move, keeping a bead on the other's location via doppler effect. Once he's at the furthers from their next entry point, do they slip in. Colors and hues shift over the first's plating, breaking up his outline as they move ever closer. Ricochet is next, and together- they crouch, waiting silently for their target moment.

[the-exotic-lounge]

Skyfall hadn't really been known to keep his temper. It hissed and flared in anger, sputtering and spitting, especially when the only one he could really take it out on wasn't there. It had been Dart's insistence that No One go to the Prime, give him the statue and keep him away from the Predacon caves...

He took a vent, growling low and as he stormed out of his office and into the secondary room, door slamming behind him. Engex grabbed and popped open, vents harsh and engine rumbling low.

"Frag it.." A growl and hiss before shaking himself out. They'd fund him in the morning, probably coaxing out the Predacons from there caves...

No One was convinced he could reintegrate the feral things into there society.

[mxestro]

The larger of the two waits until the mech has passed by them to the right, before he stands. One claw puts a field emitter onto the wall, setting it to dampen on his command. Maestro watches this, before going after the winged figure. He keeps his field tight against his frame, staying in the other's shadow. When the other hesitates to take a drink of his engex, he strikes- leaping onto the spot between the other's wings. And bringing his magnets online as his palms bracket the other's helm.

[the-exotic-lounge]

Shadows are dancing in broken rooms. Two ghosts twist in through a fissure in the tower at its bottom. The winds at this level of Vos howl as the air cools during the later hours- the thin artificial gravity of Cybertron pulls it down and funnels through empty streets. Causing debris to kick up and skitter.

Those shadows twist with them, winding up the lifts and mid-floors like the detritus themselves. The slimmer of the two is the one that hacks still-functioning security systems, the thicker wrenching open stuck machinery and doors with brute strength. It does not take them long as they work with ease of long association.

Until they reach the spire's pinnacle..

— and their target.

Vos is still broken. Repair to the city in the sky is going painfully slow, the Temples put up and places for the citizens to stay held together with carefully placed rocks and wires. The towers aren't much better, rocking and groaning under the winds. Withstanding them by a thread.

The towers were quiet, most the mechs recharging and the guards floating in and out of the rooms. None to notice the twisting shadows, and fewer to care.

Skyfall was pacing his office, wings swept wide and growling low. Soft mesh cloths draped across sky blue form, white and silver lined and dotted his frame, bright golden optics glaring at the desk.

No One hadn't returned when he was told, wasn't answering his pings. The thing had been taught to obey after failing their Sire and Carrier, and it had been obedient since.

So why now?

And empty flute was grabbed and thrown at the wall, a snarl coming from his engine. Things were falling apart before they even began.

[mxestro]

The sound of a temper above them makes the shadows face each other briefly. Amber flashes red for a moment, and they continue upwards. Maestro is the first to clamber over his brother as they breach the top floor. Ricochet isn't far behind, hopping out into a crouch before moving the debris back over their entry point. The faint vibration of thrusters against flooring makes the first of the two tilt his helm. They utilize the tempo and pitch as they move, keeping a bead on the other's location via doppler effect. Once he's at the furthers from their next entry point, do they slip in. Colors and hues shift over the first's plating, breaking up his outline as they move ever closer. Ricochet is next, and together- they crouch, waiting silently for their target moment.

[mxestro]

"Good pet," the spy murmurs sweetly- gently brushing the other's faceplates with those claws. He doesn't seem interested in trying to coerce the other erotically, and finds overt pleasure in simply touching.

Around them, other Pets and Hands can be seen- some of them wearing only the finest of silversteel silken wraps over bare protoform and others in the hidden armor of pet assassins. Maestro watches them all, the conductor of this orchestra of death. Orders are given across the Hivenet, wordless actions and directions being taken and carried out without sound.

And at their center, Optimus- their anchor, hears and sees all.

"Those will be useful, sweetling-" he praises. "Hymns are sung on the third and sixth orn of any decaorn. And as for entertainment, nothing so crude. We are expected to venerate the Will of Primus, and his Avatar. It is our job to make sure that mechanisms know their place in this great strata." The gold band turns towards Red, smiling. "A Hand, sweetling. Is something all together special. You will not have to worry about it at the moment. I will introduce you to Optimus, and he will be delighted at meeting such a sweet spark as yourself. Nothing will hurt you here. Not I, not him, nor any of your previous masters. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I hope to give you reason to trust me."

[red-in-revolt]

Slowly Redstrike relaxes under Maestro's claws, the serpent mech surrendering to the all too familiar feeling. He sighed out of his vents and slowly went lax against the other bot's lap, comforted by something which felt routine. He looked out over the other Pets and the various Hands and Priests and felt something settle inside of him. It...didn't look too different from what he was used to.

And the church and Maestro had been much nicer to him than any of his previous masters had been. He does shift a little, feeling odd and out of place as he lays still clad in all of his armor. His scales raise and then flatten once more as he subconsciously pictures himself wearing such finery.

He tilted his head enough to look up at Maestro and listen as he spoke, taking in everything so he would not be punished later for failing to know these basic facts. At the mention of mechanisms knowing their place he slightly glanced away, slightly bemoaning the fact that his place had always been at the end of a leash. He would never be like the Prime, golden and glorious, he was just meant to serve others and to be an interesting diversion.

When Maestro began to describe what a hand was however he perked up a little, glancing up with something like hope glimmering in his optics. A Hand was special? He would be something...special? He wanted that desperately. To be safe and important to someone. To be something that had a purpose beyond just sitting there and looking pretty.

"I want to believe you, Master. I...I want to be of use to you. To...to be special." he muttered, curling up a little as if to hide from his own desires despite having given them voice.

[mxestro]

He smiles gently as the other continues to relax under his ministrations. He finds the other lovely, tracing the seam of each of those keeled scales. His field brushes over Red's in slow, languid waves- humming to himself as the other continues to relax. "I know you do, sweetling- but trust, like all good things- takes time to grow. I don't expect you to jump and agree with all of my words now." He traces his claw along the back of the other's helm, massaging the kinked neck cables there. He finds the other soothing to pet, perhaps due to the other's eagerness to try to ingratiate himself. It's adorable, really.

"Optimus approves all Hands, but only after I vet them. Becoming so takes...oh, I don't know- it's different for every mechanism. Some only take a few orns, some take vorns. You, on the other hand, I think will be one of the brighter ones. You already have the grace, something that is sorely lacking in most of my options." One of the temple servants walk by, bowing gently as they place a carafe and two glasses. Purple, triple-filtered energon glimmers from catching the light. Maestro pours them each two fingers worth, offering one glass to the Pet. "Optimus.. is a gentle mechanism. He's incredibly patient, and impossibly kind. He is the sort of mech, that if you make mistakes- he does not begrudge you them. He will forgive, and then love you regardless. I... have never had such a person in my function." His lips twitch a little, a small smile curling the corners. "That is a reason, I think, I know he will quite adore you. You are also kind, and sweet. It is hard to not like you, sweetling."

[mxestro]

" There is a sinner in my flock. With wings they do not deserve." His voice is a low murmur," There is a wretch in my flock. Who has taken what was not earned. Who seeks to buy my blessings in return."

He remains kneeling on the floor, both hands gently splayed before him in a gesture of benediction. With Optimus, his visor remains retracted- giving his Prime the full gaze of all optics. His helm cants to one side as the other finishes speaking, lips pursing. "What do you wish of me, my esteemed love. Do you wish his wings to grace your wall. Do you wish him to disappear? Speak your will, my Prime- and it will be my delight."

[gowithplana]

" His wings belong to another. Bring him. Bind him. And to the Platform I shall spear him. His spark belongs to the one who shall claim his wings." Optimus murmurs quietly to his Blade, his Beloved. Digits tightening around his spear. " The would be Wing Lord is a heretic. He has claimed a mech as No One. Stripped them of a Designation, of a Place, and of their Sky. Dark Star will rise to the heavens as the old is returned to Primus... This I have promised them."

[mxestro]

He straightens at that, easing to his pedes. The gossamer shift he usually wears is slipped off, folded up carefully into his subspace. Gold, amber, and cream shift to varying shades of matte indigo. To his right, another mech slips from the shadows. He's bigger, wider through the shoulderstruts with a blast-mask that hides his features under the orange visor. Maestro inclines his helm at his elder brother, stepping alongside him. Ricochet nods at that, thick claws flexing slightly. Unlike his younger sibling, he does not have the dual set of arms. Instead, he's built more like a brawler, with a thicker frame and stronger claws. "Lord Prime," he rumbles- the deep baritone vibrating the air around him. "Do you wish us to bring him here to you? To strip his wings personally? What is his designation that offends you so."

Beside him, the weapons of the Hand are tucked into Maestro's subspace- a set of vibroblades offer to his sibling.

[gowithplana]

" Skyfall." Optimus' voice rings like a hundred damning little bells. Optics cutting through the dim as he smiles grimly at Ricochet, at Maestro," Bring him here. The veiled can strip his wings and they can mold them to Dark Star. Bring him here, and once his wings are stripped from him-" He curls his dainty golden claws," Bind him to the Execution platform. Humble him. And I shall pierce him through to leave him like a specimen. Dark Star will be allowed to give the final blow. It can be a test of his devotion to Primus." A test of devotion to Optimus and the Will of Primus.

[mxestro]

The larger of the two bows his helm at the command, touching his fingers to the center of his chest in salute. "As you will it, my Prime. We will bring the heretic to you and he will be brought to the Altar and pinned in place." Beside him, Maestro has already melded into the shadows, his nanites darkening his armor and shifting his visor sliding into place. The blast mask on Rico's face shunts to one side, showing the heavily scarred faceplate beneath. A result of the original firebomb that had tried to take out their tunnels, he'd allowed the medics to seal the hole in his face.

But kept the scars themselves as a reminder.

He leans down, resting his forehelm against the Prime's hand for a moment- before easing back and snapping the mask back into place. Like his brother, he only has to take a few steps before he too melds into the shadows.

Within a few vents, they're gone- ghosts in the basilica.

[mxestro]

" There is a sinner in my flock. With wings they do not deserve." His voice is a low murmur," There is a wretch in my flock. Who has taken what was not earned. Who seeks to buy my blessings in return."

He remains kneeling on the floor, both hands gently splayed before him in a gesture of benediction. With Optimus, his visor remains retracted- giving his Prime the full gaze of all optics. His helm cants to one side as the other finishes speaking, lips pursing. "What do you wish of me, my esteemed love. Do you wish his wings to grace your wall. Do you wish him to disappear? Speak your will, my Prime- and it will be my delight."

[gowithplana]

" His wings belong to another. Bring him. Bind him. And to the Platform I shall spear him. His spark belongs to the one who shall claim his wings." Optimus murmurs quietly to his Blade, his Beloved. Digits tightening around his spear. " The would be Wing Lord is a heretic. He has claimed a mech as No One. Stripped them of a Designation, of a Place, and of their Sky. Dark Star will rise to the heavens as the old is returned to Primus... This I have promised them."

[mxestro]

He straightens at that, easing to his pedes. The gossamer shift he usually wears is slipped off, folded up carefully into his subspace. Gold, amber, and cream shift to varying shades of matte indigo. To his right, another mech slips from the shadows. He's bigger, wider through the shoulderstruts with a blast-mask that hides his features under the orange visor. Maestro inclines his helm at his elder brother, stepping alongside him. Ricochet nods at that, thick claws flexing slightly. Unlike his younger sibling, he does not have the dual set of arms. Instead, he's built more like a brawler, with a thicker frame and stronger claws. "Lord Prime," he rumbles- the deep baritone vibrating the air around him. "Do you wish us to bring him here to you? To strip his wings personally? What is his designation that offends you so."

Beside him, the weapons of the Hand are tucked into Maestro's subspace- a set of vibroblades offer to his sibling.

[mxestro]

" There is a sinner in my flock. With wings they do not deserve." His voice is a low murmur," There is a wretch in my flock. Who has taken what was not earned. Who seeks to buy my blessings in return."

He remains kneeling on the floor, both hands gently splayed before him in a gesture of benediction. With Optimus, his visor remains retracted- giving his Prime the full gaze of all optics. His helm cants to one side as the other finishes speaking, lips pursing. "What do you wish of me, my esteemed love. Do you wish his wings to grace your wall. Do you wish him to disappear? Speak your will, my Prime- and it will be my delight."

[mxestro]

"Granted you are a pet, my dear- but I also enjoy my pets to let me know if they truly enjoy something, or do not."

He beckons the other to come forward with a deft flick of fingers- not to slide onto his lap, but onto the cushions beside him. He is a beautiful thing, and he knows it. The current schema he's wearing is in creams, golds, and whites- having just finished the first deca-orn of the Primal Regalia Holiday quarter-vorn.

"Nothing to forgive, my dear. We are all students here, learning as we go. The temple here serves the Will of Primus, with the Prime of All as his voice, his will made metal. You and I are nothing compared to that. We must, at all times, keep his Primal Majesty safe- even at the cost of our sparks and frames." Once Red is situated near him, he begins to pet the other's plating in gentle and comforting strokes.

"As my companion, you will undertake certain training regimes with me. I will teach you the Primal Dances, the Abyant Hymns, and the Shadow-waltzes. By the time we are done, you will be a beautiful, terrifying Hand of Primus."

[red-in-revolt]

Redstrike had heard such assurances before, and he had always suffered the consequences of believing them to be true. Still, he wouldn't be dumb enough to refute his new master. "Alright, master. I...I will."

As he was beckoned Redstrike felt some relief. Here, at least, was something familiar to him. He slid from where he had been curled up and gracefully stood, crossing the distance quickly but without rushing. He had long ago perfected the art of moving at the perfect pace to please his owners and remain as graceful as they usually required him to be.

He settled beside the other mech and curled up beside him, his smooth, rounded plating nearly soft to the touch after so many ages being waxed and polished to remain as shiny and new as a new-build.

As Maestro begins to pet him Redstrike sighs and purrs, comforted by the familiar action. He can be a good pet. Even if all that's needed of him is to sit there and listen. He did however make sure to pay attention as Maestro began to lay out his duties.

He found himself on both familiar and uncertain ground. Learning new dances and new songs was nothing he wasn't used to. But the implication behind them seemed...different. And he wasn't sure quite what Maestro meant when he implied that he would be 'terrifying'. He also had no idea what a Hand of Primus was. He hesitated a moment, wondering if Maestro was the sort of master who didn't like his pets to speak unless they were spoken to first. But eventually he managed to speak up.

"I'm a very good dancer and I can sing many classic arias well, master. My previous owners insisted I learn so I could entertain them and their guests. Is...is that what a Hand of Primus does, master?" he asked, tentative and unsure if his ignorance would result in a punishment.

[mxestro]

"Good pet," the spy murmurs sweetly- gently brushing the other's faceplates with those claws. He doesn't seem interested in trying to coerce the other erotically, and finds overt pleasure in simply touching.

Around them, other Pets and Hands can be seen- some of them wearing only the finest of silversteel silken wraps over bare protoform and others in the hidden armor of pet assassins. Maestro watches them all, the conductor of this orchestra of death. Orders are given across the Hivenet, wordless actions and directions being taken and carried out without sound.

And at their center, Optimus- their anchor, hears and sees all.

"Those will be useful, sweetling-" he praises. "Hymns are sung on the third and sixth orn of any decaorn. And as for entertainment, nothing so crude. We are expected to venerate the Will of Primus, and his Avatar. It is our job to make sure that mechanisms know their place in this great strata." The gold band turns towards Red, smiling. "A Hand, sweetling. Is something all together special. You will not have to worry about it at the moment. I will introduce you to Optimus, and he will be delighted at meeting such a sweet spark as yourself. Nothing will hurt you here. Not I, not him, nor any of your previous masters. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I hope to give you reason to trust me."

[mxestro]

Maestro is reclined in an elegant lounge with his legs tucked underneath him. A great deal of his non-ornamental armor has been removed, showing sleek and smooth dark protomass underneath. He's almost organic in his slouch, both sets of claws gently laying in his lap as he regards the newest Temple offering. They don't often send over new mechanisms, too concerned with keeping them for themselves.

However, it's his job to make sure there's a "Cleaning" every now and then, purging the anti-Primalist sentiments and keeping the One True Reign alive.

Double gold optics regard the other thoughtfully. "Apologies, my sweetling. I had assumed that one of the Priests would have defined your role for you."

His voice is a velvety whisper to it, unidentifiable in timbre- but pleasant to listen to regardless.

"You are my companion, my dear. I find myself in need of one, as my other duties include keeping His Primal Majesty centered, and keeping his Reign free of all detractors. It means you will be with me near constantly."

He leans forward slightly, intent on the other's answer.

"Have you made a decision, sweetling?"

[red-in-revolt]

Redstrike had been uncomfortable ever since his last master had disappeared, and he had been handed over to the temple. It was confusing to have no one holding his leash. To be spoken to by many mechs without a clear idea of who his master was. It was overwhelming so he'd done his best to stay out of the way.

He listens to Maestro intently. He wants to ground himself, and the other mech is so beautiful and strong. He isn't sure how the temple came to own him. He isn't sure what a pet is meant to do for the bots who live there. He has only ever been owned by those with more wealth than sense, who enjoyed showing him off to their friends, making him transform so their guests at parties would gasp with shock or awe. But temple mechs weren't like that. At least...he didn't think they were.

"Decision?" He asked, unsure as he played with his own fingertips. "What...what decision? Aren't I...aren't I yours now?" He isn't used to being asked for his opinion on anything...other than his master's talents in berth (which must always be amazing, even if they were terrible). He was often asked to sing or dance, to recite poetry, or keep a mech company by laying in their lap or at their side. But no one had ever truly wanted his opinion on anything.

"I'm...I am a pet, sir. Pets don't make decisions. They do as their masters tell them." He stated, remembering his first lesson well. It has been ingrained in him over and over. Sometimes through beatings, though it had been a long time since he'd last needed one. "I will do as you want if I am to be yours, sir. Forgive me, I am ignorant of the ways of the temple. But I will serve happily."

[mxestro]

"Granted you are a pet, my dear- but I also enjoy my pets to let me know if they truly enjoy something, or do not."

He beckons the other to come forward with a deft flick of fingers- not to slide onto his lap, but onto the cushions beside him. He is a beautiful thing, and he knows it. The current schema he's wearing is in creams, golds, and whites- having just finished the first deca-orn of the Primal Regalia Holiday quarter-vorn.

"Nothing to forgive, my dear. We are all students here, learning as we go. The temple here serves the Will of Primus, with the Prime of All as his voice, his will made metal. You and I are nothing compared to that. We must, at all times, keep his Primal Majesty safe- even at the cost of our sparks and frames." Once Red is situated near him, he begins to pet the other's plating in gentle and comforting strokes.

"As my companion, you will undertake certain training regimes with me. I will teach you the Primal Dances, the Abyant Hymns, and the Shadow-waltzes. By the time we are done, you will be a beautiful, terrifying Hand of Primus."

[mxestro]

@gowithplana

Hello, my dear Prime. Was your nap satisfactory, or would you like me to play another song for you?

[gowithplana]

" I dreamed so oddly..." A clawed servo lifts from amid the covers. Beckoning slowly," You weren't there. I was so cold-"

[mxestro]

The other mechanism laughs softly as he slides into the plush pillows with him. The lap holo-harp is slid into against his chest as he begins to play a wordless tune. "I'm sorry, my Prime. I'm here, and I've never left- that much I promise you."

[gowithplana]

A cool palm curls around Maestro's thigh. Claws squeezing so gently as he rumbles," I'm glad you are here. I would be so lost in the dark without you my beloved."

Sigh turning into a purr. Helm lifting slightly from the Burrow. Watching the other as he plays. The music a balm to his harried spark. Hold turning to gentle petting.

[mxestro]

He chuckles softly at that. One of the smaller sparklings clambers into the nest with them- wiggling their way up into the Prime's arms. Like their elder brethern, two sets of two arms with their little claws cling to the other's plating. "Rest, my Prime. Let me guide your dreams into pleasant territory."

[soulprompts]

right place, right time prompts.

so i got watching a ton of new tv shows lately, and it occurred to me that actually i do love it when characters are unexpectedly saved by someone who just happened to be exactly in the right place at precisely the correct moment, yk? and i failed to think of the right name, so the title of this list is entirely thanks to a very dear friend of mine who informed me! so here's a list, i hope you guys love it, DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST OR EDIT IT!!! i like to edit them over time as new ideas come to me.

[ ALIBI ]: the sender provides a false alibi to protect the receiver from legal issues.

[ HAND ]: the sender suddenly arrives to grab the receiver's hand before they fall to their death

[ CAR ]: the sender arrives on scene as the impromptu getaway driver for the receiver (who hadn't been expecting it).

[ FATAL ]: the sender unwittingly arrives on scene when the receiver is being attacked, and to protect the receiver, they kill the assailant.

[ DISTRACT ]: the sender provides a diversion so the receiver can escape a dangerous situation.

[ OUT COLD ]: the sender knocks out an assailant before they can seriously wound the receiver.

[ DUNNO ]: the sender lies about the location of the receiver in order to protect them from pursuers.

[ FAKE ]: the sender, in a situation where they're forced to kill the receiver, only pretends to kill the receiver and takes their "dead" body away in the car.

[ SACRIFICE]: the sender sacrifices their life to ensure the receiver's survival.

[ BACK-UP ]: the sender arrives just in time to help the receiver in a fight.

[ EXCUSES ]: the sender provides an excuse for the receiver to stay at an event where they shouldn't be.

[ HIDDEN ]: the sender hides the receiver from pursuers.

[ SHELTER ]: the sender finds the unconscious receiver and brings them to a safe place.

[ HERO ]: the sender tackles the receiver out of the way of an attack.

[ RUN! ]: the sender tackles the attacker so the receiver can make a safe get-away.

[ FIGHT ]: the sender fights off the assailants so the receiver can flee to safety.

[ INTERCEPT ]: the sender unexpectedly emerges and stands between the receiver and a threat.

[ MISDIRECTION ]: the sender points a group of pursuers in the opposite direction to buy the receiver some time to hide.

[ SANCTUARY ]: the sender opens the door when the receiver knocks in search of help, and brings them into their home.

[ REPUTATION ]: the sender, being somewhat infamous in the area, arrives when the receiver is being hassled, causing the assailants to flee rather than risk the consequences of crossing them.

[ RECOGNIZE ]: the sender pretends to know the receiver in order to help them avoid unwanted attention.

[ AFAR ]: the sender incapacitates, distracts or kills an assailant from a distance to protect the receiver.

[ FRIENDS ]: the sender, unable to attend directly, sends friends over to protect the receiver when they encounter a threat.

[ NEGOTIATE ]: the sender intervenes in a tense situation and manages to smoothly persuade a potential threat to leave the receiver alone.

[ BRIBE ]: the sender gives a threat a significant amount of money to leave the receiver alone.

[ ANNOUNCE ]: the sender issues a declaration that the receiver is under their protection, assuring all potential attackers that any attempts will result in a brutal retaliation from them.

VERBAL PROMPTS:

" they're with me. "

" i was with them all night. "

" hey! these guys bothering you? "

" i wouldn't do that if i were you. "

" you must've really pissed those guys off, huh? "

" follow my lead... "

" don't worry. you're safe here. i won't let anyone hurt you. "

" you're lucky i found you when i did; those people were right down the street. "

" get in the car! now! "

" i'm gonna buy you as much time as i possibly can. make it count, okay? get out of here. now! "

" you can come out now. they're long gone. "

" nobody's going to hurt you like that again. "