Poor lambie is conflicted. Poor Hagar getting hella mixed messages.
As Narinder said, when they picked up the bishops to stay at the cult, Lambie was not really that angry anymore. Mostly surprised at seeing them reincarnated, and curious.
There were a lot of possibilities depending on their mood going forward, like dicing them for fun later. Leshy for example, stayed alive (even after him and Morgan killing each other) because they were still curious, still thinking about a bit of torture maybe, and also because Narinder was throwing a fit and Lambie doesn't like to be told what to do.
They were not expecting the bishops to integrate at all. It all turned into a weird thinking and kinda healing journey somehow. Lambie likes to collect people and see what happens.
But Hagar is a problem. Lambie isn't into beating down already broken and regretful people. Even the executioner of a whole genocide. It's not fun, unlike crushing Heket's bones while she tried to eat them.
And she's been used like they were. They hate her excuses, she could have chosen death instead of obeying. They hate that she's not trying to escape the guilt and is facing her faults. They HATED to be asked to get rid of her. The contrarian thing to do was to spare her, and the right thing to do is to just leave her be.
They hate that she didn't just flee and disappear, that she's their problem to deal with now, and that their anger has nowhere to go.
The polycult hears a lot of ranting for a while.
The unlucky necklace became a job, it gets passed from person to person every other few months. The wearer gets to relax and do nothing except being checked on regularly by the healers and Lambie. They gave it to hagar because they needed SOME form of revenge or pettiness. And she's solid and healthy overall.
Finally, in the next comic we'll have Nari with the loyalty necklace >:D
I had a lot of ideas about Narinder living with other followers while he adjusts to the cult, but I'm also looking forward to going all out with Lamb and Nari with the necklace.
I warn you that the next comic may or may not start off a bit strong (Lamb is not mentally well).
(I apologize if something is unclear, I'm just starting to make comics and I don't know much English either)
Hello! Sorry for the delay. A lot has happened, but we're back (I hope).
In case you missed it, Narinder woke up with more bandages, no visible wounds, and now he's feeling very strange. Plus, he finally noticed the necklace he's wearing!
He has a lot of questions, but Lamb isn't there. We'll see if that's good or bad.
And Leshy has arrived at the cult! >:D
Maybe Yellow Cat saw something they shouldn't have, haha.
An Apprentice’s (Unofficial) Guide to House Garments
based on @energ00n 's apprentice AU! (i'm obsessed with the concept of apprentices making up garment rules)
Wc: 2.1k
The datapad—an older model with discolored spots, showing where servos touched its framing—is the first thing Orion Pax’s optics land on as he walks into his new room. Orion snatches the datapad and tilts his helm as he reads the title over again. A peek at the contents shows that it begins with Hey newbie followed by three exclamation glyphs (an overabundance of any glyph, if you asked Orion).
Orion glances up and catches his own gaze in a mirror hanging in front of him. It’s strange, seeing two sheer fabric pieces delicately flowing over the hard metal of his arms—he’s hesitant to move his arm joints in fear of tearing it. That, as well as the jewelry occupying the space where his cog would be creates a vision that’ll take some getting used to.
He pries his optics away and down to the datapad again, dermas pinching as his processor whirrs. Prima explained to him how to care for his garment personally and what if, since the datapad looks old, the data was outdated? No, safer to follow Prima’s instructions and not confuse himself.
Orion places the datapad to the side and sets off to explore his new home.
~
Hello newbie!!!
Congratulations to you and your new position! There’s so much you need to know before you get started. If you wanna make friends, then you’ll wanna keep reading, little mech!
It’s most important that you know about your House garment. No, no, not how to wash oil stains out of it (though that’s good to know!), I’m talking about the meaning behind what you do with it.
Lucky for you, I’ve compiled a list for your easy reference! Learn them well, little mech!!
DO: Wear your House garment at all times! I’ve been told it’s respectful to the Primes. Also helpful so we can tell each other apart. Usually only an apprentice’s special somebot sees them without it! Even then, maybe not.
~
D-16 has always been a stickler for the rules. It’s structure—it’s security. He can’t afford to slip up and never lets that resolve waver. So how exactly did he let pretty blue optics lure him into a cargo hold that supposedly has a passage leading into the (highly forbidden) archives? D-16 isn’t sure.
“Orion Pax,” D-16 hisses, “you idiot, there’s no way—”
Orion hushes him with a digit to his dermas and a wink. D-16 lowers his voice. “Why did you drag me into this?”
Orion pries the cover away from the passage and lowers it to the ground, a soft clank echoing. “I need you to keep watch for me, ‘kay? It’s a tight squeeze for me so you definitely wouldn’t fit.”
D-16 frowns, a retort fully prepped in his processor, but then Orion unclips his garment and D-16’s vocalizer short circuits. For a horrifying and long nanoklik, only static emits from his voice box. “Wh–Pax, what are you doing?!”
“I told you.” Orion rolls his optics. “Barely enough room in there and I can’t risk ripping my clothes up. Prima would offline me.”
He slips the sheer fabric over his helm and presents it to D-16 with splayed servos. Primus, help him. It takes D-16 exactly 1.46 kliks to reboot and shake his helm vehemently. “No? I…you want me to—”
“It’s just my garment,” Orion states, playful but also firm in a way that says I don’t have time to argue. “I’m not asking you to do anything else. Keep it safe?”
Just my garment. If Orion’s antics don’t get him expelled, his cluelessness would. However, he’s correct about one thing, and it’s that their time is running out.
D-16 half-snatches half-cradles the garment, careful not to let the ends touch the ground. With a deep intake D-16 says, “Go. Before they spot us.”
Orion grins, scrambling his way through the crawl space, leaving D-16 to listen for passing mechs. The fabric feels smooth between his digits.
~
DON’T: touch another apprentice’s attire, especially(!) without their permission. A passing touch may be an accident but deliberately grabbing is almost like a kiss!!! Don’t kiss or put your dermas on their clothing either. That has…intimate implications I won’t discuss here.
~
Orion loves watching Megatronus Prime spar with D-16. The size difference between the two could be laughable, if it weren’t for the ferocity that overtakes D-16’s faceplate and the corrections Megatronus throws out to him. Multiple times, Orion’s systems remind him to function as he watches—his friend is a vision under his Prime’s tutelage, all gritted denta, radiating optics, and arcing gauntlets.
Once satisfied, the looming Prime kneels before his apprentice and speaks lowly to him. Orion’s audials are unable to pick up what’s said but the open and hungry way D-16 receives his feedback sates him. Megatronus returns to his full height, nods to release D-16 from his training for the day and Orion perks up at the gesture.
“D!” Orion calls. His friend pads over to what’s becoming Orion’s usual spot, a barely-there smile on his dermas.
“You been waiting long?” D-16 asks, setting his practice spear against the wall.
Orion shakes his helm. A white lie—he’s been there longer than he should’ve but it’s not his fault that watching D-16 fight is so fascinating. “What were you learning today?”
D-16 dutifully launches into the intricacies of battle strategy and close-ranged combat. Orion props his helm up with his loose fist as he listens—mostly listens, at least. That task becomes difficult as the jargon grows thick and D-16’s broad servos capture Orion’s attention as they move in small motions.
An idea pops into his processor. “Why don’t you show me?”
A pause, then D-16 scoops up his practice spear, muttering, “It’ll look stupid without an opponent.”
Orion hops over the half-wall that’s been separating them and bounces over to stand in front of his friend. “I’m right here though.”
“No,” D-16 said immediately. “It’s not safe.”
“C’mon, D,” Orion teases. “I trust you.”
D-16 cycles his optics and Orion’s lopsided grin grows. “It’s not about that. You don’t know what you’re doing and even if it’s not real, I could hurt you.”
“You won’t,” Orion states, full of confidence.
“I could,” D-16 argues. “Then Prima would offline me for harming his one and only apprentice—”
Orion begins to circle D-16, close enough to reach but far enough that he could evade it. “I know what you’re doing, Pax. It’s not going to work.”
“Is it not?” Orion teases as he keeps in D-16’s blindspot, his friend calmly trying to catch sight of him again. He takes a chance while behind him, dashing out and giving the purple fabric of D-16’s House garment a good tug.
“Pax,” D-16 chastises. Yes, it’s a sparkling-like move, Orion knows and does not quite care. He does it again, giggles erupting from his vocalizer as D-16’s calmness dissipates.
Orion manages to tug at D-16’s garment twice more before D-16’s arm snaps out, captures the joint above Orion’s servos, and crowds him against the nearby wall. The yellow of D-16’s optics blaze. Orion notices how close they are, how his friend’s weight is the only thing that keeps him upright, and he grins.
D-16 growls, “Orion.” And honestly? Orion isn’t sure what’s going through his processor when his reaction to hearing D-16 say his name is to bite down on the gathered cloth by one of the gauntlets he’d been admiring earlier.
D-16 drops him. His aft hits the ground with a rough clank and Orion cries out, “hey!”
But D-16 isn’t listening. His optics are focused on the spot where Orion’s intake fluid darkened cloth’s already deep purple. D-16’s expression is horrified.
“Oh scrap, D.” Orion scrambles to his pedes. “It should go away, right? I’ve never—D! Where are you going? Wait!”
Before Orion can say another word, D-16 runs—no, sprints—out of the practice arena, leaving Orion there alone wondering what he’d done wrong.
~
DO: keep your garment clean! It’s polite and respectful, blah blah blah, you should know this. But! What you don’t know is that leaving a mark on another apprentice’s garment, accidental or not, is a serious offense! You tear it, that’s a show of disrespect to the apprentice and their House and you might have to fight them. On the other servo, if you, say, put a small decal on the cloth, you’re effectively marking that mech as your own. Same goes for intake fluid, though that just tells everyone that you and that bot are...together in a different sense. Catch my drift?
~
“I’m sorry, D.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know but I made you upset, didn’t I?”
“...no. You didn’t.”
~
DON’T: wear another House’s garment!!! Unless you’re ready to be conjunxes. And I’m serious! It’s saying your devotion to that mech is equivalent to your devotion to your Prime. Ask yourself, little mech. Would you swear undying fealty to them? Would you choose that mech over your Prime? No? Then don’t do this.
(Okay, I might be a little overdramatic, but seriously, don’t.)
~
What fascinates Orion is how different the textiles feel from one another. He’s read about the arts and asked on multiple occasions to speak with the bot who made his House clothes because he must know more. Orion shifts the material of D-16’s garment between his digits, reveling in the weight and watching the fabric fold as he moves.
He drapes a length of it over his arm and turns to D-16, who’s dozing in and out of a light rest cycle. “Do you think purple would suit me?”
“Hm?”
Orion nudges his friend with the bend of his arm still wrapped in material. This time, D-16 rouses, even if only a little. “Your House garment, silly. How does it look?”
“Fine,” D-16 says.
“Just fine?” Orion complains. “You’re the meanest friend ever. You won’t even let me try?”
D-16 resettles his helm. “Not mean. ‘M honest.”
Orion shoves his shoulder plate, only serving to further tangle himself. “Your honesty is mean.”
“Would you prefer a more elaborate answer?”
“Not anymore,” Orion mutters. This time, he lets D-16 rest as he lays the garment over his lap and smoothes out the wrinkles he’s made.
~
Congrats!!! Now you’re fully equipped to take on the social terrain in the House of Primes!!
In case you didn’t read all that, basically, keep to your own business and every other bot will keep to theirs. You’re lucky you have me to help you out with this because I didn't have anyone explain it to me and I broke about every rule before an apprentice told me. I was so embarrassed!!! No need to thank me though, little mech, whoever you may be. Just have fun! Be responsible! Follow these rules!!! I promise, you’ll have a better time if you do. Byeeee ;)
~
D-16 might cease to function—if he hasn’t already. On this particular solar cycle, Orion had dragged D-16 into another one of his schemes and deemed his quarters the meeting point. The door slid open, Orion welcomed him inside, and D-16’s optics landed on a datapad that made his spark drop.
That thing isn’t supposed to exist—not physically, anyway. How did it get here? How in Primus’ glory does Orion have it?!
“D?” Orion cuts through his panic.
“Have you…” D-16 can barely force his vocaliser to say the words. “Have you read it?”
Orion raises an optical ridge. Confused but fond. “Read what?”
A digit points at the datapad, though D-16 didn’t consciously give the command for it to do so. “That.”
“Oh that?” Orion ambles over to the offending object. “It was here when I moved in. Weird right? Maybe Prima put it here in case I forgot what he told me?”
D-16’s joints creak with the effort it takes to stride over and pick up the datapad. “You don’t need it though, do you?”
Please say no, D-16’s processor screams.
Orion laughs, though his confusion melds into concern as well. “No, I guess not…did you need it? You can take it, if you do.”
And D-16 then and there wishes Orion Pax had chosen a better friend, one who he deserves. Except, D-16 is also selfish and cold in ways where Orion is warm—he doesn’t wish that, in actuality. (It feels kinder to say that he does. Orion deserves kind.)
“Thanks,” D-16 says for lack of any explanation that wouldn’t be a flat-out lie.
Then Orion smiles at him, as he always does, and pats him on the chest plate, right next to his empty cog slot, right on his garment. D-16 musters a quirk of his dermas and tucks the datapad away from Orion’s prying optics. It’s hard to feel guilty about it, when Orion seems so content and his servos make his garment so warm.
~~~
A/N: tysm for reading! i'm sorry if i got any details wrong, i read all the comics over again to make sure i got it all correct but just in case i missed something! please check out the main comic if you haven't already. the worldbuilding, writing, and art style are all stunning!
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