[ @origin-protocol | Reign ]
"I heard it's your activation day, so I thought…" Reign hums, thumbing at the carefully wrapped box that he held in his servos. "Well, I got you something. It's a predictable gift—a few translated data pads of poetry that I've acquired across many vorns—but something I hope you might be lacking from your collection." He offered the gift to him, tilting his helm to peer up.
"Admittedly, I wasn't aware of the day until Rung mentioned it, so I…was short on time."
"Reign," he greeted, patting a careful servo on the mech's shoulder. "Predictable is no less appreciated. Thank you."
And predictable? It was thoughtful, in Megatron's opinion. It wasn't exactly a secret that Megatron adored poetry, and he'd even gotten into Earth poetry in more... recent years. It was surprisingly inventive, and insightful, especially for a species that didn't live for very long.
Or perhaps their short lifespan lead to quicker epiphanies? Whichever.
"Thank you. You went out of your way to do something for me. That's more than enough."