DRABBLE: in which the bots go on vacation (part one) WARNINGS: ableist language, alcohol mention. also this is fucking long
“All clear,” Raoul said into the handheld communication device Jetfire had built for him. It looked a lot like the old flip phone he used to have on Earth, though he doubted this one was as durable. “You guys can come down now.”
He stood in the middle of what could be called a landing pad, albeit a very fancy one. He assumed it had been built just for this sort of thing, because he could see other...people, if he used the term loosely, appearing nearby on similar looking pads. Further off he thought he saw what could only be described as a sort of spaceship parking lot.
“Copy,” came Silverbolt's reply, and an instant later they all materialized. Since they weren't bridging in, it was a little weird to see each human figure (“holoavatars”, that's what Jetfire had called them) shimmer into existence before solidifying.
Nearby, Jetfire turned his hands over, examining both sides. “It appears the modifications I made to increase the range were successful.”
“Looks like it.” Silverbolt's voice came from the guy to his left. Raoul shook his head, glancing from one face to the next, trying to associate them with the bots he knew they were and not with the humans they were based off of. It was weird to hear their voices coming from these fake bodies, but in a way each one fit. Raoul was proud of that. He'd helped Jetfire design them, after throwing out all the boring white guy models the bot had picked originally. He supposed it wasn't Jetfire's fault; he was still an alien, so he took what society presented on its surface as the 'look' of the human race and didn't get why that was fucked. Which was why Raoul had made a point of basing each one off of someone he'd known back home, some closely, some not so much, and he'd thought he'd done a good job at matching their personalities to a look.
His best work was, as usual, on Tracks, who had come up to stand beside him, still looking over his 'new' body. Knowing Tracks always had to be the most attractive mech around, Raoul had used an Indonesian male model for Tracks' look, one an old high school friend had shown him in a magazine once. The problem was that this meant Tracks was really hot, and Raoul was having trouble adjusting to the way he was reacting to his best friend's new look. He shouldn't have chosen a model that he personally found so good looking.
Finding himself uncomfortably aware of their proximity, Raoul subtly stepped to the side, putting some distance between them as Silverbolt called for attention.
“Okay, every bot, here's the deal.” He held his hands up, attracting the gazes of everyone who'd come down with him (everyone except Ambulon, who had decided to stay behind and watch the ship).
“We meet up here in six cycles.” This time Thundercracker spoke. “Do not be late. Do not make us look for you.”
“Other than that, the planet's fair game.” Silverbolt smiled. “You all read the brochure; there's plenty to do here. Now go enjoy yourselves and try not to get into too much trouble, okay?”
The group immediately split, pairing off or going alone as they left the pad and moved toward the gates on the far end of the area. Raoul took a minute to consult the map Silverbolt had given each of them along with the brochure; he felt Tracks hovering near him, looking over his shoulder, trying to get a good look at the map, and swallowed.
The planet Caaldur was advertised as one big 'vacation' planet, with everything from beaches to beautiful mountain ranges to amusement parks to museums. They'd been passing close to this system a few days ago when Silverbolt, who had apparently been here before, suddenly suggested they stop by for a day. A kind of day off, essentially. There hadn't been much opposition to that – they hadn't hit a planet in a few weeks and everyone was going stir crazy. The problem was, as Silverbolt had pointed out after telling them all how cool this place was, that Cybertronians weren't exactly welcome in most parts of the galaxy, so they couldn't actually go to the planet in bot form.
That's where Jetfire and Raoul had come in.
Tracks leaned over Raoul's shoulder, startling him as he peered at the paper in Raoul's hands. “There.” He pointed at a building on the map, off toward the far right corner. “A vehicle show. Similar to car shows on Earth, but with much more variety.” He looked at Raoul, their faces close; Raoul instinctively leaned back.
“Would you like to see that?”
“Yeah, sure, that'd be fine.” Raoul grinned to hide his awkwardness. This was Tracks, for God's sake, his best friend, his car. He needed to cool it. “You go ahead and lead the way, man.”
Tracks gave him an odd look. “Shouldn't you lead the way? You are the one with the map.”
“Oh. Yeah. Duh.” Raoul laughed, feeling like an idiot, and started walking toward the gates with Tracks following close behind. Good job, hermano, he thought grimly to himself.
There was an entrance fee, of course; no place like this would let people wander around for free when it could profit off of them. Silverbolt had given everyone enough credits to get in with some left over for activities, and Raoul had the loaded card, similar in size to a credit card but was instead a shiny disc made of a material he'd never seen before, ready in his hand when they reached the main gates. There were several booths along the length, each with a line of aliens waiting to get in, and though the one in the booth they were waiting for was a glittery, shimmering mass of a creature that shifted like a mirage before Raoul's eyes he was still reminded heavily of Hershey Park, the one time his madre had been able to take him.
With his credits card at the ready, he watched some of the other bots in nearby lines (or really, he watched Jetfire, Red Alert and Runabout, who seemed to be in line still because Jetfire was talking about something and kept letting other aliens pass him) while they waited in theirs. When they finally reached the booth he let Tracks take the lead, as he hadn't really taken the time to learn any alien languages beyond a few characters of New Cybertronian while he was aboard the Alpha Bravo, and as Tracks and the park employee gurgled at each other he regretted it. This turned to surprise when Tracks handed him the silver bangle indicating he was allowed entry without asking for the credits to pay for it and pulled him through the gate to the other side.
“Hey, wait – I didn't pay!” Raoul protested, even as he slipped the bangle onto his wrist.
“Don't worry about it. I covered for both of us.” Tracks shrugged nonchalantly, a very un-Tracks like response to doing something nice for someone else.
“But....that had to use up all your credits, Silverbolt didn't give us that much - “
“And then some,” Tracks grumbled, before adding quickly, “We still have all of yours, yes? So we have plenty.”
“Aw, man, you didn't have to do that.” He gave Tracks a mock punch on the shoulder, grinning when Tracks rolled his eyes. They walked further into the park (okay, not a park technically, but Raoul couldn't keep himself from calling it that), Raoul thinking that it was pretty cool of Tracks to pay for him even though he could've done it himself. It usually made him uncomfortable, others paying for him or offering him money, but this time he was okay with it. It's like a date, he thought, then hurriedly backed away from that mindset, wondering what was wrong with him today. He needed to stop thinking about his friend that way just because the guy happened to be really attractive right now. He imagined Tracks instead as how he usually looked, all 20-odd feet of alien robot, but somehow that didn't help.
Using the map, Raoul directed them to a hover trolley that ran along the park, ferrying guests to and from each attraction, as it was way too far to walk considering the place covered the entire planet. Once they were aboard Raoul found himself sitting very close to Tracks, shoulders and thighs brushing (which was a little surreal, considering Tracks technically wasn't actually there) because of how crowded the trolley was. This didn't look like weekday business; it must have been a space Saturday.
“There a lot of these places?” Raoul asked as the trolley sped along its tracks, probably moving at speeds Raoul really didn't want to think about. “Like, entire planets that're just big theme parks?”
Tracks took a minute to think. “No, I don't believe so. There are thousands of planets with well-known attractions and features, but very few that are entirely dedicated to quote unquote 'pleasure'.”
He even did the hand motions, too; it made Raoul laugh. “Gotcha.”
“Your planet had many of these parks, didn't it? I regret never visiting one.”
“You couldn't've done anything there if you did. You're too big,” Raoul said with a grin. “Mamá – uh, Mom – took me to one once, when I was a kid. It was fun, but we didn't have the money to go back after that.”
Tracks was watching him, eyes boring into his own and it was unnerving; he wondered if Tracks always did this and he just hadn't noticed until the bot had eyes he recognized as actually being eyes.
“What?” Raoul asked, looking away and chuckling sheepishly. “Something on my face?”
“Why do you do that?” Tracks asked. “Correct yourself when you say something in Spanish. I've noticed for a while, but never thought to ask.”
“I do?” Shit. He hadn't noticed. “I – I dunno. It's just something I do, I guess.” He thought he'd broken that habit, one developed early on when kids at school would mock his accent and tell him to go back to Mexico. It had only happened a few times, until he and the ringleader of his haters got into a fight and he'd beaten the guy so soundly they hadn't bothered him again. But he'd made a conscious effort after high school not to feel ashamed by that, and to realize he'd been doing it anyway...his chest felt tight. To Tracks, the difference meant nothing, but to him...? A wave of homesickness washed over him, and he clenched his hands on his thighs. This was their day off, he couldn't bring the mood down now by revisiting old wounds. He suddenly felt Tracks' hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing smooth circles through the fabric of his shirt, and that distracted him, at least. Tracks didn't try to press Raoul fr what he was hiding, and for that he was just as grateful.
They fell into silence for the rest of the ride, Raoul struggling to reign in the downward spiral his mood had taken. Tracks kept his hand where it was and Raoul was acutely aware of how nice it felt, how warm (Jetfire really was a genius, to make a hologram seem so real). He allowed himself to lean into it, because even as he felt a flush creep up his cheeks the comfort behind the gesture helped.
They were the only ones who got off at the stop for the vehicle show, which Raoul guessed wasn't unusual. Who other than a mechanic and a robot would want to look at cars when there was so much else to see and do here? But as they walked across a smooth stone path to the huge lot where the show was taking place, Raoul noted that it wasn't exactly deserted, either. They showed their bangles to the huge dog-faced guard at the entrance and as they walked in Raoul wasn't sure where to look first.
There were cars, cars that levitated and cars with wings and cars with designs he wasn't sure his brain was fully processing. They were so complex and strange and absolutely wild. Then there were space ships and boats; he even thought he saw a tank. And on top of all that were the vehicles he didn't even know how to describe, whose purpose he couldn't begin to guess. He stood there for a minute, mouth hanging open as he took it all in. He couldn't decide what to look at first.
Beside him, Tracks hmphed, crossing his arms. “An adequate collection, I suppose, but nothing that special.” The clear pout in his tone brought Raoul out of his awe and he laughed.
“What? Are you jealous?”
Tracks scowled and wouldn't meet his eyes. “No, of course not!”
“You don't have to worry.” Raoul threw a friendly arm around Tracks' shoulders. “Nothing can beat my main machine.” That got a smirk out of Tracks, who stood a little taller, obviously preening.
“And don't you forget it.”
It felt a little too good, having his arm around Tracks, and he quickly dropped it before it got awkward. Jeez, he really needed to cool it. He hoped Tracks hadn't noticed his sudden weirdness; he really didn't want to try and explain why being around a human version of his best friend was making him so flustered. Hell, he didn't know if he even had an explanation.
Taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, Raoul gestured off to their left. “Come on. Looks like most of the cars are over that way. Let's check those out.”
-x-
After they'd dismissed everyone to explore, Thundercracker had followed the bulk of the bots to the gates, and Silvebolt had quickly gone after him. Which he'd expected, to an extent. Even with their duties as co-captains meaning they had to spend quite a bit of time around each other, it seemed that Silverbolt actively sought his company even when he didn't have to. Which had been strange, at first, but after a while Thundercracker had grown accustomed to it. He supposed Silverbolt enjoyed being around another flier, and he didn't seem particularly close to anyone in his crew, except the medic. When Silverbolt came up beside him Thundercracker glanced over, noting how in this false human form Silverbolt was now a few inches shorter, while usually the two were around the same size.
“Was there somewhere you planned on going?” Silverbolt asked. He beamed, which with his current rounded human face made him look very boyish and innocent. It suited him, Thundercracker thought, though he found he preferred the bulky yet endearing form of Silverbolt's bot mode....hm. That was a worrying thought.
“No,” he answered, pushing that from his mind. Then, knowing Silverbolt clearly wanted something, he added, “Why?”
“Well, there was just – there's this place I know, that I think you'd like.” Thundercracker gave a noncommital grunt; Silverbolt's taste in things had proven questionable at best. “It's up on the cliffs by the ocean they have here. It's an amazing view, I think you should see it.”
Thundercracker glanced at him again. That did sound like something he'd be interested in....he'd always found that the beauty of the universe inspired his muse, and as he'd been experiencing some writer's block recently he could use any inspiration he could get.
“Is that so?” he asked. Silverbolt nodded. “How far is it?”
“A hovtrain can take us to the beach where the cliffs start, and it's a short hike to the top from there.”
“A hike?” Thundercracker wrinkled his nose. “If we didn't have to use these holoavatars we could just fly there.”
“Yeah, well. Showing up in bot mode around here wouldn't get you a very nice welcome.” Silverbolt was still smiling. “But the hike is worth it, trust me.”
“Hm.” He pretended to think about it, though he'd already made up his mind to go. He wasn't lying when he'd said he had no plans. “Fine. Show me.”
Silverbolt brought him to the nearest hovtrain station, and they only waited a klik before it was pulling in, a long, winding beast of a train that levitated above its tracks. The ride was pleasant, for the most part; the hovtrain didn't even whisper as it flew across the planet, transporting them at impressively high speeds (though nothing close to what he himself could accomplish in jet mode). He remained mostly silent while Silverbolt went on about the different attractions Caaldur had to offer. It sounded like he was directly quoting the brochure, and Thundercracker wondered how many times he'd read through it. It wasn't a long trip, and soon after they got on Silverbolt was telling him it was their stop, and he got off the train to find himself in a completely different place than where they'd started. There was nothing here that looked as much of a tourist trap as the gates had. It was a rocky beach that stretched for miles in either direction, nearly deserted but for a family of Bokai sitting near the water. Well, Silverbolt had been right about one thing; he did prefer this to the noisy crowds of the main areas.
He felt a light touch on his arm – a strange sensation in this holographic form; but the fact he could feel it at all meant Jetfire had done his job well – and looked over to see Silverbolt tilting his head toward the cliffs rising from the beach off to their right. He also spotted a path leading up the side.
“Come on. It's this way.” Silverbolt led him up the path, his enthusiasm showing in the fast pace he set. Thundercracker wondered what was so special about this particular location that had him so excited.
“You mentioned you'd been here before, yes?” Thundercracker asked as they walked. The slope was not gentle, and though he wasn't actually doing this he found himself winded. Jetfire did not miss a detail.
“Yeah. There was a battle at a system over on Dragoona 5 a few decades back. Don't think you were in it. But we came here – after.” Silverbolt shrugged. “It helped, sort of.”
“Mm.” A silence stretched between them, uncomfortable, perhaps, to Silverbolt, but one Thundercracker preferred. It had become somewhat of an unspoken rule on the Alpha Bravo not to talk about the war or past battles, as bringing up the fact that they were all supposed to be fighting each other only hurt morale. Rotorstorm and Runamuck were the only ones who broke that rule regularly, and he suspected Rotorstorm seriously couldn't help it. Runamuck, on the other servo...well. He was a different matter entirely, and one Thundercracker had gotten tired of dealing with.
When they reached the top of the cliff, Silverbolt, as he'd been first, ran to the edge before turning to Thundercracker and grinning, arms spread wide.
“Ta-da!”
Thundercracker ascended the last of the slope and looked out over the view before him. The cliff ended abruptly, a sharp drop over the thin sliver of beach that remained before it, but the perspective it provided of the ocean that stretched out to the far-off horizon was incredible. The twin stars this planet orbited reflected off of the waves, so crystalline blue it appeared they were illuminating rippling glass. Thundercracker's eyes went wide, and he was vaguely aware his mouth was open as he slowly stepped forward over the barren rock of the cliff.
“It's beautiful,” he breathed, coming to stand beside Silverbolt, who dropped his arms but was still beaming.
“I knew you'd like it.”
“How did you find this place?” Thundercracker couldn't tear his eyes off the ocean, off the twin balls of golden light hanging in a pure azure sky, one slightly larger than its brother but both equally powerful. “It is clearly not a popular destination, and I would imagine you'd stick to the more...tacky areas. No offense.”
“I don't know how else I'm supposed to take that, but okay.” Silverbolt laughed, then grew more somber. “Last time I was here....I needed somewhere quiet. To sit and think. I found this place by chance on the map and when I got here it was perfect.”
“Yes. It is perfect.” Thundercracker went quiet for a klik, then said, without looking over, “Would you like to sit here for a while?”
Silverbolt's smile was soft, and Thundercracker had no idea that, even with the view, at the moment the Autobot only had eyes for him.
“Yeah. That sounds great.”
-x-
When the group split Octane made a beeline for the front gates, already knowing exactly where he wanted to go. When Silverbolt had given out the pamphlets for this place (printed on paper; who even still used that slag?) Octane had flipped through and almost immediately found the section he'd been hoping for. Of course a vacation planet would have them, but he hadn't been sure, and he wasn't disappointed when he read the descriptions.
This place had casinos, and a lot of 'em.
He was a little surprised and pleased when Sandstorm came up beside him, having jogged to catch up. He liked the face Raoul had given the Autobot, a serious one that transformed completely when he grinned, as he was doing now. Frag, it seemed like Sandstorm was gonna be attractive no matter what, even as a squishy organic.
A few months ago Sandstorm would've avoided him, but since their mission to that junkyard Sandstorm had held up to his promise. He'd let Octane hang around him and talk to him, and recently had even started seeking Octane's company out on his own. It was still just a lunch here or conversation there, but Octane liked the way their friendship was progressing, especially since he was thinking about the Autobot almost all of the time now and wanted to be around him as often as possible.
“So where we headed?” Sandstorm asked as he fell into step beside Octane, who beamed.
“Right here.” Octane pulled out the map Silverbolt had given him and pointed at their destination. Sandstorm leaned over to look at it and Octane reveled in the close proximity.
When Sandstorm realized what Octane was pointing at he straightened and laughed. “Of course you'd pick the casinos, why did I even ask?”
“Beaches and rollercoasters aren't really my thing.”
“Mine either.” Sandstorm grinned. “Lead the way, then.”
They got through the gates and onto a hovtrain, the same one as Thundercracker and Silverbolt, in fact, so they made a point to sit a few cars away from their captains. Octane sat as close to Sandstorm as he dared, their thighs brushing while the hovtrain sped over its tracks. The sensations of touch were a little difficult to get used to with this fake human body. He knew it wasn't actually real, but the feeling of Sandstorm's leg against his, that pressure, was jarringly different from how it usually felt in ways he couldn't describe. That said, he still liked the feeling and actively tried to prolong it.
They had a bit of a ride ahead of them, for which Octane was grateful. It was true that they'd been hanging out more these days but other than that conversation in the cage Sandstorm hadn't really opened up about himself much. Octane wanted to change that, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.
“So, Sandstorm,” he began. Sandstorm shifted in his seat to look at him. “You never told me – why'd you join the Autobots?”
“Uh, wow.” Sandstorm gave an awkward laugh. “That's a pretty sudden personal question. Why do you wanna know?”
Octane shrugged. “Just curious.”
“Uh-huh. Then why'd you become a 'Con?”
“I asked you first!”
“Oh, so we're gonna play it like that.” Sandstorm sighed heavily. “Alright, fine. I joined the Autobots...because I thought they'd win. And Megatron's speeches, that manifesto he wrote, it...well it scared me.”
Octane snorted. “You? Scared? Come on.” But the way Sandstorm looked at him made him realize the other bot was serious.
And then he looked away. “It's stupid. Forget it.”
“No! No, man, go on. It's not stupid. I wanna know.”
Sandstorm watched him for a klik, his indecision clear even with those human features, until he finally spoke again.
“I was a rescue bot,” he began. Once he started, the words came easier. “Assigned to that harsh desert outside of the Tesari District, you know the one? I didn't have it great but I had it good, and I knew – the people Megatron was talking about, that needed to be torn down? That ignorant middle class that benefited from the Senate stepping all over the poor? That was me. I was part of that class.”
Octane frowned. It had been a long time since he'd thought about any of this. “I don't think that's what he meant - “
“No, it was,” Sandstorm insisted. “There were bots I knew, both on the force and off, who'd been or were miners, or laborers, or constructibots, and they started looking at me different. Like I was a threat. Like I was personally oppressing them.” He shook his head.
“I don't know. But that's why I joined the Autobots. It was supposed to be an adventure, fight some mechs, come back victorious after a few decades, and that was it. Plus it got me out of that damn desert...but it didn't happen. We didn't win. Instead this war's dragged on and on and on and - “ He clenched his fists on his thighs. “We were supposed to beat Megatron easy. And now I just think how most of those bots who used to look at me like that are probably dead, and I realized they had a good point, you know, but some guy like me probably killed 'em. Some well-meaning Autobot probably looked at them and said hey, this mech's a 'Con, he's evil, and he deserves to die. And I...I don't know. That glitches my hard drive every time I think about it. And I just don't want to fight for either side, anymore.”
Octane stared at him, waffling between wanting to touch him somehow for comfort and being too shocked to speak. Sandstorm cleared his throat.
“Sorry. I haven't – talked about this in a while. I didn't mean to drop all of this on you outta nowhere.” He gave another shaky laugh. “How come you always get me to say stupid slag like this?”
“Guess it's just my natural charm.” Octane recovered with a laugh of his own that was only half awkward. “And I wanted to know, so don't worry about it. But that's....that's actually why I became a Decepticon, you know.”
Sandstorm smiled crookedly, and Octane was sure that back in his real body his spark was dancing in its casing. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah. I wasn't a lower class, either – fuelers are too important to be throw-aways like a miner or a lorry – but. Megatron seemed so...I dunno. Sure. And strong. Like he'd crush the Autobots fast and we'd be done with it. I knew I couldn't avoid the war, once it started, so I thought, better pick the stronger side.”
Octane spread his arms, palms up. “And here we are.”
“And here we are.” Sandstorm scrutinized his face. “So why didn't you defect?”
“Why didn't you?”
Sandstorm grinned again. “I asked you first.”
“Wow, okay.” He mirrored the grin, but then it faltered. “Leaving the 'Cons...it's not that easy. Megatron doesn't like defectors, and I mean he really doesn't like defectors.” He shifted, thinking of all the nights he'd seriously considered doing it, ripping off his badge and leaving and then remembering the stories he'd heard about what happened to guys who left if Megatron found them.
“My point is, it was safer to stay.”
Sandstorm nodded, gaze drifting to the floor. “Your reasons are all better than mine. I wanted to leave, thought about it all the time, but Optimus has this....thing. This thing he does if you screw up. It's like...the Earth term is 'disappointed Dad'. He just looks at you like he had all the hopes in the world for you, like he believed you could do anything and then you fragged up and he just. Can't believe you'd let him down like that. Somehow I couldn't stand the thought of him looking like that because of me.”
“Frag, yeah, I know exactly what you mean.” Though the end of Sandstorm's reasoning was very serious, Octane started laughing anyway, and this time it was more natural. “I haven't met Prime personally or anything but...I totally know what you mean.” As his laughter calmed an idea hit him suddenly, so brilliant he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before, and he leaned in, lowering his voice to a near whisper.
“Dude....why don't we defect together?”
Sandstorm's eyes went wide, and he was too shocked to speak. Octane took the opportunity to forge on. “We could be neutrals, do whatever we want, get out of this stupid war. Two bots together would have more of a chance than one alone, right? We could do it, I know it - !”
“Octane,” Sandstorm said gently, then, more firmly, “Octane,” and the 'Con's mouth snapped shut.
“That's – that's a nice plan, but I don't think I - “ he cut himself off as the hovtrain started slowing, a mechanical voice in several different languages announcing the next stop. “This is where we get off. C'mon.”
They lapsed into an awkward silence once they got off, and Octane barely hid his frustration. They'd been doing great, and even though he still thought his plan was a good one he should've kept it to himself, because now he'd gone and screwed it all up.
Sandstorm must have noticed something was off, though, because as they walked down the road leading away from the hovtrain station and the huge circle of casinos came into view Sandstorm made a point of clapping Octane on the shoulder and beaming.
“Primus, look at that!” He kept his hand on Octane's shoulder and the comforting weight of it cheered him up some. “We really hit the jackpot with this one.”
Even with his shitty mood Octane burst out laughing. “Oh, dude, that was bad.”
“But you laughed, which means it was actually awesome.”
“I laughed out of pity,” Octane insisted, fighting back the giggles still threatening to bubble past his lips.
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
Octane smirked, and relaxed. As they descended the path to the first casino the awkwardness between them eased. Though he was disappointed that Sandstorm hadn't said anything about his idea, he was still grateful that the Autobot had worked to fix the rift between them. He felt a fresh rush of affection.
The first thing they noticed as they came over the small hill leading to the row of casinos was that there was a small market that had accumulated around the main road. It was unsurprising to see, for Octane at least. He knew most of these hawkers would be selling fake luck charms and the like to gullible tourists. Swindle would have found good work here, he mused.
And then he spotted the booth with the small mountain of boxes of engex behind it.
“Sandstorm.” He nudged his companion, slowing down. “You see that?”
“What, the blue cat alien and the green haired lady?” He shook his head at Octane. “Dude, of course I see it. How much you think we can afford?”
“I dunno but I want all of it.” Octane grinned, the seeds of another plan taking root in his mind. “If we had all that....we'd have enough engex for everyone on the ship for a year, and then some.”
Sandstorm eyed him. “I know that look. What're you scheming?”
“We could have our own bar!”
Sandstorm went quiet for a klik, considering it, and Octane was practically vibrating in excitement. He knew Sandstorm wouldn't be able to say no, and was proven right when the Autobot's face slowly split into a broad smile.
“Dude,” he said finally. “We totally could.”
“Yes!” He held his hand up for a high five, and after an astro-second Sandstorm understood the gesture and followed through.
“Alright, now let's go see how much they're charging.”
They walked together down the rest of the hill toward the stall with all the engex. Its owner, who was standing in front of it, appeared to be a Drakarian: a big purple lizard-like organic with a multi-colored frill currently resting in a ring around its neck. It looked up at them as they approached, a strange-looking tablet clutched in its claws. Octane grinned in a disarmingly friendly way when they were close enough. The Drakarian did not smile back.
“Hey there, friend!” Octane said cheerfully. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two more organics come up, a slightly smaller Drakarian and a big rocky Enclae. Having Sandstorm's presence at his side helped ease some of the nerves that erupted from such an intimidating crew. “Got a lot of engex there, huh?”
The Drakarian stared at them, then nodded. “Sure do. Finest quality in the system.” Its voice was gravelly, almost rasping.
Octane doubted it was that good of engex if the guy was hawking it in a place like this, but he still wanted it. “How much for the lot?”
The Drakarian gave him a dead eyed stare, then looked at its companions, and as if on cue all three of them burst out laughing.
“More than you can afford!” the owner said, laughter coming out in hoarse, barking bursts. In Drakarian, it said to its companions, “Can you believe this shoganna? Most hilarious we've seen all day!”
“I was serious,” Octane replied in the same tongue. He grinned when they all whipped toward him in shock, though the most gratifying was Sandstorm's look of awed surprise, which he saw out of the corner of his eyes. He had to admit, he loved showing people up like this.
“You still won't have enough, fleshy bag,” the Drakarian sneered in its own language.
“Actually, I'm called a 'human'.” The irony of this wasn't lost on him as he glanced from the stall owner to its cronies. If they really weren't going to barter with him at all he'd have to get creative. He glanced at the Drakarian, then at the casinos that still waited for him further down the road.
“You a betting man?” he asked. The Drakarian tried and failed to keep its face neutral, and Octane's grin widened. That hadn't changed about this particular species. “How 'bout we make a wager?”
“You have nothing I could want,” it sneered, though it was obvious by the way it was flicking its tail and ruffling its frill that its interest had been piqued. Drakarians were a lot like Octane himself, in that they could never really turn down a gamble.
“Oh, I think I do. I just so happen to have a fully operational Cybertronian ship with space bridge and light speed capabilities.”
He heard Sandstorm hiss out an, “Octane,” under his breath. Looked like the Autobot at least understood Drakarian, though with Sandstorm's past he should have known. It was likely Sandstorm knew a lot of languages, maybe as many as or more than Octane did; he made a mental note to find out. The stall owner, meanwhile, was flaring its nostrils.
“Cybertronian? How did you - “
“Hey, I'm not asking where you got all this engex, am I?” He shrugged. “But, if that's not interesting enough for you, I don't know what else to say - “
“Wait,” the Drakarian interrupted, and Octane stopped mid-sentence. He kept a straight face as the organic thought it over, tongue flicking out to taste the air. No doubt trying to see if Octane was lying – good thing Jetfire's holoavatars weren't that realistic.
“How do I know this ship is real?” it questioned. Octane let himself smile, then.
“I'll prove it.” He pulled something out of the pocket of his pants, a small tablet, and switched it on before handing it over to the Drakarian, who handed its own tablet to one of its lackeys.
“That's the permission we got from this planet to dock in orbit,” Octane explained. He heard Sandstorm suck in a breath; obviously his companion hadn't seen him pickpocket the tablet from Thundercracker right after they'd materialized here. The Drakarian looked it over, checking for signs of fraud, then flicked its tongue and handed the tablet back.
“So it is real.” It looked at its bodyguards, then growled and turned back to Octane.
“You have a wager. My engex against your ship. But I choose the game.”
“Fair enough,” Octane agreed, even as the Enclae rumbled something Octane didn't understand. That one was a language he didn't know. The Drakarian hissed back at him, frill flaring, and the Enclae backed down.
“Well, if we're all settled.” Octane beamed at the lot of them, hands on his hips. He knew he was really gonna get it from Sandstorm once they were done here – the bot was practically radiating restlessness in his need to say something – but he'd deal with that later. Right now he had some gambling to do.
The Drakarian bowed its head. “We are ready.”
“Great!” Octane rubbed his hands together and turned toward the casinos, ignoring the way Sandstorm was trying to catch his eye. “Let's hit the slots!”
-x-
Tracks trailed along behind Raoul as the latter bounced from vehicle to vehicle, exclaiming about this feature or the other before getting too excited and running to the next one. They were all beautiful, these exotic and alien cars, but Tracks' mood was soured by jealousy. Raoul had said none of these could compare to the real Tracks, but Raoul had also never gushed over him like this.
He wasn't usually this sensitive, it was just...Raoul had been acting weird ever since they got here, and as usual instead of mentioning it Tracks had internalized it and was pouting. After the initial drama of Raoul's discovery as a stowaway, they'd settled back into their friendship fairly well and he was frustrated that something about this trip seemed to have tipped the balance, something he couldn't figure out.
Raoul waved from a ways off, bringing Tracks out of his thoughts as he called for him to come over. Though this body wasn't real he still felt his spark – heart ? - constrict in his chest. Oh, but he could never say no to that boy.
“Look at this,” Raoul said once Tracks had made his way over. He was standing beside a sleek hover car that levitated several feet off the floor. It was a model clearly built for speed, and its design was beautifully elegant, the colors complimenting its form even further.
Tracks hated it.
“Ansari was just telling me about all of the features,” Raoul continued, gesturing at the slim, black-and-white furball standing nearby. To talk to Raoul he probably had a translator, which meant he was a planet employee. “This thing can travel over a thousand miles per hour!” Raoul's accent thickened the more excited he got, and despite his mood Tracks found himself weakening.
“That's pretty impressive,” he admitted, crossing his arms. And then, still harboring bitterness, he added, “Blurr could outpace that on his worst day.”
Ansari tilted their head, long ear stalks drooping in confusion. “I am not familiar with this model 'Blurr'.”
“That's because he's not a model, he's a person.” He could feel Raoul's gaze on him, knew exactly what expression he'd be wearing – eyebrows raised and mouth open in confusion and a little hurt. It was the same face he made whenever Tracks criticized the cars he used to bring home to fix.
Ansari's ear stalks tilted politely. “I'm afraid I don't understand.”
“You wouldn't, because you don't have any real vehicles here, any Cybertronian vehicles. Why, if I was myself - “
“Hey, would you look at the time!” Raoul grabbed Tracks' arm and started pulling him away, ignoring his protests. “We've got somewhere to be. Thanks, Ansari!”
When they were out of earshot Raoul rounded on Tracks, hands on his hips.
“What was that? I thought you said they hated your people here, why are you trying to tell them who you really are?”
“I was merely stating a fact,” Tracks snapped back, even as guilt rolled through him. This was supposed to be a fun day out, and he'd caused a fight. “This car show is nowhere near as incredible as it would be if Cybertronians were allowed to participate!”
“Okay, but they aren't.” Raoul sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I thought we came here 'cause we both wanted to, but ever since we got here you've acted like you want to leave. What is up with you today?”
“I could ask the same thing of you,” Tracks said defensively. To his surprise, Raoul flushed and looked away.
“Let's just go.” Raoul didn't look at him again, instead puling the pamphlet and map out of his pocket. “We'll find something else to do.”
They left the vehicle show, walking in uneasy silence along the path that led to other parts of this area. It was warm and sunny, and they passed plenty of tourists out with friends or family. Tracks glanced intermittently at Raoul. Perhaps he shouldn't have agreed to this, and instead stayed behind with Ambulon on the ship, because with what had just happened and everything else he felt like he'd signed up for his own personal hell. His normal urges to touch Raoul were present, but he was used to being too large to really fulfill them, and had become accustomed to that. Now, though, at his current size, he could do it, touch his arm, his hair, his face – except he still couldn't. Because 'best friends' didn't touch each other that way, and Raoul was mad at him right now, anyway.
He let the silence drag for another few kliks, Raoul wandering aimlessly down this path or that, clearly having yet to come up with a new destination, before he said something.
“Look, I'm – sorry about that. What I said back there.” Tracks cleared his throat. “I don't know what came over me.”
“I do.” Raoul looked up, and though he wouldn't meet Tracks' eyes he finally cracked a smile. “You were jealous, hombre.”
Tracks huffed indignantly. “Jealous? Of course I wasn't jealous- “
“It's fine, I get it,” Raoul interrupted. “You wanted to strut your stuff too and you didn't get the chance so you were pissed.”
Well, that wasn't exactly it, but he'd let Raoul think it was. He huffed and turned away.
“I could have outshone all of those cars.”
“Aha! I knew it!” When Tracks looked back, lips pursed, Raoul was beaming at him and actually looking at him and he couldn't hold back a chuckle. Some of the tension eased.
“Alright, you were right. Now have you found anything else to do? I feel like we've been walking forever and my feet hurt.”
“Those aren't even real feet!” Raoul said, laughing as he looked at the map again. “And there's this virtual reality arcade nearby we can go to. It's not much further to walk.”
Tracks groaned but there was no real bite in it. “Fine, fine, as long as we can sit when we get there. I miss my wheels.”
“I think you'll be okay,” Raoul said with a smirk. “You're not actually walking, remember?”
“It feels like I'm walking.”
It took them several more kliks to reach the arcade, which turned out to be a building similar in appearance to Earth arcades, but about ten times larger. As far as Raoul could tell from the pamphlet, the virtual reality game he was thinking of trying was somewhere in the middle of the arcade. It was some kind of racing game, as Raoul explained it. He led the way through the crowds of organics around and inside the entrance, Tracks wrinkling his nose in distaste at every appendage he brushed against on their way through. He preferred to have his personal space free of sweaty, fleshy organics (that weren't Raoul, anyway).
When they reached the game they found that it, too, was fairly packed, with a long line at the entrance. It was a separate, closed off room from the rest of the arcade, which was promising. Tracks checked the prices listed on a board above the front counter – this was an attraction you had to pay for despite already having paid the entrance fee – and was reaching for the credits card in his pocket when Raoul grabbed his wrist to stop him.
“You paid for me, remember? I owe you one.” Raoul smiled, and Tracks sighed but didn't protest. Instead he thanked Jetfire silently because he could feel the warmth of Raoul's hand on his skin, and he knew hand holding was a human custom but if he shifted his hand just so he could make it happen -
“Oh, the line's moving.” Raoul let go and stepped forward. Tracks frowned, then shook his head and followed. Wasn't that just his luck.
When they reached the counter to pay Tracks was still quicker, credits card at the ready and he pushed ahead of Raoul to pay for them both. Raoul watched him, eyebrows raised, and when they moved past the cashier and into the area itself (which turned out to be larger than Tracks had thought from the outside, with several doors branching off and leading into separate rooms where the game presumably was located) he said,
“I told you I was gonna pay this time!”
“Yes, but you were too slow.” Tracks mentally did the math; he'd exaggerated how much the entrance fee had cost him, but with these tickets and even though he'd put his own credits on the card along with what Silverbolt had given them, he was almost out of money.
Raoul laughed, and Tracks didn't miss the nervous edge to it. “Keep paying for me and I'm going to think this is a date.”
“Oh?” Tracks' heart pounded. All he had to do was say 'It could be' and maybe Raoul would respond positively, would like the idea as much as Tracks did but instead what came out was, “Is it not normal to treat your best friend?”
“Yeah, nah, I was just kidding,” Raoul said quickly, looking away. Tracks cursed his own ineptitude.
The room they'd been assigned was very close to being available when they reached it, at least as far as Tracks could tell from the digital clock set into the wall beside the door. The numbers were in a language he faintly recognized and were very close to counting down to its equivalent of zero when the two of them showed up.
Raoul couldn't have known that, but he still said, “You ready to get your butt kicked?”
Tracks snorted. “I may not be as fast as Blurr, but I was quite the racer on Cybertron. I think you're the one about to get a butt kicking.”
“We'll see.” Raoul grinned, and Tracks couldn't help but mirror it. He settled into this, this easy camaraderie they always had, and it helped him ignore the ache in his chest for something more romantic. Good thing he'd gotten very good at doing that in Raoul's presence.
When the timer ran out it took a few more kliks for the previous guests to exit – from a species Tracks didn't recognize, but they sure had a lot of tentacles – and then Tracks was up and leading the way through the door.
The setup didn't look very spectacular, he thought once they were inside. There was a row of chairs placed in front of what kinda looked like a computer bank, and each chair had a wired helmet and fingerless gloves attached to it. Otherwise the room was empty. It wasn't very inviting but Tracks assumed the game itself would be better.
Raoul, meanwhile, was enamored. “This looks like something out of the eighties,” he said, walking around the bank of equipment, before sitting down in the first chair and looking over the helmet and gloves. “Though this stuff seems pretty advanced.”
“Oh, this is actually quite rudimentary compared to what I've seen.” Tracks sat next to Raoul, and it occurred to him that this might not even work for him, considering that he was currently nothing but a very fancy hologram. “But I'm sure it will be fun.”
“Uh-huh.” Raoul smiled. “Always gotta one-up the competition, huh?”
Tracks huffed. “I'm just saying.”
They only had a certain amount of time to play, though, so instead of wasting time they both followed the instructions posted on each station (with pictures, thankfully) for putting on the gear. Tracks felt sensor nodes press against his temple and the nape of his neck once the helmet was in place and wondered if the equipment might be more advanced than he'd thought initially. The gloves were the same way, a one-size-fits-all-appendages type deal that, when he put them on, molded to his hand perfectly. He turned his hand over and back again in wonderment.
“Guess it's not as 'rudimentary' as you thought,” Raoul commented. Tracks made a face at him and then goggles snapped down over his eyes, cutting off all vision of the room around him. It appeared the game was set up to start automatically. Tracks felt himself getting excited; he did love racing, and games, and he couldn't wait to try this one.
And that was when everything went wrong.
The nodes on the helmet started sending an electric current into Tracks' head – at least, that's what he assumed it was, from the tingling – and as the machine began integrating him into the virtual environment he felt a burst of pain so sharp he nearly doubled over in his chair.
“Ahh – what - “ It came again, a shock that coursed through his body and had him crying out in agony. He dimly heard Raoul calling his name, and another voice – Ambulon, through the comm connection Jetfire had installed – but he couldn't respond. He blindly groped at the helmet, trying to pull it off even as the pain grew worse, his breathing ragged and he needed to get out and then he was free, suddenly, the helmet gone, the pain subsiding. He saw Raoul's face above him, tight and pale with fear, and then he crumpled out of his chair and onto the floor.
He woke to Raoul's voice, and two others. One was Ambulon, still buzzing in his ear, and the other he didn't recognize, speaking a common tongue in this part of the galaxy.
“I don't understand you,” Raoul was saying, almost desperately. Tracks slowly became aware that Raoul's hand was on his cheek, or maybe he was still unconscious and hallucinating. His thoughts weren't working quite right.
“You can't report this, I'll get fired!” the foreign voice repeated, even as Ambulon yelled, “Tracks, are you there? Answer me!”
“I'm here, I'm here,” he grumbled. Both Raoul and the alien – a humanoid with blue skin and eyes way too big for its face – looked at him. Raoul's hand dropped as Tracks sat up with a groan. His head ached fiercely as he asked, “What happened?”
“The equipment malfunctioned,” the alien replied. He was wearing a uniform that marked him as an arcade employee. “But – please don't report it, I'm supposed to make sure this doesn't happen, and I really need this job - “
“Hey, hey, calm down,” Tracks interrupted, talking both to the kid and Ambulon, who was still yelling in his ear, “We're not going to report it, okay?” He started struggling to his feet, feeling sluggish and somehow heavier than before, and was grateful when Raoul took his arm to help him up.
“Oh, thank you!” The kid seemed almost on the verge of tears. “I'll give you a full refund and everything, and some guest passes to come back for free - “
“Sounds good.” He leaned heavily against Raoul, fairly certain he couldn't stand on his own right now. His body felt leaden, and slow, and he wondered what the hell that machine had done to him. “Lead the way.”
They left the room, Raoul still supporting him as they walked, and Tracks took the opportunity to reassure Ambulon that yes, he was fine, he just got a mild electric shock or something, no need to freak out.
“Mild electric shock?” Ambulon wasn't quite shouting, but he sure could make a normal volume sound like he was. “How in Primus' name did you manage that?”
“It's – I'm not sure, honestly, but – look, it's not a big deal. I'm fine.”
“You'd better not do anything else like that, or I'm asking Jetfire how to turn that holoavatar off by remote.”
Tracks rolled his eyes. “Fine. Message received.”
By the time they reached the counter Tracks was recovered enough to walk on his own, and though he enjoyed Raoul's arm around him he also hated looking pathetic and gently disentangled himself from his friend. The alien – named Lala, apparently – gave them their refund and the guest passes and thanked them again for not saying anything to management. Tracks was grateful when they finally got out of there, though he could feel Raoul's worried gaze on him.
“You sure you're okay?” he asked once they were outside.
“For the most part. I have a bit of a headache but it's going away.”
Raoul frowned, like he didn't believe him, but didn't press. Tracks was glad. In fact his entire body ached, and he didn't have the patience to deal with a concerned and doting Raoul. If they'd been back on the ship he might've reveled in it, but not here. They were supposed to having fun, after all, not worrying about a silly injury.
“Cheer up, Raoul.” Tracks managed a smile. “We've still got a few cycles before we have to go back. Why don't we take a walk around? I think I saw a park nearby on the map.”
Raoul studied his face for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Okay. Let's do that.”
Tracks' smile widened, grateful that Raoul was letting it go. He took the map and, looking over it as they walked, led the way to the park.
-x-
Rotorstorm hadn't really had anything in mind to do when Silverbolt set them loose on Caaldur, so when everyone split up he started walking on his own toward the gates, nose buried in the brochure Silverbolt had given them. He kept making faces every time he saw one of his own hands or legs or anything else on this fake human body; he knew it wasn't real, but it felt real enough that he was itchy and uncomfortable and almost wished he'd opted to stay behind. He'd thought touching organics was horrible, but being an organic was almost worse.
He didn't get very far when he heard someone call his name and he stopped, turning to see two of the others coming toward him. He instinctively started to back away until it hit him who they were – Swindle, now a small, pale human, and Dirge, a bigger, tanner one.
“You guys look awful,” Rotorstorm said as they caught up to him.
“I don't know, I think they're fitting.” Swindle grinned as they started walking to the gates again, he and Dirge on either side of Rotorstorm. “The kid even gave you a pink streak in your hair.”
“Did he? I didn't see. I don't want to know what I look like.”
“Good. You look good.” Dirge looked away, smiling shyly when Rotorstorm turned to him. “In case you were curious.”
He wasn't sure what constituted a 'good-looking' organic (they were all ugly to him) but he still grinned at the compliment. “'Course I do. When do I not look good?”
He forced himself to get used to their presence as the three of them made their way to the main gates, and by the time they got there he could almost pretend things were normal. Rotorstorm had been spending an increasing amount of time around these two in recent weeks – one or the other usually sought him out, but sometimes he went to them – and it was almost surreal, how comfortable he'd become with being friends with two Decepticons. Well, the whole situation on the ship in general was surreal; this was just more so, considering his whole job with the Wreckers had been to exterminate as many 'Cons as possible. Dirge and Swindle, though, had never tried to fight with him, never tried to hurt him, and almost seemed to like being around him. More than the Autobots he'd befriended over the years, even. He shook his head. Surreal.
“What is it?” Dirge asked, and he realized he must have looked weird, shaking his head out of nowhere.
“Oh...nothing. I was just thinking.”
“About what you wanna do, I hope,” Swindle said, “Because I don't have any ideas.”
“I do!” As they passed through the main gates, Dirge pointed off to the left. “Let's go there.”
Rotrostorm's eyebrows rose when he saw what Dirge was pointing at. “Is that...a carnival?”
From what he could see that had to be what it was. He could see what looked like rides, mainly a huge roller coaster and a double carriage wheel, along with a bunch of smaller stalls and buildings that were likely games and other amusements. Rotorstorm shrugged. He liked carnivals okay.
“Sure, I'm good with that,” Swindle said at the same time Rotorstorm said, “Why not?” Dirge smiled, and Rotorstorm had gotten used to his human face enough to think it was almost as cute as the real thing. He banished the thought almost as soon as he had it; he needed to stop doing that. Friendship with 'Cons was one thing, but unrequited crushes on them was another entirely.
“Let's go over there. These things should get us in, right?” Rotorstorm shook the bangle on his wrist.
“Yeah,” Swindle replied. “They're supposed to get us into any place on the planet.”
Rotorstorm clapped his hands together. “Sweet. Let's go.”
It wasn't a long walk to the carnival, which was set beside a pond near the entrance. One of the rides even swung out over the water, something that looked like a giant upside-down claw that swung back and forth while rotating at the same time. Rotorstorm grinned as he watched it; he definitely wanted to try that.
They flashed their bangles at the entrance and were allowed through. This area was packed, likely mostly because it was right by the main gates, and for a klik Rotorstorm wished they'd gone somewhere else. There were organics everywhere, more than he'd ever wanted to see in his whole life – and then Dirge and Swindle both took an arm and dragged him forward, working surprisingly in tandem for two bots that he often got the impression didn't like each other.
“Let's check out the games first,” Swindle said, pulling on Rotorstorm's left arm, while Dirge suggested, “I wanna see the funhouses,” and clung to his right. Rotorstorm braced himself and stopped, jolting the both of them out of their momentum.
“Why don't we try that?” With his arms trapped he nodded at the huge rollercoaster he'd noticed earlier. Swindle's face went blank while Dirge nodded.
“Yeah, you know what, maybe you guys should go ahead, I'll check out some of the other rides - “
“No way! We're all going together,” Rotorstorm insisted. Pleasure and reluctance warred for dominance of Swindle's expression until he finally sighed and gave in.
“Okay, fine, I'll go.”
Dirge smiled and Rotorstorm beamed, and this time the tables were turned as they took Swindle's arms and pulled him to the rollercoaster's entrance.
The line wait wasn't as long as Rotorstorm had feared it would be, what with all of the tourists – he was too restless to stand around with organics for that long – and Rotorstorm made sure that when it was finally their turn to board he got the very front seats. All three of them could fit in it together, and Swindle was in the middle, face even paler as Rotorstorm pulled the safety bar down on their laps.
“You know what?” he said shakily, knuckles white as he gripped the bar. “I think I changed my mind.”
“Too late!” Rotorstorm couldn't stop grinning, and when he looked over he saw Dirge mirroring his expression back at him. After another klik the ride started, and Swindle closed his eyes as the rollercoaster began ascending the first monster drop. Rotorstorm glanced at Swindle as they went, and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze; Swindle kept his eyes tightly shut. At the very top of the assent Swindle couldn't see the small dip before the main drop, and when they went over that he lost it.
“HOLY FRAG PRIMUS SAVE ME THIS IS THE END -”
“Not yet!” Rotorstorm shouted over the wind tearing at their hair and clothes; and then they went over the big drop. Swindle started screaming and didn't stop for the entire ride. He even grabbed Rotorstorm's arm at one point, grip vice-like and nearly painful, but Rotorstorm didn't push him off as he whooped and hollered in glee. He was having a blast, and even with the roar of the coaster and Swindle's yelling he could hear Dirge laughing too. When the coaster came to a stop at the end Swindle finally stopped screaming, but it took him a second to move, his fingers still tight on Rotorstorm's arm, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving as he panted.
“See, that wasn't so bad,” Rotorstorm said gently, finally pulling Swindle out of the seat.
“I hate you,” was Swindle's response.
They were only able to convince Swindle to go on two more rides – both fairly tame and close to the ground, to Rotorstorm's disappointment – before he started claiming they owed him for the rollercoaster and that it was time to play some carnival games. They still had plenty of time to ride more rides later so Rotorstorm agreed, and they walked to where the majority of the game stalls were located. Swindle brought the two of them to one of those water game shooters first.
“I'm really good at these games,” Swindle bragged as they paid the credit fee for playing. “So prepare to get your afts beat.”
“I thought you only sold guns, not shot them,” Dirge quipped. Rotorstorm hid a snort and Swindle gave Dirge a 'very funny' look.
“Put your credits where your mouth is, Swindle,” Rotorstorm said as he sat at one of the guns near the end of the stall, the other chairs filling up with aliens of all kinds.
The game started a few kliks later and Rotorstorm's aim was dead on from the beginning. It ended with him in first place, Swindle and one of the organics at the other end of the booth a very close second. Rotorstorm's grin was genuinely surprised as the employee of the booth came over to him and told him to pick a prize.
“You pick,” he said to Swindle, and the smile he earned had his (stomach?) doing a flip. They left that game with a stuffed version of some creature Rotorstorm didn't recognize. But he was happy, because Swindle looked happy; until he looked up and noticed that Dirge didn't.
“You okay?” he asked, moving around Swindle as they walked so he could be beside Dirge, resting a hand on the Seeker's shoulder. He missed the flash of annoyance across Swindle's face.
“Oh, um, yes, I'm fine.”
“I can win you something too, if you want,” Rotorstorm suggested, and when Dirge brightened immediately he knew he'd guessed correctly. “Ccome on, let's try that game over there.” He pointed toward a nearby booth with some kind of ring toss game involving glass bottles. The prizes looked just as big as the one he'd won for Swindle.
“That looks perfect!” Dirge gave Swindle a smug look behind Rotorstorm's back that the latter couldn't see.
“The ring toss game, it turned out, was a lot harder than it looked. Each time Rotorstorm thought his aim was right, it had to land on the bottle this time, the ring would fall short, or overshoot, or, most frustratingly of all, hit the bottle's rim and bounce off. After three rounds he was about to give up when he glanced over and noticed how Dirge's expression had fallen back into dejected disappointment. Rotorstorm clenched his fists. No, he wasn't about to let some stupid game beat him like this.
“Don't worry, that was just a warm up,” he said to Dirge, grinning reassuringly and wishing he hadn't set a precedent by winning something for Swindle. He paid for a fourth round, juggling the rings in one hand and hoping he could make good on what he'd said. He couldn't deal with having Dirge upset for the rest of the day because of him.
He went in with a determination to rival that of his first day at the military academy. When the second to last of his rings made a neat ringer around one of the bottles he almost started crying.
“Yes!” He pumped a fist in the air, beaming at Dirge as the organic manning the stall took down one of the big stuffed prizes hanging from the top of the booth. “Told you I'd get you one.”
“This is a pretty nice setup,” Swindle mused, peering around his own prize at the stall. “The customer practically scams themself.”
“Hey, don't talk like that, I wanna feel good about this,” Rotorstorm warned. And he did feel good – how could he not, with the way Dirge was hugging his prize and grinning like he was the happiest bot in the 'verse?
They tried the funhouse next, but didn't get more than a few feet inside before Dirge realized he was actually terrified of funhouses (Rotorstorm didn't blame him; he didn't like those mirrors, either) and they left, ending up standing at the edge of the area where the rides were located.
“What should we do now?” Rotorstorm asked, looking around. He'd taken to carrying Swindle's stuffed creature, as Swindle had complained how his arms were getting tired.
“We could go on another rollercoaster,” Dirge suggested.
Swindle shot that down immediately. “If you try to drag me onto another one of those things I'll beat you to death with your own toy.”
“O-kay, no rollercoasters.” Rotorstorm looked around again, frowning in thought. There had to be something else they could do, some other ride they could go on together...he didn't want to do anything that would leave Swindle out. After a moment, he spotted the perfect attraction and smiled.
“What about that?” Rotorstorm gestured off to the left, at the huge, slowly spinning carriage wheel near the water. It had dangling seats hanging from its rim, and from this distance he could just see the shapes of people inside them. “Would you be okay with that?”
Swindle squinted at what he was talking about and, after a klik of deliberation, sighed and said, “Yeah, that should be fine.”
“Great!” With Swindle's prize tucked under his arm, he grabbed Dirge's free hand and started leading the way to the wheel, completely missing the look of utter delight that crossed Dirge's face. He was too busy thinking he wished he could have taken Swindle's hand, too – but Swindle probably wouldn't have liked that. Pit, he doubted Dirge did.
The line for the wheel ended up being much larger than the one for the rollercoaster. Rotorstorm bounced on the balls of his pedes (feet?), impatient to actually get on the ride. Behind him, Dirge (whose hand he was no longer holding) was sticking his tongue out at Swindle, who made a rude gesture in return. Finally, after what seemed like eons, the three of them were helped into one of the carriages (the two big stuffed toys sat off to the side of the ride, in an area designated specifically for that).
There was a bench on either side of the carriage but they all sat on the same side, Rotorstorm in the middle. There was enough room for them to sit comfortably, though their legs all touched, and even though Rotorstorm knew he was currently a fancy holographic image the contact made his skin tingle. A weird, surreal sensation he wasn't used to, but not in a bad way anymore. He carefully rested his arms on the edge of the carriage wall behind the both of them.
“This is cool, right?” he asked, grinning at one and then the other. Dirge nodded. Swindle was pale again.
“It's – okay, I guess,” Swindle managed. “I don't feel like I'm going to fall off the edge of the planet, at least.”
“See, that's good! This one's not so bad. It moves pretty slow.” Almost too slow for Rotorstorm's taste but that was alright. The ride made up for it when their carriage rotated around to the top of the wheel and then stopped, swinging gently. The view from here was terrific – they could see straight over the water, the buildings and attractions of another area of the planet just rising above the edge of the horizon. Rotorstorm loved it. He felt a rush of something, warmth, affection, he didn't know, but it had him curling his hand around both Dirge and Swindle's shoulders and pulling them both in for a side hug.
“This is gonna sound stupid, but – thanks for hanging out with me.” He smiled at them both. “You guys are pretty cool, for Decepticons.”
“You're right, that does sound stupid,” Swindle teased, but Rotorstorm could've sworn he was leaning into the embrace, and Dirge definitely was, so the comment only made his grin widen. He let go as the wheel began to turn again. Whatever else came of this weird team up thing they all had going, at least he had this, this one ride together, even if it was on a planet full of nasty organics. Well, he thought, he supposed organics did some things right. They'd given him this.