His helm tilting even farther to the side, Ironhide hums. “A pest, huh?” he echoes, tone somewhat amused despite their obvious mutual wariness. He’s starting to calm down, though; after all, this self-proclaimed pest is just a bitlet, and pretty much the first mecha to say more than three words to Ironhide since he’d been abandoned by Igneous. He prefers it to just being stared at my the young mech…
For a few moments, Ironhide just continues to watch the bitlet, analyzing his body language - still wary, but unthreatening - and subconsciously responding with his own. His shoulders fall from their parade rest stiffness and he shifts his weight from one pede to the other, and once again his servo reaches down to fiddle with the edge of the cape, more out of just wanting something to do with his digits than nervousness at this point. The bitlet’s a sufficient distraction from it at the moment,
When the bitlet voices his interest in the blade, Ironhide narrows his optics a bit and hums before answering. “Starglass,” he replies. “Technically a stone and not actual glass, but…” After a moment of hesitation. he pulls the blade out of its strappings and brandishes it a little. It’s almost comical how it receives little response from the mecha around them, aside from a few appreciative passing glances, but this is Simfur. Weapons are basically everyday household items here and mecha show them off like one might a piece of fine jewelry - and this blade is as much an accessory as it is a tool. Igneous had made sure of it.
Tristis’s gaze follows the blade as the mech unstraps it, watching it reflect the colorful lights of the festival. He was fond of bladed weapons, from smaller throwing knives to the heaviest great-sword. Guns were just as fascinating, but some were a little loud for the mechling’s taste. Both of his creators had used blades as their main weapons of choice, which prompted the bitlet’s fondness of them. It helped that a lot of them were shinier than guns.
“I’s pretty.” He comments, tips of his doorwings perking up. “Looks sharp too.” Tristis continues, orange optics becoming more curious by the klik. “Don’t see stone a’lot, ev’rythin’s met’l ‘n’ plasma ‘n’ lead.” From what he’d seen, of course. Maybe there were more stone-type weapons out there, but the mechling hadn’t been around the whole of Simfur, had never visited a weapons shop or a Temple to know if there was.
“Where’d ya get it?” The bitlet asks, audials flicking and rotating with small movements. Tristis had never heard of starglass before, so it must be a fairly rare material, if he were to guess. Though he supposes those in the lower districts wouldn’t have reason to talk about something so rare, it must be expensive. The blade certainly looked like it cost a pretty shanix.
“It is pretty,” Ironhide agrees, glancing from the starglass weapon to the bitlet. “And sharp.” He runs his thumb along the edge of the blade, the slightest pressure enough to slice open the metal and make a few beads of energon appear. He narrows his optics at the small sting of pain it causes before mindlessly licking it off of his digit and twirling the blade around in his servo. “That’s because stones are a bit harder to use when it comes to weapons,” he adds. “There aren’t a lot out there that are good enough for creating them. And the ones that are are difficult and dangerous to work with.”
Starglass extraction and purification stations aren’t exactly well-known for their worker survival rates.
When the bitlet asks him where he’d gotten the weapon from, he stops fiddling with it. “A friend,” he says after a moment. “My priest. It was a gift.” A courting gift, specifically, but Ironhide’s always hesitant with that information. It is relatively common knowledge that he is Igneous’… consort, but not a lot of mecha know that the priest is actually courting Ironhide. “They made it themselves.”
The bitlet watches the blade with childish wonder, tracking its movement and Ironhide’s servo with sharp eyes. He nods at the statement the mech makes about stone weapons and workers. It did make sense, stone did seem like an iffy material, consistency-wise. Metal could be melted down and shaped so much easier, and into a plethora of items. Blades, guns, shields, et cetera.
He tilts his helm at the statement of the blade being a gift. He’d heard of it before, people giving others weapons for gifts. Mostly from his Carrier, he had said something about his Sire’s sword being a gift of a sort. Tristis never really figured out what kind of gift, but he guessed it was important.
“They mus’ be skill’d.” Tristis comments, crossing his arms over his chassis. “Ya said priest? One o’ th’ ones fr’m th’ temples?”
