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It was not the first night she spent on Cybertron, but it certainly felt the longest, darkest, and gloomiest of all. Her spark, worn out trying to understand the alleged leader (and she thought alleged only due to his 'skills', or the lack of, to lead 'his people'), was starting to give into despair and grief as she felt the burden over her shoulders become heavier and heavier.
Starscream did not trust her, Chromia did not trust her enough, and she was starting to think the Mistress herself had sent her on this quest only to get rid of her.
With the door sliding shut behind her, she walked into her room, her steps echoing in the almost empty chamber. Aside of her berth and her sheathed sword now lying on top of it, there was nothing that would declare this was her quarters, her happy place, her home.
Because she was not at home.
But was Caminus even her real home...?
She fell on her knees as she walked, silently, helplessly. The battle with Starscream had been too rough; though not heavily injured, she resented each blow, each hit, and more than to her physical frame she resented them in her spark.
You're not wanted here.
This isn't your home... either.
Her servos went to her spark, the pain burning like a stab wound and, in earnest attempt, she tried to scratch the pain away. Her digits however only met the cold metal of her own casing, bringing strangled sobs out of her vocalizer as she was starting to feel desperate of her own silence.
'I won't give in,' she thought in spite of the voices of insecurity in her processor, 'not for my own moral comfort, not for myself!'
Placing her servo at the end of her berth, she gathered enough strength to stand up once more. Her wings were still lowered in surrender and submission, but not so her spirit. Even as defeated as she felt... what else could she do? Go offline in a foreign planet, leaving Chromia to her own luck? Leaving Metroplex at the mercy of Starscream? No... No, she had to pull herself together.
... Camiens were expressive people by nature. Dancers, singers, performers of all kinds and of all arts. Whether driven by honesty or personal gain, Camiens were used to express their feelings. Yet not so dear Windblade, who had always been too mindful of other Camiens' opinions. She was by no means submissive, yet she had learnt to battle her fights with silence and patience, though no one ever knew how painful it was.
Yet she was by no means inexpressive. Her facial features were a window to her deepest sufferings and joys, albeit few 'bots were able to look through them. More importantly, dear Windblade knew how to cope with her own feelings when they were overwhelming her.
She would sing.
And she wouldn’t sing what others rehearsed for weeks and weeks, no. She would sing from the spur of the moment, from her spark. It was a talent and a blessing that was later considered unnatural and untrue as she could not perform as well when not emotionally engaged. She had resented that comment when it caught her audios, but it never stopped her. In the middle of the night, in the loneliness of her quarters, she would open the blinds and sing to the moonless starred sky.
Faintly, her digits delicately opened the hatch and heaved the blinds so not to wake up Chromia next door. Primus would be her witness and sole listener, Primus and Metroplex, if he was not in deep recharge. The sky greeted her with distant stars and silence, the entire city covered in a deep-blue mantle. She fixed her gaze upon a star and began, her glossa enjoying pronouncing in its native tongue for the first time in a while.
"To get my happiness I have done everything,
But have done nothing to be blamed or accused of,
the sounds of steps become louder every day and
I've noticed the fact there is no time."
Slowly, her wings had started to rise as she continued, finally being lifted high and pleading as she continued to sing.
"I've been a believer in life to be myself always,
but now I'm asking whether I will stay alive."
And then, she pleaded to Primus.
"Give me a reason why not to adopt in this way,
or judge me to be guilty of this incurable sin.
Tell me why, or why not? Am I complaining way too much?
Maybe I've overlooked something fatal for me"
"Oh~" she sang, going on and on with the note as she felt the distress slowly leaving her spark case, even when the burden itself remained.
It was hardly a victory but as battered as he felt, he would consider it at least an acceptable outcome for the time being. Starscream, in no mood of having to look himself in the mirror, walked in complete darkness from his desk and throne room to a secret staircase that led to his quarters. Only when the door had sound shut behind him did he lean against the door and slid to the ground, his swords clattering as he sat.
'That wretched Cityspeaker,' he thought with disdain at the thought of her and how she had outsmarted him this time.
So maybe she wasn't as morally pure as she had claimed. Most of him felt satisfied at this, that she wasn't as pure, that there were nothing and no one who, looking so pure, could not hide some darkness inside of them. Yes, this satisfied him, but the smirk that came to his lips was dark and harrowing.
He tried not to sigh, his wings resenting the repression of feelings and thus fluttering in anxious frustration. The whole of Cybertron was at a complete standstill! And, considering how things had progressed, he was close to being in fetters and at the mercy of the mob yet again. A silent warning was becoming louder every day, but he kept pretending not to hear it.
Not to hear him. Bumblebee. After all, he got himself killed. Nothing he said could grant him he, Lord Starscream, could not, would not, end in the same way or worse. Yet he felt him, disapproving and disappointed of him as the meaning was engraved in his optics all along, piercing through his processor.
But the feeling never lasted long, it grew dark before he could even find a sign to which hold onto.
Yet he questioned himself. Among the nonsense tragedies, what in the Pit was he looking for? Bumblebee kept whispering to him 'you only have to be honest with yourself and your own fate', but Starscream had no idea what that even meant, or if he even was willing to try deciphering it.
Why do it?
'Why not?' replied Bumblebee in his mind. 'Aren't you complaining way too much?'
'Maybe I'm overlooking something fatal for me', thought Starscream bitterly, standing up to have some fresh air and fresher thoughts before going to recharge. His current mood only promised a processor-ache for tomorrow and he did not need such after the rough fight he had already encountered.
He opened the glass doors that led to his personal balcony, the sight of a dormant Cybertron greeting him with melancholy as the blue-mantle covered them all, though at least the stars could be appreciated. He let his servos rest in the railing and inhaled deeply, his wings raising and slightly fluttering in small content when...
"There is nobody who knows, there will be nobody..."
The language sounded oddly familiar despite it was not Cybertronian, but the voice did not. He had no idea who could be singing at this late hour but they could not be so far away. There was no wind to carry their voice.
"Except for me, all the world has gone insane."
Piqued by curiosity, exhaustion momentarily forgotten, he searched with his gaze for the direction of the sound as the song progressed. It was not precisely Vosnian, but it sounded quite like it. He had recognised a few words 'ienad', that was 'nobody'. 'Duom', that was 'world' and 'temne'd' was...
'insane'.
With the voice slightly and figuratively catching its breath, it went on. Starscream wasted not another second and jumped from the balcony to find who was singing and why, why of all the dead languages in Cybertron, it had to sound like the one of his beloved and annihilated home?
"So what, is forgiveness what you're willing to withhold?
What is the well-being you are willing to make?"
Windblade sang, servos to her spark as her voice carried the strength of her complaint. Her optics were closed, her wings were held high and though darkness veiled the city she could feel a warm light close to her. She wasn't over yet though.
"Now what? So what? Come to interrupt me, oh please, before I keep interrupting myself
Oh~"
Misled by darkness and the echo reverberating through the many buildings of Metroplex, Starscream felt like he was flying in circles, desperation growing as the voice performed with ad libitum. He followed the trail as it became niente, his frame reaching to a halt to listen what he was hoping it was not the last verse of the song.
"Eru'qro ni? ..."
'Why not? ...'
He turned around, knowing it had come from right behind him. The building he suspected was only four-stores high and there was not a light on. He waited for something else, something more, but his audios only registered the silence... and the sound of the blinds being closed.
He felt a burst of anger, frustration, regret and guilt building up at once. Growling, he flew away from there, having recognised the building a klick after the city had gone silent again.
The Cityspeaker lived there, she and her accursed bodyguard.
Windblade heaved a sigh, some relief sweeping over her troubled spark and processor. Her wings lowered in relaxation and, with the little strength she had left, she drove herself to lay on her berth and get some rest.
There was nothing else she could do. She would have to be strong now. May Primus be merciful with her, she was only trying to do what was best. Yet as she closed her optics she wondered, was this the right choice?
Starscream reached his quarters with renewed and threatening anger. He unsheathed his swords and let them burn only to throw them at the wall over his berth, the blades ending embedded on the wall with the fire withering away.
He fell to his knees and screamed in rage and agony as he tried to settle his processor straight, the voice of Bumblebee drowned by Starscream's.
He hated her, he hated her, he hated her! He hated her poised looks and amiable nature, he hated her blue optics! There was not an inch of her that did not infuriate hi him and yet...!
And yet... if she had been the one singing...
No.
That was impossible, she was from Caminus. She could have never been exposed to Vosnian long enough pick even the slightest trail of the language. More importantly, she was his enemy! He was not supposed to befriend her!
... He couldn't anymore, anyway. She would have to be insane to allow it.
Laying down as softly as possible on his berth, Starscream closed his optics and tried to get some recharge, trying to deny with all his might that the song carried by the echo had ever been real even.
Yet, his processor would not shut up about it.