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The video was steady and crystal clear. You could only tell it was a spectator video by the odd filming angle. Off to the side, awkwardly framed to catch both the fencers and the referee.
Well, the other clue was the color commentary. It was much more interesting than the official stuff.
"Did someone tell Starscream that glittery red looked good on his armor?" asked one of the commenters. "Or did he come up with that on his own?"
"I like the red," said the other commenter.
"Yeah, you would." Commenter One snorted. "It's the glitter that's the problem. I can't believe they let that distraction through the armory check. And red clashes with the brand."
"It does not, Soundwave, tell him—"
"Hush," said the mech with the camera. "Watch the bout."
"Deadlock's the distraction," mumbled Commenter Two. "With that big clunky helm."
"Shh," said Commenter One. "Watch the bout!"
The fencers on the screen leapt into the middle, their hands extending to strike. It looked simultaneous to Windblade, but Starscream shrieked with victory, and the referee apparently agreed.
Commenter One giggled. "Not gonna get many calls like that back home, Screamer."
"You know he's going to be talking about this bout for the next six quartex," said Commenter Two. "Every time someone calls simultaneous. It's going to be 'when I was at the Galactic Championships they didn't call it like that.'"
"Please, this is going to be all he talks about for a meta-cycle," said Commenter One. "He doesn't need an excuse. It's a teammate bout in the fragging quarter-finals."
"That was a nice touch, though," said Commenter Two. "And a good call. We should give him a video clip to show every single referee he's ever argued with."
Knock Out leaned close, his crest almost touching the old oversized datapad they were using as a screen. "Play it again."
"I can't see when you do that." Windblade tugged Knock Out back a few microns. One of the disadvantages of sitting crammed together on a packing case in a storage closet.
"Is this better?" Knock Out squirmed sideways until his back was plastered against Breakdown's side and his feet were tucked under Windblade's thigh.
Breakdown chuckled. "Fine with me."
"Your feet are cold," muttered Windblade.
"Not for long." Knock Out gestured at the screen. "Play it again."
Windblade put the video back twenty astroseconds and played the touch again.
"Simultaneous," said Knock Out.
"No," said Breakdown. "Slow it down to seventy percent."
Slower, Windblade could almost see something, some minute hesitation in Drift's—Deadlock's hand. "He's holding?"
"That's not holding," said Knock Out. "It's just a slower attack."
"It's holding," said Breakdown. "He's reacting to Starscream. He's thinking about parrying, and then he changes it to an attack at the last second."
"I guess they called it tight because it's a higher level." Knock Out sat back against Breakdown with a huff. "Still looks like simultaneous to me."
"It should be this tight all the time," said Breakdown. "You'd be able to tell the difference if you were fencing. You'd feel it."
Windblade let the video play on at the normal speed while Knock Out argued the touch with Breakdown. Did Drift still hesitate in his attack? Or had he only ever hesitated because he was fencing Starscream?
She'd asked for the old videos so she could analyze Drift's fencing, but the whole box only had Starscream's bouts. Five of them were against Drift, which was convenient, but Windblade already knew that Drift wasn't going to fence her like she was Starscream. She didn't want to fence like she was Starscream.
"Primus, he was pretty," said Knock Out.
Breakdown shrugged. "I like the white frame better."
"I don't mean Drift." Knock Out leaned a little more pointedly against Breakdown's side. "Didn't our dear maestro look nice? The clean lines. The color blocking. The bloodlust."
"You're just easy for a nice finish," said Breakdown.
"You're a philistine," said Knock Out. "Watch how he moves and tell me you don't want to touch him."
There was something compelling about the younger Starscream. His frame was a little thicker than the one he had now, but his old fencing armor was sleeker than his blocky coaching gear. The big difference was how comfortable he looked, how confident. The protective caps over his wings and cockpit glistened in the gym lights, almost unmarked by opponents' weapons. Even at this distance, you could see Starscream grinning fiercely through the red visor covering his face. Well, he was up thirteen to two. He ought to be pleased.
Breakdown sighed and slung his arm over Knock Out's shoulders. "I think I just prefer racers. No offense, Windblade."
"Uh-huh." Windblade tapped her fingers against Knock Out’s ankle. “I wish Chromia was here.”
“Ooh.” Knock Out smirked up at Breakdown. “Rejected.”
“My spark,” said Breakdown. “My cold and dying spark.”
Windblade felt her plating heat. “So she could see the bout! You just told me you prefer racers, you were flirting with Knock Out, I can’t—”
Fortunately the referee called ‘fence’ and saved Windblade from herself.
Deadlock pushed himself into a fast attack. Starscream took only one step in the middle before leaping straight into the air, capturing Deadlock's blade and riposting to his helm before his feet touched the strip again.
The commenters cackled, and Knock Out slapped Breakdown's thigh, grinning almost to the edges of his helm.
"Delete that," said Commenter One. "Delete it. Starscream's already insufferable."
"Think Starscream could still pull that off?" asked Knock Out, and then hissed at the sudden burst of light as the door opened.
"What?" asked Starscream. "Breakdown, I'm done with Waspinator and it's your turn. Why are you in a closet?"
Windblade wanted to block the screen from Starscream's view, but that would probably just set Starscream off. It wasn't like they were doing anything wrong.
She wished again that Chromia were here. Chromia was good at handling Starscream.
Actually, Chromia was pretty bad at handling Starscream. But she was good at not letting Starscream push her around.
"We're watching video," said Knock Out.
"Whatever kinds of videos you can't watch on the club floor probably aren't appropriate for the club closets either." Starscream picked up the datapad. "You're here to train, not to—"
"It's fencing," insisted Windblade. She should have known that Starscream would just invent misdeeds to accuse them of. "We just didn't want to disturb the class."
Starscream looked at the datapad with an expression Windblade really wished she could read. "Why are you watching this?"
"You said you never had much trouble with Drift when you were both Decep—" Windblade cut herself off before she could say anything foolish. Starscream seemed better lately, but she really didn't want to go back to a few quartex ago, when even mentioning the Decepticons got you dim optics and frustrating conversations full of empty space.
"I'm not fencing well against Drift," she tried. "So I asked Wheeljack about your old bouts, and he said he thought there was video, and then I asked Rattrap—"
Starscream made a disgusted noise. "Of course Rattrap kept all of this junk. There's no point in watching Deadlock's bouts if you're trying to beat Drift. He's almost a completely different mech."
"I was admiring your moves," said Knock Out. "You should teach me how to do a flying parry."
Starscream rolled his optics. "I was showboating. I beat Deadlock at practice twice a mega-cycle, every mega-cycle, and now I was beating him at the quarter-finals of the Galactic Championships. If catch you doing something as wasteful and demoralizing as a flying parry, I'll—"
"Party in the clozzet?" Waspinator ducked under Starscream's arm and glanced at the datapad. "Oh! Wazzpinator remembers this bout. Lazzt touch izz best."
"You do not remember this bout." Starscream tried to push Waspinator away with an elbow on his helm. "You weren't even sparked yet."
"Wazzpinator wazz." Waspinator lifted the datapad out of Starscream's hands and propped it back up on the broken chair they'd been using as a viewing stand. "Wazzpinator had been fencing for three cyclezz and got fifty-fourth place in lowest youth divizzion tournament."
"Out of how many fencers?" asked Starscream.
Waspinator deflated. "Fifty-six."
"Better than last," offered Breakdown.
Waspinator bobbed his head, kneeling on the floor as he fiddled with the datapad. He forwarded through a few touches—two simultaneous, and one point for Deadlock when Starscream tried to push his attack too far. When Waspinator stopped the video again, it showed Starscream coming back on guard.
This looked just the same as always. Starscream had a very distinctive stance, balanced over his hips but leaned slightly forward, as if he was about to launch himself into your throat. Just looking at him made Windblade's shoulders tense. Which was exactly the stiff reaction Starscream was trying to train out of her.
"Pay attention." Waspinator scooted back, leaning gingerly against Windblade's legs. "Bezzt touch."
On the video, Starscream attacked, falling short as Deadlock anticipated the action and stepped back. Starscream backpedaled furiously, opening up the distance as Deadlock charged. But before Deadlock could really start his final attack, Starscream took Deadlock's blade and smoothly switched directions with a flying leap forward. Deadlock made a frantic counterattack which Starscream parried, still in the air, before finally landing a light cut against the plating protecting Deadlock's cheek.
Starscream was already shrieking in victory as he landed, drowning out even the referee awarding the touch.
"Well," said Commenter Two. "That was a lot of work."
Waspinator sighed happily as he paused the video again. "Wazzpinator alwayzz want to fence like that."
"Don't be ridiculous." Starscream's voice was muffled by his hand over his mouth—Windblade thought he was hiding a smile. "Who was your coach?"
"Starscream thinks Wazzpinator can't do it?" Waspinator bristled. "Coach Shockwave alwayzz said—"
"Got it. That explains why Shockwave hated me." Starscream made a face. "Or. Partly. Anyway, why you would want to fence like that? Focus on making the initial attack successful, not on imitating all the desperate improvisation."
"It didn't look desperate," said Knock Out. "It looked like fun."
"If you got points for style, I would be a six-time Galactic Champion instead of all those depressing silver medals. Is this the only video you have?"
Windblade handed him the box.
"Why don't any of these have dates?" Starscream flipped through the chips. Someone, maybe Rattrap, had at least scribbled the fencers' names on the labels. Starscream mumbled them to himself and sneered as he rummaged. Finally, he plucked a chip out and plugged it into the datapad. "Here, this one should be interesting even if it's not especially instructive."
The video was just as clear as the first, but the venue it showed was much smaller. The fencing strip was marked down with tape, rather than the elaborate metal strips used at higher-level tournaments, and the scoring box was a simple black terminal with green and red lights to show who had hit. Starscream was on the left, his wings jittering with adrenaline, and on the right—
"Is that Bluestreak?" asked Knock Out.
"It's Prowl," said Starscream, exasperated.
"Huh." Breakdown peered a little closer at the tiny screen. "I've never seen him fence."
"He was already banned when I started fencing," said Windblade. "What is this from?"
"The Sentinel Prime," said Waspinator. "Wazzpinator rememberzz—"
"Did you watch everything?" demanded Starscream. "The Sentinel doesn't even have youth events."
"Wazzpinator wazz there to support the club," said Waspinator primly.
Starscream won the first touch with a fast attack, and lost the second touch to Prowl's parry-riposte. He won the third touch with a complicated compound attack, and then lost the next touch to Prowl's counter-attack in the middle of his feint. Starscream tried to go back to the simple attack, and Prowl easily parried him again. Each strategy worked exactly once before Prowl adjusted, and Starscream could only win an action by doing something completely unexpected. Once or twice he tried something as flamboyant as the flying parry, and Prowl contemptuously cut through the action to win the point. The score was eight to five at the break, Prowl's favor.
On the video, Starscream flipped up his visor and rubbed his face, then banged the guard of his sabre against his forehead a few times.
"Don't do that," said Starscream, scowling at his past self. "It doesn't help. It just scuffs your paint."
"Well?" called the Starscream in the video. "Any advice?"
The video zoomed—No, the mech holding the video got closer. Soundwave must have been Starscream's coach.
"You must take control," said Soundwave in an even voice. "Prowl reacts to your actions. You must lead him into mistakes."
"He doesn't make mistakes," growled Starscream. "And I've used all my actions. There are no more actions."
"There are always more. You must be creative."
"Thanks a lot," said Starscream. "Anything else you want me to magically get better at? Maybe I should be faster, or just more intelligent—"
"Intelligence is unnecessary," said Soundwave.
Starscream in the video looked murderous. Starscream in the present laughed. "He's right. Smart fencers get tangled up in their plans instead of focusing on what's happening on the strip. It's what always got Prowl."
"Did you win this bout?" asked Knock Out.
"Wait and see." Starscream pointed at Waspinator. "And don't you spoil it."
"I'm going to lose," said Starscream on the video. "That's why our fearless leader isn't wasting his time watching. You should go find a better bout to record."
"Megatron is coaching Rumble and Frenzy," said Soundwave. "And I am happy where I am."
Starscream's engine rumbled uneasily. "I won't watch this later. I don't like watching my mistakes."
Soundwave turned away, leaving the strip. "Then don't make any."
Starscream pushed himself after the break. There were no simple actions. Each attack had four or five parts, Starscream accelerating abruptly or weaving sideways to avoid a riposte. Finally, Prowl set up his own attack and Starscream launched himself into a counterattack in the middle of it, catching Prowl's blade on his guard as he hit Prowl's helm.
There was a matching clanging noise, closer to the video, like someone had just bonked into Soundwave's plating. "What did you tell him?" asked Commenter One.
"I told him how to win," said Soundwave.
Another clanging noise. "He's kind of fencing like you," said Commenter Two.
"Yes," said Soundwave, smugly. "Soundwave superior."
Starscream, up fourteen to nine, launched himself off the line with a quick attack. He fell short and Prowl slapped him in the helm with the flat of his blade. Starscream turned and screeched in fury, taking his blade in both hands and bending it almost to the breaking point.
"That looks more like Starscream," said Commenter One.
Windblade glanced over at Starscream in the closet.
"Don't do this either," he said. "It was a disgrace."
"It's not that bad." Windblade had seen Starscream do much worse while coaching. If this was the extent of his tantrums on strip, his reputation was absurdly exaggerated.
On the screen, Starscream failed another attack. As Prowl came back on guard after winning the point, Starscream turned to shout at the wall. "Can't you do anything right? You just need to accomplish one thing. One pit-damned thing in your entire miserable life!"
"Oh," said Windblade.
"I don't care about that," said Starscream. "There's nothing wrong with healthy expressions of frustration. Just don't fail this many attacks in a row."
At their best, Starscream's marching attacks were deceptively slow, accelerating and lengthening at the last second when the opponent thought they were easily out of range. At their worst, his attacks floated, crashing into his opponents' parries and leaving him open to the riposte. Right now wasn't the worst, but it... wasn't good. Prowl got all the way back to fourteen-fourteen by simply allowing Starscream to make an attack. Starscream fell short every time, and then Prowl hit him no matter how quickly Starscream tried to parry. The video didn't waver, but the commenters didn't say anything much about the bout, like they were too worried to even mention it.
"I lost," said Commenter One. "And so did Frenzy, and so did Deadlock, and Thundercracker didn't even make it into the round of sixty-four, and Skywarp—"
"Starscream's the only one who's still in," said Commenter Two.
"But he'll be fine," said Commenter One. "He just needs to make one of these attacks."
"Yeah, just one."
"Yeah."
"I mean, you can't screw up an attack six times, can you?"
Soundwave didn't say anything. Starscream sullenly came on guard.
"Come on, Screamer!" called Commenter One. "Try something different!"
Starscream shot him a glare so furious and a hand gesture so rude that both commenters fell silent for at least two nanokliks.
On the last touch Starscream made the same attack, and Prowl stepped smoothly into the middle, waiting for Starscream to fail yet again. But at the last second Starscream accelerated, pushing his lunge longer and deeper, his arm reaching out like it was pulled by a magnet. The point of his sabre just barely brushed the armor protecting Prowl's bumper. While Prowl just stood there and let him do it.
This time Starscream's shrieking was victorious. "That's it! You've done it! The one thing, the only thing. You can just lay down and offline now, you fragging—"
"Doesn't he still have to fence a semi-final?" asked Commentor One.
"One single good attack!" Starscream ranted. "That's all you had to do!"
"Shake hands!" yelled Commentor Two.
Starscream whirled, his hand out, but Prowl was too busy throwing his helm and visor against the opposite wall to notice.
"Is that why he's banned?" asked Windblade.
"No, he's banned for collusion and match-rigging," said Starscream. "But that kind of thing is why the appeal process isn't going that well."
"Were you trying to set Prowl up?" asked Breakdown. "So he'd expect you to fall short and you could finish at the last second?"
"I was being a stubborn glitch," said Starscream. "I should have changed anything, done anything except fail my attack five times in a row. It was pure luck and vengeful hate that got me that last point. If I catch any of you—"
"Don't worry." Knock Out held up his hands pacifyingly. "We've got it."
"We should watch another." Waspinator wriggled a little, getting comfortable against Windblade's plating. "With Jazz, or Ironhide, or Arcee—"
"You can watch me getting slaughtered by that maniac on your own time." Starscream shuffled through the box of datachips again. "We should get back out on the floor."
One of the energon lines in Windblade's knee was getting cramped and she was losing feeling to her foot. And Knock Out's feet hadn't warmed up at all, so that whole side was getting cold. But Waspinator looked at Starscream with such pleading that Windblade couldn't bear to break this up.
"Just one more?" she bargained. "I've never seen any of these local tournaments. We didn't have fencing like this on Caminus."
"Or Velocitron," said Knock Out.
"I can take my lesson tomorrow if you're running out of time," said Breakdown.
Starscream's mouth twisted. "I'm not in hurry to go anywhere. But just one more. And no Arcee."
He plugged in another datachip. It showed a different local competition, Starscream squaring up against some bright yellow bot.
"That's Sunstreaker," said Starscream. "He used to be one of the Autobots' best fencers, but he quit about a vorn ago and started a detailing salon or something ridiculous. I don't know what tournament this is, though. We probably fenced a hundred times."
"This izz the final of the forty-fifth Cup of Tarn," said Waspinator. "At the Nemesis."
Starscream's wings went rigid, but he didn't stop the video. "Well. This will be both interesting and instructive."
"What's the Nemesis?" whispered Knock Out.
"One of the Decepticon clubs," murmured Breakdown. "The flagship club, actually."
Windblade peered at the screen a little more closely, but it just looked like any other fencing club—haphazardly cleaned, and too small for this big of a tournament. It was just barely wide enough to fit a fencing strip from end to end, and the audience was crowded close enough that a few mechs were in danger of getting hit by a stray sabre. There weren't helms of fallen enemies hanging from the walls, or fountains of energon welling from the floors. There was one energon fountain on the wall, but it looked like it was fed by an industrial pipe and not by the torn lines of captured Autobots. It even had a coolant tap.
Windblade had possibly listened to too many stories about old fencing rivalries. It wasn’t her fault. Once people found out that she was being coached by Starscream, it was all they wanted to talk about.
The bout started with Starscream going down four to two through a combination of poorly-planned actions and a series of attacks that looked more like simultaneous actions but were called for Sunstreaker. The camera panned between a ranting Starscream and the familiar-looking referee.
"Have I fallen into a parallel universe?" demanded Starscream on the video. "Is this the one where you award touches just for having the shinier paint?"
"Isn't that Wheeljack?" It had to be. Windblade hadn't ever seen another mech with that helm design. "I didn't know he refereed."
"He'd just started," said Starscream. "They gave him this bout because they wanted to see how he did under pressure."
Starscream lost almost everything in the middle, but he kept trying over and over again. On the rare occasions that Sunstreaker balked, Starscream chased him down and won the touch. But every time they met in the middle, Wheeljack called the touch for Sunstreaker.
"It does look like simultaneous," said Windblade
"We're at the wrong angle." Starscream glanced sideways. "Breakdown sees it."
"Holding," said Breakdown. "You come off the line first, but your shoulders tighten, here, and your hand hesitates..."
"That's a tight call for a local tournament," said Knock Out.
"It should be this tight at every level," said Starscream. "And Wheeljack's a good referee. Unfortunately."
Breakdown poked Knock Out in the chest, looking smug, and Knock Out tried to elbow him in the side without looking away from the video. Windblade scooted away from them a little, trying not to get kicked, and Waspinator grumbled as she accidentally kicked him instead.
Starscream didn't snap at them to be quiet, or stop the video, or do anything except stare at the datapad and gnaw on one of his fingers. Windblade really wished Chromia was here, so she could say something blunt and disarming and make Starscream mad at her and act like himself again.
It was really selfish of Chromia to twist her ankle strut like that. Windblade was definitely the one hurt the most by it.
"You don't win this one, do you?" asked Windblade.
"No," said Waspinator, and then slapped a hand over his mouth and looked apologetically at Starscream.
"No," said Starscream. "That's one of the reasons we're watching it."
On the screen, the commenters were criticizing Starscream's referee handling procedure.
"I mean, it's an eight out of ten for vocabulary," said Commenter One.
"But a three for effectiveness," said Commenter Two. "Just look at Wheeljack's—"
They were cut off by heavy footfalls. "What exactly is happening here?"
"Uh," said Commenter Two.
"Good question?" suggested Commenter One.
"Starscream should be demolishing this clown," said the newcomer. "Is he injured? Ill? Incompetent?"
Windblade had never actually spoken to Megatron, but this had to be him. Just glancing at present Starscream confirmed it. His face was blank and tight, his wings held so stiffly that they trembled.
"Starscream!" snarled Megatron. "Stop playing around and finish it!"
On the video, Starscream's mouth closed with a snap and he glared at Megatron. He won the next touch by feinting into the middle and then meeting Sunstreaker's attack with a simple parry-riposte. He lost the touch after that on a called attack, and that was the break. Eight to four.
Megatron shouldered his way past Soundwave on his way to the strip. Soundwave followed at a careful distance, zooming in first on Megatron's furious expression and then on Starscream's defiant one.
"Only one mech coaching!" called Wheeljack.
"Understood," said Soundwave. "I am observing."
"Go away," hissed Starscream, and it wasn't clear if he meant Megatron, Soundwave, or everyone. "I have this under control."
"You're flailing," said Megatron. "Get out of the middle."
"And do what?" demanded Starscream. "Wheeljack won't call anything for me—"
"It doesn't matter," said Megatron. "I don’t see it either, but let him call what he likes. You have to adjust, or—"
Present Starscream turned down the volume. "Thoughts?"
"He's right," said Breakdown. "Wheeljack was calling it consistently. If you adjusted to him, you'd do a lot better."
"Getting out of the middle is a great idea," said Knock Out. "You were winning everywhere else."
"It's not helpful when he tells you what you're doing wrong," said Windblade.
"True, true, very true." Starscream pointed at Windblade. "What should he say instead?"
"Specific things to change," said Windblade. "What actions you can do, instead of the ones you should stop doing."
"Such as?"
"Set up a defensive action," said Breakdown.
"Make a smoother attack," said Knock Out.
"Be a better fencer," said Waspinator. Quietly, like he knew he shouldn't say it, but he couldn't stop himself.
Starscream's wings twitched, and he reached out to turn up the volume again.
"Just be a better fencer," snarled Megatron, as he turned away from the strip.
"He did always say that." Starscream wrapped an arm around his midriff, as if he were holding something in. "It didn't matter if you were up or down. Of course, it sounded more judgmental when you were down."
"Isn't that kind of like what the other coach said?" asked Windblade. "Don't make any mistakes."
"Mhm." Starscream glanced at her, but his optics seemed unfocused. "Soundwave always was the closest to Megatron. But he didn't make it sound so personal."
The camera panned across the audience as Soundwave and Megatron returned to their positions next to the strip. There was a huge crowd of both Autobots and Decepticons—Windblade thought she recognized a tiny Waspinator, peering around a couple adult-framed mechs. Megatron and Soundwave ignored all of them and stood next to two smaller mechs currently trying to push each other out of a chair.
"Hey Boss!" chirped the red one, with the voice of Commenter One. "Looked like it went great out there! Starscream's going to kill that Autobot."
"Rumble," said Soundwave with a warning tone.
"Yeah!" said the blue one—Commenter Two. "It won't be anything like the Iaconian Cup—"
Soundwave picked up the two mechs and took their chair. Their legs dangled in front of the camera as he held them up, obscuring the bout.
"Rumble and Frenzy should be quiet," murmured Soundwave. "Your ability to productively contribute to this bout is minimal. Your likelihood of being punted across the gym is high."
"Come on!" shouted Megatron at the strip. "Fence like you mean it!"
Frenzy struggled, while Rumble sulked. Soundwave set both of them down and refocused his camera on the strip.
Starscream had totally changed his fencing. He pushed his actions, expanding his distance. He kept out of the middle. He was better. He scored touch after touch, until he was up fourteen points to Sunstreaker's ten.
"Good!" Megatron shook a fist. "Show those Autobots what a real fencer looks like!"
Starscream hesitated, looking down at where the tip of his sabre rested on the floor.
“Fencers on guard,” said Wheeljack. “Starscream, on guard.”
“Yeah.” Starscream settled into his stance, his blade coming up from the strip. He looked off-balance. “Yeah, okay.”
It was like a switch had flipped. Starscream went into the middle once, twice, three times. Each touch was called against him. He tried to make a parry but stepped in too close, and got hit before he could even begin a riposte.
"Scared to fail," muttered present Starscream. "Too focused on making an attack instead of trying anything else."
The last touch was painful to watch. Starscream stepped in cautiously and Sunstreaker stuttered his attack, pulling his hand back in preparation. Starscream took the opportunity, lunging in, and Sunstreaker finished his half-hearted action.
The video went silent. The whole building seemed to be holding its breath.
The camera panned to the referee.
Wheeljack cleared his voicebox, looking pained.
Abstain, thought Windblade. Abstain, abstain, if you don’t know what happened don’t try to guess.
"Attack continues from the right," said Wheeljack.
"No, that's wrong," said Breakdown. "Attack stops from the right, attack from the left arrives."
On the video, Starscream exploded with fury. "What does it take to get an attack here? You call every other touch against me for preparation, but when he prepares it's attack continues? Sunstreaker can just do whatever he wants?"
In the present, Starscream grimaced and turned down the volume.
Knock Out clucked his tongue. "He was wrong."
"I put myself in that position," said Starscream. "I flustered the referee and argued with him even when he was right. I lost four straight touches to my own mistakes. One bad call shouldn't have decided that bout."
It sounded rote, like someone had talked Starscream through it again and again until he knew the right things to say. He was still glaring a little at the Wheeljack on the screen, who was offering Starscream the datapad to sign.
"Is the lesson not to yell at referees?" asked Windblade, because she was dead certain that wasn't the lesson Starscream had learned.
"The lesson is to use your judgment," said Starscream. "And stay out of the middle."
On the video, Starscream was still arguing with Wheeljack, going so far as to demonstrate the last action at Wheeljack while Wheeljack held the datapad up as a shield. Finally, Megatron pushed his way between Starscream and Wheeljack, signing the datapad and then dragging Starscream away. Soundwave followed at a careful distance, keeping the camera rolling.
"Stop making a fool of yourself," said Megatron. "You would have won that if you could keep your processor under control."
Present Starscream bit at his finger again. Past Starscream crowded into Megatron's space, still yelling.
"Seven touches! What am I supposed to do when Wheeljack takes seven touches for no reason—"
"Not give up the other eight!" snarled Megatron. "It doesn't matter why Wheeljack was calling attacks against you, you need to—"
"Of course it matters!" Starscream was tearing off his armor, dropping it on the floor. "I can't fence like this!"
"Should we do something?" asked Rumble.
"I really don't want this to be like the Iaconian Cup," said Frenzy. "The Iaconian Cup sucked."
"Statement about productive contribution still holds," said Soundwave. "Likelihood of being punted is extreme."
Megatron was saying something into Starscream's audial, a little too low to be picked up by the camera. Starscream seemed to be losing steam. His visor dangled from one hand. He leaned forward, head resting against Megatron's shoulder.
"I want to die," said Starscream, dully but distinctly. "I want to die, and I want this building to collapse, and I want everyone to be trapped and dying inside it. I want my frameless spark to haunt the ruin of this place until the universe ends."
Rumble and Frenzy whistled.
"I want that stenciled on my armor," said Rumble.
"No," said Soundwave.
"I want it tattooed on my thigh," said Frenzy.
"No."
"Pull yourself together," growled Megatron. "You're acting hysterical."
"So what?" Starscream jerked away from Megatron, spreading his hands to encompass the whole gym. "The tournament's over. I've lost. What do I need to pull myself together for?"
"There's still medals," said Frenzy. "The trophy. Which Megatron's supposed to hand out."
"Shut up!" Starscream glared back at them. "Everyone just—"
"Look at me." Megatron caught Starscream's chin and turned him. "You're behaving exactly like the spoiled brat everyone thinks you are."
"I don't care what they think!" Starscream shouted it into Megatron's face, his voice fuzzed with static. "Don't you get it? It's just another trap, another fragging—"
"I think everyone's mostly just waiting for this to wrap up," said Rumble, barely audible over Starscream's ranting. "And, you know, medals—"
There was a crack as Megatron slapped Starscream across the face.
Everyone except Starscream flinched away from the screen. Windblade could hear ringing in her audials, like she’d been the one who was hit, and Knock Out’s engine revved like he was about to take off. Starscream didn't move at all, just stared at the screen with his finger between his teeth and his other hand wrapped around his middle. On the video, Starscream reeled back, his fingers reaching up to touch the livid streak of black left by Megatron's hand against his cheek.
Then he turned and launched himself for Megatron's throat. Both of them went crashing into the wall, Megatron shouting indistinctly as Starscream tried to tear his cables out. The video shook as Soundwave moved in to break them up. Everyone was yelling. Someone (Starscream?) landed a kick against Soundwave that badly distorted the video, and it cut off completely with a final blurry shot of Starscream still struggling to reach Megatron as a purple seeker dragged him away.
Windblade had to force her optics to cycle. Her fans had kicked up at some point—she took deep breaths to try and ease the heat coming from her core. Waspinator was jittering against her legs, and Knock Out's feet were digging into her thigh. She couldn't think of any way to calm them when she was still trying to convince her internals that there wasn't anyone to fight.
"So," said Starscream brightly, "none of you should ever complain about my coaching ever again."
Windblade giggled. She couldn't help it. She covered her mouth with both hands to try and stifle the noise, but she couldn't stop laughing.
"Did you get kicked out of this tournament?" asked Knock Out.
"We were running the tournament." Starscream waved a hand dismissively. "I was the highest-rated referee in the venue. Megatron was head of bout committee. And no one else cared enough about Decepticon in-fighting to ask for the black card."
He looked at the blank screen of the datapad, and there was that emotion dancing across his face again. The one Windblade couldn't name. He’d dented his finger.
"It's not like they expected any better of us,” said Starscream, at last. “Breakdown, your lesson should have started twenty kliks ago."
Breakdown extricated himself, shifting Knock Out from his position lying against his hip and stepping over Waspinator's seat on the floor. Starscream closed the closet door as he left them in the dark.
Waspinator scrambled up into the empty seat Breakdown had left on the packing case. "Izz Windblade okay?"
Knock Out slapped Windblade between the wings until she caught her breath and started coughing instead. Her fans finally slowed, and she slumped back against the wall with relief.
"Seriously?" said Windblade, hoarsely. "No one got in trouble? The enforcers didn't get called?"
Waspinator shook his head. "No one wazz hurt."
Knock Out snorted. Windblade just stared in disbelief.
"Only scuff markzz," said Waspinator. "Megatron and Starzzcream are heavy frames. If it had been someone like Mirage, or even Jazz—"
"Still," said Knock Out. "I can't imagine—"
"Knock Out and Windblade don't understand what it wazz like." Waspinator picked up the datapad, pulling up a video from the intranet. "Fencing was more brutal. The boutzz mattered more. It was zzo important that the Decepticonzz win."
"We know about the rivalry," said Windblade.
Waspinator hummed. The new video was professionally shot, from one of the official fencing channels. Megatron against Optimus Prime himself. He looked almost delicate against the stocky bulk of Megatron, even though Windblade knew that the Prime was head and shoulders taller than she was.
She'd watched this video before. This was the Galactic Championship final, twelve vorn before she'd even been forged. It was a legendary bout, the only time Megatron and Optimus Prime had ever met in the Galactic Championships.
"Show them what a real fencer looks like." Knock Out rolled the phrase around his mouth. "Starscream still says that sometimes."
Waspinator tapped the datapad screen with one claw. "Megatron doezzn't look like a fencer."
"Of course he does," said Windblade. "He looks like he was forged with a sabre in his hand."
"Megatron wazzn't forged," said Waspinator. "Almost no Decepticon wazz. Megatron stepped off the azzembly line with a drill welded to his arm. Fencing izz meant for racerzz, seekerzz, rich mechs. Not for Wazzpinator. Not for Soundwave."
Windblade looked again at the screen. Megatron did look like a fencer. She'd seen his frame on posters even on Caminus, watched his bouts when she was supposed to be studying and when she was supposed to be recharging, the light of a datapad flickering in the dark. But— Waspinator was right. Her club on Caminus had been mostly flight frames. And Knock Out was just one of a thousand racers. You didn't see many industrial frames or beast-formers.
Unless they were a former Decepticon. Or their coach was.
"Starscream's a seeker," said Windblade.
"They didn't like Starscream'zz attitude," said Waspinator. Windblade got the feeling that was an understatement.
"So all of that was somehow helping more people fence?" asked Knock Out.
Waspinator shrugged. "Megatron did help lotzz of mechs. Wazzpinator would have never fenced without Megatron. But it wazz... hard. Very important to do well. Very important to win. To show them what a real fencer looked like."
He looked back at the screen, where Optimus Prime was making an attack straight into Megatron's guard. "Autobotzz thought Megatron took winning too far."
Windblade watched the bout for a few kliks. She had the feeling this was the bout she should have been watching all along. Both Optimus Prime and Megatron had fast, technical styles, and you could see their influence on everyone else. The way Starscream set up his parries was only an echo of Megatron's inevitable blocks and cuts. The way that Drift invited a counterattack before finishing could be traced back to Optimus Prime's steady, punishing attacks.
"But Starscream left the Decepticons," said Windblade. "That's why he took over Metroplex."
Waspinator shook his head. "Megatron was banned from fencing for three seasonzz.”
“But not for this,” said Knock Out. “For what?”
Waspinator ignored the question. “Starzzcream and Soundwave tried to keep the club going, but when Megatron came back," he hesitated. "He thought he'd gone too far too. He agreed with the Autobotzz. He left us."
---
Chromia: wow that's fragged up
Windblade: Waspinator said it wasn't much fun being a Decepticon while Starscream was in charge either
Chromia: it doesn't sound like it was fun being a decepticon ever
Windblade: I don't know
Windblade: It’s so different from what I’d heard
Chromia: not that different
Windblade: I really wish you were here to see the way Waspinator talked about it
Windblade: Like is it a good thing that all these people got to fence for the first time? Or is it bad because they learned that fencing is supposed to be like THAT
Chromia: it can be both
Windblade: Soundwave has a club out on some isolated colony world now
Windblade: And Thundercracker just referees and Skywarp quit fencing entirely
Chromia: whos skywarp
Windblade: Exactly
Chromia: this is making waspinator sound really ok and chill
Chromia: for someone who always purges his tanks before a competition
Windblade: I think Starscream's the only senior Decepticon who's still coaching on Cybertron
Windblade: I mean besides Megatron
Windblade: I really wish you were here
Chromia: yeah me too
Chromia: ankles suck
Windblade: You could have stayed with me you didn't have to go back to Caminus
Chromia: theres no way i couldve stayed near the club without fencing
Chromia: dont worry ill be back soon
Windblade: <3
Windblade: I feel like I should say something to him
Chromia: to megatron
Windblade: Primus no
Windblade: Starscream. To Starscream
Chromia: like what
Windblade: Ugh I don't know
Windblade: Hey that's rough hope you're feeling ok
Chromia: what would you do if he said no
Windblade: Run away and find Wheeljack probably
Chromia: hahaha
Chromia: look its all old news
Chromia: ive never seen screamer talking to megatron ever
Windblade: Yeah no wonder
Windblade: Uggggh
Windblade: I just want to focus on my fencing! Is that so wrong
Chromia: no that's what you should be doing
Windblade: I just want one coach in my life who's not a ball of emotional landmines
Chromia: lol
Chromia: good luck with that
Windblade: Maybe I'll ask Wheeljack to take my lessons
Chromia: screamer would KILL you
Chromia: and wheeljack couldnt take you where you want to go
Windblade: Yeah
Windblade: Promise me you'll never do anything awful and I'll never get obsessed with winning and we'll start a club together when we get old and be the first well-adjusted coaches in the history of fencing
Chromia: aww kiddo
Chromia: its too late for that
Chromia: youre already obsessed