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"Alright, alright, set me down and you can go!" Tailgate laughed, while Whirl jittered excitedly. He plucked Tailgate off of his shoulders and placed him down on the warm Pax Metallica, gazing out over the glittering hot spot with barely contained fervor. Tailgate giggled watching Whirl skitter down one of the rows, peering at sparks nestled in their burrows, just emerging for the first time into the Cybertronian sun.
"It is truly beautiful," Cyclonus sighed reverently, and Tailgate reached a hand up to hold his partner's claw.
"Not as beautiful as you," Tailgate said, knowing it was cheesy.
"Nor you," said Cyclonus, without missing a beat. They strode down the first aisle, nodding at a passing couple who were doing the same thing they were; surveying the hot spot for the right spark to mentor.
"This one is almost purple!" Whirl called, three rows down, "I don't think I ever seen that colour before!"
"Oh, look, Cyclonus," Tailgate said as he kneeled down to peer at a spark that was shimmering in it's hollow, wobbling lazily, "this one is the same colour as yours."
"I think it's a bit more cyan, actually," Cyclonus observed, following Tailgate down to the ground to peer at the little spark.
"Nah, you're the cyanest I know," Tailgate teased.
"Hey, y'all!" Whirl called, "I got twins over here!"
"Oh, Primus," Tailgate tittered, "we are not bringing home twins for our first time doing this."
"Hey, it's y'all's first time!" Whirl reminded him, "I got experience for days. Once your kid eats your arm off in her sleep, there ain't nothin' that can phase ya'."
"Let's not get one that will eat anyone's arm off," Tailgate suggested, standing back up.
"In all fairness, my love, I don't believe we can be sure of that beforehand. They will be what they will be," Cyclonus said.
"If I lose another arm, so be it," Whirl said, leaving the twin sparks bouncing off one another in their burrow, and moved down the row at the other emerging sparks. "Little fella can eat all my arms."
"You only have two," Tailgate reminded him.
"Both, then."
"This one has a particularly beautiful frequency" Cyclonus sighed, re-engaging Tailgate's attention as he reached toward one that was particularly enthusiastic.
"I'd like to find one that's ferrum-negative or vitreos-positive, if we can," Tailgate said, watching the little spark bounce, "Just in case. It feels safer."
"I understand the concern," Cyclonus said, with a little nod, "we don't need to decide today, it's not quite harvest time for most, anyway."
"Wow!" Whirl exclaimed, "Triplets!"
"No!' Cyclonus and Tailgate said, simultaneously.
"They're so cute !" Whirl tittered, rapping his claws on the bar top, "I don't know how anyone ever picks!"
"Ugh," Sandstorm moaned.
"Wazzpinator very happy for friend-Whirl!" Waspinator clapped, "Wazzpinator zzuggezzt not naming thizz one Whirl, too."
Whirl laughed a good hearty guffaw, kicking his skinny pedes beneath him, "I deserve that. Nah, I am decidedly off naming duty. That's up to the junxies, who are better at naming than me. I'm retaining veto power for any name shared with anyone who's tried to kill me, though."
"That really limits your options," Sandstorm deadpanned.
"I forget, have you ever tried to kill me?" Whirl asked, narrowing his optic.
"I don't think so," Sandstorm shrugged, "Maybe?"
"Alright, Sandstorm stays on the list, then."
"Hooray," said Sandstorm flatly.
Whirl mixed up another drink for Warwolf, waiting with both front paws on the bar, "Wazzpinator think Wazzpinator not try to kill Whirl either. Not directly, at leazzt.”
"Waspinator is on the list then, too, but only bein' in the case of it bein' wasp-like in nature."
"Wazzpinator think that fair."
Whirl nuzzled his helm into the crook of Tailgate's shoulder exceptionally affectionately, pedelling his pedes on the berth.
"I dunno how I'm s'posed to wait 'till the end of the week," Whirl moaned, "It's taking forever!"
"That's sort of how time works, Whirlibird," Tailgate laughed, wriggling in the teddy bear hug he had been pulled into, "it'll be Friday before you know it!"
"Let's do a heist. Let's heist a sparkling."
"No," Cyclonus said, but he was smiling, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to the top of Whirl's helm casing.
"Bah. No fun."
"I really liked that cyan one," Tailgate sighed, "a very good vibe."
"Did you see the purple one?" Whirl prodded, "it was a real pretty colour, and it seemed real bouncy. I bet it's a flier."
"That one had such a nice frequency," Tailgate sighed, "it is going to be hard to pick."
"I want to go back and look again," Whirl announced, "No heist."
"Unfortunately, I have a shift at the library tomorrow," Cyclonus sighed, "Though you're welcome to go without me, of course."
"Teeg?" Whirl asked, nudging the minibot.
"I do have a lunch date with Chromedome and Rewind," Tailgate said apologetically, "Sorry, Whirlybird."
"Y'all mind if I go on my own?" Whirl asked, hesitantly.
"Why don't you bring little Whirl?" Cyclonus suggested, "She might like to be part of the process."
"That's a great idea!" Whirl said, wiggling with excitement, "father daughter bonding time. It's gonna be grand. I'll give her a comm right now!"
"Whirlygirl!" Whirl cried as the younger helicopter landed, throwing his claws in the air. "I feel like I ain't seen you in forever!"
"It's only been two weeks, dad," she laughed as she transformed, accepting his bear hug without any protest.
"Two weeks, two millennia, it all feels the same when it's time away from my baby girl," he gushed, giving her one more big squeeze before setting her free.
"Well, I'm not the baby anymore," she said, half smiling.
"True, true," Whirl conceded, "you are a big grown-up girl, in school on Earth and doin' just fine on your own. You don't need to check in with your helicopter dad all the time just cuz I can't get enough of ya'." He tapped the bottom of his helm with his claw and then gestured at the hot spot and the various mech's walking down it's rows, making decisions, "You ready to come check out the growers, huh?"
"Of course," she said, falling in step, "that's why I'm here."
"I gotta show you this one," Whirl said, leading her through the aisles, "it's purpleish. A real pretty colour!"
"I bet," she said, distractedly, following.
"See?" he said, kneeling down awkwardly to point at it. The spark had opened it's burrow more from it's previous crack to a proper hole, buzzing around and bouncing.
"Yeah," little Whirl said, "Very purpleish."
Whirl cocked his head at her, questioningly. "Somethin' wrong?" He prompted.
"Oh, no!" she laughed, "I'm just distracted, you know, looking at them!"
"Oh," said Whirl, blinking his optic, "okay. Do you wanna see some triplets?"
"Totally!" Little Whirl responded, notably more enthusiastically, "show me those triplets!"
Whirl waited until her father left the house to go hang out at Maccadam's New Old Oil House before she rang the doorbell.
"Forget something, Whirl?" Cyclonus asked, opening the door, optics trained upward. He glanced down at her when he realized he was not speaking to the person he had thought he was.
"Ah, wrong Whirl. Come in, little one," he said, stepping to the side to let her walk past.
"Hey, I'm really sorry to intrude," she started, but Cyclonus gestured an open palm at her.
"You could never intrude here, Whirl, your father's home is your home.”
“Right,” she said, distractedly, “is Tailgate here?”
“No, he’s away at the moment.”
“Can I talk to you?” she asked, anxiously, kneading her servos together, looking up at Cyclonus with wide yellow optics. He blinked at her, surprised by the request.
“Of course,” he assured her, ushering her to sit at the kitchen table with him, “What is on your mind, Whirl?”
“It’s the- the sparkling ,” she said, staring at the table as she sat down, threading her fingers together.
“Your father told me you said it wasn’t a problem,” Cyclonus began, “Were you being truthful when you said that?”
“I- well-” she started, rotors jittering anxiously, before the fell with her shoulders and she sighed, still looking downward, “No, I wasn’t.”
“What worries you?”
“I really hated being at the hot spot today,” she admitted, feeling a tugging in her gut, “I hated looking at them.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have a spark, you know- we’re warm-wired, it’s different. I didn’t like looking at them. They seemed so… alien, and I don’t usually feel that way.” She opened her servos and inspected the lines along the joints, crafted and designed with care and consistency, every time she reformed. “I know raising me was different from mentoring a real sparkling. They grow up faster, and so differently- and you can feel them. Their sparks- or at least. You can. I can’t.” She closed her servos, turning them over against the table.
“I see,” Cyclonus said, gently, pondering what she had said. “Are you concerned that once he has something you feel is a ‘real’ sparkling, he will look at you differently?”
She hesitated, then nodded, hiking her shoulders inward. “I know that’s really shitty of me.”
“I feel as if I tell you this every time I see you, Whirl,” Cyclonus soothed, putting a servo on hers, dwarfing them both in his large claws, “You are too hard on yourself. You are as entitled to your feelings as anyone else, whatever they may be.”
“I guess.”
“Whirl is a deeply troubled mech,” Cyclonus told her, “Expressing himself, showing love, does not come easily to him. He may enjoy telling his war stories, but he is very selective when he does so. His youth was… difficult, to say the least. He made a decision very early on to wall his spark off from those around him, to eradicate empathy to survive, and even now, he is still learning how to feel again.”
Whirl kneaded her fingers together beneath Cyclonus’s hand, anxious, staring at her lap. “I know.”
“But he has never had difficulty telling you how much he loves you. He has never struggled to show it to you . Do you recall when he found you?”
“No,” she told him, “My intrasystem network was still new and not optimized. I didn’t have a lot of cognisance beyond simple preservation. But Nautica told me the story. I feel bad about it, sometimes.”
“Don’t,” Cyclonus said, patting her hands, “He does not regret his choices. My point is that you have always been an exception to Whirl’s difficulty with connecting with others. From the first moment he saw you, you cracked through his walls. You are and have always been first in his spark, before anything or anyone else. That’s not going to change.”
“It’s going to be so small,” she mumbled, “I could hurt it so easily.”
“You won’t.”
She rolled her servos back into little fists. “But what if I do ?”
Cyclonus gave her hands a reassuring squeeze, and answered firmly. “You won’t. But no matter what, you are still my Conjunx’s wonderful daughter, and I will love you just the same as he does.”
She picked her head up and sniffled, pulling one of her hands away to wipe her moist optics. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” she sniffled again, “Alright.”
“And if you aren’t ready, we won’t choose one. Not until you are. There will be other hot spot flares in the future,” Cyclonus assured her, “But there is only one Little Whirl.”
“No, no,” she said quickly, shaking her head, “I’m okay, I am, I want you to go get one, I’m just- I’m just scared of things changing.”
“It’ll be a good change. Tomorrow is harvest day- why don’t you come with us?”
“I don’t want to get in the way, it’s a parent thing, you all should do it together-”
“It’s a family thing,” Cyclonus corrected, “You would not be in the way. Whirl and Tailgate would be delighted to have you along.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“...Okay,” she said, smiling hesitantly.
“Are you sure you don’t want twins?” Whirl asked, pacing back and forth in the train car, “‘Cuz they’re gonna get picked real fast, you know.”
“We are not getting twins,” Tailgate repeated, leaning against Cyclonus along the car wall.
“We could give ‘em cute twin names,” Whirl continued, “You know, like Wrack and Ruin, or Jetstorm and Jetfire, or Galvatron and Arcee-”
“Can we try and give them a name someone else doesn’t already have? It’s hard enough when there’s so many Whirls running around,” Tailgate grumbled.
“I don’t think there’s a third Whirl,” little Whirl consoled, sitting beside him and holding onto one of the poles by the door, “so at least there’s that.”
“Ain’t nobody else brave enough to be called Whirl in a crowd!” Whirl said, waving one claw in the air pointedly, “Whirl is the name of a winner!”
“Only humans and Whirl intentionally name their offspring after themselves,” Cyclonus sighed, “I love you, dear, but I don’t think I could bear having a third Whirl in the family.”
“We could name ‘em Jetstream,” Whirl suggested.
“What if they aren’t a jet?” little Whirl replied.
“Uh,” Whirl tapped his helm thoughtfully, “I mean, Tailgate doesn’t have a tail, I don’t think.”
“That’s not what it me-”
“Now arriving in Vauvaire,” the train announced, coming to a stop at the station, “Please be careful of the doors when exiting the train car.”
“Eee,” Whirl squealed, a metallic-static hiss of excitement that barely translated in his ancient voxbox, “Here we go!”
He was practically skipping as he exited the train, clacking his claws like he was looking for someone to pick up and put on his shoulders. The platform was crowded with other potential mentors, tittering with anticipation outside the field. Groups went in with a blacksmith supervising their choice, datapad for registering serial data and registration information at the ready.
Little Whirl stared out at a couple kneeling over a freshly formed sparkling, spark no longer visible within the formation of sentio metallico, no more than a bubble in the warm pax metallica around it. The blacksmith helped the couple reach into soft metal and draw the sparkling out of it, gently sculpting its simple shape as it cooled.
She looked at her father’s clacking, anxiously claws and reached out to take one in her servo, wordless, and his claw closed around hers, stilling from its snipping.
“How tall do you think it will be?” Tailgate asked, and little Whirl noticed he was watching the same couple she was. “It’s got three really different looking mechs to imprint on.”
“It could always have a totally different shape it’s already thinking about,” Cyclonus commented, the line moving up, “It could turn out looking like none of us.”
“Aw, Cyc, who wouldn’t want a spooky skull face like yours?” Whirl teased, peaking to see the blacksmith speaking to the mech in front of them.
“Not a single standard faceplate between the three of us,” Tailgate laughed, “Little Whirl is the most normal looking one here.” Little Whirl looked up absently, blinking at the comment, then looked away in thought.
“Alright, how many are in your group?” asked a blacksmith as the mech in front of them stepped out of line, following his guide into the field.
“The three of us in a trine, Whirl of Polyhex, Cyclonus of Tetrahex, and Tailgate of Rivet’s Field,” Cyclonus gestured toward his Conjunxes, “and this is Whirl’s daughter.”
“Ah, how sweet,” said the blacksmith, a gangly pink and black mech with dark optics and a scratched off Deceptibrand on one winglet. “My name is Airshock, and I’m going to be your guide today to help you pick the right sparkling for your family. Can I get you three to write down your serial numbers for me before we start?”
“Absolutely,” said Cyclonus, taking the datapad first.
“Do I need to write anything?” little Whirl inquired, anxiously. She had no serial code, as she had been neither forged nor constructed- at least her full designation, Whirl of the Lost Light, was slightly different from her father’s, Whirl of Polyhex.
“No, just the mentors,” Airshock told her, “You’re just being tagged in as a guest. Are you their only previous charge?”
“Just mine,” Whirl commented, taking the datapad from Cyclonus when he finished, “It’s these two’s first.”
“How exciting,” Airshock said, with a pointy, but genuine smile, “It’s very rewarding.”
“I’ll say!” Whirl chuckled, passing the datapad down to Tailgate and giving little Whirl a squeeze on one of her shoulders.
Tailgate finished typing and handed the datapad back to Airshock, who held it against their chest and gestured for them to step through the gate and into the field, following her, as another blacksmith took up the front of the line to help the next group.
“Did you have any in mind that you wanted to start with?” Airshock asked, gesturing down the rows.
“What about the purpleish one?” Whirl suggested.
“Yes, let’s start with that one!” Tailgate agreed, grabbing Cyclonus’s hand and heading toward that aisle. Little Whirl lingered at the back of the line, optics cast down toward the bubbling rows of sentio metallica as they separated from the lifeless metal that bore them.
Airshock kneeled down in front of the bubble that Tailgate pointed out, feeling it with their hands, optics shuttered. “It’s ready for harvest alright. Let’s see if you’re the mentors it wants. You first, Tailgate,” Airshock held out a servo for his, guiding it to the shapeless protoform.
“Feel the thrumming of its little spark,” Airshock said, “and listen for if it tries to match the fluctuations in your own.”
Little Whirl fiddled with her servos in the back, hoping she wouldn’t be asked to participate and have to explain.
“Heh- it’s matching,” Tailgate giggled, “Wow, that’s amazing!”
“It’s always amazing,” Airshock agreed with a sigh, “Alright, Cyclonus, you next.”
Cyclonus followed his guide’s lead, adding his servo to the shape with a little noise of surprise when he realized he could feel it’s sparkbeat.
“It really is so small,” he commented.
“Okay, Whirl, your turn,” Airshock said, gesturing for his claw, which he gave her with only one moment of hesitation. He touched the sentio metallico, and almost immediately, it bubbled beneath his touch, spitting and splashing, and he yanked his claw away.
“Don’t worry,” Airshock soothed, “That happens sometimes. It could be your spark type, your alt mode, a colour it doesn’t like- anything. That’s why we want you to really try to connect before we harvest, so we can find a good match. This one is looking for someone else today, perhaps.”
“Okay,” Whirl said, though his voice shook.
Little Whirl looked at the bubbling protoform, wondering what reason it could possibly have for rejecting the best mentor on Cybertron.
“Let’s try that cyan one that caught your eye, Tailgate,” Cyclonus suggested, and they moved away from the sparkling that had turned them down. Little Whirl’s eyes were still on the rows of little protoform semi-shapes but she paused when they passed one that was strangely shaped, bubbling all weird at different angles.
“Is that one okay?” she asked, turning to look at their guide.
“Hm?” asked Airshock, turning around and tilting their head, “Which one?”
“This one,” she said, pointing at the one that was twisting and writhing strangely.
“Ah, yes,” Airshock said, crouching to pet it gently, but it bubbled and pulled away from their touch like an antisocial turbofox, “It’s a pair of sparktwins. They’re agitated because they’ve had a lot of interest in them today, but they’re being… well, a bit picky about their mentors,” they laughed, drawing their servo away.
“Can I touch it?” Whirl asked, staring at the angry little mass of metal.
“Of course,” Airshock said, “Lay your servo flat, like this, and let it feel you.”
She reached forward, hesitantly, toward the restless mass, before resting her palm gently against it. It was warm, and despite looking wet, felt solid- like touching ice, but hot. The protoform did not bubble or hiss, and rolled into her touch instead.
“Well, look at that,” Airshock laughed, “It likes you. You’re a bit too young to be a mentor, though, I think.”
Whirl wrenched her servo back, babbling frantically, “Oh, no, no, no, I’m just a sparkling myself, I’m still in school , I don’t want to-”
“Don’t worry,” Airshock said, patting Whirl on the shoulder, “It just means they find you a calming presence. They will have plenty of others to choose from today.”
“Let me try,” the other Whirl said, and little Whirl looked up, suddenly realizing he had been watching. She scooted to the side as he sank down on his awkward leg struts, brushing the protoform with the flat side of one claw, and dimmed his optic, pleased, when it rolled into the motion.
“That’s a very promising sign,” Airshock commented, turning to the other two party members, “Would you like to come meet this one?”
“We did say we didn’t want twins…” Cyclonus said, though he was clearly losing an internal battle as he did so.
“Oh, Cyc,” Tailgate sighed, leaning against his taller partner with a sigh, “There are three of us, how bad would it be?”
“I suppose it can’t hurt to see if it likes all three of us,” he conceded, crossing the row to sit next to Whirl as Tailgate bent down to reach toward the protoform, which rolled over itself to meet his servo before he had even touched it.
“They feel so funny, thrumming in tandem,” Tailgate commented, “like playing the same record on two different players at the same time.”
“Like an echo,” Whirl nodded, “like reverb.”
“Well, we only have one more,” Airshock said, “Cyclonus?”
Cyclonus watched the little protoform curl and roll, reaching for his conjux’s touch. “Are you certain we can handle twins?” he asked, finally.
“I think we can handle anything,” Tailgate responded, moving his servo over the protoform like it was a stretching cat.
Cyclonus reached forward and touched the sentio metallico, which purred into his palm happily.
“I haven’t seen them do anything but hiss all day,” Airshock chuckled, quietly, “It must have been waiting for you. Sometimes they just pick someone.”
“I suppose we’ve been picked, then,” admitted Cyclonus, smiling at the protoform.
“Let’s harvest these little ones, shall we?” said Airshock, waiting for three nods, before they dipped their claws into the soft metal, like reaching into batter, feeling for where ground ended and living metal began. They drew up the wriggling protoform, a shapeless mass of opaline colour, textured like molten mercury.
“Come now,” Airshock cooed at the mass, “There’s two of you in there, being separate doesn’t mean you have to be apart.” The protoform wriggled, solidifying some as the blacksmith guided the halves apart, until they were two nearly identical cylinders of living metal, white and shimmering.
“I expect they’ll have optics and servos by this evening,” Airshock said, checking over the two sparklings for malformations, “I would wait until then at least to settle on names, if you want to take their alt modes into account.”
“Okay,” Whirl exvented, staring wide opticced at the newborns.
“Would you like to hold them now?” Airshock asked, holding them up. Tailgate immediately held both arms out, as if it were an automated, uncontrolled reflex, and Airshock placed the first protoform in his arms. He immediately pulled it close to his chest, gazing down at it.
“You can hold ‘em first,” Whirl said, noticing Cyclonus longing gaze at the second sparkling, “I can wait.”
Airshock finished writing the new serial numbers down for the newborns, registering them as of Tetrahex . They said their goodbyes, and just like that, Airshock went to help the next group, and they were back on the train with their newborns.
Whirl sat on the floor so that he was optic level with the cradled sparklings, which had begun to show the beginnings of seam lines across their forms. Little Whirl sat next to Tailgate again, looking down at the newborn with intrigue and fascination.
“We can give them cute twin names,” Whirl said, running the tip of one claw across a newly formed seam line for the sparkling Tailgate held, “Matchin’. Cutesy.”
“Let’s let them pick their alt modes first,” Tailgate laughed, tracing the same seam line along with Whirl, “Or, at least their paint colours.”
“I can’t believe they liked me,” little Whirl said suddenly, still staring.
“Of course they liked you,” Whirl scoffed, “You’re their big sister.”
“Sister,” she said, blinking, “Huh.”
“Do you want to hold them?” Tailgate asked, looking up at little Whirl.
“Are you sure?” she hesitated, closing her hands into nervous fists against her seat.
“Of course,” Tailgate said, holding the sparkling out toward little Whirl, offering.
Little Whirl paused with her servos halfway there, struck by a sudden flash of terror, an image flashing in her mind of her being startled by something and going fuzzy and eating the helpless little shape in one gulp, but she shoved the thought away and took them in her arms anyway, holding it against her chassis. She could feel their tiny spark humming inside their core, a faint buzz that felt like life and safety.
It gave a little wriggle, nuzzling into the crook of her arm, and Whirl tittered with joy. “They moved!” He announced in delight, “I bet it likes you ‘cuz your warm like a Cybe, but a lot quieter without a spark.” Whirl chuckled, leaning on Tailgate’s knees with his arms crossed.
“I guess I didn’t think of it that way,” she said, as the tiny mass rippled again along its surface.