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Step… step… step…
The metal pedes hitting the ground with each step sounded dull and hollow inside the cramped quarters. They weren’t loud, but they didn’t need to be. What they lacked in sound they made up for in a different kind of weight. One that pressed heavy on the pauldrons of the mech who had been pacing like a confined turbofox for about half a joor now.
Step… step… step…
It was drowning out even the cheers and clashes of metal from above. The Pits of Kaon were rarely quiet. Their noise bled down into the personal quarters below the structures. It was the kind of discordance the mechs living in these pens had long gotten used to, tuned out and all but forgotten. Even if it could get as loud as an acid storm.
Step… step-
Megatron couldn’t take it anymore.
With an exhausted vent from his intake, he put down the datapad he was writing on. Focusing on political treatises was all but impossible with the rhythmic steps of unease sounding throughout the entire room. He moved off his berth, his pedes hit the ground with a distinctively louder thud.
“Orion.” He called out to the blue and red mech, who was still pacing back and forth, far too deep in his processor to register that Megatron was speaking to him.
The gladiator walked up to the archivist, who could not sit still even if Primus himself had demanded it of him, and physically blocked the pacing mech with his larger frame.
“Orion.” He spoke again, harsher this time, forcing the other’s attention on him. Those beautiful azure optics stared at his own crimson ones, worry so clearly written in them. Megatron’s voice turned gentler at Orion’s display. “There is no need for such worry, it is only a state function.”
Orion Pax looked from Megatron to the datapad clutched between his own, more slender servos. The blue screen displaying the invitation that had caused him to spiral so. He forced his gaze back to the warframe. Then, after he cycled his vents to help with the overheating his thoughts had brought along, he gave a faint nod.
“Yes, I am aware it’s nothing more than a glorified gala.” Orion began, and Megatron could already see the arguments forming on the other’s glossa, as it always did. It was one of Orion’s most annoying traits, and one of his most endearing. The fact he always had a rebuttal or addition. It kept Megatron sharp, it was why Orion was such a good archivist. “But it is a glorified gala of the entire Senate. I have never before attended such a thing, Megatron.” Orion said, his auditory finials lowered slightly, pressing to the sides of his helm. He set his datapad down next to Megatron's, onto the slab of steel that had been wedged into the wall to act as a berthside table.
Megatron gave a fond smile as he carefully reached up with his taloned servo. He cupped the other’s faceplate and leaned down until they were about even in height.
“Not knowing the fight to come doesn't mean the battle is already lost, my little archivist.” He offered. “Who knows, perhaps you will even enjoy yourself.”
That seemed to have done the trick somewhat. Orion leaned into the touch on his cheek and dimmed his optics for a brief, calming, moment.
“I doubt I will. The way Alpha Trion speaks about these functions… They appear to be nothing but grandeur and polish, no substance at all.” He muttered with a distinct distaste.
“Hmm… That does sound like the Senate.” Megatron remarked dryly, which earned him a soft laugh from Orion. The sound was melodic in ways few things were. If the roar of the crowd in the Pits was an acid storm, oppressive and demanding, then this was the gentle trickle of Energon hitting crystal. Sweet, energising.
Orion laid his own more delicate servo atop of the warframe’s larger one. He traced a few scratches and welds near the talons and knuckles, content to just stay like this for a moment longer and not think of duties to come.
Then, with the ease and strength of a champion, Megatron reached down and picked Orion up, causing the archivist to gasp in surprise before rolling his optics and leaning into the other, as Megatron brought them to his berth. There, he laid down with his back against the wall and Orion at his front.
“Will there be others you know?” He asked, maneuvering them thus that Orion’s chassis was flush with his own. Megatron always enjoyed feeling the soft pulse of his archivist’s spark so close to his own.
Orion let himself be mech-handled. He’d long since given up on fighting it, as he could never match his gladiator’s strength. And it wasn't like he minded it either.
“Well, Alpha Trion won’t be there, I’m representing him as his mentee because he’s offworld for research.” He leaned his helm on Megatron’s shoulder. “Most of the Senate will be present, but I don’t know many of them personally, aside from Senator Shockwave.”
At that, Megatron raised an optic-ridge. He wasn't aware that Orion had acquaintances amongst the Senate. Other than his mentor, that is.
Orion must have noticed the thoughtful look on Megatron's faceplate, as he was prompted to explain.
“He visits the archives, and at times he speaks with Alpha Trion. I think you’d get along with him.” He offered. “He sees the systems for what they are.”
The immediate response on the warframe’s glossa was denial, or a snarking remark regarding his doubts on him ever getting along with a Senator. But Orion had seemed earnest, and Megatron had read some on Senator Shockwave. An idealist, but one with means and a respected voice.
So instead, he gave a slow, quiet nod, and focused his attention on something more important. One of Megatron’s servos caressed a small piece of plating at Orion’s midsection, near a transformation seam. The movement of his digit was smooth across the unmarred metal. Intimate without needing to go further than just a gentle touch. Orion melted against it.
“Anyone else?” Megatron’s voice was low and quiet, spoken close to Orion's audial finials which caused them to twitch slightly. He would never admit it out loud, but Megatron would recharge better if he knew that his archivist wasn’t alone in that den of cyberwolves. Even if it was just some party, it was also still the Senate.
And Megatron would never trust the Senate with anything. Especially not with his Orion. His spark. No, the Senate rusted all they dug their wicked, greedy claws into.
Orion thought for a moment, a subtle hum coming from his voicebox.
“No. I don't believe so.” He said, laying his servo on the back of Megatron's helm and making him look at Orion's faceplate fully. As close as they were, it would take no effort at all for either of them to seal the distance and press their derma together in a tender kiss.
And then Orion began smirking. That sly, knowing smile that Megatron had long since learned meant his archivist was being too perceptive for his own good.
“I can just hear the worry in your processor, my gladiator.” Orion chuckled. Oh how Megatron loved the sound of that mirth. And how his circuits sang when Orion spoke of him as ‘mine’. “You were supposed to ease my thoughts, not bring chaos to your own.” Orion chastised with a tease.
“Can you blame me?” Megatron spoke, faceplate inching closer to the other's. Not yet pressed together, but dangerously close. Once they'd start down that route, Megatron would not be able to stop himself. He was a mech with impeccable control of both processor and frame, yet Orion was the one weakness he had allowed himself to have. “While I have no doubt that you can hold your own amongst the Senate, I do not trust them to appreciate the light you bring.”
Orion's optics glanced to the side for a brief moment, back to the datapad with the invitation. He seemed to hesitate for only a nanoklik before he opened his intake to speak again.
“You know,” He began, his words holding a slight mischievous undertone. Which immediately had Megatron's optics narrowed in curious suspicion. That tone meant trouble brewing. “I am allowed to bring a plus one.” The way Orion spoke was close to a purr and it stalled Megatron’s processor for a brief moment.
A sharp smile slowly came to the warframe's faceplate, edged with fangs and realization.
“Archivist mine…” He said, deep and barely above a whisper. “Are you suggesting that I, a known political agitator and lower caste gladiator, join you for one of the most prestigious events of the solar cycle?” He pulled Orion impossibly closer against his chassis, crimson optics shone brighter at the sheer audacity of the idea. “It would cause quite a stir.” He mused. “Not that I am opposed to it, of course. But the hosts might not be so… appreciative.”
Orion placed a soft kiss on Megatron's faceplate before he wiggled himself slightly out of the gladiator’s hold to reach for the datapad again. He then settled back where he belonged, right in Megatron's lap, and opened the invitation.
“Hmm… Well there are no rules against bringing a gladiator, and most mechs there are of political occupation.” He gave a shrug, the motion was meant to be casual but Megatron could see the anticipation building in Orion’s frame. “And you are my intended. So there is good reason for you to join me.” He continued on, a plan clearly forming in that brilliant processor of his. Orion could be quite the firebrand when he wished to be.
Megatron did not know what noble deeds he had done in a previous existence to have earned a partner like his archivist, but he would do them again a thousand times over if only to see Orion in every lifetime.
“I would feel far more content, knowing I am at your side.” Megatron lowered his helm, burying it in Orion's neck, where he nipped slightly at the cabling. Enough to feel but not enough to break or cause Energon to leak. His free arm snaked beneath the plating of the smaller mech’s back, where he began trailing the sharp tip of his claw along the spinal strut, along those sensitive nodes and sensors. “And it would allow me to gather some intel on the Senate in their… natural state.” He spoke in-between the bites of his sharp denta.
Orion gave a soft gasp, before offering an indulgent roll of his optics. Still, he craned his neck slightly to the side to make access easier for the other.
“It is decided then. You'll be my plus one for the event.” He tossed the datapad back to the make-shift table, his full focus went to the mech currently trying to devour his frame in all the right ways. “Promise me you’ll at least try to behave, Megatron.”
Megatron pulled back just enough to speak, the warmth of his vents ghosting across Orion’s cabling, his servos never ceasing their movements on the other's frame.
“I will make an effort to behave appropriately, my spark. But I will not lie and say I will manage the full night.” His derma turned to a dark smirk, all gleaming fangs and indecent promises. “And now that this is all settled, I plan on being very inappropriate with you for the rest of the cycle.” He spoke, glossa traveling along the side of Orion’s neck, causing the smaller mech to shudder slightly at the electric tinge traveling along his cables. “If you’d allow me the honor,” Megatron whispered, his servo near the other’s transformation seams dipping lower. A conqueror mapping out territory already his. “of thoroughly distracting you from all thoughts of galas and Senates?”
A weak, static-laced laugh escaped Orion. “Yes.” He managed, his systems were humming and his vents clicked on before he could even attempt to stop them. “Proceed with your… very persuasive argument. Please.”
And how sweet he sounded. Megatron was not letting his little archivist out of his berth until the only sound escaping Orion’s intake was nothing but meaningless static and glitches.
The gala could wait until after the gladiator was done with bluescreening his archivist.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Orion Pax was… resplendent.
The word felt archaic and insufficient in Megatron’s processor, yet it was the only one that could possibly fit the sight before his optics.
His archivist had always looked stunning, no matter his state. From polished and proper in the archives, to scratched and dented in the berth. But this? By the Pits. Megatron would happily deal with all of the Senate's garish grandeur just to savor a moment in Orion's presence. He was going to commit this view to his permanent memory bank under the highest priority.
Standing outside the Grand Imperium, waiting for Megatron to arrive, was Orion. His blue and red plating subtly re-worked to a deep, matte finish. Not the reflecting, mirror-like finish favored by so many of the Iaconian elite. He was absorbing the light around him rather than shining it away.
It made the black and iridescent organza fabric he was wearing stand out even more. A long sash of the off-world fabric was pinned to the center of his chassis, draping to the outer edges of his pauldrons, before going all around to the back. Where, using a gunmetal grey cog to fasten it, it was allowed to fall down like the trails of two ebony comets, ending at his waist.
What could a mech do, but gravitate towards that beautiful black hole waiting outside a venue of false stars?
And so Megatron moved. His steps, usually a loud and imposing sound that echoed throughout the Pits, fell oddly quiet to his own audials. The optics darting his way from other guests arriving, high-caste mech and political envoys from various city-states, might as well have been dust with how meaningless they were to him. Their venom, shock, contempt, Megatron didn't even deign them to register it in his processor.
Orion turned his helm, catching the gladiator's optics with his own. Immediately his finials perked up straighter. The thoughtful expression he'd worn mere moments ago now turned to an appreciative stare as he looked Megatron up and down in ways similar to what the gladiator had done.
The gladiator had taken some effort to look presentable, as he had promised his archivist. His frame was polished, a bit at least. He’d scrubbed off the worst of the Pits’ grime and buffed the deep gunmetal grey of his armor to a low, menacing sheen. Not much more could be done before he had to spend shanix on a better polish. Which was far too frivolous a spending. Especially since it would be done for the comfort of other mechs, rather than for his own want. Those of a higher caste, that would find his scratches and battle welds to be offensive and indecent, while never having worked with their servos a day in their lives.
But he wasn't completely underdressed for the event. On his left pauldron, at the junction of it with his armor, he had an insignia. The metal of it, worn and dented, had been shaped into the visage of Megatronus Prime's mask, the symbol of the gladiator's own movement. Hanging from that was a thin, Energon blue fabric. It was stiff and wrapped under his pauldron and back up to meet the top of the insignia in a closed loop.
Megatron was not one for trophies or memorabilia of his victories. Such a thing was for lesser fighters, those needing the reassurance and glory of past conquests to believe themselves better. This was the one exception. The fabric had been ripped from a state sponsored opponent, back when Megatron was first making a name for himself. And the symbol was made from the armor of their chassis. It had been a symbolic victory, that one, and thus Megatron had allowed himself this one trophy.
“My Orion.” Megatron's voice came out as a low rumble, his sharp digits carefully curling around the organza encasing his beautiful archivist. The fabric felt impossibly fragile between his talons, like one scratch would be enough to rip it apart and leave it in useless tatters. “Words fail me at your sight.”
Orion’s faceplate became slightly blue as Energon rushed through his cables at the compliment. His derma quirked up to a soft smile.
“Megatron. You look formidable." He offered in return, his gaze quickly catching the insignia on the other's pauldron. His servos reached up, gently tracing along the rough edges of the metal before looking back up to Megatron's optics. “And provocative.” He didn't sound chastising. Rather, the way Orion spoke made it sound like he had expected something along this line.
Megatron's grin was a sharp, dangerous thing.
“I believe it customary to show one's alliances at such events, no?” He asked as he pulled his claw away from the delicate fabric.
“Hmm, perhaps in cycles passed. The Senate prefers to hide their alliances these days.” Orion countered effortlessly. “But I will not insult either of us by pretending like you didn't know that.”
With a thoughtful thrum of his engines, Megatron gave a nod. He then held out his arm, while tilting his helm to shamelessly drink in the sight of his archivist for a moment longer.
“Well then, shall we head inside?”
Orion hooked his arm with Megatron's, leaning a little closer to the larger mech.
“Yes, it would be a waste of all your efforts to stay out here.” There was a slight tremble to his voice box. He might not be alone at this event anymore, but this was still something that brought along a spike of anxiety for the archivist.
They walked to the entrance of the Grand Imperium. At the entranceway, there was already glitter and shine spilling out from the main hall. The mech at the edge of it held a datapad, which likely contained the guest list. Their polish was slightly uneven, a warframe forced into attending this event as a bouncer. Megatron held back a sneer at the thought. Strength of frame was only appreciated by the Senate when it directly aided their elitist glamour, or acted as their protection.
They stopped at the entrance, and Orion produced the invitation from his subspace, handing it over to the mech. The bouncer took it, though his optics were firmly on Megatron for a moment too long, before down at Orion.
“Designations?” He asked, his voice rough like it had been damaged once and wasn’t properly fixed again.
“Archivist Orion Pax of Iacon. I am in attendance for Alpha Trion.” Orion offered, his arm locked a little tighter around Megatron’s for a klik. “And my plus one. Megatron of Kaon.”
The bouncer gave a slow nod, gaze returning to Megatron, and then to the insignia on the gladiator’s pauldron.
“Guests have to be pre-approved by the Senate. He’s not on the list.” The mech then said.
Orion’s faceplate turned to a frown at the words.
“That was not mentioned in the invitation, nor was this communicated in any other way.” And Orion would know, because he was the type of mech to dissect every detail of such things to avoid these very situations.
“That’s above my clearance.” The warframe stated, blunt and uncaring. “You’re allowed in, he’s not.”
Megatron clenched his servo tightly. Either this bouncer was lying, hoping to get a pet on the helm from his masters for having kept out the unwanted elements. Or this was something deliberately quieted to ensure only those that the Senate deemed fit would attend. Either way… it was an issue.
Orion’s confusion made way for a dawning realization that likely mirrored Megatron’s own thoughts.
“There has to be a way-” He tried, but was silenced by the warframe raising his servo to halt Orion’s plea.
“Look, I’m just doing my job. Take it up with the Senate if you have any issues.” The bouncer said. “Accept it or don’t, but it isn’t up to me.”
Orion’s finials lowered some at the cold dismissal. His optics glanced briefly at Megatron, whose engine was idling in a dangerous thrum that the archivist felt where their arms were linked together.
“I… I am sorry, Megatron. I should have known something like this might happen.” He offered. Megatron was about to offer comfort, this was not Orion’s blame to take, when someone else spoke first.
“Orion Pax! There you are.” A voice called from inside the venue, causing all three mechs to turn their attention inwards. Walking up to the entrance was a white mech with green detailing. He was polished to perfection and his decorative golden chains made a soft clinking sound with every step of his pedes. “You had me starting to believe you wouldn’t show.” His smile was performative but not in the venomous way the elite specialised in. His blue optics turned to Megatron. There was a split second of recognition, realization, and then redirection in that sharp gaze.
The mech immediately turned to the bouncer, gaze tracking the datapad with guests for a single cycling of his optics.
“Is there an issue?” He asked.
The warframe stood straighter when he was addressed. He cleared his voicebox as he shook his helm. The uncaring edge was gone now that he was in the presence of the other.
“No. No issue, Senator. Simply someone trying to gain entry without being on the list.” He motioned to Megatron with the datapad.
The mech, the Senator, raised one of his optic-ridges as he listened.
“Not on the list? Well, then there must be some mistake. I have personally approved of Megatron of Kaon being present.” He spoke without a moment’s hesitation. “And you would have sent my honored guest away…” The mech ex-vented and turned to Megatron. “My sincerest apologies for the misunderstanding. I don’t know how this slipped by.”
Megatron looked at Orion with a hint of concealed confusion, but the smaller mech just gave a relieved smile and silently shook his helm, indicating to Megatron to just let it happen. Which he did, though begrudgingly. He would not allow himself to get indebted to a Senator simply to enter the event.
The bouncer stilled fully, optics darting between his list, the Senator, and finally Megatron. Then, slowly, he gave a nod. It was clear he wasn’t fully convinced, but he wasn’t stupid enough to go against a Senator on this. It was, as he said earlier, above his clearance.
“Right… apologies.” He muttered, stepping aside.
Orion pulled Megatron along with him, gently but insisting. Like he feared that the window of entrance would close the moment he stalled. Megatron allowed himself to be led by the archivist, who walked with the Senator deeper into the sparkling venue.
The Grand Imperium was an assault of calculated opulence and gaudy indulgence. Light refracted through towering crystal chandeliers, casting prismatic shards over the chrome arches that were cleaned and cared for to the point of spotlessness. The air thrummed not with the roar of the Pits, but with the low-frequency hum of expensive engines and the delicate, deceitful chime of clinking crystal glasses. Soft music called through the entire grand hall, but where it came from, Megatron couldn't say.
“Thank you, Senator Shockwave.” Orion spoke then, soft to keep some privacy but loud enough for both Megatron and the Senator to pick up on. “You’re a sparksaver.”
Ah, so this was Shockwave. Megatron should have realized. The only Senator that Orion had spoken of with some genuine respect. Megatron wasn’t overly familiar with the mech, having read little on him in favor of getting information on the more openly fundamentalist Senators. But if Shockwave was bold enough to lie so easily and allow Megatron entrance into an elite party, then perhaps he could be useful in other ways. Be it genuine care for Megatron’s plight, or simply because he would find it amusing, the reasoning why the Senator had helped mattered not.
Shockwave offered a nod of his helm.
“There is little need to thank me, Archivist Pax.” His knowing optics went to Megatron then, giving a slightly sharper smile. “And Megatron of Kaon. A pleasure to make the acquaintance of the Pits’ undefeated champion.” He held out his servo expectantly.
Megatron let it hang for a moment before he clasped his own servo around the other’s in a strong grip.
“The pleasure is mine, Senator. I did not think there was anyone in the Senate with an intact spinal strut.” He spoke, gauging the reaction of the other mech.
But rather than be offended by the implied insult, Shockwave gave a laugh. He pulled his servo away again and clasped it behind his back.
“There aren’t many of us, I’ll admit.” His words were spoken with a certain flourish to them. It made it difficult to get a proper read on the mech. Megatron realized quickly this was the intended effect. “Just like there aren’t many in the Pits with an intact spinal strut, though perhaps a bit more literal.” The Senator commented dryly.
Hmm… Interesting. Shockwave didn’t shy away from either his remark or the more unsavory part of the Pits.
“A fair point, Senator,” Megatron conceded, the ghost of a smile touching his own features. “Literal and metaphorical wreckage tends to accumulate when the frame is… structurally unsound.”
“Precisely,” Shockwave said, pleased with the message beneath the words spoken. “Now, unfortunately I must mingle. A dreadful part of the job, but one must maintain connections. Do enjoy the… spectacle.” His glance around the opulent hall was subtly dismissive. “And I hope you find me later. I am most curious how your rhetoric plans to strengthen Cybertron’s frame.” He stated with a far too knowing look in his optics, before turning to Orion again. “Archivist Pax, a word of unsolicited advice? Skip the Engex. They've laced it with a sobriety agent. Can't have the ruling class embarrassing themselves with genuine feeling, after all.” The Senator offered wryly. He gave a final glance at Megatron, specifically his insignia, before he stepped away and disappeared into the crowd of elite mechs
“...Eccentric.“ Megatron mused. Senator Shockwave came to their aid, insisted on a continuation of conversation, and then left again as if Orion and him were naught but a routine greeting he had to handle during such an event. And his aid had come at an almost suspiciously convenient time.
Orion gave a soft chuckle, drawing Megatron's attention back to his archivist.
“Yes, he can be. But he is genuinely a good mech. If possible, you should speak with him more. He is rather sympathetic to your cause. A voice inside the Senate couldn't hurt.”
Megatron gave a non-committal hum at the suggestion.
“If possible.” He echoed. And if he had not been kicked out by that point. But stating such an obvious thing was pointless. Instead, he unhooked his arm from the archivist and gave a cursory glance around the glittering, sterile room.
Now, with Senator Shockwave away, Megatron and Orion were alone. The music still sounded gently through the entire venue, but the conversations around them skipped for just half a beat too long.
Megatron recognized the shift. It was the same kind of energy that moved through a crowd when first Energon was drawn in the Pits. Recalculated bets and reassessed threats. It was the moment that told Megatron exactly who'd wished for him to fall, and who wanted him to rise. It was no different here.
A Senator's pupil was fixated on the gladiator's insignia with barely concealed disdain and disgust. Still too unpracticed in the Elites’ scene to know when to avert his optics.
A group of dressed up femmes each gave a single glance at the pair, individually examining them before they whispered their polite corrosion to one another on what they thought of the scene.
The guards, strong mechs of the Elite Guard, clocked Megatron's welds and scratches with professional contempt. The tension in their frames was heightened, Megatron recognised the subtle tells of a mech readying.
Senators and functionaries only offered a single glance at Orion before distinctly looking away again. He was someone who broke an unspoken rule, bringing Megatron here, and thus he was now beneath their acknowledgement.
Megatron's optics went down to his side, to Orion. The archivist held his helm high, a polite and unbothered smile on his faceplate. It was too formal, lacking the usual warmth that always lit up his optics. Megatron decided he hated that the most out of any stare.
“My spark.” He said, his voice soft enough that it only carried to Orion. “Let's get something to refuel. Even if the Engex is worthless, it'll be expensive.”
Orion glanced up to Megatron, tilting his helm ever so slightly to the side.
“You don’t care for the expensive stuff, though? According to you it’s a ‘weak imitation fuel for weak frames’.” He imitated Megatron’s lower voice in good jest, the smile he wore turning a bit more genuine at his own antics.
“I don’t, and it is.” Megatron conceded. “It lacks the bite and burn of proper Engex, and it has no real worth as fuel compared to just straight Energon.” He noticed the slight confusion in his archivist’s optics. His own smile turned a little conspiratory. “But if the Senate is willing to open their coffers and waste their shanix on useless drinks, who am I to deny them their idiotic spendings? And besides, the more they spend here, the less they have to use against the lower caste. It’s not like any of the shanix spent here would ever have seen the lower parts of Cybertron.”
That caused a genuine laugh to escape Orion’s voicebox. It was brief, and quickly hidden behind a polite servo, but it eased Megatron’s spark in ways only Orion ever could.
“That is a rather… petty form of rebellion. Especially for you.” His archivist spoke with a shake of his helm. “But I suppose I should be glad you’re keeping yourself in check with mere pettiness.”
They began to walk through the large hall. Mechs stepped aside to let them pass. Not out of respect, of course. But likely because they didn’t want to risk touching the undesirable elements amidst their opulence. As Megatron and Orion passed the various groups and cliques, whispers reached their audials. Too quiet to confront directly, too loud to genuinely be meant as private.
“...has to wonder what Alpha Trion thinks of his pet archivist consorting with…”
The words came from a group of data-mechs off to the side. Orion’s mirth from mere moments ago stifled into something brittle, but he didn’t falter in his steps.
“...larger in person. Pity he thinks above his station, he would have made a lovely berth-warmer…”
A crystal adorned femme spoke. Her optics raked across Megatron’s frame like she had every right to it. A sub-audible growl vibrated through Megatron’s chassis, causing Orion to lay his servo on Megatron’s arm. His digit gently caressed the welded metal.
“...see how he preens on its arm? Pathetic. Really, what was he thinking with such arena filth…”
A functionary muttered to his companion. The rust in those words caused Orion’s digit to still for a moment, before he pushed past it and looked up at Megatron with a brave smile on his faceplate. Megatron laid his own servo on top of Orion’s, gentle despite its larger size.
“...that vulgar insignia. Poor thing. One wonders what greased lies the gladiator used to turn a promising archivist into its accessory.…”
That one came from a Senator, and it dripped with faux concern. Megatron stopped his steps, helm turning directly at the mech who had dared compare his archivist to a mere bauble, to something passive and foolish. The Senator caught Megatron’s stare, held it for a moment, and turned back to his conversation with a dismissive cycling of his optics.
Orion tapped Megatron’s arm to get the other’s attention. The touch was warm, grounding. Orion guided them to the large table filled with refreshments. Megatron allowed himself to be led away, lest he did something regrettable. But he would remember every faceplate and every bit of corrosion spoken. A debt to be collected at a later time.
Only once they put some distance between the hostility and themselves did the cold fury in Megatron’s lines lessen somewhat.
“They’re not worth it.” Orion whispered, looking at the obscene spread of crystal and luxury that had been prepared for the party. He took two flutes with sparkling, over-processed Engex and handed one to Megatron.
“No, they are not.” The gladiator agreed as he took the offered drink. The stem felt like it would easily snap at the slightest bit of pressure, and he had to be careful to not accidentally exert too much force. “But you are.”
The words, raw and honest, caused Orion’s frame to ease. Tension made way for soft adoration as he got right in Megatron’s personal space, uncaring for the contempt of others at his show of affection. They didn’t matter. But that didn't mean they didn't notice. The conversations did not still, the clinking of crystal flutes continued on, hollow laughter still rang through the hall. But the air was charged. Shock and distaste bounced around the room from mech to mech like static jumping from one frame to the next.
Megatron felt the stares before he even looked. They were a physical weight against his armor, similar to the glare of the crowd in the Pits. Some were sharp and judgemental, seeing the proximity and open warmth between the gladiator and his archivist as uncouth and unbecoming. Others were carefully curious, their optics almost voyeuristic as they fixated on the small gap between Megatron and Orion in morbid fascination.
Megatron moved his frame to use it as a shield against some of the scornful glares. It wasn't much, and it looked like he had simply adjusted his stance to be closer to Orion.
Of course his archivist noticed it immediately. He didn't seem to mind, if the minor adjusting of his own frame was any indication.
“I find it appealing when you get like this.”
Megatron angled his helm, a faint smirk split his derma as he leaned closer.
“Like what, my little archivist?” His voice rumbled low.
“Territorial.” Orion said with a glint in his optics. “It is rather thrilling to watch the most dangerous and capable mech on Cybertron prepare to defend my honor.” He teased. “Knowing you’re behaving because you promised me.” He continued on, and Megatron’s optics brightened in their glow. “It makes me feel special.” And just as easily as Orion had crowded Megatron’s space, he left it again, raising his crystal to the other.
Megatron let out an amused vent.
“You are going to be my offlining.” He spoke with fondness, tapping the rim of his own drink to Orion’s, the chime of it died quickly in the general noise of the room. They both took a sip and immediately Megatron’s expression turned to a sneer.
Orion gave a static-filled wince.
“Oh this is… just terrible.” He mumbled, lowering his flute with a clearing of his voicebox.
“Expensive and overly refined.” Megatron spoke in agreement. “And without the buzz it brings to the processor, there is nothing to hide the taste with.” The Engex clung to his glossa, unnatural and too sweet. No, Megatron much preferred the uncut, raw Engex that one would get in the small establishments of Kaon’s Pits District. That was honest and strong, burning along the insides of fuel lines. It made him feel alive. This only made him feel contempt.
Megatron was about to suggest they find somewhere marginally less offensive to stand. Perhaps near one of the towering windows, where at least the view of Iacon's spires might offer some respite from the offensiveness of the shine from within these halls. But of course his luck would not have it so easy.
The crowd before them parted.
Not casually. Not with the gentle ebb and flow of conversation shifting and turning. This was a deliberate, practiced thing. The kind that happened when a mech of considerable power moved through a room and everyone else decided, simultaneously, that they were far more fascinated by their crystal flutes and the architectural details of the ceiling.
Megatron's optics tracked the disturbance before his processor fully registered its source. The mech approaching was tall, though not as tall as Megatron himself. His frame was a deep, burnished bronze, accented with gold filigree that crawled across his chassis like the fine lines of a circuit board. His faceplate was handsome in the way a freshly sharpened blade was handsome. It was precise, cold, and capable of drawing Energon without warning. His yellow optics were fixed on Orion with an intensity that made Megatron's engines rumble with warning before he could stop them.
Senator Proteus. Megatron had read extensively on this one. The mech who had single-handedly stalled the last three proposals for mine safety reform. Who had called the gladiatorial pits ‘Proof of the uncivil nature of the working class’. Who had never, in all his vorns as Senator, set foot in Kaon.
Proteus stopped precisely three paces from them. Close enough to be an intrusion. Far enough to claim deniability if confronted about it. He had not deigned a look at Megatron once, and the slight was deliberate.
“Archivist Pax. I was surprised to hear that Alpha Trion sent his mentee in his stead, especially given your lack of experience with these sorts of events.” He said, carefully neutral. Megatron immediately recognised it for what it was, the opening move in a carefully played game of veiled insults and sizing up.
“Senator Proteus.” Orion bowed his helm just a little. Enough to be polite, but not much more. His crystal flute held in his servos more as a prop than to actually drink from. “Yes, Alpha Trion is offworld because of research and believed this was a good opportunity for me to learn.” He offered with a small smile. "Lack of experience can be corrected, after all. Lack of substance, however, cannot." The words came smooth as polished chrome, and Megatron felt a surge of pride so fierce it nearly manifested as a rumble in his chassis. Orion’s grip on his crystal flute was a little tighter now, as if he had surprised himself with his own words.
Proteus's optic twitched. Barely. Anyone not watching for it would have missed it entirely.
"Indeed," the Senator replied, and his gaze finally slid to Megatron. It was the look one might give a piece of interesting debris on the side of the road. Worth a glance but not worth stopping for. "And this must be the... companion I've heard whispers about." His optics went across Megatron from bottom to top, stopping for a brief moment at the insignia on his pauldron. Proteus did not hide his displeasure at its sight. “How… rustic.”
Megatron said nothing. He simply stared back, letting the silence stretch until it became its own statement. He had nothing to prove to this polished bronze statue. Proteus was fishing for ammunition to use against either him or Orion, and Megatron would not provide it.
Orion's smile remained fixed.
"Megatron of Kaon. Gladiator champion and my intended." He offered with pride unfiltered as he spoke.
The word, intended, landed between them like the release of a pressure valve. Megatron watched several nearby conversations stutter and restart, and he did not hide the small satisfaction that it gave him, a slight smirk formed onto his derma.
"Intended." Proteus repeated flatly, as if testing the taste of something sour. "How... progressive of you, Archivist. I was not aware that the archives encouraged such cultural diversity.”
Megatron had promised to behave. He had promised Orion, and he intended to keep that promise. But there was behaving, and there was behaving.
He let Proteus's comment hang in the air for exactly three cycles of his ventilation system. Long enough for the word to settle into the space between them. Long enough for the nearby conversations to quiet, drawn by the gravitational pull of impending collision.
Then he laughed. It was not a loud laugh. It was not the roar of the Pits or the bellow of a champion issuing a challenge. It was quiet. Low. The kind of laughter a mech gave when he had seen something genuinely amusing, and genuinely pathetic, in equal measure.
Proteus's optics snapped back to him. Indigant and surprised both.
"I apologize, Senator." Megatron said, though the apology rang hollow with insincerity. "I was merely struck by something."
"And what, pray tell, was that?" Proteus's tone was ice, his optics narrowed and their glow a dangerous and dim thing.
Megatron took a slow sip of his Engex, that terrible, overpriced Engex that left a cloying taste on his glossa, and made a show of considering the question. His free servo came up to trace the edge of the insignia on his pauldron. The movement was unhurried. Deliberate.
"Your words reminded me of something." Megatron began, setting the crystal down on a passing server's tray without looking. "It reminded me on the nature of rust."
Proteus's optic twitched again. "Rust." He spoke with the kind of tone that one might use when coming across a particularly stupid answer.
"Yes." Megatron's voice was conversational. Easy. The voice he used in the Pits when he already knew how a fight would end and was simply savoring the before. "Fascinating substance. Begins small, nothing worth noticing. Certainly nothing worth troubling oneself over." He tilted his helm, the motion almost thoughtful. "But rust does not require permission to spread, Senator. It does not wait for an invitation. It simply accumulates. Until one day, the mech who ignored it finds their frame compromised. Their joints seized. Their spark exposed to the open air."
He took a single step closer to Proteus. Not threatening, but simply present in a way that made the Senator's polished frame seem suddenly very small. Orion’s finials perked slightly at the movement but he made no attempt to stop the other.
"You see, I've spent my entire functioning learning about mechs like you." Megatron continued, and his voice had dropped. Not quieter, but lower. The kind of register that vibrated in the chassis whether a mech wanted it to or not. "Reading the laws you've written. The speeches you've given. The reforms you've buried in subcommittees until they suffocated and died." His smile was sharp, edged, and showed fang. "I may even know your arguments better than you do, Senator."
Orion's servo found Megatron's arm. Not to restrain, to ground. And Megatron allowed it. He even leaned into it, just slightly. A reminder to himself of why he was here. Who he was here for.
"But I promised my archivist that I would behave this evening." Megatron said, and the word intended came out like a claim. He laid his own servo on Orion's. "And I am nothing if not a mech of my word." He stepped back. The space between them widened some. "So I will not say what I think of you, Senator Proteus. I will not list the names of the miners who died in the collapse you failed to prevent. Nor will I recite the number of Kaonite children who have never tasted unrationed Energon because your 'budgetary concerns' required their fuel to be rerouted to this." He gestured broadly at the chandeliers, the crystal, the obscene wealth dripping from every surface.
He picked up a fresh glass of Engex from the same server's tray, raised it in a mock toast.
"Instead, I will simply say this. Rust does not ask permission. And it is everywhere." Megatron drank. The Engex was still terrible. But the silence that followed was delicious.
Proteus's faceplate had gone through several subtle iterations during Megatron's short speech. From disdain to discomfort to something approaching genuine alarm. He recovered quickly, a mech like Proteus always did, but Megatron had seen it.
"How passionate of you, gladiator." Proteus said finally, and his voice had lost some of its ice, but that had been replaced with venom. "One might almost mistake rhetoric for substance." He offered, trying to regain his pede in a conversation he, no doubt, had assumed would have gone better for him.
"One might." Megatron agreed easily. "If one had never encountered either."
Orion made a soft sound beside him. It might have been a laugh, quickly suppressed. It might have been a vent of pure relief. Either way, Megatron felt it in the way his archivist's frame relaxed against his arm.
Proteus's optics narrowed to slits. He opened his intake, to escalate, to retreat, to demand something, but before he could, Orion's voice cut through the tension like a blade through overworked cabling.
“As lovely as it was meeting you, Senator Proteus, my intended and I have yet to properly mingle. We wouldn’t want to come across as rude.” He offered with a gentle expression as he turned his frame slightly. “Megatron, I did believe Senator Shockwave still wished to speak, right?” He prompted.
“Indeed he does.” Megatron nodded, glancing at Senator Proteus from the side of his optics. “A pleasant evening, Senator. Our brief conversation has been illuminating.” Without waiting for Proteus to speak a forcefully polite goodbye, or reason why this conversation was not yet over, Megatron went and walked with Orion past the Senator.
The moment they were out of direct audial-shot, Orion couldn’t hold back a chuckle anymore, optics fixed on Megatron.
“Illuminating? Primus, you’re terrible.” He accused.
“Hmm… I could have said a myriad of things, my spark. I am attempting to behave.” Megatron stated, though his own mirth was barely concealed.
“I suppose you are.” Orion conceded, leaning against the gladiator with a fond shake of his helm. “Come on. We only have to stay a little longer, then I have shown my faceplate enough and we can politely leave.“ He looked down at the flute of offensively terrible Engex and refused to take another sip of it. “And for your continued good behavior, I’ll treat you to some proper Engex at Maccadam’s in Kaon.” He offered.
“That is the second best reward you can offer me for dealing with these fools.” Megatron said, smirk sly and optics hungry. “I was personally hoping for something a bit more… personal. Especially with you looking as radiant as you are.” His voice was private, only for Orion.
The archivist’s faceplate and finials turned a light shade of blue at the words.
“I may be persuaded. If you continue to behave, and you get the second round at Maccadam’s.”
“Deal.” Megatron practically growled, his servo finding the small of Orion’s back, taloned digits caressing the plating there in an idle pattern.
He could handle the gala for a little while longer. Having Orion as his reward would be more than worth it.