[Bay] Requiem for a Tower
Nov. 4th, 2013 06:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: This is actually a flash fiction fill that attached itself to other flash fictions and made itself a series. Go figure. :). I have now collected them under one title "Requiem for a Tower" for ease of reading. This piece here is the new material, and the prequel to it all. I'm going to call this series complete but you know how it is with prompts. They're like potato chips. You can't have just one.
Enjoy~
Title: At First Sight
Universe: Bayverse, pre-series, Requiem for a Tower series
Characters: Mirage, Thundercracker
Rating: K+
Warnings: None
Description: In the beginning, there was a Towerling and the Seeker who intrigued him.
For dellessa and the prompt, MiragexThundercracker, best laid plans
When the Lord High Protector first makes his appearance, all optics are naturally drawn to him. He is large, imposing, and exudes an aura of power and confidence.
Mirage, however, finds his gaze landing on Lord Megatron's companions. One is a silver carrier mech, his face concealed by a visor and mask, but the other is a Seeker, all sleek turquoise plating, broad wings, and digitigrade legs. He holds himself with a stately bearing, his optics sweeping the room, assessing it for threats.
He cannot remember the Seeker's designation, only knowing that there had been a hasty replacement assigned in lieu of Lord Megatron's usual accompaniment. That doesn't stop Mirage from intending to find out.
He has never shown any interest in Skywarp or Skyquake, but this Seeker has a different quality somehow.
Mirage grabs a glass of coolant for himself and the Seeker and makes his way through the crowd. Curiosity compels him.
He is not the only one.
Patrons and guests alike flock to the Lord High Protector and his companions. Some are the same as Mirage, short and delicate, frames built for beauty and not function. Others are larger, dignitaries of nearby city-states and the like. The rush makes for a difficult view, a throng that blocks him.
In the push and pull, Mirage loses sight of his quarry. Annoyance bites at his poise.
Others vie for Mirage's attention, but he has optics for the Seeker alone.
The Lord High Protector has found his Prime, clasping hands, their fields crashing together in such a way that it affects everyone in the ball room. Together, they attract an awestruck gaggle of admirers. The carrier is holding court with the representatives from Vos and Tarn, one arm making a vague gesture.
The Seeker is nowhere to be seen. Frustration eats at Mirage. He downs his coolant, both glasses, and exchanges them for high grade.
He extricates himself from Senator Ratbat's clutches, offers an apologetic smile to Xaaron, and sidesteps Tracks, another noble of similar construction to his own.
Still, the Seeker proves elusive. Some guardian.
Mirage feels as though he is in the Altrax Plains, hunting a turbofox.
The background music shifts to Cybertron's anthem. Lights dim. Optimus Prime and his High Protector take center stage, preparing to lead the guests in a dance as they lead the planet in all other matters – together. As is the custom.
Mirage tilts his helm. Turbofox.
He halts, inspired by the comparison, already distracted from the dance. His optics swing to the balcony.
Isolated. Quiet. Perfect.
With all optics on their ruling diad, Mirage slips out unnoticed. His diligence is rewarded by first sight of the Seeker, night cycle lighting a gleam on freshly waxed armor. Out here, it appears darker than the bright turquoise Mirage remembers, and the swirls and loops of his clan markings are even more apparent.
He is, simply put, beautiful.
“Not much for parties, I see,” Mirage says by way of announcing himself, though he is sure the Seeker is more than aware of his presence. A warrior's instincts, no doubt.
The Seeker half-turns, his optics a soft, red gleam in the shadows. “Not one for noise,” he says, and plating ruffles before sleeking down. “Or company.”
“What about high grade?” Mirage offers, lifting his hands to showcase the pulsing violet glow of the cubes he carries.
Interest brightens the Seeker's optics and he accepts the cube Mirage offers. “One such as myself considers this a tease. But thank you nonetheless.”
“I do remember hearing that flight-builds require denser concentrations,” Mirage replies, settling in beside the Seeker. “The sacrifice, I suppose, for the gift of flight.”
“Perhaps.” Concession is given.
They take their first drink, Mirage admiring the warm burst of sensation across his glossa, the sharp tingle down his intake, and the quiet burn in his tanks. This is a lovely brew.
“I am Mirage. My caretaker's are this gala's hosts,” he says, hoping that the energon will have loosened the Seeker's obviously tightly wound gears. “Might I have the pleasure of knowing your designation?”
“Thundercracker,” the Seeker replies, and then adds, in his own language, several identifying glyphs that Mirage does not recognize, but are intriguing to hear.
Mirage sidles closer. “Tell me, Thundercracker, why a mech who doesn't enjoy parties accompanies our High Protector to one?”
“I drew the short strut.”
Mirage laughs at Thundercracker's dry tone. “Then you were unlucky.”
Sipping at the high grade, Thundercracker turns fully toward him, optics sweeping Mirage from the crest of his helm to the curve of his pedes. “Up until now, I was beginning to think so.” His field ripples in the bare space between them, polite, questioning, and, Mirage notices, offering.
Inside, Mirage can hear that the music is still playing, all attention grabbed by their ruling diad. More dancers join them on the floor; more servants ply the guests with decanters of coolant and high grade. The gala will run well into the night cycle, until early day cycle no doubt.
Mirage lets his own field unfurl, lust a slow and steady purr through his systems. “I believe I have something to better suit your palate in my quarters. Care to join me?”
Thundercracker's optics burn brighter, his field a hot tickle against Mirage's own. “Yes.”
Mirage grins.
***
a/n: One more flash fiction to write. I'm totally adding these to my NaNo word total. :)
Flash Fiction Friday returns this Friday, keep that in mind.
I hope you enjoyed!
Enjoy~
Title: At First Sight
Universe: Bayverse, pre-series, Requiem for a Tower series
Characters: Mirage, Thundercracker
Rating: K+
Warnings: None
Description: In the beginning, there was a Towerling and the Seeker who intrigued him.
For dellessa and the prompt, MiragexThundercracker, best laid plans
When the Lord High Protector first makes his appearance, all optics are naturally drawn to him. He is large, imposing, and exudes an aura of power and confidence.
Mirage, however, finds his gaze landing on Lord Megatron's companions. One is a silver carrier mech, his face concealed by a visor and mask, but the other is a Seeker, all sleek turquoise plating, broad wings, and digitigrade legs. He holds himself with a stately bearing, his optics sweeping the room, assessing it for threats.
He cannot remember the Seeker's designation, only knowing that there had been a hasty replacement assigned in lieu of Lord Megatron's usual accompaniment. That doesn't stop Mirage from intending to find out.
He has never shown any interest in Skywarp or Skyquake, but this Seeker has a different quality somehow.
Mirage grabs a glass of coolant for himself and the Seeker and makes his way through the crowd. Curiosity compels him.
He is not the only one.
Patrons and guests alike flock to the Lord High Protector and his companions. Some are the same as Mirage, short and delicate, frames built for beauty and not function. Others are larger, dignitaries of nearby city-states and the like. The rush makes for a difficult view, a throng that blocks him.
In the push and pull, Mirage loses sight of his quarry. Annoyance bites at his poise.
Others vie for Mirage's attention, but he has optics for the Seeker alone.
The Lord High Protector has found his Prime, clasping hands, their fields crashing together in such a way that it affects everyone in the ball room. Together, they attract an awestruck gaggle of admirers. The carrier is holding court with the representatives from Vos and Tarn, one arm making a vague gesture.
The Seeker is nowhere to be seen. Frustration eats at Mirage. He downs his coolant, both glasses, and exchanges them for high grade.
He extricates himself from Senator Ratbat's clutches, offers an apologetic smile to Xaaron, and sidesteps Tracks, another noble of similar construction to his own.
Still, the Seeker proves elusive. Some guardian.
Mirage feels as though he is in the Altrax Plains, hunting a turbofox.
The background music shifts to Cybertron's anthem. Lights dim. Optimus Prime and his High Protector take center stage, preparing to lead the guests in a dance as they lead the planet in all other matters – together. As is the custom.
Mirage tilts his helm. Turbofox.
He halts, inspired by the comparison, already distracted from the dance. His optics swing to the balcony.
Isolated. Quiet. Perfect.
With all optics on their ruling diad, Mirage slips out unnoticed. His diligence is rewarded by first sight of the Seeker, night cycle lighting a gleam on freshly waxed armor. Out here, it appears darker than the bright turquoise Mirage remembers, and the swirls and loops of his clan markings are even more apparent.
He is, simply put, beautiful.
“Not much for parties, I see,” Mirage says by way of announcing himself, though he is sure the Seeker is more than aware of his presence. A warrior's instincts, no doubt.
The Seeker half-turns, his optics a soft, red gleam in the shadows. “Not one for noise,” he says, and plating ruffles before sleeking down. “Or company.”
“What about high grade?” Mirage offers, lifting his hands to showcase the pulsing violet glow of the cubes he carries.
Interest brightens the Seeker's optics and he accepts the cube Mirage offers. “One such as myself considers this a tease. But thank you nonetheless.”
“I do remember hearing that flight-builds require denser concentrations,” Mirage replies, settling in beside the Seeker. “The sacrifice, I suppose, for the gift of flight.”
“Perhaps.” Concession is given.
They take their first drink, Mirage admiring the warm burst of sensation across his glossa, the sharp tingle down his intake, and the quiet burn in his tanks. This is a lovely brew.
“I am Mirage. My caretaker's are this gala's hosts,” he says, hoping that the energon will have loosened the Seeker's obviously tightly wound gears. “Might I have the pleasure of knowing your designation?”
“Thundercracker,” the Seeker replies, and then adds, in his own language, several identifying glyphs that Mirage does not recognize, but are intriguing to hear.
Mirage sidles closer. “Tell me, Thundercracker, why a mech who doesn't enjoy parties accompanies our High Protector to one?”
“I drew the short strut.”
Mirage laughs at Thundercracker's dry tone. “Then you were unlucky.”
Sipping at the high grade, Thundercracker turns fully toward him, optics sweeping Mirage from the crest of his helm to the curve of his pedes. “Up until now, I was beginning to think so.” His field ripples in the bare space between them, polite, questioning, and, Mirage notices, offering.
Inside, Mirage can hear that the music is still playing, all attention grabbed by their ruling diad. More dancers join them on the floor; more servants ply the guests with decanters of coolant and high grade. The gala will run well into the night cycle, until early day cycle no doubt.
Mirage lets his own field unfurl, lust a slow and steady purr through his systems. “I believe I have something to better suit your palate in my quarters. Care to join me?”
Thundercracker's optics burn brighter, his field a hot tickle against Mirage's own. “Yes.”
Mirage grins.
a/n: One more flash fiction to write. I'm totally adding these to my NaNo word total. :)
Flash Fiction Friday returns this Friday, keep that in mind.
I hope you enjoyed!
