Rating: M
Chapter 1
C.M.D: Believe it or not, this was a fanfic NOT removed from Fanfiction. Anyways, normally I research material before I write about certain topics, but honestly I just wanted to have fun with Soundwave and Tracks, and so I mish-mashed my simple knowledge of ancient civilizations together, tied in with some artistic rights, to create a roman-englishlike setting. I hope you enjoy it all the same!
Originally posted October 15, 2011
It was a dank, dark sort of place; the
kind only vagabonds kept when dealing with illegal merchandise.
Considering the specific mech who owned this establishment, such a
place was fitting. Soundwave followed at Swindle's pedes quietly, his
gaze discretely analyzing and cataloguing everything around him. He
would need to remember this data for later, when he reported to
Megatron.
“We've gotten a lot of new wares,”
the dealer was saying. He glanced back over his shoulder plating,
that same greasy smirk on his faceplates that he usually wore. If he
thought that it made him more appealing, then he was sorely mistaken.
For the most part, Soundwave ignored
Swindle, only glancing at the objects the smaller mech pointed out.
The piles of stolen goods were not what he was looking for. What care
did Megatron have for pots and clothe? No..... the warlord wanted
something of a different nature.
At the councilor's continued silence,
the merchant stopped making mention of various items. “But, I can
see that none of this interests you,” Swindle grinned, leading the
pair of them further down the hall. “What you want is something a
little more.....special, after all. The perfect kind of item for an
elite mech like yourself.”
Soundwave's visor flashed as Swindle
walked toward a steel door. With another sleazy look, the tan mech
pulled out a ring of keys; inserting the largest and most rusty into
the door's keyhole and unlocking it with a loud thump. The door was
opened with a nasty grind, granting them entrance to yet another
thin, black hallway. Swindle gestured for the other Decepticon to go
before him, and Soundwave obliged, but not without caution. The
merchant had a terrible reputation for dealing out messy ends to the
ones he felt interfered with business.
Swindle did not do any such thing
though, and the councilor enjoyed himself a relatively quiet trip
down into the building's depths.
The hallway ended when it opened up
into another room; this one as wide as it was long, and filled with
numerous cages. Things shuffled within the shadows of these cells,
things that Soundwave could not see at this moment in time. His guide
took the only oil lamp off the wall and moved further into the room.
“As you can see, we've had a fairly good haul this season,”
Swindle explained. The lamp's light fell onto the cages, exposing the
creatures within. Some were odd monsters, of fur and teeth, that
snarled or squawked from the illumination. What surprised Soundwave
most though was the other cages...... bound, and in some cases
gagged, were various 'bots, of all manner of size and model. The
telepath recognized them immediately as slaves.
“Slaves for every occasion!,” the
merchant exclaimed merrily. “We have ones for cleaning, cooking,
manual labour.....and for more intimate work, if you're
seeking such.” Swindle let his optics shutter suggestively, that
sick smirk turning into a leer on his face. “Please, please,” he
waved eagerly, “Take a look around and see if anything catches your
fancy. This lot over here, is especially lovely. A whole batch of
sealed 'bots! Had to keep them far away from the others......
wouldn't want to damage such profitable property.....”
Swindle hurried further into the room,
the lamp light swaying with the merchant's quick steps. Soundwave
though only followed at a slower pace, not at all intrigued by the
other Decepticon's merchandise. He had found out all that he cared to
this evening; he could make his report for Megatron come the morning.
Snouts and shaking servos poked from between the bars, reaching for
the telepath. The sight of such grubby appendages annoyed the
councilor, who made sure to keep far away from either. Only one cell
did not have pleading digits poking out from the darkness.
Soundwave stopped, inclining his helm
slightly towards this cage.
He did not even ponder to think it
empty, because he could sense life huddled within it, but there was
no sound of thought, which greatly perplexed the mech. Coming to a
decision, the silent Decepticon approached the cell.
“So that's where you've gotten off
to.” Swindle sidled up to the telepath, lamp swaying in his servos.
The circle of light chased the darkness off, allowing Soundwave to
see which creature occupied this cage. To his surprise, it was
another mech -an Autobot, to be exact- unclothed, with his arms bound
behind his winged back and his mouth spread wide around a gag.
Half-shuttered optics turned to the two Decepticons, barely
acknowledging their existence.
“Oh, you don't want this one,” the
merchant said, trying to catch the councilor's attention. “He's
lost certain merits, I'm sad to say..... Very unfortunate indeed,
because he is one of the few of his kind with wings, making them a
rare find indeed. He would have been quite a winner too, with the
lovely build.”
Swindle shook his helm, spitting
distastefully. “Never pay good coin for a motley crew to do your
hunting for you. Those buffoons decided to have themselves a sample.
Not that he wasn't already somewhat aged anyhow.... but still!
They've cost me thousands of credits and damaged my wares as well! I
don't know how I'll ever sell this wreck now..... only thing he'll be
good for is scrubbing floors I suppose.....”
The Autobot turned his helm away, once
more staring into the corner of his cell. With that motion, Soundwave
found his focus returning; the dents and scuff marks coming to his
attention. He could easily see the damage that had been inflicted on
this mech, and a slight prodding into the merchant's mind elaborated
on the details.
“Inquiry: how much?”
“He's not useful for anything else,
really, I mean- wait, what?” The sudden question startled the tan
Decepticon from his ramblings, who shuttered his optics stupidly for
a couple astroseconds. Uncertainly, he looked at the councilor. “Sir,
I must insist, I have plenty of young and healthy virgins to pick
from.... any of which would be better than this broken-in piece of
scrap. Surely you would like one of those 'bots better.”
Soundwave turned an annoyed look to
Swindle, again repeating his question. “Inquiry: how much?”
“Well..... uh,” Swindle lifted a
servo to his chin, glancing quickly at the caged Autobot. “Well,
considering the state that he is in, and taking into account his
rarity..... I'd say about two hundred thousand credits.”
Much too high a price for a “broken-in
piece of scrap” but Soundwave was not about to barter with the
infuriating merchant. It was already obvious to the telepath that the
smaller mech was desperately trying to make a profit, while at the
same time being relieved that was someone was taking this worthless
merchandise out of his servos. Besides, it wasn't like he did not
have the coin enough to pay for such a purchase. With a quick motion,
the larger Decepticon slipped a servo into his robe, pulling out his
purse. He tossed the heavy sack into Swindle's greedy, waiting
servos, before turning his attention back to the Autobot. “Fact:
shall take him.”
“Right away, sir!,” Swindle
grinned, hooking the lamp onto a ring jutting from the cage; grabbing
his keys and hurriedly opening the cell door. With not much
gentleness, the merchant crouched into the cage, yanking the Autobot
to his pedes and dragging him out of his prison. The battered mech
obliged to the rough treatment silently, barely even shuttering his
optics as he was thrust toward Soundwave.
“If you'd like, councilor,” the
merchant was grinning still, “For a small additional fee, I can get
him cleaned up and dressed before you leave.”
Soundwave merely pulled a smaller purse
out from his robes, handing it to the tan mech. “Thank you very
kindly, sir!,” Swindle bowed quickly. “Please, let me escort you
back to the lounge, where you might enjoy a warm glass of high-grade
while you wait.” He pulled a chain down from between the two cages,
securing it to the collar about the Autobot's neck cables, before
collecting his lamp and leading them back to the room's door. The
telepath followed quietly, his gaze never straying far from his
newest purchase.
xxXxXxx
The lounge was a chaotic mix of elegant
couches and persian rugs, adorned with plush throw pillows and soft
silks; all of their individuals colours and definable region marks
clashing in a torrent of design that jarred the looking optic. Heavy,
perfumed smoke filled the room, coming from the sticks of incense
burning on various small, round tables; blurring everything around
the edges. Though there was a window through which light filtered
through hazily, several more oil lamps were burning, increasing the
heat and drowsiness of the area. Soundwave, beginning to feel a
processor-ache coming on, wanted nothing more than to escape this
offensive mockery of fortune that the room tried to masquerade as.
His glass of promised high-grade, and accompanying jug, sat untouched
on the little table by his side. He could not bear to touch it, let
alone think about it, while he waited for that greasy merchant to
return.
It seemed unlikely that Swindle would
try to cross him now that he had bought an “unsellable” product,
but the councilor was not about to put anything past the smaller
Decepticon. Dealers like that, especially underground dealers, did
not have much care for elitists. It was all about the coin..... and
if Soundwave could part with so much for a broken slave, who was to
say who else might do the same?
The telepath seized that train of
thought as he sensed the merchant's presence -a well of thoughts
mostly consisting of calculations and product taxes. Quickly,
Soundwave muted the rest, not caring to glean too far into the other
mech's mind, unless the context involved himself, his lord and any
attempts of assassination. True to his readings, Swindle turned the
corner, pushing his newly acquired slave before him.
“Here you go, my lord,” Swindle
smiled sickeningly. “Your new pet.”
Soundwave did not reply, his attention
fixed wholly on the Autobot. In the excess light, the mech's beauty
was much more recognizable. Cleaned and waxed well, light gleamed off
the slave's plating, highlighting the arch of his helm and chevron.
Captivating, ice blue optics stood out on handsome red features;
startling behind the glittering frames positioned neatly upon the
bridge of his olfactory sensor. Glasses that Soundwave was sure had
not been there before.... A simple, dull burgundy robe covered his
frame now, billowing about his pedes and hiding his servos from view.
Though the material would look horrendous on others, it could barely
subtract from the Autobot's looks, especially when it flowed neatly
down his curves; white, glossy wings fluttering intermittently behind
him. That ugly, steel collar was still about the mech's neck cables,
but that was something that could be corrected at a later date.
“I hope that everything is to your
liking.”
The councilor lifted his helm slightly,
glancing at the merchant. Swindle's grin had grown more, a knowing
glimmer in his odd, purple optics. Annoyed, Soundwave flicked his
helm quickly at the tan mech, reaching forward and taking the chain
from his greedy servos. He led himself and the Autobot to the front
door, Swindle's cheerful farewell following at his pedes. He did not
reply back; stepping out into the light of a busy Iacon.
Decepticons moved back and forth before
him; most dressed in fine clothe like himself, and also toting
servants and slaves. Barely any gave him a glance, and when they did,
they were quick to look away again. Staring at the Warlord's chief
staff could be considered a crime on any given orn. Soundwave did not
even have to call for his carriage, before it was pulling up to the
merchant's doorstep; footman jumping down quickly and opening the
door for his master. The telepath quickly looked over each of his
servants' processors, and finding no ill thoughts there, climbed into
the carriage, pulling his slave in behind him. The door was closed
again, the blue mech seating himself across from the Autobot, as the
carriage rolled into motion.
Things were silent between them.
The slave did not utter a word -as was
typical of most who had resigned themselves to their fate- and
Soundwave was currently preoccupied with studying his newest
possession further. The councilor attempted to read the other's
thoughts, but as before in Swindle's basement, the Autobot did not
seem to exude any conscious or subconscious musings. There was simply
a blankness, layering a blanket of tumultuous emotions, so chaotic
and vague through the veil covering them, that they were hardly to be
understood let alone trusted.
Perplexed by this, Soundwave folded his
servos on his lap restlessly, determined to understand this mech who
could defy his natural-born gift.
xxXxXxx
“Good evening, lord.” His servants
bowed as he strode between the front doors; keeping their optics to
the tiled floor, even as they straightened up again. None commented
on the Autobot trailing slowly behind Soundwave, instead moving
forward to either close the door or else take their master's cloak.
The telepath allowed them to do their duties, before gesturing to one
of the quiet 'bots. At the Decepticon's beckon, the femme hurried
forward, bowing again subserviently.
“Order: prepare a room for this new
slave in my private hallways,” he commanded, “Facing the
gardens.”
“Right away, lord,” the servant
replied, bowing again, before turning and padding away lightly to
comply to the councilor's demand. Glad that motion was now
accomplished, Soundwave grasped the Autobot by the elbow, gently
guiding them down the limestone hallway on his immediate left.
“Fact: this is my villa. Status: own
thirty acres of land within the city; fifty more outside of Iacon,”
the Decepticon said, curious to know how his slave would react to
such information. “Duty: act as councilor to the mighty, Emperor
Megatron. Advise him in all manner of subjects and keep him informed
him of all affairs within and without the city. May his reign be
eternal.”
There was no change in the other's
processor, with perhaps the exception of shifting emotions.
Outwardly, only those dim optics shuttered at him; their owner still
silent.
Soundwave frowned behind his battle
mask, turning his attention back front again. Their trip was short
-the telepath had wanted to bring the slave to his changing rooms, so
he might dress him in something more appropriate and remove that
hideous collar from his neck. Three mechs were waiting there when
they arrived, one a servant, and the other two slaves. They all bowed
at their master's entrance, keeping their gazes lowered as they
stepped forward to tend to the blue mech.
“Negative,” Soundwave told them. He
pushed the Autobot forward. “Demand: change him into suitable
attire.” Their helms nodded at the command, before they grasped the
new slave and brought him before the large mirrors set against the
room's farthest wall.
The councilor watched as the mechs set
about their task silently; undressing the Autobot and picking up
various articles of clothe. They held each to the winged mech's
frame, making their judgements on the colour and style. In their
processors, Soundwave could hear their reverence for this new slave's
beauty, and the desire to make sure that he was pleasing for their
master. Eventually, they settled on a deep wine robe, with silver and
gold hemming. A complimentary silk scarf of the softest lilac,
adorned with a leafy pattern in silver and lime green thread, was
tied tightly about the slave's slim waist. His staff used small,
feather brushes to dust off any stray strand or fleck of dirt; one
slave bringing out a pocket jar of ground moonstone and lightly
applying the glittering powder to the Autobot's cheek arches.
Only one thing remained: that ugly,
steel collar.
The mechs brought out a pair of
screwdrivers, quickly undoing the three large bolts positioned at the
left, right and back of the collar. Creaking, the metal came apart,
falling into the attendants' servos easily. They tossed away the
scrap, running a damp clothe along the winged slave's neck cables,
and cleaning away all dirt and grime. Once they were certain it was
satisfactory, one of the mechs padded over to the dresser sitting in
the corner of the room; opening a drawer and removing a small,
lacquered box from within it. They opened it once they had returned
to the others' side, displaying the golden braid within.
Carefully, a slave brought it out,
looping it around the Autobot's neck and fastening it place with
three golden bolts, similar to the steel collar. The finishing piece
was a sheer veil that they draped over the slave's helm, letting it
flutter down around his wings. With a bow, all four faced their
master.
Soundwave took a moment to inspect the
beautiful sight in front of him, before dismissing the others. They
quickly left, helms bent respectively. Once he was sure they were
gone, the Decepticon walked forward, until he was pede to pede with
the Autobot. To his astonishment, the other mech did not look away or
bow his helm, but instead kept his unfaltering gaze fixed on the
councilor. It was an experience that Soundwave could not entirely
decide if he liked or hated.
He decided not to comment on it in
either case.
His golden fingers lifted, fingering
the new gold braid about the slave's neck. It was tight to the
Autobot's throat, so as to ensure that he could not slip or break it
off of his own free will. Weaved into the precious metal were glyphs
and symbols, declaring his house and status. This proclaimed that the
Autobot belonged to him, and only those with a death wish would dare
lay a servo on him otherwise. “Status: are now part of my house,”
Soundwave informed the winged mech. “Welcome.”
Something alive flashed behind those
polished lenses. It drew the telepath's attentions, before it was
gone again.
Cocking his helm slightly, the
Decepticon continued to study his slave. “Fact: can not call you
slave forever. Inquiry: do you have a designation?”
The winged mech shuttered his optics
more quickly this time; a sure sign that he was a lot more responsive
than he seemed. Soundwave, curious, decided to pursue his line of
question.
“Inquiry: designation?,” he asked
again.
The Autobot did not seem as if he would
answer at all for a moment. But then he lowered his gaze a fraction,
saying in the sweetest undertones, “My name is..... Tracks....”
Tracks...... The councilor mulled over
the name, still having yet to remove his optics or servo from the
other mech. Such a lovely name, and an even more beautiful vocalizer.
A rarity, indeed, to have such cultured tones like that in a simple
slave. Soundwave smirked a little behind his battle mask, releasing
the golden collar and instead grasping the Autobot's servo. He would
enjoy discovering more about this 'bot.
“Order: come, Tracks. Shall show you
the rest of your home.”
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