Rating: M
Chapter 6
The following morning brought a heat
that stirred the surrounding vegetation, filling the atmosphere with
the heady scent of pollen from the flowers and tree blossoms.
Lethargic from these effects, the staff at Soundwave's villa moved a
little slower this orn, practically lazy in their duties. Arcee was
especially dazed this afternoon. She stood among the sun and flowers,
caught in the maelstrom of their perfumes, doing her best not to yawn
or show any other sign of inattentiveness.
“Inquiry: how does he fare this orn?”
The question startled the maidservant,
who cringed most unsightly at the words, spinning around to meet her
lord, smiling contritely. “He, he is much better, my lord,” she
answered Soundwave, curtseying quickly in respect. “He decided this
morning that he would take a stroll through the gardens after
breakfast.”
The councilor canted his helm to the
side as he scanned the gardens. He could see Tracks up ahead, near
the roses. “Acknowledged,” the Decepticon replied. “Order:
return in doors to prepare a refreshment for Tracks. Shall keep him
company in the meantime.”
“Yes, of course, my lord,” Arcee
bowed again, before hurrying inside.
Now that the femme was gone, Soundwave
began a slow meander through the gardens, treading along Tracks'
previous path. He kept at a distance for a time, remaining out of
sight. Doing so allowed him the perfect chance to simply study the
slave. With the warm weather, Arcee had dressed Tracks in a loose
robe with a long sash tied around his thin waist and draped over one
shoulder tire. Different beads and bangles had been slipped around
his wrists and armguards; stringed jewelry had been wound about his
wings, near the middle of the white plating. All of this splendor was
hidden by a sheer veil once more attached to the Autobot's chevron,
billowing about his upper chassis so as to protect his plating from
any pesky insecticon's bite.
It was amazing how a slave could make
such simple things the most luxurious of items.
Soundwave kept pace until he saw Tracks
circle around one of the many fountains dotted throughout his garden.
The multi-coloured mech went about its circumference slowly, his
fingers held out to the red marble, before he lowered down, sitting
on the stone's lip. The councilor watched, curiously, as the slave
reached down into the bubbling water, churning them lightly with the
tips of his fingers. The sight of that imprisoned angel sitting in
postured serenity by the fountain was an image that stirred something
strange within the Decepticon.
“....Are you just going to sit there
and stare at me, or will you finally do something else?” The soft
hiss drew Soundwave's attention; he lifted his gaze to find Tracks
glaring back at him over a shoulder tire.
“You 'lords' are all the same,” he
continued venomously, “Peering lecherously at your prisoners,
brewing in your lust.... I wonder how long you can keep up this
pretentious display before your propriety gives way to fancy.”
The telepath decided not to comment on
those vicious words, but obliged to the Autobot's silent dare,
stepping forward a little. “Fact: you speak with great intellect,”
Soundwave noted, “Inquiry: where were you educated?”
Tracks scowled at the question, turning
his helm back forwards. “What do you care?,” he growled.
The blue mech circled around, so that
he could see the slave's face. “Status: most interested. Action:
would be willing to listen and learn, if you'd like to share.”
Tracks glared at him.
“Leave me alone.....”
Soundwave couldn't help the small frown
he felt. “Inquiry: why are you so averse to being in my company?”
“Why?,” the winged mech exclaimed
indignantly. “WHY?! You are keeping me prisoner! I'm trapped here,
in this horrid place, dressed up like a dolled slut! And you have the
nerve to ask why I act like I do?!”
Tracks leapt to his pedes, stomping up
to the councilor. “Don't you dare speak!,” he hissed, shoving an
angry finger into the Decepticon's face. “You can keep your ideals
of hard-work and freedom earned, I won't be swayed by such
nonsensical fancies. How could I even begin to think of buying my
freedom when you won't put me to work!”
Soundwave was honestly stunned. He had
half-expected the anger, but not for the specific words used by the
slave.
But Tracks was still not finished. “I
won't simply bend over for your perverse, cruel promises,” he
scowled, denta bared as he spat his words. “That is no freedom.”
The councilor inclined his helm
slightly. “Query: What would you care to do then?”
The Autobot's optics shuttered in
shock. “W-what....?,” he croaked, pulling away quickly. His wings
were stiff behind him, shoulder tires hunched about his helm
defensively.
“Status: you are correct in your
statement. Repeat: what things would you like to do?,” he asked.
The colour of Tracks' cheekplates
darkened. Optics narrowed into thin slits, the multi-coloured mech
continued his back-tracking. “Just stop it....,” he said lowly,
“Stop it! Leave me alone!!”
Turning around quickly, Tracks hurried
away from the fountain; almost running as he rushed to get away from
the Decepticon and indoors. Soundwave only watched, oddly silent as
he gazed after the slave's hasty retreat.
xxXxXxx
He remembered.
He hated remembering.
The way the moonlight caught her
angles, made her smile all the more brighter; the vividness of her
optics contrasting with the very stars. The sight, even in memory,
made his spark wither and ache deep within him.
“I'm sorry,” he croaked, feeling
the pain he thought he had buried away resurface and tear open
forgotten wounds. The memory turned, and now her smile was all for
him alone. Delicate servos, that he had loved and cherished so much
once before, reached out and cupped his cheekplates.
It was enough to get him weeping all
over again.
xxXxXxx
Arcee puttered around the room, putting
away Tracks' new clothes and jewelry. Every once in a while, she
glanced to the berth, where her charge laid. Tracks had been lying on
his stomach, helm turned to the side, ever since she entered. Despite
her attempts, the mech refused to get up or otherwise acknowledge her
presence. Admitting defeat, the femme had simply went to her tasks.
It confused her though.
She had honestly thought that things
were finally getting better. Tracks had been a lot more talkative
these last few days, and he didn't nearly struggle as much when it
came to bathing or getting dressed. It seemed like the other slave
was getting used to things around the villa at last. Yet, here he
was, reverting back to his old silent, dreary ways.
Arcee cycled a heavy intake, moving
some boxes to the vanity. “Would you look at that,” she smiled,
trying to catch the other Autobot's attention. She lifted the lid off
of the boxes. “It seems Master Soundwave has bought you some more
gifts. Look at these lovely bracelets and charms. Aren't they just
beautiful?”
The maidservant turned to the berth,
holding the box up hopefully. But, as expected, Tracks was not
looking. He remained as he was, frame slightly curled into itself and
face half-buried into the sheets. The sight dampened the femme's
usually bright spirits.
“W-well, I'll just leave them here
for you to look at later,” she mumbled, returning her attention to
the boxes. She stacked them neatly, putting them to the side of the
vanity mirror. Later, she decided, when she came back with dinner,
she would put them away with the others.
“If that's all.....”
She padded to the door, waiting to see
if Tracks would finally respond to her. He did not.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Arcee said,
reaching into her apron pocket. She withdrew a book, setting it on
the nightstand near the bed. “My lord thought that you might like
to do some reading in your spare time. He says that if you had
anything to ask of him, he'd be available to give you audience at any
time. Until then, he hopes you enjoy the novel.”
Only silence met the femme.
“I'll be back later,” she bowed to
the mech's back struts, reluctantly heading out of the room.
xxXxXxx
Soundwave wished it were quiet.
Though he sat in his office, with no
'bot assigned to tend to him, there was still a cacophony of noise
all around him. His staff's thoughts, like buzzing insecticons,
filled his helm, making it difficult to make sense of what it was he
was thinking exactly. And right about now, he could have used some
semblance of peace while he attempted to figure this puzzle out.
Tracks.....
There was so much he still didn't know
about the Autobot. Like, how did the other mech manage to block out
his readings, or why was he so numb inside until something triggered
within him? Where did Tracks grow up; why did he speak as he did?
What things did he actually know, was he home-schooled, or had he
attended an Academy with others of his age? And why was he so against
everything that the Decepticon tried to do for him?
Maybe it shouldn't have bothered
Soundwave -he knew a few, specific people at court especially, who
would have scoffed at him for concerning himself with such
unimportant things- but that was not his way. It never had been. With
Tracks, especially, it was a difficult case.
The councilor was really trying his
hardest. He only wanted the Autobot to be happy, to find some
contentment with his life, even if it was not what he had thought it
would turn out like. Slave or not, that was a general wish Soundwave
carried for the other mech. Yet, Tracks could not see that, and
continued to draw into himself until he was either dead to the entire
world or until all that lingering hatred and animosity erupted
outwards.
Though that seemed like the official
problem bugging the telepath, that wasn't really the case.
He had taken notice of something
strange growing within, an anomaly that was gaining seed within his
very systems and thoughts. It was perplexing and its source unknown,
but a few cycles of analysis was starting to give Soundwave some
light to what this oddity was. Yet.... it couldn't be.
No, it wouldn't be right, he knew.
Tracks was his slave, no matter how the
other wished that weren't so, and he was well aware of how vocal and
aggressive the Autobot should become if he made any mention of his
discovery to the other. Indeed, it was a somewhat disturbing find to
himself.
But there it was.
Soundwave, despite his careful
detachment from any within his household, had somehow managed to.....
well, to put it bluntly, garner some affections to the winged mech.
The fact was a nightmare in itself to behold, but the supporting
evidence could not be ignored.
The way he found himself in awe of
Tracks' beauty, even all the way back to when he had simply been
chained up in Swindle's cellar.....
Those heated words and venomous glares,
from a processor that he could not pry into.....
His terror and the way he shivered when
those thugs attempted to rape him; stopped only because Soundwave
couldn't help but to follow after the Autobot, an unimaginable force
of raw fury rising up in him when he saw their nasty servos all over
Tracks......
What he had first meant to be simple
visits to the slave, to make him feel more comfortable within his new
home, seemed to have become the councilor's downfall. Each moment
alone with Tracks prodded at his spark. He wished to hold this mech
close, to kiss him, caress him; to have sweetness and love come from
those lip components in return of his own feelings. Soundwave wanted
to unravel the mystery that was the Autobot, and even after all
secrets had been spilled and held under the light, keep Tracks
protected and safe whenever he felt scared or vulnerable. It was a
mad thing what they called 'love', when it made fools like himself
think they could be both the antagonist and the hero.
Sighing, the blue mech turned in his
seat, staring at his office door.
He would have to shut out these
thoughts, and bury these emotions. As councilor, he didn't have time
to try and pursue affairs with his slaves. As a Decepticon and his
warden, he knew Tracks would never have him anyhow.
xxXxXxx
The whispers were running about the
villa again.
“Can't you see it?,” one said to
another.
“Yes,” their partner replied. “The
master has been most subdued these couple orns. Already, he's gone
out for another trip into town.”
“He doesn't even need to shop,”
spoke up a third, leaning towards the other two. “He's doing it to
escape, I thinks. That there concubine of his what refuses to give
in- a lord can only take so much before he cracks.”
“You mean, he's-?!”
“Hush!,” said the first. “The
master isn't so foolish as to run off into town to waste coin on a
decrepit pleasure house. Not when he's got his own exotic beauty here
at home. No, if anything, the lord doesn't want anyone else. Just
that there 'bot.”
“He's indeed fancied by him,”
agreed the third servant. “But the master is a bit much silly
waiting on that there slave to accept him.”
“He is old fashioned, isn't he....”
“Mayhaps too much.”
“Something needs to be done,”
proposed the initial speaker. They leaned in closer to their
partners. “What we need to do is-”
The group fell silent, immediately
pulling away from each other when they caught sight of Arcee turning
the bend. The maidservant held a tray of lunch for Tracks, and seemed
to be late delivering it to her charge. She hurried on past with not
a glance or word to the suspicious looking trio.
Crooking their digit, the first servant
quickly pulled the others back to them. They whispered their plans
into the two other 'bots' audios, seeing them grin and nod in
agreement. “It's going to have be done secretly,” piped up one.
“Indeed, but that ain't no problem
there. And I know just the 'bots to help out with the plan.”
“That's good and all, but only tell
those you think will need to know. Arcee and the master must not
though,” said the schemer. “Make sure everyone keeps their helms
empty once he comes back, and I'll take care of the lil'
goody-goody.”
They nodded their helms again.
“Shouldn't be a problem really.”
“Not at all.”
“Now hurry!,” commanded the first.
“After lunch, the slave will go do something and be back inside in
time for his nightly bath before dinner. The food must be ready by
then, got it? Alright, spread the word.”
With that said, the three dispersed, to
go seek out fellow comrades and set their plans in motion before
their lord returned home.
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