Part 9 🥀🩶

Part 9 🥀🩶

Sweet baby Jesus only one more to go!! And then I PROMISE I will get to that KOBD drabble request 😭🙏

While she didn’t know much about the world outside of the brothel, there were two things she was certain of.

Firstly, she was a fugitive, and given the level of her crime, she knew they would send the Guard out to search for her. She would have to be cautious and alert at all times.

Secondly, while the grappling cables in her arms had allowed her to escape and offered her a quick and efficient means to get around, they were not weapons. She needed to find a way to arm herself if she planned on exacting revenge against those who had wronged her and her beloved.

So she kept to the shadows, listening, searching for word of the resistance and any potential allies that might aid her. It had taken her several deca-cycles to pick up on a single lead, and another several to find the bot in question. As she stood staring at the nondescript unit that matched the address she’d been given, she felt her spark flutter nervously.

Ex-venting, she glanced up the street discretely to see if anyone was watching her, and with a casual grace that belied the tumultuous storm of emotions she was experiencing, strolled toward her destination. Stepping into the shop, she paused to look around, noting the variety of work displayed along the walls. Near a desk, standing in stark contrast to much of the other pieces, was a form - fitted with intricate armor plating. She recognized the coloration and style instantly. This had been commissioned by a member of the Elite Guard. It would seem she had come to the right place.

“Can I help you?”

Turning away from the display, she replied, “I hope so. I’m looking for weapons.”

He gave her a once over, optic ridges raising in surprise. “You uhh… with the Council? Their order isn’t quite ready, but should be within the next few orns.”

She gave a small, pointed smile. “No… not the Council. I’ve been told you cater to… other clientele as well.”

He froze, servos dropping from his hips slowly. His expression wavered, and he stepped closer to the desk. His lower half was hidden, and she would bet just about anything he was currently reaching for a weapon of his own.

“Not sure whatcha mean, stranger,” he replied, the tightness in his tone not unnoticed to her. “My priority is the Guard. Anything outside of that will have to wait.”

She kept her servos open and visible, not wanting to give him cause for alarm. The fact that he was wary confirmed he was exactly the bot she was looking for. Based on what she’d been told, he operated as an industrial machinist before Kaon was captured by Decepticon forces. The same armory that supplied the gladiators with their resources had also forged much of the Elite Guard’s weaponry, and without access to it, they had been forced to source elsewhere. Which of course meant bullying local businesses into working almost exclusively for them, under fear of pain should they refuse. Some bots hadn’t been too fond of the treatment and harassment they received.

“I’ve been told you make exceptions… in the event that I provide you with this,” she continued, slowly reaching into her subspace and producing a single shanix, the glyph for the number thirteen carved crudely into one side. She placed it on the desk between them.

He stared down at it, his posture instantly relaxing. Then he glanced back up at her, optic ridges furrowing. “Hope you can excuse the defensiveness, I’m under near constant surveillance.”

Tipping her helm in understanding, she acknowledged, “It’s to be expected.”

“So… weapons, hm?”

Not willing to divulge too much, she chose a more vague approach. “I would like to join the fight, but am woefully unprepared to do so. I can’t linger too long.”

If there was one thing she had learned from her time in the brothel that seemed to ring true everywhere, it was that some bots were willing to pay just about anything to have a night (or two) with someone like her. She hoped he was one such bot. He was attractive, in a rough kind of way, something she didn’t get to experience much while locked away in that Pit-foresaken place. She was intrigued.

“I don’t have much in the way of wealth. You’re welcome to the meager shanix I’ve been able to procure, but I do have… other means of paying you for your work.”

He almost seemed startled by the request, the vents framing his face suddenly aglow. Recovering relatively quickly, he laughed, a low, pleasant sound. “There’s no need for that. I make sure to overcharge those uppity fraggers as much as possible for all the grief they cause. Which means any special work I do is covered, unwitting compliments of the High Council.”

The mech turned from the desk and reached for the console on the wall, pressing in the sequence to lock the front doors. Wouldn’t do for the wrong bot to walk in and find him out. As he did so, he threw over his shoulder offhandedly, “Besides… yer not quite my type.”

Her derma flashed, pleasant smile turning devious. She had suspected as much. “Oh?”

Plating shifted apart, components rearranging as her frame expanded.

“Not to offend, yer certainly easy on the optics, but I think I-”

The words fizzled out in his vocalizer as he turned back to address her again… only to find a mech standing in her place. The bot shared certain features (along with the color scheme), but was otherwise taller and broader in frame, nearly matching him in size. “Primus… what-?”

“If you won't accept payment for your services...”

The bot’s voice was mildly shocking, several octaves deeper, and as he moved around the counter the shop keeper felt his spark seize a little, spike stirring to life. Reaching out, the mech grasped his chin in a broad servo and leaned forward until their lip components were nearly touching. 

“...you can consider this a tip, then.”

.../♡/...

“The quality of your work really is as good as they said it would be,” she observed as she studied her new, reinforced plating. He had an optic for details, each addition blending seamlessly. The metal, while thin enough so as not to be bulky, was strong, tempered and molded to perfection.

“Thanks. So, uhh… what’s your designation?”

The machinist’s inquiry gave her pause. No one had ever asked her for a name. She had never been given one. A courtesan had no need for it, after all… they were objects.

‘Maybe it’s time I took a designation for myself,’ she considered. Megatron had… yet… what would she call herself?

'My Scarlet Flower.'

Any version of the pet name given to her by her lover seemed inappropriate, and truth be told… didn’t feel quite right. At least not anymore. That part of herself - the soft, delicate part - had perished, along with the lovely white femme who had held her spark. She was determined to become something frightful, some dreaded entity … her designation ought to reflect that.

A memory flickered through her processor, of vicious fangs striking with unparalleled precision. Of course…

“Naja,”

“Naja?” he repeated.

The Spire had earned it’s reputation as a luxury establishment for many reasons. Their selection of courtesans was second to none, each hand forged and carefully trained to provide the ultimate experience in indulgence. Yet they were not the only menagerie housed within the glittering tower; a variety of exotic wildlife was kept there as well, for no reason other than novelty and rarity. They relied on a great number of suppliers to bring in new and interesting specimens, and on one such occasion, a collection of beautiful razor-snakes had been brought in for their consideration. The carrier had handled them with such confidence, displaying each one and describing their subclass and toxicity to the patrons present – and their accompanying courtesans. He'd assured the guests and Masters the beasts had all been de-fanged, and were safe handle. Apparently, they had missed a snake. The largest of the lot, a great shimmering thing with a flared hood that framed its angular face. The supplier had reached for her, and in a motion so fast none of them had perceived it, she struck him in the face, fangs sinking deep and injecting him full of corrosive acid. Within a matter of nano-kliks half of his helm was missing, sloughing off in a puddle of bubbling metal.

The memory had always stuck with her, not because she’d been afraid, but because she recalled how very beautiful the creature was, making it deceptive in it’s capacity to harm. Nodding to herself more than anyone else, she repeated the word again, testing it, enjoying the way it sounded.

“Yes… Naja.”

Stepping toward the door, she glanced over her newly armored shoulder. “It’s been fun.”

The sentence was said in his voice, and the machinist stammered a little, nodding and waving her off.

Exiting, she took to a narrow lane after ensuring the coast was clear, glancing down at her servos. More specifically, the gleaming, hooked talons that tipped them. An addition he had suggested. She crooked her digits, grinning when they extended before retracting once again. Made to snag, carve, rend. With these, along with the thin blades he’d outfitted her with, she could begin cutting her path through the corrupt upper castes. Vengeance was within reach, but before she could return to The Spire, she needed practice…

A newly sparked predator honed their skills hunting glitch-mice long before taking down larger game.

Ahead of her, further down the lane she was traversing, she watched as a group of laborers worked diligently on the construction of a new building, bustling without pause from one job to another. A snide looking femme with a distinct badge affixed to her arm - identifying her as an architect - moved about the site, pointing and shouting, speaking down to the laborers and even striking one. They all looked at her with a bitter fear in their optics, but did as she bid them, clearly aware that they would be further punished should they speak up against the higher ranking bot

What a perfect place to start...