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transmorphobots · 7 months

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Burning Bridges on Mount Olympus

two ex-athletes talk about losing their way and ending up on a pirate ship far from home. Featuring a younger Lane One and introducing Shellmire. Honestly also can't go without saying that it's inspired by @combaticon's HAL series. It's been a huge pleasure to beta read it and the way she writes the bar as a center of community has been a treat, which is inspired some of this set up too.

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The Cage was a much scarier name for the place than it actually was. It used to be a storage bay but it hardly looked like that anymore. Thick iron bars and the chain link fence decorated the outside. Complete with signs lifted from raids or remade faithfully in memory of street signs on the various worlds the varied crew called home. The largest and brightest sign in neon hangs above the door, buzzing threateningly which was part of its charm. The lights on the inside were orange and red to drive its industrial novelty and the rest of the furniture was recycled junk.

It boasted a threat, a rough time, that all things were unwelcoming... It followed the theme of the ship. They had Dread Captains, The Dirge, and also the owner of The Cage themself.

Heavy set and nearly as wide as the Rust River, Shellmire was maybe the most intimidating piece in the bar. They didn’t hide any weapons on their frame which also helped keep the rowdiness of the bar at a controllable and acceptable level. Though, like the theme, it was mostly a cover for people too tired or broken to do anything but start something new.

A few favors had been pulled when Shellmire made their home on the Dirge. Doing some jobs for people and making a few promises to others who could help them get it made. People didn’t really expect the gladiator with such financial savvy but they did love the idea of a place where they could catch up on all the things they left behind. Broadcasts from Velocitron, Cybertron, New Cybertronia, the local sectors, and even picking up Junkion broadcasts of whatever NASCAR was.

Lane One liked NASCAR. It wasn’t as exciting as Velocitron’s races but there was a certain meditative quality to it… and it helped she didn’t think she was missing out on much. Watching races from Velocitron was like watching your ex-lover with a new flame. Bitterness coupled with regret for missing something great. She passed by the wasted Transformers, stopping them with one hand to tell them to take the trams home to avoid a crash. The two suppliers, a kind word for the mechs who actually went out and did the piracy, assured her they would do just that before they laughed and stumbled off.

“If I find you parked in the crops I’ll make sure you don’t drink here again.” and that threat sobered them up a bit. Though they whined as they tried to collect themselves and walk upright instead of leaning on each other.

The ex-gladiator’s joints creaked as they stood behind the counter, wiping down a glass and watching the last few patrons leave. The pale yellow optic staring blankly while the glass squeaked under the rag. They didn’t look at Lane One directly, instead, staring into the empty bar. It was kept, mostly clean because everyone had still had an ounce of respect (or fear) for Shellmire. House rules were welded prominently on a wall, cut by a laser and back lit by red bulbs so every word glowed like fresh slag.

CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELF NO FIGHTING DON’T BE A SORE LOSER DON’T BE AN ANNOYING WINNER ROOT NOVA CRONUM PULSARS OR LEAVE

The last one always got a little smile out of her, the Kaon Cube team could always use the support even if they couldn’t be at the stadium. Her optics swept the bar, realizing it was too empty…

“Where’s your crew?” she asks and goes to the messiest table first, starting to clean up the glasses and scraps. The gladiator behind her lets out a heavy sigh, the glass is set on the counter, and another chorus of squeaks starts as Shellmire works down the line.

“Called out. Wasn’t a big night of sports for us anyway… Most everyone was just here for the company. Brought their stuff back.” Shellmire’s shoulders rolled towards the stacks of glasses and plates at the bar. They creaked as they did.

“Not everyone.” She said as she brought over more. She set up some chairs that had been knocked over. Above Lane One’s head she could hear voices of the smaller, organic crew members. Mostly people looking for a life away from the Empire. It was sort of… weird… They had whole families of refugees on the Dirge. Different people from all over, they brought children, because being with pirates was safer than their homes. It was more stable too. They cheered to the familiar whistles she came to recognize as part of the NFL.

“Sounds like Football is on.” The word felt weird in her mouth but she sort of liked how it rolled. Shellmire gave a grunt in response.

“Football’s always on except the team I want to watch.” they grumbled. Lane One put two dirty glasses on the bar, then took a rag for herself to start working on the tower Shellmire had.

“How about hockey?”

“Out of season.” They squeaked the glasses in unison but Lane One tried to speed up to beat Shellmire. Working to clean just as well as the careful bartender but get more done. To their credit, Shellmire tried to speed up to entertain her competitiveness.

They did that in silence for a while. All of the broadcast screens were off except for the one upstairs that whistled and echoed with an alien language. When Shellmire found a stopping point they went around the bar to turn on a screen where they could both watch.

“Were you hoping to catch something?” Shellmire asked while tuning the signal.

She, like the other patrons, had just come for the company. Starting on another line of glasses she shook her head.

“Nothing in particular. What about you?”

“Heard the Iacon Speedway is getting restored.” Shellmire flipped to the correct channel and came back around to the side that Lane One sat on. They took a seat which groaned like the rest of their form. Steam hissing out of the joints as they started to relax.

The screen showed a broadcast from Cybertron and the familiar horizon of Iacon. She had only ever seen the Speedway once when she was running a mission for the Autobot cell who adopted her after the exile. Running some important information to the Decagon in North Iacon… or maybe it was when she had to drive West. She couldn’t really remember anymore.

The reporter droned on about the efforts of the Cybertron Reconstructionalists to restore the planet, possibly save it. It was a long shot, especially with the Decepticons holding ground for Megatron’s return. Iacon having one of its stadiums rebuilt looked promising though.

“Think people will join them?” She asked.

“Mhm. Hope’s being rebuilt there. Steady, with proper foundation.” It was hard to read the Transformer. Their head had been replaced by some sort of full helmet brace and nothing facial to express with. The pale yellow glass on the sides of the helm and the front didn’t have visible machinery to suggest where they looked and they couldn’t make any sort of optical gesture. Shellmire held themselves tightly too, controlled. If she didn’t know better, she’d think that Shellmire came from Vos. Their voice was a rumbling baritone and hardly pitched with emotion. Probably on purpose, maybe a side effect of whatever left their head encased. It was that control that reminded her of Vos. She worked with a few Vosians on the Dirge and back on Cybertron, they were always in control of their voices that way if something really got under their plating, you and everyone else would be aware of it. Everything in Vos was done with a iron grip and a steely gaze, carefully calculated. It was scary to see them take it to combat but more so when you were trying to share a bar space.

Though she never missed it, there were plenty of Vosians on the Dirge, but it didn’t replace the Autobots she had known on Cybertron. Briefly she wondered where they were. Where did they scatter after that mission went so poorly? Around the Rust Sea there were a lot of options. She wouldn’t be surprised if the rivers gave them avenues of escape. She wondered if any of the Vosians took shelter on the abandoned Amusement Complex floating in the Sea. Did they disappear into the Manganese Mountains? Which she hoped not, they’d be frozen and hard for the fliers to pass over. They would have gone down in the ice, probably, and not come back.

“Have you heard anything about Kaon?”

Shellmire freezes mid wipe of the glass. Lane One stops too and again, can’t get anything from the hazy yellow. It takes a moment but Shellmire continues with the glass. There’s a sloppiness to it now, leaving a smudge on the lip when they set it down. Lane One picks it up to finish the job, watching them closely.

“No.” they answer after a moment. Then, after another glass, they leave it on the counter and turn more to face Lane One, “How’d you guess?”

“Gunner in my team was from the Wharf. Recognized the hints of the accent… plus nobody roots for the Pulsars except the locals.”

“Not true,” it was slightly defensive, “Used to be one of the most popular teams back before this scrap.”

Lane One shrugs her shoulders, “I was working between Iacon and Vos, so we had a few of the Kaon resistance among our team. Only people I ever heard talking about them.”

Shellmire gives a soft grumble of dissatisfaction like those Transformers personally betrayed them. They stopped cleaning all together and faced the bar again, the giant arms creaking as they settle on the stone counter. Lane One continues to the next phase, plates. Scrubbing oils and syrups from the metal with a determination both necessary and to avoid the awkwardness growing between the two. The reporter on the screen rattled on and on. Lane One was trying to listen but failed, only catching snippets.

“Yeah, I did the Kaon league. Nova Cronum, Praetorus Wharf, Tagan Heights… hit Polyhex a few times too. Never made it south to Iacon.” Shellmire stood from the seat and went around the bar again. Taking a freshly cleaned glass to dirty it with something hard from under the counter. Pouring some diesel into it, then some low grade energon, before stirring until the pink and black swirl together. Their pointer finger retracts into a siphon nozzle and they stuck it into the rim of the glass.

“Got comfortable where I was… had a whole entrance. Usually played lakeside, walked out of the depths. Scared ‘em like I was a Rustgator. Crowd would go wild.”

“I bet.” Lane One smiled trying to appreciate the performer in front of her but her smile was sad and she knew it. She had her own performances she had done, with others. She missed it and she tried to bring it to the Autobots and now to the pirates… but she was tired. The crowd wasn’t there. Neither was the team she was apart of. Their story made her miss them and her components ache. The components that were part of that performance and who would never be part of it again. Cut off just like she was.

“When I was on Velocitron I used to race with a team… and because we were a combiner we technically counted as one person so we had to combine to cross the finish line. We usually made it a.. A thing, you know? We’d weave in and out of the competition then our combined form was so wide, nobody could pass.” She chuckled a bit because it was… a mean and rude thing to do. It got them plenty of boos and jeers and even a few heated comments from the enemies they made… but it was all part of the game.

Shellmire makes a click with something in their mechanics. The targeting radar on their frame spinning condescendingly while they reach under the counter again.

“Course you’re a Loci…” Shellmire didn’t say it with contempt but more of a sarcastic jab as they slid the cube over to her. It was full of bubbly brassy liquid and sealed with an air-tight film that she jabbed her fingers in to tear away.

“Explains your taste.” and then Shellmire rolled the rest of the drink over.

Lane One grinned as she caught the iron-black egg before it fell to the floor. She smashed the egg on the ledge of the counter. She lifted it so its viscous insides could ooze into the drink; the reaction between the two caused it to fizzle, the clear yellow and orange syrup turning to white foam as it broke apart. The roiling mess was falling over the sides onto her fingers and the counter. Lane One shot it back without hesitation.

“What happened then? Out here like this…”

“You first.” she set the cube down, wiping her mouth with the side of her hand. She’d need more than that for the mess the drink made but she was smiling in a way that she hadn’t in a long time. It was a piece of home. A piece of a time she had been forced to leave behind.

Shellmire balks at her behavior and her request… but after refilling their glass they decide to give in.

“Kaon always had a lot of problems. Ratbat squeezing people dry. Mayhem to the north, making a muck of the cities. Soon as Straxxus took over for Megatron, everyone felt the pressure. Worse than the Functionalists in some ways. Straxxus enjoyed what he did… “ The bartender leaned over towards her conspiratorially, as if Straxxus had any way of hearing them.

“You heard of Autobots sneaking into the ranks to try and get information… but wasn’t much of them around and I was there… didn’t have a lot of use for information though. What Nova Cronum needed was some of that money to get back to the people after Straxxus robbed them of it. Plenty of ways for a freighter to spring a leak. Including someone in the crew making a hole when they weren’t paying attention.”

Lane One choked on the last bit of her drink.. Foam spills out of her gaping mouth and down her chin and onto the chair, though she tried to wipe it up with her hands before it got further.

“You were embezzling from Straxxus?!” she didn’t mean to raise her voice and the people above shifted. She uttered a sorry before snatching a rag to clean herself up, leaving grease stains on her finish.

“Not directly… but that’s why they chased me so far. Couldn’t really go to New Cybertonia for help. Wouldn’t care that the symbol was just a cover… but heard this place was out of sight and mind of most folks. Except for Straxxus’ enforcers. Don’t know what they pay them, but, seems like a good gig if you don’t have a spark.” Shellmire finished their drink and shifted into cleaning it.

“Yeah,” her voice was a little hoarse from the foam going down the wrong way. She went slower just in case Shellmire was going to say anything else surprising. However, Shellmire went back to cleaning and staring at her. Expecting.

They stayed in silence, except for the long forgotten broadcast, which went off about something in regards to establishing trade routes for energon. Lane One perked at the mention of Velocitron. Cybertron crawling to them to help…? Every Loci dream. She grimaced though as she thought of it. They’d never get a deal for energon from Velocitron, they’d be shut out, like every other Loci that picked a side.

Her grip on the cube made it squeak and she let go before she crushed it. She pushed it back to Shellmire not trusting herself at the moment.

“I… was exiled for treason.” She looked to Shellmire expecting the same sort of dramatic reaction, but all they did was stare at her. Though they didn’t clean the glass anymore, full attention was given to her.

“Picking a side during the War was considered treason. I got too… loud about my beliefs. So, I was kicked off and barred from returning.” and it hurt, it hurt more than anything.

“Just you?”

She didn’t have a glass this time so instead, she clenched her fists until the metal protested.

“Just me.”

Time started to blur as she held onto the sadness and the rage. It was an explosion she was willing to keep in and she wouldn’t let it out. How was it ever fair? How was it ever fair that they got to stay and she didn’t? They hadn’t disagreed with her! At least, not until it was their fame on the line. The thought that it ever could have been fake, that nothing that was them mattered… she was only worth something when her mouth was shut.

She had gone to the Autobots after that. She dove into the conflict because she needed the win but there was nothing to win on Cybertron. There was a world full of chaos and she tried to find a meaning in it, she tried to find a victory in it, but all she could think of was that if she had kept her mouth shut she would be blissfully unaware of how much there could be to lose as an Autobot.

Lane One missed the Vosian sentinel who’d often intimidate her with its mean stare. Shot to pieces trying to protect a fuel tanker they were attempting to get into Kaon. Shield went, then the rest of its chassis. Chewed up by sentry gunfire and spat back out on the road. They did get to Kaon but they lost the sentinel. She never even knew its name.

Lane One remembers watching the gunner from the Wharf grow more and more disheartened until they stopped talking about the Pulsars or about Kaon and instead stared out into the Rust Sea just a little too long. They should have probably disappeared into the Sea, at least they would still be alive instead of torn to shreds by the Ultracon shock troop waiting at the Wharf.

Piracy was easy, actually, compared to that. She wasn’t sure if it was because they were always on the move or maybe it was because they had a better command structure… maybe she had just learned from how awful the command could be. Never had a worse manager than the pompous Autobot who led their cell to devastation.

Shellmire finished cleaning, starting putting things away, and she held herself tight even though parts of her shook from the effort. She wasn’t sure how long it was, the broadcast was shut off, the lights were dimmed, the place was set up for the next morning.

Sounding like a creaky old dock, Shellmire approached. They didn’t touch her nor did they offer, instead, just waiting for her to meet them on her own terms.

“Hard to fall like that, but it's them and not you.”

But me is what cost me everything, she thinks bitterly. Swallowing the anger or the sob, whatever was threatening to break out. Maybe Shellmire was telepathic and that's why they hid their expressions because it was like they heard her when they spoke next.

“None of this thinking you’re a misshapen cog in a machine. Paradise is very easy to lose, cause you’re so high up. You’re away from troubles, you’re away from all the hardships. All the turbulence doesn’t feel as strong when you’re above it, and when you’re thrown from it? You fall hard… breaks you a bit but, find, it isn’t so bad on the ground now, eh?” the softness of the voice broke her out of her stupor as Shellmire offered a hand to get her off the seat.

She took it reluctantly and she reasoned that it was only to prevent Shellmire from waiting here all night for her to get over herself.

“Everyone loses paradise and it hurts every time, worse, when someone pushes you off… I miss Kaon too. I’ll carry it with me, but, it’s not the same.” Shellmire let go of her hand to close the big industrial door on The Cage, locking it up for the night.

“Kaon’s paradise to you?” it was mean to say it that way and she regretted it as soon as it left her mouth, she started up an apology but Shellmire beat her to it. Rare for the tortoise to beat the hare.

“You don’t think about the flaws too much when you’re in love with the places you were made in… you’ll never forget the original, but you can make somewhere new. Like The Cage.” They gestured to the neon sign as they shut it off with a flick of a switch.

“Like the Dirge.” she repeated but her smile was ghostly and pale. She wasn’t sure the Dirge was anything close to paradise.

“Like wherever you go.” Shellmire offered the arm and Lane One took it as they headed off together. They’d have to split up eventually; she didn’t park in this story, but until then, she’d appreciate the company of someone who understood.

#evening rb

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