[Clearly, everyone would laugh at Minimus - the uptight spoilsport who doesn't understand "fun" - and make jokes about his horrid love life. How he can't learn to relax and play along, how he's unfit for the mission, how he shouldn't be taken seriously. All old, old thoughts that had persisted throughout most of his life; these weeds were taken out of his processor with time and positive experiences, but the roots remain and grow in certain circumstances.]
Don't assume with whom I associated. And you are fortunate that punching you would have painted me in a worse light.
Did you-- [A small pause, studying the flash of emotions that seem to chase each other across the man's face] want me to mean it?
[It's still baffling to met with anger, not at the presumption of intimacy but apparently the attention that he brought on them with his spectacle.
Being the Black General of the Second Army meant that he was also looked on, was used to the stares and the quiet judgements. As a Grisha in a country that wanted to sell them all in to slavery or shuffle off where they could not be seen, having fought- tooth and claws- for every speck of recognition and respect he has, this is... new.
A reminder of a distant time before the Little Palace when he had counted on the veil of anonymity to survive.]
I'm sorry. Who do you associate with that would judge you for making a man fall in love with you?
[That gets Minimus to stiffen and go silent. His internal processors struggle to confirm if he wished to play out a fantasy right there in public or not.
No. Not in front of everyone. The point wasn't that people were learning details of his intimate life. The point was hearing something that he knows will never happen. He crosses his arms and keeps his eyes steady on the Darkling.]
I am not in a position to give any thought to romantic entanglements. [This the most detail he wishes to share. Megatron doesn't deserve to be further ostracized, even if there is a voice in Minimus that wanted him to burn in hell for a week.] Even if I was, you don't know me well enough to truly mean such a thing.
That is true. [But, head tilted he grins - a flash of warmth, there and gone, like rays of sunlight breaking through the thick clouds- he was good at faking it.
But that wasn't the personal mission, and the Darkling wipes the humor and heat off of his face, blinking slowly at the other man for a short moment.] I don't know you at all, actually.
But that can be changed. Hello, I'm Petry Stardust. [A breath, as he holds out his hand, eyes rolling up to look up at the dark sky, where he imagines a space station might be, if Ximilia was even in this world.] Here. My name is Petry here.
Hello, Petry. [As hostile as his tone is, Minimus can keep a professional front while he gets familiar with a teammate.] I am Minimus Ambus, one of the Cybertronians. If you have seen a green mech on the ship, that is my true form.
[Who was usually found in the common areas cleaning after the others.]
And I do not have a good initial impression of your character.
[His eyebrow goes up as his hand falls down between them, untaken and he clasps them both behind his back once again.]
A mech. That is the true you, the metal one. Well, if we're going to talk about the station as if it's not suspicious at all- my name is General Kirigan.
[So unlike Drift with his history stitched in to his skin, so different from Megatron, as well - who looks kind, even if he does claim not to be. Living metal, with a spark hidden somewhere inside of them, with enough power to fuel their lives for millions of years- and just enough power to fuel a hungry orb for a month.]
You didn't like the proposal? It was a bit rough, I admit. The last one I did was-- a very long time ago. And it didn't involve quite this much drama.
[It didn't involve anyone but Luda and him, in a quite spot in the woods. The creek babbling close by and sharing sweet bread in the soft rays of fall sunlight filtered through the canopy of orange leaves.]
A minesweeper, to be exact. [He can't stop himself from briefly interrupting to correct Kirigan.]
I'm not a fan of these announcements of sensitive feelings. It's all nonsense. Cybertronian customs focus on the pair's relationship, not...[He waves a hand at the street.] whatever that is. Unless overcoming one's fear of public speaking is part of the bonding ritual. [He understand the ring - it's similar to the Act of Profference, but the Act of Devotion is usually a private affair.]
[The pause between words is calculated, eyebrow going up as he stares at the man. Lips twitching with a small smile as the words keep coming.]
The ritual in my world are nothing like this, I'm afraid. A lot of the time, it's for practical reasons, and for anyone with station near the throne, it's political. Asking in public is not done at all, but the announcements are, of course, a matter of public record.
[For the otkazat'sya. Grisha were held to a different standard, most thinking that they tumbled indiscriminately and stole children from unlocked houses.
Prejudice and lies, all done in the name of keeping them ground down in to the dirt and treated as such.
But they had their own traditions, their own vows of affection and words of devotion. The face they have seen in the Making at the Heart of the world.] I saw something like this is what is called a movie.
[Sidestepping any mentioning of the other half to his whole.]
If we do run into a situation that calls for it, then I can call it useful. As it stands, I'm too small to carry anyone, and it's obviously out of place if I were to drive down a street in this form. [There's a twitch in his mustache betraying his frustration. This is why he prefers researching; it's too dangerous for him right now. Plus, he doesn't want to run into the man that caused him to react so strongly to a fake proposal.]
Movies aren't all that accurate to life. [He's seen many on Cybertron, even those from Earth, and he's well aware of how fiction embellishes the drudgery of reality.] I don't know why anyone would want that sort of speech given to them. It's a rotten apology and a manipulative tactic to attain an official relationship.
But- [The small smile is exchanged for a look of puzzlement] you are a car. How could you be too small?
[Petry agrees to that assessment, that the whole show of it was a blatant attempt to sway the recipient in a certain direction, the pressure of the public yet another way to push a 'yes' from unwilling lips - but it's a crude one, and for that reason alone, he would never use it himself.
Unless
The little voice in his head on departure requested it. But that is not the focus of this conversation for him-]
I was shrunk upon arrival. [Which might not be an issue for Drift but for a little guy? Even less space.] And no I'm not that small.
[He seems irritated to be referred to as something do diminutive. Granted, his size is already referenced in his name, but the grief given to a small mech trying to act big is too familiar.]
And no, I am not offering to let you fit inside. I cleaned inside recently.
I-- [for the first time since he dropped to his knees in the dirty street and professed his love, Petry looks... strange. Something between laughter and confusion flitting across his face] that--
I was not asking to be-- fitted inside of you [and doesn't that just lend itself to lewd jokes and Drift, talking about his stick shift while he had been too busy trying to breathe as the hot sands of Scorpion's Bend whizzed past the dark windows] I... was not mentioning your size as a slight. I was merely baffled at the possibility. Of something smaller. Than the Grand Palace.
[Which probably means nothing to this man.] Smaller than very, impossibly tall.
[Minimus takes a few minutes to wonder what is so funny. Does Petry think he'll wear Minimus as a suit of armor? Was he commenting on how Drift and Megatron were more spacious that he?
...No, he doesn't know just how lewd Drift has been with the humans, and Minimus honestly has no clue.]
There are a variety of sizes other than small and enormous.
I am learning as much, yes. Now. And thank you, for telling me about this.
[Was this what talking to him was like, before he learned the words to describe the network and the station and the automatic doors? He has a moment of horror, of shame, a hot flash of it that burns in the pit of his stomach before his smile is back.]
I don't believe I will forgive you for some time. [Worse than a beating, Minimus was humiliated, and pride takes longer to heal than a physical wound..] You are fortunate that no one we know witnessed that scene, so I believe that we should work on forgetting this ever happened.
You feel ashamed. [A shot in the dark, since he's still teetering on whether or not Minimus and his whole species can feel it - was that another one of the universal constants of the multiverse?
That emotions ran deeper than the bloodlines they came from, and the hereditary traits of shared guilt.] Forgiveness is earned, and I respect your decision.
Perhaps we will meet again, and I will try to stop myself from kneeling before you.
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Don't assume with whom I associated. And you are fortunate that punching you would have painted me in a worse light.
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[It's still baffling to met with anger, not at the presumption of intimacy but apparently the attention that he brought on them with his spectacle.
Being the Black General of the Second Army meant that he was also looked on, was used to the stares and the quiet judgements. As a Grisha in a country that wanted to sell them all in to slavery or shuffle off where they could not be seen, having fought- tooth and claws- for every speck of recognition and respect he has, this is... new.
A reminder of a distant time before the Little Palace when he had counted on the veil of anonymity to survive.]
I'm sorry. Who do you associate with that would judge you for making a man fall in love with you?
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No. Not in front of everyone. The point wasn't that people were learning details of his intimate life. The point was hearing something that he knows will never happen. He crosses his arms and keeps his eyes steady on the Darkling.]
I am not in a position to give any thought to romantic entanglements. [This the most detail he wishes to share. Megatron doesn't deserve to be further ostracized, even if there is a voice in Minimus that wanted him to burn in hell for a week.] Even if I was, you don't know me well enough to truly mean such a thing.
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But that wasn't the personal mission, and the Darkling wipes the humor and heat off of his face, blinking slowly at the other man for a short moment.] I don't know you at all, actually.
But that can be changed. Hello, I'm Petry Stardust. [A breath, as he holds out his hand, eyes rolling up to look up at the dark sky, where he imagines a space station might be, if Ximilia was even in this world.] Here. My name is Petry here.
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[Who was usually found in the common areas cleaning after the others.]
And I do not have a good initial impression of your character.
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[His eyebrow goes up as his hand falls down between them, untaken and he clasps them both behind his back once again.]
A mech. That is the true you, the metal one. Well, if we're going to talk about the station as if it's not suspicious at all- my name is General Kirigan.
[So unlike Drift with his history stitched in to his skin, so different from Megatron, as well - who looks kind, even if he does claim not to be. Living metal, with a spark hidden somewhere inside of them, with enough power to fuel their lives for millions of years- and just enough power to fuel a hungry orb for a month.]
You didn't like the proposal? It was a bit rough, I admit. The last one I did was-- a very long time ago. And it didn't involve quite this much drama.
[It didn't involve anyone but Luda and him, in a quite spot in the woods. The creek babbling close by and sharing sweet bread in the soft rays of fall sunlight filtered through the canopy of orange leaves.]
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I'm not a fan of these announcements of sensitive feelings. It's all nonsense. Cybertronian customs focus on the pair's relationship, not...[He waves a hand at the street.] whatever that is. Unless overcoming one's fear of public speaking is part of the bonding ritual. [He understand the ring - it's similar to the Act of Profference, but the Act of Devotion is usually a private affair.]
Or your other half was fond of your dramatics.
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[The pause between words is calculated, eyebrow going up as he stares at the man. Lips twitching with a small smile as the words keep coming.]
The ritual in my world are nothing like this, I'm afraid. A lot of the time, it's for practical reasons, and for anyone with station near the throne, it's political. Asking in public is not done at all, but the announcements are, of course, a matter of public record.
[For the otkazat'sya. Grisha were held to a different standard, most thinking that they tumbled indiscriminately and stole children from unlocked houses.
Prejudice and lies, all done in the name of keeping them ground down in to the dirt and treated as such.
But they had their own traditions, their own vows of affection and words of devotion. The face they have seen in the Making at the Heart of the world.] I saw something like this is what is called a movie.
[Sidestepping any mentioning of the other half to his whole.]
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Movies aren't all that accurate to life. [He's seen many on Cybertron, even those from Earth, and he's well aware of how fiction embellishes the drudgery of reality.] I don't know why anyone would want that sort of speech given to them. It's a rotten apology and a manipulative tactic to attain an official relationship.
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[Petry agrees to that assessment, that the whole show of it was a blatant attempt to sway the recipient in a certain direction, the pressure of the public yet another way to push a 'yes' from unwilling lips - but it's a crude one, and for that reason alone, he would never use it himself.
Unless
The little voice in his head on departure requested it. But that is not the focus of this conversation for him-]
Are you smaller than a pony?
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[He seems irritated to be referred to as something do diminutive. Granted, his size is already referenced in his name, but the grief given to a small mech trying to act big is too familiar.]
And no, I am not offering to let you fit inside. I cleaned inside recently.
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I was not asking to be-- fitted inside of you [and doesn't that just lend itself to lewd jokes and Drift, talking about his stick shift while he had been too busy trying to breathe as the hot sands of Scorpion's Bend whizzed past the dark windows] I... was not mentioning your size as a slight. I was merely baffled at the possibility. Of something smaller. Than the Grand Palace.
[Which probably means nothing to this man.] Smaller than very, impossibly tall.
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...No, he doesn't know just how lewd Drift has been with the humans, and Minimus honestly has no clue.]
There are a variety of sizes other than small and enormous.
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[Was this what talking to him was like, before he learned the words to describe the network and the station and the automatic doors? He has a moment of horror, of shame, a hot flash of it that burns in the pit of his stomach before his smile is back.]
And I am sorry. About the... scene before.
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That emotions ran deeper than the bloodlines they came from, and the hereditary traits of shared guilt.] Forgiveness is earned, and I respect your decision.
Perhaps we will meet again, and I will try to stop myself from kneeling before you.