This was not what he'd signed up for. Of course, he hadn't precisely signed up for any pof this even if capture had been a distinct possibility. Of course, he'd fully expected to either simply be tossed in prison in some way, or out and out executed.
It was merely because the current Prime actually seemed to be somewhat decent that he was still functioning, and in possession of a relative freedom to move around.
He still didn't see what he was doing here, standing on the opposite end of the room from said Prime and the doors themselves, in front of the mirrors that took up the back wall of the antechamber.
"Someone thinks they're funny," Megatron growled, mostly to himself, as he stared at the traditional jagged designs of a top-tier gladiator and the stylized glyphs forming "champion", the first on the front of his helm, the second on each of his upper arms/shoulders.
Someone had done their reading, since this was the exact arrangement he'd carried during the three vorns he'd spent as the champion of the gladiator games. The only difference was the quality of the etchings done, and the paint used to fill them in.
What he didn't find amusing was the colour of the paint used; bright, purple-shaded pink, the exact shade of processed energon... None would actually carry this colour in actual life (even those who carried shades closest to the most important liquid did not wear the exact such), and not even the gladiators' glyphs were painted in this.
Further, while he knew no one actually knew the exact glyphs his designation were made up of... he was now brandishing it on his frame again. That part was the only thing vaguely amusing in this.
Using the mirror to look across the room to see what Optimus was doing, Megatron somewhat viciously hoped the mech was as uncomfortable as he was, but... considering he'd been an escort, that was highly improbable.
He just had no idea how to handle these sort of high-society parties that they were about to enter, and he did not like that. Either the Prime, or whoever else who'd convinced Optimus to take him with him, would pay for this.
This is a party, but perhaps later we'll have a wedding! ;D
It was merely because the current Prime actually seemed to be somewhat decent that he was still functioning, and in possession of a relative freedom to move around.
He still didn't see what he was doing here, standing on the opposite end of the room from said Prime and the doors themselves, in front of the mirrors that took up the back wall of the antechamber.
"Someone thinks they're funny," Megatron growled, mostly to himself, as he stared at the traditional jagged designs of a top-tier gladiator and the stylized glyphs forming "champion", the first on the front of his helm, the second on each of his upper arms/shoulders.
Someone had done their reading, since this was the exact arrangement he'd carried during the three vorns he'd spent as the champion of the gladiator games. The only difference was the quality of the etchings done, and the paint used to fill them in.
What he didn't find amusing was the colour of the paint used; bright, purple-shaded pink, the exact shade of processed energon... None would actually carry this colour in actual life (even those who carried shades closest to the most important liquid did not wear the exact such), and not even the gladiators' glyphs were painted in this.
Further, while he knew no one actually knew the exact glyphs his designation were made up of... he was now brandishing it on his frame again. That part was the only thing vaguely amusing in this.
Using the mirror to look across the room to see what Optimus was doing, Megatron somewhat viciously hoped the mech was as uncomfortable as he was, but... considering he'd been an escort, that was highly improbable.
He just had no idea how to handle these sort of high-society parties that they were about to enter, and he did not like that. Either the Prime, or whoever else who'd convinced Optimus to take him with him, would pay for this.