red_diode_district | The Start of Something Interesting...

The Start of Something Interesting...

The day was calm, with no recent Decepticon attacks, and none suspected to be incoming for some time. The cons were too busy licking their wounds from the last battle, one that the Autobots had decidedly come out ahead on. The celebrations had gone on long into the night and the recreation room was already a mess.

Thus, it was the perfect chance for a lone Autobot to slip casually outside.

Mirage had no shift currently scheduled, so he was free to spend his time as he pleased. He certainly made no move to hide his departure, greeting his comrades in the halls on the way out, but the box in his hands remained unopened despite any passing curiosity. It was quietly shifted into subspace before long, and the former noble shifted into alt mode just as smoothly when he reached the doors. Despite the completely inappropriate earthen race car mode, the mech had little trouble self-adjusting before driving off into the forest covering the mountain, for business unknown...

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"Great. Except that doesn't fraggin' helpt at all," Cliffjumper said as he wandered back in, having had to resist the urge to use those washracks - and feeling embarrassed about wanting to use them - and then stopped staring at Mirage laying faceplate first into the plush-looking couch.

At least he thought it was a couch. It was shaped slightly funnily, and maybe that meant it had a different name, it wouldn't surprise him if it did.

"... Mirage? Hey, you okay?" Had they managed to poison him? Was he just tired? What? Cliffjumper crossed the room and hovered beside the... couch, whatever, not sure if he should touch him or not.

"Mff."

Smothering his face into the plush cushions - they even smelled right, imported fluxweave from Nebulon? - Mirage didn't want to get up. Turning his head far enough to see did nothing to break the fragile illusion that was confounding his senses. The room was bright and airy and decadent, the style of furniture and wall scrolling painfully similar to some of the older elite areas of the tower that Mirage had visited and occasionally lived in during his youth.

After living in military grade ships, scraped together bases, and hiding in equally military enemy camps for the last several million cycles- it was almost too much.

"...'M perfectly well." He closed his optics as Cliffjumper's red feet shifted awkwardly into view.

Arching an optic ridge incredulously, Cliffjumper scowled and crossed his arms.

"Yeah? You don't fraggin' seem okay to me," he snapped as he stared down at Mirage where he was sprawled out on the couch, long limbs stretched out and accomodated by the stuffing and cushions instead of being awkwardly too short or not broad enough.

Mirage looked like he belonged there, and Cliffjumper looked away, scowling at some etched piece of art on the wall and felt all the more awkward for it.

"Really. I'm...fine."

Mirage reluctantly rolled over, slowly settling into a languid sprawl on the cushions. Cliffjumper's worried hovering wasn't shattering the illusion quite yet, at least; being able to see the entire bright room let it linger on. He blinked dim optics in the minibot's general direction.

"Fine. Just...it's nice."

"Fine? Nice?" Cliffjumper sputtered and whirled back on Mirage, pointing at him, "what the slag is wrong with you, Mirage?"

He was, to be honest, worried. Would have been even if he actually didn't like the mech, if he had no... rusting infatuation. But he did, which didn't make anything better.

What could it be? Mirage seemed to have... wilted almost immediately after they got in here, so was it something in the room? But he was unaffected. What had Mirage touched that he hadn't?

Throwing a glare around the room, Cliffjumper swore quietly. He wasn't really made for stuff like this.

Mirage blinked, optics brightening as they refocused on the (agitated, worried) minibot by his side. He shifted faintly, reluctantly loosing some of his strutless sprawl.

"...what? Nothing is. Wrong with me, per say. Just..."

Melancholy. Longing. Homesick.

"Unsettled? But not worth any worry. It's just...familiar."

A sigh.

"We're fine. I'm fine."

Cliffjumper still didn't believe Mirage, and his stare probably broadcasted that loud and clear. He didn't like this. Mirage was usually pretty predictable; sort of high-strung, kinda snobby, irritable, and when it was right, surprisingly kind and considerate.

This?

This was just...

"You're sure?" Cliffjumper's frown refused to leave, and he cast a glare around the room again, eyeing the door. Mirage had leaned against that... Did these Paradronians have something like Bombshell's cerebro shells?

But what had Mirage just said? Familiar?

They hadn't ever been to Paradron---

Looking around the suite, which also made him scowl for another reason entirely, Cliffjumper frowned again.

Familiar.

... Mirage was a noble. Was that it? He was caught somewhere between disgust and exasperation, and still not entirely convinced that conclusion was the right one.

"...yes Cliffjumper. I'm fine. I'll be fine."

He sighed, illusion cracking around him like the fragile glass bubble it was. The little minibot's worry was hard to miss, and it wouldn't do to let him get too frantic.

"Just give me a few minutes. Nothing to worry about."

He offlined his optics once more, shifting on the lounge.

"...do try to relax yourself, hm?"

Relax? Here?

Cliffjumper's expression probably said all too loudly what he thought of his chances of that.

"I dunno how I'm supposed to do that," Cliffjumper huffed, not about to say he felt like he didn't dare sit down anywhere for fear of breaking it - or just feeling out of place.

"This place's got a real nice washrack, though, if ya wanna use that," Cliffjumper said as he threw Mirage a glance over his shoulder walking up to the large window that covered the wall, admitting that the view, at least, was really stunning.

Mirage shrugged from his reclined position. It was worth a shot? So far they had yet to find any reason to continue being stressed.

"Hmm. Thank you. But well...maybe you should give it a try? Indulge a little?"

Really. It would probably help the smaller mech relax.

"Someone needs to keep watch!" Cliffjumper snapped, shaking his helm. Not that he hadn't thought of it when he peered into the room that had turned out to be the very generously sized washracks (with a solvent soaking pool and an oil bath as well), but with Mirage like this, Cliffjumper didn't like the thought of getting distracted by something as trivial as cleaning up.

Even if he'd literally never seen such a washracks before. The Ark's were some of the nicest he'd been in, but they were still utilitarian and practical, and there were certainly no soaking pools of any kind.

"In a locked room?" He sniffed. "Anyone coming in I would certainly hear."

Mirage waved a arm, flapping his wrist toward the washroom.

"Go, enjoy yourself. I'll 'keep watch' and ping you if anyone comes by."

"Not if you got distracted or fell into recharge you wouldn't hear slag!" Cliffjumper protested and then, reluctantly, let his glare from from Mirage to the door that led into the... whatever that small room could be called that was before the washracks.

"... fine."

He still didn't like this and he still didn't believe Mirage would keep the attention that he should where it was needed, but he'd go. Which made Cliffjumper feel guilty, as the door closed behind him and he poked around the washracks properly, figuring things out.

This was way too indulgent and stupid and completely unnecessary. He was pretty sure Mirage would say it wasn't, that it was for the mission or some slag, but Cliffjumper was pretty sure he didn't need to be shiny for this.

But the soaking pools were a bit too tempting, so in the end he did make use of the washracks, but left most of the implements alone as he couldn't figure what they were for. He still found something to get rid of the worst scratches and small dents and some proper buffer and polish and he felt ridiculous by the end.

Why had he even done this? The oil bath had been amazing, and it just made him feel both more guilty and very annoyed with it all. Cliffjumper refused to look into the mirror set into a wall of the washracks and stalked out, over an hour later, and stomped over to the windows in the main room.

By the time Cliffjumper emerged from the wash racks, Mirage's optics were well offline - but he had at least progressed to sitting up in the lounge chair, facing the entry hall. Long limbs tucked up under himself, he was attempting to meditate, field pulsing calmly.

"Ah, there you are. Enjoy yourself...?"

He blindly turned his helm toward Cliffjumper's stalking steps, lighting an optic idly; and blinking fully at the shine of the minibot's polish.

"...oh."

"I don't know what half the things in there do," he muttered, then froze for a moment between one step and the next at the noise that slid out of Mirage and he had full control of his EM field and it did not just jangle out all over the place.

Why had he thought this was a good idea? Nevermind that there was some tiny part of him that was very pleased at what sounded like a positive reaction from Mirage.

He hoped, anyway.

"This was a rustin' dumb idea," Cliffjumper said with a hiss, ducking his helm even if Mirage couldn't see his blush-bright (from embarrassment) optics.

"I...think you figured it out well enough."

Mirage coughed politely, straightening in his seat to turn and give Cliffjumper a proper, blatant once-over. Shiny and well-polished, he suddenly didn't look so out of place in the fancy quarters - in fact, he fit in quite well.

The red minibot sure did clean up nice.

"You look good."

The EM field fluctuation made him grin, though.

"'Cause I left most of the stuff alone," he muttered, feeling embarrassed to admit he'd even touched a single extra thing than necessary. Staring out the window, Cliffjumper wondered if he was imagining Mirage's optics on him.

Some part was sure he was, because as if Mirage would have any reason to stare. Another tiny part rather hoped he was---

"I look ridiculous!" Cliffjumper cried, jerking at the compliment and there was no way he could control his EM field as it jangled out again, and there was once again that tiny part of him that was very, very pleased Mirage had noticed.

The rest was just flustered.

Unable to entirely hide the wince that Cliffjumper's jangling field drove out of him, Mirage swung his legs over the side of the lounge, standing and striding over to him.

"What? No, don't be silly!" Mirage scoffed, waving a hand in the direction of Cliffjumper's shiny frame.

"You look quite fine. Perfect, really - for our upcoming tour. You'll fit in quite nicely, if I do say so myself."

"I don't want to fit in," Cliffjumper hissed, staring stonily out the window and hoping Mirage would miss it. It was embarrassing, the way Mirage's direct or roundabout compliments warmed his circuits.

He didn't fragging need to be complimented on his looks, but at the same time he was pleased Mirage apparently liked what he saw. Even if it'd taken cleaning up more than usual for that to happen.

"I shouldn't have to." And now that was just sulky and it was no better than behaving like a newspark, but looking nice for these people wasn't what Cliffjumper cared to do.

Cliffjumper's embarrassment was a little difficult for a trained spy to miss, but his words had a more impact - and Mirage was tempted to throw up his hands, optics narrowing.

"You don't have to, as you might recall," Mirage said primly, sniffing. "Or you would have had to do it already. Now you just look good, accept it or not. But if you object to it so much, I'm sure we can find some place around here to scuff you back up or something."

Standing up with an exaggerated flourish, Mirage flounced off to take over the underappreciated washroom. His only regret was that the door was incapable of slamming behind him.

Cliffjumper wasn't sure what he felt when Mirage flounced - literally flounced - off, so he couldn't even come up with a comeback to yell after him. Instead he just cast a glance at Mirage's retreating back and then scowled, turning back to the window and crossed his arms.

He had no looked at Mirage's aft.

Ah, slag, whatever. Who was he kidding? Not like he hadn't done that before - and anyway, it was a little hard to miss, with their relative height difference.

Blushing anyway, Cliffjumper stomped over to one of the large chairs that faced the door at an angle, flopped down in it and was determined to keep an optic on that door until Mirage came out.

Somehow, he ended up in a light recharge.

In the end, Mirage indulged himself for over two hours.

The actual soak in the oil bath was only the beginning of Mirage's stubborn indulgence. Clever, automated supplies freely emerged from well-hidden cabinets and panels: rotary buffing-pad arms, detailers, massagers... And that wasn't even including the hot-wax option on the bath itself. Mirage indulged in it's readily familiarity, once again able to close his eyes and pretend he was back home on Cybertron, young and without the worries of war.

When he finally emerged, languid and relaxed, Mirage was about as waxed and shiny as it was possible to get without going gaudy. Perfect for a visitor of such 'high class' to be seen with the planetary leaders.

Cliffjumper came out of his unintentional doze when Mirage's steps came close enough - and at least that meant he was shifting into a more alert position when Mirage came into the big room.

Which meant that, hopefully, he wouldn't have noticed Cliffjumper's lapse. Even if he wouldn't see anything wrong with it, considering the way Mirage had already relaxed. Cliffjumper, on the other hand, was feeling pretty embarrassed over that.

Eyeing Mirage, Cliffjumper tried hard not to blush.

"Was that necessary?" he finally muttered, looking away with a scowl. It just wasn't fair. Anything of it, but Mirage's familiar ease with how he now looked was obvious.

It also made it even more obvious how beautiful the mech was, not that Cliffjumper needed some dumb layer of shine to see that.

"Obviously," Mirage said flippantly, sauntering right past the sullen minibot.

"It's good for relaxation." He stretched as he walked, making a pleased, relaxed sound, and going so far as to stand in front of a mirror by one of the broad windows, examining the look of his polish in more natural star light.

It was very shiny.

Gritting his teeth as he - without wanting to - followed Mirage's progress across the room, to a---

Fragging scrap.

Sinking deeper into his seat, Cliffjumper kept the growl sub-sonic, but only barely, and looked away. He wasn't going to get caught staring.

He wasn't.

"... guess that's true, but I wasn't talkin' 'bout the time you took. I'm talking about everything... else." He gestured in Mirage's direction, peeking out of the edge of his vision and then glaring at the painting on the wall instead.

Mirage looked really good.

The Start of Something Interesting...

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Don't expect him to come out for at least two hours, mate

8V THAT'S OK

hehe

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he's on to you man

oh no this is a catastrophe

kehehehe

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