The Start of Something Interesting...

[lastonepercent]

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...

Comments

[lastonepercent]

::Thank you.::

His tone over the comm was odd - he couldn't tease or be sarcastic at all, not in this situation. It would defeat the purpose of the entire thing; a Priest jabbing verbally at an Atoner during a ceremony?

Never!

Bowing from his kneeling position, Mirage was still able to give Cliffjumper a faint smile before retrieving the bowl. Tipping the bowl all of the way back to both drink the dregs and prove that the bowl was empty, Mirage rose gracefully back up to his feet, returning to the alter.

[cliffjumper]

Engine grumbling threateningly as Cliffjumper's optics narrowed at the tone, he still remained where he was and didn't say anything. Mostly because he wasn't sure if Mirage was trying to be sarcastic and trying to hide it, or if he was being honest and he just couldn't believe he had to be that towards Cliffjumper.

Even if they'd had a perfectly okay conversation in the washracks earlier. And wasn't that a strange thought still? Not something he'd thought he'd end up doing with Mirage.

Of course, it wasn't as if it'd been for any other reason than this.

The smile, faint and brief as it was, startled Cliffjumper out of his thoughts and he dropped his optics. Then, realising what he'd just done, he straightened up again with a grimace and reluctantly followed Mirage leaving.

He wasn't looking forward to to this.

[lastonepercent]

Resuming his chanted prayers, Mirage's focus left Cliffjumper at last. The first, most important part of the minibot's participation was done - now he just had to watch.

Turning his golden gaze on Tracks, Mirage continued his recitation, formally offering Tracks the Duty-Honor of assisting the current High Priest. The other noble accepted in all the right places, of course; bowing his helm with the same level of grace.

Thrumming hum dying down, Mirage slid to his feet and climbed up onto the cushioned berth. Tracks followed, pre-cleansed and purified etching tools in hand.

Time to get down to business.

[cliffjumper]

It was hard to sit still - was all this chanting really necessary? On the other hand, it meant a delay in getting to the actual... thing. Ritual? But that also meant he still had a lot of time left sitting here, so.

Supressing a groan, Cliffjumper shifted just slightly and then froze as Mirage fell quiet and got up on the berth. He ignored the flicker of unease along his circuits, because maybe now that he knew the context, it wouldn't be as bad?

Or wouldn't look as bad, which would hopefully make it better all around, but Cliffjumper had severe doubts about that. Because despite what he knew now, quickly reviewing the scene he'd burst in on didn't look any better.

He ended up staring at the berth and the two occupants with a growing sense of needed-to-move unease, and crossed his arms over his chestplates. It also seemed far too... erm, intimate a thing to have a spectator for, though that was just because of the berth.

[lastonepercent]

Laying down on his ventral plates, Mirage allowed himself the luxury of resettling down into the cushions comfortably, chin resting on crossed arms. There would be little else entirely 'comfortable' about this. Tracks climbed up behind him, next to the side which had remained half-done since their last session.

With a nod to his fellow noble, Mirage's optics went half-lit as he resumed his deep, thrumming hum; the monotonous chant served as a focal point, allowing him to withstand the pain of the etching. Tool in hand coming to life with a whine, Tracks began to continue the etching marks without so much as a single glance in Cliffjumper's direction.

The tool drew sparks as it bit through chromomatonanites and the upper layers of plating; Mirage twitched, shoulder-wheels hunching minutely with a quiet engine whine before he abruptly evened out, frame regaining it's former slack. Tracks seemed to have been anticipating it, withdrawing just enough to keep from mussing the lines, before continuing.

It was going to be a long night.

[cliffjumper]

This was... this wasn't so bad.

Maybe.

He still couldn't understand at all why anyone would want to do this willingly, or why it would be required of the priests, but maybe... Maybe he could sit through this?

On the other hand, it was hard to look at it, because he kept looking for signs of Mirage being uncomfortable. But so far, this seemed less... damning, than what he'd walked in on.

Of course, what he had walked in on had probably been going on for a while, a thought that made an uncomfortable flutter-clench somewhere in his fuel processing.

Maybe if he just concentrated on the humming that was coming from Mirage and was starting to permeat the whole room with its own vibration would help?

[lastonepercent]

It was either experience or skill that allowed Tracks to carve as quickly as he did, etching glyphs in long, fluid strokes.

Unfortunately for both Cliffjumper and Mirage, it was quickly apparent that this careful speed wasn't enough to make the process particularly short. The detail was meticulous, and there was a a lot of plating to cover. Only Mirage's mostly-finished arm was wrapped up in just a few minutes, Tracks working his way to the lithe noble's back.

Mirage's humming continued all the while, but the first hitch in the song came when the etching reached spinal struts.

[cliffjumper]

The only thing Cliffjumper could think as the kliks crawled on, was that at least Mirage wasn't the size of Prime or anything. But neither was he a minibot, and there really was a lot of plating.

Were they really going to cover all of it?

He had to supress the annoyed mutter and settle down again, but the sudden hitch drew his attention away from his thoughts and the song that had been thrumming along underneath them, keeping them afloat.

Optics sharpening on the scene again, Cliffjumper frowned as he first couldn't see anything - and then Mirage shifted again, with another hitch and... yeah, he knew there would be pain.

That was why he'd stopped it originally, especially as it hadn't looked okay.

Now?

He shifted, glancing away. Mirage had agreed to this - it was on his own initiative, if Cliffjumper understood it right.

That didn't make it easier.

[lastonepercent]

Thankfully, it wasn't going to be completely covered: it was a religious embellishment, not tacky graffiti. Tracks was sticking to the edges and angles of Mirage's plating sections, curling glyphs along rotorcuffs and leaving whole stretches of gleaming white and blue untouched.

The visual effect was very striking and ornate- but seams were generally the more sensitive of areas. Especially along spinal struts.

Optics shuttering nearly-closed, Mirage's hands curled and uncurled as he fought the urge to twitch and writhe. But the humming continued unbroken, and other than the increase in tension as Tracks worked his way down Mirage's back, the priest stayed in place.

[cliffjumper]

Not that he could exactly see the extent of it, but he caught flashes of the fresh wou--- etchings in the light as Mirage twitched and Tracks moved and Mirage was doing this willingly.

It was a little hard keeping that in mind though, even with the humming song to distract him. The little twitches and Mirage's flexing hands were like visual bells in the otherwise still room, and Cliffjumper's expression slowly drew up into a grimace.

This wasn't right.

Why was this based of injuring yourself? He was vaguely aware that it was perfectly possible that some people enjoyed deliberately applied pain in certain circumstances, or accepted pain in some circumstances. This was one of those.

That didn't help Cliffjumper though, because pain wasn't right - and it was also uncomfortable because it was hard to tell if those little squirms were from pain or something... else.

Uncomfortable and unhappy, Cliffjumper gritted his teeth and hunched up, cables tightening and his posture growing stiffer by the klik.

[lastonepercent]

The work down Mirage's already fairly intricate spinal plating took some time; time enough for Cliffjumper's displeasure to draw notice, even with the level of devotion going into the work. Sparring a glance in Cliffjumper's direction, Track's optics narrowed at the rising tension in the red frame. If the minibot interrupted again, the noble didn't know what he might be driven to do.

But he certainly couldn't interrupt his work to do something preemptive. It was against protocol for him to even comm the little glitch.

Well. He couldn't. But he could comm Mirage - even if he was of the opinion that his friend was far too forgiving of the Minibot's lapse in judgement.

A few kliks later, Mirage's optics flickered dimly online, causing a noticeable halt in the low grunting now that a distraction had apparently presented itself. He glanced around in a daze, before settling on Cliffjumper's hunched frame. Warbling song not breaking for a moment, he opened a commline in a mild breech of protocol.

::...Cliffjumper.::

[cliffjumper]

Cliffjumper stiffened and then hunched up further, glaring at the floor in front of his as if it somehow had committed some grave error.

::... What?:: Cliffjumper was honestly surprised at how sulky and defensive he sounded, but he couldn't help it. Glancing up sideways at Mirage, he noted while the noises had stopped, it was still obvious that he was in pain.

Which, well.

Was understandable considering what was going on, but all he wanted to do was to jump up and yank Tracks away as the source/cause of the pain. He knew it was consensual, that it was 'necessary' - it still didn't help the bubbling unease that seemed to crawl along his circuits.

[lastonepercent]

::You're fretting.::

Mirage stared up from his position on the berth, dim optics staring from a helm pillowed on his own folded arms. Speaking over comm did nothing to distract the mech from his low song, even as his dazed expression flickered in muted concern.

::You know there is no reason for that.::

[cliffjumper]

It was probably not proper protocol, but Cliffjumper let a rude noise escape him as he looked away, glaring at the wall off to the side of the berth. If he was stealthier - was able to be stealthier - about his emotions and expressions, he wouldn't have Mirage trying to fraggin' reassure him.

::Easy for you to say. Just 'cause I know it's okay doesn't mean---:: The comm broke down into strangled static because admitting he didn't feel comfortable about watching someone else having pain inflicted on them, of their own will or not, wasn't what he wanted to do.

The fact that he was hunching up and his field drawn tight enough it buzzed against his own armour and his voice was tense, was probably more than enough clues to the same, embarrassingly enough.

[lastonepercent]

Even though he didn't turn away from his work, Tracks let out a low, chiding hiss escape him at the rude sound. Mirage simply seemed to ignore them both, optics narrowing slightly.

::'Easy for me to say'?::

Unwilling to move more than a hand, Mirage flicked his fingers in his own direction, gesturing down at his own prone frame with an incredulously raised optic ridge.

::I am willing and devoted, but it would not be a trial if it were so 'easy'. It is supposed to be difficult.::

He sighed gently, optics shuttering closed with a wheel-twitch as Tracks reached the base of his spine.

::The fact that you are here and even visually enduring said difficulty rather unwillingly is...a pity. But one you have brought upon yourself, my friend.::

[cliffjumper]

::That ain't what I meant!:: Cliffjumper hissed and then winced as he caught the twitch of Mirage's wheels at the corner of his vision and grit his teeth. He wasn't sure how to explain, or even if he wanted to, though Mirage's last words had him grimacing.

::It ain't a fraggin' pity watchin' somehow havin' pain inflicted on 'em, no matter how... how willing. That just... it's not---!:: He was surprised at the sudden rush of words, and then they just stopped and Cliffjumper was left with something like a taste of burned ozone in his mouth and engine rumbling jerkily.

(Though the taste was more imagined than not.)

[lastonepercent]

Mirage stared after Cliffjumper's outburst for a long moment, helm tilting.

Careful not to jostle anything past his neck or shoulders, the noble carefully unfurled an arm out from under his chin. Despite the feel of Tracks' stare heavy on his back, Mirage slowly reached out, offering a hand to Cliffjumper.

::...It is still unfortunate that you should have to watch, when it is so obviously distressing to you. But it is very important that you do so.::

[cliffjumper]

The silence was almost as bad as Mirage's reactions to the etching tool inflicted on him, because who knew what it meant---

The offered hand had Cliffjumper staring, optics widening and was he trying to make fun of him or something?

::'Cause bein' sorry ain't good enough, huh? And I don't--- need---:: Cliffjumper's sputtering over the comm was disrupted by angry static which belied how the situation was getting to him, and the fact that he was getting angry more at himself for reacting the way he was rather than at Mirage's (sincere or not) offer of...

Support? Slagging comfort?

He didn't fraggin' need anything like it! He needed to be elsewhere, to not have to bother with religion (to be less suspicious and brash) to... Growling, Cliffjumper was aware that he had, embarrassingly enough, shifted in his stance in preparation to get up.

[lastonepercent]

::Not to my religion, no.::

Mirage didn't retract his hand; if anything, the open-close twitch of finger servos only served to beckon the mech more pointedly.

::Actions are just as important as words, after all.::

His hand turned palm-up pointedly, even as Mirage felt Tracks poke him in the back in silent, panicked question.

[cliffjumper]

Religion, ugh.

Not that he had anything against it in theory, but it was far easier when it was being over there and didn't impact him more than the random holiday thing... But he couldn't precisely say, either, that it had been thrust on him, since he'd somehow managed to walk right into Mirage's rituals.'

Twice.

And he didn't fragging need or want Mirage's smelting pity. Not to talk about what Tracks thought, Cliffjumper thought with a dark glare at said mech's back.

He also didn't particularly want to be closer to what was going on, since if he was closer he'd be able to see every single pain-caused twitch more clearly, and probably end up picking up the echoes of the same in Mirage's EM field...

And still, with a growl, Cliffjumper reluctantly got up and walked over, sitting down with his back to the berth and arms crossed, shoulders already tensing.

[lastonepercent]

It was difficult to ignore Tracks' tension - and repeated poking - and the noble was forced to buzz him a irritated stop-cease-signal over their comms. The hand braced on his back tensed, but thankfully Tracks kept his mouth shut.

Mirage's lips twitched in a smile when Cliffjumper actually gave in and moved. Turning his back to the berth was about as much of a breach of protocol as Mirage reaching out to the minibot, but as he ended up even closer to the 'spiritual center' of the event, it could be overlooked.

...As though there was anyone left to 'regulate' such things, aside from Mirage himself. So long as Cliffjumper continued to tolerate the situation, Mirage would consider it a success.

Waiting until Cliffjumper settled, Mirage reached out and laid unfurled fingers across the center of the minibot's helm.

[cliffjumper]

And tolerating it was about as far as it got.

Cliffjumper jerked upright when the touch slid over his helm, freezing and swallowing the protesting squawk. He also had to relax the fist his hand had tightened into.

He should shake Mirage off---

But... Okay. Maybe... It was embarrassing, but Mirage's hand was a warm, firm presence just as much as the hummed song was, and he wasn't touching the horns. Not that the horns were sensitive enough he couldn't stand them touched briefly or casually, but it was the principle of the thing.

(And also that it wasn't that hard to trick the sensors into heightening their sensitivity.)

So, after half a klik of stiff-backed hesitation, Cliffjumper relaxed back down, but that didn't stop his field from flexing fitfully, even if he'd pulled it as close as it could go.

Embarrssing, that Mirage had noticed and was offering comfort. Even more embarrassing that he was taking it, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to face the mech after this.

He didn't fragging care what Tracks thought, though.

[lastonepercent]

Pleasantly surprised that Cliffjumper didn't jerk or move to throw him off right away, the priest's humming song resumed with a vengeance; loud and strong and ringing with acceptance.

Mirage would work Cliffjumper's additional 'approval' into the ceremony however he could, making it all the more legitimate.

Nodding softly in satisfaction, Mirage gave Tracks another comm ping, encouraging him to continue. The other noble tensed, and Mirage didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that Tracks had slipped and was giving him a disgusted stare.

::...I hope you know what you're doing.::

::Of course.:: Mirage allowed, and the hand still resting on his back tensed only briefly, before resuming the glyph-work where he left off.

[cliffjumper]

As Tracks started up again, Cliffjumper briefly tensed and thought, again, that he really should get rid of Mirage's hand. But the offered anchor, like the renewed strength of the song, helped with not lashing out and trying to put a stop to the whole thing, again.

So he settled back, curled up against the side of the berth and glaring at the floor, trying to concentrate on Mirage's humming rather than the noise of the etching tool or the tenseness bleeding through from Mirage's hand.

He could do this.

He regularly went out on fragging battlefields, had for millions of years now, but... But it wasn't the same thing.

This was... Shifting his shoulders and trying to dispel that train of thought, Cliffjumper dimmed his optics and tried to relax.

But, despite the additional support Mirage was, for whatever reason, offering through the gentle hand on his helm, he just couldn't. Even less so than he'd been sitting on the other side of the room.

It was like there was a creeping lattice of... intent? heat? he wasn't sure, but it was right behind him, centered, he assumed, on Mirage and Tracks, but he couldn't figure out how.

He tried to sit still and just ignore it, to focus on the hand and the humming - which had its own thread of warm presence, Cliffjumper realised with a scrunch to his nasal ridge.

No, Focus.

Ignore the other stuff.

[lastonepercent]

Slowly, Mirage fell back into the rhythm that he had been jostled out of once more. Tracks did the same, hand growing more steady and the marks more sure.

The hand resting on Cliffjumper's helm found a rhythm of it's own as well, long fingers slowly furling and uncurling gently against red armor, never squeezing painfully no matter how much tension seemed to pass through the priest's increasingly tense and shuddering frame.

The humming continued unabated, developing deeper reverberations the longer it went on, before culminating and starting again in a never-ending loop of song.