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

[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.

[cliffjumper]

Cliffjumper managed to keep still for half a cycle, arms crossed tight over his chestplates, but it was hard. Several times he'd almost shook Mirage's hand off or slid out from under it and then stopped part-way, embarrassed to admit that he...

Well, this was probably the closest he'd get to the mech after this and it was kind of shameful and he should just slap himself later, but he stayed put.

It didn't keep him from shifting as the kliks went on however, because the energy which he'd completely missed before now wasn't just there, it also kept growing.

Nothing huge, not like what had happened at the last holday ritual celebration he'd been to, but it was right there at his back, pricking his armour where Mirage's hand was on his helm, and sort of clung in ebbing and rising strength in the song.

He squirmed and glared at the ground, wishing this was over.

At least he could by now ignore the pain Mirage must be feeling - kind of, anyway. The thought was enough to make him still and listen for it, for Tracks making a mistake that didn't come and he had to just settle down again.

While feeling as if his plating was crawling.

[lastonepercent]

Mirage did what he could, patting armor without deviating from the center of the minibot's helm, but he couldn't tell how much it was really affecting him. Not without something a bit more verbal, which was exactly what they were both trying to prevent.

Eventually, even Mirage's composure had to break, as he and Tracks both knew it would.

After several long minutes, the detailing was scrolling now down both his sides and working it's way across shoulder blades and wheel-mount, which trembled under the attention. Fingers curling into a fist that rested painlessly on Cliffjumper's head, Mirage couldn't hold back a low keen that broke his song, platting shuddering.

[cliffjumper]

Cliffjumper felt the building tension before Mirage reacted fully, but even bracing himself for it didn't help. The sudden fist weighing down on top of his helm, even just resting there, kicked his threat assessment into gear.

Then Mirage cried out and he didn't care if "sacrifice" was a blasted part of it, why should sacrifice involve pain and it just wasn't right---

Engine snarling along with his own growl, Cliffjumper stopped somewhere before he got fully to his knees and stopped, hands rythmically tightening into fists firmly enough he was denting his palms.

He felt jittery from the... thing, which had peaked at Mirage's cry and then settled back, stronger, and he didn't like that either, even if he wasn't sure why.

Why the slag would you choose a rite that required pain for dedication? That just---

::Mirage.:: Cliffjumper hissed over the comm, unsure why he did it and all he wanted to do was finish getting to his knees and turn around and punch Tracks in the knee or something and then storm out.

[lastonepercent]

::Shhhh. Shhhhh. It's alright...::

Mirage's words were slightly slurred, but the tone was remarkably calm even as shoulder-tires continued to tremble. Tracks tensed at Mirage's back as well, but another comm and the continuation of the humming song allowed him to haltingly resume.

The fisted hand uncurled, petting and pressing down to encourage Cliffjumper to retake his seat.

[cliffjumper]

::And how the slag is it?! Ain't there other ways---:: Cliffjumper snapped and slashed a hand through the air, then jerkily ducked away from under the hand even as he slumped down heavily on the floor again, arms crossed.

He didn't get it and why was this an acceptable way of showing dedication? If his horns could be twitching from the flickering thing which was hovering in the air in an ever-expanding net, they would be. He knew trying to turn off the sensors in his horns wouldn't work - he'd feel it anyway.

That was just the first and most sensitive point, beside the jittery pressure on the circuits around his spark chamber.

Cliffjumper was also vaguely aware that this was probably not making anything easier for Mirage, the way he was acting, but---

Growling angrily, he curled up at stared at the floor as if he could melt it, and while the song was sort of helping again, now that Mirage's composure had broken he was too aware of it, as well as the trembling wheel-mount.