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...

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[cliffjumper]

All the reaction Mirage got as his hand stroked across the metal was a slight tilt of Cliffjumper's helm, without any resistance at all. His expression might still make the priest wary though, since it was a slightly pinched frown.

Optics unfocused and the expression softened by lack of immediacy, but there nontheless.

Because caught up as he was or not, it couldn't, apparently, supress Cliffjumper's innate irritability.

Even as the song died back to its former level, Cliffjumper didn't really notice - in this state it was still bright and clear. An almost visible vibration that swung in time to the faint wisps of light that radiated outwards from Mirage but were pulled back at the same time, hovering above the blue and white frame in the glyphs that were being etched in.

Not that Cliffjumper, sitting with his back to the berth, could see that directly, but he didn't need to.

Vaguely, the scrunched nasal ridge twitched a bit further as Cliffjumper realised part of the threads of light wasn't just that... potential, intention, power, but sparklight.

He couldn't really see Mirage's or Tracks', that being more like a suggestion of warmth (especially Mirage's) from which the power was being drawn, but his own was like a pulsing web of starlight.

If he'd not been caught up in the song and the near-trance state, the realisation of what he was seeing would have been quite alarming. Outwards, all Cliffjumper did was slump a little back against the berth and the center of power - Mirage.

[lastonepercent]

Humming thoughtfully at Cliffjumper's odd - suspicious - daze, Mirage made no move to stop either his touches or the song.

The ritual would continue, and so long as Cliffjumper was calm and cooperative, he wasn't going to try ti investigate too deeply just yet. So he continued to pet Cliffjumper's pretty red helm, encouraging him to keep leaning back against the side of the berth.

It was a nice distraction, at least - it seemed to take the edge off the pain, even as Tracks worked his way down Mirage's back yet again.

[cliffjumper]

Like this, it was clear the pain from the etching was both merely accidental side-effect of inscribing the semi-permanent glyphs that would focus and lead the power, make it easier to draw it up to the surface when it needed to be used, and very much part of it.

With the help of the chant, each bite of the etching tool - even if Cliffjumper wasn't aware of that and couldn't see it, with his back turned - dove not just into Mirage's plating, but deeper, like a metaphysical hook into the spark energy underneath the surface of the outer armour.

As Tracks' work went on and the ritual progressed, the vague warmth that was Mirage's spark developed into a starfield of its own - through the glyphs, threaded with actual spark energy from within.

Cliffjumper felt, vaguely, distantly and not at all acutely enough to crack through the thrumming that was the song and which kept him right where he was, unconsciously leaning into Mirage's petting, unsettled and confused over what he was seeing.

Perhaps thankfully though, the deepening meditative state kept the minibot from breaking it by grasping onto the confused anger he couldn't quite reach. There were too many other things in the way.

[lastonepercent]

Both the etchings and helm-pettings continued unabated as time dragged on, energy building throughout. It wasn't obvious, given the overly elaborate nature of the glyphs themselves, but the entire set of markings would eventually form a circuit around Mirage's frame; a natural conduit for energy.

They both just needed to hang in there until the ritual was completed.

Mirage kept his pain-sounds to a minimum, both because of his own, concentrated effort not to rile Cliffjumper up again - and the distraction of having a Cliffjumper to pet in the first place. It was oddly soothing, and a very good distraction from the more painful elements of the ritual.

For such a harsh, grumpy little mech, Cliffjumper's helm-armor was smooth and his dazed field contrasted well against his own. Perhaps Mirage would have to arrange something like this more often...

[cliffjumper]

Like this, Cliffjumper (perhaps luckily) completely missed the passage of time, but he'd probably be very unhappy at how his joints had locked up by the end when he finally noticed.

Cliffjumper, in turn, wasn't seeing the circuit pattern of course - all he was aware of was the pattern of both the power and the spark energy, and he wasn't trained enough, or, really, observant enough to catch that the pattern was circuitry.

As such, he didn't have much of a warning when Tracks finally finished the etchings and the glittering web of power raised through the glyphs and Mirage's chant suddenly snapped in and back, leaving a sharp vaccum.

It jangled sharply against Cliffjumper's awareness and since he had no training to get out of the trance in a more smooth and gentle way, the sudden change was enough to snap him out of it, the cycle of his vents stuttering at the disruption and Cliffjumper tried to move, flailing.

And since his joints were locked up and both stiff and not reciveing the messages to move in a synchronised fashion, the poor minibot ended up jerking sharply, half getting to his feet and then crashing to the floor, all without fully realising what he was doing.

"Wh---Wha--" Optics flickering, Cliffjumper angrily reset his vocaliser and vent cycle, putting them in neutral for a moment before turning them back on. "What the frag was that!?"

Turning around, Cliffjumper's optics were wide and bright and he felt both exhausted and strangely revitalised.

He was also very aware of his humming sensory field, replete with a warm heaviness from a long period of tactical stimulation. It was a pleasant sort of numbness that usually happened when he and Bumblebee (and sometimes Beachcomber or Cosmos) spent a joor or so in a pile.

[lastonepercent]

As the tension reached it's peak, Mirage's song grew high pitched, broken, and crackled with static. The cumulative pain was intense at it's zenith, but the charge-

When the glyphs finally formed their circuit around the priest's frame, the pent up charge settled into place with the snap of a muffled thundercrack.

The song died, leaving them in silence, and Cliffjumper reeling with the sudden change. Mirage's hand clenched on air as he writhed weakly in silence, vocalizer gone out as he experienced the culmination of one of Cybertron's sacred rituals.

Holy or not, an overload was still an overload.

He still made to reach for Cliffjumper's suddenly flailing frame to keep him from falling over, but his own reaction times were completely thrown off, and he was left weak and trembling from exhaustion and lingering pain. Tracks, not unaffected himself, placed a hand on his back to steady him.

::...you seem somewhat...sensitive. To the ritual.:: Mirage managed, dim optics perplexed by the seemingly extreme reaction.

[cliffjumper]

"Sensitive?! I ain't fraggin' sensitive!" Cliffjumper snapped, only hearing 'sensitive' and, well, taking it in a way Mirage didn't actually mean. But it was, unfortunately, the only one he thought of, or that seemed to make sense to him as he tried to make sense of the jumbled mess of memories and sensations left behind.

"'Sides, there wasn't any slaggin' thing to be sensitive towards! That was just..." Throwing his arms out, Cliffjumper gestured aimlessly and rather jerkily, growling all the while. He knew this had been a bad idea! "That was... crazy!" As good a word as any, but at the same time Cliffjumper slowly realised that the ritual hadn't just been a load of nothing, all that pain Mirage had subjected himself to not going to waste, so to speak.

It had clearly been something, but that very thought made him balk too.

[lastonepercent]

The outburst was unexpected, and Mirage reset his optics in confusion, processor fuzzy and sluggish with lingering static.

"...N-no, I'd say you were. Affected. Unexpectedly so." Mirage attempted to explain, vocalizer crackling. Behind his back, Tracks rolled his optics, ignoring the way his own wings continued to tremble.

"Clearly undeservingly so, given the unending lack of proper respect." Tracks huffed pointedly.

[cliffjumper]

Snarling fit to break his vocaliser - or at least it sounded like that - Cliffjumper crossed his arms over his chestplates and glared at Tracks. he was avoiding looking at Mirage, because the clearly wiped out, tremblingly vulnerability the mech was currently caught in made him uncomfortable.

It didn't seem right.

"If that... that thing is supposed to happen, why'd no one say so?! 'Cause I wasn't fragging expecting all the rustin' lights and---" Cliffjumper cut himself off mid-jumbled-rant, unwilling to admit, at least in front of Tracks, that he hadn't been able to move.

Further, he had no idea how to describe the state he'd just been in, and he wasn't sure he wanted to say anymore with Tracks present anyway. And if the ritual took so much out of Mirage, or affected him so much, even with the clear result, why would he do it?

Cliffjumper angled a glance at the reclining mech from under his crest, scowling and still uncomfortable. There was too many things that had just happened, and the fact that he'd just... sat there and let Mirage be in pain, even if he'd wanted it and done it for a reason, didn't feel right.

[lastonepercent]

Mirage sighed, not even bothering to shift himself into a less wrecked-looking position. He was simply too tired.

"It was supposed to happen - to me, and potentially my assistant." He gestured weakly back toward Tracks, confusion obvious across his face.

"You say saw something-"

"But you were also not supposed to be so close and in contact with the priest at the time." Tracks cut in with hiss.

[cliffjumper]

"Shut the frag up," Cliffjumper right out hissed right back at Tracks, hands flexing into fists and then relaxing a few times as he continued to speak.

"'Sides it wasn't the slaggin'..." Trailing off, his optics brightened and he shrugged, facing the reality that Mirage had petted him and he'd let him and... and that was probably as (intimately) close as he'd ever be to the mech again.

"It was the rustin' singing and there wasn't just that lightshow at the end it was longer than that!" Throwing his hands up and then crossing them over his chestplates, Cliffjumper briefly glanced up at Mirage and then glowered down at the floor again.

He didn't want to talk about this with that fragging glitch here - he'd be... somewhat more comfortable with just Mirage around. But that was probably not going to happen.

"... At least it wasn't all for nothin'," Cliffjumper muttered as his scowl at the floor deepened. It still didn't make it right in his opinion.

[lastonepercent]

"Both of you shut up." Mirage finally snapped, vents hissing with the effort it took to lift his head.

"The ritual may be done, but you have both thoroughly ruined the afterglow. You both are free to leave."

Tracks made to object, but Mirage waved a hand over his head, optics already dimming with the urge to recharge.

"Shoo. Cliffjumper, if you have questions or concerns, you can ask them or you can leave. Your obligation here has been satisfied."

[cliffjumper]

After... glow..?

The word got stuck, that, along with 'ruined' and then Cliffjumper realised that yes, Mirage did mean it exactly like that and how the slag had he missed that?!

Not that he wanted to see it! In fact, now he was just even more uncomfortable with the whole thing. He'd probably missed it because it probably happened while that lightshow had been going down...

"Wh--What?" Optics flickering, flaring even brighter than their blush-bright intensity and then fading a little, Cliffjumper shook his helm and reviewed what Mirage had said and then shook his helm sharply.

"I'm fraggin' leavin'. Can ask things later!" That was a completely flustered admission of retreat, and Cliffjumper whirled around on his feet and quickly walked away, though he carefully walked around the altar and stopped in the doorway, throwing a glance back at Mirage.

::You okay, though? I mean, all that...:: Another shake of his helm and he dipped it, glaring at the floor and stormed out of the room. If Mirage answered, it wasn't as if the comm. wouldn't reach him, and Cliffjumper mostly wanted to be sure to ask.

Even if a slagging overload would imply that Mirage was perfectly okay, yes.

[lastonepercent]

Startled by the response, Mirage almost laughed at the minibot's obvious fluster. How did he not notice? His distraction must have been...far more intense than it should have been.

Which only piqued Mirage's curiosity, but Cliffjumper was already out the door. The red mech probably caught a look of wide-optic'd confusion before he fled out of sight, the comm-ping drawing that chuckle from the priest at last.

::...I'm fine, Cliffjumper. As I hope you are as well. Do return later when you feel up to your questions.::

Amused, Mirage shooed off an apologetic Tracks, systems already falling toward recharge before he even laid his helm back down on the berth.