His entire self was phasing through the building. He was rather large, and could only fit his upper half through the floor. It was kind of sad to see her go about her life- without him. And he did wonder how she was dealing with the grief. If there was any at all.
At least she could quit her gross retail job. And he thought he should’ve done this sooner rather than threaten to kill her boss.
He didn’t need to sleep in this state- being a superposition between life and dead kind of took the need to refuel and recharge entirely. If he wasn’t on Cybertron, he would be here on earth- observing her.
Starscream has tried to move the datapad- but other than managing a few inches. Nothing he touched would budge. When she finally awakened, he perked up and followed her around the home.
“I wish you could hear me. If only you knew how horrible it is to watch you go about this… and technically, I am still alive.”
He attempted to poke her head with one of his digits, only to have it phase out of her. She would feel a freezing temperature aimed at her hair.
Her feet carried her to the kitchen, hands absentmindedly grabbing a mug and the same cheap coffee brand she’d grown used to drinking (old habits die hard). A sudden gust of icy-cold air hit the side of Sanna’s hair, making a shiver go down her spine, her body rooting itself into the ground.
Were it her old place, with rickety windows and ventilation that called for vengeance from the heavens, the woman would have jotted it down as a mere coincidence, something unworthy to bother herself with. But the apartment was in good condition — she made sure of that, considering just how much she had to pay for it — and the breeze– Didn’t feel like a breeze. There was no gust, not a lock on her head has moved, and, worse yet, there was… The presence; a certain feeling Sanna got whenever someone watched her or stood a bit too close, of not being alone.
It wasn’t the first time this happened, either.
An old memory came to her mind, of her grandmother telling her a story, years and years back, when she was but a small kid; a story of death, her grandfather, and a presence that lingered. An old wives’ tale, a superstition.
Or– The apartment was heaps better than her old one, yes — it wasn’t new, though. Renovated. She didn’t look too much into its history.
Trembling, Sanna put down the mug and the coffee, pulling out her phone instead. It wouldn’t hurt to try and look into it; and perhaps google the contacts to nearby psychics as well. Just in case.
Day 1: Angband, Utumno, & Tol-in-Gaurhoth | beautiful and yet horrible of shape |captives and thralls& Day 6: Nan Dungortheb & the Paths of the Dead |phantoms of terror|webs and snares, a mix of prompts from @tolkienhorrorweek
𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖊𝖉, a spider’s web that clings it never leaves
….only for me to realize that these prompts are for writing 🤡
ah well, i’m not immune to being blindsided by the horny — feel free to ignore it (since i’m not sure if this applies within the confines of the event?) but i did want to shout out what got me inspired
“Do I need to give you a pep-talk everyday and make sure you take proper care of yourself? I’m sure you would love to have a giant alien bot yelling at you like a drill sergeant.” He teased with a bit of a smirk, glancing down from the corner of his optics. He was certainly acting cheeky.
He rose an eyeridge as she spoke of her nickname. “That’s how I always called you. But if you want me to call you Sanna, I can certainly adjust to that request.” He offered a genuine smile. He knew how important certain identity requests can be for humans.
The gesture was appreciated, even if he barely felt the little pat in his palm. She was so minuscule in compare to his massive self. “It’s to a point where I’d lose everything if I revealed everything to my people.” It was that bad. “It’s true. But I’m wondering if it was all worth it, let’s say I’m conflicted about all the terrible things I have done. And thinking about simply confessing to it all… I would surely be taken away for my crimes. Funny enough, I was the less corrupted ruler Cybertron has ever had, despite my flaws.”
And that was something good, he supposed.
“Only when I spent too much time in rust storms. It would get in my intakes and corrupt from the inside. We had to be careful during the war because resources were limited. But I was one of the major commanders, so they gave me good maintenance for the most part, under Megatron’s orders of course.”
“It would certainly be– Motivational to say the least,” she chuckled at the idea, head shaking at the sheer absurdity of it. “But I have an inkling my neighbours would not be too happy about the noise.” Then again, if she were in their shoes and saw a giant robot making said ruckus– She’d have kept mum about it.
“I- It’s not that I dislike it, or dislike you calling me like so,” she paused, shoulders rising in a small shrug before her nails started to pick at the ends of her scarf; teeth digging into her plush lip, the woman remained silent as she chewed on it, trying to find the right words. “But I don’t think it suits me well anymore– I don’t know. If it’s not a bother, I suppose.” A part of her felt sad about letting it go, but such it was when it came to the passage of time. “What about you? Is being called ‘Star’ still fine with you, or–?” She chanced a glance up at him, or a part of his face that she was able to see at least.
“Mhm… It seems a tough spot you found yourself at– But perhaps you can find redemption by trying to be the ruler that the people deserve? It won’t erase your past, but it can shape your future still — and while good deeds do not erase the bad ones, nor do your crimes diminish the positive change you have done and can do.” There was little she could offer him other than advice and an sympathetic ear to listen. “If it’s been eating away at you, and you think confessing would help– You could tell me?”
Sanna nodded alongside his explanation, with a pensive look on her face — frankly it sounded rather terrible, rusting away from the inside, and selfishly, she was glad that the position he was in allowed for the right treatment. “I only ever had to de-rust my appliances and just on the outside — can only guess how much harder it’d be to clean your– Insides.”
A part of her hoped it was sleep-deprivation or stress. The other possibility sent a shiver down her spine and made her feel as if a heavy rock settled deep in her stomach. The apartment, her new (not anymore, and yet it was, so different from her old one) apartment was bought with The Money, and she hated the idea of finding another place, much less selling it.
How could she when–
But things kept moving. Things that weren’t supposed to move —a gust of wind wouldn’t have moved the datapad size of a TV that she refused to keep anywhere aside from her bedroom (it hurt, and it soothed to know some of its contents), and yet here it was. A good few inches away from its spot.
Coffee.
She needed coffee. Perhaps the season was getting to her, the dreary autumnal weather and the grim holiday on the horizon.
Bolgan allows the Imp to finish speaking before he finally replies, his voice calm and without pretense. “I was not threatening you, merely stating facts so that we both understand what this exchange relates to,” he dismisses the barkeep with a wave of the hand, not planning to stay long enough to enjoy a drink. We are both adults, I would hope you would not want me to baby your ego regardless of the intention of my words, he wants to say, but decides against it. He needs Jerani in an agreeable mood. “Everyone can always use a little more money,” Bolgan starts, getting comfortable in his seat. “What is your opinion on those who accept credits under the table in exchange for favors? Is it corruption? Or is it simply innovation? Finding ways, no matter the potential connotations, to make a better living.”
Although it is advantageous, when others assume she can read minds as if they were an open-access memory chip, in truth, it’s more akin to skimming through a datapad or peering into a milky window. The meat of one’s thoughts is there, less so the details; concepts coated in feelings. And the pyke? Bleeds with unspoken irritation at the prospect of having to coddle her. The need to peck back at an insult — regardless that it was thrown in his head only — rises, sharp claws scraping against the glass.
No. No, he needn’t know.
Not yet.
The avis’ posture relaxes as she puts on the mask of a cautious though greedy imperial; lips pursing into a slight pout, eyes sparkling with hunger. There won’t be an apology, but she will offer an explanation.
“Don’t blame me for being wary. It wouldn’t be the first one I’ve received,” her voice is haughty still, even if lacking in hostility, body leaning forward — a play at being lured in by the prospect of credits.
“Mmm, I think of them as business savvy. Finding opportunities where others see none, too blinded by laws and regulations. But—” a pause, long and heavy, her eyes narrowing, “–such a way of living is a double-edged dagger. And I don’t intend to find myself impaled on the blade simply because I took my chances with the wrong associate.”
The seeker resisted the urge to gave her by the scruff of her coat. He wasn’t exactly the most patient person in the universe. yet- he waited. “Isn’t it necessary as you humans age? Lack of mobility sounds like it might be the culprit.” He teased. “Exercise, Saku.”
When she finally made it to the palm of his servo, he lifted her up gently and then began to carefully make his way to the grass field.
“Unfortunate. The future belongs to those willing to make sacrifices. This includes committing murder or war crimes.” He carried himself with pride when he said this. “Though I’m trying not to resolve to it anymore. Emphasis on trying?” A light chuckle left him.
Once they arrived, Starscream did his best to sit down without making her wobble too much. And kept his hand as flat as he could, and close to the glass of his cockpit. ‘There we are.“
He pressed his lips in a thin like when she pointed out his inner turmoil. "Well- when you’ve spent your entire life trying to survive… and doing bad things to achieve that? It’s hard to let that go, you know? I relapse sometimes, to the chagrin of some of my 'friends’.” Whatever happened to him, it humbled him- a lot.
“It’s the worst. Besides rust- which is just as bad. Deep cleaning this is practically impossible.”
“It is, yes, most likely.” A begrudging admission; beneath the veneer of his teasing lied a clear care, and she couldn’t bring herself to feel cross with him over words that, by all accounts, held nothing but truth. “And, hah, easier said than done,” huffed the short woman, swatting away a few strands of her short hair from her face. “I try to, I do, it’s just— ” Time. Money. Energy. Motivation. “–difficult.”
Remembering just how unsteady she felt while carried, even back those years ago, she made the wise decision to sit down, comfortably; worst case scenario, she’d look entirely graceless while getting up which sure beat falling down. “Saku, hah? Haven’t heard that one in a while.. Most of my coworkers call me Sanna —Sakura Anna is a bit of a mouthful,” there was a certain note of melancholy to her voice. “Not that I mislike it.”
“Eh, I have what, maybe 50 more years ahead of me? I’ll leave the future to you, Star,” and she meant it too. He wasn’t without a fault, but– Something told her that she could trust him. He was trying, and she had an inkling he’d succeed when it mattered.
She patted his enormous hand with her own, tiny one in a way of reassurance, the woman’s expression that of an understanding. “I get it, old habits die hard. We are the sum of what we’ve lived thru and what we were before- Sometimes progress looks like taking two steps back.” She knew of it herself, though not to the same extent and the same way as he did. Nonetheless, she walked that path of trial-and-error; even if the relapse was usually to the charging of nobody else but her future herself. “It’s not just the moments of weaknesses that shape us, but moments of strengths too.”
Cranking her head up to look at him, she scrutinized him for a second or two. “I do wonder — have you ever gotten rusty? Are you speaking from experience on this?”
When natural investigative talent and the resources of the Pyke Syndicate unite, Bolgan Salak’s ability to find anyone is unmatched. Trying to maximize profits in an economic system where efficiency is rewarded, the syndicate seeks not only faster routes through the galaxy but also discretion in the matter of moving its highly-illicit spice. This is where bribing Imperial customs agents come in. The employee shift logs from the new Imperial checkpoints along the Triellus Trade Route tells him that Mey'lethe Jerani is the agent he wants to talk to. The Pyke is almost shocked to step into this hole-in-the-wall knowing his Imperial target is here, and even still to find her without a security detail. She’s made this job easy for him. Bolgan sits in one of the booths by himself, playing the part of a patron minding his own business. In truth, he is watching her and every person that steps through that door. Someone visits her–perhaps a lover–and when the man leaves and Jerani prepares to as well, Bolgan stands from his seat to finally make his move. The spice smuggler sits at the bar beside her. "Stay where you are,“ he discreetly says, hoping the words will stun her into attentive silence. "You have been stationed at the new checkpoints opened along the Triellus Route,” he states matter-of-factly. “This affects Pyke business, as I am sure you are aware. My boss does not want to pay the toll that the Empire asks for.”
Although the meeting has come to an end, her work is far from done. The chip is, no doubt, encrypted, and it will fall onto her feather-clad shoulders to break the code; there are quite a few ciphers the ISB informers are required to use, but it is simply smarter not to provide one in a case of a breach.
And then there’s a report to be written and superiors to relay the information to.. Well, at least she can work on the latter over a glass of–
Between their ears and their telepathy, it’s hard to pounce on one of her kind; even with the headscarf on Mey'lethe hears the pyke before he makes himself present, a rustle of a fabric that holds more purpose than a mere trip to the bar. And then, there’s the intent to trap, to cage, causing her psychic field to ripple like a puddle in the rain. The avis doesn’t even flinch at being accosted so, albeit her feathers do ruffle in apprehension at his words.
Smuggler scum.
“Any formal complaints can be filed at a local Imperial Office of Trade. You may run along, that way, I’m sure they’ll be happy to help,” she waves her hand in the general direction of the doors, as if in dismissal, deigning him with a withering gaze.
“Now, presuming you wish to discuss matters in a less– Official manner, I suggest you drop the thinly veiled threats.” A part of her does wish to leave, both to make a statement and to finally depart from this dingy hovel. Unfortunately for herself, Mey'lethe has rarely resisted an opportunity to dig her claws into an unsuspecting prey; there’s no such thing as having too many sources, and thus she stays, idly tracing the edge of her glass. “It’s scarcely a secret where I work. If you were hoping to intimidate me with such basic information… Frankly, I feel offended, deeply unimpressed, and quite certain you must be a rather insignificant bug in the Syndicate’s hive.” Otherwise, she’d have recognized him from the files.
“The gesture is always appreciated, but you shouldn’t do something that would harm you. It’s counterproductive.” He sneered, clearly displeased with the notion.
“Uh-uh.” He seemed skeptical about the whole dignity ordeal. “Well- I rather you do not do anything that would harm you, especially on my expense. Being the lord of Cybertron doesn’t award the pain and suffering of my friends.” There he said it.
“No. I will not act fooled. And I am a good actor, but I refuse to pretend that you getting hurt is something adequate. Cease this tomfoolery and go sit down already.”
It was clear by the way he spoke that she’d struck a nerve. “Star, I get where you’re coming from, and I do appreciate it, but you also have to accept the frailty of humans. You know how else I could get hurt? By sleeping the wrong way.” Something in her expression turned equal parts soft and serious.
“You’d have to lock me up in a gilded cage to protect me from every harm, and even then, I may just keel over,” she sighed, rubbing at her face. Weary. “I promise I will try not to get hurt on purpose, especially not on your behalf, okay?”
A pause, though she did sit down as he asked. “But you have to understand that neither do I want to live in a paranoia over a bit of ache. I’ve known pain, one way or another, most of my life; at this point, it may as well be an old companion of mine.”
He squinted his optics at her. “It is a sign of respect for us too. But you did say your knees were giving you trouble and I can’t imagine this is comfortable.” The lord pointed out.
“Tch.” He could see her fall back down after attempting to get up. Starscream held a digit to aid her to stand. “You’re not fooling me.”
“A woman can try, can she not?” and be abysmal at it. “I was hoping to keep my dignity intact, alas, my knees have betrayed me terribly and my friend saw right thru my rouse,” she jokes, a bit self-deprecating, and accepts his help.
“Could you try to act fooled next time, though? There’s no saving my poor lying skills, but I know you to be a good actor, Star.”
He nodded as she went for her coat, and waited for her to come out. He gave a hum when she told him to lead the way- he was a bit afraid he might crush her. So he leaned down and held out his hand for Saku to climb in. Luckily, he was made of living metal- which was warm to the touch.
“I would’ve come close second.” He said, regarding Megatron having been targeted by humans, not that he would’ve enjoyed it, but having been the second in command, he would’ve been an important target as well.
“Tsk- immediate contract termination. As if your manager would have a choice in the matter, either he gives you a raise or his life would be forfeit. And I can make it look like an accident.” It was very obvious that he was an alien that waged a war for a very very long time. Violence was usually the answer for Starscream.
“See, you earthlings get it! But I’m trying to… what do your people say. Turn on a new leaf and abandon some of my old habits…” Which was a rather… difficult task.
“I’ve been in the desert. And I do hate Sand. It gets in your every crevices and joints. And vents too. It’s horrid. I have to turn off my intakes when I traverse one.” He sounded annoyed at the memory.
God, his silent gesture sure stirred up some old memories! It’s been a while since the woman had an opportunity to climb into a giant robot’s hand, carried like a doll, and it showed, as did her age; she could have sworn it didn’t use to be as hard. Nonetheless, she made it on, only with a few huffs and puffs and a few droplets of sweat upon her brow. “Jezus Maria… I should start working out, perhaps,” she muttered, more to herself than Starscream. At least the effort was worth it, as her metal companion was nicely warm against the chilling breeze.
“All the more glad it wasn’t you..” Right, sometimes it was all too easy to forget where he came from. And frankly, she liked it that way, no matter if it made her a worse person.
“I appreciate the- Assassination offer? But it’d weigh on my conscience, I’m afraid, too much for me to take you up on it,” perhaps she was being a bit blasé about his readiness to kill a man over something so trivial, but- As morbid as it sounded, she’s grown accustomed to that oddly comforting air of violence about him. Maybe it was because scarcely ever anyone had ever been in her corner, or because her fondness for him clouded her vision, but hey, let one who is without fault be the first to cast a stone or something.
A paragon of morality she was not, though her own lay most certainly above his (not that it was a particularly high threshold to hit).
“I have an inklink you’ve been struggling with that,” considering his offer? Yeah, ‘struggling alright’. “Still, the fact you want to try already means something. Many people don’t even get to this point."
A groan of understanding slipped past her lips, expression souring at the very idea of sand everywhere. "We are of the same mind, then. Be glad you have no idea how terribly sand loooves to cling to sweaty skin. You try to wipe it off? It just migrates to your palm!”
Even with a fashionable scarf wrapped around her head covering the most distinguishable part of herself — at least one that remains whole, instead of an old scar, skin pink and raised — Mey'lethe cannot escape the ever-present noise. Tis a boon, naturally, in her work, her real work, to possess such excellent hearing, able to pinpoint even the faintest of conversations across the room with enough focus; but amidst the crowded bar it can be– As distracting as it is helpful. And the silky cloth may as well not be there at all.
Except it is.
Except it must be.
With avis continuing to be an uncommon sight outside of Faa Phlumos, rarer still within the Empire’s ranks, she’ll be sticking out like a sore thumb without it. Of course, not all of her features can be tucked away quite like her ears — but it doesn’t hurt to wear a long-sleeved dress and keep the bottom set of her eyes closed, making her appear more like an ayrou or alcedian.
She’s not in this seedy shithole for pleasure, even if her appearances — a coquettish smile, a glass of junipera and a “date” (an informant keeping an eye on one of the smaller rebel cells in the sector) — may indicate otherwise. Thankfully, the arranged rendezvous ends sooner than later, the micro-chip safely tucked into her pocket, her supposedly now-ex-lover storming off in quite a convincing way.
