At long last!
The femme stopped in mid-turn to stare at the young student. “I’m in the middle of rehearsal, I’ll comm whoever it is back. You know to take a message.”
The small mech shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I know, and that’s what I told him-“
She glared coldly as she crossed her willowy arms over her rather small chest. “So why are you out here interrupting me?”
“Because,” he refused to look at her cold face, “he said his name was Sunstreaker and he had priority over everyone else.”
Stardust-- one of the best-known dancers in all of Cybertron for not only her amazing skill but also her cool demeanor-- positively seethed. She glanced over her shoulder struts to the group of dancers pretending they hadn’t heard the entire conversation and stated. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
She stormed into her private prep room and locked the door. She double-checked it before answering the blinking comm that sat on her vanity table. Due to her profession, she didn’t have an internal unit like most so incoming comms wouldn’t distract her during performances. At least, that was the intent.
“I’m working Sunstreaker, I asked you not to call me when you know fragging well what I’m doing.” Her words flew out in a savage snarl, glaring darkly at the mech who could only hear her and not see her.
“You’re going to be at the studio tonight.” He pitched his voice down to a low rumble, a sure sign he felt aggravated, which didn’t surprise her at all.
Even though she knew she wouldn’t win, she fought him. “No, I’m not. I have other things to do.”
He growled, darkly. “You don’t have a show tonight, so you’re going to be at the studio.” He softened his voice, which somehow made it worse. “I made you what you are and I pay you fragging well on top of that! So get your shimmering aft to my studio!”
She cut off the connection and barely resisted the urge to throw the device against the mirror. Primus she hated him, but all the same, after rehearsal she would show up at his private studio. Just like she always did every single time he commed her.
Stardust couldn’t deny how horribly right his comments were. She had become a model for Sunstreaker back when she had just started out as a dancer. His beautiful work featuring her went up in the most influential gallery in all of Iacon the solar cycle of her first performance. With exposure to the wealthy patrons of the arts in the city, she became an overnight sensation. Without those initial pieces and the artist’s continued work featuring her, she highly doubted her popularity would have run as strong for so long based on her sheer talent alone. She now danced solely for the Iacon Prestige, the most highly regarded and superior performance hall and company on the whole of Cybertron.
She let air cycle through her intakes to help cool her heated circuits and refocused her processes in the present, making sure all the anger and frustration the golden mech instilled in her disappeared from her slender face. The femme always made sure she appeared calm and confident, like the world belonged to her alone and nothing could possibly faze her. She ran her delicate hands over her light frame, barely covered by the thinnest of plating, checking for scratches or dings. The custom dark green paint job, perfectly buffed and polished under her long fingers, threw off prisms of sparkling radiance wherever light touched it. Those points of light were the source of her stage name. Unfortunately, the name was another one of Sunstreaker’s contributions.
She quickly wiped the thought away before it had a chance to disrupt her perfect mask. Straightening her shoulders, she strode out of the room with the determination to put the artist from her mind for the rest of the cycle.
The dancer heard the voices of the other members of her troupe in excited and rapid conversation before she even reached the doors. Her mask didn’t falter when, upon throwing the stage doors open, every vocalizer silenced.
Striding to the position she held before the artist had so graciously interrupted, Stardust glared over to the mechs and femmes scrambling back into their own places. “Have a nice conversation?” she asked, her vocalizer audible venom. When her only answer was an unintelligible murmur or two, she spun gracefully and gave the entire group a murderous glare.
“Remember: you all would be nothing without me! Now get in position! If you’re going to share this stage with me, you’re going to do it right!” the green femme snapped back into her pose and nodded at the sound mech.
Just before the music flooded the hall devoid of patrons, Stardust picked up one of the femmes behind her mutter “Slagging glitch.”
She ignored the comment, she’d heard it all before, and focused solely on the sounds that filled her audios. She didn’t care about them and they didn’t care about her. It just worked that way.
~*~*~*~*~
By the time she arrived at the gallery where Sunstreaker rented his studio, the planet’s turn had taken that part of the city out of the sunlight. Deep in her processor, part of Stardust hoped the artist had already left, but knew better. If he commed her, he would wait for her to show even if it meant waiting all night. He’d done it before, after all, when he’d summoned her while she had attended a post-performance party. Exhausted from the show and over energized from the party, she had stumbled into the studio just before dawn and found Sunstreaker waiting for her still.
She punched in the access code that granted her entry after hours and slipped through the maze of dark hallways. The security mechs nodded as she went by, her appointments with the artist were often enough that they didn’t stop her or say anything to her.
The dancer couldn’t pretend that his amazing talent didn’t exist as she stepped into the brightly lit room filled with his best work. She saw herself over and over in one media or another amongst the representations of others.
“You’re late.”
She spun on her toe joints to see the golden mech sprawled on the cushioned bench set in the dead center of the room. Despite her anger and overall hatred of him, her intakes hitched as her optics took in the glorious image of him, just like they always did. Primus below, he was absolutely stunning! Sadly, he knew it and it affected his personality exponentially, making him more confident than he had any business being. She had seen him seductive and dashing when he wanted to get the attention of someone, but to her, he always let his true self show. Every time she answered his summons she wished he would use his flirtatious side, but for some reason he never did.
The femme finally spoke when she knew she had complete control of her vocalizer. “Rehearsal ran long.”
He just looked at her. The fierce energy that burned in his optics starkly contrasted with his lazy position. After a long drawn out moment, he stood and positively loomed over her. He didn’t say anything, but sneered at her before walking over to his easel where a canvas already waited. “Take off your plating.”
Shuttering her optics, she snatched at the latches of her thin chestplate and, once free, she placed it on the sofa where Sunstreaker had vacated. She bit her lip as the studio’s cold air hit the sensor nodes on her breasts making her gasp at the sudden flood of data input from the change in temperature. “How much of my plating?” she asked, her voice slightly husky as she carefully crossed her arms over her naked chest.
“All of it.” He didn’t even look at her as he sorted through tubes of paint. “I want you in the finishing pose from your last performance.”
She didn’t say anything as she finished removing the plating. Carefully positioning her feet, she extended one arm gracefully over her helm and held the other even with her waist.
Stardust stood perfectly still as the mech worked, knowing full well it could take him cycles to even get to the point where she could let herself relax. He could have simply made an image capture, but when asked why he didn’t the gold mech had snarled that he had his reasons and to shut her fragging mouth. Sunstreaker worked steadily, his optics looked at her, but the femme had the distinct feeling he didn’t see her, not as herself anyway. She became aware of his engine running, a quiet purr at first that built up to a subtle growl the longer he painted. His optics turned from calculating to hungry, darkening as they did so, and she knew everything was playing out on schedule.
“Come here,” the mech finally spoke for the first time since starting over four cycles earlier.
Letting her arms fall to her sides, she crossed the room to stand in front of the canvas. The femme in the painting looked far more beautiful that she felt she ever really appeared. Even though he hadn’t finished, Sunstreaker’s unmatched skill couldn’t have been more obvious.
The dancer felt his arms wrap around her and she knew what came next. She didn’t resist when he spun her around to face him, his beautiful face locked in his ever-present glare. He pulled her naked frame against his chest with a squeal of metal on metal, and fiercely locked his mouth on hers. His glossa invaded her mouth and she let her own tangle with his, determined to make the best of the whole situation.
The golden mech ripped away from her and dragged her roughly around the partition to the studio’s berth, marked by the various mechs and femmes he’d brought there. He shoved her onto the berth so she lay on her holding tank and she picked out streaks of her own paint job in the rainbow. She tried to guess who the other colors belonged to as she heard the thumps and clangs of Sunstreaker’s plating falling to the floor with reckless abandon.
Stardust cried out when he pounced on her back, the exposed gears pinging as they came in contact with him. He ignored her and slid his stained hands under her to squeeze the small mounds tightly as his hardware, already online and ready, brushed across her aft and sensitive circuits there, making her moan.
His heavy handling of her breasts combined with him nipping at the cables and lines in her neck and running his glossa up her spinal rod, shoulder struts, and helm had lubricant burning her mouth in record time. The only sound she let escape were the occasional moans and sighs. This always happened when she did model work for him. She hated the golden mech, but when he took her like this, it excited her more than anything and made her want him, even though his general treatment of her lacked greatly.
She panted between moans as his skillful hands kneaded her breasts harder and sunk his dental plates in her hard enough to leave indentions. Sunstreaker knew her well and knew by the pitch of her moans she was ready for him. He released one of her malleable mounds to let his golden fingers delve into her mouth, collecting the lubricant and smearing it over his hardware with a groan.
He never let Stardust put her mouth on him. Just like he never let her look at him while he had his way with her. Whenever she did try to look at him, he’d swear at her and force her helm back down onto the berth. She never could figure whether he didn’t want her looking at him or the painting of his twin that graced the wall above them. She found herself wondering if he let any of his other ‘guests’ see the beautiful painting.
The thoughts raced out of her processor when he slid into her receptive port. He took her roughly, all the finesse that his paintings reflected vanished whenever he interfaced with her. She couldn’t stop herself from crying out his name when he slammed into her particularly hard. He responded like he always did and it hurt far worse than any blow.
“Shut up!” He squeezed her breast painfully as he drove himself deeper. “Shut up you fragging doll!”
Why did she take such poisonous words from him? She shouldn’t keep coming back to him because he never changed. Then she felt his hardware twist in her, scrapping across every surface in her, filling her with ecstasy and his name escaped in a hiss through her clenched dental plates.
The mech’s words rasped through the pants of his heaving intakes. “Shut up! You’re nothing! You’re trash!” He started to say something else, but at that moment the connection snapped into place. The energy flooded them and they both screamed as their systems were overloaded.
Sunstreaker sucked in air over her shoulder, once again not looking at her. His head suddenly jerked up and with a muttered curse, climbed off the femme and berth. He slammed the essential plating back on and marched out.
Shaking and quivering, the dancer curled up and let silent tears run from her optics. She did everything in her power not to think about what had just happened. Instead, she tried to focus on the verbal exchange going on in the main part of the studio. She couldn’t make out any words, but the artist sounded heated.
After a moment, the yellow mech stormed back in to put on the rest of his plating. Once completely covered, he slapped a data card for a credit transfer onto the small table beside the berth and left again without a word. Just like he always did.
Stardust didn’t move. She just let her tears flow as her systems struggled to return to their normal levels. She jumped in surprise when a hand gently rested on her heaving shoulder. Her optics widened when she saw, not Sunstreaker, but his twin Sideswipe.
The red mech looked at her with kindness and sympathy. “I’m sorry, Nebs.”
The merchant remained one of the few who even knew her real name, Nebula Night, let alone still called her by it. She sat up and wiped her optics as she carefully covered her bare chest with one arm. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault and you shouldn’t apologize for him. I’m the only one to blame.”
“Don’t say that,” he said softly.
“Why are you always here?” She dropped her head down, staring at nothing in the corner.
“ ‘Cause I always clean up Sunny’s messes.”
Her head shot up and she gave the mech a hurt glare. “Is that all I am? One of your brother’s messes?”
He sighed and put an arm around her slender shoulders. “This whole situation is a mess, but you’re not. You know that.”
She sat there in silence and simply let Sideswipe hold her and comfort her like the golden twin couldn’t.
“Come on, let’s get your plating on.” He gently eased her off the berth and guided her to the bench. “You know he only does what he does because he thinks so much of you.”
She recalled his words when she’d cried out his name. “He has a strange way of showing it.”
The kinder of the two twins shook his head and pointed to the portrait of her directly across from where they stood next to the bench. “Nebs,” he paused, “he thinks you’re beautiful. He gets frustrated because he feels he can’t capture how beautiful you really are on canvas.”
“He called me-“ she started, but Sideswipe cut her off.
“I know, but that’s because he’s afraid you’re more gorgeous than he is.” He smiled. “I just happen to know your are.”
“His other models are just as attractive as I am.” She waved a hand at the various paintings and figures around them.
The merchant’s smile became sad. “You are the only one who always comes. Ever single model he has ever worked with, including the ones he takes home, always blow him off. You don’t, and I don’t know if I can tell you how much that means to him.”
“Where did he go?” she asked softly, slowly putting her plating back on.
The red mech pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge. “Tracks showed up at the apartment and raised the Pit when he found out Sunny was here. I’m going to hit a bar for a while until that solar storm blows over. Wanna come with me?”
Closing the last clasp on her leg plating, Stardust stood and smiled gratefully at him. “No thank you. I have rehearsal in the morning.” She walked back into the anteroom to collect the data card. When she returned, she saw Sideswipe still standing there. She let her voice drop to an uncertain whisper, “Do you think he’s right and I’m just like-“
“No.” He cut her off again and looked away. “He says those things to you because he can’t face the anger he has for himself.”
She considered his words for a moment, hearing the lie, and then began to leave the studio. “I have a performance coming up, you should come and bring that pretty little femme with you.” She didn’t get a response, but then, she hadn’t expected one. Walking out of the gallery, her confidence returned to her stride.
Do you think he’s right and I’m just like my mother? The question, brushed off by Sideswipe, remained in her processor. No one but the twins knew the truth. The truth that her mother, while alive, had serviced all of Cybertron as a pleasure doll, remained a well-guarded secret. Stardust imagined that there were noble intentions promised that lead to her mother bonding with a client. A client the dancer never knew the identity of. The only thing she knew for certain? He somehow got himself extinguished and took her mother’s spark with him.
She let the cool night air cycle through her ventilators and held her head higher. She became a dancer so she would never have to walk in her mother’s footsteps. She had changed her name and hidden her past away. She was nothing like the extinguished femme and nothing would sway her otherwise. Once again, she let the mask fall into place and presented the world with the perfect, cold dancer it knew.
The small mech shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I know, and that’s what I told him-“
She glared coldly as she crossed her willowy arms over her rather small chest. “So why are you out here interrupting me?”
“Because,” he refused to look at her cold face, “he said his name was Sunstreaker and he had priority over everyone else.”
Stardust-- one of the best-known dancers in all of Cybertron for not only her amazing skill but also her cool demeanor-- positively seethed. She glanced over her shoulder struts to the group of dancers pretending they hadn’t heard the entire conversation and stated. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
She stormed into her private prep room and locked the door. She double-checked it before answering the blinking comm that sat on her vanity table. Due to her profession, she didn’t have an internal unit like most so incoming comms wouldn’t distract her during performances. At least, that was the intent.
“I’m working Sunstreaker, I asked you not to call me when you know fragging well what I’m doing.” Her words flew out in a savage snarl, glaring darkly at the mech who could only hear her and not see her.
“You’re going to be at the studio tonight.” He pitched his voice down to a low rumble, a sure sign he felt aggravated, which didn’t surprise her at all.
Even though she knew she wouldn’t win, she fought him. “No, I’m not. I have other things to do.”
He growled, darkly. “You don’t have a show tonight, so you’re going to be at the studio.” He softened his voice, which somehow made it worse. “I made you what you are and I pay you fragging well on top of that! So get your shimmering aft to my studio!”
She cut off the connection and barely resisted the urge to throw the device against the mirror. Primus she hated him, but all the same, after rehearsal she would show up at his private studio. Just like she always did every single time he commed her.
Stardust couldn’t deny how horribly right his comments were. She had become a model for Sunstreaker back when she had just started out as a dancer. His beautiful work featuring her went up in the most influential gallery in all of Iacon the solar cycle of her first performance. With exposure to the wealthy patrons of the arts in the city, she became an overnight sensation. Without those initial pieces and the artist’s continued work featuring her, she highly doubted her popularity would have run as strong for so long based on her sheer talent alone. She now danced solely for the Iacon Prestige, the most highly regarded and superior performance hall and company on the whole of Cybertron.
She let air cycle through her intakes to help cool her heated circuits and refocused her processes in the present, making sure all the anger and frustration the golden mech instilled in her disappeared from her slender face. The femme always made sure she appeared calm and confident, like the world belonged to her alone and nothing could possibly faze her. She ran her delicate hands over her light frame, barely covered by the thinnest of plating, checking for scratches or dings. The custom dark green paint job, perfectly buffed and polished under her long fingers, threw off prisms of sparkling radiance wherever light touched it. Those points of light were the source of her stage name. Unfortunately, the name was another one of Sunstreaker’s contributions.
She quickly wiped the thought away before it had a chance to disrupt her perfect mask. Straightening her shoulders, she strode out of the room with the determination to put the artist from her mind for the rest of the cycle.
The dancer heard the voices of the other members of her troupe in excited and rapid conversation before she even reached the doors. Her mask didn’t falter when, upon throwing the stage doors open, every vocalizer silenced.
Striding to the position she held before the artist had so graciously interrupted, Stardust glared over to the mechs and femmes scrambling back into their own places. “Have a nice conversation?” she asked, her vocalizer audible venom. When her only answer was an unintelligible murmur or two, she spun gracefully and gave the entire group a murderous glare.
“Remember: you all would be nothing without me! Now get in position! If you’re going to share this stage with me, you’re going to do it right!” the green femme snapped back into her pose and nodded at the sound mech.
Just before the music flooded the hall devoid of patrons, Stardust picked up one of the femmes behind her mutter “Slagging glitch.”
She ignored the comment, she’d heard it all before, and focused solely on the sounds that filled her audios. She didn’t care about them and they didn’t care about her. It just worked that way.
~*~*~*~*~
By the time she arrived at the gallery where Sunstreaker rented his studio, the planet’s turn had taken that part of the city out of the sunlight. Deep in her processor, part of Stardust hoped the artist had already left, but knew better. If he commed her, he would wait for her to show even if it meant waiting all night. He’d done it before, after all, when he’d summoned her while she had attended a post-performance party. Exhausted from the show and over energized from the party, she had stumbled into the studio just before dawn and found Sunstreaker waiting for her still.
She punched in the access code that granted her entry after hours and slipped through the maze of dark hallways. The security mechs nodded as she went by, her appointments with the artist were often enough that they didn’t stop her or say anything to her.
The dancer couldn’t pretend that his amazing talent didn’t exist as she stepped into the brightly lit room filled with his best work. She saw herself over and over in one media or another amongst the representations of others.
“You’re late.”
She spun on her toe joints to see the golden mech sprawled on the cushioned bench set in the dead center of the room. Despite her anger and overall hatred of him, her intakes hitched as her optics took in the glorious image of him, just like they always did. Primus below, he was absolutely stunning! Sadly, he knew it and it affected his personality exponentially, making him more confident than he had any business being. She had seen him seductive and dashing when he wanted to get the attention of someone, but to her, he always let his true self show. Every time she answered his summons she wished he would use his flirtatious side, but for some reason he never did.
The femme finally spoke when she knew she had complete control of her vocalizer. “Rehearsal ran long.”
He just looked at her. The fierce energy that burned in his optics starkly contrasted with his lazy position. After a long drawn out moment, he stood and positively loomed over her. He didn’t say anything, but sneered at her before walking over to his easel where a canvas already waited. “Take off your plating.”
Shuttering her optics, she snatched at the latches of her thin chestplate and, once free, she placed it on the sofa where Sunstreaker had vacated. She bit her lip as the studio’s cold air hit the sensor nodes on her breasts making her gasp at the sudden flood of data input from the change in temperature. “How much of my plating?” she asked, her voice slightly husky as she carefully crossed her arms over her naked chest.
“All of it.” He didn’t even look at her as he sorted through tubes of paint. “I want you in the finishing pose from your last performance.”
She didn’t say anything as she finished removing the plating. Carefully positioning her feet, she extended one arm gracefully over her helm and held the other even with her waist.
Stardust stood perfectly still as the mech worked, knowing full well it could take him cycles to even get to the point where she could let herself relax. He could have simply made an image capture, but when asked why he didn’t the gold mech had snarled that he had his reasons and to shut her fragging mouth. Sunstreaker worked steadily, his optics looked at her, but the femme had the distinct feeling he didn’t see her, not as herself anyway. She became aware of his engine running, a quiet purr at first that built up to a subtle growl the longer he painted. His optics turned from calculating to hungry, darkening as they did so, and she knew everything was playing out on schedule.
“Come here,” the mech finally spoke for the first time since starting over four cycles earlier.
Letting her arms fall to her sides, she crossed the room to stand in front of the canvas. The femme in the painting looked far more beautiful that she felt she ever really appeared. Even though he hadn’t finished, Sunstreaker’s unmatched skill couldn’t have been more obvious.
The dancer felt his arms wrap around her and she knew what came next. She didn’t resist when he spun her around to face him, his beautiful face locked in his ever-present glare. He pulled her naked frame against his chest with a squeal of metal on metal, and fiercely locked his mouth on hers. His glossa invaded her mouth and she let her own tangle with his, determined to make the best of the whole situation.
The golden mech ripped away from her and dragged her roughly around the partition to the studio’s berth, marked by the various mechs and femmes he’d brought there. He shoved her onto the berth so she lay on her holding tank and she picked out streaks of her own paint job in the rainbow. She tried to guess who the other colors belonged to as she heard the thumps and clangs of Sunstreaker’s plating falling to the floor with reckless abandon.
Stardust cried out when he pounced on her back, the exposed gears pinging as they came in contact with him. He ignored her and slid his stained hands under her to squeeze the small mounds tightly as his hardware, already online and ready, brushed across her aft and sensitive circuits there, making her moan.
His heavy handling of her breasts combined with him nipping at the cables and lines in her neck and running his glossa up her spinal rod, shoulder struts, and helm had lubricant burning her mouth in record time. The only sound she let escape were the occasional moans and sighs. This always happened when she did model work for him. She hated the golden mech, but when he took her like this, it excited her more than anything and made her want him, even though his general treatment of her lacked greatly.
She panted between moans as his skillful hands kneaded her breasts harder and sunk his dental plates in her hard enough to leave indentions. Sunstreaker knew her well and knew by the pitch of her moans she was ready for him. He released one of her malleable mounds to let his golden fingers delve into her mouth, collecting the lubricant and smearing it over his hardware with a groan.
He never let Stardust put her mouth on him. Just like he never let her look at him while he had his way with her. Whenever she did try to look at him, he’d swear at her and force her helm back down onto the berth. She never could figure whether he didn’t want her looking at him or the painting of his twin that graced the wall above them. She found herself wondering if he let any of his other ‘guests’ see the beautiful painting.
The thoughts raced out of her processor when he slid into her receptive port. He took her roughly, all the finesse that his paintings reflected vanished whenever he interfaced with her. She couldn’t stop herself from crying out his name when he slammed into her particularly hard. He responded like he always did and it hurt far worse than any blow.
“Shut up!” He squeezed her breast painfully as he drove himself deeper. “Shut up you fragging doll!”
Why did she take such poisonous words from him? She shouldn’t keep coming back to him because he never changed. Then she felt his hardware twist in her, scrapping across every surface in her, filling her with ecstasy and his name escaped in a hiss through her clenched dental plates.
The mech’s words rasped through the pants of his heaving intakes. “Shut up! You’re nothing! You’re trash!” He started to say something else, but at that moment the connection snapped into place. The energy flooded them and they both screamed as their systems were overloaded.
Sunstreaker sucked in air over her shoulder, once again not looking at her. His head suddenly jerked up and with a muttered curse, climbed off the femme and berth. He slammed the essential plating back on and marched out.
Shaking and quivering, the dancer curled up and let silent tears run from her optics. She did everything in her power not to think about what had just happened. Instead, she tried to focus on the verbal exchange going on in the main part of the studio. She couldn’t make out any words, but the artist sounded heated.
After a moment, the yellow mech stormed back in to put on the rest of his plating. Once completely covered, he slapped a data card for a credit transfer onto the small table beside the berth and left again without a word. Just like he always did.
Stardust didn’t move. She just let her tears flow as her systems struggled to return to their normal levels. She jumped in surprise when a hand gently rested on her heaving shoulder. Her optics widened when she saw, not Sunstreaker, but his twin Sideswipe.
The red mech looked at her with kindness and sympathy. “I’m sorry, Nebs.”
The merchant remained one of the few who even knew her real name, Nebula Night, let alone still called her by it. She sat up and wiped her optics as she carefully covered her bare chest with one arm. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault and you shouldn’t apologize for him. I’m the only one to blame.”
“Don’t say that,” he said softly.
“Why are you always here?” She dropped her head down, staring at nothing in the corner.
“ ‘Cause I always clean up Sunny’s messes.”
Her head shot up and she gave the mech a hurt glare. “Is that all I am? One of your brother’s messes?”
He sighed and put an arm around her slender shoulders. “This whole situation is a mess, but you’re not. You know that.”
She sat there in silence and simply let Sideswipe hold her and comfort her like the golden twin couldn’t.
“Come on, let’s get your plating on.” He gently eased her off the berth and guided her to the bench. “You know he only does what he does because he thinks so much of you.”
She recalled his words when she’d cried out his name. “He has a strange way of showing it.”
The kinder of the two twins shook his head and pointed to the portrait of her directly across from where they stood next to the bench. “Nebs,” he paused, “he thinks you’re beautiful. He gets frustrated because he feels he can’t capture how beautiful you really are on canvas.”
“He called me-“ she started, but Sideswipe cut her off.
“I know, but that’s because he’s afraid you’re more gorgeous than he is.” He smiled. “I just happen to know your are.”
“His other models are just as attractive as I am.” She waved a hand at the various paintings and figures around them.
The merchant’s smile became sad. “You are the only one who always comes. Ever single model he has ever worked with, including the ones he takes home, always blow him off. You don’t, and I don’t know if I can tell you how much that means to him.”
“Where did he go?” she asked softly, slowly putting her plating back on.
The red mech pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge. “Tracks showed up at the apartment and raised the Pit when he found out Sunny was here. I’m going to hit a bar for a while until that solar storm blows over. Wanna come with me?”
Closing the last clasp on her leg plating, Stardust stood and smiled gratefully at him. “No thank you. I have rehearsal in the morning.” She walked back into the anteroom to collect the data card. When she returned, she saw Sideswipe still standing there. She let her voice drop to an uncertain whisper, “Do you think he’s right and I’m just like-“
“No.” He cut her off again and looked away. “He says those things to you because he can’t face the anger he has for himself.”
She considered his words for a moment, hearing the lie, and then began to leave the studio. “I have a performance coming up, you should come and bring that pretty little femme with you.” She didn’t get a response, but then, she hadn’t expected one. Walking out of the gallery, her confidence returned to her stride.
Do you think he’s right and I’m just like my mother? The question, brushed off by Sideswipe, remained in her processor. No one but the twins knew the truth. The truth that her mother, while alive, had serviced all of Cybertron as a pleasure doll, remained a well-guarded secret. Stardust imagined that there were noble intentions promised that lead to her mother bonding with a client. A client the dancer never knew the identity of. The only thing she knew for certain? He somehow got himself extinguished and took her mother’s spark with him.
She let the cool night air cycle through her ventilators and held her head higher. She became a dancer so she would never have to walk in her mother’s footsteps. She had changed her name and hidden her past away. She was nothing like the extinguished femme and nothing would sway her otherwise. Once again, she let the mask fall into place and presented the world with the perfect, cold dancer it knew.