The Invictus - Chapter IX
Chapter Nine
~ Age nine ~
“Thank you for taking me to the market with you, Starcatcher,” Prowl said sincerely as they cut through the village center green.
“Don’t worry about it, Prowl,” Starcatcher replied. “Does your grandfather take you to market with him?”
“He does,” Prowl confirmed. “We go every decacycle.”
“What kind of things do you get?” Starcatcher asked. He felt vaguely guilty for prying into one of his patient’s personal lives by way of his grandson, but someone had to keep tabs on stubborn ol’ Positron.
“We get energon and stuff to eat,” Prowl said with a shrug. “What do you get at market?”
Touché. Starcatcher had to give the mech youngling credit-he was either genuinely interested in Starcatcher’s market spoils, or good at deflecting questions. He decided he didn’t want to know that much. “The same,” he answered as they entered the market area.
The area, hardly a half hic in square mechanometers in ground space terms, was teeming with life and color. Composed of countless merchant stalls as wide as a mech’s armspan, the enclosed market was filled with the din of the merchants and shoppers. Colors popped, making unprepared optics ache with the sensory overload, and smells teased the olfactory sensors, beckoning to peruse the baskets of metallic powders or sample the most exotic fares from the farthest reaches of Cybertron and its territories and annexes.
Prowl gripped Starcatcher’s hand as they walked, bypassing the familiar merchant stall Grandfather typically bought energon from. He felt himself grow more and more uneasy, and more and more attached to Starcatcher, as the ventured deeper into the market. He wouldn’t say he was scared-at nine, he was beyond being scared of a crowd-he simply preferred to stick close to his companion. The stories his classmates told him-stories whispered in hushed tones that denoted seriousness and mild awe, stories of pretty mechs getting lost in a crowd and disappearing to the seediest of the seedy taverns in Kaon as entertainers and second-rate barkeeps-echoed in his audios just as much as the din of bartering and merchants hawking their wares. No, such was not the life Prowl’s nine year old CPU envisioned for him.
He continued to linger close to Starcatcher as he haggled for a parcel of platinum and looked around his surroundings, mindful not to make any Please kidnap me-type eye contact. Mechs and femmes bustled past him, not even giving the black and gold youngling a first glance. The squawk of dozens of small, colorful cyber-songbirds, caged in gilded and plain vessels for sale and display, across the path threatened to blow out his audios for all their beauty. He turned away from them and their angry squawks and jeers, focusing his audios on Starcatcher’s rather colorful, medically sound description of what exactly the platinum merchant could do with his three credits per Ioatian dram price tag.
Tuning out the callous swearing, Prowl looked at the other stalls, pausing as his eyes fell on one. His grip on Starcatcher’s hand loosened, and he was drawn to the stall as polar opposites were drawn to one another. He stopped and looked at the thing, his optics wide.
It was a plant. An organic plant-something so rare and exotic it was thought to be legendary. Prowl edged closer to the plant, almost afraid it would whip around and bite him.
The plant remained still on its dark branch. The delicate white blooms were no bigger than his thumb and emitted a sweet scent. Upon closer inspection, he noted a little yellow patch on the throat of the flower. The lines of the plant were gentle and delicate, reminiscent of a bird in flight. Prowl reached up and tapped the branch once out of curiosity for the strange thing before him.
The action, as light as it was, knocked one of the petals loose; the little white thing fluttered in the air for a moment before landing sweetly on Prowl’s wrist. The contrast of colors, the clean white against his coal black chassis, was striking and very visually appealing, like it was something that had fallen out of an artist’s sketchbook.
As delicately as he could, he plucked the petal from his armor and examined it-paper thin, first and foremost, but soft as the sigh of a spring breeze. Prowl brought it to his nose and sniffed it slightly. The petal tickled him slightly, and was indeed the source of the sweet, silver-like smell. He lifted the petal to his optics, swearing that he could see every fiber that formed it, and studied it intently.
“Think the slagger cheated me,” Starcatcher grumbled, subspacing the vials of platinum as he turned away from the stall. “Never trust a slick-talkin’ neutral, I’m tellin’ ya… Okay, Prowl, ready to-Prowl?” He scanned the area with a critical, medic’s optic-Positron was going to have his aft mounted on the wall next to his Primus shrine if he lost that youngling. “Prowl, where’d you go?”
Prowl looked away from the petal. “Here, Starcatcher!” he called, waving his free hand.
The medic quickly joined Prowl, kneeling next to the youngling. “You make a habit of running off like that with your grandpa?” he teased, giving Prowl a noogie.
“No,” Prowl giggled. He thrust the petal into Starcatcher’ face. “Check it out!”
Starcatcher reeled back to consider it the thing. “Awesome, kiddo,” he said with a smile. As smart as Prowl was, he was grateful Prowl didn’t ask about the flicker of disgust that danced over his features for a moment. Nyech. Organic.
“What is it?” Prowl whispered reverently, pointing to the white blossom.
“An organic plant,” Starcatcher answered. What was with this kid, that he was so fascinated by an organic life form?
“It’s beautiful,” Prowl announced in a hushed tone he normally reserved for temple. “What’s it called?”
“Uhhh…” Starcatcher looked down at the dusty red colored pot that contained the offensive plant. A label had been adhered to it, which he read aloud: “Or… chid.” Weird aft name for a weird aft organic thing. Fitting.
“Orhcid…” Prowl breathed, staring entranced at the white plant. “It’s a beautiful orchid.” He looked up at Starcatcher with wide, sweet optics. “Starcatcher, I want to have an orchid someday.”
“Why an or-chid, Prowl?” Starcatcher questioned. Are his circuits scrambled? “There’s all kinds of stuff you can have; why something organic?”
“It’s beautiful,” Prowl whispered reverently. “I’ve never has anything that beautiful before. Someday, I’m going to have an orchid so big… so-so big that I need a whole room for it.”
Boyhood dreams, Starcatcher wanted to dismiss. He’ll learn better one day… I think. He was a medic, not a CPU jockey. Prowl looked up at him with sweet, naïve optics, repeating his analysis of the plant’s beauty and his desire to own one someday. Oh for spark’s sake… “How much for the white plant?” he asked the merchant.
~*~*~*~
“Grandfather, look!” Prowl said, soft but eager, after Starcatcher finished tending to Positron and left for the clinic again.
Positron turned his head to see what his grandson wanted him to see. “Grandson, what do you have?” he asked. Prowl set a low, sleek pot down on the berth, on top of the covers. A dark, moist earth filled the pot, and sticking out of it was a dark branch with curious white blooms.
“It’s called orchid, Grandfather,” Prowl explained with a smile. “It’s an organic plant.”
Positron sat up a little, setting off a few unpleasant tingles of phantom pains in his legs. “Where did you find this, Grandson?” he asked, trying not to offend his grandson by recoiling from the plant.
“At market-someone was selling it real cheap and Starcatcher bought it for me,” he answered, lightly touching one of the blossoms. He scooted the pot closer to his grandfather’s face. “Smell the flowers, Grandfather!”
His intakes turned nervously-was it toxic…? Atchaaaaaa, such a frightening thought, being done in by a harmless-looking organic plant. The action seemed to mean a lot to the youngling, though, so Positron was bound to the suggestion. Hesitantly, he leaned into the plant and took a tiny sniff.
A sweet smell filled his senses, reminding him of…
“I love you, Arcana,” he whispers as her spark chamber slides shut.
“I love you, too, Positron.” She lightly fingers a few scratches of burgundy on his chestplating. “Looks like you have a few scratches to buff out tomorrow.”
“I know.” He runs the tip of his glossa along the wide scratches of hunter green on her chest panels, watching his bondmate arch and writhe in pleasure. “So do you.”
Arcana arched her hips and moaned as he teased her chestplating. Grunting lightly with satisfaction and the slight pressure her elevated hips placed on his wiring, Positron took in her scent. For a femme who was carrying, and had just overloaded, her smell was very light and sweet, like silver or gold.
“Do you like it, Grandfather?” Prowl asked, intruding in Positron’s memory.
The old mech turned his gaze away from the flowers to his grandson’s hopeful visage. “I do, Grandson,” he replied with a soft smile. “Perhaps you can leave your orchid here so both of us can enjoy it…?”
Lots of canon foreshadowing, I find a way to get Starcatcher to quit chewing up my scenery and Positron offers us a tiny glimpse into his sex life. xD (What the crap?! I swear, he keeps highjacking my scenes!)
Ah, and the flower Prowl found at the market is a pigeon orchid, scientific name Dendrobium crumenatum
- TCA