Jailbirdjet

[swordofpeace]

Prison is a wonderful opportunity to think. The whole point, Wing imagined, would be to convince a mech to repent on the errors of his ways. Wing had already done that, pleading guilty to the charges.

Only to discover that the TransTechs didn't really do leniency.  Accusing an Outworlder of attacking a TransTech was bad enough. Accusing him of

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[schrodingersbot]

Perceptor had come every day to check if Wing would be released yet or not, only to be turned away, disappointed each time. This time, however, he was, at least, allowed in to visit, though the guards seemed more than a little aloof and cold to him as they led the way through the secure corridors. A quick warning that his activities would be monitored, and then, finally, he was given access to Wing's cell.

It was the first time Perceptor had ever seen Wing without the hilt of the Greatsword looming over his shoulder. Even in their apartment, Wing wore it constantly. He seemed, somehow... unfinished, without it.

"Wing?"

[swordofpeace]

Wing noticed Perceptor's gaze on the blank spot between his shoulders. Yes, he felt it too, and he's been asking himself, who was he without his Sword? Who was he if he wasn't a Knight?

He hadn't liked any answer he'd come up with so far.

"Perceptor." He schooled his face into a smile. He was glad to see him; he was glad to see anyone who looked the least bit kindly on him. "You shouldn't have come."

[schrodingersbot]

He should ask Perceptor that question.

"I'm certain that the guards here are probably in agreement with you. I posit that they finally allowed me to see you simply in the hopes that I would cease asking."

He closed the distance between them as much as he could, his optics raking over Wing's form, urgently looking for damage, evidence of mistreatment, anything amiss.

[swordofpeace]

"Perceptor. Please do not get yourself in trouble on my account." A worried crease under the rim of his helm.

He held up his hands as the other approached, indicating the force barrier that shimmered, almost invisible, between them. The last thing he wanted was for Perceptor to be injured.

"Are you well?" Nothing like a safe retreat into polite conversation.

[not_your_gun]

He should have expected that the way prisons felt on one world...

...was exactly the way they felt on every other. Axiom Nexus had the same sort of bureaucratic nonsense that his Cybertron had possessed back when he'd been a visitor to its cells, and the very presence of it angered him.

He'd been here, before.

It just...felt like he'd been here more than a few times before, because of that.

Normally the visiting hours were exceptionally narrow. Today...he came at an unusual time, paying with the currency of high grade energon for the opportunity to torment Wing.

He hoped it would be worth it.

"They ever let you out of this cell for some flight time?"

[swordofpeace]

Wing never expected visitors. He'd learned to brace himself for some verbal abuse every time a shadow crossed the front of his cell. They told him it was a luxury that he had the cell to himself.

For a social creature like Wing, it didn't feel like a luxury.

"Magnum!" He scrambled off the dented berth, flicking his wings back into alignment. It was not visiting hours, though he'd barely noticed them after the first few days. He knew it was far too late for visitors. And that told him something about Magnum's methods.

"...no. I need to be isolated from the others. For...for my crime." He hated the word, the taste of it.

[not_your_gun]

"Isolation, Wing?" He spoke, the mock-surprise easily read as he leaned easily against the edge of the cell. "No one to recite poetry to?"

Wing...didn't look as bright as he normally did. Clean-ish, yes, still up-kept, but just...dim. Either his actions or this place must have been getting to him, or both.

"Tell me they're feeding you, at least."

[swordofpeace]

He managed a wan smile. "No poetry, either." He looked around the battered cell, the paint stripping off the walls, the floor decking dented and stained. "I don't know how you managed to find any in your mines."

"Yes. We get rations twice a day." That's all he wanted to say about that. His arrived, often, tainted, or half-spilled, or soured. It didn't matter.