Finishline

( Wait a klik! Is this the tiny little Finishline that I left behind to go on a wild adventure with the Wreckers? No way. You sound so different! )

  Hide laughed, awkward, and rubbed a servo against the back of his neck. Alright, the joke idea worked a bit too well, it seemed. His gaze dropped to the table as he struggled to find decent words. 

     “I, uh… didn’t expect ya ta take tha’so seriously…”  His digits drummed softly against his neck, needing something to do in their nervous state. “Sorry, gonna have ta let ya down there. I jus’, don’t know ya well ‘nough…”

  And now he felt a bit bad. Mostly awkward, but still. 

     His smile widened & a quiet chuckle passed over his lips; it was almost adorable how vastly different this Autobot was compared his. His EMF fluttered outward and gave a reassuring and warm, even somewhat playful, brush against Ironhide’s. Then it retreated as Finishline pulled back against his seat to return to nursing his drink.

     “You’re kind of cute when you’re nervous and embarrassed,” he teased with amber optics bright with humor. “But I think I’ll stop before your spark goes into meltdown mode.”

     “It’s uh… I was stupid. Gonna leave it at that. You don’ need to worry ‘bout the gruesome details of war.” 

  The old veteran turned his gaze towards the table, suddenly wishing he had a better filter on his mouth. He’d never been very good at that. Keeping quiet. One would think, after a life as long as his, he would figure it out. 

     “So… I’m almost your type, huh? What, like the younger models or somethin’? They may be prettier to look at, but I doubt that makes up for experience, huh.”

  When it doubt, make some jokes. Seemed to work well enough for most part in situations like these. 

    “I don’t mind.” The details of war were not something anyone wanted to talk about, but the statement was there--just in case Ironhide needed someone to speak with. Though the seriousness of it all fell at Ironhide’s joke.

    “Age is but a number,” he purred, leaning against the table. A delicate servo reached across, slender digits brushing over Ironhide’s, then he pulled back. Just within reach but no longer touching. “You are quite pretty to look at, you know. With a bit of polish, I wouldn’t be the only Velocitronian looking your way.”

     “Handsome? Might wanna get yer optics checked on that one kid, I’m not good lookin’ in the slightest. Haven’t been in a long time. Some of us jus’ don’t age pretty.” He chuckled, ignoring the smile that tugged further at his lips. 

     “If I ain’t from Cybertron, I sure wish someone had told me the truth ‘long time ago. My earliest memories are in Praxys, the city, not the region, causin’ mayhem with the other younglin’s my age. Used to agitate the slag outta the temple workers; would hide random stuff ‘round the buildin’, sneak in ‘n’ jus’ convince the priests they were cursed.”

  He shook his helm, fully aware of how off topic he was getting. Should probably reign that in, Ironhide. The kid surely doesn’t care about stupid stuff like that.

     “I like it was my accent that gave it ‘way to ya. Ain’t like my frame stands out among the rest of y’all. I’d, uh… I’d wink to show I’m playin’ here, but… one optic.”

  There was an awkward gesture towards the patch covering what remained of his right optic.

     Finishline smiled politely as the older mech spoke of his youth, nearly hanging onto every word. He’d always been eager to learn & it always seemed like the older models had the best tales to tell. He didn’t always understand them but he always recorded them away in his processor for later.

    “Handsome & mischevious? You almost sound like my type,” he spoke lightly, chuckling under the words. “Though of course, it would be your accent. Archon has many mechas of your frame type. I’m sure other colonies do...”

    His optics had just now settled on the patch, & for a brief moment, horror darkens his expression. He recovered, & without reaching out to touch or give comfort, quickly & shifted in his seat.

     “Thanks, kid. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”  If he was going to tell the truth, he rather preferred sweeter flavors. He went to take a sip, optic widening slightly as the young mech exclaimed all of a sudden. 

  Oh, yeah. Introducing one’s self is a thing normal people do when meeting someone new. That’s right. He sat the drink down and accepted the greeting.

     “ Seems like everyone ‘round here’s got a name relatin’ to speed or racin’, huh. Nice to meetcha, kid. You can call me Ironhide. Or just Hide. But not Iron, that sounds kinda silly.”

    “It’s a culture thing,” he chuckled & gave the servo a shake, then withdrew his servo. “Nonetheless, I’m pleased to meet you Ironhide. As I said outside, it isn’t often we meet handsome sorts from other worlds.”

    He narrowed his optics pleasantly, taking his own drink & sipping quietly. “You are from Cybertron, aren’t you? You don’t have any of the colonies’ accents. It’s very unique. I always liked it, particularly when they try to speak Velocitronian.” His optics dimmed & the drink was lowered to the table.

     “Well, you an’ I are complete opposites there, then. Never been here ‘fore. It’s pretty nice. If it weren’t for all the people, that is. Didn’t ever care much for crowds. Not enough space.”

  He slid into the booth, enjoying the break from the bustle and clutter outside.  “Know if they’ve got anythin’ light here? Don’ feel like havin’ a hangover when I start fixin’ my ship up.”

  Ironhide offered a small smile, more than slightly amused by the other’s seemingly endless energy. Certainly helped ease his worries somehow. Surely someone that would pose a threat wouldn’t be this giddy. 

                                                                                             …

                                                                                                 Right?

    “Most feel that way but I can’t help thinking it must be lonely on the other planets. It’s never lonely here.” Which was a lie. Finishline always felt lonely on Velocitron, unless there was a new face, like this stranger.

    He nodded enthusiastically before speeding off to retrieve the drinks from the bar. It wouldn’t take him long, the bartender looking more frustrated with the younger mecha than anything else, but when he returned to the booth with the drinks, he seemed unfazed. 

    “Here, there’s no Cybertronian translation for it yet but it’ll give you energy for ship repairs later & no hangover!” He placed the glowing purple drink down in front of Ironhide, sliding into a seat across from him. “It’s a bit on the sweet side though. I hope you don’t mind. If you don’t like it, we can try something else.”

  Tilting his helm, Hide cast the speedster nervous look up and down, visibly a bit suspicious of the offer. He didn’t seem like much of a threat, but… ah, what the pit, he could handle himself if this went south. 

     “…sure, why not. Better than riskin’ gettin’ run over or somethin’.” He gestured for the velocitronian to lead the way. 

  An attempt was made to try and ignore the EM at first, but the old soldier couldn’t help but retract his own field. The war had certainly taken it’s toll on him, made him all the more jumpy, nervous, wary. As much as he may try, sometimes it was simply too difficult to stop himself at times.

     “I guess you know this place pretty well, huh?” Ironhide muttered, trying to move the conversation along.

    “Excellent!” Any sense of sneakiness was gone, the poor speedster was just excited to have the old soldier in agreement. He quickly led him to the door and opened it, ushering him inside with a dopiest smile imaginable. 

    “I do,” he answered the non-question. “I was created here. A couple hundred years ago, I suppose. Give or take. It’s the only place I’ve ever called home.” He didn’t expect anyone to feel the same about the fast-moving planet but Finishline knew nothing else. He’d never been to Cybertron, not like Blurr & Fasttrack. 

  One of the finials placed on the side of his helm rotated ever so slightly, as if pinpointing a sound, and the old soldier turned towards the voice. His digits toyed with the cygar he’d removed from its casing momentarily as he took a moment to get a good look at the stranger with his remaining optic. 

     “Hey,”  Ironhide raised an optic ridge, intrigued by the sudden approach. “Wouldn’t really classify myself as lost. An’ I certainly ain’t got any friends ‘round here. Had to land my ship ‘fore it got critically damaged. ‘Preciate the offer, but I don’ really need the help, kid.”

  It was a bit bizarre, having someone just walk up to him like that. Most other cybertronians would’ve carried on and ignored him. He’d never been to Velocitron before, but, obviously, people seemed to be at least a bit nicer here. Unless he’d managed to find the one exception.

     “Really I’m jus’ kinda waitin’ to see if the crowd goes down any. Too many people here.”

    The green speedster smiled gently & tilted his helm towards the bar behind him. “It does get a little busy before a race, & can be hectic for those not used to us.” His voice was kind and a servo lifted, thumb pointing over his shoulder.

    “It won’t clear up for a bit longer, I’m afraid. But the bar is quiet & there shouldn’t be many people.” His offer of this information was both for the stranger & himself. A warrior, on Velocitron--he couldn’t even begin to imagine the stories he might get to hear.