ROLL OUT !

Optimus surely is intimate with the concept as well as he, so no need to brow beat anyone on the subject.

" Ah, mm, " a nod of understanding. Starscream too misses many. Not as many as the former Prime might miss. His memory veers towards the visage of his trine, gone and vanished into wherever they deigned their life to take them. Unfortunately, life carried them miles away from their trine leader, suspending him in a limbo of isolation incomparable to standard loss. " It is a good thing that you can always make more and create something special now, " he said, halfway with the usual prickly sarcasm, but there was some truth there in his words.

Something else was uttered, missed by the Chancellor, forcing the slightest tilt of his helm towards one of those deep-red shoulders. " Huh? Oh, " another painted grin curled upon his lips. " Luckily those days are behind us, no? "

A skip forward, wings brushing past as they banked wide with a scheme plotting within his mind. He scanned over the plaza center for the flashing street sign to tell him where they were presently at. His cognitive mapping for this city at street level has yet to be made. " Let's be bad and indulge then. What are you thinking? Energon cakes, sweet drinks, gold flaked confectioneries... " A glimmer in the warning yellow iris-screens, " don't worry, I am ever-so generous and shall foot your bill. "

it's with no small amount of surprise that optimus raises an uncertain brow ridge the other's way. mockery would be the more expected response, teasing at the very least ( he's certainly been poked about it by friendlier faces ) . he remains a tad suspicious, but ... primus, he should have kept his mouth shut.

he cannot deny he could always go for a treat of the sort, certainly not with just admitting to that being one of the only material things he could tie himself to regarding their entire home planet ... & it could be rude to dismiss the thought outright, trying to read for starscream's sincerity.

soft clicking as his vents momentarily open further for a properly resigned exvent.

the rig is careful to make sure he will not become an immediate obstacle to fellow walkers, & briefly stops, bringing a servo forward to pull up a holo - map of the area, more - so for the seeker's benefit than any personal need. a point already pulses with a marker, some blocks distance from their location. he does wait to ensure he has the other's attention before explaining.

❛ if you're earnest ... there's a spot a few kliks from here. they have a rather good beryllium soft drink. & hardly anyone ever bothers with who's clientele. ❜ this was a rather large part of the initial appeal, the mostly - assured peace & quiet, along with the silver - flaked cakes that very few other diners have managed to get the ratio of flakes just right on. if he hadn't talked himself into it yet, that thought truly does it.

" The fact you can read them at all is impressive, but I would have to dock a few points under the assumption that what you have on your reading list are summaries and re-translations, " a beat of his wings, " fascinating, nonetheless. "

He breaks intense optic-contact, if only for a moment, to flicker over the poster once more before it travels out of their view. In another life, he would have been a beautiful Seeker with all curves and plastics like the one showcased before them. Instead of all this industry-grade bulk he was forced into at construction, denying him everything but the nature of flight. There was some speculation on how life pre-war would have been for him if he wasn't some manufactured toy before his constituents. The very same who likely still whisper and gossip aimlessly about him in the grave.

Beating his wings again, he perishes the thought.

" Would you really appreciate it, or are you giving me an automated response of interest? " he teases, trying to parse through what was actually Optimus and what was him being polite.

Memory bothers him at the honest question. The Seeker loves to act proud of his state, pretend as if he owned it when he was no more another politician in its round table of leadership, but it was never truly his own. " I miss a lot, " he replies with some uncertainty.

The people, the culture, the freedom. It has been a terribly long time that it begs to question if he actually had such liberties in the first place, or in comparison what he's endured and possessed now, the nostalgic value of his youth gleamed in comparison.

" Its beauty, mostly, " he concludes, " Iacon is dull, harsh, and brutalist compared to what Vos had to offer. Think towers to the sky in palettes of primary on whites. There would be archways everywhere and all buildings had so many balconies, they were practically like branches. "

Verbal description alone doesn't encompass what he wanted to convey. Pictures wouldn't do it any justice either. You just had to be there.

" We have Restoration Movement now, but with everyone bleary-opticed about war, it reflects heavily on the arts. I fear the Vos of my youth is a tale rather than history. " His voice tightens, lamenting the death of not only a culture, but his spirit as well. A flick of his wrist to propel useful thoughts forward.

❛ i'm sorry to hear that. ❜ regret seeps through the murmur ; another thing to mourn, another casualty of a war he was too soft to end as it was beginning. sparse imagery exists in his vosian data, matching the seeker's description, except, no, he can't imagine the tertiary sourced pixels do much justice. he understands sights best experienced personally.

the question in return gives optimus pause, wondering about that. time was he found the most fulfillment in participating in what he thought was the larger cybertronian machine working for the good of all. took pride in iacon as the shining city of the planet, central, doing work in the name of the primes he lived under. the memory of the gold has largely flaked off in the millenia since.

❛ ... much of what i cared for of iacon was dulled for me before the war broke out proper. i think i more missed things with the company of the people i knew than the things themselves. ❜ maybe that's why, in spite of his position, it was easier for him than many to abscond from their planet when the time came, to leave it to the collapse they themselves were responsible for — so long as his autobots, friend & simply ally alike, were with him.

the past tense in his words implies that such a thing has been restored, yet he finds that longing has grown larger since the dusk of war, too many people lost to either the well or to neglected bridges. that thought veers dangerously in the direction of the suggestion optimus might actually miss war - time, though, which ... no, come on, there has to be something prior to the war that he is certain he's missed, something he knows for certain could not be tainted with any nostalgia nor bitterness.

... & there is. but optimus keeps his gaze carefully forward, hovering servo returning to the one at his back, almost ... bashful. embarrassed ?? ❛ ... sweeteners. ❜ the volume is too low for the streets. a reset to raise it. ❛ i've missed the sweeteners some iaconian cafeterias have. ❜ it's not quite a culture that tugs at the very spark of a bot across star systems & eons, something grander than oneself that an identity can be crafted around ... but when it comes to cybertron itself, it's simply too corrupted a file to understand what he actually misses & what he misses the memory of.