#aguidinghand

“Rigel don’t fidget,” Manus urged from across the room, a slim glass of fuel in his servos as he signed the last document which Delta had held up for him; the other datapads snugly held under his arm. “Let her get your measurements.”

The youngling stood on a platform with his arms outstretched and glaring daggers at the Councilmech under thick brows. This was worse than being buffed every morning, as this fitting had taken all day, and Rigel had been standing there for what felt like an eternity. His tailor had been marking measurements with great care, and pulling long trains of sheer fabric from a pile that her assistant held with statuesque stillness, Rigel noted that the other mech barely even moved their optics.

“If you’re going to be presented to the Council, you’re going to look the part,” Manus added flatly, flicking the stylus back to Delta and then turning his attention back to the Primeling. “Chin up.” He tapped his own with the back of his servo as if to remind the boy which way was up.

“Why can’t I just wear whatever else I already have?” Rigel asked, jutting his chin out defiantly at the command. “I don’t need any of this anyway.”

A flat look was given to the younger mech, and Manus took a purposeful drink. “Need I remind you, that you’re the Prime, Rigel? This is an important, and ceremonial occasion.”

“I liked it better when I was just going to go to school,” he muttered under his breath. “And when Blackguard was still going--”

“Enough!” 

The command startled the two tailors in the room, the stoic assistant finally animating and clutching the fabric bolts close.

“You will not speak that name again, Rigel! She is gone! Dead to you! That life is over, I have told you this!”

“No, she’s not!” Rigel shouted back, dropping his arms to his sides and balling his fists. “You told me you’d call her! You lied to me!”

“I am keeping you safe!”

Delta and the assistants fled to the hallway, leaving the two of them to argue, though Delta stayed at the door, listening.

“This is your duty, Rigel, not wandering across the universe with a vagabond and her trivial pursuits! You’re a mech of honor, integrity, and I will craft that into you even if it kills me, boy,” Manus ground out, stalking up to the platform with an accusatory digit raised. “I have been overly patient with you. These... These outbursts and arguments; I’ve had enough. You will do as I say or I will make you do it, do you understand?”

Rigel stood his ground, field flared in a black, angry cloud that prickled with aggression. “You can’t make me do anything.”

A slow, calculated breath vented from the Councilmech at the defiant stance. Without missing a beat he raised his free servo and slapped the youngling across his facia, knocking him off the pedestal and onto the floor.

“Delta,” Manus barked. “Call the Clinic.

Errors were brushed aside with a mental swipe across his interior HUD in the control room, checks being dispersed in record time though the other parts of the ship. Consciousness came back like a wave of cold water.

“Blackguard?” A pause. “Rigel?”

One life signature was missing while the other lay in the most absolute definition of critical condition. “Blackguard?!”

Panic rocketed through the supreme with devastating force, causing the metal of his alternate mode to groan and whine with effort as he dredged up his holoavatar to inspect the mech who lay in emergency induced stasis. “Blackguard!” He called again, his voice a thunder rolling through the small room and holding back a choked sob when she didn’t respond to his touch.