Iacon's Red Light District hadn't seen much changes over the course of the war. The brothels, bath houses, and tea houses were better at adapting than most would ever give them credit for. Some closed, of course, and new ones opened in their stead. No one would lie and say things hadn't seen some improvements as well as some set backs. There was much that lied in the glimmering, shaded district that most didn't want to confront. No proper mech wanted to admit they even knew about the place, let alone that they frequented it.
Still, some of the various establishments still had a respectful if not reverent reputation within the upper circles of Cybertronian society. These establishments boasted of Courtesans, not whores or escorts. The distinction may be lost on many but the difference still remained. Courtesans were respected. They could choose their customers, could choose whether or not to entertain their need for interface, and carried themselves with the same grace and expectation of any of the shimmering crystals that had once belonged in the Towers.
And among these Courtesans one particular House boasted of a Courtesan who was also a prime. A mere rumor, of course. For what Prime would choose to take up such an occupation.
And yet, Redstrike still happily made 'The House of the Golden Spark' his home and readily took on clients and customers alike. Whether the rumor of his primehood brought them in or his looks and skills, he was a popular commodity. It was said that simply sitting down with him for tea could cost the average mech three month's wages. And it would be worth it, if only to be graced with his wit and beauty.
So if a bot happened to come across the shimmering black and gold building, half buried beneath carefully maintained cyber-organic plantlife and found themselves within The House of the Golden Spark. Well, then they might just spot him from afar, drifting past in his veil, silks, and gleaming, golden accessories.
