#slynox

It's been less than five cycles into the “little” family reunion, and already Granox feels staggeringly overwhelmed. Slyger said his family was big, but he was never expecting something quite on this par. The Suraiga tribe consisted of over seventy members: four times as many individuals as Granox’s original tribe in the southern savannahs. Half of those members were Slyger's immediate relatives, including his carrier and fourteen sisters... all of whom happened to be crammed into the same treehouse at the moment. Granox was terrible in tight spaces, already. Being stuck in a tiny cage was one thing. Being stuck in a small room, with fourteen femmes, in a treehouse more than a hundred feet off the ground?

Granox feels dizzy. He wonders if anyone will hold it against him if he passes out.

Slyger’s voice over the bond is soothing, but not particularly helpful. ::Oh shush, you’re fine. I’m right here, you lugnut. Just breathe... and yes I will hold it against you if you faint! I have a reputation to keep up!::

::Easy for you to say. I—I’m awful with girls.::

::They’re more like vicious harpies than girls, to be honest.::

::NOT HELPING.::

When one of the Corrupted patrols initially discovered the tribe hiding in the rainforests of northern neutral territory, Slyger nearly lost it. He had been separated from his family for over five years, and the notion that they were still alive—and free—nearly drove the mech to tears. Granox had seen the other mech cry before, but only as many times as he could count on one hand... so to see him come so close, again, was astounding in itself. Slyger was gone from the Fortress for almost a week before he came back, this time demanding Granox return to the tribe with him. Just to meet the family, he said. Because Granox was a part of his family too.

It was a surprisingly sweet gesture from the usually aloof Feline-Faunus. But being put up for display, especially in front of so many femmes, was absolutely terrifying.

Slyger's youngest sister, Kiara, purrs loudly and makes another circle around the heavyset mech. Her optics flash as she looks him up and down, tail posed and twitching with predator-keen curiosity. Granox feels as if he's been thrown into the lion's den—literally. He has a gross sinking feeling in his chest even before she finally speaks up. Her voice is a skeptical sneer. "And he's from the Burain tribe out east? Isn't he a little... small?"

Slyger's expression changes. He looks terse, maybe even a little angry. All things considered, at least one of the lions was poised and ready to defend him. "Don't be fooled. He's much stronger than he looks. I wouldn't underestimate him unless you want your backstrut snapped in half. Or your arms. Or legs. Or everything."

"Mmmm, how strong?"

"Try lifting five hundred times your own body weight and see how well that works out for you. He’s even more impressive in titan-mode.”

“Oh~?” Another femme approaches Granox from behind, and Granox can’t quite remember her name right off the top of his head. It’s not until she reaches up and feels his shoulder, and Granox feels her permanently extended claws, that the Rhino-Faunus realizes its Purra. It takes every last bit of his self-control not to flinch, or worse, swat her away. “I hope he’s not as dumb as those brutes, too. You know how... dense most savannah-swelling Faunus can be. The heatstroke and all...”

Slyger is quick to come to his defense again. Slyger always had claws in conversation, but they seem to be extended much further than usual, given the circumstances. Again, Granox is glad to at least have one of the lions on his side. “Dim? Maybe. Dense? No. Granox isn’t an idiot. And he can hear you.”

“Sorry.” Purra pulls her servos back, and Granox finally exhales. He realizes he had been holding his breath out of sheer terror. “He just hasn’t said anything.”

“Femmes make him nervous.”

“Thanks for throwing me under the blastank,” Granox mutters, and the femmes—giggle. If he wasn’t on edge before, he certainly is now. The grey mech pulses nervously through the bond wanting a quick escape, and although Slyger doesn’t give him the immediate option to bail, he pulses back comfortingly—just a little longer, Granox. The Rhino-Faunus forces himself to settle.

“Slyger?”

The femmes instantly part, and Slyger visibly relaxes. Had he always been that tense since coming into the treehouse? Maybe Slyger was just as nervous the whole time and hadn’t shown it. Granox would have probed his bondmate for answers, but there’s another new body in the room. The voice it belongs to is older: softer. Granox turns his head to the doorway of the treehouse, and he finds himself freezing up as well. Tora—and it was Tora, the tribe’s matriarch—was Slyger’s spitting image, straight down to her proportions and facemask. The resemblance is humbling as well as uncanny. She was definitely aged, armor faded and optics noticeably tired, but the air of warmth about her isn’t old at all.

“Mother.” Slyger immediately moves to her side, tail perked and practically vibrating, betraying his otherwise calm demeanor. The fact of the matter is that Slyger is overwhelmingly happy to see her. He’s purring loudly as he humps helms with her and scrapes affectionately against her side, and his carrier she does the same. “Evergloam be with you. You’re looking well.”

“Evergloam be with you, and you the same. I’m glad you made it back alright. Adonite told me about the wolfpac you and Granox ran into on the way here.”

“Mmm, the same one Granox pummeled into Oblivion? Lady Nocturnal herself wouldn’t even be able to recognize it.”

“You told me he was strong, but I wasn’t expecting...” Tora looks up at Granox and trails off, and the Rhino-Faunus feels his spark skip a rotation. After “feeling” Slyger gush about his mother through their bond, meeting her face-to-face her is almost overwhelming. She has a definite air of subdued superiority that demands respect, but that’s hardly what has Granox so awestruck. The fact that this femme was—directly—responsible for creating his bondmate is what Granox so abruptly stricken, and he can’t help but broadcast those thoughts to Slyger.

All the other femmes in the room take a step back as Torra commands the entire space, and briefly, Granox is reminded of his own sire. He regrets the thought almost immediately, though: Tora was absolutely in a position of power, yes, but she was also gentle. Something his sire never was.

The older femme slowly approaches, tail wavering curiously. Her motions towards him are cautious, unlike the way her daughters behaved. “You must be Granox. Slyger has told me a great deal about you and everything you’ve done for him. I cannot even begin to express my gratitude. You must have a great deal of patience.”

Slyger nods approvingly—then sputters mid-nod, jerking his head in his carrier’s direction. His sisters laugh at his expense. “Heeey...”

“Heheheh... well when you put it like that...” Granox shrugs, revving his engine. For the first time since being there, the Rhino-Faunus finally feels at ease. Tora’s entire presence commands respect and a sort of calmness, and Granox is thankful for it. Still, despite the lax air pulsating in the room, there’s still a sort of graveness to Tora’s words: hidden desperation in her optics. Granox knows Slyger would never tell her about his time as a slave, but the femme’s stare alone is enough to tell him that she knows. She knows Slyger was hurt, that his sense of self-worth was permanently wounded, that he’s still recovering from his time he spent in that hellhole in Kingdom City... mothers always somehow know, and it’s flashing so deeply behind her optics that Granox can see she’s hurting too. She wasn’t there for her sparkling when he needed her, but Granox was.

Granox doesn’t just have one lion on his side: now he has two.

Tora purrs, edging closer: as if testing Granox’s level of trust in her. When he doesn’t flinch away, she closes the distance between them, examining him up close. It’s not the critical kind of examination he was subjected to with Slyger’s younger sisters, though: it’s more observant than anything. Granox feels like he’s being studied, but not for any kind of flaw. “If what my son says about you is true, then you are both bonded, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“No one has called me ma’am since my forge-mate died. You may call me Tora. All my family does, and you are unmistakably family, as well. Truly.” She pauses, looking Granox thoroughly over once more. Her gaze remains soft as it trails up and down, analyzing his scraped paint, dings, scars... When she speaks up again, her voice is soft. “Your name means Guardian in Burian-Tongue. Good. I would trust no one else to keep watch over my only son. He’s a bit of a... hassle.”

“HEEEY...”

The conversation switches from Granox to Slyger, and the Rhino-Faunus is immensely glad that he’s off the chopping block. Still, he can’t help but notice Tora is still watching him, silently analytical, from a distance as the night wears on. Everything about her presence is benevolent, though. Later in the evening, when Slyger and Granox are finally alone in their own room in the treehouse, Slyger gets down from his hammock to sleep on the floor next to his bondmate. He curls up beside him, placing his servos comfortingly on his chassis. His half of the bond is particularly light and happy. “My carrier likes you. My sisters too, but especially her.”

“Good,” Granox says, and it’s a relief. “I was worried.”

Slyger rolls his optics, palming his shoulders and pushing him onto his back. He rolls on top of him and straddles his hips. Granox can feel his tail twitching teasingly against his thigh, but in all honestly, the weight of his mate on top of him is more comforting than anything. “Please. She adored you from the first second I brought you up in conversation.”

“The... uh, homosexual part wasn’t an issue?”

“It was never an issue. Jagron was the only one who made a fuss when I first left the tribe years ago.”

“Who?”

"Jagron," Slyger says, looking at Granox. He doesn’t act interested in the conversation, but his tone of voice betrays what he’s really feeling. His voice turns slightly quieter: not enough for anyone else to pick up, but Granox knows Slyger better than anyone. "My sire. He's gone. He fell out of a damn tree and had a spark attack on the way down, if you can believe it. He was dead before he even hit the ground."

Granox flinches. "Oh. Sorry."

"No need--he wouldn't have approved anyways. He was the overwhelmingly, erm, hyper-masculine type." Slyger shrugs, but whether he’s legitimately shrugging it off or trying to do so is debatable. Granox can’t read the bond suddenly, as if Slyger is trying to block him out. "He's probably rolling in his grave as is: his only son, bonded to a mech Rhino-Faunus. Imagine my audacity."

The grey mech can't help but chuckle. He nudges the smaller mech, briefly touching his hand. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Me either. So long as my mother and sisters like you, you’re in the clear. Now come on, I want to get to sleep so tomorrow morning see how badly you can spook my nieces when you rev your engine. There's nothing more entertaining than mindlessly scaring newborn sparklings and watching them scatter."

"Aaaand this is why we are never going to be able to have sparklings."

“Mmmm, that won’t stop us from trying. Well. At least half-heartedly. The interfacing part still stands, at least. Speaking of which...” Slyger taps Granox’s chest. “I had to listen to Nala and her mate interfacing the last time I was here. I need to return the favor. Besides, you can’t be an official tribe-member unless you’ve fragged in a tree at least once.”

::Unbelievable.:: Granox’s chassis is already pulling back, exposing his spark. “Smooth.” 

“Believe it~”

It’s the one race circumstance where Granox doesn’t mind being thrown to the lions—at least his.