Half in disguise

AR: Totally not a selfie. Like we actually didn't take it but uhhh

DE: The account’s called half in disguise because you are incredibly obvious, while I don’t even show my insignia.

Image ID: A mech labelled as Senatorial defectors fleeing their collapsing society looks at two mechs, one of whom is talking and labelled as the autobots, a faction freshly split from the decepticons. The Autobot says to the second mech, "You are my dearest friend, but we cannot continue like this. The people must be represented as a whole-". The senatorial defector, unaware of the conversation, says, "Wow! A new faction fighting the decepticons!"

The second mech, now clarified to be the Decepticons, currently in a ceasefire with the autobots, agrees with the Autobot but argues that, "now that the senate is out of power, we can surely debate these points without the need for violence." The Senatorial defector smiles and says, "I think I will join them and continue to fight the decepticons. This will surely have no lasting repercussions!" They completely miss the point about the two factions trying to end the war. End Image ID.

Image ID: A digital drawing depicting Mortilus Prime meeting a newly deceased cybertronian. The cybertronian is shown breaking out of its compressed, rocky old frame and baring its spark to Mortilus. Mortilus is shown dancing, her cape and skirt waving with her movement. Her spark is bared as well. End image ID

Older art usually depicted her in mourning. Bent over a smeltery, walking to the well with a bared spark, even art of her with the other thirteen shows her crying.

More recent art bucks this trend entirely. Functionalist art early in the war depicted her in a cruel and sadistic dance atop the corpses of mechs.

Non-conformists such as the Decepticons, in this period of heavy irony, depict her dancing atop of mass-produced frames with those frames’ bared sparks. Something to note is that Mortilus, at this time, was never depicted with the cape and skirt.

The cape and skirt only showed up late in the war, after the exodus from Cybertron. At this time Mortilus was also depicted dancing more sincerely, with the deceased choosing to dance with her.

“Hey, Jazz? I have a question,” Chip asks as he comes to a stop at the couch. 

Jazz drops the datapad onto the couch and rests his chin against his hand instead, giving Chip his full attention, “And I should have an answer! What’s up?” He replies, smiling.

“It may be a translation issue. Everyone here calls you the ‘Head of Special Operations’ but I was looking through the chain of command that’s listed on Teletran yesterday, and I noticed that that’s not what your rank translated to there?”

Jazz chuckles at this, but glances away, “Yeah, Teletran ain’t exactly great at translating-“

“I translated it myself.” Chip interrupts. 

“Ah.” Jazz says, making a face, “well, what did ya translate it to?” 

“‘Polyhexian Allyship Director’. I know you’re from Polyhex, but I was wondering what the ‘Allyship Director’ bit means?” Jazz hesitates for a long moment. He moves to pick up the datapad again. Chip glances at this, then starts again. “How does it change to Head of Special Operations?”

Jazz hesitates for another moment. He takes a breath then explains, “It doesn’t, really. I guess… back in the early days of the war, Polyhex was real cut off from the other city-states. So when the Senate started overstepping, we didn’t have the option of joining the ‘bots.”

“Though, the ‘bots were a part of the ‘cons at that point,” Jazz waves his hand dismissively, “Either way, when we decided to join the ‘bots later, we had to wade through a ton of legal stuff ‘cause we were technically our own faction.”

“Once we were through all that we started doing work. We ended up handling most of the spec-ops stuff, so the nickname stuck,” Jazz finishes, putting his hand on his chin again.

“I feel like you cut a lot out of that story,” Chip says, suspicious.

Jazz smiles, “It’s a good four million years of story, of course I had to cut it down.”

Chip looks like he still doesn’t believe it, but turns to leave anyways, “Well, thanks for the explanation.” He moves towards Sideswipe and Bluestreak, leaving Jazz alone. After a moment Jazz picks up the datapad again.

“That was awful. When did you get so bad at lying?” 

“C’mon, most of that wasn’t lying!” Jazz says as Mirage appears besides him.

“Exactly.” Mirage says, deadpan.

“It’s not like I expected to have to explain it to the humans. It’s not like I expected a human to try and learn Neocybex!” Jazz waves the datapad at Mirage, “You were the one to teach him that, so if anything then this’s your fault.”

“Please, I barely taught him anything,” Mirage replies. “Maybe you should have remembered to- what was Bumblebee’s phrase?”

“Shut it about Bumblebee’s phrases.” Jazz says, returning to his datapad.

The recreational room on the Ark

[Transcript from an interview with Bill Fowler:

Of course it’s intimidating when you’re walking through the Ark. Everything and everyone’s bigger than you. The chairs, the tables, even the cups they drink out of could squish you. Even stepping into a calm area like the rec room you come face to face with how small you really are.

…

But y’know… the rec room wasn’t always there. It used to be empty. Building it, they might have planned to use it as a storage room for future supplies, or maybe just as an empty room to confuse the ‘cons if they broke in. It was only after they all woke up that they started filling it with stuff. Human stuff! Little creature comforts- couches, chairs- that they chose because they wanted to sit around and talk to each other. To us.