His helm tilting even farther to the side, Ironhide hums. âA pest, huh?â he echoes, tone somewhat amused despite their obvious mutual wariness. Heâs starting to calm down, though; after all, this self-proclaimed pest is just a bitlet, and pretty much the first mecha to say more than three words to Ironhide since heâd been abandoned by Igneous. He prefers it to just being stared at my the young mechâŚ
For a few moments, Ironhide just continues to watch the bitlet, analyzing his body language - still wary, but unthreatening - and subconsciously responding with his own. His shoulders fall from their parade rest stiffness and he shifts his weight from one pede to the other, and once again his servo reaches down to fiddle with the edge of the cape, more out of just wanting something to do with his digits than nervousness at this point. The bitletâs a sufficient distraction from it at the moment,
When the bitlet voices his interest in the blade, Ironhide narrows his optics a bit and hums before answering. âStarglass,â he replies. âTechnically a stone and not actual glass, butâŚâ After a moment of hesitation. he pulls the blade out of its strappings and brandishes it a little. Itâs almost comical how it receives little response from the mecha around them, aside from a few appreciative passing glances, but this is Simfur. Weapons are basically everyday household items here and mecha show them off like one might a piece of fine jewelry - and this blade is as much an accessory as it is a tool. Igneous had made sure of it.Â
Tristisâs gaze follows the blade as the mech unstraps it, watching it reflect the colorful lights of the festival. He was fond of bladed weapons, from smaller throwing knives to the heaviest great-sword. Guns were just as fascinating, but some were a little loud for the mechlingâs taste. Both of his creators had used blades as their main weapons of choice, which prompted the bitletâs fondness of them. It helped that a lot of them were shinier than guns.
âIâs pretty.â He comments, tips of his doorwings perking up. âLooks sharp too.â Tristis continues, orange optics becoming more curious by the klik. âDonât see stone aâlot, evârythinâs metâl ânâ plasma ânâ lead.â From what heâd seen, of course. Maybe there were more stone-type weapons out there, but the mechling hadnât been around the whole of Simfur, had never visited a weapons shop or a Temple to know if there was.
âWhereâd ya get it?â The bitlet asks, audials flicking and rotating with small movements. Tristis had never heard of starglass before, so it must be a fairly rare material, if he were to guess. Though he supposes those in the lower districts wouldnât have reason to talk about something so rare, it must be expensive. The blade certainly looked like it cost a pretty shanix.
âIt is pretty,â Ironhide agrees, glancing from the starglass weapon to the bitlet. âAnd sharp.â He runs his thumb along the edge of the blade, the slightest pressure enough to slice open the metal and make a few beads of energon appear. He narrows his optics at the small sting of pain it causes before mindlessly licking it off of his digit and twirling the blade around in his servo. âThatâs because stones are a bit harder to use when it comes to weapons,â he adds. âThere arenât a lot out there that are good enough for creating them. And the ones that are are difficult and dangerous to work with.â
Starglass extraction and purification stations arenât exactly well-known for their worker survival rates.
When the bitlet asks him where heâd gotten the weapon from, he stops fiddling with it. âA friend,â he says after a moment. âMy priest. It was a gift.â A courting gift, specifically, but Ironhideâs always hesitant with that information. It is relatively common knowledge that he is Igneousâ⌠consort, but not a lot of mecha know that the priest is actually courting Ironhide. âThey made it themselves.â
The bitlet watches the blade with childish wonder, tracking its movement and Ironhideâs servo with sharp eyes. He nods at the statement the mech makes about stone weapons and workers. It did make sense, stone did seem like an iffy material, consistency-wise. Metal could be melted down and shaped so much easier, and into a plethora of items. Blades, guns, shields, et cetera.
He tilts his helm at the statement of the blade being a gift. Heâd heard of it before, people giving others weapons for gifts. Mostly from his Carrier, he had said something about his Sireâs sword being a gift of a sort. Tristis never really figured out what kind of gift, but he guessed it was important.
âThey musâ be skillâd.â Tristis comments, crossing his arms over his chassis. âYa said priest? One oâ thâ ones frâm thâ temples?âÂ
