Chapter Text
Megatronus should not be stressed or nervous. He was a gladiator, a revolutionary; his life has come under threat countless times. This was nothing.
And yet his servos trembled as he paced around his apartment for the umpteenth time. He checked every turn and glance for anything out of place, imagining himself as a guest with an absurdly unnecessary optic for detail about other bots’ living spaces.
You never know, some part of him kept reasoning to himself. Iaconians could be… eccentric.
There was no one to assuage him now, as Soundwave and Terminus were still out looking for more potential ingredients and supplies. He hoped they would return in time for a final assessment before things started, but in common Kaonian fashion, they may run late. Nothing about the markets was a guarantee, and existing produce stalls were liable to change locations at any point. Pits, Megatronus feared he may become sick.
A knock came from the front and he froze in place.
Please, please, just let it be any of the others, he almost prayed.
Alas, Megatronus had to concede that Iaconians were far more punctual than Kaonians on average. When he opened the door, it was none other than Orion Pax looking up at him. Megatronus almost slammed the door shut as an overcompensation for his lack of a prepared greeting, but Orion beat him to it.
“Um, Megatronus! I remember you said you weren’t entirely sure how the ingredients would be for today, so, uh… I brought some tubers?”
Megatronus glanced at the strip-woven basket of roots in Orion’s arms, any possible comment drying fast on his glossa. Eccentric, indeed.
“They’re from the archive gardens. Alpha Trion suggested I bring them as an offering for the stew,” Orion tentatively supplied when there came no response from his friend.
And Megatronus could not help a light laugh at that. “Oh, a gift from Alpha Trion himself? This party is surely blessed now. You’re the first to arrive; come in, come in.”
Newly acquired tubers gathered in his arms, Megatronus’ spark hammered lightly in his frame while he watched Orion walk around his living space, helm turning this way and that as he absorbed it all. But the archivist—bless him—spotted a stack of datapads on a low table that Megatronus had forgotten to reshelve, and his attention was immediately drawn.
“Oh, these are—! May I…?”
“Consider this home, Orion. You are free to peruse and rest as you like.” Megatronus smiled, mostly grateful that Orion would not yet be looking deeper into any of the sparse furnishings the gladiator managed to tidy together.
Though Megatronus realized perhaps he had little judgement to fear from the archivist, when he watched him choose to sit on the floor in front of the very open and available sofa. Holding back most of a laugh, Megatronus decided to head for the kitchen. If Orion was here now, the others would show shortly; he might as well get started on preparing for the stew while he waited for Soundwave and Terminus’ return with some hopefully good finds.
He was a little troubled to find he would have to get Orion to relay his thanks to that grumpy old archivist somehow. He had no doubt the fastidious Alpha Trion would’ve had some part in selecting the tubers, and they were a marvelous collection: already rinsed, plump and numerous. Megatronus predicted he might even have a few left over afterward, depending on everyone’s appetites this evening. He will have to subtly solicit information about Alpha Trion’s (probably rare) likes from Orion sometime.
Megatronus hummed as he peeled and sliced the tubers with the same knife. He had given Orion a glass of tea—refusing any insistent offers of help from the archivist, almost picking him up to conclusively put him on the couch—and started looking through his measly pantry when the door seemed to cycle open with a slam.
Both their helms snapped to see Soundwave hurrying in with a promising bag in tow, only defeated by Terminus’ two bags as the miner was ushered in. They were absolutely drenched.
“Something had to give with such incredible luck at the markets! Started to pour like crazy…” Terminus sighed as he planted his haul by the door to stretch his arms and back.
After having the pair of supplyrunners dried down, Megatronus was barred from entering his own kitchen!
“You already put in plenty of work tidying up, Megatronus. Go rest now and mind the door, keep Orion some company.” Terminus tried to nudge him back to the living space, but many things changed since Megatronus’ time in the mines—he was far more resistant to pushes now.
“Wha— Terminus, I can do as I please in my own abode. Right, Soundwave?”
Soundwave pretended not to hear as he emptied their bags along the counter.
Before Terminus could become smug about effortlessly gaining Soundwave’s silent agreement, Megatronus turned away with a scoff of mock hurt. Which was when he saw Orion’s excited little face staring back at him, all wide optics with dermas pressed together as though trying not to say anything yet. Megatronus sighed and relented with a smile of his own, heading for the couch.
These sorts of evenings always moved the same, making one wish that it had been better savoured compared to the anticipation leading up to it. (But who could even think of savouring a moment deeper when they were already so ensconced within it? It was an impossible task.) Megatronus got lost in conversation about nothing and everything with Orion, more and more guests spilling in to add to the hum of the night. All dearly contained within Megatronus’ home. He is sure ghostly traces of this party would linger, resurfacing at random as he continued with his day—no such thing as loneliness in a space that could house such festivity.
Not even Terminus could hold back the tiny swarm of the larger bots who wanted to help. Megatronus laughed at his mentor’s expense, but he was impressed anything in the cramped kitchen still got done under such conditions.
They rarely had such mental comforts as radios or broadcast terminals. Megatronus might’ve returned to wishing for them on quieter nights, but it was like that technology didn’t even exist now when the rest of his guests started telling stories around the squat table. Megatronus could see the shape of the sun in a miner’s arms as they described the biggest Energon ore they’ve ever seen. An inventor of a factoryworker sang the praises of the hues imparted onto the constellations by Kaon’s skies, a phenomenon yet to be studied through anything beyond their own approximation of a telescope. A gladiator earnestly confided in the group about a blossoming friendship with a challenger who had bested them in a non-lethal match—an acquaintance they feared they were squandering somehow.
Megatronus drank his tea with amusement as he watched Orion sooth a servo over the shoulder of a bot roughly twice his size. The archivist offered reassurances to this fighter he had just met, the gladiator nodding pensively with servos clasped in front of their intake. The conversations—refracting on each other—continued like this long into the night, even when Soundwave emerged to request that they set the plates.
Everyone moved far slower than Megatronus knew they were capable of, so enraptured they were by each tale, mundane or profound.
It was Megatronus’ only shame that he could not quite recall how the tuber-rich stew and grain tasted that night. He knew in his spark that it was an impeccable display of Terminus’ skill at a fire and in his guidance of others.
Megatronus only remembered how the conversations blended together; stories from one bot could’ve easily been uttered by another, how universal those curiosities and cravings were. Megatronus remembered thumbing away a stray dollop of stew from Orion’s cheek, the archivist somehow entirely too distracted to notice.
The gladiator laughed lightly to himself in a soft ventilation. Joining with others who hungered, now full and warm with stew, he found there was little else to worry about.