Work Text:
Khra'shi mindfully moves xyr trunk out of the way as xe leans up on xyr coils to better see the list that the Cybertronian advocate is examining. It's a wormless endeavor, really: while xe has been getting a better handle on the Cybertronian alphabet, their designations are often harder to parse. Regardless, it is important to maintain a certain level of propriety. Khra'shi dutifully scans down the list of unfamiliar glyphs before catching on the final one listed.
"Question, please." Xe remembers belatedly to turn xyr eyes to xyr Cybertronian friend, instead of xyr trunk. Xe uses it to indicate the glyphs in question instead. "Is this not the designation of your god-being?"
The advocate always flinches when xe speaks. None of his associates do so, but he is the professional, after all: perhaps it is a Cybertronian gesture for polite attention. Khra'shi will consider doing so in return, to show xyr own attention.
Advocate Fulcrum of Chinnex turns his faceplate to xyr, catching xyr eyes, and Khra'shi feels justified in xyr recognition of social niceties amongst Cybertronians.
"Oh, uh." Khra'shi admits xe is jealous of the capabilities of the Cybertronian species: the translation package Advocate Fulcrum had installed is a touch stilted, but it does allow him to express himself far easier than xyr hesitant Neocybex. "I guess it is. It's just a thing people do for parties."
"Not that he'd know." The Cybertronian named after an unfortunate accident cuts in. Khra'shi still needs to ask if that is a common naming practice. "No one’s ever invited you to something on purpose."
"Shut up, Misfire." Fulcrum says. "I got invited, I just didn't want to go so I could stand there holding a watered-down drink and spend more time with my coworkers that I already dealt with all day." Khra'shi makes a mental note that part of enjoying a party is holding a drink. It may be difficult considering xyr lack of digits, but xe is nothing if not culturally diligent.
"Question, please— is it a religious practice? I admit I am still unfamiliar with your religious factions."
"You could say that." Fulcrum shrugs. "I don't really know why people do it. Guess it's kind of like a blessing?"
The crew, despite clearly having various duties around the ship, tend to cluster together wherever one of them is. Misfire especially is difficult to ever find alone. Khra'shi empathizes: it was the most painful experience of xyr life to separate from the slither-ball to set out on xyr journey of space exploration. Xe has no idea how any other species handles the cold of being apart so long.
"Bah!" Point being, they tend to be close enough to interrupt each others' conversations. Khra'shi politely turns xyr eyes to the pilot, who has just interjected.
"You invite Primus because, if you're lucky, he'll show up." Crankcase says, an air of pride in his voice as if he has seen the occasion himself. "There's a whole thread on The B.C. about it, all kinds 'a sightings. He only shows up if he's been invited." What a polite deity.
Advocate Fulcrum seems less enthused. "You have to stop believing everything you read on there, Crankcase. And you especially have to stop responding to those ones offering you shanix, I can only de-virus our ship computer so many times before it completely gives up."
"Someday it'll be the actual Prince of Vos!" Crankcase complains. "I'm a catch, he'd be damn lucky to have me."
"Don't you have a partner?" Misfire questions. "Also, was Vos even a monarchy?"
"Bah! CONS4EVA would be happy to see me enriched. I'm going to buy us a ship of our own, we already discussed it. One with private oil baths."
Fulcrum's whole faceplate scrunches, Misfire makes some kind of noise Khra'shi can't figure the emotion of, and they descend into argument. Most interactions with this group do. Khra'shi dutifully listens, taking note of a few new words xe imagines are colorful curses. Xe will have to try that one out later, if xe comes across any miscreants!
***
Their organic "friend" slithers away sometime after their argument makes Crankcase almost hit an asteroid, and Fulcrum sags in relief.
"I'm going to kill you, Misfire." Fulcrum says, because he's never been as good at creative insults as the rest of the Scavengers are, but usually there's a reason for him to want to kill Misfire regardless.
"C'mon, you don't like our new crewmate?" Misfire grins, completely aware of how much Fulcrum does not like them. "Spinister said you had to get some exposure therapy to organics, Advocate Fulcrum. Doctor’s orders!"
"Spinister said no such thing, because his medical advice mostly consists of telling you to walk it off or asking if he can shoot it." Fulcrum grouses, though he does have to admit Krok said something about exposure therapy. Damn him for having enough moral backbone to make their captain more aware of the widespread mental issues of Decepticons— now all Krok does anymore is read dubious books on Cybertronian psychology. Who’s that author he’s been obsessed with… Rong? That doesn’t even sound like a name.
"Okay, so Spinister did tell me to get out of the medbay and make a hand gesture that Nickel definitely taught him, because I don't even know how our anatomy is supposed to work that way, but you have to admit it's for your own good."
Fulcrum drops his helm into a servo. "How did some alien species even find us through Autopedia? Do they not know how to check the citations? The link that you attached to my 'official' title of Organic Advocate of All Cybertron leads to an image of a crouton."
Misfire shrugs. "Guess it's universal to be stupid."
***
Khra'shi would never be so impolite as to call the party dull. That being said, xe is a little disappointed the music is not loud enough to feel in xyr tympanum. That has always been xyr favorite part of parties— that and the strain of dzhua that makes sounds turn into colors.
Regardless, the party is not bad. The volume of the music is probably so the Cybertronians can speak to one another, xe realizes, since they don't seem to have any form of coil-speak. What a shame. How are they supposed to communicate non-verbally? They explore the vacuum of space often enough that xe would think they would have ways to communicate that didn't involve sound.
Xe has determined two types of Cybertronian partygoers so far. There are the ones on the dancefloor, who speak little but perhaps are passing messages through the movement of their bodies themselves. Many of them, even those on the sidelines, certainly seem to have their attention on the party’s host, who keeps flicking his bright orange wings about.
The other Cybertronians are scattered around the edges of the festivities. Most of them are holding beverages, just as Advocate Fulcrum mentioned, but a surprising many of them stand alone. Is the point of a party not to socialize?
Khra'shi has done xyr best to be a kind guest by accompanying as many of these lone Cybertronians as possible. So far, xe has received three polite rejections, two less polite ones, one gun to the face, and a very spirited and one-sided discussion with a brightly colored mech convinced there was a mystery to solve at this party. That interaction was unfortunately cut short by said mech rushing away, after yelling what Khra'shi thinks was the term for the human waste tract. What a strange one.
At least their cultural interrogations have gone well. Xe has just learned from a lovely pair of women that Cybertronians are not the single-gendered species xe had assumed. Apparently some Cybertronians take on gendered traits and identities, and while Khra'shi struggles to see any physical difference denoting such, xe faithfully takes note. Maybe it is the smaller ones? Though their size seems to be reliably based on their alternative forms, which would instead imply a connection between gender and alt mode. Fascinating!
The ninth Cybertronian Khra'shi approaches is sitting on the edges, but tapping its appendages gently to the beat of the music. It is one of the smaller frames, and Khra'shi remembers xyr manners enough to question before assuming. "Excuse me, question, please." The mech seems to have some sort of static, round object affixed over its eyes: or perhaps those are its eyes? "What personal pronouns do you utilize?"
This does not seem to be the question the Cybertronian was expecting: it takes a moment for it to respond. Or perhaps it is simply surprised to see an organic approaching it, as most of the Cybertronians have been. Khra'shi is beginning to understand xe is seen as quite brave for doing so, as millions of years of history imply that Cybertronians’ first reaction to most organics is to kill them.
This one, at least, does not seem intent on such. "Hello." It begins, appendages stilling in its lap. "You know, I suppose I haven't thought about it in a while."
"Hello." Khra'shi returns politely. "You do not think of it often?"
"Not particularly, no." The Cybertronian muses. "But since you asked, I'm comfortable with the default for us. And you?"
No Cybertronian has asked after Khra'shi’s personal pronouns yet. Khra'shi had assumed it was a language barrier, considering until this party xe thought there was only one set in common usage regardless. Xyr frill flares in thought. "Do you recognize the set of xe/xyr?"
The Cybertronian raises a digit to his intake, thinking on it. "I believe so. Let me give an example, and you can tell me if I'm correct?" Khra'shi bobs xyr head, understanding the movement to be an acknowledgment.
"Xe has approached me asking after my pronouns. I don't know xyr name yet, but xe seems polite. I appreciate xyr thoughtfulness." He smiles at xyr, and for the first time Khra'shi feels the warmth of meaning behind it that Cybertronian culture claims.
Xyr scales have been clamped down constantly since xe left the slither-ball: xe cannot afford to lose any warmth without xyr comrades there to provide extra. Yet Khra'shi finds that the warmth here is not only metaphorical. Something tickles at xyr awareness seeing this Cybertronian, something xe does not recognize but releases xyr scales like one would in the wake of a solar flare. It certainly feels as warm and ancient as the waves of one.
"Absolutely correct." Xyr frill flattens in contentment at the sensation. "I apologize for my lack of manners in not sharing my name. I am Khra'shi. And you are?"
"Rung." Perhaps he smiles due to the lack of optical expression available, with his eyes the way they are. Though the strange flat structures above his eyes have been moving this whole time. "It's alright if you forget it. Most people do."
Khra'shi shifts on xyr coils, offended on his behalf. "How? It seems a simple name."
"You'd be surprised."
With introductions out of the way and not having been told to leave him alone yet, Khra'shi feels comfortable enough to raise xyrself into the space beside Rung. He shows no disagreement with the action.
"Why are you not dancing?" Xe inquires.
"Oh, I have been." Rung perks slightly. "Here and there. But I've had a few too many mechs bump into me at this point, so I'm taking a break."
Khra'shi rattles xyr tail in discontent for xyr new friend. "How rude of them. Is that common for bots of your size?"
"Somewhat." Rung confirms. "Though I have a chronic trouble with being overlooked. I don't mind it so much: it's not on purpose."
“It is rude regardless.” Khra'shi pronounces, scales still flaring from residual heat. “If you like, I will sit up next to you. My frill is made to attract attention, and is hard to ignore.”
That gets the first laugh from Rung, which Khra'shi internally preens for. “That would certainly get attention! Though I fear I might get drowned out by your brilliancy.”
Khra'shi had not considered that. "I will remain right beside you." Xe decides. "Therefore it will be near-impossible to notice one and not the other."
"Or we could simply dance together." Rung voice is markedly lighter than it was when they first spoke. "If I'm correct, that that's what you're asking of me?"
This was not Khra'shi's original intention, but xe has always been a sucker for affirmation, and while xyr current hosts have been as accommodating as their worn-down ship can support—really, the advocacy department must be terribly underfunded—xe has succeeded little in making them laugh with rather than at xyr. This attention is appreciated, and Khra'shi intends to return it however possible.
"Yes." Xe remembers to bob xyr head in affirmation. "I would enjoy that. Though you will have to forgive that I have no limbs with which to gesticulate.”
Rung laughs again, and Khra'shi flares in fulfillment. "I don't mind that. I’ve been told by some very candid friends I’m so thin I look like a piece of rebar, so I suppose we can match."
He is a rather slim frame, for a Cybertronian. Khra'shi wonders when it is polite to ask about his alternative mode: xe has been made aware it can be a sensitive subject, particularly with the species’ political history, but xe does wonder what form he must rearrange into.
"We will not match." Khra'shi affirms, intent on comforting him. "You are leagues above me in having appendages in the first place. You will surely outshow me in this regard, and if not, I will make it clear that everyone should pay attention to the miracle of having arms and legs."
For some reason, this makes Rung laugh again.
***
The rest of the night goes rather splendidly, for Khra'shi's part. Even if the music is still too quiet to rumble xyr tympanum, xe is well-occupied by flaring xyr frill at anyone who seems to be forgetting xe or xyr partner is nearby. Eventually, mechs start giving them a wide berth, and Khra'shi flares in pride at making sure no one will be bumping into Rung tonight.
Eventually, when they both tire of dancing, they sit and have a rousing conversation about cultural standards for exposure (Khra'shi has seen no other mechs with a window in their chests like him, and is it not a liability to have one's spark on display in that way?), until the bright mech xe recognizes from earlier thumps himself down next to Rung without hesitation. He doesn’t even spare a glance to Khra'shi as he hauls Rung away, enough that Khra'shi is left wondering if his penchant for being overlooked has passed onto xyr. Rung waves as he goes, and Khra'shi finds xyr tail waving along without thought.
Warmth continues to prickle along the edge of xyr frill, even after he’s gone.
***
"Sorry we lost you for a bit there." Krok says. "Never thought it'd be so easy to miss a long, colorful organic in a crowd of Cybertronians.”
"It is no issue." Khra'shi brushes off his concern. "I had fun, and even made a friend. He taught me several new dance moves!"
Misfire leans back from the front seat of their shuttle, in an incredibly precarious position that would send him tumbling should they jolt too hard. "Really? What bolthead would buddy up to a random organic? Besides us, of course."
Khra'shi hesitates, finding that xe has to check the contact name entered in xyr communications device. Strange. Xe was so sure of it when he left. "Rung."
The entire shuttle goes silent, which is a sound Khra'shi has never heard from this group. It's alarming enough for xyr to look up and find Misfire's intake dropped open.
They all explode at once.
“You danced with Primus?”
“God gave an organic his comm code?!”
“I told you forum user bigchassisblues wasn’t lying!”
“Hey, ask God if he’s got any shanix to spare!”
...Khra'shi still has plenty to learn, apparently.