This plot bunny actually ambushed me on the way into the shower. It just kinda popped up and said..."Here, you're good at this stuff." Blasted rodent. Every so often I am reminded that Spindle had a life before arriving to planet Earth. This is when those darned bunnies catch me. I hope you enjoy a little peek at Del's life before... When Spindle Met Jazz Remembrances His steps echoed through the empty passageway. Molecules of dust swirled away from his pedes as he walked through the darkened corridor. Beneath the plating, the engines of the mighty Autobot star-ship throbbed in the steady rhythm of power and need. “How long has it been?” he questioned himself. “Will she even answer? Is this really a good idea? Perhaps I should just leave her alone. After all, if she wanted to see anyone, she could do so on her own.” He huffed in uncertainty. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Best leave well-enough alone. Just turn around and…and then he was there; at the door to the small room allotted to her. He draws crisp, cool air through his system and engages a calming program. And the door was still there, in front of him; and he remembers…He remembers, oh so many vorns ago, standing before another door waiting for its occupant to grant him admittance ♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ This was his last chance. If he did not win a place on this team, he’d be left with processor-numbing boredom for the next vorn and a half. But if he was accepted, would he be able to fit in with the others? Did he really have anything to offer and how would this help him in reaching his ultimate goal? All he had to do was knock; just lift his hand and rap on the door…yes…just…maybe try the door chimes instead. The door slid open before he had a chance to make the choice and a voice from within called to him. “May I help you young Mech?” “Uh”, he stammered, “uh Memm…uh Scholar Spindle…uh… may I speak with you?” He entered hesitantly and decided to stop just within the entrance to gather his wits and calm hid spark. Looking up, he found himself gazing into the greenest pair of optics he’d ever seen. “So,” she said brightly, “you are…?” “Oh…yes Memm…uh…designation Jazz.” He vented slightly, cocked his head to the side and attempted a not-to-silly grin on his face-plates. Spindle rose from her desk chair, and moved to the front of her desk. Leaning on its edge, she motioned Jazz towards a chair placed off to the side. Jazz quickly reached the chair and sat straight and tall as his Creators always reminded him as a youngling. He clasped his hands together, to focus his thoughts and waited. Spindle placed her hands on either side of her frame and leaned a little further back on the desks edge. “So, Designation Jazz, what can I do for you? The term 'Memm' is something I came up with to mirror the human word Ma'am. Sometimes words come flying out of nowhere when I want an alien equivalent to a human word.
Hey, girl, how did I miss this one??? And why did you leave us hanging???? Well, what did Jazz want to talk about?? Seems like Spindle has run into everybot at one time or another..
Reason Jazz squirmed in his seat. Never…NEVER had he felt so unnerved, so overwhelmed. This femme, who stood before him, was small, fragile-looking but the strength and authority that emanated from her petite frame was palpable and intense. He sensed that every servo, every neural relay, every part of her form was endowed with fortitude, courage, intelligence and… Wiadaminit… …was that a smile he saw lifting one side of her mouth plates as she crossed her arms over her chest plates? Did she actually lift her optic ridge at the same time? …and whimsy! And she was looking straight into his optics, through his processor and out the other side, he thought. His optics…OH YEAH! His optics! Jazz quickly sent the command to raise his visor back into his helm and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry Memm…I forgot.” She laughed quietly, a large grin now making its way across her face. “So young Jazz…I repeat; what can I do for you?” Drawing deeply through his filters, he lay his hands on his knee joints and spoke clearly and succinctly “Memm, I’d like to join your next dig. I know I’m not enrolled in the sciences department, but I would truly like to learn the ins and outs of excavating, the minutia of cataloging, the patience needed to sift through tons of detritus to find one grain of information. Why, I could use my new sensor net to assist in… Spindle held her slim hand up to stop the mech. “Jazz”, she began, “this is a university sponsored excavation. Every member of the team has spent countless vorns preparing for this excursion. They were all vetted by the proper authorities. They have studied together, trained together for two vorns after they were chosen. It has been at least ten vorns altogether and you want to be included just like that?” Jazz’s spark skipped a pulse. He had been so sure of himself. So positive that all he had to do was smile that winning grin of his and the Scholar would melt on the spot and he’d be off to some adventure or another immediately. He decided to try a different tack; impress her with his abilities. “That is most certainly true Scholar, but you will be operating on an organic world. There is definitely a need for someone to intervene with the native organics and coordinate the types of approach needed to…” Spindle held her hand up again. “Jazz, we have several in the group who are quite expert in relationships with organics and any other species we may encounter. I have Hound and Airazor for first contact…” “Security, Memm…you need…” “Brawn”, she stated matter-of-factly. “But he’s no student.” “I know, but Iacon employs him and I trust him.” “I can run errands”, the famous Jazz grin once again appeared. He was sure this would clinch his bid. “Young Ikard, sibling to Scuba; I believe you know him?” “Fuel?” “Ahhhh…” Spindle replied, nodding her head. Jazz felt very hopeful. “Crystal Star will tend to our refueling needs. Her carrier runs a café in the Underside. She’s very good at finding quality grade fuel at scum-grade prices.” And Spindle flashed a grin as wide and glittering as the one that had once graced Jazz’s’ visage. Jazz felt his vents deflate along with his pride. He truly wanted to join this voyage across the stars and onto unknown ground. Then somewhere in the depths of his processor a memory floated up… “The truth usually works sweet spark”, he heard his carriers say. “The truth does not have to be invented, remembered, or changed. It always is.” “Alright”, he thought. “I’ll do it.” He stood tall and straight, with no show of conceit or egotism. “Scholar Spindle, I am sorry Memm. I”, he vented deeply. “I want to join your expedition so that I can, so that I might…Oh slagitall. I’ve been training in Special Ops and I want to perfect my skills on another planet, with an entirely different species. I’ve scouted Cybertron and its moons for as long as I’ve been in training and if I don’t go with you, I’ll have to wait almost the whole vorns before the official off-world mission begins. And there are only so many spots allotted for Special Ops trainees. I need to test myself under difficult conditions, prove that I can be the best and I need to learn to work with others, who are not in my skill group but who will still rely on me so much that I can’t let them down.” He let out a long sigh and settled in for disappointment. Spindle looked him up and down, and then returned to the other side of her desk. She sat in her chair and picked up a discarded data pad, seemingly ignoring Jazz for a moment and read what had been entered into it. Standing once again, she gave Jazz a gracious smile. “Thank-you Jazz, I am glad to know your real reasons for wanting to join us. You know these positions are not fully-paid positions. The members receive a miniscule stipend and have also contributed a great deal of their own funds to attend and there is not much left over for hangers-on.” “Yes Memm, I know. I understand.” “Good. So now that we understand one another, here is the list of equipment that I expect you to bring with you” she tossed a data pad to him. “This pad has your permission statement and medical release”, she tossed a second data pad to him which he caught deftly while still reading the first. “And this is Ultra Magnus recommendation, mission statement and report log, which he expects to be filled out…completely…before your return.” The mechs optics were wide with suspicion; surly there would be a price and he wasn’t sure what it would be. “Why memm; why all this”, he spread his servos in curiosity. “Magnus spoke for you. He knew what you needed and knew I could provide you with this head start. I wanted to be sure that I had a serious mech accompanying us, not some unreliable glitch-head who’d be off at the first sign of hard work.” “Thank-you…thank-youthankyouthankyouthankyou”, Jazz stood there on the verge of blathering. “I will scrape every asset I have and…” “Oh no; no need. You will pay your way by teaching me everything you have learned as a Special Ops trainee. We will have off-time and I expect you to guide me through every aspect, every trick, disguise, defense.” He took a small uncertain step backwards, unsure if there would be more than just training. He must have looked terribly confused as Spindle laughed and continued her explanation. “Jazz, every good instructor has more than just their specialty to occupy their time. Archeology is and always will be my first love, but I want to learn how to sneak around, I want to learn how to blend in, how to survive on my own. You can teach me that and along the way, you will learn what you want as well.” She stuck her right servo out towards him and he grasped her wrist as she took hold of his. “Deal?” “Deal!” ♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ Jazz laughed at that memory. He chuckled again at the memories of the next several vorns spent in the company of Scholar Spindle’s hardy band of archeologists. He remembered their friendship, their joy, the triumphs and defeats they experienced. How they taught him to appreciate cultures of other worlds; opened his optics they did! They all became very close, very dear to one another. Siblings in spirit if not in metal and bound together in unbreakable friendship forged in the fires of discovery. And he remembered his very apt pupil, who learned all he had to teach. Learned it well enough that she was able to survive in the Underside of Cybertron several thousand vorns after the war started. After the creche was destroyed, after her sparkling became one in an unending line of casualties Now only Hound, Airazor and Spindle remained of the scholarly band, but the first two had left the Ark to follow a possible All-Spark sighting and rally Cybertronian colonies were there any in their path. And Spindle she was holed up in her tiny cubicle of a room since take-off some vorns ago. He was determined to do for her what she accomplished with him. He would open up this world here for her, little by little. He would bring her back into the world outside her door. He would make her a part Cybertronian life, even if she never took the oath as an Autobot, he’d make sure that she was a part of the crew and life on board the massive ship. He owed it to her. Had she not taken him on that excursion, he’d never the spy-bot he was now. He’d never be Primes’ second-in-command, never love and revere the cultures of other worlds… Her door was before him. Slowly venting he raised his servo to knock; or should he use the chimes? The door slid open before he had a chance to make the choice and a voice from within called to him. “May I help you young Mech?” Almost the End…♪ Some of the names I've used are actually characters from the TF world...Thanks Teletran-1!!! Others of course are mine. There is one more chapter, but it must wait until I publish a bit more of Spindle's story. Thank-you so much for reading. If you would be so kind, leave a comment or two...Thanks!
Awwwwwwwwwww....that was a wonderful update Ano..I liked that for a chapter or two at least, Jazzie is back..and a nice flashback with Spindle--they taught each other their respective abilities..one that Del has used well, so far. So you say there's a little more?? Then I'll have my ready!!
I just re-edited this. I am trying to wake my muse up...if she doesn't, I may trade her in for a pair of warm slippers and a glass of sherry... Trying The air in the small L-shaped cubicle was stale. A narrow entryway led to a small space where into, as a second thought, a chair, a berth and a computer stand had been wedged. The light was sallow and dim, and it reminded Jazz of several dives he had frequented in his up and coming musician period, vorns before the war. “Musician come spy-trainee”, he mused to himself. All thought of those past glories faded as he took in the sight before him. Spindle...once Chief Scholar Spindle of Iacon University, friend, almost-lover, confidant and…and lost spark. He paused a moment in the tiny hallway, shuttering his optics before greeting the reclusive femme. Then with visor brightened, a wide grin splitting his face-plates, he stepped further inside the cramped quarters. He was unprepared for the desolate creature he saw curled into a corner of the berth. The bright red armor worn and dingy, the gold highlights dull and lifeless. Optics that had once been the colour of emeralds and shining like beacons, barely lit the outlines of a face-plate that was haggard and near vacant. “You did not answer my question,” the rough voice of his one time mentor was tinged with static. She raised a servo to shield her optics. He paused, the smile gone, his visor dimmed slightly and he stared in quiet shock. “Ummmm…” more static then voice left his lip plates. Stunned silence hung in the air as Jazz shunted his prepared speech to one side of his processor and set the other side to finding a different tack. Several possible scenarios came to the forefront, and several scenarios were rejected. Sly remarks, jolly quips, imaginative stories were reviewed and rejected in nano-seconds. “The truth, Jazz, try the straight-forward truth.” He heard Prowl advise him before he left on this mission. “You’re right, mah mech” he thought, a cycle of air whispered its way from his vents and he became quiet and thoughtful. “I want you to live. I want you to step out of this room and join the land of the living.” His voice was calm, quiet and sincere. No flashing that winning grin or winking of his visor accompanied his statement. It was just the truth, plain and simple. “I have everything I need here.” A static-laced reply “No you don’t” His reply was short, the words clipped and crisp. “Oh…what am I missing? Lectures on security and proper decorum from Prowl, Prime’s pompous speeches on how we should all pull together. Or the incessant chatter of Bluestreak and the quarrels of those Unicorn-spawned twins. Maybe I should lean in a bit closer when the whispers start…Oh poor Spindle, lost her sparkling…how is she still alive?” His jaw waggled open and shut but nothing came out. “And DO NOT tell me there is a reason fro all this and all I have to do is listen to Primus. Neither of us is talking to the other and I know for a fact that you aren’t on good terms with him either!” ”No…none of that. I want to show you something. It’s quiet right now…late shift…no one’s around.” “Go away…I’m fine here.” Leaning in as close as the edge of the berth would allow, Jazz drew air through his olfactory sensors and shuddered, albeit in exaggeration. “Del…you smell.” “Oh, you’re a poet now?” “You’ve not left your quarters since boarding the Ark.” “Kidnapped!” “FINE…kidnapped! Whatever you want…you still smell bad and look worse. Feeling sorry for yourself doesn’t cut it anymore and if you don’t move that sorry aft of yours, it’ll rust right through the berth.” “Pfffffffffffffffffffftttt…” “Classic…now we’re being a sparkling about it…I knew sparklings with batter manners and sense than you… Del please…no one is around. They’re all either recharging or on night shift. Please femme…” Spindle looked at him, his voice soft, pleading, sincere-sounding. She had heard sincere sounds come from the vocalizers of dozens of mechs and femmes, and all proved liars and frauds, but never Jazz, never the mech who became, by chance, a friend, the mech who found her in the dank alleys of Cybertron’s underside. The screechingly horrible sounds that were those dark places reverberated in her processor. Memories of filth, dried energon and death still haunted her recharge and threatened to overwhelm her waking cycles. The only antidote was darkness and seclusion; and yet here was a light in the darkness, reaching out to her. Inviting her to leave the gloom and isolation…here was a friend. Her optics strayed from the tip of her pedes to those of Jazz. They seemed to brighten, to widen a bit as if lethargy was being replaced with awareness and dare he think it, hope? Slowly, a small servo reached out to the waiting mech. Ever so slowly, it came closer to his, the unused joint gears creaking from lack of movement and in want of a good oiling. He tamped down his overwhelming desire to grab that cautiously offered servo, waiting instead for it to gently brush his. Too soon a clasp and she might scare off and curl into herself again. He had no desire to spook her into fearing him. Primus knows what terrors she’d witnessed before he found her, what atrocities she committed to stay alive. Individual digits flexed apart and reached out to gently brush against his. A tentative caress ghosted over his palm and held itself still, waiting. Gently he folded his servo around hers and held it still before gently pulling her off the berth and onto her unsteady pedes. Never once did their optics leave the others. Never once was that gentle momentum stopped, though it wobbled a time or two due to unused extremities. Slowly, with each deliberate step bringing them both out of the squalid chamber, Jazz led Spindle into the dimly lit corridor of the Ark. And as he had promised, there was no bot in sight. She stood just outside her quarter’s door, hugging the wall, weariness etched in her face plates. He wrapped an arm around her middle and began to shepherd her away from that solitude, the door closing only when surreptitiously called cleaning drones entered and began their work. He also sent a discreet alert to Prowl… “Hey Prowler…I have her. Wanna make sure there ain’t no bot standing between us and the lounge?” “Humph,” came a sound immediately afterwards, Prowl’s only acknowledgement that the nickname still bothered him. “The way is clear Jazz. Prime expresses his thanks. Is there anything else you need?” “Just check on the cleaning bots in a couple a breems…they may need replacements.” “Will do, Prowl out.” Jazz smiled at the sudden cut-off of the comm and chuckled silently. Spindle stopped and turned her head towards him. “What?” Not wishing to explain the surveillance of both Prime and Prowl, he smiled widely and laughed again. “Jus remembering that last time we were this close. On Dephina 5 wasn’t it? We tried to ‘face and got knocked on our afts.” Spindle took a step backwards, looking him up and down but not letting go of his servo. For a breem, he was afraid she’d take off as her body began to shake, her optics off-lined for a moment and her lip plates began to twitch. Small rivulets on energon pooled in now half-lit optics and overflowed in thin streams. “Del…you okay? Del?” From the depths of the Pit, sounding as rusty as un-greased cogs came a small snicker, then a snort and finally a delicate chortle. Though it was nearly silent, Spindles frame was shaking, small tremors making her armor clink and clatter against its loose plates. Small puffs of air passed through clogged vents, their wheezing adding to the sudden buoyancy of what had been a gloomy reality. The chortles evened out into brief twitters and hiccups as Spindle leaned into her friends’ chest plates, her hand hovered over his spark. “That…hehe..that was one of hahaha-heh…saddest days in my life…” and she summoned up the loudest giggle he had ever heard her utter in…well in what seemed like forever. She lay her head on his shoulder, body vibrating in time to rusty chuckles and short snorts pushing past her olfactory sensor. They began walking again, he guiding, she allowing him to guide her, both still sharing a giggle or guffaw or two. Several breems passed and Spindle found herself standing before the closed doors of Recreation Room 4. Her frame tensed as Jazz reached for the entry panel, her fans stuttering in nervous clicks. “No one’s there. Made sure of it m’self. And Chromia threatened to disable any mech who tried to get in. Scary one that.” “I know,” Spindle replied. “I…I’m a fool.” Optics shuttered, she turned away until a gentle servo caught her just under the chin and drew her face back towards it owner. “Fool…no. Foolish, sometimes; foolhardy…occasionally, but A Fool…no…not in millions of vorns.” He flashed his famous grin and then caught himself. “Waidaminit…whatcha mean “saddest day”. I had high hopes there.” It was her turn now to offer a smile, small thought it was. “The only mech I had ever wanted to interface with and…” she looked down in chagrined silence. “Our sparks were not meant to be together…they were for someone else. After that, I never really looked for another.” She looked him straight in the optics. “But I don’t regret the trying.” Her servo cupped his cheek. “Thank-you for saving me…again.” “Anytime femme, any time.” He leaned into her touch and rested his fore-helm on hers. “Com’on, let me show you what I found. I think you’ll like it.” He touched the control pad and the door opened.
Found the sherry! Chapter 4 “Jazz…it’s a lounge.” The doors had just shut behind them as Spindle murmured tiredly. Sighing, she leaned away from the Spec Ops officer and wrapped her arms around her chassis. The darkened room was indeed empty, quiet. Chairs and tables were placed intermittently around a three tiered room. On the far right and left were several energon dispensers, each with brightly polished containers stacked neatly, ready for use. A holo-theatre was tucked into a dark corner opposite the doors between the stations and to the left of the doors several settees were clustered together perhaps meant for quiet reading or discussion. Even in the low light, the bright colors of orange, green, blue and violet swirled together to make a pleasing mix of cheeriness, of life. All in all, it was a normal, run-of-the-mill recreation room one would find at any Cybertronian university, office or military complex…well…used to be found, she thought. “It’s nice Jazz, thank-you. I’d really like to go back to my quarters.” A heavy sigh accompanied her words. Jazz turned quickly and caught himself before he spoke, the need to be exuberant suddenly deflating. She stood before him; arms wrapped around her chassis, dim optics still shedding slight tears. If possible, she seemed even smaller and more fragile than when he found her in the lower tiers of Cybertrons worst slum. Crazed, half-starved, she had welded the frame of her dead sparkling to her chest plates in a vain attempt to bring his spark back on-line. All this and her long, thin servos, caked with the dried energon of either victims or assailants gave clear warning…this was a dangerously, demented femme. Jazz never spent much time pursuing how she had survived during the many vorns she went missing. He did discover later though that there was a decrease in the ravaging and dismemberment of the frames of off-lined “empties”. He shuddered at that last memory. That this shivering femme before him lived off rancid energon, spoiled fluids and dead metal made him angry enough to want to punch Primus in the olfactory sensors. He shook his head to clear his processor and laid a gentle servo on her shoulder. “Nah, femme…this ain’t it.” He turned her slightly towards a set of carpeted stairs leading upwards to a partition. The purple wall was sculpted with swirls and waves, its color changing from deep violet to pale lavender as one moved past it. Glints of copper and gold winked from under the folds of each curl and eddy and gave the illusion of movement where there was none. But even this gave Spindle no pause. She merely glanced at the changing patterns and twinkling metals and sank lower in on herself. Jazz gently guided her forward, towards the corner of the partition and planted himself right in front of her, causing her to look up as she stopped. And then he smiled; a big Jazz smile, dentas glinting, optics reflecting brightly under his visor. “This, is it.” And he gracefully bowed her into a small alcove behind the wall. An alcove fitted with two overstuffed chairs looking out into the gloriousness of star-scattered space.
