Cybertron has been revived, but Predaking enjoys the planet he knew as Earth as well. There were far more creatures than he could count, and most were as connected to nature as him. Instinct ruled them, though this beast was far more civilized and c...
He opened his optics, finding the excited beast form of (Y/D) swinging her tail back and forth. He hummed lowly, tiredly, letting her know he was awake enough to know she was there. Predaking thrummed rhythmically in his low laughter as the youngling twirled, chasing her long tail. She became dizzy and flopped to her belly, gurgling as the room spun. The king nuzzled her side in an attempt to bring her back to her senses, which worked to an extent as she wobbled on her pedes again. She looked to him with her unblinking optics making a high pitched croon, but Predaking's beastly helm frowned, at least his optics did, seeing her ruby colors dull.
She was tired, so why was she up?
He pushed her body with his snout to be beneath his wing, covering her in a fatherly fashion to comfort the beastie. The femme squeaked, chirping her happiness before settling down and falling into her restful state.
/~\
Skylynx frowned as he looked for the bar. It was a specific one, called The Oil Tanker, and unfortunately it was in a part of Cybertron still being built, meaning the Constructicons would be there, and they are often touchy about their work. They've hated Predacons since their onlinings because of past accidents with a clumsy or particularly violent beast. Skylynx did not hate the Constructicons, but he wouldn't be disrespected if they so chose to antagonize him. He had to duck beneath a moving beam as one of them claimed to have 'not seen him there' with a chuckle, but the small attempt to cause the bigger mech strife only led him to his query, eyeing the blinking sign of an oil tanker surrounded in spilled crude. A rather morbid sign.
He entered to find his friend, Greenlight, who had sent a message, although jumbled with nonsense, he guessed she was drunk. He didn't blame her after the dismantling of her best friend, Lancer. She was the first to notice the other femme had been missing a whole Earth day, which wasn't normal. Greenlight had checked all the bars her friend frequented and even checked with others, as well as her work (Lancer was an accountant). The living femme was seated at an empty table with not a spark bothering to greet her or pay much mind to her as she stared at her empty glass with sky blue optics barren of life. Instead they held misery and frustrated drunkenness' as her digits twitched. She hadn't even noticed the bigger bot when he sat down.
"Greenlight?" He called to her apparently vacant yet racing processor, full of grief. He didn't receive a response until he gently touched her twitching servo, the femme snapping her attention toward him, "You contacted me?"
For a while she didn't respond, simply staring as lubricants dusted her optics. Skylynx remained silent with a frown, digits barely brushing hers as they began to move. He expected her to hold his servo at least, not lunge at him in a tear filled hug.
A bit confused as to what to do, the Predacon paid her tab before carrying her outside, earning suspicious looks. The rumor had spread further than the Autobots wanted to admit, but the population of Cybertron, new or old, always seemed to be able to sniff out trouble, then get into even more. Skylynx cared less about these rumors though, knowing his intentions and that was to bring his friend to a safe place. He wondered if she was sober enough to tell him where her dwelling was.
"Greenlight, can you tell me where your dwelling is?" He looked around as if that would give some clue, but he didn't know the area.
"Lancer should be there," she mumbled through tears, "I... I let her go on her own. I was so caught up with my project I didn't hear her say she was going to a bar. I went to recharge as if she was just in the other room when she was-"
Skylynx hushed her as he would (Y/D) if she were upset, bobbing the femme in his gentle grip. Greenlight curled into herself, but she was curling closer to his spark as well, hearing the faint thrumming that was ever so familiar within herself. Her processor was so foggy, clouded with despair, Visco and the odd yet welcome smell of Skylynx. He always somehow smelled of spices and a hot oil bath.
"Greenlight, your safe place," she heard him ask where her home was, her safe place. To her it wasn't really 'safe' anymore, not from loneliness and grief anyway.
His words turned fuzzy and lulled her thinking to focus on the sound. Her sky blue optics stared at the color of his armor, a digit tapping on it with no rhythm. She fell into recharge in his hold, feeling safer than she would at home. With him she was safer than she was in the bar, on the streets, or even a full crowd of friends. She sighed tiredly before her optics closed, leaving Skylynx to fend for himself with a recharging, drunk femme and no place to put her.
"What am I supposed to do now?" He asked her, earning no response, of course.
The mech looked for someone who might know where she lives, but he didn't know her friend group, nor her neighbors. For all he knew this might not even be the city she chose to live in. If a Predacon can fly long distances fueled by rage, a humanoid can drive just as much from grief and frustration. He looked around once more, but only received odd stares from suspicious bots. Skylynx looked down at his current charge. She was so peaceful in his arms, her aura, once troubled and depressed (making most avoid her), now relaxed. He guessed it was the Visco.
He could take her with him, back home? There was no safer place than his own dwelling.
'The others would be displeased,' he thought, knowing what his brothers would think if they found her. 'But... it is not against any rule or law that I could not bring her.'
Skylynx stepped into a darker alleyway, so bots could use the sidewalks easier, but he made sure to remain in sight to ease suspicion. The mech watched the femme in his arms stir.
'I am afraid-' he realized, looking up to the stars, 'Of my own brethren and what they might think.' His optics pointed back down to the grassy green femme in his arms, a low growl emitting from his form that vibrated both their frames.
"I fear no one."
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