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“Megatronus, look.”
“Hmmm….” Megatronus rose slowly, the ache and pain of the previous day’s sparring match rising with him. Beside the berth, Orion Pax stood, digits clasped together in anticipation. Blue optics eager as the Warlord unraveled himself from the tangle of berth sheets, “Has something happened?”
“Your data pad shelf, I organized it by color of data pads.” He began, directing Megatronus’s gaze to the shelf beside the berth, “I confess, there is little functionality about it, nor will it be easy for you to sort by subject, but I thought it looked…nice. Are you pleased?”
Had it been anyone else who had dragged him from his sleep this early during the rotation, he would have reminded him just why he was called the Gladiator of Kaon. But alas, it was Orion. And being the data droid he was, it was to be expected.
Orion’s digits popped loudly as he pulled at them, eagerly awaiting a response. It was best not to keep him waiting, lest he believe he did something wrong. Megatronus ex-vented, and fully online his optics.
Megatronus gasped silently. The data pad shelf was beautiful.
It was no mere color scheme. With the way he’d organized the datapads on the expansive shelf, he’d created an image. He’d used the colors on the edges to create an image. From what Megatronus could gather, it was a flower. An organic organism that Orion had been studying for the past few days.
“I am more than pleased, Orion.” He responded, in awe, “You are full of surprises. I did not know you were an artist”
“Thank you. In Iacon, sorting for aesthetics was not something we were encouraged to do,” Orion’s optics dimmed, the mere action revealing the past he often refused to speak of. The gladiator walked forward, spark clenching tightly. Orion was quiet about his time as a data droid. The realization that the chronometer being placed on him was wrong had been difficult to cope with, and it opened the floodgates for a number of wrongs bestowed on him and the others like him.
And then there was the Primeship.
Orion had never lived for himself, not until now.
Megatronus clasped a servo on his shoulder. “In this age, you can do whatever you want. Do the others organize like this?”
“Yes, they do! We all have our own talents, but colors are mine. Others love shapes, styles, and types of data pads.” Orion responded, with a smile.
Megatronus fiddled with the knowledge in his processor. Maybe there were some data pads or art supplies he could find for them, let them paint a mural on the walls of the arena. Perhaps even Starscream would be interested in letting the former data Iaconian droids paint around his city. He had an eye for art after all.
“Then in the morning, why don’t we gather you all and see what can be done.” Megatronus gently guided his Sparkmate towards the berth. “You have all done so wonderfully organizing data at Iacon, but perhaps it’s time for you to enjoy your own hidden talents.”
Orion followed Megatronus back to his berth, smiling against his chassis as he was pulled down.
Megatronus could sense the joy radiating off of him, and considered a small victory of his own. Orion had struggled to find himself during this new age of freedom in Cybertron. This was certainly a start