Arrival

Beebot managed to correctly guess what was gonna happen next ;D
I was a bit stumped on what to call this drabble, since I wrote it without a particular word or prompt in mind. So I thought I'd settle on "arrival" as in "new arrivals".


"You know," Megatron said testily, "Galvatron's birth wasn't an invitation for all the other officers to start carrying too."

Soundwave cleared his vents sheepishly, trying to make himself invisible. It was obvious that the splitspark was carrying yet again. Megatron had only excused it because the Communications Officer was still mourning his creations killed on Earth. Skywarp and Thundercracker, however, had no excuse whatsoever. Their tiny sparkling, a human-year younger than Galvatron, was currently nestled against Skywarp's chest. Galvatron stared at the purple sparkling with something in-between horror and curiosity.

"Ignore Lord Megatron," Starscream said haughtily, continuing to coo at his cousin's new sparkling. Megatron bristled behind him, debating whether or not it was appropriate to bitch-slap the flier in front of their son (who sat in one large, silver palm, chirping in confusion). "Have you decided on his designation?"

"Cyclonus. He'll be a Seeker, of course," Thundercracker answered proudly, reaching to pluck the lilac sparkling from Skywarp. Galvatron clicked excitedly, and the warlord grudgingly held his claw forward so that the Decepticon heir could inspect the new sparkling. Cyclonus, still young enough that circuits could be seen through his translucent plating, peered up at the black hatchling emotionlessly from his father's hold.

"He's so cuuute!" squealed the Air Commander. Megatron nearly dropped Galvatron from the sheer horror of his bondmate, the second in command of his entire army, squealing. He sincerely hoped it was some sort of leftover from the gestation programming activated while carrying Galvatron. The Decepticon Commander had no patience for sparklings (except his own, sadly).

"Excuse me while I purge my tanks," the warlord muttered, and it wasn't entirely untrue; the display had made him feel rather queasy. Or possibly in need of high-grade. Yes, high-grade sounded nice. Megatron turned on his heel, leaving the Seekers to fuss over their youngest flier.

As they left, Galvatron clambered up his father's arm to peer over his shoulder, clicking contentedly, little red optics locked on his future Air Commander, future friend, future lover.