When Spindle Met Jazz
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?