"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.