Naja - Blog Posts

Part 5🥀🩶

Working the pit broadcasts had always been a tedious affair. The bots in attendance would often partake in engex a little too enthusiastically, becoming raucous beyond what their usual decorum codes allowed. The Masters were inclined to make exceptions during these events, however, as they were immensely lucrative.

Ignoring the urge to groan as she stepped into the server’s station behind the bar, the red femme locked optics with the smaller white bot and shared a knowing smile.

“I can hardly feel my aft anymore. I think I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been grabbed.”

Gold brows tilting playfully, she replied, “The poor thing. I’ll make sure to pay special attention to it once we’re done here.”

While the work was far from pleasant - and the clientele equally abysmal – there was one benefit to being assigned to these fights. All of the attending courtesans and servants were rewarded a recharge slot immediately after, which meant that whenever she and her lover were on the same rotation, they could spend that time together.

The lounge erupted in a chorus of shouts, and both femmes, along with the others who’d been standing in the wings awaiting their cues, peered around the wall that separated them from the rest of the room. The main event was beginning, the participants making their entrances onto the arena floor. The monitor at the far end of the lounge flicked between angles, cycling theough an overhead view, a shot of the packed stadium, before finally zooming in on the gladiators.

“How utterly barbaric,” another courtesan - a slender blue mech – murmured.

She was inclined to agree. The Pit Fights were labeled as ‘entertainment’, but she saw them for what they were. A reminder to the lower castes that they were expendable.

The cheers of the patrons quickly turned sour, some snarling expletives while others merely scowled up at the screens.

“They must not like that one very much,” her lover observed.

The bot in question was one she recognized. He had first appeared some time ago as an underdog - a former miner, she recalled, having heard the chatter at previous events. It was… intriguing to have witnessed the shift in their view of him. There was a brief time, early on, when many of the clients had been fans of his, or rather fans of the funds they made by betting on him. Despite the odds he won, over and over again, and as he gained popularity among the lower castes, his favor in the optics of the higher castes quickly plummeted.

At a table not far from where they were stationed, a particularly loud soldier sneered, “This is it. There’s no way he makes it out of this one!”

“You’ve said that before,” one of his companions drawled, his tone far more controlled.

The other laughed lowly, a malicious sound. “I’ve got it on good authority that the Pit Masters have stacked the match. A lineup no single bot could survive.”

“Awful,” her lover whispered in response.

“It’s their nature,” she reminded her, having grown to expect nothing less from their ilk. The high castes treated those beneath them like objects and tools, made for the sole purpose of their benefit, comfort, and entertainment.

She had seen many of the mech’s matches, not that the fighting had ever truly interested her. His oration skill, however, had caught her off guard and piqued her interest. He had a tendency to speak to the crowd after a victory, his words stirring the flicker of unrest in her spark. He spoke of the undue suffering of his people, and all those who were not so fortunate as to have been designated a higher ‘function’. His insistence that every sentient being ought to have the opportunity to carve their own path struck a chord deep within her, and the feeling had remained ever since, growing steadily with time.

She glanced down at her Star, wondering if her dreams of freedom were really all that unattainable. Glancing back at the monitor, the red femme watched the reigning champion take his position. Prior to this match, she had found amusement in his success, not because she found him amusing – she didn’t pay much attention to the fights themselves – but because he caused such unrest in the higher castes. Watching them unravel was always enjoyable. Tonight, for the first time, it felt important… more meaningful somehow. She cared about his victory.

‘Please… you have to win.’

The fight was a brutal one, and – as the loud soldier from earlier had suggested – certainly seemed as though it was rigged to ensure his loss. Yet despite the impossible odds, he held his own, moving with a speed and grace that belied one of his frame type, pressing on with a ferocity she had never seen before. It was wildly impressive... and inspiring.

Tensions in the lounge were high, patrons nearly silent as the match dragged on. When no one was looking, she grabbed hold of her lover and pulled her back behind the bar, ensuring they were alone.

“What is it? Is everything alright?” the smaller bot asked, gentle servos cradling her waist.

She looked down at the femme who had given her the only joy she knew, tracing the lines of her beautiful countenance with irreverent optics. “We should leave this place.”

The little femme smiled, making to reply.

“No… I mean it.”

“We cannot-”

“Please, just listen. Those mechs at the table, they’re afraid of him. Of what he’s doing. All the higher ups are. They won’t say it, but it tracks in their tone, their posture when they speak of him. I’ve been watching, listening. If this truly becomes the movement they fear it will… we might have a real shot at making a life for ourselves outside of these walls. It may be the only chance we ever get.”

Her lover glanced up at her with worry etched into her features, slim digits tightening on the plates along her backstrut.

“It would be dangerous… to go. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Reaching around, she took up the other’s smaller servos and held them in her own, rubbing comforting circles over the joints. “We’re in danger here… every day. The danger just looks different, it’s not as apparent. My Star… I would never leave without you, so if you want to stay, we stay. Just… please… think about it.”

There was a brief pause, only a handful of nano-kliks, but it felt like a small eternity. Finally, the white femme gave her an answer.

“For you, my Scarlet Flower, I would go to the ends of the universe. Where you go, I follow.”

The kiss was so desperate and abrupt it nearly knocked the pair of them over, but she was able to brace them against the wall, lifting her slender lover off the floor and cradling her against her chassis.

Ex-venting as she willed her spark not to burst with joy, she promised lowly, “I will do everything I can to protect you.”

“We will protect one another,” was her soft reply.

“NO!!”

The livid shout and the sound of a table clattering over brought their shared moment to an abrupt end, and she quickly set the white and gold femme down to see what all the commotion was about.

Several bots were on their pedes, staring at the monitor. On it, the image of an energon soaked arena flickered, and in the middle of it all stood the champion, still undefeated.

“I still function!”

His raspy cry sent the crowd into a frenzy, the deafening applause quieting only when he lifted a servo, signaling he had more to say.

“Let this be a message to those who seek to see my spark snuffed out – those who seek to see all of us defeated. We are the many, and our time has come!”

Again they cheered, and again he brought them to heel with a wave of his servo.

“For too long they have reaped the rewards of our suffering. Without us, they would have nothing. They would be nothing. And when we come together, there is nothing they can do to stop us from claiming everything we are owed. We will have justice! Stand with me! Rise up!”

The cacophony of voices surged in volume, slowly coming together in a chant that filled the stadium, and in turn, the dimly lit lounge.

Megatron! Megatron! Megatron!

The bots in attendance said nothing as they watched the spectacle unfold, and she could practically feel the nervousness radiating from them.

The two femmes, now standing side by side, glanced at one another.

“It’s fragging impossible! No one should have survived that!” the inebriated soldier shouted, looking ready to flip another table. The mech he was with tried in vain to calm him, but he was having none of it, the feeble attempts only serving to fuel his rage.

A Keeper moved to intervene at this point, speaking lowly to him, gesturing in ways that made her nervous. Suddenly her optics cut across the room at them, signaling one of them needed to come and attend their guest.

Frag. There went their evening together. She had to keep a tight hold on her displeasure in that moment, but reminded herself it was a very real possibility that soon they would have all the time in the world with one another.

Her lover’s small servo caught her arm. Glancing down, she lifted a brow in askance.

“Let me take this one. I’ll get him settled.”

“Are you certain. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to be very pleasant company.”

“Undoubtedly, however… I do have a way with the more surly ones,” the white femme teased.

A short chuckle escaped her vocaliser. “Yes, you certainly do. Take care, Star of my Spark. I’ll see you soon.”

My creation!! I think I like this design. I was playing around with a few others but this one feels good.

OC scribbling...

She's so psychotic I love her ❤️✨️

Part 4🥀🩶

The tips of her digits ran along the seams of her client’s plating, noting the spots that made his field shudder. The mech was young (compared to the majority of their clientele), his mannerisms giving him away. He wasn’t nearly as cruel as most of the others… but time would change that. It always did. The politics of the high caste bred corruption, selfishness, entitlement. After being surrounded by it for long enough, they always seemed to adopt the same tendencies.

For now, however, she could savor his inexperience; reduce him to a pliant heap in her servos.

The parlor was filled with a number of patrons and their company, all engaged in varying levels of intimacy. Some were engrossed in their courtesans, and others preferred to watch. An open space for bots with more voyeuristic preferences. The mech who had sought her out seemed intrigued, if not a bit embarrassed. His optics darted around the room, dilating as he took in the lascivious acts on display. Under her wandering digits, his frame tensed.

Above the din of voices, another sound filtered through the room, a high, ethereal melody that rang clear as a bell. She smiled. The bot beneath her took note as well, helm tilting back toward the entrance the music was filtering through.

“Incredible, isn’t she?”

He nodded, seeming transfixed. “Yes… I’ve never heard something so lovely.” Then he came back to himself, suddenly looking rather sheepish. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… you – ah.”

She laughed, a genuine display of amusement for once. “Worry not. You are permitted to peruse the options all you like. It’s why you’re here, after all. To sample the delights of The Spire… and she is quite the delight, let me assure you.”

He grinned, nodding while casting another fleeting look toward the door.

Up the hall, the Inner Theatre would be filled from end to end – it always was when her lover took the stage. A voice like the heavens, enchanting all who had the pleasure to experience her song.

“I think I’d like to meet her,” he murmured.

“And meet her you shall… but not now. She will be indisposed for quite some time once her performance comes to an end.” Reaching forward, the scarlet femme cupped his face, coaxing it back toward hers. “For now… you’re all mine.”

The low, suggestive cadence of her voice made him tremble, and the click and whir of his cooling fans made her lips part in a knowing grin. Lowering her mouth, she sampled the cabling of his neck, noting the way his servos gripped her waist when she dipped her glossa in the joint of his collar. She shuttered her optics, and the image of him fell away, replaced by white and gold, a gaze as blue and vibrant as crystallized energon. Her Shining Star.

Their next meeting couldn’t be soon enough.

Part 3🩶🥀

Cables taught, she bowed herself into a tempting pose, helm tipped back, optics shut, mouth agape, creating the illusion of pleasure, a beautiful picture painted for her onlookers. Her frame spun in lazy, controlled circles, allowing everyone in the room a chance to see her. She twisted, artfully bending, placing limbs in ways that were not possible for most Cybertronian frames. But she was unlike them. Cold forged, altered, built specifically by the Masters to perform feats of enticement and pleasure not attainable anywhere else. It was a cruel existence, to be placed upon a pedestal as some beautiful thing, to have no say in who used you or how you were used. To know your life was always in the servos of those willing to pay the most. And not all of them were kind. Most were entitled, corrupt, careless, and violent… it was why appearances were so very important. This game was one of wits, persuasion, and desirability, and she played the game well.

Retracting the lines, she rose higher, weaving her legs through the cables and balancing herself inverted as she parted them, an impressive and lurid display that prompted several cheers. Her dance was a deadly one, the danger creating more intrigue than beauty alone ever could. Every move was calculated not only to entice her audience, but to ensure her safety. One wrong turn, even a nano-klik too late, could result in her frame ending up a battered wreckage upon the stage. And – if the damage was extensive enough – that would be the end of her. She was an object, after all, and should they decide she was not worth the investment to repair, she would be discarded, like so many before her, and another would take her place just as easily. She catches the optics of a mech she is familiar with, one who – while old and entitled and dreadfully pompous – was gentle. Or perhaps it was that he didn’t physically have it in him to be violent anymore. He looked as though a stiff wind might knock him off his pedes. Regardless of the reason, if she could entice him to bid, at least she could walk away from this encounter unscathed. The scarlet femme made certain to keep his gaze for a time before glancing past him, knowing the attention would please him. Luck was on her side this night. Many in attendance were regulars, with only a few new faces. While she could not yet be certain if any of them possessed the wealth to outbid him, the odds were favorable. Her best bet was to play the part she knew he liked, and hope his was the winning offer. Lowering herself to the stage, she unwound her cables from the beams above, drawing them back with a snap of her wrists. She spun slowly, kneeling as she did so until she came to rest on the cool tile, helm against the floor while the rest of her arched invitingly. Suggestively. Again, a round of approving cheers. Without making it appear she was favoring him, she moved to and fro, casting little looks at him whenever an opportunity arose. He hadn’t looked away, his expression intent, and she felt triumph unfurl in her spark. This appointment would belong to him, and she would live to see another sunrise. The dark, bitter part of her that had festered over so many millennia in such a cold and inhospitable environment delighted at knowing how many bots would walk away from this place with empty servos. Some would find company elsewhere, but many would leave to nurse their battered pride. It gave her a petty kind of joy to know they all wanted her, and only one would succeed in having her. The assortment offered at The Spire was carefully curated to meet every need imaginable, and of the variety of treasures to choose from, she was among the most sought after. Not because of her beauty, no – they were all lovely. Nor was it her aerial prowess or her dancing. She had learned long ago that the most valuable skill for any courtesan to have was the ability to read their patrons. And so she watched, learned, honing her craft. Clients, Masters, Keepers, even her peers, all of them became as easy to decipher as glyphs on a datapad. She recognized patterns in speech, body language, and actions, hearing the words between the words and recognize everything left unsaid. It was a skill she had mastered long ago, and she used it with the same painstaking precision as she used her grappling lines. When your life depended on pleasing those around you, knowing how to speak and how to act in times of intimacy (and otherwise) was the most valuable tool one could possess. It had made her into an optimal companion and had served her well for many orbital cycles, allowing her to keep herself – and those she cared about – alive. And she would continue to ply her skills for as long as she needed to, filing away whatever information she thought might be of use. Somehow, she would find a way to use those same skills to take her and her lover out of this place and make a better life for them. Until that time came, she waited, watched, and played the perfect part.

Drawing robots makes me nervous. They're organic shaped but not, and attempting to make them look semi organic while not overdoing it is terrifying. Drawing hands also makes me nervous. Drawing robot hands makes me super duper extra nervous. How some of yall make it look effortless is mind blowing.

Ugh!

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