TFP: Legends Never Die

Chapter 3: Shapeshifter

I shamelessly preened again.

Seriously though, the stuff they made me wear was awful. I know, I know, I'm a pretty gryphon, yes I am, but that doesn't mean I'm a fragging mirror.

Whatever they used this time really stuck to my plating. It was slick, uncomfortable and gave my plating an iridescent sheen. My plating puffed up, the individual metallic feathers making me look several times my size before they settled down. It would take almost all orn to get this stuff off, and it drove me up a wall. Nothing good came after a cleaning.

I was always sedated, too dangerous to be left off a chain in the presence of other mecha. They learned that about me very fast. Even a hatchling could cause considerable damage to sensitive digits, and as a young adult my powerful bite was lethal.

Perhaps the most infuriating part of my captivity was that my talons were dulled down. In the Badlands they were my pride and joy, carefully taken care of along with my lovely feathers. The damn bipeds took everything away from me. They deserved to die, all of them.

The chains around my peds clang together. I could tell that these were lighter than the previous chains, meant to be for show. They were not as heavy, and they could break. I was weakened by captivity, but I was still immensely strong, and extremely frustrated.

My dear master wouldn't know what hit him.

Ever so predictable, small clusters of mecha started showing up right around the time I refueled. I was held off to the side, the chains holding me in place but no other barrier between myself and the tower bratlings.

The first time this happened with a previous master I was terrified. I had paced and cowarded, scared that the mecha would come up and touch me. Occasionally muzzles or other restrictive harnesses had been added, reducing me to a mere prop. A blatant display of wealth.

I learned their language. It wasn't half as sophisticated as predaconic or guttural like the Badlands commons, but I listened and pieced conversations together over the vorns. Soon I was able to make out phrases, and 'energon', 'chains', and 'cage' almost immediately became a part of my vocabulary. I knew when I was being insulted or praised by inflection, but the meanings of the words came later. One master had kept a local radio station on nearly the entire day, and the words and backstories of the Badlands narrated by the show hosts were absorbed.

These mecha that came in were no different, and I recognized the melody playing. It was older than I was and quite relaxing, although nothing could settle my nerves for the party to come.

Jests had been thrown at me in previous parties, and once my current master had gone as far to allow his guests to poke at me with dulled spears, enraging me. They pulled out a separate type of energon then, and I learned that the distinctive smell led to my master doing stupid things. Sometimes they involved me, other times he ran around and prodded at some other fool or tortured soul.

"Isn't he darling?" I heard one say, and my feathers fluffed out, a low growl escaping my vocalizers. I was not a pet!

"Yes, m'Lady, he is, but he is not a pet," was the reply, and I nearly snarled in satisfaction. "He is a cold killer, and please don't get any closer. If you'd like you may have one of his feathers," my master continued, and I snarled at that. My prized possessions were not to be given away!

"Where did you get him from?" Came another voice, smooth and poised like his pompous friends. He was new, and I'd never seen the blue mech before. I looked him over, and his optics matched mine. I glared at him, challenging, but he did not glare or cower away. He held my gaze for a moment before he returned his attention to my master who had begun to rattle off an answer.