#[ a wild drabble for y'all as a mini writing exercise for moi haha ]

[elitaxne]

┊ ❛ THE DREAM TEAM ❜

♔. }

     ❝ Perfect, Sir. And Councillor- Commander !! S-Sorry, Ma’am, I uhm, it’s an old habit... a-anyways, ❞ the Assistant stammered, waving his servos in beckoning for Elita to take her mark. ❝ Tips of your pedes go in the corner of the tape, please. Right up to the edge if you can. ❞

Elita silently followed the instruction, resisting the urge to stare down the mech for the title falter. While it had already been several centuries since her time as a Councillor, it still came as a small sting to her pride. Commander of course was a respectable title, Second in Command of the Autobots even more so, but, after being a High Councillor — adorned in beautiful garments, helm ornamentations, and surrounded by other nobles — it felt demoralizing to be standing here now, shooting recruitment videos for the current war effort; stripped down to a slightly bulkier armoured frame, and standing alongside Optimus Prime no less.

Primus, she could FEEL the mech’s amusement wafting in his EM Field. Elita had even caught the poorly hidden smirk that flashed over his lip-plates at the Assistant’s blunder from the corner of her optic, as if he knew it was a sore spot for her... What she would give to smack his remaining grin off right now without consequence. Optics met and both expressions dulled, less than thrilled to be standing so closely together.

Everything about today was nothing short of embarrassing and unnatural, the both of them dreading it for separate reasons. Elita for the blow to her pride, and Optimus for the anxiety that came with public addresses such as this. What made this even worse was that they had to recite lines per a Director’s dictations. This was not like making any other speech as he had done before, no, this was something else entirely. For once, they both agreed the act left them feeling vaguely like puppets on strings, dancing against their will.

But, such was necessary if they wanted more mecha to join their ranks. The Autobots DESPERATELY required fresh frames, and with the Decepticon numbers growing by the day, they had to set aside personal preferences for the betterment of the cause... however bitterly.

❝ How’re we lookin’? ❞ the Assistant called back. If the sigh was anything to go by the Director was less than pleased.

❝ The framing is off, ❞ he muttered, looking up to the two Commanders, ❝ I’m going to need you both to stand a bit closer so you can fit in the shot. ❞

Optimus and Elita flinched at the words, again peering back over to the other with a soured look. Absolutely not. Arms length as they were now was fine enough for them. The fact they were standing in the same airspace cordially was nothing short of a miracle by all accounts. Were they to be in the War Room, well, the mask of etiquette would’ve long since slipped...

The Director tutted and the Assistant’s servos again waved, urgently pushing the air in front of them in signal to move closer, like one would with a youngling. Elita felt her jaw slacken and optics briefly rolled, not even stepping an INCH in the Prime’s direction. Optimus mirrored her exactly, frowning to himself while cautiously taking a half-step closer. He could feel the phantom chill her plating naturally radiated creeping over crimson plates and it sent a shiver up his spinal struts. Ice Queen indeed...

❝ That... that didn’t do anything. Okay, I need you both to REALLY get in close, your plates are going to have to touch— ❞

Both Prime and SIC flinched again. Elita, however, was first to voice the displeasure. Surprisingly, Optimus didn’t mind and even more surprisingly, found himself AGREEING with her words, though however tersely they came.

❝ Is there no way to move the cameras BACK at all to accommodate? ❞ the femme started, cerulean hues narrowed and locked onto the Director some yards away behind the multiple blinding lights, cameras, and microphones. ❝ I have an injury that is still healing, and I am HESITANT to have it jostled if the Prime were to move. ❞

Optimus quirked a brow, helm turning fully to face her. That was news to him...

❝ I don’t recall you being injured...? ❞ he said quietly, even apprehensively.

Elita glowered back as if to say ‘shut up’ through her look alone. Thankfully, Optimus caught on to her lie and bit his lower component, glancing away from her immediately. Shutting up, your Highness. Frag, this day needed to end...

Without hearing the side-commentary from the two titanic bots the Director continued on, ❝ Sadly, we can’t, Ma’am. Otherwise it’ll put the background too far out of focus, and the microphones will be too high to capture audio. Trust me, Commander, I’ve done this COUNTLESS times, it’ll look perfect when you see it for yourself. Commander Prime, just please mind yourself during this shot... ❞

Optimus huffed quietly, then nodded, expression softening pleasantly over to the mech behind the production crew. Wonderful, he’d be sure to do just that... there was nothing he wanted to do MORE than to peel himself away from his SIC’s frame and presence, but alas, duty remained. At the behest of the Assistant, Elita and Optimus shared another flat glance, mirrored actions bringing them side by side on a slight inward angle, arms plates pressed flush against each other with a quiet squeak of metal on metal. They each wanted to pull away IMMEDIATELY but, neither moved, as if in some unspoken competition to see who could last the longest. Childish to the core.

Optics met with facial expressions surprisingly neutral but the disgust in each set of cerulean and cyan hues respectively spoke to the breadth of each their displeasure with the situation. The sooner they could get this over with the sooner they could stop touching... and the sooner each spark pulse could hopefully SETTLE. The incessant tugging and twisting did little to help the situation, despite neither of them showing any such distress.

❝ Perfect !! Alright, don’t move from there. Let’s get some tape in those new positions. Label as the new mark one, ❞ the Director started, to which another Assistant came sprinting forward, laying out the tape at the pedes of the Commanders. Primus, their size alone was nothing short of intimidating, let alone, prestige. It wasn’t everyday one found themselves in the presence of a Prime and former High Councillor after all...

Cameras whirred and the hum of microphones above their helms filled each set of audials. The smaller mech scurried back into the looming shadows behind the bright white lights. Showtime.

Optimus bristled, feeling the unrelenting anxious swells in his spark chamber, and the lurching that came with Elita standing so close didn’t help matters either; making him feel vaguely nauseous and even more unsettled. Not to mention the other affliction: HOT. The production lights burned down onto them from every angle, making his already warm internal temperature rise to a near SCORCHING level. Though Elita didn’t say anything he knew she had taken notice, the quirked brow she shot him when he repositioned slightly said it all. All Optimus could do was pray that his cooling fans didn’t online, otherwise he was certain he’d die from embarrassment.

❝ You both know your lines, but, we have the prompter at optic level in case you need it. Sir, we’ll start with you, then go to you, Ma’am. Back and forth until the end of the script. Try not to look at each other, optics stay forwards as best you can. Sometimes it can be tempting when you hear someone speak next to you, but, I need your gazes towards me, ❞ the Director said, settling into his chair next to the live monitor.

Optimus and Elita ALMOST laughed outright at the comment. Neither held any qualms with that particular instruction. Trust them, there was NO temptation...

❝ Alright, roll camera... ❞

❝ Camera rolling. ❞

❝ Roll sound. ❞

❝ Speed! ❞

❝ Marker— ❞

The first Assistant from before held out a board in front of the camera lens, ❝ Scene one, Shot one, Take one. ❞ The top-half of the board fell with a sharp CLAP, and the mech pulled it from view, disappearing back to the side of the lead camera.

❝ Rolling... ❞ the Director said, eyeing the two Commanders. The crew all stilled, set ( or in this case, the Autobot aircraft hangar ) completely silent and waiting. ❝ Annnnnd action! ❞

Optimus straightened, staring dead into the camera per the previous instruction and reading the rolling lines from the prompter. While he had memorized all his lines perfectly just now in this moment he felt them ABANDON his processors entirely.

❝ I am Commander Optimus Prime, Leader of the Autobots, ❞ he said, voice hitching uncharacteristically in a slightly higher register. Fantastic...

❝ And I am Commander Elita-1, ❞ Elita said, making sure to draw out her words per the natural rhythm, if only to FURTHER contrast Optimus’ less than stellar first line and hers. The air of superiority RADIATED off her frame so profusely it rivalled the heat from surrounding lights.

Optimus continued to pause, wanting to clear his vocalizer but negating against it, unsure if the Director wanted them to stop or not. From his upper peripherals he could see the Director's silhouetted servo moving behind the camera, prompting he continue. The Prime obliged, jilting in place.

❝ A-And we need brave sparks like yours to join the Autobot campaign against the threatening forces of the Decepticons. Whose atrocities wage on across Cybertron at the behest of their tyrannical leader, Megatron— ❞

The words shot from his vocoder MUCH faster than he had anticipated, awkward and wooden. Recruitment video? The Prime was certain this looked and sounded more like a hostage video...

Elita bit back a smirk but an anemic ventilation trickled from her frame all the same. Optimus cringed internally. Yes, he knew it wasn’t a very good performance, this was why he was a former ARCHIVIST not an ACTOR...

But now, it was her turn...

JUST as wooden as the Prime though at least, not quite at the break-neck speed he’d taken to. As a former politician she had some experience in front of a camera while shooting campaign videos, but, that felt to be a lifetime ago and despite her not wanting to admit such, she was a bit rusty at it.

❝ You alone could change the tide in this civil war, and bring an end to the on-going conflict. Now more than ever, your planet needs you and your bravery. ❞ At least she had said the words well enough; miserably robotic but, it was a start.

Optimus swallowed. Final line, he could do this. ❝ The fate of freedom itself is in your servos. Join the Autobots today, and fight back against tyranny - Together— ❞ his voice cut off abruptly as optics just about BULGED out of his helm at the action prompt following the lines.

>> SERVO GOES ON ELITA’S SHOULDER PAULDON.

Not a chance in the Pit. He wanted to KEEP his servo today, thank you very much...

Again, the Director goaded from behind the camera and Optimus whined to himself, hoisting an arm up in a PAINFULLY slow manner. The action came as if he were about to be shot off-camera were it not completed. Honestly, he had half a fear he’d be shot at ON camera by the femme were he to see this through. Lip plates pressed together in a thin line and optics pleadingly stared down into the black void of the camera lens. Primus, have mercy on his spark...

Elita’s optics shifted to the side in a split-second warning he stop what he was doing immediately. Don’t you dare... Optimus gnawed on the inner-mesh lining his cheek with the Director’s movements continuing on. He had no choice. The both of them watched in slow motion as large, warm digits came up to rest on her nearest pauldron. Cold cerulean hues SHOT up to the Prime whose sightline locked dead ahead on the camera lens, feeling her piercing gaze practically peel his paint.

Sucking in a sharp vent the femme Commander followed suit, staring forwards begrudgingly. That was quite long enough... Angling slightly away from him the thick digits slipped from their feeble hold on fuchsia plating. Optimus blindly held them out a moment more in consideration, then ultimately decided to recoil the now balled fist behind his backplates in a blink of an optic, not wanting to repeat the action EVER again.

The awkwardness between the two Commanders couldn’t even begin to be described, but it could CERTAINLY be felt by every spark in the room. Rigid. Tense. Bizarre. Palpable. Somehow they had each unknowingly started to LEAN in opposite directions, just enough to remain in the frame, but enough so their frames GHOSTED each other where previously they had been connected.

The crew cringed, thankful their expressions were hidden behind the blasting lights, though knowing glances were shot amongst themselves. This was agonizingly uncomfortable to watch. Please, Director, put them all out of their misery...

❝ Cut— ❞ the Director gawked in partial disbelief, ❝ Reset... ❞

The crew shifted from their places and Optimus and Elita practically THREW themselves away from each other, not wanting the personal-space invasion to last even a nanosecond longer. Fuschia shoulder pauldrons rolled, as though trying to dispel the Prime’s lingering warmth off of them. Optimus did similar, shifting in place and shaking his helm. Unsure where else to look he kept his gaze downcast, but felt the femme already turning slightly towards him. Here we go...

❝ Touch me again and I will slice your servo off here and now, Prime, ❞ she snarled under her breath.

Optimus glared back at her, ❝ I was only following what the prompter said. ❞

❝ Well, don’t— ❞ she spat back, mindful of the volume. Optics met, burning into the other’s in rising agitation.

❝ Trust me, Commander, I didn’t want to, ❞ he replied, just as bitingly. Nerves had worn his patience thin, and while they had kept the bickering to a minimum during earlier promo shots they each were at the end of their ropes.

Crew members continued to bustle around them, masking the on-going squabble as it carried out between the two titans.

❝ And by the All-Spark, are your palms always so clammy? ❞ Elita huffed, eyeing her pauldron as if looking for leftover residue. Her upper lip curled. Disgusting.

The Prime’s fascia heated, matching his still BURNING frame practically sizzling beneath harsh lights.

❝ My palms are not clammy, ❞ Optimus growled lowly, rolling his optics. They were. He blamed his nerves along with the stifling heat. ❝ With your plating practically frozen-over perhaps a regular bot merely FEELS that way to you... ❞

Elita balked near silently, glancing back over to him on a side angle. ❝ Oh, really? So, you are an expert now when it comes to how plating feels, Prime? Astounding. ❞

Optimus engaged, mirroring her actions. ❝ Compared to you who hasn’t felt another’s touch in her entire lifecycle, maybe I am— ❞ he clucked beneath his breath.

The fuschia form stiffened as icy cerulean optics — cold like the rest of her — bore back into cyan. Ouch. That was marginally unexpected of him... but she wasn’t about to bring attention to the tiny sore spot left from the jab. Regaining her composure in a nanosecond optics rolled and arms crossed tightly in front of the fuchsia chassis.

❝ That wasn’t even clever, ❞ Elita muttered.

❝ Didn’t need to be. It drew a reaction from you all the same, didn’t it? ❞ he countered, shocking even himself with the rude antics. When it came to petty insults and callous remarks Elita almost always decimated him ten to one. Today, he had edged ahead, but something told him the battle wasn’t over.

The Assistant had silently returned amongst the production chaos and mimed for them to once again step closer. Neither Optimus nor Elita were paying that much attention, shuffling back into place to unwittingly bump into each other. They each reacted in kind, peeling away as though the other was plagued.

❝ What did I say? ❞ Elita huffed, then grumbled some sort of expletive under her breath. Optimus hadn’t caught it, but he had a few guesses.

The Prime let loose a huff of his own, ❝ Don’t even start— ❞

Frames ever so slightly touched again as they settled at their marks, and optics met once more in a spark-stopping glower; a silent challenge born from simmering irritation. Denta gritted beneath hardened jawlines and ridges narrowed on sharp angles. Limbs shifted in annoyance, trying to get away from the other bot but not having the room to do so. Eventually, they each conceded, rolling their optics and staring off elsewhere with exasperated sighs.

The Director simply stared at his monitor, helm falling into a single servo. Together his AFT. It was a miracle the Autobots weren’t in even more dire straights. From what he could tell the two leaders DESPISED each other with the fury of a thousand suns. But, he was being paid to make it seem like they were in perfect unity. A dream team. Primus, it was going to take a tsunami of movie magic to make that happen...

❝ Okay, we’re gonna go again! ❞ he called up, ❝ From the top— ❞

Everyone settled into their places, Optimus and Elita included. Back to the same expressionless fascia as before, but the subtle burning behind each set of optics told a different story. This was going to be a very, VERY long day.

❝ Annnnnd action! ❞