Chapter Text
The winter festival was one of the most important public events presided over by the Prime, and it was Optimus’ first time doing so. There was no record of a Prime’s Consorts ever attending but Optimus pushed it through. He wanted them there, if they wanted to go. He wanted them there, and to be seen, unbound and happy and in his confidence. He would hear who snubbed them and who treated them well and what sorts of gifts and bribes they were offered.
The Prime received more gifts than he could count. He had not imagined the veiled panic in the optics of those rich and powerful, the ambassadors, nobles, and businessmechs, who had paid for a space on the Basilica grounds and to be among the first to have access to the Prime. Most of them had brought gifts for the Prime, but not one of them had been prepared for Optimus to step out of the temple with his Consorts, and affectionately shoo each of them out to enjoy the festival.
They disappeared into the crowds, the tents, the food stalls unmolested, and Optimus had started his first round of greetings and gifts. It was going to take him longer to get to the fun parts of the festival, but he’d catch up eventually.
The Prime received many gifts from many people. The winter festival was one of the times when the Prime could be approached almost freely, to ask for blessings or give gifts, to press wish-tokens into his hands to ask for intervention or favor or just to touch his plating so that they could tell their littles they had done so. Optimus did not want to be a god, wasn’t one, but in the middle of a festival while the people of Solaris took the one chance most of them would have to worship him and not a figure on a dias was not the time for theological debates.
Besides, this deliberate mixing of his divine presence into the streets of Solaris gave him a chance to play the carnival games that had been set up, to talk, to mingle. He listened to their problems when he could, and gave them blessings that only told them how strong they already were. He refused unearned prizes from the carnival barkers, but won several legitimately. He told jokes.
Gods, Jazz had told him, were not supposed to tell dirty jokes, so Optimus did so whenever it would not cause a political incident to hear the Prime say “poop”.
“So what do you call a magical poop?” He was very pleased when more than a few people groaned in mock pain. Word had gotten around that he liked honest reactions to his juvenile humor more than insincere laughter.
When someone else dared make a joke back -- “What do you call a Prime’s fart? -- a noble gas.” -- he let himself laugh loudly, and rewarded the femme with one of his hard-won carnival prizes.
He didn’t see his consorts much during the festival. He knew they had headed straight to the fairgrounds while he had been stuck still at the Basilica entrance. The fairgrounds weren’t the largest on Cybertron, but still more than large enough to lose someone, or several someones, in. That didn’t mean he didn’t see any sign of them. He heard Jazz belting out a popular rock song alongside the festival performers, who probably didn’t even know they were being graced by a Preeminent Maestro. There were glimpses to be had of the others, here or there, as they made the rounds through the games and contests, the drinking and eating.
And he saw Prowl, shyly lurking at the edge of the crowd of blessing-seekers with an enormous, tacky plush dragonformer; Optimus held his hand out in invitation and signal that he was beckoning someone closer. The wish-seekers parted, letting Prowl dart in close and bury his face against Optimus’ plating. The plush fell to the ground, forgotten.
“A moment,” he implored his wish-seekers. “Consort-Praxus.” Most of them backed away by a step, though Optimus still felt those behind him or the side that didn’t have Prowl reach out to touch him, then leave to let the next wave through. As long as they didn’t disturb Prowl. Someone brushed the dirt off of the pink dragonformer and righted it, setting it down where it wouldn’t get dirtier while Prowl was busy. “My Consort,” he said to Prowl, who only shook his head and pressed himself closer.
Optimus carefully wrapped his hand around Prowl’s head and stroked his back, rumbling his engine to help block out some of the noise. Prowl had been the most eager to head out into the Celebration alone, to do something he’d always wanted to do but had never been allowed, but Optimus couldn’t find any surprise that he was being overwhelmed. In the most tragic way possible, Prowl was the most sheltered of his consorts.
They stood like that for a while, long enough for some people to start leaving their offerings and their wish tokens at his feet like he was a crossroads shrine, instead of a person.
Finally, Prowl squirmed and Optimus let him free to step back immediately with a parting kiss to the top of his helm. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you, my Prime.”
Optimus stroked Prowl’s head and shoulder and doorwing. “Anytime.”
Prowl nodded, starting to look around. Optimus smiled. He looked eager to get back to the festivities, but, “Do you need me for anything, my Prime.”
“Not right now. Go have fun, and come find me again when you need a moment.” Optimus petted Prowl one last time. “Enjoy the festival.”
“Thank you.”
Prowl retrieved his dragonformer, then stood on his tiptoes to check for what was nearby and a tiny, fluffy face of a turbodog poked out of the pouch at Prowl’s side. Optimus blinked. He knew Prowl had taken Geisha with him, but that white and silver pup was not Geisha… further confirmed when Geisha stuck her head out beside the new pup. “I didn’t know you planned on getting another pup,” Optimus said.
Prowl looked down at his bag, then back to Optimus. “I wasn’t. Ambassador Dawnglow-- from Polyhex?” Optimus nodded; he knew the ambassador. Only right at this moment did it seem significant that he had not been among those pushing to greet the Prime in the Basilica courtyard. “He caught us right as we were leaving the courtyard. He had gifts. He gave Jazz some kind of electrical thing with a terrifying number of buttons that Jazz was very excited to get, but had puppies for the rest of us.”
Clever of him. Now Optimus would always remember he had been the very first to treat his Consorts as people and political forces worth approaching, rather than playthings. It had been Optimus’ intent, of course, to present his Consorts as such, but he had hoped that more of them would catch on at once, so that no one could claim any real favor from the Prime for it. Perhaps he should have expected Ambassador Dawnglow to be prepared for his Consorts’ first introduction. He knew Jazz already, and had seen Jazz and Orion’s nearly-amicas friendship first hand before Optimus had become Prime.
“This is Pearl.” Prowl went on. He looked a little uncertain about the gift, but he stroked both of his dogs affectionately. “Jazz said we should accept so we all did, but…”
“All of you should accept or decline whichever gifts you wish,” Optimus said, and was pleased to see Prowl brighten. He did like the puppies. “Go have fun.”
“Thank you, my Prime.” Prowl ran after a departing candy vendor like a sparkling, rather than the full-grown Baron he was.
Optimus turned his attention back to the crowd of wellwishers. He gathered up the pile of accumulated tokens and handed them off to an assistant. “Thank you all for your patience,” he told them. “Who was next?”