Dancing Solarflare
Featuring Jazz and Blaster

It was a cool, crisp night, perfect for stargazing. Solarflare wheeled and descended, aiming her black beak for the wide steel building at the edge of an old wharf. Pump-pounding music poured from every crack in the joint, bright electronic lights flaring out and onto the unpaved street below. A Porsche sat idling outside; once she touched down, it unfolded and straightened into Jazz’s unmistakable form. A second later, a boom box that had been sitting by the door transformed into Blaster.

Jazz grinned. “You’re late, babydoll.”

Flare stood up, flicking her wings back. “I couldn’t find my glows-sticks; they weren’t where I left them last time. I guess Mirage cleaned a bit.” She chuckled, then reached into a subspace pocket to pull forth a string of glowsticks, which she then began expertly winding around her body.

Blaster laughed. “Can’t get the old stick to join us?”

“He said his first would be his last, but you can keep on trying if you want,” she returned, tossing a string of purple and green around her neck guard. “Well, I’m ready.”

Jazz held the door open for the two of them, and they entered a whole new world: one of intense, pulsing beats, strong bass and hundreds of human bodies writhing in time. Unlike that mythical “first time”, the human crowd was expecting them. There were three Transformer-sized crates and a large slab in the corner for them to sit down, as well as a larger, more reinforced DJ’s table, in case Blaster wanted to join in the fun. He usually did, claiming that while he had the groove, it was more in his cortex than in his feet.

Immediately, Jazz pulled Solarflare to the middle of the dance floor. The DJ spotted them – how could he not? – and cranked the volume to a point where their armor began to rattle. Flare felt all her cares melt away as she lifted her arms and swayed. No war, no worries, just her friends and the music.