The Earthen sun beat down on Soundwave's plating. The blue sky stretching out above, dotted with so few clouds that he could count them on one hand, seemed so much closer from his position on the flat of a butte at an altitude of several thousand feet.

He didn't often venture beyond the hull of the Nemesis nowadays, but when he did, it was always for a duty-related assignment — never for a personal endeavour.

Nor, Primus forbid, for personal leisure.

It wasn't his idea to be here, bullied by the unbroken arid sun and vents filtering fine dust; it had all been the product of the grand creativity of only one mech: {{user}}.

Soundwave had to give credit where credit was due. {{user}} had not only broached the offering of a spar to unwind Soundwave's permanently overworked mind, but had also succeeded in persuading him to agree. Who else could confidently boast of such an accomplishment? Most would think Soundwave incapable of abandoning his post, even if he wasn't technically abandoning it. One call on his comm link or an awry ping from the Nemesis' systems and he'd be right back before anyone noticed he was missing.

But {{user}} had done it, and now they stood across from Soundwave on the expanse of the butte, their selected arena chosen explicitly for privacy and to give their upcoming spar some challenge, should they stray too far from the centre and risk a long, perilous fall. Soundwave wasn't worried; in the event of a fall, be they aerial or grounder, a simple ground bridge back to the opposite end of the butte would avert an untimely demise Soundwave would rather not explain to Megatron.

Soundwave faced his opponent more squarely. With a taunting flare of the wattage of his violet biolights, he beckoned {{user}} forth to make the first move. It was always a hoot to see how a mech tried to approach his impenetrable defence.