When you walk a fine line between opposites, it’s important to keep your balance.

I try to keep myself balanced. It’s harder than it sounds.

Some days I can feel confused and off-balanced until I get the time to do this. This morning was one of those times. But I’m off-shift now, and my door is closed and locked. That’s a signal to everyone that I won’t be coming out for anything less than an attack.

I stand in the middle of my quarters, breathing deeply and slowly. My recharge platform has my single chair stacked on top of it, out of my way. The table is shoved up against the wall next to it, leaving the rest of the room’s floor bare. I spend little time here, so decorations are few and mostly on the walls. I study them as I set my feet carefully and begin.

Breath in; breath out.

An intricate web strung in between two forked branches that Tarantulas once gave me as a gift is hung in one corner. It’s large, and if the rest of the Maximals ever ask where I got it from, I will lie and say that I made it myself, or maybe that I stole it from the Predacon tarantula. They would be uneasy if they knew that he had made it specially for me way back when I was fresh from my statis pod. At the time, he had touched my shoulder and presented it to me as something to study; to learn to copy. My natural instincts urge me to make messy, slack webs that don’t look anything like the neatly taunt lines between the sticks, and it was a perfectly rational explanation for giving me the web. But the touch on my shoulder told me it was more than a study piece from teacher to student.

My breathing is calm and steady, although the air I draw in is only used to cool my internal systems and keep my organic beast mode functioning without oxygen deprivation. My feet have found a part of the flooring that is just textured enough to keep me from slipping. I close my optics and choose a side. For today, I’ll use my right. It’s always good to keep myself ambidextrous, and I’ve been relying on my left side for most of the morning.

Breath in; breath out.

I’ve moved a little, so that when I open my optics again I’m looking more at one wall than the corner where the web is suspended between walls. A flat sheet of obsidian, the beautiful black glass produced by lava, is secured at eye level by holes drilled through it with nails holding it to the wall. Lines have been etched into the black glass, then polished so the edges are smooth and the picture seems to flow out of the natural rock. The black widow spider has long, delicate legs and a body that looks almost ridiculously tiny in comparison to the length of her legs, but that’s not what makes the picture so pretty. Both eyes and hourglass on the carved spider aren’t carved out of the glass sheet like the rest of the body; instead, they stand out and are polished to a silky finish, showing off the bands of subtle colors revealed inside the black obsidian when light shines on it. I had never suspected Silverbolt of being an artist, but he had presented me with it not long after I had allied with the Maximals. At the time, I had looked for an underlying motive like the Predacons always have, but I found only his pleasure at watching me examine his work of art. He isn’t like Tarantulas.

My eyes close again as I extend my arms in front of myself, keeping them close to my lower body and curved towards each other. My feet shift a little, testing the floor. My right foot catches on a particular place, and so I ground myself, secure in my footing. With that done, I center my right leg over my foot, then center my body over my right leg. Ground and center; the basics of balance. My right side is the part of my body which will have to balance what the rest is doing. My body will depend on how well my right side does. I put very little weight on my left foot, now, and I hold myself still without tensing up. Tensing causes muscle cables to tremble with the effort, and the tremors can move me off my center. I’m not relaxed, but I won’t have to tense up unless I shift off my center. There isn’t much effort required if I’m centered.

Breath in; breath out.

Ground and center.

I test myself, mentally and physically, and judge that I am beginning to balance. It’s a relief after the uncertainty of the morning.

My optics flicker open. I’ve moved again, and now I’m looking at the area between the web and the obsidian. I can look at either one without moving my head, which would upset my center. I glance between them, comparing. Each one was a gift, and each one is beautiful in its own way. Tarantulas’s gift has the beauty of our shared nature in it. I’ve learned to spin webs like his by now, and I can appreciate the time it took to make something so near perfection. Web-spinning is a kind of art all its own, but, on the other hand, it’s something that comes to him naturally because of his beast mode. Carvings like the one Silverbolt did are not natural. The colors trapped inside the black glass would not have been exposed without the careful carving and polishing that he did. He didn’t tell me how long it took him to make me the carving, but I know it must have taken a very long time. It’s not perfect. If I look closely, I can see where etched lines have been smoothed out. But, somehow, the imperfections make it seem more precious. On the basis of beauty, I can’t decide which one I like more.

Breath in; breath out.

Ground and center.

I’m ready to start.

Very slowly, I lift my left heel off the floor, up the side of my right foot. My right knee is bent slightly, enough that I won’t strain it, and my left heel is curved around my right ankle joint. The toe of my foot slides up after it, bringing all of my weight to bear on my right leg. My body sways a small amount; my foot rolls to its outer edge with the weight shift and my ankle joint stiffens to prevent me from falling over. It works. I’m now standing on one leg, right foot turned out a bit and left foot pointed downwards along my ankle. I’m centered once more; my right foot doesn’t slide along the floor with the added stress of all my weight. I keep my arms motionless for now.

I let my eyes return to the spot between the two gifts, effortlessly holding my pose until I think I’m ready to move on to the next step. I can vaguely see the web and the carving out of the corners of my vision, but I can’t see any details. That’s alright. I’m not thinking of their physical beauty right now; I’m thinking about the emotions behind them. Silverbolt’s puppyish look as he gave the obsidian to me contrasted with his elegant speech about why he chose to give me it. The black glass because I’m his “Dark Lady”, but also because glass is fragile. I suppose he’s right, although he thinks that I am delicate and in need of care just because I’m female. I think I am like the carving because if the glass is off-balance, it will fall to the hard floor and break, but even then the pieces will be sharp-edged. The black widow spider was for obvious reasons, but he insists the subtle colors in the hourglass and eyes are because softer parts of me show through the Predacon image I have of myself. The softer parts he means are the feelings I have for him. He could be right. The reason he gave me the carving is easy to see, maybe because he’s a Maximal, but maybe also just because he’s like that. He loves me. He disobeyed his commanding officer blatantly just because he loves me. He gave me something he worked hard on just because he loves me. Perhaps he had an underlying motive that was related, like getting appreciation for his work or even what I’m doing now: thinking about him as I look at it. If so, I’m touched instead of threatened. I like the lady treatment I get from him, and it’s nice getting something with a harmless plot behind it.

Breath in; breath out.

Ground and center.

Next step.

Moving slowly and carefully, I bend my left knee and turn my left leg out to the side at the same time. My foot slides up the side of my right calf in one slow, drawn-out motion that ends with my left foot against the side of my right knee joint. I try not to put any pressure against the joint, but inevitably I do. My center immediately shifts, and my entire right side tenses to counter the sudden motion. Moving quickly now, I keep my leg turned out while my left toe edges forward until it is in front of my right knee joint and resting in the natural indent right underneath it. I have to keep my foot pointed in order for it to fit, but as soon as it curls underneath my knee joint, my center settles once again. My arms are still extended low in front of me; my right foot is still securely placed on the floor. The momentary unbalance is over, and I’m once again comfortably centered on one foot.

Tarantulas’s gift isn’t as innocent as Silverbolt’s. I’d know that just by his personality. It’s not like him to give something without a plan behind it. At the time he had given it to me, I had barely been out of my statis pod for three days. He had taken me under his care immediately after I got out despite Megatron’s attempts to appeal to me. I didn’t like the purple dinosaur from the start. A pity that I didn’t think that about Tarantulas at the beginning. Instead, I had listened intently to everything he said and done what he told me to do. To be fair, he did teach me quite a lot, and he developed several of the abilities I have now. But I know now that he was just using me. I realized it soon after the gift of the web, really. The gift was just a ploy to make me become emotionally dependent on him, make me think that he might love me. Even now, though, even knowing what an expert liar he is, I still think there was something real in the touch on my shoulder when he gave me the web. And I’ve scanned the thing dozens of times and found nothing even remotely wrong with it. It’s what it appears to be: a web meant to teach me how to spin in a different style. Maybe something more; Tarantulas might have had some feelings for me at one time, just as I had some for him early on. But Predacon life moved on, plots came and went, and the mind-link he forced on me shattered whatever lingering softness I had harbored for him. What we might have possibly shared was left at a tender touch on my shoulder, and a gift of webbing hung on my wall.

Breath in; breath out.

Ground and center.

I feel more balanced now than when I started, and I’m on only one foot right now. It’s a mental and physical balancing, and it’s time to start the next movement. I’m ready, yet I’m not. I never think I am until it’s over.

My left knee lifts upwards, and my left foot draws clear of my right leg entirely for the first time. I keep my center over my right leg as I slowly rotate my left hip until my knee no longer points vertically to the side, but horizontally. My left leg is now bent at the knee and held parallel to the floor behind me. I roll my weight forward onto the ball of my right foot just slightly to compensate as I gradually shift my knees, straightening my left leg and bending my right leg a bit more. Now I finally move my arms from their curved positions, sweeping my right arm, elbow barely bent, up level with my shoulders in front and my left arm, in the same pose as my right only behind me. My wrists and pincers are relaxed enough to look elegant. I hold my shoulders down to keep my center in place, but my upper body is now turned a tiny bit to my left side so that my left leg and both my arms are on a straight line. It’s easier to keep myself balanced from front to back with them that way. The foot still on the ground shifts with my weight until I position my left leg, fully extended and foot pointed, parallel to the ground, and then I settle into my center again, chin up. It’s not as easy to keep my footing in this pose, but I grounded well when I began this. It helps.

My movement has turned me to face Silverbolt’s carving again. I can hardly see the web from my position this time, and I guess that’s as it should be. After all, now I’m focusing on my relationship in the here and now, right? Then why do I even have Tarantulas’s gift still? I might be sentimental...or I might still have feelings for him. It could happen. I’m not even sure if I love Silverbolt, really. I’m not even sure what love is. Is it friendship on a deeper level? Is it trust beyond what I had with the Predacons; trust that he won’t hurt me? There is no concrete definition of love. In reality, it’s pretty hard to define what any emotion is. Silverbolt says that he loves me, I’ve seen no evidence that proves otherwise, he gave me the obsidian picture, and yet...yet, still, I hate him. I can’t help it, I suppose. I’m a Predacon by programming, and Predacon programming keeps telling me to kill the Maximals. Maybe that’s my attraction to Tarantulas. I hate him, too, but I still keep the gift he gave me, still imagine that there was something in that touch. I can FEEL Silverbolt’s love, though; it isn’t my imagination.

Breath in; breath out.

Ground and center.

And now the hardest part: balancing.

My right leg, which is supporting my entire body, is bent, and my right foot is flat on the ground. Slowly, carefully, at the same time, I straighten my right leg and roll all of my weight onto the ball of my foot. My heel leaves the ground, and I shift even further forward, until I am only touching the ground with the tip of my foot. I tense and relax different parts of my body, keeping my shoulders down and torso tightly controlled and upright. At this point, I could lose my center to either side and come down onto the side of my foot, possibly breaking my ankle joint, or overbalance front or back, forcing me to awkwardly take a step to keep from falling. I could, but I don’t; I am on the toe of my right foot, a position known as “on point”, and in a pose known as an “arabesque”. Both are terms from a dance form called ballet, and the combination is extremely difficult, but my body is perfectly balanced. Once I’ve found my center, it is easy to stay poised.

I see an obsidian spider separated from her web as I center. Tarantulas’s web is as beautiful as it is deadly, but I am likely to be tangled in the plots behind the webbing. That adds, in a way, to its appeal. I love, perhaps, the image I made of Tarantulas, and the qualities I see in him. He is an ideal Predacon, really, and I’m attracted to that. But I hate him for what he’s done. And Silverbolt is a Maximal, the faction I hate, and I think that I love him for what he’s done. His gift is beautiful and deadly in a different way, but he acknowledges that the black widow has subtle layers, and he works on bringing them into view without any intent to use me. The spider belongs in the dangerous web, but is separate. She separated herself because of the carver, Silverbolt. But she’s still a black widow, and black widows belong in webs catching those that wander in.

I am a Predacon among Maximals, loving what I hate. I can only hope to achieve balance between what I am and what I feel. In the Beast Wars, being out of balance can get me killed.

And now, finally, I have reached true balance.

Breath in; breath out.

Ground and center.

“Beloved, are you well? You have been in your quarters for a long time...”

Blackarachnia sighed, hating the interruption but walking towards the door anyway. She opened it and looked up. “I’m fine, Bowser. I was just doing some exercises.” Spontaneously smiling, she linked her arm through Silverbolt’s. It felt good; it felt RIGHT. She avoided thinking that she was touching a Maximal.

He smiled back at her. “I am glad that you are well. Optimus has--”

“Let’s go for a walk, Rover,” she said abruptly. He looked at her curiously but nodded, and they strolled down the corridor. She didn’t forget to lock her door on the way, though. She didn’t want to have someone wander in and see the web in the corner or the spider on the wall.

It might upset her balance.