Dance was returning to Cybertron, but it didn't much resemble the dance from Cybertron's Golden Age. So much of it had been lost to war and destruction, and the gaps had been filled in with styles from other cultures brought in from colonists from all over the galaxy. Not that Rodimus could throw stones - he'd practically revived pole dance in Iacon using techniques he'd learned both in Vos and on Earth.

Dancer of Flamestep's buildline. Would Flamestep even recognize her buildline in the dances he performed? Would she disapprove?

...he couldn't know either way, unless some archaeological miracle turned up her diary or something. Until then all he could do was tell himself he didn't need two dead authority figures hanging over his shoulder disapproving of him, and dance the steps he knew.

(takes off from my fic Dipolemacy)