"Formality," he answers simply as he strides closer, his optics drifting briefly to the way Megatron was rubbing his forearm. The Sixer suspects he knows what was causing the younger mech discomfort, which was a shame since he was going to have to broach the subject anyways.

The compliment would normally make him awful bashful, but, right now, he was not that Sixshot. He draws himself up, folding his hands behind his back and squaring off his shoulders.

"Would you like to continue your training, Megatron?"