Truth and High Grade [Part 2]
Mar. 15th, 2009 02:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceTitle: Truth and High Grade [Part 2]
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
“Now, I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.”
As the room quieted in anticipation, Jazz grinned. “This one’s for the twins, and I think specifically, Sideswipe.”
The Lamborghinis blinked, then shifted towards the visored mech to await his next words.
“Why in Primus’s name are rubber chickens on Prowl’s list of ‘Contraband Items’?”
“What makes you think I’m responsible for that?” The red mech asked, surprised, and Jazz shrugged cheekily.
“Caught Red Alert ranting about the amount of stuff he had to confiscate from the last shipment of goods, saying that practically everything but the rubber chickens were in this one. But to the best of my knowledge, there’ve been no incidents involving rubber chickens… ever. I got curious.”
“There’ve been no incidents because the ban is in place, Jazz.” The black and white Datsun pointed out matter of factly, and the Porsche stuck his glossa out at him.
“Like they’ve ever followed the regs on what’s forbidden and what’s not. Sides’ has gotten everything on your list into the Ark at least once after you’ve banned it, but for this one, he’s stayed away from the things like they carry scraplets.” Jazz turned back to the pair of frontliners. “So they’ve got to know why the things are banned. C’mon, spill. Everything said tonight s’gonna stay in this room. No repercussions, right, Prowler?”
A muted sigh, and a nod, and the Ops mech turned a bright grin onto the twins, who glanced at each other before Sideswipe groaned and slumped backwards, and Sunstreaker smirked at him. “I’ll do the talking, if you’d rather hide your faceplates for now.”
A muffled “Please do”, and the yellow twin snickered before downing a swallow of high grade and clearing his vocaliser.
“We were sent on one of the ‘make nice with the humans’ things, and one of the things we had to do was sit still while the human younglings got up close and personal with a real Autobot. One of the brats had a tatty old rubber chicken, and when his turn was over, he didn’t want to get off of Side’s shoulder.”
“That’s hardly reason to ban something.” A brief glare at Cliffjumper for being interrupted, and Sunstreaker continued.
“It gets better. The kid threw a tantrum, shrieking, screaming, clinging, the works, right into Sideswipe’s audio. Almost fritzed it out. Sides’ froze, couldn’t move coz the kid could fall, and to add insult to injury, the glitchlet starts whacking away with the rubber chicken at anyone who got close enough. Sideswipe got most of the beating, being the closest. Then, after they dragged the kid off, the brat throws the damn thing at the ground hard enough to split, and the squeaky thing inside it flies up and lodges somewhere inside my brother. He squeaked everywhere he went in mech form until we managed to locate it and fish it out.”
As the mechs stared at Sunstreaker and his sinking deeper into the couch twin, Prowl reached out and patted Sideswipe on the shoulder. A sheepish whine issued from the frontliner, and Jazz turned a questioning look on his lover. It was the doorwinged mech’s turn to shrug.
“He did have to tell me why he wanted them banned. I promised not to tell anyone.”
“Stupid chicken. The fragging things should be banned from everything. Eesh. They’re ugly as heck and they sound like a Pit tortured turbo rat.” Sideswipe shuddered, Prowl patted him on the shoulder again, and Sunstreaker snickered once more.
“So, since I answered Jazz, I get to ask the next one. Following on to Hound’s question from before, Mirage, what’s your favourite trophy?”
The blue spy tilted his helm to one side, pondering his answer. Lifting his cube, he sipped delicately before curling closer to the tracker and smirking. “Hound.”
As the jeep’s faceplates heated up dramatically and the rest of the room burst out into wolf whistles and catcalls, Mirage leant up and pecked the green mech on the jawline.
“Now you have to elaborate on that.” Sideswipe demanded, embarrassment clearly gotten over.
“Rescued him from a Decepticon cell. So he’s mine now.” The Ligier declared, and Hound buried his helm into the spy’s shoulder as mechs chuckled at the pair. His superior was laughing along with the rest, but the mech’s lover was looking questioningly at the Porsche, obviously communicating along private lines. Mirage watched as Jazz got the answer (and clearly it was the right one) to whatever he’d asked of Prowl, and slipped closer to the Datsun, a brilliant grin on his faceplates, and immediately knew who and what he’d ask next.
“So, Jazz, and Prowl, of course.” The two black and whites left their little world of their own to focus on the spy. Jazz raised an optic ridge at Mirage. “Hm?”
“How did you two meet? I’ve never seen two more different mechs associate with each other. Much less fall in love.”
“Aw, Mirage, did you have to ask Prowl a question?” A playful groan came from somewhere amongst the assembled, and the Ligier replied, tone perfectly prim, though his smirk gave him away.
“Well, excuse me for being one of the few on the Ark with a clear conscience.”
As mock offence echoed through the room, Prowl shot Jazz a look, before murmuring quietly to the visored mech. “Jazz, I think perhaps you should answer this one.”
“Nuh uh, lover. This is our story, and you’re gonna get equal airtime.” The Porsche shook his head, grinning as he drank from his cube again. “But I’ll start us off.”
Sighing, Prowl sipped as well, and Jazz began his second answer of the night.
“How did Prowler and I meet? Well, s’nothing too dramatic, we met in a government institution. I was a newcomer to the city, but Prowl’d been sparked there.”
More precisely, they’d been in holding cells right across from each other, Prowl added silently as he continued from where Jazz left off.
“We had similar tasks to accomplish, and decided to work together to carry them out more efficiently.”
Jazz smiled, taking the tactician’s hand and squeezing it in a sign of affection, but also to distract himself from laughing out loud and raising suspicion. They’d needed to escape, and with Prowl’s plotting know how and his array of tools (the lawkeepers had been pants at frisking the both of them down, but Jazz’s stash had more relevance to their goal), they soon won free and slipped away without anyone noticing.
“We found we just meshed, y’know? Covered each other’s weaknesses and such.”
Where one could get bogged down with details, the other cut through them with a razor edged simplicity. Where one grew frustrated with slow progress, the other held him back, kept them on course. They’d risen fast in Cybertron’s underbelly, once they’d found each other.
“That lead to someone noticing us, and he offered us a position. We accepted, and have worked with each other ever since.”
They’d come to Blue Bacchus’s attention based on their abilities while still separate, but once they’d paired up, they’d really impressed, and the mech had decided to rope them in before his competitors caught wind of the pair.
“After a while, we decided that working for him wasn’t for us, and we left.”
The visored Ops mech’s words were casual, but the decision had been a long thought out one. Working for Bacchus had been useful, associating with him allowed them to make the contacts and connections a bot needed in that kind of life, as well as build a reputation and a goodly stock of favours, the second currency of the underground. He was an unstable, brutal mech, however, and his business partner was worse. Once they’d gotten all they could from the mech’s company, they quit his outfit.
“He was not pleased, of course, but with a little negotiating, we managed to smooth things over.”
The mech had protested rather violently, but after they reminded him (gently, for their society, they did owe him something) why that was a Bad IdeaTM, and he quickly fell back into a proper, professional relationship with them. The Porsche took up the narrative again, leaning against Prowl as he did so.
“After working together for so long, we’d become good friends and partners, and we trusted each other like we did no one else. Was only natural to go from friends, to occasional interface buddies, to regular berthmates, then to formally recognise what had been reality for a good slagging while. Took us both by surprise when we realised it though.”
Living as they had, they trusted sparingly, caution winning out over everything else. The first time they’d interfaced, they’d just finished a job together and were running high on the thrill. Subsequent interfaces got more and more frequent (soon occurring not just after really good runs or jobs), and one cycle they onlined to realise that they’d not spent a single recharge period with anyone else for well over a vorn, and not all of the occasions where they’d been together had involved interfacing.
“Naturally, we panicked and ran.”
They’d both stared at each other, stunned and not a little afraid, then fled to think things over on their own.
“Prowl had issues with how unexpected it was, and how strongly it hit him. I couldn’t believe that I’d gone and fallen in love with my work partner, and that he actually seemed to love me back. But we worked things out between the two of us, eventually.”
Once they had, they’d spent that next recharge cycle curled up together, just smiling at each other in the quiet of Prowl’s apartment. Jazz moved in with him the next cycle.
“So, that’s our story.” Jazz smiled, expression briefly soft and lost in memory, before a grin faded into view and the others twitched, realising that the pair now had carte blanche to question them.
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
“Now, I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.”
As the room quieted in anticipation, Jazz grinned. “This one’s for the twins, and I think specifically, Sideswipe.”
The Lamborghinis blinked, then shifted towards the visored mech to await his next words.
“Why in Primus’s name are rubber chickens on Prowl’s list of ‘Contraband Items’?”
“What makes you think I’m responsible for that?” The red mech asked, surprised, and Jazz shrugged cheekily.
“Caught Red Alert ranting about the amount of stuff he had to confiscate from the last shipment of goods, saying that practically everything but the rubber chickens were in this one. But to the best of my knowledge, there’ve been no incidents involving rubber chickens… ever. I got curious.”
“There’ve been no incidents because the ban is in place, Jazz.” The black and white Datsun pointed out matter of factly, and the Porsche stuck his glossa out at him.
“Like they’ve ever followed the regs on what’s forbidden and what’s not. Sides’ has gotten everything on your list into the Ark at least once after you’ve banned it, but for this one, he’s stayed away from the things like they carry scraplets.” Jazz turned back to the pair of frontliners. “So they’ve got to know why the things are banned. C’mon, spill. Everything said tonight s’gonna stay in this room. No repercussions, right, Prowler?”
A muted sigh, and a nod, and the Ops mech turned a bright grin onto the twins, who glanced at each other before Sideswipe groaned and slumped backwards, and Sunstreaker smirked at him. “I’ll do the talking, if you’d rather hide your faceplates for now.”
A muffled “Please do”, and the yellow twin snickered before downing a swallow of high grade and clearing his vocaliser.
“We were sent on one of the ‘make nice with the humans’ things, and one of the things we had to do was sit still while the human younglings got up close and personal with a real Autobot. One of the brats had a tatty old rubber chicken, and when his turn was over, he didn’t want to get off of Side’s shoulder.”
“That’s hardly reason to ban something.” A brief glare at Cliffjumper for being interrupted, and Sunstreaker continued.
“It gets better. The kid threw a tantrum, shrieking, screaming, clinging, the works, right into Sideswipe’s audio. Almost fritzed it out. Sides’ froze, couldn’t move coz the kid could fall, and to add insult to injury, the glitchlet starts whacking away with the rubber chicken at anyone who got close enough. Sideswipe got most of the beating, being the closest. Then, after they dragged the kid off, the brat throws the damn thing at the ground hard enough to split, and the squeaky thing inside it flies up and lodges somewhere inside my brother. He squeaked everywhere he went in mech form until we managed to locate it and fish it out.”
As the mechs stared at Sunstreaker and his sinking deeper into the couch twin, Prowl reached out and patted Sideswipe on the shoulder. A sheepish whine issued from the frontliner, and Jazz turned a questioning look on his lover. It was the doorwinged mech’s turn to shrug.
“He did have to tell me why he wanted them banned. I promised not to tell anyone.”
“Stupid chicken. The fragging things should be banned from everything. Eesh. They’re ugly as heck and they sound like a Pit tortured turbo rat.” Sideswipe shuddered, Prowl patted him on the shoulder again, and Sunstreaker snickered once more.
“So, since I answered Jazz, I get to ask the next one. Following on to Hound’s question from before, Mirage, what’s your favourite trophy?”
The blue spy tilted his helm to one side, pondering his answer. Lifting his cube, he sipped delicately before curling closer to the tracker and smirking. “Hound.”
As the jeep’s faceplates heated up dramatically and the rest of the room burst out into wolf whistles and catcalls, Mirage leant up and pecked the green mech on the jawline.
“Now you have to elaborate on that.” Sideswipe demanded, embarrassment clearly gotten over.
“Rescued him from a Decepticon cell. So he’s mine now.” The Ligier declared, and Hound buried his helm into the spy’s shoulder as mechs chuckled at the pair. His superior was laughing along with the rest, but the mech’s lover was looking questioningly at the Porsche, obviously communicating along private lines. Mirage watched as Jazz got the answer (and clearly it was the right one) to whatever he’d asked of Prowl, and slipped closer to the Datsun, a brilliant grin on his faceplates, and immediately knew who and what he’d ask next.
“So, Jazz, and Prowl, of course.” The two black and whites left their little world of their own to focus on the spy. Jazz raised an optic ridge at Mirage. “Hm?”
“How did you two meet? I’ve never seen two more different mechs associate with each other. Much less fall in love.”
“Aw, Mirage, did you have to ask Prowl a question?” A playful groan came from somewhere amongst the assembled, and the Ligier replied, tone perfectly prim, though his smirk gave him away.
“Well, excuse me for being one of the few on the Ark with a clear conscience.”
As mock offence echoed through the room, Prowl shot Jazz a look, before murmuring quietly to the visored mech. “Jazz, I think perhaps you should answer this one.”
“Nuh uh, lover. This is our story, and you’re gonna get equal airtime.” The Porsche shook his head, grinning as he drank from his cube again. “But I’ll start us off.”
Sighing, Prowl sipped as well, and Jazz began his second answer of the night.
“How did Prowler and I meet? Well, s’nothing too dramatic, we met in a government institution. I was a newcomer to the city, but Prowl’d been sparked there.”
More precisely, they’d been in holding cells right across from each other, Prowl added silently as he continued from where Jazz left off.
“We had similar tasks to accomplish, and decided to work together to carry them out more efficiently.”
Jazz smiled, taking the tactician’s hand and squeezing it in a sign of affection, but also to distract himself from laughing out loud and raising suspicion. They’d needed to escape, and with Prowl’s plotting know how and his array of tools (the lawkeepers had been pants at frisking the both of them down, but Jazz’s stash had more relevance to their goal), they soon won free and slipped away without anyone noticing.
“We found we just meshed, y’know? Covered each other’s weaknesses and such.”
Where one could get bogged down with details, the other cut through them with a razor edged simplicity. Where one grew frustrated with slow progress, the other held him back, kept them on course. They’d risen fast in Cybertron’s underbelly, once they’d found each other.
“That lead to someone noticing us, and he offered us a position. We accepted, and have worked with each other ever since.”
They’d come to Blue Bacchus’s attention based on their abilities while still separate, but once they’d paired up, they’d really impressed, and the mech had decided to rope them in before his competitors caught wind of the pair.
“After a while, we decided that working for him wasn’t for us, and we left.”
The visored Ops mech’s words were casual, but the decision had been a long thought out one. Working for Bacchus had been useful, associating with him allowed them to make the contacts and connections a bot needed in that kind of life, as well as build a reputation and a goodly stock of favours, the second currency of the underground. He was an unstable, brutal mech, however, and his business partner was worse. Once they’d gotten all they could from the mech’s company, they quit his outfit.
“He was not pleased, of course, but with a little negotiating, we managed to smooth things over.”
The mech had protested rather violently, but after they reminded him (gently, for their society, they did owe him something) why that was a Bad IdeaTM, and he quickly fell back into a proper, professional relationship with them. The Porsche took up the narrative again, leaning against Prowl as he did so.
“After working together for so long, we’d become good friends and partners, and we trusted each other like we did no one else. Was only natural to go from friends, to occasional interface buddies, to regular berthmates, then to formally recognise what had been reality for a good slagging while. Took us both by surprise when we realised it though.”
Living as they had, they trusted sparingly, caution winning out over everything else. The first time they’d interfaced, they’d just finished a job together and were running high on the thrill. Subsequent interfaces got more and more frequent (soon occurring not just after really good runs or jobs), and one cycle they onlined to realise that they’d not spent a single recharge period with anyone else for well over a vorn, and not all of the occasions where they’d been together had involved interfacing.
“Naturally, we panicked and ran.”
They’d both stared at each other, stunned and not a little afraid, then fled to think things over on their own.
“Prowl had issues with how unexpected it was, and how strongly it hit him. I couldn’t believe that I’d gone and fallen in love with my work partner, and that he actually seemed to love me back. But we worked things out between the two of us, eventually.”
Once they had, they’d spent that next recharge cycle curled up together, just smiling at each other in the quiet of Prowl’s apartment. Jazz moved in with him the next cycle.
“So, that’s our story.” Jazz smiled, expression briefly soft and lost in memory, before a grin faded into view and the others twitched, realising that the pair now had carte blanche to question them.
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Date: 2009-03-19 04:40 am (UTC)