Towers' Fall
Apr. 1st, 2009 12:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceThis bit me. I know crack was expected, but...
Okay, so I don't really have a new explanation. Brain cell = 1, Bunny = Legion, as per usual. It's outnumbered and easily trampled over.
Title: Towers' Fall
'Verse: 2007 Transformers. Stuff from TF Defiance and related comic panels.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
It was at a martial skills meet that he first saw the mech. The team events were over, the mechs and femmes carrying out the Diffusion and Metallikato drills had dispersed to the edge of the platform to make room for the solo competitors. A green and yellow mech blazed through his routine, going for speed over grace, followed by a completely black femme, who traced intricate stances and movements with excruciating slowness.
Then there was a hush, and a figure took the stage, uniquely framed, painted white with red accents, any remaining plating a gleaming silver. The mech’s bearing was almost regal, and the whispers from the crowd about him started up. Towers mech. Noble sparked. An oddity, a divergent from the typical highborn caste, one who took up the rougher pursuits of spars and ritual combat instead of music, sculpture or graphic creation. One who studied tactics and strategy instead of intellectual debate or philosophy.
The mech began to move. There was an elegance to the performance, limb and form controlled exquisitely to the last micrometer of every gesture, a restraint that was shed when suddenly, the mech flashed into a lighting quick succession of moves, strikes and blocks carried out with a precision and efficiency that made his spark thrill like few things ever had.
= = =
He tracked down the mech (who had most deservingly won his event), and found him in the underground chambers, preparing to leave. Guards stationed outside to keep anyone else from interrupting, he approached, and the smaller Cybertronian had politely greeted him, and accepted the proffered congratulations with dignity.
Then Megatron shed his holographic disguise.
“Lord Protector Megatron.”
To his surprise, the mech did not seem startled. Quietly, it was explained to him that there were only so many Cybertronians of the Lord Protector’s mass, and only one ranked high enough to have a personal guard.
“It was a logical conclusion, m’lord. Thank you for attending the meet; it was a great honour to perform for you.”
The mech bowed and slipped away, and from that breem, Megatron knew he was lost.
= = =
It was frustrating. He was the Lord Protector, mechs and femmes clamoured to be in his presence. But this mech was hard to find, and even harder to keep in the same location as he. His fixation only grew, to the point where even his brother commented on his distraction.
Megatron reluctantly brought up the Towers mech to the Prime, and to his chagrin, Optimus only chuckled.
“Brother, the Towers have different ways of doing things. If you truly wish to court him, you will have to learn how.”
His annoyed snarl had his brother patting him on the shoulder. “I know someone who might be able to help.”
And so the Lord Protector found himself ensconced in a private chamber with a small, silver mech (who hid his amusement very well), being briefed on the numerous rituals and gestures of Towers courtship.
= = =
His twenty third attempt involved a gift, nothing so trite as energon goodies or a useless trinket, but a rare bookfile on stratagems.
And to further stack the odds in his favour, he sent Jazz to deliver it (the damn mech was probably still laughing at him, he knew).
Jazz returned with a smirk and a datapad he’d thought was his bookfile at first, but upon closer examination, Megatron realised that it was the enlistment documentation, already filled out and long approved, for one entry level tactician named Prowl.
“Sir, all due respect and such, but why didn’t you tell me Prowl was the one you were courting? The mech’s different from your usual Tower sparked. Standard practice wouldn’t have worked on him.”
“… You know him?”
“Know of him. He’s been enlisted for a while now. Ops and tactics work together pretty often, and they all speak highly of him. Once he gets the vorns in, he’ll be on the fast track to a command post.” The silver mech shrugged. “I guess that’s why he’s been avoiding you. Doesn’t want anyone saying he’s trading favours.”
“Thank you, Jazz. You may go.”
The Ops mech left, and the Lord Protector sat back, staring at the file, faceplates furrowed in thought. After a while, he picked up a blank datapad and began to write.
= = =
Megatron didn’t expect to find the tactician waiting in his chambers when he returned from his training session. His quarters were secure, keyed only to him and a select few, with the innermost room set to allow only him access. Not even Optimus could get inside if the Lord Protector wanted to be alone.
Prowl had to have hacked his doors.
And for some reason, instead of the anger he expected to feel, he found himself laughing in wonder.
= = =
Life was good. Cybertron was flourishing, they had peace and his army was at top efficacy. The last was definitely due to the efforts of his Second in Command, Prowl.
The mech had, as Jazz had said, risen quickly. Megatron had nothing to do with the chevroned mech’s promotions, nor had he been involved in his appointment to the post of Second. He’d sworn it to Prowl on his spark. Only his brother and Jazz knew of Prowl’s relationship with him. Megatron contemplated the mech, concealing his smug grin from the world.
The tactician was subtle, very subtle, and knew exactly how it drove the Lord Protector wild when Prowl flirted with him in front of everyone, with no one the wiser.
Light, careless touches. A brushing against with a sensor panel wing. A look. A dry comment. As he keyed the doors to his chambers open, he smirked, mentally adding another effective tactic to the list.
An appearance in his quarters when he knew the security division had just changed the codes.
Prowl glanced up at the Lord Protector, hiding his own smile behind a bookfile.
= = =
“Prowl, do you know why he’s doing this?”
“I don’t, Jazz.”
“But you…”
“Not for a while. He’s… I haven’t spent time with him outside of work in a vorn, and most of the time, I believe I could resign and not affect anything. He hasn’t been listening to any of my advice or strategies.”
“Frag. I knew something was up, but I didn’t think it’d gotten so bad. You alright?”
“I… I will be, I think.”
= = =
Things only grew worse. More and more often, Prowl’s words were ignored, and the Second was assigned to busy work, or sentry duty. Jazz often joined him, looking bewildered. Ops did sentry cycles too, yes, but to the exclusion of their normal duties?
When the Prime asked Prowl to break into Megatron’s quarters, he’d hesitated, the memory data playing in his CPU. Jazz had leant against him in support, and Optimus had looked at him, sadness clear in his optics when the tactician finally agreed.
= = =
Megatron looked out at his army, his Decepticon followers. Beside him, a seeker stood, and watched as the large mech’s gaze flickered over him, wondering if the warleader’s thoughts had briefly turned to a different mech, also winged, but ground bound, who might have been in his place if things had been different. The seeker knew the Lord Protector would not have had him as Second if he’d had another option, and Megatron knew that Starscream knew. It coloured all their interactions with each other.
And for that, Starscream hated Prowl more than anything he could think of.
Okay, so I don't really have a new explanation. Brain cell = 1, Bunny = Legion, as per usual. It's outnumbered and easily trampled over.
Title: Towers' Fall
'Verse: 2007 Transformers. Stuff from TF Defiance and related comic panels.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
It was at a martial skills meet that he first saw the mech. The team events were over, the mechs and femmes carrying out the Diffusion and Metallikato drills had dispersed to the edge of the platform to make room for the solo competitors. A green and yellow mech blazed through his routine, going for speed over grace, followed by a completely black femme, who traced intricate stances and movements with excruciating slowness.
Then there was a hush, and a figure took the stage, uniquely framed, painted white with red accents, any remaining plating a gleaming silver. The mech’s bearing was almost regal, and the whispers from the crowd about him started up. Towers mech. Noble sparked. An oddity, a divergent from the typical highborn caste, one who took up the rougher pursuits of spars and ritual combat instead of music, sculpture or graphic creation. One who studied tactics and strategy instead of intellectual debate or philosophy.
The mech began to move. There was an elegance to the performance, limb and form controlled exquisitely to the last micrometer of every gesture, a restraint that was shed when suddenly, the mech flashed into a lighting quick succession of moves, strikes and blocks carried out with a precision and efficiency that made his spark thrill like few things ever had.
= = =
He tracked down the mech (who had most deservingly won his event), and found him in the underground chambers, preparing to leave. Guards stationed outside to keep anyone else from interrupting, he approached, and the smaller Cybertronian had politely greeted him, and accepted the proffered congratulations with dignity.
Then Megatron shed his holographic disguise.
“Lord Protector Megatron.”
To his surprise, the mech did not seem startled. Quietly, it was explained to him that there were only so many Cybertronians of the Lord Protector’s mass, and only one ranked high enough to have a personal guard.
“It was a logical conclusion, m’lord. Thank you for attending the meet; it was a great honour to perform for you.”
The mech bowed and slipped away, and from that breem, Megatron knew he was lost.
= = =
It was frustrating. He was the Lord Protector, mechs and femmes clamoured to be in his presence. But this mech was hard to find, and even harder to keep in the same location as he. His fixation only grew, to the point where even his brother commented on his distraction.
Megatron reluctantly brought up the Towers mech to the Prime, and to his chagrin, Optimus only chuckled.
“Brother, the Towers have different ways of doing things. If you truly wish to court him, you will have to learn how.”
His annoyed snarl had his brother patting him on the shoulder. “I know someone who might be able to help.”
And so the Lord Protector found himself ensconced in a private chamber with a small, silver mech (who hid his amusement very well), being briefed on the numerous rituals and gestures of Towers courtship.
= = =
His twenty third attempt involved a gift, nothing so trite as energon goodies or a useless trinket, but a rare bookfile on stratagems.
And to further stack the odds in his favour, he sent Jazz to deliver it (the damn mech was probably still laughing at him, he knew).
Jazz returned with a smirk and a datapad he’d thought was his bookfile at first, but upon closer examination, Megatron realised that it was the enlistment documentation, already filled out and long approved, for one entry level tactician named Prowl.
“Sir, all due respect and such, but why didn’t you tell me Prowl was the one you were courting? The mech’s different from your usual Tower sparked. Standard practice wouldn’t have worked on him.”
“… You know him?”
“Know of him. He’s been enlisted for a while now. Ops and tactics work together pretty often, and they all speak highly of him. Once he gets the vorns in, he’ll be on the fast track to a command post.” The silver mech shrugged. “I guess that’s why he’s been avoiding you. Doesn’t want anyone saying he’s trading favours.”
“Thank you, Jazz. You may go.”
The Ops mech left, and the Lord Protector sat back, staring at the file, faceplates furrowed in thought. After a while, he picked up a blank datapad and began to write.
= = =
Megatron didn’t expect to find the tactician waiting in his chambers when he returned from his training session. His quarters were secure, keyed only to him and a select few, with the innermost room set to allow only him access. Not even Optimus could get inside if the Lord Protector wanted to be alone.
Prowl had to have hacked his doors.
And for some reason, instead of the anger he expected to feel, he found himself laughing in wonder.
= = =
Life was good. Cybertron was flourishing, they had peace and his army was at top efficacy. The last was definitely due to the efforts of his Second in Command, Prowl.
The mech had, as Jazz had said, risen quickly. Megatron had nothing to do with the chevroned mech’s promotions, nor had he been involved in his appointment to the post of Second. He’d sworn it to Prowl on his spark. Only his brother and Jazz knew of Prowl’s relationship with him. Megatron contemplated the mech, concealing his smug grin from the world.
The tactician was subtle, very subtle, and knew exactly how it drove the Lord Protector wild when Prowl flirted with him in front of everyone, with no one the wiser.
Light, careless touches. A brushing against with a sensor panel wing. A look. A dry comment. As he keyed the doors to his chambers open, he smirked, mentally adding another effective tactic to the list.
An appearance in his quarters when he knew the security division had just changed the codes.
Prowl glanced up at the Lord Protector, hiding his own smile behind a bookfile.
= = =
“Prowl, do you know why he’s doing this?”
“I don’t, Jazz.”
“But you…”
“Not for a while. He’s… I haven’t spent time with him outside of work in a vorn, and most of the time, I believe I could resign and not affect anything. He hasn’t been listening to any of my advice or strategies.”
“Frag. I knew something was up, but I didn’t think it’d gotten so bad. You alright?”
“I… I will be, I think.”
= = =
Things only grew worse. More and more often, Prowl’s words were ignored, and the Second was assigned to busy work, or sentry duty. Jazz often joined him, looking bewildered. Ops did sentry cycles too, yes, but to the exclusion of their normal duties?
When the Prime asked Prowl to break into Megatron’s quarters, he’d hesitated, the memory data playing in his CPU. Jazz had leant against him in support, and Optimus had looked at him, sadness clear in his optics when the tactician finally agreed.
= = =
Megatron looked out at his army, his Decepticon followers. Beside him, a seeker stood, and watched as the large mech’s gaze flickered over him, wondering if the warleader’s thoughts had briefly turned to a different mech, also winged, but ground bound, who might have been in his place if things had been different. The seeker knew the Lord Protector would not have had him as Second if he’d had another option, and Megatron knew that Starscream knew. It coloured all their interactions with each other.
And for that, Starscream hated Prowl more than anything he could think of.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-02 11:30 am (UTC)This is a lovely piece, and it just turns heartbreaking at the end for everyone.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-02 01:39 pm (UTC)