*still puzzled*
Apr. 18th, 2009 12:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceTitle: Rollcall (Part 2)
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Time passed, and an odd almost routine emerged. Jazz would note when certain bots wandered in, and keep track of how long they stayed. Once they overshot a certain number of decabreems, he would head out to the edge and wait.
Prowl would come driving up, hand him a list (which usually tallied with his own, though sometimes the mech had to look for non-Autobots too), and he’d smile and head back to pass it on to Crosscut, then return to keep the Autobot company until his wayward botlings straggled out.
Prowl never asked him how he knew when the officer would be coming by. Jazz never volunteered the answer. Crosscut just cycled air in exasperation at the both of them.
= = =
One cycle, Prowl showed up out of season. Crosscut was the one to tell Jazz, the visored mech being busy with some tasks at the time.
Curious, he drove out to where Prowl was already waiting, and accepted the datapad handed him without looking at it, more intent on finding out why the mech had come when none of the usual Autobots had overstayed just yet.
“Someone apart from my regular group of miscreants decided to take a cycle of leave.” Prowl’s doorwings flicked casually, and Jazz nodded in understanding as the officer continued.
“This is the first time I’m trying to locate this particular mech on an off cycle. I heard he’s a regular here. Could you see if he’s inside?”
“I see. I’ll go get them for you.”
“Thank you, Jazz.”
= = =
Crosscut took one look at the datapad, promptly laughed himself to the ground, then clapped him on the shoulder, holding the file up before Jazz’s visor.
The black and white mech had to reboot his optics, staring at the only name on the screen, the familiar glyphs of his designation blinking at him. His boss snickered.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Go get him!”
Jazz sped out to the now back in vehicle mode (and radiating smug amusement) officer, not bothering to shift out, swerving around him and taking off for the open road, the other mech right behind him.
“You took an off cycle? You?”
“I crashed quite a number of processors when the news got out. I should do it more often.”
Jazz laughed, weaving his path with Prowl’s as the Autobot returned the gesture, brushing close to each other each time they passed.
= = =
Crosscut looked at the two mechs before him, one smiling and the other sympathetic.
“Slaggit, you’ve corrupted him.”
“… I apologise?”
“No, I guess I should have seen this coming. One of you was bound to join the other some cycle. But frag.” Crosscut glared at both black and whites (though the effect was hampered by his futile attempt to hide his smirk).
“Jazz was my best runner, Prowl!”
“Aw, Cross, I’ll come back to visit. And so will Prowl.” The visored mech patted him on the forearm, and Crosscut snarked back.
“To haul your aft back to base, no doubt.”
“Heh, maybe. If I’m lucky, he’ll use the cuffs.”
“What was that you said about me corrupting him, Crosscut?” Prowl murmured in as innocent a tone as the doorwinged mech could manage. Crosscut groaned and smacked his head against the nearest wall, willing the mental images to delete themselves.
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Time passed, and an odd almost routine emerged. Jazz would note when certain bots wandered in, and keep track of how long they stayed. Once they overshot a certain number of decabreems, he would head out to the edge and wait.
Prowl would come driving up, hand him a list (which usually tallied with his own, though sometimes the mech had to look for non-Autobots too), and he’d smile and head back to pass it on to Crosscut, then return to keep the Autobot company until his wayward botlings straggled out.
Prowl never asked him how he knew when the officer would be coming by. Jazz never volunteered the answer. Crosscut just cycled air in exasperation at the both of them.
= = =
One cycle, Prowl showed up out of season. Crosscut was the one to tell Jazz, the visored mech being busy with some tasks at the time.
Curious, he drove out to where Prowl was already waiting, and accepted the datapad handed him without looking at it, more intent on finding out why the mech had come when none of the usual Autobots had overstayed just yet.
“Someone apart from my regular group of miscreants decided to take a cycle of leave.” Prowl’s doorwings flicked casually, and Jazz nodded in understanding as the officer continued.
“This is the first time I’m trying to locate this particular mech on an off cycle. I heard he’s a regular here. Could you see if he’s inside?”
“I see. I’ll go get them for you.”
“Thank you, Jazz.”
= = =
Crosscut took one look at the datapad, promptly laughed himself to the ground, then clapped him on the shoulder, holding the file up before Jazz’s visor.
The black and white mech had to reboot his optics, staring at the only name on the screen, the familiar glyphs of his designation blinking at him. His boss snickered.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Go get him!”
Jazz sped out to the now back in vehicle mode (and radiating smug amusement) officer, not bothering to shift out, swerving around him and taking off for the open road, the other mech right behind him.
“You took an off cycle? You?”
“I crashed quite a number of processors when the news got out. I should do it more often.”
Jazz laughed, weaving his path with Prowl’s as the Autobot returned the gesture, brushing close to each other each time they passed.
= = =
Crosscut looked at the two mechs before him, one smiling and the other sympathetic.
“Slaggit, you’ve corrupted him.”
“… I apologise?”
“No, I guess I should have seen this coming. One of you was bound to join the other some cycle. But frag.” Crosscut glared at both black and whites (though the effect was hampered by his futile attempt to hide his smirk).
“Jazz was my best runner, Prowl!”
“Aw, Cross, I’ll come back to visit. And so will Prowl.” The visored mech patted him on the forearm, and Crosscut snarked back.
“To haul your aft back to base, no doubt.”
“Heh, maybe. If I’m lucky, he’ll use the cuffs.”
“What was that you said about me corrupting him, Crosscut?” Prowl murmured in as innocent a tone as the doorwinged mech could manage. Crosscut groaned and smacked his head against the nearest wall, willing the mental images to delete themselves.
