Mission - Monochrome
Jul. 18th, 2009 02:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceTitle: Mission - Monochrome
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
“Hey Jazz- Whoa.”
Blaster stopped dead in his tracks when the familiar silhouette of his friend drew close enough for him to get a proper look at the mech. Jazz grinned, clapping him on the shoulder in greeting.
“Hey yourself. How’s the Ark been while I was off-site?”
“Oh, we’re fine. Life as normal as it can get in the madhouse, y’know. You were undercover, I take it.”
The tapedeck raised an optic ridge, directing an appreciative look over the Porsche’s frame as they made their way into the base. Said Porsche obliged him with a quick spin ‘round, showing off his completely black paintjob.
“Yep. Stylish as it is, my normal appearance’s a dead giveaway. Especially in alt mode. Like the paint?”
“Heh, very much so.” A thought occurred to the comms officer, and he tentatively made his next query. “You… want to keep it for a while?”
“Dunno. It’d be good to get back to my usual colours once more.” Jazz shrugged, looking a little puzzled at Blaster’s hesitation. The other mech sighed.
“Right. You might have a problem there.”
“Why?”
“We’re out of white paint. The order’s been placed, but it’ll take time to get here.”
“Well. S’not so bad. I mean, at least I’m not slag coloured or anything.”
“I hear you.” Blaster laughed, as did the Ops mech before Jazz spoke again.
“Why’re we out of white though?”
“Well…” The tapedeck paused once more, and another mech answered for him, startling them both.
“Because we were also out of black paint, thanks to the need for your disguise."
Jazz turned in the direction of Prowl’s voice, and it was his turn to stop in his tracks at the sight presented to him. An all white mech was approaching them, a mild look of amusement on his faceplates at the saboteur’s expression. Blaster groused, willing his rabbiting fuel pump to slow down. “Fraggit, Prowl! You already look like a ghost, do you have to walk around as quiet as one too?”
“Prowler?”
“Welcome back, Jazz. How did the surveillance op go?”
“Smooth as silk, they never even realised we were there. But why are you all white?”
There was a soft, longsuffering cycle of air. “I happened upon a malfunction in the wash rack controls, they were dispensing straight bleach rather than the usual dilution. My paintjob was wrecked and with the bots from Cybertron arriving for that official visit in a few days, I couldn’t go about partially coloured until the black paint came in. Hence…” Prowl gestured at himself. “And the rest of your team?”
“Already inside. I’ll have my report on… your desk… in a couple of breems.” Jazz sounded a little distracted, though the tactician didn’t seem to notice, only nodding in acknowledgement.
“Good. Going through that would be last of my tasks for today.”
The tapeplayer murmured in surprise. “That’s early. Oh wait. You were holed up in your office all of yesterday and this morning after you got away from Grapple. Got a lot of work done while avoiding everyone, Prowl? Never thought you’d be the vain sort.” The communications mech grinned at the SIC, and Prowl shook his head, glancing briefly at the still staring Ops head.
“Hardly. I was simply taking a few pre-emptive measures.”
“Whatever for?”
“To compensate for all the time I foresaw I’d be spending on… other matters, starting from the moment Jazz got back to the Ark and caught sight of me like this.”
The comms mech stared at him, perplexed by the mech’s reply. Next to the tapedeck, Jazz’s engine revved and the saboteur started herding Prowl in the direction of the Datsun’s office.
“Y’know what, Prowl? I think I’ll give you my report personally. You’ll get through it quicker that way.”
“Don’t you need to refuel first, Jazz?” At the doorwinged tactician’s too innocent tone, Blaster twigged on and started to snicker.
“Work before play, isn’t that what you told me? So let’s get to your des- office, oughta do this in the proper setting, after all.”
The sound of Blaster’s laughter followed the two officers all the way down the corridor.
= = =
“Have you seen Jazz?”
“Not since we got back to the Ark. He went to report in to Prowl, I think.”
“Odd. That shouldn’t take him this long. It’s getting pretty late.”
“He did say something about getting his paint job fixed.”
“Not likely. Grapple and Hoist are out of his colours.”
“Ah. Maybe they’re discussing something in the report?”
“Maybe. Oh wait, there he is. And Prowl’s with him too. … Uh… ‘Raj? You okay?”
The blue mech had gone so still that his companion actually waved a hand before his optics in concern. Startled, Mirage turned back to Trailbreaker with an edgy expression, blurting out his reply.
“I’m fine! Nothing wrong with me at all!”
Unfortunately for the Ligier, Jazz had heard his outburst and turned to look in his direction. The currently all black saboteur tilted his helm curiously at the skittish spy, before a slow grin peeked its way across his faceplates. Prowl stopped walking as well, turning back to see what had caught the Porsche’s attention.
When Jazz turned his smirk on the SIC, the now all white tactician merely shot him an exasperated look in return, then rebuked the Ops mech with a dry, “Jazz, stop tormenting your colleague.”
Mirage managed to stifle his whimper this time, before he bolted down the corridor in the opposite direction, a confused Trailbreaker hurrying after him, Jazz cackling in their wake like a mad mech.
= = =
The saboteur was still snickering when he and Prowl entered the rec room, and his chuckles drew the attention of the mechs in their vicinity. While most of the Autobots took one look at the situation and unanimously decided to stay a respectable distance from the pair, two of their number were not as inclined to such caution, approaching them as they drew cubes of energon.
“What’s so funny?”
Prowl sighed at Bumblebee’s question, wondering how he’d explain this latest bout of mischief. Hound eyed the white mech, processors clearly trying to recall something before he suddenly exclaimed in realisation.
“White… Doorwings… That was you?!”
“Your instructor told you, I presume.”
Hound stared, then dropped his tone to one that was more discrete. “Every Ops batch gets told how an Ops trainee and a non-Ops beat the mech’s brother. I never realised it ‘till now, but Jazz… and you?!”
Beside Hound, Bumblebee had made the same connections and was also gaping at the tactician. “Prowl’s the one they’re talking about when warning us to always be on our guard?”
“If that cautionary tale also involves a bar, data retrieval and a mech who let his jacks lead his processors, then yes.”
“… I don’t believe it.”
“I suppose it doesn’t really matter if you do. It was a long time ago, and I’m not about to go about broadcasting the matter.” Prowl seemed rather unperturbed by the giggling Ops mech clinging to him to stay upright, nonchalantly continuing to sip his energon, and Hound shook his head, starting to smile as well.
“All the better to be underestimated, huh. You’d have bots queuing up outside your door if it got out, and Ops wants you all to Ops alone. Speaking of which…” Tracker prodded Saboteur good naturedly. “Remember to share, Jazz.”
“I don’t believe it.” Bumblebee seemed to be stuck in a processing loop, and the chevroned mech cycled air in resignation.
“You require a demonstration?”
“… Here?!”
“I’m hardly going to re-enact the events of that cycle, Bumblebee. Which reminds me. Hound, you might want to check up on Mirage later.” Jazz’s snickering started anew, and the visored mech smacked the tactician on the shoulder.
“You are an evil, evil mech. Don’t try to tell me you didn’t know how what you said would affect ‘Raj. The mech just managed to forget that particular bit of trauma.”
Prowl’s response was to slip out of the Porsche’s hold, a faint smirk on his faceplates before the expression faded, replaced by one of complete, newsparked innocence. Doors angled to reflect the fading sunlight shining into the rec room onto his new paintjob, the tactician glowed. His optics flickered to a lighter shade as he looked at the other officer, clutching his energon cube close, tone soft and hesitant.
“Jazz, you’d think I’d do something like that?”
All three mechs watching Prowl stalled. As did the rest of the room, though none of them had been privy to the conversation leading up to this sight. Jazz took one step forward, movements languid, stance and expression predatory. The white mech shifted backwards, optics rebooting, glancing everywhere but at the look in the black one’s visor.
A squeak and a crash interrupted the scene, and all turned to see Mirage standing in the entry to the rec room, Trailbreaker behind him and rubbing ruefully at his nasal bridge.
“Mirage, a little warning before you brake next time?”
When the spy did not respond, staring forward with a horrified look on his faceplates, the defensive tactician stuck his head past the frozen Ligier to see Prowl folding his arms across his chassis as Jazz grabbed the mech’s waist, then cocked a wicked grin their way.
“Gyaaahh!!!”
The soft whine that had been building in Mirage’s vocaliser exploded, and the blue mech sprinted back out, leaving a bewildered Trailbreaker to chase after him for the second time that day. Hound sighed at the saboteur, then grinned.
“Poor Mirage. I’m going to go help Trailbreaker with him.”
Jazz raised an optic ridge at the tracker. “And how will you be doing that?”
A hologram shimmered into place.
“Desensitisation therapy, of course!”
Jazz broke out into laughter once more as the now all white Jeep smirked and ran after his friends.
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
“Hey Jazz- Whoa.”
Blaster stopped dead in his tracks when the familiar silhouette of his friend drew close enough for him to get a proper look at the mech. Jazz grinned, clapping him on the shoulder in greeting.
“Hey yourself. How’s the Ark been while I was off-site?”
“Oh, we’re fine. Life as normal as it can get in the madhouse, y’know. You were undercover, I take it.”
The tapedeck raised an optic ridge, directing an appreciative look over the Porsche’s frame as they made their way into the base. Said Porsche obliged him with a quick spin ‘round, showing off his completely black paintjob.
“Yep. Stylish as it is, my normal appearance’s a dead giveaway. Especially in alt mode. Like the paint?”
“Heh, very much so.” A thought occurred to the comms officer, and he tentatively made his next query. “You… want to keep it for a while?”
“Dunno. It’d be good to get back to my usual colours once more.” Jazz shrugged, looking a little puzzled at Blaster’s hesitation. The other mech sighed.
“Right. You might have a problem there.”
“Why?”
“We’re out of white paint. The order’s been placed, but it’ll take time to get here.”
“Well. S’not so bad. I mean, at least I’m not slag coloured or anything.”
“I hear you.” Blaster laughed, as did the Ops mech before Jazz spoke again.
“Why’re we out of white though?”
“Well…” The tapedeck paused once more, and another mech answered for him, startling them both.
“Because we were also out of black paint, thanks to the need for your disguise."
Jazz turned in the direction of Prowl’s voice, and it was his turn to stop in his tracks at the sight presented to him. An all white mech was approaching them, a mild look of amusement on his faceplates at the saboteur’s expression. Blaster groused, willing his rabbiting fuel pump to slow down. “Fraggit, Prowl! You already look like a ghost, do you have to walk around as quiet as one too?”
“Prowler?”
“Welcome back, Jazz. How did the surveillance op go?”
“Smooth as silk, they never even realised we were there. But why are you all white?”
There was a soft, longsuffering cycle of air. “I happened upon a malfunction in the wash rack controls, they were dispensing straight bleach rather than the usual dilution. My paintjob was wrecked and with the bots from Cybertron arriving for that official visit in a few days, I couldn’t go about partially coloured until the black paint came in. Hence…” Prowl gestured at himself. “And the rest of your team?”
“Already inside. I’ll have my report on… your desk… in a couple of breems.” Jazz sounded a little distracted, though the tactician didn’t seem to notice, only nodding in acknowledgement.
“Good. Going through that would be last of my tasks for today.”
The tapeplayer murmured in surprise. “That’s early. Oh wait. You were holed up in your office all of yesterday and this morning after you got away from Grapple. Got a lot of work done while avoiding everyone, Prowl? Never thought you’d be the vain sort.” The communications mech grinned at the SIC, and Prowl shook his head, glancing briefly at the still staring Ops head.
“Hardly. I was simply taking a few pre-emptive measures.”
“Whatever for?”
“To compensate for all the time I foresaw I’d be spending on… other matters, starting from the moment Jazz got back to the Ark and caught sight of me like this.”
The comms mech stared at him, perplexed by the mech’s reply. Next to the tapedeck, Jazz’s engine revved and the saboteur started herding Prowl in the direction of the Datsun’s office.
“Y’know what, Prowl? I think I’ll give you my report personally. You’ll get through it quicker that way.”
“Don’t you need to refuel first, Jazz?” At the doorwinged tactician’s too innocent tone, Blaster twigged on and started to snicker.
“Work before play, isn’t that what you told me? So let’s get to your des- office, oughta do this in the proper setting, after all.”
The sound of Blaster’s laughter followed the two officers all the way down the corridor.
= = =
“Have you seen Jazz?”
“Not since we got back to the Ark. He went to report in to Prowl, I think.”
“Odd. That shouldn’t take him this long. It’s getting pretty late.”
“He did say something about getting his paint job fixed.”
“Not likely. Grapple and Hoist are out of his colours.”
“Ah. Maybe they’re discussing something in the report?”
“Maybe. Oh wait, there he is. And Prowl’s with him too. … Uh… ‘Raj? You okay?”
The blue mech had gone so still that his companion actually waved a hand before his optics in concern. Startled, Mirage turned back to Trailbreaker with an edgy expression, blurting out his reply.
“I’m fine! Nothing wrong with me at all!”
Unfortunately for the Ligier, Jazz had heard his outburst and turned to look in his direction. The currently all black saboteur tilted his helm curiously at the skittish spy, before a slow grin peeked its way across his faceplates. Prowl stopped walking as well, turning back to see what had caught the Porsche’s attention.
When Jazz turned his smirk on the SIC, the now all white tactician merely shot him an exasperated look in return, then rebuked the Ops mech with a dry, “Jazz, stop tormenting your colleague.”
Mirage managed to stifle his whimper this time, before he bolted down the corridor in the opposite direction, a confused Trailbreaker hurrying after him, Jazz cackling in their wake like a mad mech.
= = =
The saboteur was still snickering when he and Prowl entered the rec room, and his chuckles drew the attention of the mechs in their vicinity. While most of the Autobots took one look at the situation and unanimously decided to stay a respectable distance from the pair, two of their number were not as inclined to such caution, approaching them as they drew cubes of energon.
“What’s so funny?”
Prowl sighed at Bumblebee’s question, wondering how he’d explain this latest bout of mischief. Hound eyed the white mech, processors clearly trying to recall something before he suddenly exclaimed in realisation.
“White… Doorwings… That was you?!”
“Your instructor told you, I presume.”
Hound stared, then dropped his tone to one that was more discrete. “Every Ops batch gets told how an Ops trainee and a non-Ops beat the mech’s brother. I never realised it ‘till now, but Jazz… and you?!”
Beside Hound, Bumblebee had made the same connections and was also gaping at the tactician. “Prowl’s the one they’re talking about when warning us to always be on our guard?”
“If that cautionary tale also involves a bar, data retrieval and a mech who let his jacks lead his processors, then yes.”
“… I don’t believe it.”
“I suppose it doesn’t really matter if you do. It was a long time ago, and I’m not about to go about broadcasting the matter.” Prowl seemed rather unperturbed by the giggling Ops mech clinging to him to stay upright, nonchalantly continuing to sip his energon, and Hound shook his head, starting to smile as well.
“All the better to be underestimated, huh. You’d have bots queuing up outside your door if it got out, and Ops wants you all to Ops alone. Speaking of which…” Tracker prodded Saboteur good naturedly. “Remember to share, Jazz.”
“I don’t believe it.” Bumblebee seemed to be stuck in a processing loop, and the chevroned mech cycled air in resignation.
“You require a demonstration?”
“… Here?!”
“I’m hardly going to re-enact the events of that cycle, Bumblebee. Which reminds me. Hound, you might want to check up on Mirage later.” Jazz’s snickering started anew, and the visored mech smacked the tactician on the shoulder.
“You are an evil, evil mech. Don’t try to tell me you didn’t know how what you said would affect ‘Raj. The mech just managed to forget that particular bit of trauma.”
Prowl’s response was to slip out of the Porsche’s hold, a faint smirk on his faceplates before the expression faded, replaced by one of complete, newsparked innocence. Doors angled to reflect the fading sunlight shining into the rec room onto his new paintjob, the tactician glowed. His optics flickered to a lighter shade as he looked at the other officer, clutching his energon cube close, tone soft and hesitant.
“Jazz, you’d think I’d do something like that?”
All three mechs watching Prowl stalled. As did the rest of the room, though none of them had been privy to the conversation leading up to this sight. Jazz took one step forward, movements languid, stance and expression predatory. The white mech shifted backwards, optics rebooting, glancing everywhere but at the look in the black one’s visor.
A squeak and a crash interrupted the scene, and all turned to see Mirage standing in the entry to the rec room, Trailbreaker behind him and rubbing ruefully at his nasal bridge.
“Mirage, a little warning before you brake next time?”
When the spy did not respond, staring forward with a horrified look on his faceplates, the defensive tactician stuck his head past the frozen Ligier to see Prowl folding his arms across his chassis as Jazz grabbed the mech’s waist, then cocked a wicked grin their way.
“Gyaaahh!!!”
The soft whine that had been building in Mirage’s vocaliser exploded, and the blue mech sprinted back out, leaving a bewildered Trailbreaker to chase after him for the second time that day. Hound sighed at the saboteur, then grinned.
“Poor Mirage. I’m going to go help Trailbreaker with him.”
Jazz raised an optic ridge at the tracker. “And how will you be doing that?”
A hologram shimmered into place.
“Desensitisation therapy, of course!”
Jazz broke out into laughter once more as the now all white Jeep smirked and ran after his friends.
