Mission - Hide and Seek
Jul. 24th, 2009 12:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceTitle: Mission - Hide and Seek
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Plot!OCs. Elita. Femmes. Jazz. Prowl.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Back in their new quarters, two of the new arrivals were contemplating the mechs who’d met them. One snickered, raising an optic ridge at the other.
“Brings back memories, don’t it, Downshift?”
The other mech glared at him briefly, and the rest of their cohort (all femmes, and sadly, all completely uninterested in a pair of roguishly charming gentlemechs such as themselves) cast wary looks in their direction. One spoke.
“Okay. Now I’m both intrigued and alarmed. What on Cybertron did you two get up to, Glyph, if that triggers recollections?”
He smirked, patting the speaker on the shoulder as he and his brother (who was not sulking, thankyouverymuch) passed them on the way out. “Heh. Then it’s a good thing I’m not going to tell you anything, sparkling.”
= = =
Downshift and Glyph staggered back to their shared quarters, singing raucously, tanks full of high grade. The moment the doors closed however, both were upright and smirking at each other, well pleased with the cycle’s work. As predicted, some of the femmes had gotten curious, curious enough to attempt to wiggle the information out of the pair of them.
Not that their methods would have worked if the two hadn’t wanted them to. Primus, being compromised once by a pair of trainees had been embarrassing enough. Even Jazz becoming Head of Ops and Prowl landing the post of Head Tactician had not mollified Downshift’s still smarting pride, and as his co-creation, Glyph felt honour bound to help (even if he did find the whole matter hilarious). Payback, as long overdue as it may be, would be sweet.
= = =
It was simply not fair.
All that work getting Glyph and Downshift overcharged enough to talk, and they had nothing to show for it. Downshift had waxed lyrical about bright blue optics and hidden depths and dropped tantalising hints about it ‘always being the quiet ones’, and while yes, they had to agree Prowl had rather nice optics, they’d hardly gotten close enough to contact his paint (and the mech had gotten rid of that all white colour scheme in the time since their arrival, which had been even more disappointing), much less work their way under his plating to see if everything else the mech said about the reserved tactician was true.
Then there was the matter of Elita-1’s patience reaching the end of its tether. The pink femme was at the head of the room, arms crossed before her, eying their little group sternly. “That’s it. You are confined to quarters until we head back to Cybertron.”
They protested, and she snapped at them, optics furious. “Mute it! You lot sent everyone stationed here into absolute chaos! And over what? Some sort of rumour? Coming from Downshift? Chromia would have shot you by now, be thankful she’s holding the fort back home and I’m more restrained. Now, whose idea was this and … Never mind, I think I don’t want to know.”
“Well… You can’t deny we’ve all been wondering what Prowl’s like behind all that restraint.” Someone spoke up from the back of the group, sparking off a chorus of agreements.
“Just imagine what you’d find once you get him to lose control!”
“And you have to admit the distance he puts between himself and everybody else is kinda enticing.”
“And Downshift said he’s like fragging Primus in the berth!”
Elita-1 stalled, then managed to gather her thoughts long enough to interrupt. “That is no reason to mob the poor mech!”
They glanced at each other, before one of them sheepishly muttered. “… We tried to mob the mech. It didn’t work.”
“… Go on.” In spite of herself, the femme commander felt her curiosity get the better of her. Thus given permission to rant, they vented their combined grievances to their leader.
“Oh, Elita. It’s so frustrating! He’s as frigid as he was on Cybertron!”
“We can’t corner him, can’t get him alone, can’t entice him away from his thrice fragged duties and datapads, and even after we all agreed on working together to just jump him he practically disappears!”
“He’s given us the slip each and every time we even think of trying something!”
“Elita, why are you laughing?”
The pink femme braced herself against the nearest flat surface. “Have you forgotten just what this particular mech does for the entire Autobot army? Not to mention who he’s friends with?”
They glanced at each other, mystified. In all the time they’d been on Earth, they’d hardly seen the black and white mech interact in a familiar manner with anyone.
“Friends with…? He doesn’t have friends.”
“He’s not overt about anything; I’m not surprised you haven’t noticed.”
Elita shook her head at their confusion. “Prowl is a tactician, femmes, and as a breed they tend to be close to the bots in Special Ops. He would have learnt to predict and avoid such things as a matter of self preservation. Ops bots can be rather prank inclined.” The femme had a rather rueful expression on her faceplates, as if she’d learnt that particular fact through personal experience.
“But we weren’t trying to prank him! Overload him once or twice, or more, perhaps…”
“I doubt he’d care to make the distinction, not much for distractions, he is. Besides, the Ops bots probably thought it’d be fun to take a hand in things.”
“What?”
Honestly. Elita could have fritzed in aggravation at their sudden bout of obtuseness.
“You don’t find it suspicious that there were mechs always somewhere around him, coming to him with some ‘important’ request, or that most of those mechs are in Ops? Or that for the last week here, while you lot were plotting and scouring the base top to bottom for Prowl, chasing after anything remotely similar to his likeness, and jumping Bluestreak and Smokescreen quite a few times, actually, every time in the process, you never actually laid optics on an Ops bot otherwise?”
Not giving them a chance to respond, she continued. “No. Because you lot were too busy acting like fool headed glitches to actually pay attention to your surroundings. Prowl is a very private individual, and exceptionally dedicated to the things he sees as important, his duty to the Autobots being just one. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve made for the mech, chasing after him like this? Is it any wonder he’d avoid you like cosmic rust?”
At their startled looks, she vented air in a long, drawn out huff.
“I’m going to go make an apology to the mech. Stay here. Primus willing, you won’t cause any more trouble that way.”
= = =
Jazz entered his quarters, blinking at the mech he spotted seated on the ground. Prowl glanced up at him, greeting the saboteur with a brief nod, before returning to his stack of datapads. Chuckling, the Ops mech approached his friend, then laid a hand on the tactician’s doorwings, gently rubbing the panels in a soothing manner, dipping into the joints to work the myriad of cables and wiring.
“How’re you holding up?”
“It’s been less aggravating than I thought it would be.” Finishing one report, Prowl set it aside and moved on to the next file. “I could almost treat the whole matter as a training exercise back in the Academy, disruptions to my normal duties and all.”
“Heh. ‘Least we got some warning before that pack of femmes descended upon us.”
“Remind me to figure out a way to make Glyph and Downshift’s lives miserable for the next hundred vorns.” Prowl murmured calmly as he let his doors dip low, allowing the Ops mech better access to their internal workings. The Porsche shrugged, then stopped the SIC from reaching for the next datapad.
“Plan revenge later. Right now, you need to relax.”
“Jazz, I have work to d-” The Datsun’s vocaliser spat static when the visored mech took advantage of his position to tweak a particular cable. Too reasonably for a mech driving another to overload, Jazz countered.
“You’re already behind, mech. What’s another hour or two? And there’s someone you need to thank for giving us the heads up. Wouldn’t want to be ungrateful now, would we?”
Needless to say, Prowl’s duties were ‘disrupted’ for a good while longer.
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Plot!OCs. Elita. Femmes. Jazz. Prowl.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Back in their new quarters, two of the new arrivals were contemplating the mechs who’d met them. One snickered, raising an optic ridge at the other.
“Brings back memories, don’t it, Downshift?”
The other mech glared at him briefly, and the rest of their cohort (all femmes, and sadly, all completely uninterested in a pair of roguishly charming gentlemechs such as themselves) cast wary looks in their direction. One spoke.
“Okay. Now I’m both intrigued and alarmed. What on Cybertron did you two get up to, Glyph, if that triggers recollections?”
He smirked, patting the speaker on the shoulder as he and his brother (who was not sulking, thankyouverymuch) passed them on the way out. “Heh. Then it’s a good thing I’m not going to tell you anything, sparkling.”
= = =
Downshift and Glyph staggered back to their shared quarters, singing raucously, tanks full of high grade. The moment the doors closed however, both were upright and smirking at each other, well pleased with the cycle’s work. As predicted, some of the femmes had gotten curious, curious enough to attempt to wiggle the information out of the pair of them.
Not that their methods would have worked if the two hadn’t wanted them to. Primus, being compromised once by a pair of trainees had been embarrassing enough. Even Jazz becoming Head of Ops and Prowl landing the post of Head Tactician had not mollified Downshift’s still smarting pride, and as his co-creation, Glyph felt honour bound to help (even if he did find the whole matter hilarious). Payback, as long overdue as it may be, would be sweet.
= = =
It was simply not fair.
All that work getting Glyph and Downshift overcharged enough to talk, and they had nothing to show for it. Downshift had waxed lyrical about bright blue optics and hidden depths and dropped tantalising hints about it ‘always being the quiet ones’, and while yes, they had to agree Prowl had rather nice optics, they’d hardly gotten close enough to contact his paint (and the mech had gotten rid of that all white colour scheme in the time since their arrival, which had been even more disappointing), much less work their way under his plating to see if everything else the mech said about the reserved tactician was true.
Then there was the matter of Elita-1’s patience reaching the end of its tether. The pink femme was at the head of the room, arms crossed before her, eying their little group sternly. “That’s it. You are confined to quarters until we head back to Cybertron.”
They protested, and she snapped at them, optics furious. “Mute it! You lot sent everyone stationed here into absolute chaos! And over what? Some sort of rumour? Coming from Downshift? Chromia would have shot you by now, be thankful she’s holding the fort back home and I’m more restrained. Now, whose idea was this and … Never mind, I think I don’t want to know.”
“Well… You can’t deny we’ve all been wondering what Prowl’s like behind all that restraint.” Someone spoke up from the back of the group, sparking off a chorus of agreements.
“Just imagine what you’d find once you get him to lose control!”
“And you have to admit the distance he puts between himself and everybody else is kinda enticing.”
“And Downshift said he’s like fragging Primus in the berth!”
Elita-1 stalled, then managed to gather her thoughts long enough to interrupt. “That is no reason to mob the poor mech!”
They glanced at each other, before one of them sheepishly muttered. “… We tried to mob the mech. It didn’t work.”
“… Go on.” In spite of herself, the femme commander felt her curiosity get the better of her. Thus given permission to rant, they vented their combined grievances to their leader.
“Oh, Elita. It’s so frustrating! He’s as frigid as he was on Cybertron!”
“We can’t corner him, can’t get him alone, can’t entice him away from his thrice fragged duties and datapads, and even after we all agreed on working together to just jump him he practically disappears!”
“He’s given us the slip each and every time we even think of trying something!”
“Elita, why are you laughing?”
The pink femme braced herself against the nearest flat surface. “Have you forgotten just what this particular mech does for the entire Autobot army? Not to mention who he’s friends with?”
They glanced at each other, mystified. In all the time they’d been on Earth, they’d hardly seen the black and white mech interact in a familiar manner with anyone.
“Friends with…? He doesn’t have friends.”
“He’s not overt about anything; I’m not surprised you haven’t noticed.”
Elita shook her head at their confusion. “Prowl is a tactician, femmes, and as a breed they tend to be close to the bots in Special Ops. He would have learnt to predict and avoid such things as a matter of self preservation. Ops bots can be rather prank inclined.” The femme had a rather rueful expression on her faceplates, as if she’d learnt that particular fact through personal experience.
“But we weren’t trying to prank him! Overload him once or twice, or more, perhaps…”
“I doubt he’d care to make the distinction, not much for distractions, he is. Besides, the Ops bots probably thought it’d be fun to take a hand in things.”
“What?”
Honestly. Elita could have fritzed in aggravation at their sudden bout of obtuseness.
“You don’t find it suspicious that there were mechs always somewhere around him, coming to him with some ‘important’ request, or that most of those mechs are in Ops? Or that for the last week here, while you lot were plotting and scouring the base top to bottom for Prowl, chasing after anything remotely similar to his likeness, and jumping Bluestreak and Smokescreen quite a few times, actually, every time in the process, you never actually laid optics on an Ops bot otherwise?”
Not giving them a chance to respond, she continued. “No. Because you lot were too busy acting like fool headed glitches to actually pay attention to your surroundings. Prowl is a very private individual, and exceptionally dedicated to the things he sees as important, his duty to the Autobots being just one. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve made for the mech, chasing after him like this? Is it any wonder he’d avoid you like cosmic rust?”
At their startled looks, she vented air in a long, drawn out huff.
“I’m going to go make an apology to the mech. Stay here. Primus willing, you won’t cause any more trouble that way.”
= = =
Jazz entered his quarters, blinking at the mech he spotted seated on the ground. Prowl glanced up at him, greeting the saboteur with a brief nod, before returning to his stack of datapads. Chuckling, the Ops mech approached his friend, then laid a hand on the tactician’s doorwings, gently rubbing the panels in a soothing manner, dipping into the joints to work the myriad of cables and wiring.
“How’re you holding up?”
“It’s been less aggravating than I thought it would be.” Finishing one report, Prowl set it aside and moved on to the next file. “I could almost treat the whole matter as a training exercise back in the Academy, disruptions to my normal duties and all.”
“Heh. ‘Least we got some warning before that pack of femmes descended upon us.”
“Remind me to figure out a way to make Glyph and Downshift’s lives miserable for the next hundred vorns.” Prowl murmured calmly as he let his doors dip low, allowing the Ops mech better access to their internal workings. The Porsche shrugged, then stopped the SIC from reaching for the next datapad.
“Plan revenge later. Right now, you need to relax.”
“Jazz, I have work to d-” The Datsun’s vocaliser spat static when the visored mech took advantage of his position to tweak a particular cable. Too reasonably for a mech driving another to overload, Jazz countered.
“You’re already behind, mech. What’s another hour or two? And there’s someone you need to thank for giving us the heads up. Wouldn’t want to be ungrateful now, would we?”
Needless to say, Prowl’s duties were ‘disrupted’ for a good while longer.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-23 04:45 pm (UTC)I wonder if Prowl had to borrow Mirage to walk around with him and keep him invisible? Makes me wonder what Prowl and Jazz are going to do to get back at Downshift and Glyph now. :D
(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-24 06:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-23 06:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-24 06:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-23 08:02 pm (UTC)And Downshift and Glyph? Now you're just being sore losers. With the Head Tactician and Heap of Ops who also happen to be SIC and 3IC out for revenge...
*Looks at prev statement* They're dead, aren't they? Or at least gonna be really really embarrassed and speaking of embarrassment, is Elita 1 gonna be walking in on those two just about now?
(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-24 06:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-23 09:10 pm (UTC)Poor femmes. They have no idea how sneaky and devious Prowl really is!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-24 06:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-23 10:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-24 06:08 am (UTC)Blah.
Date: 2009-07-25 03:41 am (UTC)Anyhow, *adopts fake-seer-trance*I forsee an incident involving Bluestreak and white paint. (Or possibly Bluestreak in Prowl-paint and Prowl in white paint). *end trance*
Love your writing.
Re: Blah.
Date: 2009-07-25 12:40 pm (UTC)