Continued Break From Smuttings
And I have a reason to use this icon!! YAY! *drools at bluidy Sideswipe*
This bunny has actually been gnawing at me since idiosyn posted her fic 'Can't Run Now'. I'd been looking for a way to bring these two together for this verse, they latched onto the idea of Prowl whooping Sides' ass. Sunny's not included, simply because I don't think G1 Prowl (master tactician though he might be) could really hold his own against both twins the first time he meets them. He's not ninja-Prowl! (says he doesn't want to be...)
Title Shall We Dance (tentative)
Series Bonded (tentative)
Pairings/Characters Eventual Prowl/Sideswipe, Jazz
Warnings None that I can think of? Unless you need a warning for someone who kinda gets off on fighting?
Summary Prowl's enjoying a little bit of free time after joining a new unit (for a short time), and is very rudely interrupted.
Author's Notes This is once again the 'Easy Like Whoa!' Sideswipe, and he's also an adrenaline junkie. Prowl's still 'Oh, Sex. Ho Hum.' To note, Jazz is a mild form of 'Easy Like Whoa!' (aka 'Oooh! Sex! I'm Go!') Also hoping to have some forms of explorations on TF religions. In G1verse, there's Sect of Primus, Way of the Unmaker, (Primordial?) Code... think that's it. (Movieverse, of course, also gets the Allspark added to the list, but that's really irrelevant to this fic)
He didn’t move.
He flowed.
Each gesture, and footfall a precise rhythm, cadence; a whisper of hydraulics, and the soft creak of oiled joints. The clang of a foot as it took a step; the quick rush of a ventilator as it compensated for a working engine. A dance, with only one participant, whole in and of itself, yet needing substance.
There was the movement, and nothing else in his world as he swept his hand forward in a graceful jab, his fingers straight, a blunt-edged knife homing in for the kill. Not even the drone that he practiced on was a consideration in his processor. He knew its responses, and countered them almost without thought. He did not try to damage, only to repel, to block.
If he broke this one, he wouldn’t be allotted another for a whole metacycle.
Suddenly the drone’s non-existence was disturbed by something. The drone carelessly fell to the ground, several meters from where Prowl had been practicing with it. The black and white mech stared hazily at where his opponent had once stood, his processor trying to comprehend the sudden change in coloring from green to red. The sudden change in expression from blank nothing to a confident grin. From blank yellow optics to bright blue.
The intruder’s grin closed to a sure smirk, and the newcomer lunged.
Prowl had no time to consider this change further. He blocked the fist that came at him, and the second that swept in from the side. He brushed them off, little more than dust on his shoulders, grime on his wings to be flicked off without further thought.
The red mech threw himself into an unrelenting attack. Kick punch, elbow, knee. There was nothing graceful, or flowing about his movements. They held all the confidence of one who had never lost a fight, on the battlefield, in the training ring. They held none of the training of the Code of Discipline.
The mech’s optics blazed with a full charge, and Prowl, who had already been practicing for a cycle after a full megacycle of duty observed his own waning energy levels.
He would not last long against the interloper’s persistent blows if he remained on the defensive. He changed gears, mentally shifting his battle computer from ‘Defend’ to ‘Attack’. Physically, the change in his stance was nearly imperceptible, except to the trained eye. A trained eye the mech before him did not posses as he threw his fist forward into another solid punch.
Prowl moved to block the punch, allowing the red arm to slide past his face, before he twisted his own hands and grabbed the red arm. Using his opponent’s momentum against him, he tossed the mech over his shoulder, releasing his grip on the arm to send the intruder flying.
Ventilator whirring, the mech stared up at Prowl from where he lay sprawled on the floor.
He couldn’t keep the twitch out of his doorwings as he noticed how… heated that look was. Considering the assumed model of his model, Prowl could only make one deduction for its meaning.
'Binary-addled aft.' Internally, he groaned, not really wishing to deal with this at the moment.
The warrior shoved himself to his feet, taking a few astroseconds to ponder the black and white mech, as though he were waiting for Prowl to make the next move.
Prowl stayed in position, arms ready to block and retaliate the mech’s next move.
He did not disappoint. He attacked again, his movements turning from relentless to sheer vicious; no longer withholding his punches, he left several dents in Prowl’s armor. The final straw came when the warrior managed to tackle Prowl off his feet, slamming him onto his back.
Again, using the mech’s weight and attack against him, Prowl kicked his opponent off, tossing him over his head with a simple roll on his windshield. He boosted himself back up with assistance from his doorwings, rising slowly to his feet as the red mech dazedly stood.
A shake of the black crowned head as the still grinning (if a tad more loopily) mech tried to shake his processors back into place.
Prowl took advantage of the mech’s disorientation, a staff appeared in his hands, drawing the warrior’s attention to the gleaming length of black metal. The optics seemed to light even more, and the grin took on a distinctly more manic tilt.
He threw himself at Prowl again, and his vicious attacks turned outright brutal, each one a disabling if not fatal hit if they were not deflected or blocked entirely. It took all of Prowl’s training and a good few tetrabytes of processing power to keep up with the aggressive attack.
The mech’s vocalizer surged with cries and grunts, disturbing the silence of their fight. Prowl caught on the fringes of his perception the presence of other mechs, and his audio receptors tuned out the audience’s excited babble. His opponent was his world, the center of his focus; all pathways led to and from this interloper on his free time.
The staff cracked across the red plating, and Prowl counted each strike, watching the bend of the metal, testing the strength of the warrior’s armor. The hits only seemed to fuel the warrior’s urge to lay his hands on the black and white armor. He struck out, fingers clawing at Prowl’s arms, trying to find purchase on the slick metal.
The staff twirled in Prowl’s hand, knocking away the grasping arms.
The red mech shook his hands, rubbing at the new dents, his dental plates bared in a pained grin. Even so the mech circled Prowl, his optics so much more calculating than he at first appeared.
Prowl’s doorwings trembled as he kept his sensors trained on the red mech, joints torqued and ready to move the instant he knew his opponent would.
It wouldn’t take long, Prowl calculated the likeliest target to be his twitching doorwings, a sure temptation to a mech who seemed all too eager to get his hands on Prowl. Most seemed to believe the misconception that doorwings were a particularly sensitive spot on the mech that had them; while not entirely untrue, this would be a debilitating point that any other mech could use to their advantage.
The black hands latched onto the white tops of the panels, bending them forward Prowl sensed, through the shift in the mech’s weight, the leg that swept out.
He quickly activated his ankle plates and reversed their polarity.
Metal clanged; leg striking leg as the red mech tried to sweep Prowl off his feet. His optics widened in surprise as the black and white mech staunchly refused to budge, and then the hands let go and began wheeling frantically as he realized that not only could he not budge Prowl, but he could not pry his leg off the other’s.
His doorwings released, Prowl leaned back and thwacked his opponent twice with each appendage, sending him even further off balance.
“Unmaker, fraggit!” the other spat just before he toppled to the floor.
Prowl disengaged his magnetic plates and hopped away from the mech once again laying in a messy sprawl. His voice recognition software came online at the soft curse, and his optics narrowed at the mech, his lips drawn into a grim line.
There was no piercing glare this time as the other rolled to his feet. There was no pause to consider his opponent, almost no time to prepare as the mech resumed his attack.
Prowl watched the light flashing across the red chestplate, the minute shift in balance as he readied blow after blow. Kicks and punches melded into the ever moving staff in Prowl’s hands.
An alert appeared in his HUD, and Prowl twitched his doorwings once, knowing that he needed to end this fight to refill his reserves.
He captured one hand between his fists on the staff. He slapped the mech’s other hand away with the ends of his staff, pulling the mech’s captured hand forward to throw him off balance. His opponent slapped his other hand onto Prowl’s fist, trying to catch his balance. Prowl swung him about, and tangled the mech’s two hands in the staff and his own hands.
They grappled, no longer relying on strength, but leverage to gain the upper hand. Even as they fought over the staff, they tried to offset each other with their feet shuffling over the floor, spinning them in a nearly endless circle. The red mech didn’t even bother watching their feet, his heated gaze locked on Prowl’s face. A look Prowl returned dispassionately.
He recognized the attempt, recognized the particular note held within the rumble of the mech’s engine, but he couldn’t puzzle out why. Why was this so… intriguing to him?
His energy readings having reached dangerously low levels, Prowl decided to end this. He had the mech right where he wanted him; their chestplates pressed together, arms tangled. Prowl activated his ankle plates again and slammed his head forward, right into the other’s face. Stunned, the other wavered, giving Prowl ample opportunity to deliver a roundhouse kick, that threw him to the ground. Deft white fingers caught the staff as Prowl towered over his adversary, the slotted end aimed at the red mech’s throat.
The mech reached up to slap away the staff, but Prowl nudged it forward, activating the energy blade at the tip. The blue optics widened, and the hand froze. Prowl didn’t relent his scowling glare, his doorwings flared out to their limit, until two black hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. The mech panted, his ventilator whirring to draw in air to cool his systems.
“That was rude.”
The red mech grinned. “You seemed to have enjoyed it.” He revved his engine, pointing out Prowl’s own purring engine.
Prowl’s optics narrowed and he cut his engine off. “That my engine is running makes it okay for you to be rude?”
The crowd murmured behind him, and Prowl swung about, his legs still straddling the other’s waist, blade still a micrometer from the cables on the other’s neck, to glare everyone out of the room. A golden mech lingered, concern hidden beneath a fierce scowl, his unhappiness clear as the shine of his paint. One of the black hands waved the golden mech off.
“I was just making sure you felt welcome, since I’d never seen you before. I wasn’t expecting you to be so skilled.” That impudent grin never wavered, and the burning optics never dimmed.
‘Toughlines,,’ Prowl huffed to himself, ‘are entirely too full of energy.’
“And I was expecting one of the best that this unit has to offer to be a more worthy adversary.”
The grin tightened, and the dental plates clicked together. “Wait an astrominute. What did you say your name was?”
“I never did,” Prowl answered succinctly.
“Then how do you-“ The mech cut himself off and his optics widened. “Oh slag. Oh slag! You’re the frackin’ analyst, aren’t you?”
“I expect, Sideswipe, that I will be seeing you quite often during my time here, if today’s performance is any example.” Prowl switched off the energy blade, and pulled the staff away slightly.
Sideswipe glanced down at hovering end, his optics shifting focus as he mulled over whatever was on his mind. He propped himself up on his elbows, that hungry look dominating his optics again. “I wouldn’t mind a little extra time, right now.” He took hold of the staff and pulled himself up. He put a hand over Prowl’s on the staff, pushing the weapon down from between them.
“I am certain that there are any number of mechs or femmes in the unit that would be much more willing to oblige your desire for attention.” Prowl stepped away, never releasing the red mech’s optics. A signal pinged off his comm., attracting his attention.
“But none of them have doorwings, or a black and white paint job. I like that combination.” The growl of Sideswipe’s engine gave tell to how much he like that combination.
“I am afraid that there is not much that I can do about the doorwings.” Prowl turned, throwing his staff toward the entrance. “However, I am certain that Jazz, here, can do something about the black and white scheme. Quite happily, knowing him.” Prowl walked out, past a surprised Jazz, completely ignoring the indignant protest of the red Toughline. "He's riled up for you, even, Jazz.”
****
Prowl sat at a table, glancing through a performance report in one hand, and sipping from a cube in the other. He didn’t even look up when another dropped into the seat across from him. Although he could make out the goofy grin plastered beneath a blue visor and knew immediately who his visitor was.
“If you had taken much longer, I would have gone to recharge. My systems are ready for defrag as it is.” He glanced up, surprised to see the red paint still streaking the other black and white mech’s chestplate.
"Well, I wasn't exactly expectin' to get thrown to th' mercies of an aroused Toughline when I was comin' to get ya." Jazz's grin grew. "I ain't ever had him so revved up, though." The mech leaned forward conspiratorily, beckoning Prowl to do the same as he lowered the volume on his vocalizer. "Whatchu do?"
"We sparred. He was quite rude about it.”
Jazz jerked back in surprise, his visor flashing. Then he burst out laughing. "Well, no wonder! I think I'm gonna enjoy yer stay here, Prowlie."
Prowl's doorwings twitched as he set the datapad down. “I do hope you are not looking to try to get me in your berth again.”
“Nah! Not me! Sides likes a challenge, though. He's even gotten our gunner, who's also an Enforcer, I might add, in his berth.” He grinned at Prowl. “And you got him all revved up an' left him hangin'.” The grin turned positively leering.
Prowl's optics flashed as he straightened indignantly. “I did not leave him hanging. I saw to it he had relief.”
“It's only temporary, far as he's concerned. He wants you. Wonder how his bro's gonna feel 'bout that.”
“Brother?” It was an unusual word, not completely unheard of, but certainly unexpected.
Jazz nodded his head, directing Prowl's attention toward a back corner of the room. Prowl glanced back, his doorwings adjusting to better pick out the mech Jazz indicated. The surly golden mech spoke in low, indiscernible tones with his table mates. “His twin.”
That gave Prowl pause. How had that escaped Prowl's observations? Unable to make out any of the words, Prowl was unable to create a vocal profile for the golden mech and identify him. He'd heard rumors of the temperaments of twins, and to find that packed into the frame of a lusty Toughline, at least one follower of the Unmaker.... disconcerted Prowl.
This would be a challenge.
This bunny has actually been gnawing at me since idiosyn posted her fic 'Can't Run Now'. I'd been looking for a way to bring these two together for this verse, they latched onto the idea of Prowl whooping Sides' ass. Sunny's not included, simply because I don't think G1 Prowl (master tactician though he might be) could really hold his own against both twins the first time he meets them. He's not ninja-Prowl! (says he doesn't want to be...)
Title Shall We Dance (tentative)
Series Bonded (tentative)
Pairings/Characters Eventual Prowl/Sideswipe, Jazz
Warnings None that I can think of? Unless you need a warning for someone who kinda gets off on fighting?
Summary Prowl's enjoying a little bit of free time after joining a new unit (for a short time), and is very rudely interrupted.
Author's Notes This is once again the 'Easy Like Whoa!' Sideswipe, and he's also an adrenaline junkie. Prowl's still 'Oh, Sex. Ho Hum.' To note, Jazz is a mild form of 'Easy Like Whoa!' (aka 'Oooh! Sex! I'm Go!') Also hoping to have some forms of explorations on TF religions. In G1verse, there's Sect of Primus, Way of the Unmaker, (Primordial?) Code... think that's it. (Movieverse, of course, also gets the Allspark added to the list, but that's really irrelevant to this fic)
He didn’t move.
He flowed.
Each gesture, and footfall a precise rhythm, cadence; a whisper of hydraulics, and the soft creak of oiled joints. The clang of a foot as it took a step; the quick rush of a ventilator as it compensated for a working engine. A dance, with only one participant, whole in and of itself, yet needing substance.
There was the movement, and nothing else in his world as he swept his hand forward in a graceful jab, his fingers straight, a blunt-edged knife homing in for the kill. Not even the drone that he practiced on was a consideration in his processor. He knew its responses, and countered them almost without thought. He did not try to damage, only to repel, to block.
If he broke this one, he wouldn’t be allotted another for a whole metacycle.
Suddenly the drone’s non-existence was disturbed by something. The drone carelessly fell to the ground, several meters from where Prowl had been practicing with it. The black and white mech stared hazily at where his opponent had once stood, his processor trying to comprehend the sudden change in coloring from green to red. The sudden change in expression from blank nothing to a confident grin. From blank yellow optics to bright blue.
The intruder’s grin closed to a sure smirk, and the newcomer lunged.
Prowl had no time to consider this change further. He blocked the fist that came at him, and the second that swept in from the side. He brushed them off, little more than dust on his shoulders, grime on his wings to be flicked off without further thought.
The red mech threw himself into an unrelenting attack. Kick punch, elbow, knee. There was nothing graceful, or flowing about his movements. They held all the confidence of one who had never lost a fight, on the battlefield, in the training ring. They held none of the training of the Code of Discipline.
The mech’s optics blazed with a full charge, and Prowl, who had already been practicing for a cycle after a full megacycle of duty observed his own waning energy levels.
He would not last long against the interloper’s persistent blows if he remained on the defensive. He changed gears, mentally shifting his battle computer from ‘Defend’ to ‘Attack’. Physically, the change in his stance was nearly imperceptible, except to the trained eye. A trained eye the mech before him did not posses as he threw his fist forward into another solid punch.
Prowl moved to block the punch, allowing the red arm to slide past his face, before he twisted his own hands and grabbed the red arm. Using his opponent’s momentum against him, he tossed the mech over his shoulder, releasing his grip on the arm to send the intruder flying.
Ventilator whirring, the mech stared up at Prowl from where he lay sprawled on the floor.
He couldn’t keep the twitch out of his doorwings as he noticed how… heated that look was. Considering the assumed model of his model, Prowl could only make one deduction for its meaning.
'Binary-addled aft.' Internally, he groaned, not really wishing to deal with this at the moment.
The warrior shoved himself to his feet, taking a few astroseconds to ponder the black and white mech, as though he were waiting for Prowl to make the next move.
Prowl stayed in position, arms ready to block and retaliate the mech’s next move.
He did not disappoint. He attacked again, his movements turning from relentless to sheer vicious; no longer withholding his punches, he left several dents in Prowl’s armor. The final straw came when the warrior managed to tackle Prowl off his feet, slamming him onto his back.
Again, using the mech’s weight and attack against him, Prowl kicked his opponent off, tossing him over his head with a simple roll on his windshield. He boosted himself back up with assistance from his doorwings, rising slowly to his feet as the red mech dazedly stood.
A shake of the black crowned head as the still grinning (if a tad more loopily) mech tried to shake his processors back into place.
Prowl took advantage of the mech’s disorientation, a staff appeared in his hands, drawing the warrior’s attention to the gleaming length of black metal. The optics seemed to light even more, and the grin took on a distinctly more manic tilt.
He threw himself at Prowl again, and his vicious attacks turned outright brutal, each one a disabling if not fatal hit if they were not deflected or blocked entirely. It took all of Prowl’s training and a good few tetrabytes of processing power to keep up with the aggressive attack.
The mech’s vocalizer surged with cries and grunts, disturbing the silence of their fight. Prowl caught on the fringes of his perception the presence of other mechs, and his audio receptors tuned out the audience’s excited babble. His opponent was his world, the center of his focus; all pathways led to and from this interloper on his free time.
The staff cracked across the red plating, and Prowl counted each strike, watching the bend of the metal, testing the strength of the warrior’s armor. The hits only seemed to fuel the warrior’s urge to lay his hands on the black and white armor. He struck out, fingers clawing at Prowl’s arms, trying to find purchase on the slick metal.
The staff twirled in Prowl’s hand, knocking away the grasping arms.
The red mech shook his hands, rubbing at the new dents, his dental plates bared in a pained grin. Even so the mech circled Prowl, his optics so much more calculating than he at first appeared.
Prowl’s doorwings trembled as he kept his sensors trained on the red mech, joints torqued and ready to move the instant he knew his opponent would.
It wouldn’t take long, Prowl calculated the likeliest target to be his twitching doorwings, a sure temptation to a mech who seemed all too eager to get his hands on Prowl. Most seemed to believe the misconception that doorwings were a particularly sensitive spot on the mech that had them; while not entirely untrue, this would be a debilitating point that any other mech could use to their advantage.
The black hands latched onto the white tops of the panels, bending them forward Prowl sensed, through the shift in the mech’s weight, the leg that swept out.
He quickly activated his ankle plates and reversed their polarity.
Metal clanged; leg striking leg as the red mech tried to sweep Prowl off his feet. His optics widened in surprise as the black and white mech staunchly refused to budge, and then the hands let go and began wheeling frantically as he realized that not only could he not budge Prowl, but he could not pry his leg off the other’s.
His doorwings released, Prowl leaned back and thwacked his opponent twice with each appendage, sending him even further off balance.
“Unmaker, fraggit!” the other spat just before he toppled to the floor.
Prowl disengaged his magnetic plates and hopped away from the mech once again laying in a messy sprawl. His voice recognition software came online at the soft curse, and his optics narrowed at the mech, his lips drawn into a grim line.
There was no piercing glare this time as the other rolled to his feet. There was no pause to consider his opponent, almost no time to prepare as the mech resumed his attack.
Prowl watched the light flashing across the red chestplate, the minute shift in balance as he readied blow after blow. Kicks and punches melded into the ever moving staff in Prowl’s hands.
An alert appeared in his HUD, and Prowl twitched his doorwings once, knowing that he needed to end this fight to refill his reserves.
He captured one hand between his fists on the staff. He slapped the mech’s other hand away with the ends of his staff, pulling the mech’s captured hand forward to throw him off balance. His opponent slapped his other hand onto Prowl’s fist, trying to catch his balance. Prowl swung him about, and tangled the mech’s two hands in the staff and his own hands.
They grappled, no longer relying on strength, but leverage to gain the upper hand. Even as they fought over the staff, they tried to offset each other with their feet shuffling over the floor, spinning them in a nearly endless circle. The red mech didn’t even bother watching their feet, his heated gaze locked on Prowl’s face. A look Prowl returned dispassionately.
He recognized the attempt, recognized the particular note held within the rumble of the mech’s engine, but he couldn’t puzzle out why. Why was this so… intriguing to him?
His energy readings having reached dangerously low levels, Prowl decided to end this. He had the mech right where he wanted him; their chestplates pressed together, arms tangled. Prowl activated his ankle plates again and slammed his head forward, right into the other’s face. Stunned, the other wavered, giving Prowl ample opportunity to deliver a roundhouse kick, that threw him to the ground. Deft white fingers caught the staff as Prowl towered over his adversary, the slotted end aimed at the red mech’s throat.
The mech reached up to slap away the staff, but Prowl nudged it forward, activating the energy blade at the tip. The blue optics widened, and the hand froze. Prowl didn’t relent his scowling glare, his doorwings flared out to their limit, until two black hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. The mech panted, his ventilator whirring to draw in air to cool his systems.
“That was rude.”
The red mech grinned. “You seemed to have enjoyed it.” He revved his engine, pointing out Prowl’s own purring engine.
Prowl’s optics narrowed and he cut his engine off. “That my engine is running makes it okay for you to be rude?”
The crowd murmured behind him, and Prowl swung about, his legs still straddling the other’s waist, blade still a micrometer from the cables on the other’s neck, to glare everyone out of the room. A golden mech lingered, concern hidden beneath a fierce scowl, his unhappiness clear as the shine of his paint. One of the black hands waved the golden mech off.
“I was just making sure you felt welcome, since I’d never seen you before. I wasn’t expecting you to be so skilled.” That impudent grin never wavered, and the burning optics never dimmed.
‘Toughlines,,’ Prowl huffed to himself, ‘are entirely too full of energy.’
“And I was expecting one of the best that this unit has to offer to be a more worthy adversary.”
The grin tightened, and the dental plates clicked together. “Wait an astrominute. What did you say your name was?”
“I never did,” Prowl answered succinctly.
“Then how do you-“ The mech cut himself off and his optics widened. “Oh slag. Oh slag! You’re the frackin’ analyst, aren’t you?”
“I expect, Sideswipe, that I will be seeing you quite often during my time here, if today’s performance is any example.” Prowl switched off the energy blade, and pulled the staff away slightly.
Sideswipe glanced down at hovering end, his optics shifting focus as he mulled over whatever was on his mind. He propped himself up on his elbows, that hungry look dominating his optics again. “I wouldn’t mind a little extra time, right now.” He took hold of the staff and pulled himself up. He put a hand over Prowl’s on the staff, pushing the weapon down from between them.
“I am certain that there are any number of mechs or femmes in the unit that would be much more willing to oblige your desire for attention.” Prowl stepped away, never releasing the red mech’s optics. A signal pinged off his comm., attracting his attention.
“But none of them have doorwings, or a black and white paint job. I like that combination.” The growl of Sideswipe’s engine gave tell to how much he like that combination.
“I am afraid that there is not much that I can do about the doorwings.” Prowl turned, throwing his staff toward the entrance. “However, I am certain that Jazz, here, can do something about the black and white scheme. Quite happily, knowing him.” Prowl walked out, past a surprised Jazz, completely ignoring the indignant protest of the red Toughline. "He's riled up for you, even, Jazz.”
****
Prowl sat at a table, glancing through a performance report in one hand, and sipping from a cube in the other. He didn’t even look up when another dropped into the seat across from him. Although he could make out the goofy grin plastered beneath a blue visor and knew immediately who his visitor was.
“If you had taken much longer, I would have gone to recharge. My systems are ready for defrag as it is.” He glanced up, surprised to see the red paint still streaking the other black and white mech’s chestplate.
"Well, I wasn't exactly expectin' to get thrown to th' mercies of an aroused Toughline when I was comin' to get ya." Jazz's grin grew. "I ain't ever had him so revved up, though." The mech leaned forward conspiratorily, beckoning Prowl to do the same as he lowered the volume on his vocalizer. "Whatchu do?"
"We sparred. He was quite rude about it.”
Jazz jerked back in surprise, his visor flashing. Then he burst out laughing. "Well, no wonder! I think I'm gonna enjoy yer stay here, Prowlie."
Prowl's doorwings twitched as he set the datapad down. “I do hope you are not looking to try to get me in your berth again.”
“Nah! Not me! Sides likes a challenge, though. He's even gotten our gunner, who's also an Enforcer, I might add, in his berth.” He grinned at Prowl. “And you got him all revved up an' left him hangin'.” The grin turned positively leering.
Prowl's optics flashed as he straightened indignantly. “I did not leave him hanging. I saw to it he had relief.”
“It's only temporary, far as he's concerned. He wants you. Wonder how his bro's gonna feel 'bout that.”
“Brother?” It was an unusual word, not completely unheard of, but certainly unexpected.
Jazz nodded his head, directing Prowl's attention toward a back corner of the room. Prowl glanced back, his doorwings adjusting to better pick out the mech Jazz indicated. The surly golden mech spoke in low, indiscernible tones with his table mates. “His twin.”
That gave Prowl pause. How had that escaped Prowl's observations? Unable to make out any of the words, Prowl was unable to create a vocal profile for the golden mech and identify him. He'd heard rumors of the temperaments of twins, and to find that packed into the frame of a lusty Toughline, at least one follower of the Unmaker.... disconcerted Prowl.
This would be a challenge.