First Steps - April 2011 Challenge Entry

[unseen_daydream]

Title: First Steps
By: Unseen_Daydream
Rating: pg
Verse: G1 AU
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Hound, Ironhide, Chromia, minor OC's
Warnings: Pre-Jazz/Prowl 
Word Count: 7,677
Oneshot

Notes: April 2011 Challenge Entry: Marriage and Nobility. Correction on an earlier made statemnet: the next chapter will be posted...err...eventually! Promise! Really busy IRL right now!

Summary: What do you do when you have no one, when walls and ceilings are all you know, and the world outside would deny you your very right to exsist, merely because you were born without a clan?



Nobles do love their bonding ceremonies. Crystal sculptures in likeness to the pair have been constructed, reaching astounding heights as the crystalline sculptures held each other in a loving embrace. Fine organic material, some of the most expensive credits can purchase, has been draped across high reaching, masterfully sculpted columns and wound around them, creating an open barrier under which the Noble pair and their families, as well as political friends and those they were trying to gather favor from, took part in the ceremony. The Nobles had even managed to procure the High Priest of Praxus himself to bind the two, an honor which normally takes hundreds of Vorns to earn that these Nobles had simply bought like a cheap energon goodie.

The Seeker Femme was wrapped in the same soft, fine organic clothe that is draped over the and around the high reaching columns. Thin strips of the material are wrapped around her arms with long ends left untied and hanging down giving her an ethereal look and exotic beauty. The Seeker Mech was wearing traditional armor, made of helix crystal buffed and shined, an energon sword with an ornate hilt and equally ornate scabbard was sheathed at his left side as per tradition. It was a beautiful bonding ceremony to behold. And Prowl couldn’t be more bored if he tried.

He was not a part of the ceremony; he’s not even part of the guest list. Prowl has seen many, many bonding ceremonies of paupers and Nobles and he has never taken part in one of them. No, it was Prowl job to clean up after the party, to dismantle tables and columns, clean the spilled highgrade, move the bonding podium and ceremonial chalice to their proper place when not in use and to ensure that everything shines proper for the next couple looking to bond in this convent of primus.

“Noble mech of the Felix clan, Designated Midway, do you swear on your planet’s honor, your clans honor, and your honor that you shall always treat your partner with respect and dignity, compassion and trust, and support her in all that she may pursue?” The High Priest of Praxus intoned, voice low and serious, the baritone echoing throughout the room.

“I swear on my planet’s honor, my clan’s honor, and my honor to uphold my duty as a proper bondmate,” the Nobel mech Midway intoned, proud and practiced.

“Noble Femme of the Trinity clan, Designated Highwind, do you swear on your planet’s honor, your clan’s honor, and your honor that you shall always treat your partner with respect and dignity, compassion and trust, and support him in all that he may pursue?” Prowl mouthed the words to himself even as the High Priest said them, his optics shuttered and a small smile crossing his face plates, the final vows always gave him reason to smile, always managed to bring a lightness to his spark.

“You both understand that this bond is permanent in the eyes of the Convent of Primus, that should the pair of you dissolve your bond that you shall never bond again, that this is your final chance to turn away from this step? Neither of you has objections to this bonding?” The High Priest boomed.

“We understand,” the pair said in unison, “We have no objections to this union.”

The High Priest nodded and Prowl opened his optics, carefully watching the proceedings as it is disrespectful to turn away, seen as a sign that the bonding is not approved. The ceremonial chalice, made of helix crystal and carved long ago by a master sculptor, was filled with ancient high grade, another perk of being nobility. The two turned to each other, lifting up both of their hands so they laid palm up, connecting at the servo tips and creating a table. The heavy chalice was placed atop the palm, directly over where the servos connected as a symbol of their willingness to bear difficult burdens together. They kept their servos utterly still as too lot spill a drop of the ancient energon casting pink hues through the crystal.

“Drink of the chalice,” the High Priest spoke, voice warm, “to show us that you both, from this point on, forever share your lives together until all are one.”

As one the two assisted each other in drinking from the chalice, taking turns drinking of it until not a drop of it remained. As the High Priest removed the chalice from their hands Prowl moved at lightly pressed a button on his left side, activating the trigger that would commence the final stage of the bonding ceremony. On the floor laid a long bundle of the organic clothe died deep red and stretched out so it was between the guests and the bonding pair. When Prowl hit the switch two small machines on either end of the material activated and pulled at a single corner of the material before slowly flying up until a long wall of red fabric was draped between the two of them, blocking the audiences views of the pair as they opened their chassis and commenced in the bonding.

Prowl took the moment to sigh, long and heavy. The ceremony would be coming to a close soon,

and this particular party chose to hold their ‘after celebration’ in a different location, so cleaning up shouldn’t be too much of a problem. The only true issue would be the organic cloth. The bonding couple had made it clear that the cloth was expensive, delicate, and must be returned in perfect condition. Simply arranging the material to their specifications had caused Prowl great grief as the material felt so insubstantial between his servos and had nearly ripped several times. An energy pulse suddenly went through the crowed originating from behind the red cloth and with an impassioned cry from what sounded to be from both of the bonding pair it crashed strongly once more through the convent. Prowl barely noticed the pulse, used to the feeling of First Joining crashing through him but others in the crowed cried out it surprise or shivered violently. Prowl shook his head, smiling again, mumbling quietly to himself, “May Primus bless this Union,” as he did every bonding ceremony.

After that things went smoothly, the drape was lowered and the guests stood politely, not cheering as the lower caste bonding do but smiling politely and offering their congratulations. The group began their movement out the doors to wherever it was they planned to head next and Prowl shook his head, another bonding ceremony. And now another day to clean the hall until it gleamed once more. He stood straighter, stretching his sensory panels from the stiff position he’d held them in out of respect and began making his way through the metal pews, contemplating on how to dismantle the ornate columns the couple had insisted be built.

“Ah havn’ seen ya before, ‘re ya a friend of Highwind?” a cultured voice drawled smoothly. Prowl carefully turned around and met the visor of one of the guests.

“No Noblemech,” Prowl intoned, voice monotonous and helm inclined, “I am but a keeper of the grounds.”

“Really,” the visored mech replied, surprise evident, “Ya hold yourself like a Noble and yur frame’s reminiscent of high nobility. What’s yur designation, keeper of the grounds?”

Annoyed with this distraction and privilege the mech was taking Prowl replied curtly, “I hail from no clan with the chosen designation of Prowl.” Courtesy would demand that Prowl ask for the visored mech’s designation and clan in return, but Prowl refrained, an insult implying that Prowl thought the mech’s designation to be unimportant.

Irritatingly, the mech only seemed amused by this, “Prowl,” the mech drawled, “A fittin’ name for yourself, ta stalk along the edge of society but neva really apart of it,” Prowl barely kept himself from scowling but he did stiffen in posture, “Ah hail from the Placidus clan with the designation of Jazz.”

“Well if you would excuse me Noblemech Jazz of Placidus I must begin my duties as keeper of the grounds,” it was a blatant dismissal, but inwardly Prowl was confused, why would the Placidus clan, well known for their desire to stay out of the affairs of other clans, come to the bonding ceremony between two clans below their station?

Without waiting for a response from the Noblemech Prowl sidestepped him before walking towards the ceremonial podium. Then, gently, lovingly, in stark contrast to his brusque treatment of Jazz, Prowl lifted the crystal chalice bouncing miniature rainbows as light shined through it from the large windows. He took the time to gaze at the crystal, taking in the engraved glyphs intertwining together and creating images through their words. Images of lovers embracing and off primus blessing bonding couples, the glyphs of love, happiness, hope, future, trust, and hundreds of others intertwining to form the images. It is the treasure of Praxus, and Prowl was honored that he was the only other besides the priests permitted to touch the chalice when not in use, as had been his duty since his taking on of his duties. He gently cleaned the chalice with an organic thread cloth, sturdier than the ones chosen by the bonding couple but still soft. He cleaned and polished the chalice until it gleamed once more, absent of any trace of the aged energon.

Prowl turned around, carefully carrying the crystal chalice and ready to carry it to its rightful place when he was startled by a mech almost directly behind him, “Noblemech Jazz, why are you not with the rest of the guests?” he asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice, his servos curling around the chalice protectively.

But Jazz merely looked at him, head tilted to the side, as if trying to make sense of something, he was silent as he stared at Prowl and Prowl, already annoyed with this particular Noblemech, found himself beginning to fall into true anger at the mech’s attitude, “why don’ ya come with meh tonight,” Jazz purred, startling Prowl as he gazed at the keeper’s body appreciatively, “Ah could make it worth yur wild.”

And the anger Prowl had so desperately trying to hold back snapped as he fell into hot anger, “I may be clanless and low caste but I am not a pleasure bot ready at your Noblemech’s convenience!” The biting anger startled the other mech who took a step back, “Now allow me to complete my duty Noblemech Jazz or find yourself barred from the convent! I may be clanless, but this convent is of my domain and here you have outstepped your bounds!”

As if shot by a blaster the Noblemech took another step back, visor flashing in either surprise or anger, Prowl wasn’t sure which nor did he care to find out. With his shoulders set firmly he brushed passed Jazz and continued on.

These are the type of bonding ceremonies Prowl enjoys the most, the ceremonies between lower caste bots. Here, there is no doubt that the union is one of love and not convenience, here there is no stiff formality or towering crystal sculptures or strange organic clothe draped around towering colums. It was plain, simple. Done, not to impress anyone, but to merely join two sparks so deeply enamored with one another.

“Mech of the Kreigar clan, Designated Ironhide, do you swear on your planet’s honor, your clans honor, and your honor that you shall always treat your partner with respect and dignity, compassion and trust, and support her in all that she may pursue?” The Priest asked, the coupling had not ever tried to ask for the High Priest to oversee their bonding, which was unusual. Most couples at least tried, instead these two had merely asked to be bonded when most convenient for any priest willing.

“Ah swear on mah honor, mah clan’s honor, and mah honor ta uphold mah duty as a proper bondmate fur all of eternity,” the mech groused, tacking on his own personal touch at the end, another aspect of lower caste bondings that Prowl was fond of, Nobles were always so stiff for tradition that they never tried personalizing their vows. Prowl smiled faintly from his position in the back as he gazed upon the bonding couple, happy to see the true love burning between the two.

“Femme of the Militis Clan, Designated Chromia, do you swear on your planet’s honor, your clan’s honor, and your honor that you shall always treat your partner with respect and dignity, compassion and trust, and support him in all that he may pursue?” the Priest asked, his own fondness for the loving pair shining through, Prowl shook his head in amusement, Priest Hound was always fond of particularly loving couples.

“I swear on my honor, my clan’s honor, and my honor to uphold my duty as a proper bondmate so long as this lugnut doesn’t do something worth kicking his aft over,” Chromia replied, fondness and love in her voice. Prowl shook his head at her boldness, amused. Priest Hound was obviously equally amused as he allowed a brief chuckle to escape him one echoed by the guests filling up the pews. This particular party planned on their celebration to be held in the convent, Prowl had the feeling that this particular party was going to leave him an Orn’s worth of work at least.

The crystal chalice was revealed then, this time filled with simple lowgrade, though one wouldn’t be able to tell from merely looking at the chalice. It could be filled with the lowest grade possible and still it would glow brilliantly in the chalice, an effect from the helix crystals the chalice was carved from. The two allowed the tips of their servos to touch and the bonding ceremony commenced with the same vows of loves and the sharing of the lowgrade. Once complete Prowl once more activated the divide between the coupling and the guests, this time instead of beautiful yet flimsy material being raised it was simple strong metal mesh that was raised, strong and firm, meant to last eternity. “May Primus bless this union,” Prowl spoke, not bothering to keep his voice low as he did for the nobles, catching the attention of those in the back most pews. They smiled at him, optics kind and they echoed the sentiment, creating a cascade effect until all the guests had repeated the same words, blessing the union of the bonding couple.

As if waiting for the blessing to take place a wave of spark energy swept through the crowd causing the majority of the guests to jump or shiver violently. The wave was quickly followed by twin cries of pleasure and another wave of spark energy crashed through the crowed, stronger then before, causing even Prowl to shiver at the intensity of it. A bream of silence and Prowl activate mechanism once more, lowering the metal mesh to the floor once more. The pair was met with wild cheers from their guest, jokes and laughter as Prowl activated another mechanism, the pews sinking into the floor creating an open space for the festivities to commence. Prowl smiled as he gazed upon the happy group.

“Well that was interestin’,” A cultured voice drawled and Prowl stiffened, recognizing the voice. He turned his head and glared at the slightly taller mech whose visor was turned toward the party underway, “Certainly nutin’ like da bondin’s of the nobles that’s fur sure.”

“Yes,” Prowl replied coolly, turning his gaze back to the group, fond feelings replaced by annoyance, “Though why you have even attended this bonding ceremony is beyond me, Noblemech,” another implied insult, that Jazz simply isn’t welcome here, a subtle hint for him to leave now.

“Well the convent is a public place ya know,” Jazz replied simply, voice amused, “But beyond that I didn’ come here fur a bondin’ ceremony, Ah came here to apologize ta ya.”

Prowl turned his head to the Noblemech, his gaze sharp and lip plates thin with suspicion, “Why would a Noblemech such as yourself apologize to a clanless mech such as me?”

“What I said crossed a line,” Jazz replied simply, genuine regret coating his tone, “Ah shouldn’ have implied such things about yur person. Yur position here as Keeper of the Grounds is one worthy of respect, but more ‘den that, ah shouldn’ have implied wha’ I did regardless of status.”

Prowl’s gaze turned incredulous, a Noblemech apologizing for a slight against a clanless? One of as High a standing as the Placidus clan? To apologize to a clanless was to lower oneself to his or her level, even lower caste clans would hesitate to apologize to a clanless. It simply wasn’t done. Prowl tried to remember the last time anyone had apologize to him for any reason and the only instance he could remember was when a young Praxian by the designation Bluestreak had stumbled in the convent during an acid storm, dripping acid rain onto the floor and apologizing for waking Prowl from his recharge and asking for a place to stay for the night. They had talked long into the night, waiting out the storm as the young mech chattered on and apologized constantly. He still came to visit sometimes…

Jazz was looking at him now, and Prowl remembered himself, “I accept your apology Noblemech,” he replied, voice carefully neutral, and Jazz smiled at him.

There was silence between the two of them for several long breams before the newly bonded couple came over to the pair of them, “I herd yur the one who started the blessin’s,” the mech, Ironhide, rumbled to Prowl, optics alike in joy as he held to his bonded’s hand, “So thankya. Not many ‘member the ‘ole traditions anymore, so it’s good ta here someone’s makin’ sure they don’ die out.”

“Will you and your friend join us?” Chromia asked, a similar loving and happy light in her optics.

Prowl was tempted to say that the Noblemech wasn’t his friend, but that would cross a line of blatant disrespect that, despite Prowl’s wariness of the Noblemech, he was not willing to cross, “Are you certain that it would not bother you? We have no wish to intrude upon your bonding.”

Ironhide waved the hand not holding Chromia’s in the air, casually dismissing Prowl’s concern, “Ever’one here’s intrudin’ on our bondin’, the pair of ya won’t make no difference.”

“Very well,” Prowl nodded in assent, “I hail from no clan with the chosen designation of Prowl, this is-“

“Jazz,” the Noblemech interrupted, “Jus’ Jazz.”

And the pair was swept away into the party. Cheers and laughter echoing in the large room, bouncing back from the high ceiling arches. They were dragged into conversations, into games, and into drinking low level mid-grade, an apparent delicacy to the low caste guests. Prowl and Jazz were separated several times as they mingled with different groups and talked with different guests, but inevitably they somehow always managed to join together once more, whether it was with a group or them simply breaking away and somehow meeting up again in the crowd. Where Jazz would laugh and joke easily with the guests Prowl would smile gently and offer wise comments and the occasional polite chuckle at a well-spoken joke. One would never guess that Jazz was the Noblemech and Prowl the clanless one. It was enjoyable, Prowl could easily admit. It wasn’t often that he was asked to join in on the festivities.

Eventually though, the party came to an end. Ironhide and Chromia thanked Prowl once more, who looked upon the occasion like a novelty, a clanless mech apologized to and thanked in the same cycle, how unusual. The guests left or dragged each other away until the convent, once filled with so much laughter and cheer was eerily silent once more, Prowl and Jazz alone lingering in its depths. Prowl, used to the utter silence of the convent, began his duty as keeper of the grounds and headed to the crystal chalice sitting serenely upon the podium, pulling out the same cloth he always used to clean it once more.

“Is it always like ‘dis?” Jazz asked from the side, a respectful distance away, “After the guests all leave, is it always ‘dis…quiet?”

And it was quiet, as it always is. The Priests don’t reside in the convent and seldom appear besides funerals and wedding ceremonies and the traditional gatherings during the Orn of Thirteen, the festival celebrating the lives of the original thirteen. The convent was always quiet, if not for the occasional mech or femme looking for guidance Prowl would be utterly alone in these halls between ceremonies. He supposed it was discerning to most bots that grew up surrounded by caretakers and bots and constant noise. For Prowl who grew up in the silence it was simply normal, lonely at times, especially when he was younger, but normal.

“Yes,” Prowl replied simply, still cleaning the chalice gently, “the convent is always quiet between ceremonies.”

“How can ya stand it?” Jazz asked, shifting nervously as he glanced around the large circular room, “Ah can’t ‘magine bein’ in a place so quiet all ‘da time,” his voice echoed around the nave, emphasizing his point.

Prowl merely tilted his head, gazing at Jazz curiously, wondering why the Noblemech was so interested, “I have grown used to the silence. The convent is my home after all.” He held the chalice up, searching for any missed spots and nodding in satisfaction when he found none on the ornate chalice. He pulled out the second clothe, the one meant to protect the chalice from dust and wrapped it around the chalice, the soft material flowing through his servos like liquid in a similar manner to the material the Noblebots had used during their bonding ceremony. He missed Jazz’s look of surprise because of it and the way he looked around with a new look in his optic because of his admission.

“Anythin’ ah ‘kin do ta help then?” The Noblemech asked and Prowl raised an optic ridge, another novelty event added to the cycle, a Noblemech offering to help a clanless mech. Prowl entertained the notion that he’d accidently stepped into an alternative dimension sometime between onlining and the bonding ceremony before discarding it as foolishness.

“You can dismantle the podium and follow me,“ Prowl replied simply, holding the chalice in both his arms like a sparkling.  He watched as Jazz moved towards the Podium with a certain grace found in Noblemechs, it was a grace Prowl admired and sometimes wished he could possess. Jazz looked the podium over for a moment, and Prowl waited for him to ask Prowl how to dismantle it, for the mechanism wasn’t easily found by any not familiar with it. Instead Jazz circled it one, two, three times, looking at it up and down, before reaching out and activating the sequence. Prowl couldn’t help feeling a bit impressed but said nothing as jazz gathered up the now portable podium and looked towards Prowl.

Prowl, for his part, simply turned and began walking, confident jazz would follow and admittedly felt a little thrill when he did. There were no words as the pair traversed the wide halls, going deeper and deeper into the confines of the convent. The convent had been built millions of Vorns ago, the oldest convent in such stable condition. It sprawl across a wider expanse of land than any other building of Praxus, meant to act as both a defensive hold against attack and a place to worship Primus. There were hundreds of rooms, though none so large as the ceremonial nave and chancel where the bonding ceremonies take place. Most mechs never went beyond that room, and Prowl wondered idly why he was allowing this strange Noblemech beyond it. Perhaps his processor had finally glitched? Priest Hound had told him before that being alone for so long would eventually damage him irrevocably; perhaps this was a sign of that damage? Allowing a strange mech into the spark of the convent? For that was where they were going, to a place that held ancient treasures that none other than himself and the High Priest held knowledge of. Though the High Priest had never outright forbidden him from allowing others into the center of the convent, he had never encouraged it either.

He stopped before a door, one that looked no different from any of the others they had passed, and placed his hand on an access panel before it slid open. He walked in confidently to the circular room, lights turning on automatically in his wake. Jazz hesitated in the doorway for only a moment before following.

The room gleamed; there was no other way to describe it. There were crystal slabs with glyphs carved into them shelved in a case, artifact from the time before datapads, ancient energon swords older than those of even the oldest of Nobel Clans, White cubes of the oldest high grade lined one shelf and drapes of crystal mesh hung from the high ceiling casting rainbows along the floor and walls. There was only one light source in this room, coming from a brightly glowing crustal in the center of the roof and creating a wide circle of light in the middle. Prowl walked to the center of this circle and motioned for Jazz to do the same who was looking around the room with awe. Jazz walked slowly and softly to the center of the room, as though trying not to disturb the ancient stillness within the room and Prowl could feel himself smiling almost fondly, remembering when he was but a youngling and he had stumbled across this ancient room himself and having the same reaction as Jazz. Perhaps the Noblemech wasn’t one to be wary of after all, for Jazz to recognize the room for what it was, something ancient to be respected, showed that he could be trusted.

“Here,” Prowl murmured, “Unfold the podium here.”

Nodding, jazz did as told, the crystal Podium, delicate in its structure, unfolded once more. The mechanism was simple in these days, but when it was first created there was no doubt that it was an advance piece of technology, the first transformer of sorts. The body of it was thin but sturdy, three legs expanding outward for the base with ornate figures of various Cybertonians climbing up the legs and supporting the base, the figures steadily deforming the closer they got to the body of the podium until they became intertwining glyphs carved into the body telling the story of the original thirteen. The top of the podium was triangular in shape, flat and smooth, whatever glyphs once carved into it having been long worn away by time. With the podium directly in the center of the light Prowl uncovered the chalice, and gently placed it in the center of the podium. They back away then in union, each taking in the ancient crystal that reflected miniatures rainbows in a thin circle around it.

Silence for a long moment and then, “What is this place?”

Prowl paused for a long moment, thinking of how he should answer, if he could answer, “Old,” he eventually said, voice soft, “Very old.” There was no other way to describe it, no words adequate enough to describe the ancient wisdom surrounding this place, the power that echoes within it millennia after its creation. No words could describe the quiet whispers that Prowl could hear when in this room, whispers of long dead mechs and femmes whose words he could not discern no matter how hard he listened or how long he stayed in this room. He wondered, idly, if Jazz could hear the ancient whispers, but decided that there was no point in asking. Jazz was used to the world of sound; he would not know how to listen to the whispers of silence.

But perhaps Jazz could understand on some level what Prowl was trying to say because he merely nodded in agreement, visor never leaving the chalice sitting contently upon the podium.

It has been a several Orns since the last bonding ceremony and the convent is silent. Prowl idly walks between the pews with a cleaning clothe in hand, different from the one he used on the chalice, wiping off metal dust from the pews and polishing the metal statures lining the walls. There is no one in the convent now other than Prowl. The Priests are out in the city in their various homes and living out their lives, they haven’t been required to live in the convent since before Prowl came to be. They advised mechs and femmes still, preached to the open streets of the city, but hardly ever was the convent used. There was no discernable reason why, perhaps it was a changing of faith after the Great War, of what was acceptable and what was not, or perhaps it was simply an evolution of the people, depending less on Primus to save them and instead relying on themselves. Either way the convent was silent.

Being Keeper of the Grounds really was an honor, or it was in the days before the Great War. To dedicate one’s entire existence to the convent, to never leave its walls, to bear the burden of caring for every artifact, tome, and secret held within the walls, to know more of the sprawling passages and secret rooms than the High Priest, it was an honor. One never bestowed upon clanless mechs. The rules have changed since then, the role changed in the optics of the people. Now it was seen simply as a cleaning station, something a drone could perform just as well and not a position of high standing. Prowl knew he could leave if he wanted to and none would shutter an optic, and there have been times past where Prowl would gaze out the windows in yearning, but where would he go? The convent was his home, he knew nothing else, he didn’t know how to act beyond these walls or how to function without them. But by the way he was treated by patrons upon their learning of his clanless status Prowl doubted he could easily find a way to live beyond these walls, thus there is no point in leaving them.

Prowl could grow bitter of the fact, could grow to resent the walls that are equal parts sanctuary and equal parts cage, but why bother? There is no point in yearning for something he never experienced, no point in hating a situation no one could help. And he did love convent, loved its secrets and its silence, he knew he would gladly die to protect it should the need arise. He was the Keeper of the Grounds, and in ancient times that would have put him at a level equal to that of High Priest.

But Prowl had never been one to grow bitter over his status and of how he should or should not be treated by the patrons of the convent. So long as no one tries to cast him aside from his position he was content. Not happy, perhaps, but content to remain where he was.

“Hey there Prowl,” a voice drawled and Prowl whirled around, startled, optics meeting the amused gaze of Jazz.

His mind whirled, confused and shocked as one, he asked the first thing to cross his processor, “Are you here seeking guidance from Primus?”

“Nah,” The Noblemech grinned lightly.

“Are you here to set up a bonding ceremony then?” Prowl asked, though asking the question made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“Nope, no bonding for this mech this cycle,” Jazz replied easily, amusement in his voice.

Stumped, Prowl asked, “Then why are you here?”

“Ta see ya, o’course,” the mech replied easily, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Prowl could only stare incredulously.

“Why would you want to see me?” Genuine confusion colored Prowl’s voice and it caused Jazz to frown faintly.

“Cuz Ah wanted to tha’s why,” Jazz replied simply. Prowl only stared at the mech, unsure of how to respond, “Now why don’ we git somthin’ tasty to eat, Ah know a place that sells decent Energon Goodies cross ‘da way. Care ta join?”

And wasn’t it ironic that only breems before Prowl was musing to himself on how he wouldn’t know how to function in the “real world”? Wasn’t it ironic that this strange Noblemech would be the first to ask Prowl, a clanless keeper of grounds, to join him out in the “real world”? And in a perfect world, Prowl would have accepted, would have chosen to join Jazz out there and try those Energon Goodies. In a perfect world. But this was not a perfect world, and Prowl merely clenched his fists tightly and replied, “I do not think that would be wise Noblemech.”

“Eh? Why not Prowl?”

He shook his head, trying to grasp the words that failed him, “I am better suited to remain here, Noblemech.”

“Well it wouldn’ ve fureva’ y know. Justa coupla’ Groons,” Jazz replied. Prowl merely shook his head in response, casting a wary gaze out the window to the world outside. Perhaps sensing this wariness Jazz merely remained silent for a moment before continuing, “Well okay then, what would ya like ta do?”

Prowl turned his gaze to jazz in surprise, “What?”

Jazz shrugged, “Well ya know this place better ‘den me, Ah’d reckon, so ya’d know best what we could do ‘round here?”

Prowl shuttered his optics briefly, resetting his audios and stared at the Noblemech before him, “You wish to…spend time with me, Noblemech?”

“Well yeah,” Jazz replied easily, “’N ya ‘kin call meh Jazz ya know, Ah don’ mind,” the last part sounded encouraging, as though he truly wanted Prowl to call him by his designation.

“Why would you wish to spend time with me?” Prowl just couldn’t wrap his processor around it, why would anyone want to spend time with him?

Jazz merely shrugged in response without answering. There was silence for a long moment before Prowl finally spoke tentatively, “I need to clean the library would you care to join me, Noblemech?” Despite the oddness Prowl couldn’t bring himself to drop formalities and couldn’t bring himself to genuinely believe this strange mech would wish to help him clean.

“Sure,” Jazz replied easily, surprising Prowl, “Where to?”

And so it continued for once an Orn, every Orn, for a Vorn. Every time Jazz would ask if Prowl would care to join him in the outside world, and each time Prowl would refuse. Jazz would smile and ask what he wanted to do and together they would clean different rooms throughout the convent. Old Priest quarters, armories, storage rooms. It was different every Orn and Prowl found himself growing used to the company of Jazz, looking forward to the Noblemech’s visits to the convent. The only time the schedule change was when a bonding ceremony took place, in which case Jazz would visit on that cycle as well, keeping Prowl company through the bonding and speaking the traditional words, “May Primus bless this Union,” with Prowl after every one.

During their cleaning sessions Prowl would always ask why Jazz came to Prowl, why the Noblemech would lower himself to such a station every time and never would Jazz answer with anything more than a shrug and a mysterious smile. They would talk of many things otherwise, faith and history being topics often discussed as Jazz would ask what certain artifacts were and their purpose and their history. And Prowl always knew the answer and somehow it would turn to debate on the usefulness of the object or the wisdom of mechs and femmes past. Sometimes they would break from their cleaning and simply share some standard grade together, drinking silently. Jazz never complained about the low-grade of the Energon compared to what he no doubt drank when outside the convent walls and Prowl respected him for it. Some cycles they wouldn’t clean at all, instead Prowl would show Jazz a secret passage or would show him a crystal sculpture forgotten by time. Sometimes they would simply sit in the pews and Jazz would tell him of the outside world, how mechs loved and hated each other and how the Helix Garden shined beautifully in the methane gas. Jazz would describe the world outside as it was, not dirtying it or polishing it and Prowl was thankful for that. Sometimes Jazz would speak of merchants, and of the common people, sometimes he spoke of his fellow Nobles, sometimes he spoke of faraway cities he had visited to attend some gathering or another and the differences between those cities and Praxus. Prowl would always listen attentively when these conversations between them arose, he would block out the world besides Jazz’s voice, and shutter his optics, trying to imagine the world as Jazz saw it. They grew close throughout the Vorn, learning of each other and slowly becoming friends.

As time passed though, as Jazz visited once an Orn every Orn Prowl found himself growing wary of the silence. The convent seemed too quiet now, having been filled with the sound of Jazz’s voice previously, he’d grown used to Jazz being there, talking, laughter echoing in the room. The walls of the convent became barriers and the windows were gazed at with less wariness and more longing. Priest Hound commented on the change once, while bring Prowl a fresh supply of standard grade from the outside, “You’ve become rather skittish of late Keeper Prowl,” the Priest had said, one of the few Priests who respected Prowl and his duties, “If the Noble mech who keeps coming here is bothering you please tell me and I will ensure he does not return.” But Prowl had merely shook his head, saying that the removal of the Nobel mech was not necessary.

On The anniversary of the beginning of these odd visits, one Vorn exactly to the first time Jazz asked if he would join him outside these walls Prowl came to a decision. He onlined that cycle determined, he took extra care in cleaning himself of oils and dust, taking care to buff out Vorns worth of scratches and minor dents, polishing himself until his black and white paint gleamed in the gentle light, taking extra care in ensuring he didn’t miss any spots on his back and sensory panels despite the awkward position it put him in. He felt odd, staring at himself in the mirror in his quarters. He looked the same as he always did, but at the same time he looked like an entirely different mech. His paint was smooth and scratch free, his chevron glowed like fire, his hand looked smooth and, though not completely free of the wear of Vorns worth of work, less like the hands of a hardworking mech. Prowl can hardly remember the last time he was completely dent and scratch free and wonders if Jazz will notice. There’s an odd flutter within his Spark at the thought but he paid it no heed, his Spark had been acting strange for some Orns now in concern to Jazz.

He walked out of his quarters that day determined. He headed to the nave, where the pews rested before the chancel, and took in the room, searching for the now familiar form of the Noblemech. He spotted him in the front pew, directly before the chancel, idly waiting for him to arrive. He steadily made his way over to the Noblemech, nervousness building within him that Prowl attributed to his decision. He stopped directly before the Nobel mech, who looked up at him in curiosity, “Have we met?” Jazz asked curious as to why this mech stood before him.

Prowl was surprised, did he truly look so different now? “Hello again Noblemech,” he said simply and Jazz visor brightened as his mouth dropped open, gaping in surprise.

“Prowl?” He choked out, shocked, and Prowl found amusement in his reaction, perhaps he truly did look different.

“Yes, is something wrong Noblemech?” Prowl asked, finding amusement in the way the normally suave mech was floundering for words.

“Ya, well, ya look differen’ den normal n’ Ah like it, Ah mean, ya look nice and er, ya already looked nice before n’ all but now, I’s just that, I mean, er” Jazz continued to flounder and Prowl lifted a hand to his lips chuckling quietly into his gently enclosed fist. Jazz fell silent at the sound and simply stared for a moment before coming back to himself, “Er, right, Do ya wanna go out taday?” Jazz seemed to find comfort in the familiar question and obviously expected the usual answer.

“Yes,” Prowl replied simply, lips twitching in amusement as Jazz once more gaped openly.

“R-really? Great! Le’s go then!” Excitement poured out of the Noblemech who quickly sprung up and headed to the doors leading to the hallway that would lead them outside.

Prowl followed at a more sedate pace down the hallway, watching Jazz who watched him from the door leading outside. As he reached the door Jazz smiled before opening the door, so old that there wasn’t a terminal to open it electronically that it must physically be pushed opened by those leaving. Wordlessly, Jazz opened the door, natural light pouring into the hallway. Jazz stepped outside the threshold of the convent, holding the door open for Prowl who hesitated within the chancel, optics taking in the world outside.

Could he really do this? Could he leave the convent, even if only for a cycle? The convent was all Prowl had ever know, from sparklinghood to younglinghood to adulthood this convent had been his home. Sound assaulted Prowl’s audios as the opening of the soundproofed door let in sounds Prowl had never heard so loudly before. Different mechs and femme walked or drove or hovered through the streets, vendors called from stalls, younglings played in small groups as their creators gathered and gossiped. He looked up then, into the sky, and beyond the traveling mechs and femmes Prowl saw nothingness. No roof or arches, no mesh drapes hanging down or wrapped around columns. It was open, it was big and it was terrifying.

Without realizing it Prowl took several steps back, back into the hallway, into the convent, into walls and ceilings and barriers until he could no longer see the wide expanse of open nothingness. His systems were running fast, cooling fans on and his entire frame shaking in distress. This was a foolish endeavor. Leave the convent? How could he be so foolish? He cannot leave, cannot leave the walls and ceiling and silence for that open and loud world. It was foolish to even try.

“Hey,” Jazz called and Prowl jump, his systems whining louder than before as he stared at the Noblemech waiting for him beyond the threshold, “Hey, it’s okay, Ahm righ here ‘n Ah ain’t gonna leave ya.”

Prowl’s frame was still shaking, his gaze switching from Jazz to the world to Jazz once more, “I have never left the convent before,” he spoke shakily, static crackling in occasionally, “the convent is all I know, I can’t...”

Jazz straightened, a determined look across his face, “’N that was wrong of whoeva’ it was that took care of ya ta do that ta ya,” his voice was firm but soothing, “Ya shoulda had the chance ta leave if ya wanted ta, ta see more then this place. Clanless or not ya deserve ta see the world.”

“My caretaker never forbid me from leaving…”Prowl trailed off weakly, meeting the gaze of Jazz’s visor before glancing away.

“’N yur caretaker neva took ya out neither, which is jus’ as bad,” Jazz voice was firm but softened as he continued, “Ah know ya want ta go beyond these walls Prowl, Ah ‘kin see it every time Ah tell ya ‘bout life out here. Ya don’ hafta be afraid, not while Ahm here,” he held out his hands, servos curled slightly inward, inviting Prowl to join him outside.

Prowl hesitated for a moment, gazing at the outstretched hand, before gazing into the Noblemech’s visor. Hesitantly, Prowl took one step, then another. His optics never left the visor of Jazz with every step he took. Prowl outstretched his own hand as he drew closer and still his optics never left Jazz’s own. Finally, finally, Prowl’s servos grasped Jazz’s, shaking with the rest of his frame. Jazz smiled encouragingly and took a step backwards, further into the outside world. Prowl smile shakily in return and took a step forward, standing on the threshold between the convent and the world outside. He could hear the whispers that haunt the convent, the whispers of mechs and femmes long past, of keepers who lived and died with the convent or Priests who preached to masses and patrons who prayed to Primus. He could hear them as clearly as he could when within the spark of the convent, when the pure age and regality of the room shrouded those within it and engulfed them in the past. They were beside him now, whispers clearer than ever before but still just out of reach of understanding. They were encouraging, pushing, giving their blessings to leave the world of silence for one of sound.

“Ah’ve got ya,” Jazz murmured softly, “Promise, Ah’ve got ya, ‘n Ah won’  eva’ let go ‘nless ya ask meh ta.”

Prowl shuttered his optics briefly, taking in a deep cycle of air, taking in confidence from the whispers of silence, before releasing it. He clenched Jazz’s hand tighter and Jazz squeezed back in return. Prowl unshuttered his optics, gazing into Jazz’s visor, and stepped into the outside world for the first time silence dissolving to something else, something more, as he did so.

“Thank you…Jazz.”

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Felix-Latin Name-Lucky/Happy
Trinity-Latin-Three
Krieger-German-Warrior
Militis-Latin-Warrior
Placidus-Latin-quiet/calm/still

Ironhide and Chromia are both warriors and I always felt they decended from warrior clans. Jazz's clan's name came more from my sense of humor as I do love my irony. In my head cannon Midway and Highwind are Skywarp's creators, not that it matter much in this story. I might write an epilouge later.