Back with Fishtailing
Title: Fishtailing (4/13)
Verse: G1 AU
Rating: PG-13/T
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, ensemble
Warnings: none
Summary: Fishtailing: when the driver of the car loses control and the end swerves side to side; like their lives that, due to poor past decisions, spun out of control, and now they were just along for the ride.
Notes: This chapter was hard to write for some reason, and was disrupted by both rl issues and school, but here it is. Feedback is loved.
Chap 1 Chap 2 Chap 3
“Got a ride that smoother than a limousine
Can you handle the curves? Can you run all the lights?
If you can baby boy then we can go all night”
-“Shut Up and Drive” by Rhianna
Jazz shivered with delight as he made his way over to the start of the track. He could feel the excited current of electricity running through his frame the closer he got, and for the life of him, he could not wipe the sparkling like grin from his faceplates. It was finally happening, he was going to be racing on the famous Rubidium Crystal Track, and he could hardly contain his excitement.
Jazz reached the booth that guarded the entrance from the stands to the actual track, and showed his registration for the upcoming race to the track worker in the booth.
The track worker gave an indulgent smile to Jazz’s barely contained excitement, more than likely too used to the newbies and tourists that came to the track, and opened the gate to let Jazz onto the track with a “Good luck, mechling.”
Jazz nodded absently, his visored optics taking in the track as he stepped onto it for the first time, too ecstatic about finally being on the actual track to race to really care about the ‘mechling’ comment. He really wasn’t that young, but he was sure that he looked like he was right then, and really who could blame Jazz? This had been one of his mechlinghood dreams, and it was actually being accomplished!
Jazz ignored everything else but the specially made Tungsten-Cybertronian smooth road beneath his pedes as he made his way to the starting line. He looked over the various twists and turns of the track, and he finally couldn’t help himself and danced a small happy jig that it was finally happening.
A mech walked past him muttering, “Tourists,” as he went by, and Jazz was sure he heard another one of the racers laugh at him, but he ignored both of them in favor of getting to his spot.
The call was made over the fourth floor loudspeaker for the racers to transform and get ready, and all the racers got into position and did so, Jazz vaguely recognizing one of the other’s frame in the process, but pushed it out of his processor, because that wasn’t what was important at the moment.
What was important was the mech announcing over the loudspeaker to start in “Five…”
Jazz shifted slightly on his hovers.
“Four…”
The mechs in the stands quieted.
“Three…”
Jazz’s processor buzzed with adrenaline.
“Two…”
Engines rumbled with anticipation.
“One…”
Jazz felt his spark stop.
“Start!”
There was a deafening roar that broke out over the stands and the track as all of the racers surged forward, Jazz among them, pealing towards the front putting all his nervous energy to good use.
Jazz focused on the road under him and the twists and turns, his vents and coolant working hard to keep his frame from overheating as he kept pace with the mech in the fifth of eight positions.
It soon became apparent after the second turn that the two mechs that were trailing behind weren’t trying to catch up at all, which, Jazz thought with the spare bits of processor that wasn’t concentrating on winning the race, that that was such a waste of time, why bother with the racing if they weren’t going to at least participate fully.
By the fifth turn Jazz was in control of fifth place and working on taking fourth, he was looking for an opening, when he saw a slight waver in the mech’s hovering, and now that he was looking for it, Jazz saw it happen again and again. By the time the sixth twist came around Jazz had recognized the pattern, and right before the seventh turn the waver happened again. It was a slight wobble, but it was enough that Jazz was able to take advantage of it, dipping his front bumper under right as the wobble came up. The mech veered off course a bit and then Jazz was in front of him, sure it was a dirty trick, but there were no rules against it.
The mech revved angrily and Jazz flashed his brake lights cheekily, and then focused again on moving up to the next spot.
By the ninth turn Jazz had taken third, and after the 11th turn he was in second and going for first.
Jazz pushed himself harder, trying to close the gap that was between him and first, and by the time the twelfth curve had come around they were even. The mech beside him revved his engine harder and Jazz was momentarily startled when the noise, compared to the rest of the mechs that he had passed, was almost silent. It cost Jazz, the mech using his surprise to pull ahead as the 13th twist began.
Jazz rumbled irritated, and redlined his systems, pushing himself harder than he ever had as he came out of the curve, shooting forward past the other mech.
Jazz mentally smirked as he saw the finish line up ahead, he had won! He had won his first race at the Rubidium Crystal Track! He couldn’t wait to rub it in his old friends from Polyhex’s faceplates.
Just as Jazz was cheering himself on, the other mech caught up with a much louder rumble of his engine, and pulled even to Jazz, and began ever to so slowly pull ahead.
Jazz would have none of that, and pushed himself even harder. There was no way in the pit that he was going to lose his first race on this track.
Jazz was so focused on being faster than the other mech, he failed to notice what exactly the mech was doing until all of a sudden Jazz lost control of his rear hovers and fishtailed allowing the other mech to take the lead. The mech had done the same thing that Jazz had done in the middle of the race.
Not to be deterred, Jazz tried to catch up, but it was too late, and pulled past the finish line not too far behind in second place. Jazz rapidly transformed and fell to lean against the wall that separated the stands from the track further down from the finish line, his vents and coolant working overtime to cool his overheating frame.
“Ya cheated mech,” Jazz panted to the mech that won first place as he transformed into root form.
Red optics and a small smirk on a semi-familiar faceplate looked down on Jazz.
“There are no rules against that on this track, and I happen to know for a fact that you pulled that same trick on Backbite earlier this very race Jazz,” the mech answered smoothly as the third place mech finished, and Jazz grinned, finally recognizing the mech.
“Can’t deny that,” Jazz admitted with a grin. “Gotta say, I never thought ya’d be such a good racer, Barricade.”
“I’m Praxian, if I wasn’t good at racing, then I’d have had problems in my neighborhood,” Barricade answered, and that was when Jazz noticed that Barricade’s vents were cycling rapidly too, they were just quiet.
“Not bad for a tourist,” a new voice broke in, and Jazz and Barricade looked up to see Backbite approaching them both.
“Ya didn’ do too bad yourself, gettin’ third place when ya wobble,” Jazz goaded, and Backbite growled in response.
“Please, if we had raced on an actual track, ya’d have been in last place,” Backbite grumbled and Jazz frowned.
“What’ch’ya mean ‘actual track’?” Jazz asked, and Barricade answered.
“Tracks like Rubidium are meant to be tourist traps, with the most restrictive of the rules enforced, most of us who live in Praxus usually have a few favorite tracks with rules that allow for more leeway and competition among friends than tracks like these do. The tourist traps however, are better maintained.”
Jazz nodded, he had seen several tracks around Praxus since he had arrived decacycles ago, but he had mainly been sticking around Rubidium the whole time.
The last of the racers from the three’s race crossed the finish line, so they all left the track to go stand in the crowds as the fourth story track got ready for the next scheduled race.
“So where do you two go to race?” Jazz asked, walking with the two as they made their way up the stands.
Barricade and Backbite exchanged a glance, and while Backbite frowned, he answered.
“We usually go to None of Your Fraggin’ Business.”
“Never heard of it,” Jazz quipped in reply, and Barricade snorted.
“That’s funny; it seems to me as if you’d have a knack for finding it.”
“Yeah, but this is a whole new city, different rules and everything,” Jazz smiled, putting on his best innocent look. “So, could you take me there?” Jazz asked, and Barricade gave him a curious look.
“You barely know us, and you’re asking us to take you to a track you’ve never heard of? Do you have any self-preservation at all?” Barricade queried, and Jazz gave a shrug.
“Well, ya guys are fast, I’m here for the racing, so I figure, if ya like that place, it must be good,” Jazz answered truthfully, and Backbite growled.
“What, so our track can be invaded by a bunch of tourists? I don’t think so,” the yellow opticed mech snapped, and Jazz hid a frown and Barricade shot his friend a warning look.
“Ya’re just mad that I can beat your aft at racing,” Jazz snarked, but before Backbite could say his rebuttal, Barricade flicked his helm to get his attention.
“As fun as it is to watch you bicker, I would like to remind you that you did promise one race only, and that if I beat everyone on the track, the high grade’s on you,” Barricade said pointedly, and Backbite grumbled but relented. “Besides, they are waiting for us, and I don’t want to be late.”
“Alright, alright, let’s go,” Backbite answered, walking towards the exit. “I don’t need you to guilt trip me anymore.”
Barricade smirked as he turned to follow, nodding to Jazz as he walked past him.
“How else am I supposed to get you to leave?”
Jazz watched the two leave the track, and turned his attention to the race that was just starting, or at least, Jazz watched the race proceedings. His processor instead focused on plotting on how to find one of the tracks that wasn’t an actual tourist trap.
It took him orns to find a directory of smaller racetracks, mostly because Jazz was an outsider and anyone he talked to was always quick to name all the big time tracks that Jazz had already visited. No one seemed to like the idea of a tourist racing on one of the actual community favorites; they all seemed to prefer that they race on one of the majorly advertised tracks. It was frustrating, but Jazz’s perseverance eventually paid off, and all that was left was selecting a track to go to.
Jazz knew what track he wanted to go to; he wanted to go to the one that Barricade frequented other than Rubidium. Something about Barricade had struck a chord with him, and Jazz wanted to see where it could lead, and what better way than seeing the mech race on his own turf. The only problem with that was Jazz didn’t know the name of the track, where it was, or even any defining features it might have.
So Jazz was regulated to driving around Praxus aimlessly, killing time until the night cycle where he would go to Rubidium and see if he could find Barricade again or find some sort of hint about what part of Praxus Barricade was from. Or at least, that was the plan.
The plan was neatly displaced as Jazz caught sight of what looked eerily similar to Backbite’s alt mode with the same shade of dark green paint and gold accents. Bored, curious, with really nothing to lose, Jazz followed the mech.
Jazz kept a considerable distance between himself and the mech he was following, taking a few turns here and there, leaving the bustling business section of the city to the more residential area with more family owned businesses. Eventually the green mech stopped and transformed, revealing himself to actually be Backbite like Jazz had suspected, in front the entrance to a racetrack named the Velocity Loop Track.
Once Backbite was inside the racetrack, Jazz transformed and went up to the entrance where a big mech was waiting, with optics on the monitors that showed the actual tracks inside.
The mech didn’t even look up from the monitors, but must have heard Jazz approach.
“Same price.”
“I don’t know what that is,” Jazz replied, a casual smile on his faceplates, covering his apprehension, he didn’t know if this mech would be as opposed to a ‘tourist’ on a basically unknown community track like all the others were.
The mech looked up out of the window to see Jazz standing there, his blue optics brightening in surprise, before his lipplates curled into a large smile that showed too many denta.
“Don’t get many tourists in these parts,” the mech commented, and Jazz smiled in response. “How’d you find this place?”
“It was recommended,” Jazz answered, twisting the truth a bit, and the mech laughed.
“I don’t believe that for an astrosecond one of my regulars or any of the others that come here recommended this place to you,” the mech told Jazz and Jazz winced and came clean.
“I overheard two of mechs talking about this place,” Jazz amended, deciding not to tell the whole thing to the mech in the ticket box.
“Now that, I can believe,” the mech replied, and then told Jazz how much it cost to get in, Jazz looked at him confused.
“You’re the first mech I met that isn’t completely against a tourist going to a lesser known track.”
The mech laughed again.
“Velocity isn’t a lesser known track, it’s practically unknown! Besides, a customer’s a customer, and credits are credits, doesn’t matter who they’re from or where they get them,” the mech explained, and Jazz grinned, and handed over the credits.
“Thanks, mech,” Jazz said, stepping through the now open gate.
“Name’s Roadblock. Pleasure doing business with you,” Roadblock answered, turning his attention back to the monitors.
Jazz turned his attention to the track itself, looking at the few mechs and femmes that were hanging around the first level. He took the lift to the second, where there were even fewer mechs hanging around, but Jazz saw what he needed to see.
Two familiar alt modes racing, one glossy black following the road with practiced ease, the other dark green easily keeping pace while driving in reverse.
“Found ya, Barricade.”
===
It had been a long few past months, with Prime authorizing a few mechs’ participation in an international race, in hopes that it would stem the humans’ curiosity regarding the Autobots’ racing habits. The idea behind it had held promise, but when put into action, the race and the plan to curb humanity’s innate need to know things, had been a flop.
The plan had been well-founded, and most likely would have been successful if the Decepticons had not attacked only a few days prior to the race, effectively taking Prime, Jazz, and a few others out of the race by order of Ratchet.
The humans, who had come to know a specific few Autobots by name and alt-mode, had been vastly disappointed that the Autobots who had participated were ones that were unknown to the general public. So it hadn’t been long after the international race that human reporters were once again clamoring to get information and invites to the Autobot racetrack, in between Decepticon attacks.
Earlier that week, Prime had been in the process of telling the group of reporters that it would be some time before the racetrack would be finished, and more for it to be actually ready for use, when Grapple had walked into the Ark, stopped next to Prime and announced that the racetrack was finished, and after a few days of letting the materials settle it would be ready to use.
Prowl wasn’t quite sure what Prime had said to calm the reporters down and get them to finally leave the Ark, but he was quite sure that it would end up on his desk sooner or later in the form of an innocent looking datapad. The tactician was already plotting his revenge for his superior, but couldn’t deny that the excitement that had coursed through the Autobot ranks was pervasive and had been effectively sidetracking him.
And so, one Decepticon attack later, the specially made road was ready to race on, and was the perfect spot to celebrate both their latest victory and being allowed to actually race.
Prowl watched mechs go around and around the track, faster and faster. Not in an actual race, but just reveling in the freedom in going much faster than Earth roads would allow, with various mechs joining and leaving the track around the different turns. It was fun to watch his fellow Autobots to let loose and have fun, and reminded him of the better times in Praxus, pushing his engine as hard as he could for the thrill of the ride.
It made Prowl want to get down to the track and join in, but he knew that the moment that he did that, Ratchet would be after him, and Prowl did not want to suffer the indignity of being chased down by Ratchet, in front of everyone else no less, for ignoring medical orders. While he was sure that many of his fellow Autobots would sympathize with his plight, their sympathy and his fresh welding would not hold in a chase involving their resident CMO and a wayward patient.
“Ya know, I’m surprised that ya actually showed,” Jazz commented cheerfully, sitting down next to Prowl, his vents cycling hard, having just gotten off the track.
“Just because I am currently unable to transform and join the races does not mean that I cannot come and relax while observing others race to their spark’s content,” Prowl answered, smirking in satisfaction as he saw Bluestreak pass Sideswipe cheekily flashing his breaklights.
“Careful there, Prowler, mechs’ll start thinkin’ that you’re not as much of a drone as ya look, by comin’ here by your own volition,” Jazz teased, and Prowl snorted.
“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?”
Jazz snickered and was about to reply when Sideswipe passed Tracks and turned around so that he was driving backwards, serving side to side a little, no doubt taunting the vain blue mech over their comm lines.
“Sometimes I really think that Siders really doesn’t have any self-preservation protocols,” Jazz remarked watching the red mech warily as Tracks suddenly put on a burst of speed that brought him closer to Sideswipe’s front bumper.
“If you think that this is bad, you should have seen him in Praxus,” Prowl commented, frowning, and Sideswipe did another quick turn so that he was facing in the same direction of the other racers. “There were a few times that he raced full races going in reverse.”
Jazz looked back at Prowl, interested. “How’d that go for him?”
“While it did inspire a certain amount of awe the first few times from those he raced against and those watching, it did not prove conducive to actually winning once the awe wore off, as he had to go slower and often crashed,” Prowl answered and Jazz chuckled.
“I take it that ya know this so well, because ya used it to your advantage to beat him?”
“While I did do that on the occasions that he decided to pull that stunt on me,” Prowl allowed with a small smile. “I can assure you that I have never needed that slight advantage to beat Sideswipe in a race.”
“Ya keep talkin’ a big game there, mech, but I’ve yet to see ya put your credits where your mouth is and actually do it,” Jazz challenged, and Prowl chuckled lightly.
“Very well, Jazz, as soon as Ratchet clears me, I will, as you said, put my credits where my mouth is, and give you a good run for yours,” Prowl promised, his optics sparking with mischief, Jazz grinned widely, his spark pulsing just a little faster at the sight of Prowl smirking in mischief.
“Please mech, don’t delude yourself, ya ain’t gonna beat me at racing,” Jazz scoffed playfully.
“We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“I’m holdin’ ya to that, mech.”
Verse: G1 AU
Rating: PG-13/T
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, ensemble
Warnings: none
Summary: Fishtailing: when the driver of the car loses control and the end swerves side to side; like their lives that, due to poor past decisions, spun out of control, and now they were just along for the ride.
Notes: This chapter was hard to write for some reason, and was disrupted by both rl issues and school, but here it is. Feedback is loved.
Chap 1 Chap 2 Chap 3
“Got a ride that smoother than a limousine
Can you handle the curves? Can you run all the lights?
If you can baby boy then we can go all night”
-“Shut Up and Drive” by Rhianna
Jazz shivered with delight as he made his way over to the start of the track. He could feel the excited current of electricity running through his frame the closer he got, and for the life of him, he could not wipe the sparkling like grin from his faceplates. It was finally happening, he was going to be racing on the famous Rubidium Crystal Track, and he could hardly contain his excitement.
Jazz reached the booth that guarded the entrance from the stands to the actual track, and showed his registration for the upcoming race to the track worker in the booth.
The track worker gave an indulgent smile to Jazz’s barely contained excitement, more than likely too used to the newbies and tourists that came to the track, and opened the gate to let Jazz onto the track with a “Good luck, mechling.”
Jazz nodded absently, his visored optics taking in the track as he stepped onto it for the first time, too ecstatic about finally being on the actual track to race to really care about the ‘mechling’ comment. He really wasn’t that young, but he was sure that he looked like he was right then, and really who could blame Jazz? This had been one of his mechlinghood dreams, and it was actually being accomplished!
Jazz ignored everything else but the specially made Tungsten-Cybertronian smooth road beneath his pedes as he made his way to the starting line. He looked over the various twists and turns of the track, and he finally couldn’t help himself and danced a small happy jig that it was finally happening.
A mech walked past him muttering, “Tourists,” as he went by, and Jazz was sure he heard another one of the racers laugh at him, but he ignored both of them in favor of getting to his spot.
The call was made over the fourth floor loudspeaker for the racers to transform and get ready, and all the racers got into position and did so, Jazz vaguely recognizing one of the other’s frame in the process, but pushed it out of his processor, because that wasn’t what was important at the moment.
What was important was the mech announcing over the loudspeaker to start in “Five…”
Jazz shifted slightly on his hovers.
“Four…”
The mechs in the stands quieted.
“Three…”
Jazz’s processor buzzed with adrenaline.
“Two…”
Engines rumbled with anticipation.
“One…”
Jazz felt his spark stop.
“Start!”
There was a deafening roar that broke out over the stands and the track as all of the racers surged forward, Jazz among them, pealing towards the front putting all his nervous energy to good use.
Jazz focused on the road under him and the twists and turns, his vents and coolant working hard to keep his frame from overheating as he kept pace with the mech in the fifth of eight positions.
It soon became apparent after the second turn that the two mechs that were trailing behind weren’t trying to catch up at all, which, Jazz thought with the spare bits of processor that wasn’t concentrating on winning the race, that that was such a waste of time, why bother with the racing if they weren’t going to at least participate fully.
By the fifth turn Jazz was in control of fifth place and working on taking fourth, he was looking for an opening, when he saw a slight waver in the mech’s hovering, and now that he was looking for it, Jazz saw it happen again and again. By the time the sixth twist came around Jazz had recognized the pattern, and right before the seventh turn the waver happened again. It was a slight wobble, but it was enough that Jazz was able to take advantage of it, dipping his front bumper under right as the wobble came up. The mech veered off course a bit and then Jazz was in front of him, sure it was a dirty trick, but there were no rules against it.
The mech revved angrily and Jazz flashed his brake lights cheekily, and then focused again on moving up to the next spot.
By the ninth turn Jazz had taken third, and after the 11th turn he was in second and going for first.
Jazz pushed himself harder, trying to close the gap that was between him and first, and by the time the twelfth curve had come around they were even. The mech beside him revved his engine harder and Jazz was momentarily startled when the noise, compared to the rest of the mechs that he had passed, was almost silent. It cost Jazz, the mech using his surprise to pull ahead as the 13th twist began.
Jazz rumbled irritated, and redlined his systems, pushing himself harder than he ever had as he came out of the curve, shooting forward past the other mech.
Jazz mentally smirked as he saw the finish line up ahead, he had won! He had won his first race at the Rubidium Crystal Track! He couldn’t wait to rub it in his old friends from Polyhex’s faceplates.
Just as Jazz was cheering himself on, the other mech caught up with a much louder rumble of his engine, and pulled even to Jazz, and began ever to so slowly pull ahead.
Jazz would have none of that, and pushed himself even harder. There was no way in the pit that he was going to lose his first race on this track.
Jazz was so focused on being faster than the other mech, he failed to notice what exactly the mech was doing until all of a sudden Jazz lost control of his rear hovers and fishtailed allowing the other mech to take the lead. The mech had done the same thing that Jazz had done in the middle of the race.
Not to be deterred, Jazz tried to catch up, but it was too late, and pulled past the finish line not too far behind in second place. Jazz rapidly transformed and fell to lean against the wall that separated the stands from the track further down from the finish line, his vents and coolant working overtime to cool his overheating frame.
“Ya cheated mech,” Jazz panted to the mech that won first place as he transformed into root form.
Red optics and a small smirk on a semi-familiar faceplate looked down on Jazz.
“There are no rules against that on this track, and I happen to know for a fact that you pulled that same trick on Backbite earlier this very race Jazz,” the mech answered smoothly as the third place mech finished, and Jazz grinned, finally recognizing the mech.
“Can’t deny that,” Jazz admitted with a grin. “Gotta say, I never thought ya’d be such a good racer, Barricade.”
“I’m Praxian, if I wasn’t good at racing, then I’d have had problems in my neighborhood,” Barricade answered, and that was when Jazz noticed that Barricade’s vents were cycling rapidly too, they were just quiet.
“Not bad for a tourist,” a new voice broke in, and Jazz and Barricade looked up to see Backbite approaching them both.
“Ya didn’ do too bad yourself, gettin’ third place when ya wobble,” Jazz goaded, and Backbite growled in response.
“Please, if we had raced on an actual track, ya’d have been in last place,” Backbite grumbled and Jazz frowned.
“What’ch’ya mean ‘actual track’?” Jazz asked, and Barricade answered.
“Tracks like Rubidium are meant to be tourist traps, with the most restrictive of the rules enforced, most of us who live in Praxus usually have a few favorite tracks with rules that allow for more leeway and competition among friends than tracks like these do. The tourist traps however, are better maintained.”
Jazz nodded, he had seen several tracks around Praxus since he had arrived decacycles ago, but he had mainly been sticking around Rubidium the whole time.
The last of the racers from the three’s race crossed the finish line, so they all left the track to go stand in the crowds as the fourth story track got ready for the next scheduled race.
“So where do you two go to race?” Jazz asked, walking with the two as they made their way up the stands.
Barricade and Backbite exchanged a glance, and while Backbite frowned, he answered.
“We usually go to None of Your Fraggin’ Business.”
“Never heard of it,” Jazz quipped in reply, and Barricade snorted.
“That’s funny; it seems to me as if you’d have a knack for finding it.”
“Yeah, but this is a whole new city, different rules and everything,” Jazz smiled, putting on his best innocent look. “So, could you take me there?” Jazz asked, and Barricade gave him a curious look.
“You barely know us, and you’re asking us to take you to a track you’ve never heard of? Do you have any self-preservation at all?” Barricade queried, and Jazz gave a shrug.
“Well, ya guys are fast, I’m here for the racing, so I figure, if ya like that place, it must be good,” Jazz answered truthfully, and Backbite growled.
“What, so our track can be invaded by a bunch of tourists? I don’t think so,” the yellow opticed mech snapped, and Jazz hid a frown and Barricade shot his friend a warning look.
“Ya’re just mad that I can beat your aft at racing,” Jazz snarked, but before Backbite could say his rebuttal, Barricade flicked his helm to get his attention.
“As fun as it is to watch you bicker, I would like to remind you that you did promise one race only, and that if I beat everyone on the track, the high grade’s on you,” Barricade said pointedly, and Backbite grumbled but relented. “Besides, they are waiting for us, and I don’t want to be late.”
“Alright, alright, let’s go,” Backbite answered, walking towards the exit. “I don’t need you to guilt trip me anymore.”
Barricade smirked as he turned to follow, nodding to Jazz as he walked past him.
“How else am I supposed to get you to leave?”
Jazz watched the two leave the track, and turned his attention to the race that was just starting, or at least, Jazz watched the race proceedings. His processor instead focused on plotting on how to find one of the tracks that wasn’t an actual tourist trap.
It took him orns to find a directory of smaller racetracks, mostly because Jazz was an outsider and anyone he talked to was always quick to name all the big time tracks that Jazz had already visited. No one seemed to like the idea of a tourist racing on one of the actual community favorites; they all seemed to prefer that they race on one of the majorly advertised tracks. It was frustrating, but Jazz’s perseverance eventually paid off, and all that was left was selecting a track to go to.
Jazz knew what track he wanted to go to; he wanted to go to the one that Barricade frequented other than Rubidium. Something about Barricade had struck a chord with him, and Jazz wanted to see where it could lead, and what better way than seeing the mech race on his own turf. The only problem with that was Jazz didn’t know the name of the track, where it was, or even any defining features it might have.
So Jazz was regulated to driving around Praxus aimlessly, killing time until the night cycle where he would go to Rubidium and see if he could find Barricade again or find some sort of hint about what part of Praxus Barricade was from. Or at least, that was the plan.
The plan was neatly displaced as Jazz caught sight of what looked eerily similar to Backbite’s alt mode with the same shade of dark green paint and gold accents. Bored, curious, with really nothing to lose, Jazz followed the mech.
Jazz kept a considerable distance between himself and the mech he was following, taking a few turns here and there, leaving the bustling business section of the city to the more residential area with more family owned businesses. Eventually the green mech stopped and transformed, revealing himself to actually be Backbite like Jazz had suspected, in front the entrance to a racetrack named the Velocity Loop Track.
Once Backbite was inside the racetrack, Jazz transformed and went up to the entrance where a big mech was waiting, with optics on the monitors that showed the actual tracks inside.
The mech didn’t even look up from the monitors, but must have heard Jazz approach.
“Same price.”
“I don’t know what that is,” Jazz replied, a casual smile on his faceplates, covering his apprehension, he didn’t know if this mech would be as opposed to a ‘tourist’ on a basically unknown community track like all the others were.
The mech looked up out of the window to see Jazz standing there, his blue optics brightening in surprise, before his lipplates curled into a large smile that showed too many denta.
“Don’t get many tourists in these parts,” the mech commented, and Jazz smiled in response. “How’d you find this place?”
“It was recommended,” Jazz answered, twisting the truth a bit, and the mech laughed.
“I don’t believe that for an astrosecond one of my regulars or any of the others that come here recommended this place to you,” the mech told Jazz and Jazz winced and came clean.
“I overheard two of mechs talking about this place,” Jazz amended, deciding not to tell the whole thing to the mech in the ticket box.
“Now that, I can believe,” the mech replied, and then told Jazz how much it cost to get in, Jazz looked at him confused.
“You’re the first mech I met that isn’t completely against a tourist going to a lesser known track.”
The mech laughed again.
“Velocity isn’t a lesser known track, it’s practically unknown! Besides, a customer’s a customer, and credits are credits, doesn’t matter who they’re from or where they get them,” the mech explained, and Jazz grinned, and handed over the credits.
“Thanks, mech,” Jazz said, stepping through the now open gate.
“Name’s Roadblock. Pleasure doing business with you,” Roadblock answered, turning his attention back to the monitors.
Jazz turned his attention to the track itself, looking at the few mechs and femmes that were hanging around the first level. He took the lift to the second, where there were even fewer mechs hanging around, but Jazz saw what he needed to see.
Two familiar alt modes racing, one glossy black following the road with practiced ease, the other dark green easily keeping pace while driving in reverse.
“Found ya, Barricade.”
===
It had been a long few past months, with Prime authorizing a few mechs’ participation in an international race, in hopes that it would stem the humans’ curiosity regarding the Autobots’ racing habits. The idea behind it had held promise, but when put into action, the race and the plan to curb humanity’s innate need to know things, had been a flop.
The plan had been well-founded, and most likely would have been successful if the Decepticons had not attacked only a few days prior to the race, effectively taking Prime, Jazz, and a few others out of the race by order of Ratchet.
The humans, who had come to know a specific few Autobots by name and alt-mode, had been vastly disappointed that the Autobots who had participated were ones that were unknown to the general public. So it hadn’t been long after the international race that human reporters were once again clamoring to get information and invites to the Autobot racetrack, in between Decepticon attacks.
Earlier that week, Prime had been in the process of telling the group of reporters that it would be some time before the racetrack would be finished, and more for it to be actually ready for use, when Grapple had walked into the Ark, stopped next to Prime and announced that the racetrack was finished, and after a few days of letting the materials settle it would be ready to use.
Prowl wasn’t quite sure what Prime had said to calm the reporters down and get them to finally leave the Ark, but he was quite sure that it would end up on his desk sooner or later in the form of an innocent looking datapad. The tactician was already plotting his revenge for his superior, but couldn’t deny that the excitement that had coursed through the Autobot ranks was pervasive and had been effectively sidetracking him.
And so, one Decepticon attack later, the specially made road was ready to race on, and was the perfect spot to celebrate both their latest victory and being allowed to actually race.
Prowl watched mechs go around and around the track, faster and faster. Not in an actual race, but just reveling in the freedom in going much faster than Earth roads would allow, with various mechs joining and leaving the track around the different turns. It was fun to watch his fellow Autobots to let loose and have fun, and reminded him of the better times in Praxus, pushing his engine as hard as he could for the thrill of the ride.
It made Prowl want to get down to the track and join in, but he knew that the moment that he did that, Ratchet would be after him, and Prowl did not want to suffer the indignity of being chased down by Ratchet, in front of everyone else no less, for ignoring medical orders. While he was sure that many of his fellow Autobots would sympathize with his plight, their sympathy and his fresh welding would not hold in a chase involving their resident CMO and a wayward patient.
“Ya know, I’m surprised that ya actually showed,” Jazz commented cheerfully, sitting down next to Prowl, his vents cycling hard, having just gotten off the track.
“Just because I am currently unable to transform and join the races does not mean that I cannot come and relax while observing others race to their spark’s content,” Prowl answered, smirking in satisfaction as he saw Bluestreak pass Sideswipe cheekily flashing his breaklights.
“Careful there, Prowler, mechs’ll start thinkin’ that you’re not as much of a drone as ya look, by comin’ here by your own volition,” Jazz teased, and Prowl snorted.
“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?”
Jazz snickered and was about to reply when Sideswipe passed Tracks and turned around so that he was driving backwards, serving side to side a little, no doubt taunting the vain blue mech over their comm lines.
“Sometimes I really think that Siders really doesn’t have any self-preservation protocols,” Jazz remarked watching the red mech warily as Tracks suddenly put on a burst of speed that brought him closer to Sideswipe’s front bumper.
“If you think that this is bad, you should have seen him in Praxus,” Prowl commented, frowning, and Sideswipe did another quick turn so that he was facing in the same direction of the other racers. “There were a few times that he raced full races going in reverse.”
Jazz looked back at Prowl, interested. “How’d that go for him?”
“While it did inspire a certain amount of awe the first few times from those he raced against and those watching, it did not prove conducive to actually winning once the awe wore off, as he had to go slower and often crashed,” Prowl answered and Jazz chuckled.
“I take it that ya know this so well, because ya used it to your advantage to beat him?”
“While I did do that on the occasions that he decided to pull that stunt on me,” Prowl allowed with a small smile. “I can assure you that I have never needed that slight advantage to beat Sideswipe in a race.”
“Ya keep talkin’ a big game there, mech, but I’ve yet to see ya put your credits where your mouth is and actually do it,” Jazz challenged, and Prowl chuckled lightly.
“Very well, Jazz, as soon as Ratchet clears me, I will, as you said, put my credits where my mouth is, and give you a good run for yours,” Prowl promised, his optics sparking with mischief, Jazz grinned widely, his spark pulsing just a little faster at the sight of Prowl smirking in mischief.
“Please mech, don’t delude yourself, ya ain’t gonna beat me at racing,” Jazz scoffed playfully.
“We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“I’m holdin’ ya to that, mech.”