In Memoriam: Of Laughter, Friendship, and Slagging Stupid Shenanigans (3/13)
In Memoriam: Of Laughter, Friendship, and Slagging Stupid Shenanigans. (Part 3/13)
Author: gilded_orchid
Rating: Um. Dunno. We’ll say PG-13 to be safe.
Series: G1
Pairings: Prowl/Jazz (getting there, anyway),the rest are a surprise.
Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Humor Crack and Shenanigans.
Disclaimer: Transformers™ does not belong to me. That honor goes to Hasbro, Takara, Marvel, IDW, Disney (whut?!) and lots more people richer than me.
Notes: Part three of the October/Halloween challenge @ prowlxjazz
Previous parts: 1, 2
Ghosts
All in all, this was not what Jazz envisioned the Matrix to be like. He’d expected serenity, the all-encompassing warmth of Primus, maybe getting a chance to finally hash out his feelings with Prowl…The Matrix was certainly not supposed to bear a startling resemblance to the seedier sectors of lower Iacon.
Maybe he was in the Pit…
“I said no fighting!”
Jazz turned towards the origin of the shout, already preparing to duck into a shadowy corner when a pile of red, white, and blue limbs landed at his feet. Okay…
“Careful with the wings, slagger!”
…no way…he knew that voice… “Starscream!?”
The pile of limbs at his feet uncoiled and the seeker in question brushed his plating off as he stood, shooting an indignant glance at the establishment he’d been ousted from. A mech Jazz couldn’t quite get a clear image of turned to walk back inside, leaving the two alone on the street.
Red optics fell on him, mocking and ripe with malice. “I must say I’m not all that surprised. You Autobots have been dropping left and right lately, especially the command staff. I would have thought at least *you* would have had enough sense not to queue up in that line, though. I’d have wagered my ailerons those moronic Lamborghinis would be next.”
The whine of a charging pistol made Starscream snort. “I’m dead. Which means you can put your little toy away. It’s not like you can kill me again.”
Pity. Jazz glared at Starscream in disgust, and for a moment the seeker thought that he might fire anyway, just for the cathartic release it would give him. When it became clear that Jazz was not going to pull the trigger anytime soon, Starscream twitched his wings in derision.
“Go drink it off, Jazz. You can play soldier some other time. *I* have places to be, however.”
“And where exactly do you have to be in such a hurry?”
Starscream smiled, an ugly malicious thing that almost made him feel sorry for the stupid slagger who qualified as the mech’s business. “Just dropping in on Galvatron. See you on the other side, Jazz.” Starscream turned and began walking away into the distance, slowly fading from view.
Jazz looked down at his pistol, shrugged, and returned it to his subspace. Drink it off, huh? He looked back over at the establishment Starscream had been ousted from and frowned slightly as he considered the building. It was deceptively large, and it’s positioning between and slightly behind two other buildings left it tucked away quite nicely. It probably would have been easy to miss; he himself might not have noticed it had not Starscream been thrown out right in front of him. It was rusty, rundown, and covered in signs of wear, graffiti, and a few scorch marks-- no doubt from weapon discharges.
Maccadam’s Old Oil House. It looks like a place people like me go to get stabbed.
Preparing for any manner of assault as he approached, Jazz wandered into the establishment and glanced around. It was actually pretty roomy on the inside; tables of varying sizes were scattered around the room, and a long line of stools were pushed neatly at the bar. Despite the lackluster appearance, however, it was at least clean.
Actually, it was obsessively clean. He glanced over at the bar, were a large mech was pouring up a glass of oil. The bar was fairly quiet, though there were a decent amount of bots sitting around and chatting amiably or nursing their own drinks. The bartender glanced over his way, and jerked his head towards the stairs leading up to a second level. “I’ll get a tab started for you. They’re upstairs.”
“Who-what…” Feeling distinctly like that poor Alice femme from Daniel’s stories, Jazz cycled his intakes in frustration. “Who’s waiting?”
“You could go look.”
Jazz edged closer to the stairs, his audials picking up the sounds of an argument.
“You---you---you sorry slagger! I knew it! How long have you been cheating!?!”
…WHEELJACK!?
“IRONHIDE! PUT THAT DOWN BEFORE YOU GET US KICKED OUT AGAIN!"
…RATCHET!?
“Wheeljack, Ironhide, that’s quite enough! You’ll knock over Brawn’s…thing. Is that supposed to be Steeljaw?”
OPTIMUS?! No slagging way…
Jazz could feel the grin threatening to split his faceplates.
“Dunno. But it looks like it’s about to eat Windcharger. Or possibly mount him. Is it supposed to lean like that?”
“I’d ask Brawn, but he’s been staring at that same cube for breems now.”
“Forget about Brawn’s artistic abomination! Prowl’s been cleaning us out with a stacked deck! You hear that, you fragger! You’re a glitch humpin’ cheat!”
“I think the whole bar can hear you, Wheeljack. They can probably hear you in Polyhex .” That dry sarcasm…it was a sure bet that it was accompanied by a lazy twitch of door wings and an infuriating smirk.
Jazz’s spark sang.
“Upstairs?” The bartender prodded.
“Oh frag yes!” Jazz gleefully accepted the cube of high-grade thrust at him and all but ran towards the stairs that would lead him to the specters that haunted his spark with memories of better times…
Author: gilded_orchid
Rating: Um. Dunno. We’ll say PG-13 to be safe.
Series: G1
Pairings: Prowl/Jazz (getting there, anyway),the rest are a surprise.
Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Humor Crack and Shenanigans.
Disclaimer: Transformers™ does not belong to me. That honor goes to Hasbro, Takara, Marvel, IDW, Disney (whut?!) and lots more people richer than me.
Notes: Part three of the October/Halloween challenge @ prowlxjazz
Previous parts: 1, 2
Ghosts
All in all, this was not what Jazz envisioned the Matrix to be like. He’d expected serenity, the all-encompassing warmth of Primus, maybe getting a chance to finally hash out his feelings with Prowl…The Matrix was certainly not supposed to bear a startling resemblance to the seedier sectors of lower Iacon.
Maybe he was in the Pit…
“I said no fighting!”
Jazz turned towards the origin of the shout, already preparing to duck into a shadowy corner when a pile of red, white, and blue limbs landed at his feet. Okay…
“Careful with the wings, slagger!”
…no way…he knew that voice… “Starscream!?”
The pile of limbs at his feet uncoiled and the seeker in question brushed his plating off as he stood, shooting an indignant glance at the establishment he’d been ousted from. A mech Jazz couldn’t quite get a clear image of turned to walk back inside, leaving the two alone on the street.
Red optics fell on him, mocking and ripe with malice. “I must say I’m not all that surprised. You Autobots have been dropping left and right lately, especially the command staff. I would have thought at least *you* would have had enough sense not to queue up in that line, though. I’d have wagered my ailerons those moronic Lamborghinis would be next.”
The whine of a charging pistol made Starscream snort. “I’m dead. Which means you can put your little toy away. It’s not like you can kill me again.”
Pity. Jazz glared at Starscream in disgust, and for a moment the seeker thought that he might fire anyway, just for the cathartic release it would give him. When it became clear that Jazz was not going to pull the trigger anytime soon, Starscream twitched his wings in derision.
“Go drink it off, Jazz. You can play soldier some other time. *I* have places to be, however.”
“And where exactly do you have to be in such a hurry?”
Starscream smiled, an ugly malicious thing that almost made him feel sorry for the stupid slagger who qualified as the mech’s business. “Just dropping in on Galvatron. See you on the other side, Jazz.” Starscream turned and began walking away into the distance, slowly fading from view.
Jazz looked down at his pistol, shrugged, and returned it to his subspace. Drink it off, huh? He looked back over at the establishment Starscream had been ousted from and frowned slightly as he considered the building. It was deceptively large, and it’s positioning between and slightly behind two other buildings left it tucked away quite nicely. It probably would have been easy to miss; he himself might not have noticed it had not Starscream been thrown out right in front of him. It was rusty, rundown, and covered in signs of wear, graffiti, and a few scorch marks-- no doubt from weapon discharges.
Maccadam’s Old Oil House. It looks like a place people like me go to get stabbed.
Preparing for any manner of assault as he approached, Jazz wandered into the establishment and glanced around. It was actually pretty roomy on the inside; tables of varying sizes were scattered around the room, and a long line of stools were pushed neatly at the bar. Despite the lackluster appearance, however, it was at least clean.
Actually, it was obsessively clean. He glanced over at the bar, were a large mech was pouring up a glass of oil. The bar was fairly quiet, though there were a decent amount of bots sitting around and chatting amiably or nursing their own drinks. The bartender glanced over his way, and jerked his head towards the stairs leading up to a second level. “I’ll get a tab started for you. They’re upstairs.”
“Who-what…” Feeling distinctly like that poor Alice femme from Daniel’s stories, Jazz cycled his intakes in frustration. “Who’s waiting?”
“You could go look.”
Jazz edged closer to the stairs, his audials picking up the sounds of an argument.
“You---you---you sorry slagger! I knew it! How long have you been cheating!?!”
…WHEELJACK!?
“IRONHIDE! PUT THAT DOWN BEFORE YOU GET US KICKED OUT AGAIN!"
…RATCHET!?
“Wheeljack, Ironhide, that’s quite enough! You’ll knock over Brawn’s…thing. Is that supposed to be Steeljaw?”
OPTIMUS?! No slagging way…
Jazz could feel the grin threatening to split his faceplates.
“Dunno. But it looks like it’s about to eat Windcharger. Or possibly mount him. Is it supposed to lean like that?”
“I’d ask Brawn, but he’s been staring at that same cube for breems now.”
“Forget about Brawn’s artistic abomination! Prowl’s been cleaning us out with a stacked deck! You hear that, you fragger! You’re a glitch humpin’ cheat!”
“I think the whole bar can hear you, Wheeljack. They can probably hear you in Polyhex .” That dry sarcasm…it was a sure bet that it was accompanied by a lazy twitch of door wings and an infuriating smirk.
Jazz’s spark sang.
“Upstairs?” The bartender prodded.
“Oh frag yes!” Jazz gleefully accepted the cube of high-grade thrust at him and all but ran towards the stairs that would lead him to the specters that haunted his spark with memories of better times…