It's still monday!
Title: Sparkless. (20/??)
Rating: R
Warnings: A bit of violence, angst, possible slashy goodness.
Characters: Slipstream, Jazz, Trax.
Setting: Movieverse AU.
Summary: In trying to live up to the name of his sire he gave his all, until he lost his own spark. Those who once loved him now called him "sparkless".
Notes: This is an AU bunny that belongs to snugsbunny, it's all her fault, I just happen to be the one writting it. Several concepts seen through the duration of this fic are hers and used with permission. This is a very AU fic so please take with a grain of salt.
Many thanks to mmouse15 for kindly beta reading this for me.
Slipstream scowled deeply, watching Lord Trax and Jazz dancing around her. Their dancing was flawless in technique, but it was their faces that were drawing the scowl adorning her face. Jazz looked downright depressed and sullen while Lord Trax’s face denoted the deep worry and concern he was no doubt feeling for his grandson.
She wanted to say something but knew better than to lecture Lord Trax; obviously something was not well with the young silver mech and Lord Trax would not appreciate her talking about their expressions as they danced. Lord Trax seemed to be aware of Slipstream’s worries and stopped dancing, turning an apologetic glance at the tall instructor.
“Would you mind giving us a moment, please?”
Slipstream nodded curtly and turned off the music player, leaving the room quietly. Once Trax was certain he mech was far away enough he turned his attention to the bundle of silver in his arms. “Jazz, what’s wrong?”
Jazz did not answer, unsure of what he could say. How would he explain his sadness and depression after reading the final entries of the Lord of Praxus’ bondmate’s diary? Jazz was certain he wasn’t even supposed to have read that, and telling his grandfather was out of question as he would not divulge the intimate and personal details of the life Lord Prowl had shared with his bondmate. Although in a way he had hoped others could have seen what he did, so they would understand why the once naive and generous ruler had become the cold and hardened ruler he was now. “It’s nothin’, grandfather.” He muttered, knowing Trax would not believe his words.
“It can’t possibly be ‘nothing’, Jazz. You’re so sullen.” Trax hugged the younger mech tighter, trying to offer what comfort he could. “Please do tell me what weighs on your spark.”
Jazz shook his head, though leaned into the embrace, accepting the comfort offered. He couldn’t speak of it to anyone, not even Lord Prowl as he was certain the Lord would be furious if he learned Jazz had read his bondmate’s diary. “I’ll be fine, I jus’ need a little time.”
Trax released a long sigh, nodding once. “I won’t pressure you into speaking about it now. But I do want to know what bothers you eventually, Jazz.”
“I’ll tell you in time, I promise.” Jazz scolded himself mentally, knowing already he’d likely have to fabricate a lie to appease his grandfather without revealing the true reason behind his sadness. “I’m sorry I’m ruinin’ the mood an’ Slipstream must be ready ta tear me a new one about the whole expression thing again,” Jazz murmured and smiled sheepishly. It was a much weaker smile than usual but a smile nonetheless.
“Quite possibly. Your presentation will be in three cycles. You must prepare well, Jazz.”
“I will, grandfather,” Jazz replied with a half hearted smile. He wasn’t really looking forward to the celebration, and now more than ever he wished he could just be spared having to interact with the high society he was growing to dislike more and more. Still, he would not embarrass his grandfather and would give all his effort into making sure Trax’s name wouldn’t be dragged in the dirt because of Jazz - Jazz was sure the mech was already subject of enough whispers and rumors because of Lady Beat’s illegitimate sparkling.
“Let’s consider this session over and we’ll try again tomorrow, shall we?” Trax smiled, patting Jazz’s shoulder gently before summoning Slipstream to inform her the session was over. She did not look pleased but bowed politely, biding her good bye and departed. Jazz headed for his rooms to take care of his homework. His thoughts kept drifting to times past, when Lord Prowl was enduring the backlash of the actions carried over by his bondmate, the terrible consequences, and admittedly his own wonderings about why Lord Prowl did not follow his bondmate to the Matrix. He had theorized that Lord Prowl’s spark was still too young and immature to form a proper bond, although young mechs a vorn or two away from their adult upgrades had successfully bonded before. There seemed to be no known reason for Lord Prowl’s survival, which reminded Jazz of Perceptor’s apparently constant petitions to study Lord Prowl’s spark. Whatever it was, Lord Prowl had to endure such a harsh life all alone, facing the challenges of being a ruler and of outliving his bondmate.
It had to be a very lonely and difficult life, and Jazz was surprised Lord Prowl had made it so far, even if it meant he had become a very different mech and instead of being loved and seen as the prodigy child monarch, he was now seen as little more than a tyrant, even though Prowl did not mistreat his subjects. He was just not kind and generous anymore, and Jazz couldn’t say he blamed him.
Yet, something nagged on the back of his processors, a little voice that pointed out to him Lord Prowl was still generous in his own way. He remembered the sparked courier that was given proper attention as per Lord Prowl’s instructions. Other times when workers, despite the snarling and bad mouthing they did towards the lord, were still granted bonuses for their hard work in special occasions. Little things that seemed meaningless at the time but that as Jazz rationalized them, pointed towards a mech that was no longer so easily swayed to give and give without receiving anything in return, but a mech that gave to those that deserved it, not based on whether they liked him or not but in their hard and honest work.
Jazz smiled sadly and as he worked on his homework, he wished dearly that someday Lord Prowl could find at least a little happiness in his adult life. The thought made him realize although Jazz had gone through hardships he had always been happy with his life for the most part. He had been loved as a sparkling by his sire, had friends and given proper care in the orphanage despite Starscream’s attitude and actions, and even as he worked for Lord Prowl he had a good life, a warm berth for him, honest employment, free time and friends amongst his co-workers, and even had a good working relationship with Lord Prowl.
Despite the low spots he had endured recently in his integration to the noble family he was part of, Jazz still had someone to turn to in those moments of need, and his life was still happy. He had the love of Lord Trax and had the kindness Lord Prowl gave to him. Jazz was never alone, he realized. It was this thought that spurred him to wish to seek the Lord of Praxus more than ever and offer what he could to make the Lord’s life less lonely if the mech wanted to accept it.
He was still invaded by a deep sadness and resentment towards the nobles and high society mechs that had turned their backs on Lord Prowl, and a rancor burned in his spark towards the lord’s former bondmate, but his determination to be a friend for Lord Prowl lifted his spirits and gave him more reasons to do well at his presentation party.
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Lord Trax laughed in amusement as he heard Jazz curse in as many unique and creative ways as he stood in the large wash rack while pressurised water guns fired unforgiving loads of cold cleanser over him.
“Is this really necessary?!” Jazz asked as he moved his head away to duck the jets of water that threatened to hit him on the face plate.
“I’m afraid it is, you must be exceptionally clean and polished for your presentation and pressurised cleanser is the most effective way to get any dirt under and between your plates,” Trax explained with a big smile, watching Jazz try to duck more cleanser being shot at him and cursing as the cleanser hit him on the optics. “And Jazz, I expect you won’t be using that language during the party.”
“I can’t help it! This slaggin’ thing is cold an’ is gettin’ into parts that ain’t likin’ it!”
“Language, young mech.”
“Fraggit...”
Trax laughed and watched Jazz standing the forceful bath until the water guns stopped and folded back in their compartments, a soaked and definitely miffed Jazz was glaring figurative daggers at the spaces previously occupied by the guns.
“Come on,” Trax beckoned Jazz and guided him to the drying mechanism. Jazz and his unwavering expression of disgust followed him to the mechanism where he was quickly dried up by the powerful gust of wind. “Now let’s go to your rooms, you must be polished.” Trax intoned as he led the younger mech to his rooms.
Outside his door stood a contingent of servants holding cans, oils and other assortments of polishing rags, brushes and similar utensils. Jazz dreaded already the long joors he’d have to stand there being polished to within an inch of his life but bravely went through the door, followed by Trax and the servants.
It had taken almost as long as Jazz had predicted, and he felt incredibly stiff by the time the scented oils and fine waxes were finally polished off his body. He admitted being surprised by the reflective properties of his silver paint now, and the care put forth to make his detailing stand out although he wasn’t quite as sure about the scented oils poured over his plating - it wasn’t that the aroma wasn’t pleasant, but he would have preferred if the scent had been fainter.
Trax left, ushering the servants out as the older mech announced he would prepare, advising Jazz that a special garment was left for him to wear for the event. Jazz entered his dorm and found the garment lying on his berth, finely crafted and embroidered, with a magnetic brooch pinning it closed. Jazz took the small muffler and wrapped it around his shoulders, taking special care to ensure it was wrapped flawlessly and affixed the brooch with his family’s emblem, pining the garment closed. All in all Jazz had to admit he did look like one of those pompous noblemechs, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not but at least he did look respectable enough.
He entertained himself watching his own reflection on his polished plating, half wondering how the celebration would go. He wondered if his guests had all arrived yet or if some would make a point to be fashionably late, and if his own special guest would be arriving any time soon or was perhaps already waiting for his big entrance. Jazz smiled to himself, looking forward to seeing and talking to Lord Prowl again, willing to stand the other nobles for the chance to be able to see him again and hopefully make him feel welcomed into Trax’s and Jazz’s home.
“Jazz, it’s time.” Trax smiled as he stood under the frame of the door to Jazz’s dorm, his own plating was polished diligently, wearing a garment of his own embroidered with the family’s shield. “Your guests await you.”
Jazz nodded and smiled a little, feeling just a tad nervous but determined to make his grandfather proud during the presentation. Lord Trax led Jazz to the large ballroom that had been cleared and decorated lavishly to host the celebration, several noblemechs from all over the shire and some from neighboring lands had come to see Jazz. As soon as the silver mech stepped inside the room fell quiet with only whispers and murmurs breaking an otherwise expectant silence.
“My friends,” Trax spoke as he led Jazz further inside. His voice trembled minutely and Jazz could tell the mech was being overcome with emotion, possibly remembering the time he had given a similar speech to introduce his daughter in society. “I thank you all for coming to join me and pay witness to the introduction into our noble society to my loved grandson, Jazz. The precious last gift left to me by my late creation, Beat.”
The nobles greeted Jazz at unison, almost as if they had been military trained to greet him in such manner. The young silver mech bowed his head politely, speaking in a gentle and polite tone to thank them and greet them back, carefully keeping his inflection under check. He straightened and waited for Trax to continue with his speech, trying his hardest to keep a pleasant look on his face and pretend he was honored and enjoying himself. In a way he was, but more and more words rang to him as pretentions, carefully chosen words to make Jazz seem more than he felt he was, give the illusion that Jazz harbored any kind of affection or ties to Lady Beat past beyond her involvement in his conception.
Finally, the celebration was declared ready to begin in full and applause and cheers were addressed in formal tones to the young mech now referred among them as Lord Jazz. Jazz followed his grandfather anywhere he was directed, greeting and bowing graciously as he was introduced to more mechs he cared to count, always plastering a welcoming smile, accepting humbly the presents that some of them had brought for him. Jazz knew he was not allowed to open his presents just yet - it was not polite for him to distract himself in such way, so he carefully set down the gifts on a table designated for the task. Not that Jazz was in a hurry to open the presents anyway.
More guests kept coming, some that Jazz could tell had been late intentionally, making their arrival either a tad more dramatic or to draw attention to themselves. Jazz believed some just chose to be there later so they could skip the speech they had probably heard countless times by now. Nonetheless, Jazz greeted each one politely as they were introduced, and had smiled charmingly at his guests no matter the bratty or condescending looks of some of them.
Still, as time passed, Jazz could not ignore there was a guest he had been expecting that had not arrived yet. He knew the party was just in its first joors and was expected to extend way past his usual recharging time, but Jazz was beginning to fear the one mech he had wanted to see at the party would not come. Jazz couldn’t hold it against him, he was a busy mech after all and the invitation had been sent too close to the date. And even if it wasn’t the case, could Jazz blame Lord Prowl for not wanting to involve himself in a party full of noblemechs and socialites?
“Jazz, your dance will begin soon.” Lord Trax offered his hand to his grandson; it would be he who’d have the honor of being the first mech Jazz would share his first dance in society with. Jazz nodded and took his grandfather’s hand, fighting back the sadness that was taking over his spark, convinced he would not see Lord Prowl that cycle.
The guests all stood around, giving ample room for the two mechs as the music was played by real performers. Jazz pushed aside his sadness for the moment, his smile genuine and true as he danced with his grandfather, concentrating solely on how happy he was that he had Lord Trax with him. They circled the large room twice, and Jazz knew in part the dance was a way to display him before the nobles and socialites, but at the moment he did not mind much. Jazz heard one of the servants name a mech, who was there in representation of the shire’s lord and Lord Trax stopped dancing, stepping aside as the announced mech stood before Jazz, offering a small golden chest with a gift for the young lord.
Jazz accepted the chest graciously, bowing as he took the hand the mech offered him and they danced around the ballroom as Jazz had done with Lord Trax, his free hand holding the small chest through the rotation. As they stopped and another mech’s name was announced, a servant taking the first chest Jazz was given as Jazz’s new partner came forward, offering a similar chest and leading Jazz around the ballroom in another rotation. The same happened a few times until the servant announced the last honor guest.
Jazz stared in authentic awe as a black and white mech approached him, with a golden chest far more ornate and decorated than those offered by previous guests resting between white clawed hands.
“Prowl, Lord of Praxus,” The servant announced as Prowl offered the golden chest to the stunned Jazz. The silver mech took a moment to react, finally reaching for the chest and bowed politely.
“Thank you, my Lord,” Jazz murmured, trying to overcome his surprise and smiled at the mech, polished and adorned with the symbols of his station.
“I apologize; I was not allowed to make my presence known until this moment. It’s customary.” Prowl explained as he offered his hand to Jazz and pulled him gently as they began to dance.
“It’s quite alright, my lord.” Jazz shook his head, his smile widening as he danced with Prowl, not caring if Prowl had not been able to see him until now. He was here now, dancing with him and Jazz could hardly wish for more except perhaps for their dance to never end.
Lord Trax smiled widely, secretly reveling in the whispers of wonder and astonishment coming from his guests as it was highly unusual for a ruler of other lands to attend such parties. For now, Lord Trax contented himself watching Jazz’s bright and genuine smile as he was led around the ballroom by the Lord of Praxus, knowing the two mechs had optics for nobody but each other at that moment, speaking quietly between themselves as they danced.
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Note: Yes, evil cliffhangers.
Rating: R
Warnings: A bit of violence, angst, possible slashy goodness.
Characters: Slipstream, Jazz, Trax.
Setting: Movieverse AU.
Summary: In trying to live up to the name of his sire he gave his all, until he lost his own spark. Those who once loved him now called him "sparkless".
Notes: This is an AU bunny that belongs to snugsbunny, it's all her fault, I just happen to be the one writting it. Several concepts seen through the duration of this fic are hers and used with permission. This is a very AU fic so please take with a grain of salt.
Many thanks to mmouse15 for kindly beta reading this for me.
Slipstream scowled deeply, watching Lord Trax and Jazz dancing around her. Their dancing was flawless in technique, but it was their faces that were drawing the scowl adorning her face. Jazz looked downright depressed and sullen while Lord Trax’s face denoted the deep worry and concern he was no doubt feeling for his grandson.
She wanted to say something but knew better than to lecture Lord Trax; obviously something was not well with the young silver mech and Lord Trax would not appreciate her talking about their expressions as they danced. Lord Trax seemed to be aware of Slipstream’s worries and stopped dancing, turning an apologetic glance at the tall instructor.
“Would you mind giving us a moment, please?”
Slipstream nodded curtly and turned off the music player, leaving the room quietly. Once Trax was certain he mech was far away enough he turned his attention to the bundle of silver in his arms. “Jazz, what’s wrong?”
Jazz did not answer, unsure of what he could say. How would he explain his sadness and depression after reading the final entries of the Lord of Praxus’ bondmate’s diary? Jazz was certain he wasn’t even supposed to have read that, and telling his grandfather was out of question as he would not divulge the intimate and personal details of the life Lord Prowl had shared with his bondmate. Although in a way he had hoped others could have seen what he did, so they would understand why the once naive and generous ruler had become the cold and hardened ruler he was now. “It’s nothin’, grandfather.” He muttered, knowing Trax would not believe his words.
“It can’t possibly be ‘nothing’, Jazz. You’re so sullen.” Trax hugged the younger mech tighter, trying to offer what comfort he could. “Please do tell me what weighs on your spark.”
Jazz shook his head, though leaned into the embrace, accepting the comfort offered. He couldn’t speak of it to anyone, not even Lord Prowl as he was certain the Lord would be furious if he learned Jazz had read his bondmate’s diary. “I’ll be fine, I jus’ need a little time.”
Trax released a long sigh, nodding once. “I won’t pressure you into speaking about it now. But I do want to know what bothers you eventually, Jazz.”
“I’ll tell you in time, I promise.” Jazz scolded himself mentally, knowing already he’d likely have to fabricate a lie to appease his grandfather without revealing the true reason behind his sadness. “I’m sorry I’m ruinin’ the mood an’ Slipstream must be ready ta tear me a new one about the whole expression thing again,” Jazz murmured and smiled sheepishly. It was a much weaker smile than usual but a smile nonetheless.
“Quite possibly. Your presentation will be in three cycles. You must prepare well, Jazz.”
“I will, grandfather,” Jazz replied with a half hearted smile. He wasn’t really looking forward to the celebration, and now more than ever he wished he could just be spared having to interact with the high society he was growing to dislike more and more. Still, he would not embarrass his grandfather and would give all his effort into making sure Trax’s name wouldn’t be dragged in the dirt because of Jazz - Jazz was sure the mech was already subject of enough whispers and rumors because of Lady Beat’s illegitimate sparkling.
“Let’s consider this session over and we’ll try again tomorrow, shall we?” Trax smiled, patting Jazz’s shoulder gently before summoning Slipstream to inform her the session was over. She did not look pleased but bowed politely, biding her good bye and departed. Jazz headed for his rooms to take care of his homework. His thoughts kept drifting to times past, when Lord Prowl was enduring the backlash of the actions carried over by his bondmate, the terrible consequences, and admittedly his own wonderings about why Lord Prowl did not follow his bondmate to the Matrix. He had theorized that Lord Prowl’s spark was still too young and immature to form a proper bond, although young mechs a vorn or two away from their adult upgrades had successfully bonded before. There seemed to be no known reason for Lord Prowl’s survival, which reminded Jazz of Perceptor’s apparently constant petitions to study Lord Prowl’s spark. Whatever it was, Lord Prowl had to endure such a harsh life all alone, facing the challenges of being a ruler and of outliving his bondmate.
It had to be a very lonely and difficult life, and Jazz was surprised Lord Prowl had made it so far, even if it meant he had become a very different mech and instead of being loved and seen as the prodigy child monarch, he was now seen as little more than a tyrant, even though Prowl did not mistreat his subjects. He was just not kind and generous anymore, and Jazz couldn’t say he blamed him.
Yet, something nagged on the back of his processors, a little voice that pointed out to him Lord Prowl was still generous in his own way. He remembered the sparked courier that was given proper attention as per Lord Prowl’s instructions. Other times when workers, despite the snarling and bad mouthing they did towards the lord, were still granted bonuses for their hard work in special occasions. Little things that seemed meaningless at the time but that as Jazz rationalized them, pointed towards a mech that was no longer so easily swayed to give and give without receiving anything in return, but a mech that gave to those that deserved it, not based on whether they liked him or not but in their hard and honest work.
Jazz smiled sadly and as he worked on his homework, he wished dearly that someday Lord Prowl could find at least a little happiness in his adult life. The thought made him realize although Jazz had gone through hardships he had always been happy with his life for the most part. He had been loved as a sparkling by his sire, had friends and given proper care in the orphanage despite Starscream’s attitude and actions, and even as he worked for Lord Prowl he had a good life, a warm berth for him, honest employment, free time and friends amongst his co-workers, and even had a good working relationship with Lord Prowl.
Despite the low spots he had endured recently in his integration to the noble family he was part of, Jazz still had someone to turn to in those moments of need, and his life was still happy. He had the love of Lord Trax and had the kindness Lord Prowl gave to him. Jazz was never alone, he realized. It was this thought that spurred him to wish to seek the Lord of Praxus more than ever and offer what he could to make the Lord’s life less lonely if the mech wanted to accept it.
He was still invaded by a deep sadness and resentment towards the nobles and high society mechs that had turned their backs on Lord Prowl, and a rancor burned in his spark towards the lord’s former bondmate, but his determination to be a friend for Lord Prowl lifted his spirits and gave him more reasons to do well at his presentation party.
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Lord Trax laughed in amusement as he heard Jazz curse in as many unique and creative ways as he stood in the large wash rack while pressurised water guns fired unforgiving loads of cold cleanser over him.
“Is this really necessary?!” Jazz asked as he moved his head away to duck the jets of water that threatened to hit him on the face plate.
“I’m afraid it is, you must be exceptionally clean and polished for your presentation and pressurised cleanser is the most effective way to get any dirt under and between your plates,” Trax explained with a big smile, watching Jazz try to duck more cleanser being shot at him and cursing as the cleanser hit him on the optics. “And Jazz, I expect you won’t be using that language during the party.”
“I can’t help it! This slaggin’ thing is cold an’ is gettin’ into parts that ain’t likin’ it!”
“Language, young mech.”
“Fraggit...”
Trax laughed and watched Jazz standing the forceful bath until the water guns stopped and folded back in their compartments, a soaked and definitely miffed Jazz was glaring figurative daggers at the spaces previously occupied by the guns.
“Come on,” Trax beckoned Jazz and guided him to the drying mechanism. Jazz and his unwavering expression of disgust followed him to the mechanism where he was quickly dried up by the powerful gust of wind. “Now let’s go to your rooms, you must be polished.” Trax intoned as he led the younger mech to his rooms.
Outside his door stood a contingent of servants holding cans, oils and other assortments of polishing rags, brushes and similar utensils. Jazz dreaded already the long joors he’d have to stand there being polished to within an inch of his life but bravely went through the door, followed by Trax and the servants.
It had taken almost as long as Jazz had predicted, and he felt incredibly stiff by the time the scented oils and fine waxes were finally polished off his body. He admitted being surprised by the reflective properties of his silver paint now, and the care put forth to make his detailing stand out although he wasn’t quite as sure about the scented oils poured over his plating - it wasn’t that the aroma wasn’t pleasant, but he would have preferred if the scent had been fainter.
Trax left, ushering the servants out as the older mech announced he would prepare, advising Jazz that a special garment was left for him to wear for the event. Jazz entered his dorm and found the garment lying on his berth, finely crafted and embroidered, with a magnetic brooch pinning it closed. Jazz took the small muffler and wrapped it around his shoulders, taking special care to ensure it was wrapped flawlessly and affixed the brooch with his family’s emblem, pining the garment closed. All in all Jazz had to admit he did look like one of those pompous noblemechs, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not but at least he did look respectable enough.
He entertained himself watching his own reflection on his polished plating, half wondering how the celebration would go. He wondered if his guests had all arrived yet or if some would make a point to be fashionably late, and if his own special guest would be arriving any time soon or was perhaps already waiting for his big entrance. Jazz smiled to himself, looking forward to seeing and talking to Lord Prowl again, willing to stand the other nobles for the chance to be able to see him again and hopefully make him feel welcomed into Trax’s and Jazz’s home.
“Jazz, it’s time.” Trax smiled as he stood under the frame of the door to Jazz’s dorm, his own plating was polished diligently, wearing a garment of his own embroidered with the family’s shield. “Your guests await you.”
Jazz nodded and smiled a little, feeling just a tad nervous but determined to make his grandfather proud during the presentation. Lord Trax led Jazz to the large ballroom that had been cleared and decorated lavishly to host the celebration, several noblemechs from all over the shire and some from neighboring lands had come to see Jazz. As soon as the silver mech stepped inside the room fell quiet with only whispers and murmurs breaking an otherwise expectant silence.
“My friends,” Trax spoke as he led Jazz further inside. His voice trembled minutely and Jazz could tell the mech was being overcome with emotion, possibly remembering the time he had given a similar speech to introduce his daughter in society. “I thank you all for coming to join me and pay witness to the introduction into our noble society to my loved grandson, Jazz. The precious last gift left to me by my late creation, Beat.”
The nobles greeted Jazz at unison, almost as if they had been military trained to greet him in such manner. The young silver mech bowed his head politely, speaking in a gentle and polite tone to thank them and greet them back, carefully keeping his inflection under check. He straightened and waited for Trax to continue with his speech, trying his hardest to keep a pleasant look on his face and pretend he was honored and enjoying himself. In a way he was, but more and more words rang to him as pretentions, carefully chosen words to make Jazz seem more than he felt he was, give the illusion that Jazz harbored any kind of affection or ties to Lady Beat past beyond her involvement in his conception.
Finally, the celebration was declared ready to begin in full and applause and cheers were addressed in formal tones to the young mech now referred among them as Lord Jazz. Jazz followed his grandfather anywhere he was directed, greeting and bowing graciously as he was introduced to more mechs he cared to count, always plastering a welcoming smile, accepting humbly the presents that some of them had brought for him. Jazz knew he was not allowed to open his presents just yet - it was not polite for him to distract himself in such way, so he carefully set down the gifts on a table designated for the task. Not that Jazz was in a hurry to open the presents anyway.
More guests kept coming, some that Jazz could tell had been late intentionally, making their arrival either a tad more dramatic or to draw attention to themselves. Jazz believed some just chose to be there later so they could skip the speech they had probably heard countless times by now. Nonetheless, Jazz greeted each one politely as they were introduced, and had smiled charmingly at his guests no matter the bratty or condescending looks of some of them.
Still, as time passed, Jazz could not ignore there was a guest he had been expecting that had not arrived yet. He knew the party was just in its first joors and was expected to extend way past his usual recharging time, but Jazz was beginning to fear the one mech he had wanted to see at the party would not come. Jazz couldn’t hold it against him, he was a busy mech after all and the invitation had been sent too close to the date. And even if it wasn’t the case, could Jazz blame Lord Prowl for not wanting to involve himself in a party full of noblemechs and socialites?
“Jazz, your dance will begin soon.” Lord Trax offered his hand to his grandson; it would be he who’d have the honor of being the first mech Jazz would share his first dance in society with. Jazz nodded and took his grandfather’s hand, fighting back the sadness that was taking over his spark, convinced he would not see Lord Prowl that cycle.
The guests all stood around, giving ample room for the two mechs as the music was played by real performers. Jazz pushed aside his sadness for the moment, his smile genuine and true as he danced with his grandfather, concentrating solely on how happy he was that he had Lord Trax with him. They circled the large room twice, and Jazz knew in part the dance was a way to display him before the nobles and socialites, but at the moment he did not mind much. Jazz heard one of the servants name a mech, who was there in representation of the shire’s lord and Lord Trax stopped dancing, stepping aside as the announced mech stood before Jazz, offering a small golden chest with a gift for the young lord.
Jazz accepted the chest graciously, bowing as he took the hand the mech offered him and they danced around the ballroom as Jazz had done with Lord Trax, his free hand holding the small chest through the rotation. As they stopped and another mech’s name was announced, a servant taking the first chest Jazz was given as Jazz’s new partner came forward, offering a similar chest and leading Jazz around the ballroom in another rotation. The same happened a few times until the servant announced the last honor guest.
Jazz stared in authentic awe as a black and white mech approached him, with a golden chest far more ornate and decorated than those offered by previous guests resting between white clawed hands.
“Prowl, Lord of Praxus,” The servant announced as Prowl offered the golden chest to the stunned Jazz. The silver mech took a moment to react, finally reaching for the chest and bowed politely.
“Thank you, my Lord,” Jazz murmured, trying to overcome his surprise and smiled at the mech, polished and adorned with the symbols of his station.
“I apologize; I was not allowed to make my presence known until this moment. It’s customary.” Prowl explained as he offered his hand to Jazz and pulled him gently as they began to dance.
“It’s quite alright, my lord.” Jazz shook his head, his smile widening as he danced with Prowl, not caring if Prowl had not been able to see him until now. He was here now, dancing with him and Jazz could hardly wish for more except perhaps for their dance to never end.
Lord Trax smiled widely, secretly reveling in the whispers of wonder and astonishment coming from his guests as it was highly unusual for a ruler of other lands to attend such parties. For now, Lord Trax contented himself watching Jazz’s bright and genuine smile as he was led around the ballroom by the Lord of Praxus, knowing the two mechs had optics for nobody but each other at that moment, speaking quietly between themselves as they danced.
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Note: Yes, evil cliffhangers.