Transformers Fic
Title: Wild Ones (10/?)
Verse: G1 AU
Rating: M
Warnings: Future Plug&Play, Sticky, Eventual Gore, Violence from the Beginning.
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Most of the Main G1 Cast, Minor 'Going to die in the next chapter or in imminent future' or 'Plot accellerator' OC's.
Pairings: ? (Can't give away secrets! Sorry!)
Summary: Jazz knew having a Crime Boss as an Ex would come back to bite him in the aft...
===Optimus Prime===
"It is imperative that we gain the support from the Praxians." Jumpstart sighed with a resigned fidget, sweeping his palm across the Tactics City holograph to a rotating image of Cybertron before the Prime and highlighting various sections. "Adding the support of the Praxian Enforcers and Private Military to the current Decepticon ranks, it will induce a severe disadvantage to us. Praxus is the buffer between Iacon and the shortest, direct route from Kaon. By allowing neither of the factions access to airspace or grounds, we are forced to use the longer, more fuel consuming routes to any battlefield. It is no surprise that Megatron is trying to woo the Praxus Council to see his way of thinking."
"You forget that the Praxus Council isn't actually in control of the City." Jazz commented sourly, swigging a cube of Mid-Grade energon in the corner as if he were in a common bar and not in the presence of the Prime himself. "Megatron has been bargaining with Barricade, the Praxus Crime Lord. Odds are, the Praxus Council has no idea until Barricade tells them of the deals."
"Is it possible to gain a meeting with Barricade through the Council?" Jumpstart pondered, his azure optics never wavering from the hologram with increasing worry.
"It would be the quickest way to at least try and gain his favour." Optimus nodded thoughtfully, tapping his fingers in a flowing rhythm upon his Commander's chair. The deep, knowledgeable optics that held the wisdom of Primes past turning to the saboteur tucked in his faithful shadows, "We also need to know how much progress Megatron has made in gaining Praxus as his ally. Are you ready for your assignment Jazz?"
"Ratchet cleared me a few joors ago. I just have to get a repaint after this mission." The Third in Command of the Autobot Army nodded firmly, visor flaring as Jazz's easy going personality slipped underneath the deadly saboteur he was trained to be, the new welds that graced his shoulder plating and face making his appearance savage and wild. "I'm ready to move my team at your order Prime."
"Good. You may go, the orders will be transferred by inscription code four when you are at checkpoint one." The young Prime rumbled, as Jazz stalked from the room giving a quick subservient nod to the larger mech.
"Sir. Is it wise to allow Jazz out in the field after his traumatic experience?" Jumpstart asked with a shifty glance of his optics. "He may have thought he was covering it well, but we all saw how shaken he was."
"I have upmost confidence in my Officers, Jumpstart." Optimus said with a grave note of conviction, rising from his chair, "However, I am also a mech of caution, Mirage will be radioing Ratchet with updates every few joors to make sure Jazz doesn't have any lasting problems."
"Sir, if I may ruin the moment?" Jumpstart asked with a timid smile, "May I suggest employing a psychologist the next time we review the budget?"
Chuckling, Optimus Prime shook his helm in amusement as he made his way towards the door, "You and I both know Jazz would have to be dragged kicking and screaming down the corridor if we did hire one, besides, Psychologists are unfortunately rare nowadays…"
===Sideswipe===
He couldn't help but think that The Gambler was toying with him, the mostly blue Praxian leaning back in his chair, his doorwings drooping lazily, a cygarette dangling from between his denta as the bright azure optics half shuttered in amused pleasure at his fidgeting, he could almost taste the impure intentions that wafted through the air like a strong perfume.
Swindle, almost cringing in the corner, trying to become part of the silver wall, seemed to be having a mild panic attack, the noisy concert his hyperventilating vents were performing piercing the heavy blanket of weary dislike. The smoky grey fog drifting from the Gambler's habit to curl in lethargic circles around the light like a witch's brew stirring in the cauldron, polluting the air with an arid dry taint.
"So tell me about yourself Sideswipe," The Gambler purred, glossa rolling his designation with a sultry deep rumble that made his ruby plating shudder at the low harmonics; the crafty ruler of gambling languidly withdrawing a violet card from his fan and slotting it with a practiced grace on the table before withdrawing the top thin slab of clouded crystal from the central pile.
"Nothing much to tell." He shrugged, pushing down his edginess with a small but powerful ripple of his armour, taking the opportunity to roll his shoulder joints in their sockets, "Frontline class Warrior Frame turned Market Dealer. Being this armoured makes it easy to intimidate some of the more… disagreeable customers."
"I'd imagine." The Praxian nodded in a somewhat sympathetic manner, his doorwings, branded with a bright pearly white thirty eight of unknown purpose flexing in a stretch. "I envy you. I normally have to assert my power in a less… desirable fashion. Incredibly messy. I much prefer this method." He smiled, making a more prominent fan with his cards and batting them to punctuate his words with a visual aid. The trail of smoke from the cygarette billowing back to dance across the polished silver faceplate and curl around the dazzling gold of the chevron.
"So you know how to take care of yourself then." The frontline class warrior frame asked slowly, testing the waters, tilting his helm as if in curious innocence, internally frowning at the low purr, his distrust of this Praxian rocketing through the roof.
"You know I can." The Gambler smiled back, a content euphoria dancing in his lazy gaze, "But by all means, try and get out of this using force, it has been a while since I've sparred with a warrior class mecha that has no clue of what I can do."
"You play games, Gambler." Sideswipe said darkly, his movements to place his cards, quick and efficient betraying his desire to leave the underground shop as soon as he could, with or without a favour owed. "I've been kept up to date with all that goes on in Praxus."
"Oh?" the Gambler chuckled the cygarette in his oral cavity shuddering and bouncing with his laughter, the azure optics gliding towards Swindle, who shrunk under his gaze, "Swindle, did you tell Sideswipe about what goes on in the City?"
"Leave him out of this." The ruby mech quickly intervened as Swindle's plating rattled in obvious apprehension, the poor mech sliding along the silver wall to half curl over in the corner beside a stack of crates. "He's doing nothing wrong."
"On the contrary my naive mech, Swindle and I share one or two secrets…" The Gambler growled, his doorwings rising from their flop into an alert warning, the blue armoured mech withdrawing his habit from between his denta, bracing it between two fingers as he tapped at the table with his claws, a billow of discard smoke flushing from his olfactory sensor and mouth, "I'm just making sure my interests are secure."
"I would never…" Swindle began, bracing himself against the wall as if wishing it would reveal a hidden door he could slip through to escape the expectant, dark gaze that the Gambler examined him with, as if he were a cyber-butterfly pinned with a needle for study.
"Make sure it doesn't pet." The Gambler smirked turning back to his cards, returning the cygarette to his mouth with a careless flicker of his wrist. "So… Sideswipe. Do you win or lose I wonder?" he asked, his demeanour smug and prideful, slapping the crystal card fan down and spreading the heirloom across the table in a neat practiced line, revealing half a perfect suite.
The red and black armoured mech leaned forward in seat, his own flare of cards held close, the blue optics tracing the Gambling Lord as he relaxed back into his chair, his doorwings fluttering in a silent laugh, checking his cybertanium lined claws with a denta flashing smile, almost as if he had already won. "Half the Senator Suite." He acknowledged with a frown, bringing up his own cards as he leant back, his opponents optics darkening in a heady delight. "It appears you've lost Gambler."
His words triggered a loud hiss from the mostly blue Praxian, claws flashing forward to rake the table with a loud shriek of yielding metal, "Not possible," the gaming mech snapped, doorwings flared wide and high, "I never lose."
"It seems you just did." Sideswipe said smiling at the others angry disbelief, throwing down his cards in their messy fan, providing his opponent with evidence of his claim where a perfect Prime suite flashed under the hazy lighting of the light that dangled above them, clouded with smoke. "It seems you owe me a favour, Gambler."
Indigo optics were narrowed in his direction, the Praxian standing from his chair with a stiff angry aura, his seat scraping along the floor before the back metal legs caught a groove in the floor and toppled backwards with a clatter. Swindle, forgotten in the moment, squeaked in surprised horror as the Gambler leaned forward with a deliberate swiftness so that he loomed over the table and his precious cards, the light from his optics brightening to an almost ivory white in shock as he gazed upon the truth that Sideswipe had offered him.
"It seems I do." The Gambler finally muttered, as if he didn't quite have all of his wits, expertly gathering his cards back into a deck and almost throwing them into his subspace with disgust. The Middle Brother of the Enforcer family growled in blind frustrated confusion, stalking around the table and running his claws over an offended Sideswipe's chest plates with a curiously cocky, sultry air, leaning down to whisper delicately in the disturbed red front-liner's audio. "Don't wait too long to cash in that favour handsome. I might get impatient and come looking for you, we should do this again sometime…"
With that the Praxian sashayed towards the exit, palming the door open as he turned to the shaking Swindle watching the scene like a cyber-deer in the headlights, "Give him my communication frequency, Swindle. I expect all deliveries to be precise the next time I order. Do I make myself clear?"
"Of course, sir." Swindle nodded as if he had a violent twitch in his neck cabling, "As an apology, the next time you order shall be free of charge."
"Very good." The Gambler nodded, and vanished up the stairs into the bustling street above.
===Ironhide===
"And then the glitch-mouse storms out declaring that he's fine!" the medic continued to rant, waving his energon cube about erratically, defying the laws of gravity by not spilling a single drop of the fluorescent liquid as he gestured violently, "I swear I'm going to nail him to the floor when I see the fragger in my Medbay again!"
"Easy Ratchet." He snorted, rolling his optics at the furious Chief Medical Officer as he tweaked with his arm cannons, "Jazz is being a typical Special Operations mech, he needs to be dying before he'll willingly trek anywhere near your domain."
"At least Wheeljack comes to me when he's bleeding out." The white, red and grey mech sulked turning to the Rec-Room and snapping at the other relaxing mechs, "See? I have at least one model patient!"
Snickering at the cringing crowd, Ironhide shook his helm in amusement, "Speaking of Wheeljack, you've been hanging around him more often since he became Head of Engineering. Got yourself a crush have you, Ratchet?"
"Shut up you old fool." The mech sniffed gulping at his energon with a violent vigour, slamming the cube down on the table between them as if he were a judge with a gravel, condemning a mech to the cells, "He just listens better than any of you lot when I'm ranting."
"Not surprised, he's got his helm stuck in an experiment half the time when I go see him." The Weapons Master shrugged, "He barely responds. I thought the purpose of your rants was to get a rise out of a potential verbal sparring partner."
"I know but Wheeljack's different, I've known him for ages," Ratchet moped with a scowl, his armour fluffing slightly in subconscious defence at the rust red mech's prodding, averting his optics slyly before muttering sourly, "Not that he remembers me…"
"Whatever you say Ratch." He smiled with a chuckle, jumping slightly when a thunderous rumble of ground shaking proportions thundered through the base. "Looks like 'Jackie found the explosive properties of rubber. Impressive. Off you trot Ratchet; your regular might need help shuffling to the Medical Bay."
"Shut up, Fragger." The short tempered medic growled, flicking his empty energon cube at his helm, which bounced off the Weapon Specialist's arm as the red mech raised it to fend off Ratchet's harmless attack. "I'll go see what the damage is this time. You go tell Hoist and Grapple that we'll need new blast doors for his lab again."
"Yes, sir, right away sir. I respectfully request not to get a wrench to the helm for this statement sir!" Ironhide saluted playfully, much to Ratchet's visible annoyance as the Chief Medical Officer stomped from the room.
Verse: G1 AU
Rating: M
Warnings: Future Plug&Play, Sticky, Eventual Gore, Violence from the Beginning.
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Most of the Main G1 Cast, Minor 'Going to die in the next chapter or in imminent future' or 'Plot accellerator' OC's.
Pairings: ? (Can't give away secrets! Sorry!)
Summary: Jazz knew having a Crime Boss as an Ex would come back to bite him in the aft...
===Optimus Prime===
"It is imperative that we gain the support from the Praxians." Jumpstart sighed with a resigned fidget, sweeping his palm across the Tactics City holograph to a rotating image of Cybertron before the Prime and highlighting various sections. "Adding the support of the Praxian Enforcers and Private Military to the current Decepticon ranks, it will induce a severe disadvantage to us. Praxus is the buffer between Iacon and the shortest, direct route from Kaon. By allowing neither of the factions access to airspace or grounds, we are forced to use the longer, more fuel consuming routes to any battlefield. It is no surprise that Megatron is trying to woo the Praxus Council to see his way of thinking."
"You forget that the Praxus Council isn't actually in control of the City." Jazz commented sourly, swigging a cube of Mid-Grade energon in the corner as if he were in a common bar and not in the presence of the Prime himself. "Megatron has been bargaining with Barricade, the Praxus Crime Lord. Odds are, the Praxus Council has no idea until Barricade tells them of the deals."
"Is it possible to gain a meeting with Barricade through the Council?" Jumpstart pondered, his azure optics never wavering from the hologram with increasing worry.
"It would be the quickest way to at least try and gain his favour." Optimus nodded thoughtfully, tapping his fingers in a flowing rhythm upon his Commander's chair. The deep, knowledgeable optics that held the wisdom of Primes past turning to the saboteur tucked in his faithful shadows, "We also need to know how much progress Megatron has made in gaining Praxus as his ally. Are you ready for your assignment Jazz?"
"Ratchet cleared me a few joors ago. I just have to get a repaint after this mission." The Third in Command of the Autobot Army nodded firmly, visor flaring as Jazz's easy going personality slipped underneath the deadly saboteur he was trained to be, the new welds that graced his shoulder plating and face making his appearance savage and wild. "I'm ready to move my team at your order Prime."
"Good. You may go, the orders will be transferred by inscription code four when you are at checkpoint one." The young Prime rumbled, as Jazz stalked from the room giving a quick subservient nod to the larger mech.
"Sir. Is it wise to allow Jazz out in the field after his traumatic experience?" Jumpstart asked with a shifty glance of his optics. "He may have thought he was covering it well, but we all saw how shaken he was."
"I have upmost confidence in my Officers, Jumpstart." Optimus said with a grave note of conviction, rising from his chair, "However, I am also a mech of caution, Mirage will be radioing Ratchet with updates every few joors to make sure Jazz doesn't have any lasting problems."
"Sir, if I may ruin the moment?" Jumpstart asked with a timid smile, "May I suggest employing a psychologist the next time we review the budget?"
Chuckling, Optimus Prime shook his helm in amusement as he made his way towards the door, "You and I both know Jazz would have to be dragged kicking and screaming down the corridor if we did hire one, besides, Psychologists are unfortunately rare nowadays…"
===Sideswipe===
He couldn't help but think that The Gambler was toying with him, the mostly blue Praxian leaning back in his chair, his doorwings drooping lazily, a cygarette dangling from between his denta as the bright azure optics half shuttered in amused pleasure at his fidgeting, he could almost taste the impure intentions that wafted through the air like a strong perfume.
Swindle, almost cringing in the corner, trying to become part of the silver wall, seemed to be having a mild panic attack, the noisy concert his hyperventilating vents were performing piercing the heavy blanket of weary dislike. The smoky grey fog drifting from the Gambler's habit to curl in lethargic circles around the light like a witch's brew stirring in the cauldron, polluting the air with an arid dry taint.
"So tell me about yourself Sideswipe," The Gambler purred, glossa rolling his designation with a sultry deep rumble that made his ruby plating shudder at the low harmonics; the crafty ruler of gambling languidly withdrawing a violet card from his fan and slotting it with a practiced grace on the table before withdrawing the top thin slab of clouded crystal from the central pile.
"Nothing much to tell." He shrugged, pushing down his edginess with a small but powerful ripple of his armour, taking the opportunity to roll his shoulder joints in their sockets, "Frontline class Warrior Frame turned Market Dealer. Being this armoured makes it easy to intimidate some of the more… disagreeable customers."
"I'd imagine." The Praxian nodded in a somewhat sympathetic manner, his doorwings, branded with a bright pearly white thirty eight of unknown purpose flexing in a stretch. "I envy you. I normally have to assert my power in a less… desirable fashion. Incredibly messy. I much prefer this method." He smiled, making a more prominent fan with his cards and batting them to punctuate his words with a visual aid. The trail of smoke from the cygarette billowing back to dance across the polished silver faceplate and curl around the dazzling gold of the chevron.
"So you know how to take care of yourself then." The frontline class warrior frame asked slowly, testing the waters, tilting his helm as if in curious innocence, internally frowning at the low purr, his distrust of this Praxian rocketing through the roof.
"You know I can." The Gambler smiled back, a content euphoria dancing in his lazy gaze, "But by all means, try and get out of this using force, it has been a while since I've sparred with a warrior class mecha that has no clue of what I can do."
"You play games, Gambler." Sideswipe said darkly, his movements to place his cards, quick and efficient betraying his desire to leave the underground shop as soon as he could, with or without a favour owed. "I've been kept up to date with all that goes on in Praxus."
"Oh?" the Gambler chuckled the cygarette in his oral cavity shuddering and bouncing with his laughter, the azure optics gliding towards Swindle, who shrunk under his gaze, "Swindle, did you tell Sideswipe about what goes on in the City?"
"Leave him out of this." The ruby mech quickly intervened as Swindle's plating rattled in obvious apprehension, the poor mech sliding along the silver wall to half curl over in the corner beside a stack of crates. "He's doing nothing wrong."
"On the contrary my naive mech, Swindle and I share one or two secrets…" The Gambler growled, his doorwings rising from their flop into an alert warning, the blue armoured mech withdrawing his habit from between his denta, bracing it between two fingers as he tapped at the table with his claws, a billow of discard smoke flushing from his olfactory sensor and mouth, "I'm just making sure my interests are secure."
"I would never…" Swindle began, bracing himself against the wall as if wishing it would reveal a hidden door he could slip through to escape the expectant, dark gaze that the Gambler examined him with, as if he were a cyber-butterfly pinned with a needle for study.
"Make sure it doesn't pet." The Gambler smirked turning back to his cards, returning the cygarette to his mouth with a careless flicker of his wrist. "So… Sideswipe. Do you win or lose I wonder?" he asked, his demeanour smug and prideful, slapping the crystal card fan down and spreading the heirloom across the table in a neat practiced line, revealing half a perfect suite.
The red and black armoured mech leaned forward in seat, his own flare of cards held close, the blue optics tracing the Gambling Lord as he relaxed back into his chair, his doorwings fluttering in a silent laugh, checking his cybertanium lined claws with a denta flashing smile, almost as if he had already won. "Half the Senator Suite." He acknowledged with a frown, bringing up his own cards as he leant back, his opponents optics darkening in a heady delight. "It appears you've lost Gambler."
His words triggered a loud hiss from the mostly blue Praxian, claws flashing forward to rake the table with a loud shriek of yielding metal, "Not possible," the gaming mech snapped, doorwings flared wide and high, "I never lose."
"It seems you just did." Sideswipe said smiling at the others angry disbelief, throwing down his cards in their messy fan, providing his opponent with evidence of his claim where a perfect Prime suite flashed under the hazy lighting of the light that dangled above them, clouded with smoke. "It seems you owe me a favour, Gambler."
Indigo optics were narrowed in his direction, the Praxian standing from his chair with a stiff angry aura, his seat scraping along the floor before the back metal legs caught a groove in the floor and toppled backwards with a clatter. Swindle, forgotten in the moment, squeaked in surprised horror as the Gambler leaned forward with a deliberate swiftness so that he loomed over the table and his precious cards, the light from his optics brightening to an almost ivory white in shock as he gazed upon the truth that Sideswipe had offered him.
"It seems I do." The Gambler finally muttered, as if he didn't quite have all of his wits, expertly gathering his cards back into a deck and almost throwing them into his subspace with disgust. The Middle Brother of the Enforcer family growled in blind frustrated confusion, stalking around the table and running his claws over an offended Sideswipe's chest plates with a curiously cocky, sultry air, leaning down to whisper delicately in the disturbed red front-liner's audio. "Don't wait too long to cash in that favour handsome. I might get impatient and come looking for you, we should do this again sometime…"
With that the Praxian sashayed towards the exit, palming the door open as he turned to the shaking Swindle watching the scene like a cyber-deer in the headlights, "Give him my communication frequency, Swindle. I expect all deliveries to be precise the next time I order. Do I make myself clear?"
"Of course, sir." Swindle nodded as if he had a violent twitch in his neck cabling, "As an apology, the next time you order shall be free of charge."
"Very good." The Gambler nodded, and vanished up the stairs into the bustling street above.
===Ironhide===
"And then the glitch-mouse storms out declaring that he's fine!" the medic continued to rant, waving his energon cube about erratically, defying the laws of gravity by not spilling a single drop of the fluorescent liquid as he gestured violently, "I swear I'm going to nail him to the floor when I see the fragger in my Medbay again!"
"Easy Ratchet." He snorted, rolling his optics at the furious Chief Medical Officer as he tweaked with his arm cannons, "Jazz is being a typical Special Operations mech, he needs to be dying before he'll willingly trek anywhere near your domain."
"At least Wheeljack comes to me when he's bleeding out." The white, red and grey mech sulked turning to the Rec-Room and snapping at the other relaxing mechs, "See? I have at least one model patient!"
Snickering at the cringing crowd, Ironhide shook his helm in amusement, "Speaking of Wheeljack, you've been hanging around him more often since he became Head of Engineering. Got yourself a crush have you, Ratchet?"
"Shut up you old fool." The mech sniffed gulping at his energon with a violent vigour, slamming the cube down on the table between them as if he were a judge with a gravel, condemning a mech to the cells, "He just listens better than any of you lot when I'm ranting."
"Not surprised, he's got his helm stuck in an experiment half the time when I go see him." The Weapons Master shrugged, "He barely responds. I thought the purpose of your rants was to get a rise out of a potential verbal sparring partner."
"I know but Wheeljack's different, I've known him for ages," Ratchet moped with a scowl, his armour fluffing slightly in subconscious defence at the rust red mech's prodding, averting his optics slyly before muttering sourly, "Not that he remembers me…"
"Whatever you say Ratch." He smiled with a chuckle, jumping slightly when a thunderous rumble of ground shaking proportions thundered through the base. "Looks like 'Jackie found the explosive properties of rubber. Impressive. Off you trot Ratchet; your regular might need help shuffling to the Medical Bay."
"Shut up, Fragger." The short tempered medic growled, flicking his empty energon cube at his helm, which bounced off the Weapon Specialist's arm as the red mech raised it to fend off Ratchet's harmless attack. "I'll go see what the damage is this time. You go tell Hoist and Grapple that we'll need new blast doors for his lab again."
"Yes, sir, right away sir. I respectfully request not to get a wrench to the helm for this statement sir!" Ironhide saluted playfully, much to Ratchet's visible annoyance as the Chief Medical Officer stomped from the room.