10 Orders - Leave Me Alone
Title: Dance in the Dark
Pairing/Characters: Prowl/Jazz
Prompt: Leave Me Alone
Rating: lets say R for sensitive topics
Warnings: human femslash (kissing mostly), mentions of sex and prostitution
Summary: Jazz disguises herself as one of Amsterdam’s famous “window-girls”, under the watchful eye of Prowl.
Resides in the same 'verse as Don't Lie To Me
As far as Prowl was concerned, this was just more justification as to why she hated going to nightclubs no matter what form she was in. It was noisy, and not just from the music, the lighting was bad, and far too many people invaded her personal space for her liking. At least there was no smoking allowed or she would have really put her foot down about going, undercover mission or not.
She stood at the foot of the staircase that led up to the rooms the resident girls used to service clients. Jazz was up there currently - though thankfully not servicing anyone - getting a little help with her disguise and checking out the room of one of the murdered girls for clues.
Nightclub indeed, Prowl thought. That was only the consolation prize for men who could only look at the girls in the window, but couldn’t afford to spend the night with them. Only the clients with money got to see what was upstairs, so to speak.
Occasionally those of the lower income group approached her, thinking that since she was not in a window she might be more within their price range, but she levelled them with her patented frown and they backed off. Well if it worked on rambunctious Lamborghini twins, then a few horny men were no challenge at all.
The regulars soon came to the realization that she was probably a minder for one of the girls rather than one of the girls herself. Well that was partly true. She WAS mainly there to make sure no one tried anything untoward with Jazz.
“You okay, Prowl?”
She finished staring down another eager young male and turned her gaze towards the stairs as Jazz descended carefully with one of the other girls. The latter gave them knowing looks as Prowl checked out her partner, and left them to go to her window.
“I’m fine, Jazz. You look…” she looked her partner up and down. “…interesting.”
Jazz gestured to herself. “Well, they said the top was okay but decided it wasn’t showin’ enough cleavage.” She indicated her bust. “And the look wasn’t… exotic… enough.”
Prowl gave her another look. Jazz’s blue-tinted jet-black hair was flat-ironed into silky straightness instead of framing those high cheekbones, though her fringe still remained side-swept. Her hazel eyes now peeked out from under smokey lids and longer fake lashes, and her lips were a touch redder.
Neither of them were fans of heavy makeup, but they both knew that it had to properly hide Jazz’s face so she wouldn’t be recognized later without it.
The black and pale gold cropped halter top Jazz had bought earlier, that had still managed to preserve some of her modesty, was now even more lower cut with ragged edges that gave her a more worn, used look and revealed generous amounts of cleavage in addition to her toned and defined stomach.
Jazz had worn tight-fitting pants into the “club”. Now she was wearing what looked to Prowl to be a wide belt attempting to pass off as a skirt. The fake leather fabric only just managed to cover Jazz’s rather shapely aft and drew attention to the fishnet stockings stretching down along her thighs and calves and disappearing into the calf-high heeled boots.
A spiked black wristband, and a black leather choker that wrapped around her neck completed the look
Prowl suddenly felt a little warmer inside the club. The outfit was a lot more revealing than either of them had anticipated, but at least it was somewhat authentic. Jazz really did look like one of the window-girls now, and Prowl could sense through their bond that Jazz herself had come to that same conclusion, given the slight unease she could feel.
“We don’t have to do this if you aren’t comfortable,” Prowl said into her ear.
She knew that contrary to popular opinion, Jazz wasn’t as ‘loose’ as the rumors made her out to be, nor did she sleep with the first human or bot to offer her a bunk. Jazz was easy-going, but it didn’t mean she was easy, and Prowl hated the rumors that implied she was so.
“Can’t back out now, Prowl,” Jazz replied. “We’re committed to seein’ this through, even if it means a li’l discomfort.”
Prowl knew it was her way of saying she would suck it up and deal with it. “If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.”
She headed to the window that had been designated to her for the night, Prowl following closely behind and keeping an eye out to make sure no one tried anything funny with Jazz. She was fully aware of how attractive her bondmate looked, even dressed like she was, and it was all Prowl could do to say to hell with the mission and just go home with her.
Mission, right.
“Were you able to find out anything about the latest girl?” she asked.
Jazz nodded. “She did live here, but it looked like she’d been packin’, like she was gonna leave.” She gave Prowl a pointed look and the other nodded to show she understood. “The other girl before her, they’d already cleaned her room and packed away all her stuff.”
They stopped just inside the window cubicle, just before the flimsy sheer translucent curtain that would separate Jazz from the rest of the club. Jazz pulled her past the curtain and into the window proper. Prowl could see the dimly lit street outside, but no one could see them unless they turned on the red and amber lights.
Jazz wrapped her arms around her and drew her closer till they were nose-to-nose. She looked at Jazz and smiled a little.
“You’ll mess up your lipstick if you kiss me now.”
“That’s the idea,” Jazz purred. “I’m supposed t’look like I’ve just been with someone. I can’t think of a better candidate, can you?”
Prowl embraced her. “Well logically, if the male clientele saw you kiss another woman they might not be as interested in you.”
“And this is a bad thing?”
“No, not really.”
“Then hang the logic and kiss me.”
Prowl obliged, kissing her softly and tenderly, taking care not to mess up her makeup too much even as she ran her fingers through Jazz’s soft black hair and mussed it up a little to give her that just-sexed look. Her lips tasted like cherries and again Prowl was tempted to just drag Jazz home and continue in more privacy - particularly when Jazz’s fingers started to stroke along her shoulder blades - but she forced herself to slowly ease off the kiss.
“There,” she said. “Nice and sexed up.”
Jazz grinned at her. “We’ll finish this later.”
“That we will.” Prowl hugged her. “I won’t be far away, and I’ll be watching you. If you feel you can’t do anymore, just find me and we’ll get out of here.”
“I’m not gonna let anyone do anythin’ t’me, y’know that right?”
“I know. I trust you, Jazz.”
“I love you, Prowl.”
“I love you, too.”
=====
Prowl ducked back out through the curtain and scanned the club, looking for a vantage point that would give her a proper view of Jazz. Glancing back she saw that Jazz had switched on the lights in her window, her form softly silhouetted against the sheer curtain as she went through some stretches. It was going to be a rather long three hours after all.
She watched her a moment longer, already guessing an audience had built up outside a window to watch her. She wouldn’t be surprised. Jazz could be sitting and reading a book and still look attractive and alluring doing it. Reluctantly she tore her eyes from her bondmate and resumed her search for a place to settle for the night.
That was when she noticed the Madame of the ‘house’ waving her over to a table to sit with her.
Madam Helene was an older woman. Sold to the brothels as a child when her mother could no longer afford to keep her, she had taken over as the Madame of the house when the last one had retired. While she knew she was in a business of vices, both Jazz and Prowl came to realize rather quickly that she cared for the girls she was in charge of and made sure that even though they were selling their bodies they were not to be disrespected.
It was why they’d agreed to help her.
Prowl joined the blond woman at the table and accepted the thankfully non-alcoholic drink that was offered to her. It worked well with her cover. To anyone watching them Prowl probably looked like a minder negotiating a deal with the Madame for her girl.
As she sipped the drink, she scanned the club and was relieved to find that she had a very nice view of Jazz’s cubicle. Her partner still wasn’t doing much, just pacing the narrow length of the window and occasionally striking a pose.
“I’ve already had six offers for her in the last ten minutes,” Madame Helene told Prowl in heavily accented English. “If she was one of mine, I could cover the next three months’ payment in one night. She’s a beautiful girl.”
“She is.”
“If you ever went into my business as a Madame, you could make a profit with her in no time. She has the face and body men would pay in large sums to have in their beds for an hour.”
Prowl blushed furiously and shifted. “Thankfully for me, Jazz is not and never will be for sale… and… she’s not that type of person either.”
Madame Helene laughed and patted Prowl’s arm. She knew their real identities of course, and also that Prowl and Jazz were, for all events and purposes, a committed couple with no intentions of compromising that. It was the one condition they’d given before agreeing to help her, that Jazz would not be ‘for rent’ in any way, shape or form.
“I know, Prowl. Please relax. I promise no harm will come to her if I can help it.” She watched the other windows where the rest of her girls were ‘working’. “Have you managed to find out anything?”
Prowl took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Was Gerda planning to leave the establishment at any time?”
“Not that I am aware of, no.” There was a frown on the other woman’s face. “The girls are normally not allowed to leave once they’ve joined, unless they’re sold to another Madame.”
“And clients are not allowed to leave with the girls, am I correct?” Prowl’s eyes never left Jazz.
Madame Helene nodded. “Cardinal rule of any house. It is how we keep them safe, though it seems I have failed in that aspect.”
“I don’t think it’s quite that simple, Madame. It seems that what happened to Gerda, and Elva before her, was a case of what Jazz likes to call ‘Pretty Woman’ syndrome - a handsome, rich client meets a beautiful prostitute and woos her with promises of love, happiness and a better future.” Prowl gave her the basic breakdown that Jazz had given him.
The older woman crossed her arms. “So they were both planning to run away.”
“Given the state Jazz found Gerda’s room in, that is highly possible. Our suspect probably fed them these promises to convince them to leave with him. Unfortunately he had no intentions of fulfilling those commitments. He must have asked Gerda to meet him that night, to finalise their travel plans and she went innocently, which was probably when he killed her. I believe the same happened with Elva.”
She could only hope that somehow Jazz wouldn’t end up the same way. The two of them sat in silence for a while. Prowl started to pay attention to the music that was playing and recognized one of Jazz favourite dance tracks. She glanced to the window again.
Jazz was fully aware of the song. She was already dancing, the window in front of her forgotten as she let the music take over, her limbs and body moving fluidly from one step to the next. Back before the war, before the Autobots had formed an official military division, Jazz had been a dancer. While many in the ranks figured he had been some sort of performer, only a precious few, including Prowl, knew that it had been exotic dance.
Her body moved now in time with the music, hips swaying, legs keeping her in motion, and arms sweeping up and across her form. Prowl could only see her silhouette, but even that was enough to get her blood racing. Her eyes stayed glued to her lover’s shadowed form, following her every move; if Jazz standing still was lovely to look at, then Jazz in motion was breathtakingly beautiful.
Not surprisingly, there was a sudden influx of men young and old flocking to their table to ask Madame Helene if the exotic beauty in the window was hers and if she was, how much she wanted for an hour.
More than once Prowl found herself biting her tongue and curling her fingers into fists to keep from growling out “She’s MINE!” and slamming a few heads into the table top. Instead she tried to calm herself by focusing on Jazz’s dancing and thanking Primus that there wasn’t a pole in the window cubicle.
Poles were - fortunately or unfortunately - Jazz’s dancing accessory of choice and what she was best at.
Finally the crowd around them got the hint that the new dancer was just a show-piece and not available for the night - at least not for the prices they were offering - and left them alone. Prowl took a deep breath to calm herself further.
“Would you like another drink?” Madame Helene asked by way of querying if she was alright.
“I think I could use one,” Prowl replied, accepting the offer.
The woman spoke in Dutch to one of her helpers, then followed Prowl’s line of sight to Jazz’s window, watching her dance as if she hadn’t a care in the world and no audience outside. She looked back and forth between the two lovers and noted that it was almost as if the tanned dancer knew that her partner would be watching and was dancing just for her.
“She is a passionate dancer.”
“Music and dance are her best gifts. She’s always the most stunning when she moves and sings,” came the quiet reply.
“Even in bed?”
Prowl blushed at the rather bold question, but nodded. “Yes.” She smiled shyly. “I’d say that’s where she’s best.”
“And yourself?”
Prowl fiddled with the red headband she wore, a little uncomfortable with this line of questioning, but she figured it was only natural for the woman to discuss topics that she was well versed in. Prowl just wasn’t sure if she wanted to discuss her sex-life, though she knew Madame Helene meant no harm.
“I… uh… well I think I do alright. Jazz always says I please her…” she found herself saying.
“But you don’t think you do?”
“I don’t think I do enough… sometimes…” Prowl sighed. “I know it’s silly, being embarrassed about things in front of my own bondmate, but…” she wondered why she was talking about this to a complete stranger. “… I don’t want her to think I’m boring or inexperienced. She’s always so creative and full of life.”
“Does she see you that way?”
“No!” Prowl cleared her throat. “I mean, she never has. She’s always trying to get me to be comfortable with myself, and her. It’s just me always being a little self-conscious and wanting to have it all perfected, and afraid I’ll fail her.”
Madame Helene had a knowing look on her face, and Prowl got the feeling the woman had encountered this situation before. “I would tell you that it is not always about the sex, but I’m sure you already know that.”
Prowl nodded. “I’m a little afraid to experiment with anything new, because I’m not always sure what the outcome will be. That uncertainty scares me.”
“Are you certain that you love her?”
“Of course.” What kind of question was that?
“And she loves you?”
“Yes.”
“No matter how perfect or imperfect you may be?”
“I… yes. I know she loves me.”
“Then don’t you have no uncertainty to be afraid of.” She smiled as Prowl blinked at that. “Don’t worry so much about outcomes. Just try; there’s no one to see you except her and she already knows you like no other.”
Prowl gave a small smile. “That does make sense.”
“But of course!” Madame Helene laughed. “You may be a superior life-form, my dear, but when it comes to matters of the bedroom, I am the expert.”
“Well I’m not going to argue with you on that one.”
Their second round of drinks arrived and Prowl quietly sipped at his, eyes back on Jazz again as she moved to the slow sultry song that was now playing. Her hips swivelled in time to the heavy bass-beat, and once more Prowl wished the night would end faster so she could take her home.
“My dear, do you have any idea what this murderer might look like?” Madame Helene asked.
Prowl considered this. “He’d have to be handsome, or at least remotely good looking enough to make a girl take note of him. Tall perhaps, a little muscular, well-dressed, a little more refined than the usual clientele.”
“Someone like him?” Madame Helene nodded to a man that had just entered their line of sight.
He was close to what Prowl had just described: sandy haired and slightly older-looking than the young men that usually frequented the club. He might have been in his late 30s or early 40s, but his features didn’t reflect his age at first glance. He had a good build that Prowl supposed young women found attractive, and was better dressed than the rest of the crowd.
He walked with an air of someone who, to Prowl at least, knew his way around the place and knew exactly what he wanted. In this case, that just happened to be Jazz.
Prowl tensed and growled as he went over to Jazz’s window, reached through the curtain and touched her arm to get her attention. She stopped dancing and turned to look at him, and Prowl could tell by her body language that she was a little surprised at his boldness. She stepped through the curtain so that she wouldn’t cause a scene in the window if one happened to break out.
Still touching her arm, he leaned forward to whisper something in her ear, and Prowl felt a little thrill go over their bond - not of fear, but satisfaction. He had obviously said something to her that confirmed one of her suspicions. Prowl watched the exchange intently, frowning, ready to run to her partner’s aid if the man should try anything.
She felt a touch on her own arm and saw Madame Helene looking at her.
“Do not interfere yet, Prowl,” she said. “Jazz knows her danger. She would not have put herself in that position if she did not know how to take care of herself.”
The younger woman took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Jazz was an Ops agent, she knew what she was doing, knew how to hit up individuals and play them for information; had done this type of thing before for millennia. She was not some damsel in distress that needed to be rescued by Prowl all the time.
Prowl repeated this over and over to herself as she watched the man’s touches grow a little bolder, resting a hand on her hip and attempting to brush his fingers down her thigh. Jazz very subtly moved her leg away, saying something back with a coy smile on her lips so it would look more like she was playing hard-to-get instead of outright resisting and rejecting.
Still Prowl found it hard to watch as they traded lines back and forth, lines she couldn’t hear. It was bad enough she had to watch strange men leer at her partner, but having one of them touching Jazz and being so close to her was a real test of Prowl’s patience.
Particularly when the man leaned in and tried to kiss her. Jazz turned her head at the last moment so the kiss fell on her cheek instead, and quickly ducked back past the curtain. Prowl glared daggers at the man as he turned and left, looking rather pleased with himself.
Once he was gone, she looked back at where Jazz was once again reduced to a silhouette, noting that her partner wasn’t dancing anymore. She still moved, let whoever was outside admire her body, but Prowl knew the enthusiasm was gone. She was probably also tired. It had been almost three hours since they’d started this, and that was not counting the work they’d been doing with the police force earlier in the day.
But Jazz couldn’t stop yet or so abruptly, and Prowl wouldn’t leave her. Madame Helene patted her shoulder and left to settle some financial dealings with her regular clients, greeting them and fetching their girls for them. She watched as a few couples took to the stairs - the girls emotionless and resigned to their duty - while others seated themselves around the club with girls in their laps, grinding against them every so often and trying to be subtle about it.
Prowl was starting to feel more than a little disgusted by it all, wishing the night would hurry up and end…
=====
It was just past midnight when Madame Helene finally led Jazz out of the window and over to Prowl’s table. She looked exhausted, and though her smile was real, Prowl could tell she was straining to keep it that way. As she was about to sit beside her partner, she felt Prowl’s arm snag her around the waist and pull her down to sit on her lap.
Jazz didn’t protest. “Miss m-!” she started to ask.
Prowl didn’t give her a chance to finish, cupping her cheek and capturing her lips in a searing possessive kiss that Jazz returned slightly less vigorously than she usually would have. Madame Helene smiled and went to get Jazz a drink, not minding if they kissed now since it was past ‘rush hour’ and the majority of paying customers had left. It was a week-night after all.
They kissed a little more heatedly and passionately, as if they’d been parted for days instead of just hours, before Prowl finally released her with a little growl of,
“Mine.”
“Of course I’m yours.” Jazz smiled a little. “I take it ya missed me then?”
Prowl ran his hands over her, checking her over to make sure she wasn’t hurt in any way. “You’re alright?”
“I’m okay, Prowl. Don’t worry.”
“You’re safe, Jazz.” Prowl touched her cheek and kissed her again, softer this time.
“Prowl, hey relax.” She met her partner’s eyes. “I’m okay.” Wrapping her arms around Prowl’s neck, she cuddled closer. “Ain’t the first time I’ve flirted with the enemy y’know.”
“I am aware, and I know you’re not helpless.” Prowl sighed. “Just that the risk of getting hurt in these bodies is significantly higher. They are so much more fragile and vulnerable.”
“The real humans do alright in ‘em. I think we can, too. Now stop worryin’.”
She kissed Prowl before her partner could reply, trailing her fingers down her lover’s neck and over her chest, stopping just above her breasts. Her eyes were filled with her desire for her bondmate right now, and something else Prowl couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“Alright.” Prowl changed the subject. “Was that our suspect just now?”
Jazz nodded. “If it ain’t, then we have a copy-cat. I can see why the girls fell for him; s’what every girl in this job wants t’hear. The lines he was feedin’…” Jazz shook her head. “If weren’t an Ops agent, I might’ve believed ‘em.”
“Promises of better jobs and a better life with him, to take care of them, but only if they trusted him and left with him?”
“Exactly that.” Jazz leaned tiredly against her. “And the girls wanna believe him so badly they let their guard down.”
Prowl gently rubbed her bare arm. “What did you tell him?”
“That I was only here for a one-night arrangement between Madame Helene and my “Mistress”, to be given to the highest ‘bidder’ before we moved on to the next House. He seemed t’buy it, told me that he’d see me around hopefully, in the off-chance I could escape my Mistress.”
Jazz reached for her drink and downed the liquid quickly to try and rehydrate herself. Prowl watched her, concerned, and kissed her shoulder while still holding her a little possessively. Jazz set the empty glass down and smiled at her.
“Shall we go home?” Prowl asked.
“I’d actually like that,” Jazz replied, starting to get off Prowl’s lap. “Just let me use the Ladies and I’m good t’go.” She turned back when she felt Prowl start to move. “And yes, I can actually use the facilities on m’own.”
Prowl stood anyway. “I’m just going to let Madame Helene know that we’re leaving, that’s all.” She smiled back at Jazz and held up her hands in surrender. “I promise!”
Jazz only smirked and started to make her way through the club towards the restrooms at the back, while Prowl headed in the other direction to find Madame Helene. She was on her way out again, drying her hands, when she found her path blocked by a man she recalled seeing watching her earlier. She ticked a glance at him, then moved to duck around him to head back to Prowl.
He blocked her again. “Just give me an hour, baby, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Y’couldn’t afford me for an hour, man.”
“Ten minutes then. Right there.” He nodded to the dark corridor that led to the restrooms, running his fingers down her arm.
“Told ya once - ain’t interested.” Jazz caught his wrist and pulled his hand away from her arm, satisfied when the guy noticed that she was stronger than she looked. “Now leave me alone.”
She released him with a slight push back - he was still human after all, even if he was scum - and moved past him again. That was when she felt him grab her with an arm around her waist. Special Ops reflexes kicked in on instinct and she grabbed the man around the neck, tossing him over her shoulder and making sure he landed hard on his back.
Turning him over, she wrenched an arm behind his back and pressed a knee to his lower spine. “Y’know, when a girl says ‘no’, usually she really means no.”
“Bitch!” the guy spat at her and tried to buck her off.
Jazz knocked him out with a firm, but gentle elbow to the back of the head, being in no mood to banter with drunks. Suddenly another pair of arms grabbed her from behind and roughly flung her aside before she had a chance to react. She hit the wall hard and went down a bit dazed.
Another guy, who was probably the first guy’s friend, swore and aimed a kick at her. A tap on the shoulder distracted him from Jazz and he turned around straight into a hard punch from a very pissed-off looking Prowl that caught him square on the jaw. Jazz thought she heard a crack.
Prowl followed this up with a sound kick to his groin that made just about everyone who was watching wince. The guy went down on top of his friend, groaning. She looked disgustedly at them, then went over to Jazz, holding out a hand to help her up.
“Are you alright?” she asked her bondmate once she was standing.
Jazz dusted herself off. “Yeah, I’m fine. Gonna take more than these two clowns t’do any damage t’me.”
Prowl wrapped a gentle arm around her waist and tried to look her over for injury, but the lighting in the club made it hard to see anything, even for her. Sighing, she started to lead her through the on-lookers towards the exit.
Madame Helene met them at the doors as two policemen they didn’t recognize entered the club and went to take care of the two men. She held out a long coat to Jazz and Prowl helped her into it, wrapping her up securely. The older woman touched Jazz’s arm.
“I’m so sorry to have caused you this much trouble,” she said.
Jazz gave her a half-smile. “It’s not your fault that some guys’re too thick-headed to take a hint. And I’ve had worse than just bumpin’ into a wall. Don’t worry about me, Madame.”
“Take a hot shower, if you don’t have a bathtub. It will ease the soreness in your body. Then get a good rest.”
“I will, Madame, thanks.”
Jazz headed outside and Prowl was about to go after her when Madame Helene called her name and stopped her. Prowl halted and tilted her head at her curiously and a little impatiently, wanting to be with Jazz.
“Remember what I said about trying new things with your lover,” the other woman told her.
Prowl’s expression softened a bit. “I will. Thank you, Madame.”
She nodded. “Now go and take care of your lady-love.”
=====
Having said goodnight to the house owner, Prowl joined Jazz on the street, her hand finding and slipping into her bondmate’s as their fingers laced. Jazz was staring at the street in front of them, but Prowl could tell her thoughts were elsewhere and they were not the pleasant kind.
“What troubles you?” she asked quietly, giving Jazz’s hand a light squeeze.
“Those girls go through this kinda crap every night; guys lookin’ at them like they’re meat t’be bought off a shelf and cut up every which way. Ain’t right.” She looked at Prowl. “Ain’t just them either. It’s the same for… well… you know who.”
And Prowl found she did. “The strippers, the escorts… the dancers…. The ones who sell their bodies in some way or the other, whether in a bed or on a stage; like you did once.”
Jazz nodded and Prowl wrapped her up in a gentle embrace, holding her silently in her arms and sharing her empathy and love. Jazz leaned into her hug, smiling a little more when she felt her partner’s warm, comforting presence through their bond and returning the light ethereal touch.
“It just makes me sad when I think of how many of these girls - and guys - will never know what real love is, like I do with ya,” she said.
“We can’t give them all fairytale endings, Jazz.” Prowl pulled back a little and looked at her. “We can only give them a little nudge towards the road that leads to one. The rest depends on the choices they make.”
“I know.” Jazz sighed a bit. “Doesn’t mean I can’t hope, right?”
“Of course you can.” Prowl kissed her gently on the lips. “Hope is, after all, one of those unexplainable things that makes more sense the less you try to make sense of it.”
Jazz chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
“Pfft, yeah. Always?”
“Most definitely. For instance, I would say that at this moment a mug of hot chocolate and a warm shower are the two things you are looking forward to the most, am I right?”
Jazz shook her head and started walking down the street with her, hand-in-hand. “Yes Prowler, you’re absolutely right.”
“I rest my case.”
~END.
Pairing/Characters: Prowl/Jazz
Prompt: Leave Me Alone
Rating: lets say R for sensitive topics
Warnings: human femslash (kissing mostly), mentions of sex and prostitution
Summary: Jazz disguises herself as one of Amsterdam’s famous “window-girls”, under the watchful eye of Prowl.
Resides in the same 'verse as Don't Lie To Me
As far as Prowl was concerned, this was just more justification as to why she hated going to nightclubs no matter what form she was in. It was noisy, and not just from the music, the lighting was bad, and far too many people invaded her personal space for her liking. At least there was no smoking allowed or she would have really put her foot down about going, undercover mission or not.
She stood at the foot of the staircase that led up to the rooms the resident girls used to service clients. Jazz was up there currently - though thankfully not servicing anyone - getting a little help with her disguise and checking out the room of one of the murdered girls for clues.
Nightclub indeed, Prowl thought. That was only the consolation prize for men who could only look at the girls in the window, but couldn’t afford to spend the night with them. Only the clients with money got to see what was upstairs, so to speak.
Occasionally those of the lower income group approached her, thinking that since she was not in a window she might be more within their price range, but she levelled them with her patented frown and they backed off. Well if it worked on rambunctious Lamborghini twins, then a few horny men were no challenge at all.
The regulars soon came to the realization that she was probably a minder for one of the girls rather than one of the girls herself. Well that was partly true. She WAS mainly there to make sure no one tried anything untoward with Jazz.
“You okay, Prowl?”
She finished staring down another eager young male and turned her gaze towards the stairs as Jazz descended carefully with one of the other girls. The latter gave them knowing looks as Prowl checked out her partner, and left them to go to her window.
“I’m fine, Jazz. You look…” she looked her partner up and down. “…interesting.”
Jazz gestured to herself. “Well, they said the top was okay but decided it wasn’t showin’ enough cleavage.” She indicated her bust. “And the look wasn’t… exotic… enough.”
Prowl gave her another look. Jazz’s blue-tinted jet-black hair was flat-ironed into silky straightness instead of framing those high cheekbones, though her fringe still remained side-swept. Her hazel eyes now peeked out from under smokey lids and longer fake lashes, and her lips were a touch redder.
Neither of them were fans of heavy makeup, but they both knew that it had to properly hide Jazz’s face so she wouldn’t be recognized later without it.
The black and pale gold cropped halter top Jazz had bought earlier, that had still managed to preserve some of her modesty, was now even more lower cut with ragged edges that gave her a more worn, used look and revealed generous amounts of cleavage in addition to her toned and defined stomach.
Jazz had worn tight-fitting pants into the “club”. Now she was wearing what looked to Prowl to be a wide belt attempting to pass off as a skirt. The fake leather fabric only just managed to cover Jazz’s rather shapely aft and drew attention to the fishnet stockings stretching down along her thighs and calves and disappearing into the calf-high heeled boots.
A spiked black wristband, and a black leather choker that wrapped around her neck completed the look
Prowl suddenly felt a little warmer inside the club. The outfit was a lot more revealing than either of them had anticipated, but at least it was somewhat authentic. Jazz really did look like one of the window-girls now, and Prowl could sense through their bond that Jazz herself had come to that same conclusion, given the slight unease she could feel.
“We don’t have to do this if you aren’t comfortable,” Prowl said into her ear.
She knew that contrary to popular opinion, Jazz wasn’t as ‘loose’ as the rumors made her out to be, nor did she sleep with the first human or bot to offer her a bunk. Jazz was easy-going, but it didn’t mean she was easy, and Prowl hated the rumors that implied she was so.
“Can’t back out now, Prowl,” Jazz replied. “We’re committed to seein’ this through, even if it means a li’l discomfort.”
Prowl knew it was her way of saying she would suck it up and deal with it. “If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.”
She headed to the window that had been designated to her for the night, Prowl following closely behind and keeping an eye out to make sure no one tried anything funny with Jazz. She was fully aware of how attractive her bondmate looked, even dressed like she was, and it was all Prowl could do to say to hell with the mission and just go home with her.
Mission, right.
“Were you able to find out anything about the latest girl?” she asked.
Jazz nodded. “She did live here, but it looked like she’d been packin’, like she was gonna leave.” She gave Prowl a pointed look and the other nodded to show she understood. “The other girl before her, they’d already cleaned her room and packed away all her stuff.”
They stopped just inside the window cubicle, just before the flimsy sheer translucent curtain that would separate Jazz from the rest of the club. Jazz pulled her past the curtain and into the window proper. Prowl could see the dimly lit street outside, but no one could see them unless they turned on the red and amber lights.
Jazz wrapped her arms around her and drew her closer till they were nose-to-nose. She looked at Jazz and smiled a little.
“You’ll mess up your lipstick if you kiss me now.”
“That’s the idea,” Jazz purred. “I’m supposed t’look like I’ve just been with someone. I can’t think of a better candidate, can you?”
Prowl embraced her. “Well logically, if the male clientele saw you kiss another woman they might not be as interested in you.”
“And this is a bad thing?”
“No, not really.”
“Then hang the logic and kiss me.”
Prowl obliged, kissing her softly and tenderly, taking care not to mess up her makeup too much even as she ran her fingers through Jazz’s soft black hair and mussed it up a little to give her that just-sexed look. Her lips tasted like cherries and again Prowl was tempted to just drag Jazz home and continue in more privacy - particularly when Jazz’s fingers started to stroke along her shoulder blades - but she forced herself to slowly ease off the kiss.
“There,” she said. “Nice and sexed up.”
Jazz grinned at her. “We’ll finish this later.”
“That we will.” Prowl hugged her. “I won’t be far away, and I’ll be watching you. If you feel you can’t do anymore, just find me and we’ll get out of here.”
“I’m not gonna let anyone do anythin’ t’me, y’know that right?”
“I know. I trust you, Jazz.”
“I love you, Prowl.”
“I love you, too.”
=====
Prowl ducked back out through the curtain and scanned the club, looking for a vantage point that would give her a proper view of Jazz. Glancing back she saw that Jazz had switched on the lights in her window, her form softly silhouetted against the sheer curtain as she went through some stretches. It was going to be a rather long three hours after all.
She watched her a moment longer, already guessing an audience had built up outside a window to watch her. She wouldn’t be surprised. Jazz could be sitting and reading a book and still look attractive and alluring doing it. Reluctantly she tore her eyes from her bondmate and resumed her search for a place to settle for the night.
That was when she noticed the Madame of the ‘house’ waving her over to a table to sit with her.
Madam Helene was an older woman. Sold to the brothels as a child when her mother could no longer afford to keep her, she had taken over as the Madame of the house when the last one had retired. While she knew she was in a business of vices, both Jazz and Prowl came to realize rather quickly that she cared for the girls she was in charge of and made sure that even though they were selling their bodies they were not to be disrespected.
It was why they’d agreed to help her.
Prowl joined the blond woman at the table and accepted the thankfully non-alcoholic drink that was offered to her. It worked well with her cover. To anyone watching them Prowl probably looked like a minder negotiating a deal with the Madame for her girl.
As she sipped the drink, she scanned the club and was relieved to find that she had a very nice view of Jazz’s cubicle. Her partner still wasn’t doing much, just pacing the narrow length of the window and occasionally striking a pose.
“I’ve already had six offers for her in the last ten minutes,” Madame Helene told Prowl in heavily accented English. “If she was one of mine, I could cover the next three months’ payment in one night. She’s a beautiful girl.”
“She is.”
“If you ever went into my business as a Madame, you could make a profit with her in no time. She has the face and body men would pay in large sums to have in their beds for an hour.”
Prowl blushed furiously and shifted. “Thankfully for me, Jazz is not and never will be for sale… and… she’s not that type of person either.”
Madame Helene laughed and patted Prowl’s arm. She knew their real identities of course, and also that Prowl and Jazz were, for all events and purposes, a committed couple with no intentions of compromising that. It was the one condition they’d given before agreeing to help her, that Jazz would not be ‘for rent’ in any way, shape or form.
“I know, Prowl. Please relax. I promise no harm will come to her if I can help it.” She watched the other windows where the rest of her girls were ‘working’. “Have you managed to find out anything?”
Prowl took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Was Gerda planning to leave the establishment at any time?”
“Not that I am aware of, no.” There was a frown on the other woman’s face. “The girls are normally not allowed to leave once they’ve joined, unless they’re sold to another Madame.”
“And clients are not allowed to leave with the girls, am I correct?” Prowl’s eyes never left Jazz.
Madame Helene nodded. “Cardinal rule of any house. It is how we keep them safe, though it seems I have failed in that aspect.”
“I don’t think it’s quite that simple, Madame. It seems that what happened to Gerda, and Elva before her, was a case of what Jazz likes to call ‘Pretty Woman’ syndrome - a handsome, rich client meets a beautiful prostitute and woos her with promises of love, happiness and a better future.” Prowl gave her the basic breakdown that Jazz had given him.
The older woman crossed her arms. “So they were both planning to run away.”
“Given the state Jazz found Gerda’s room in, that is highly possible. Our suspect probably fed them these promises to convince them to leave with him. Unfortunately he had no intentions of fulfilling those commitments. He must have asked Gerda to meet him that night, to finalise their travel plans and she went innocently, which was probably when he killed her. I believe the same happened with Elva.”
She could only hope that somehow Jazz wouldn’t end up the same way. The two of them sat in silence for a while. Prowl started to pay attention to the music that was playing and recognized one of Jazz favourite dance tracks. She glanced to the window again.
Jazz was fully aware of the song. She was already dancing, the window in front of her forgotten as she let the music take over, her limbs and body moving fluidly from one step to the next. Back before the war, before the Autobots had formed an official military division, Jazz had been a dancer. While many in the ranks figured he had been some sort of performer, only a precious few, including Prowl, knew that it had been exotic dance.
Her body moved now in time with the music, hips swaying, legs keeping her in motion, and arms sweeping up and across her form. Prowl could only see her silhouette, but even that was enough to get her blood racing. Her eyes stayed glued to her lover’s shadowed form, following her every move; if Jazz standing still was lovely to look at, then Jazz in motion was breathtakingly beautiful.
Not surprisingly, there was a sudden influx of men young and old flocking to their table to ask Madame Helene if the exotic beauty in the window was hers and if she was, how much she wanted for an hour.
More than once Prowl found herself biting her tongue and curling her fingers into fists to keep from growling out “She’s MINE!” and slamming a few heads into the table top. Instead she tried to calm herself by focusing on Jazz’s dancing and thanking Primus that there wasn’t a pole in the window cubicle.
Poles were - fortunately or unfortunately - Jazz’s dancing accessory of choice and what she was best at.
Finally the crowd around them got the hint that the new dancer was just a show-piece and not available for the night - at least not for the prices they were offering - and left them alone. Prowl took a deep breath to calm herself further.
“Would you like another drink?” Madame Helene asked by way of querying if she was alright.
“I think I could use one,” Prowl replied, accepting the offer.
The woman spoke in Dutch to one of her helpers, then followed Prowl’s line of sight to Jazz’s window, watching her dance as if she hadn’t a care in the world and no audience outside. She looked back and forth between the two lovers and noted that it was almost as if the tanned dancer knew that her partner would be watching and was dancing just for her.
“She is a passionate dancer.”
“Music and dance are her best gifts. She’s always the most stunning when she moves and sings,” came the quiet reply.
“Even in bed?”
Prowl blushed at the rather bold question, but nodded. “Yes.” She smiled shyly. “I’d say that’s where she’s best.”
“And yourself?”
Prowl fiddled with the red headband she wore, a little uncomfortable with this line of questioning, but she figured it was only natural for the woman to discuss topics that she was well versed in. Prowl just wasn’t sure if she wanted to discuss her sex-life, though she knew Madame Helene meant no harm.
“I… uh… well I think I do alright. Jazz always says I please her…” she found herself saying.
“But you don’t think you do?”
“I don’t think I do enough… sometimes…” Prowl sighed. “I know it’s silly, being embarrassed about things in front of my own bondmate, but…” she wondered why she was talking about this to a complete stranger. “… I don’t want her to think I’m boring or inexperienced. She’s always so creative and full of life.”
“Does she see you that way?”
“No!” Prowl cleared her throat. “I mean, she never has. She’s always trying to get me to be comfortable with myself, and her. It’s just me always being a little self-conscious and wanting to have it all perfected, and afraid I’ll fail her.”
Madame Helene had a knowing look on her face, and Prowl got the feeling the woman had encountered this situation before. “I would tell you that it is not always about the sex, but I’m sure you already know that.”
Prowl nodded. “I’m a little afraid to experiment with anything new, because I’m not always sure what the outcome will be. That uncertainty scares me.”
“Are you certain that you love her?”
“Of course.” What kind of question was that?
“And she loves you?”
“Yes.”
“No matter how perfect or imperfect you may be?”
“I… yes. I know she loves me.”
“Then don’t you have no uncertainty to be afraid of.” She smiled as Prowl blinked at that. “Don’t worry so much about outcomes. Just try; there’s no one to see you except her and she already knows you like no other.”
Prowl gave a small smile. “That does make sense.”
“But of course!” Madame Helene laughed. “You may be a superior life-form, my dear, but when it comes to matters of the bedroom, I am the expert.”
“Well I’m not going to argue with you on that one.”
Their second round of drinks arrived and Prowl quietly sipped at his, eyes back on Jazz again as she moved to the slow sultry song that was now playing. Her hips swivelled in time to the heavy bass-beat, and once more Prowl wished the night would end faster so she could take her home.
“My dear, do you have any idea what this murderer might look like?” Madame Helene asked.
Prowl considered this. “He’d have to be handsome, or at least remotely good looking enough to make a girl take note of him. Tall perhaps, a little muscular, well-dressed, a little more refined than the usual clientele.”
“Someone like him?” Madame Helene nodded to a man that had just entered their line of sight.
He was close to what Prowl had just described: sandy haired and slightly older-looking than the young men that usually frequented the club. He might have been in his late 30s or early 40s, but his features didn’t reflect his age at first glance. He had a good build that Prowl supposed young women found attractive, and was better dressed than the rest of the crowd.
He walked with an air of someone who, to Prowl at least, knew his way around the place and knew exactly what he wanted. In this case, that just happened to be Jazz.
Prowl tensed and growled as he went over to Jazz’s window, reached through the curtain and touched her arm to get her attention. She stopped dancing and turned to look at him, and Prowl could tell by her body language that she was a little surprised at his boldness. She stepped through the curtain so that she wouldn’t cause a scene in the window if one happened to break out.
Still touching her arm, he leaned forward to whisper something in her ear, and Prowl felt a little thrill go over their bond - not of fear, but satisfaction. He had obviously said something to her that confirmed one of her suspicions. Prowl watched the exchange intently, frowning, ready to run to her partner’s aid if the man should try anything.
She felt a touch on her own arm and saw Madame Helene looking at her.
“Do not interfere yet, Prowl,” she said. “Jazz knows her danger. She would not have put herself in that position if she did not know how to take care of herself.”
The younger woman took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Jazz was an Ops agent, she knew what she was doing, knew how to hit up individuals and play them for information; had done this type of thing before for millennia. She was not some damsel in distress that needed to be rescued by Prowl all the time.
Prowl repeated this over and over to herself as she watched the man’s touches grow a little bolder, resting a hand on her hip and attempting to brush his fingers down her thigh. Jazz very subtly moved her leg away, saying something back with a coy smile on her lips so it would look more like she was playing hard-to-get instead of outright resisting and rejecting.
Still Prowl found it hard to watch as they traded lines back and forth, lines she couldn’t hear. It was bad enough she had to watch strange men leer at her partner, but having one of them touching Jazz and being so close to her was a real test of Prowl’s patience.
Particularly when the man leaned in and tried to kiss her. Jazz turned her head at the last moment so the kiss fell on her cheek instead, and quickly ducked back past the curtain. Prowl glared daggers at the man as he turned and left, looking rather pleased with himself.
Once he was gone, she looked back at where Jazz was once again reduced to a silhouette, noting that her partner wasn’t dancing anymore. She still moved, let whoever was outside admire her body, but Prowl knew the enthusiasm was gone. She was probably also tired. It had been almost three hours since they’d started this, and that was not counting the work they’d been doing with the police force earlier in the day.
But Jazz couldn’t stop yet or so abruptly, and Prowl wouldn’t leave her. Madame Helene patted her shoulder and left to settle some financial dealings with her regular clients, greeting them and fetching their girls for them. She watched as a few couples took to the stairs - the girls emotionless and resigned to their duty - while others seated themselves around the club with girls in their laps, grinding against them every so often and trying to be subtle about it.
Prowl was starting to feel more than a little disgusted by it all, wishing the night would hurry up and end…
=====
It was just past midnight when Madame Helene finally led Jazz out of the window and over to Prowl’s table. She looked exhausted, and though her smile was real, Prowl could tell she was straining to keep it that way. As she was about to sit beside her partner, she felt Prowl’s arm snag her around the waist and pull her down to sit on her lap.
Jazz didn’t protest. “Miss m-!” she started to ask.
Prowl didn’t give her a chance to finish, cupping her cheek and capturing her lips in a searing possessive kiss that Jazz returned slightly less vigorously than she usually would have. Madame Helene smiled and went to get Jazz a drink, not minding if they kissed now since it was past ‘rush hour’ and the majority of paying customers had left. It was a week-night after all.
They kissed a little more heatedly and passionately, as if they’d been parted for days instead of just hours, before Prowl finally released her with a little growl of,
“Mine.”
“Of course I’m yours.” Jazz smiled a little. “I take it ya missed me then?”
Prowl ran his hands over her, checking her over to make sure she wasn’t hurt in any way. “You’re alright?”
“I’m okay, Prowl. Don’t worry.”
“You’re safe, Jazz.” Prowl touched her cheek and kissed her again, softer this time.
“Prowl, hey relax.” She met her partner’s eyes. “I’m okay.” Wrapping her arms around Prowl’s neck, she cuddled closer. “Ain’t the first time I’ve flirted with the enemy y’know.”
“I am aware, and I know you’re not helpless.” Prowl sighed. “Just that the risk of getting hurt in these bodies is significantly higher. They are so much more fragile and vulnerable.”
“The real humans do alright in ‘em. I think we can, too. Now stop worryin’.”
She kissed Prowl before her partner could reply, trailing her fingers down her lover’s neck and over her chest, stopping just above her breasts. Her eyes were filled with her desire for her bondmate right now, and something else Prowl couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“Alright.” Prowl changed the subject. “Was that our suspect just now?”
Jazz nodded. “If it ain’t, then we have a copy-cat. I can see why the girls fell for him; s’what every girl in this job wants t’hear. The lines he was feedin’…” Jazz shook her head. “If weren’t an Ops agent, I might’ve believed ‘em.”
“Promises of better jobs and a better life with him, to take care of them, but only if they trusted him and left with him?”
“Exactly that.” Jazz leaned tiredly against her. “And the girls wanna believe him so badly they let their guard down.”
Prowl gently rubbed her bare arm. “What did you tell him?”
“That I was only here for a one-night arrangement between Madame Helene and my “Mistress”, to be given to the highest ‘bidder’ before we moved on to the next House. He seemed t’buy it, told me that he’d see me around hopefully, in the off-chance I could escape my Mistress.”
Jazz reached for her drink and downed the liquid quickly to try and rehydrate herself. Prowl watched her, concerned, and kissed her shoulder while still holding her a little possessively. Jazz set the empty glass down and smiled at her.
“Shall we go home?” Prowl asked.
“I’d actually like that,” Jazz replied, starting to get off Prowl’s lap. “Just let me use the Ladies and I’m good t’go.” She turned back when she felt Prowl start to move. “And yes, I can actually use the facilities on m’own.”
Prowl stood anyway. “I’m just going to let Madame Helene know that we’re leaving, that’s all.” She smiled back at Jazz and held up her hands in surrender. “I promise!”
Jazz only smirked and started to make her way through the club towards the restrooms at the back, while Prowl headed in the other direction to find Madame Helene. She was on her way out again, drying her hands, when she found her path blocked by a man she recalled seeing watching her earlier. She ticked a glance at him, then moved to duck around him to head back to Prowl.
He blocked her again. “Just give me an hour, baby, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Y’couldn’t afford me for an hour, man.”
“Ten minutes then. Right there.” He nodded to the dark corridor that led to the restrooms, running his fingers down her arm.
“Told ya once - ain’t interested.” Jazz caught his wrist and pulled his hand away from her arm, satisfied when the guy noticed that she was stronger than she looked. “Now leave me alone.”
She released him with a slight push back - he was still human after all, even if he was scum - and moved past him again. That was when she felt him grab her with an arm around her waist. Special Ops reflexes kicked in on instinct and she grabbed the man around the neck, tossing him over her shoulder and making sure he landed hard on his back.
Turning him over, she wrenched an arm behind his back and pressed a knee to his lower spine. “Y’know, when a girl says ‘no’, usually she really means no.”
“Bitch!” the guy spat at her and tried to buck her off.
Jazz knocked him out with a firm, but gentle elbow to the back of the head, being in no mood to banter with drunks. Suddenly another pair of arms grabbed her from behind and roughly flung her aside before she had a chance to react. She hit the wall hard and went down a bit dazed.
Another guy, who was probably the first guy’s friend, swore and aimed a kick at her. A tap on the shoulder distracted him from Jazz and he turned around straight into a hard punch from a very pissed-off looking Prowl that caught him square on the jaw. Jazz thought she heard a crack.
Prowl followed this up with a sound kick to his groin that made just about everyone who was watching wince. The guy went down on top of his friend, groaning. She looked disgustedly at them, then went over to Jazz, holding out a hand to help her up.
“Are you alright?” she asked her bondmate once she was standing.
Jazz dusted herself off. “Yeah, I’m fine. Gonna take more than these two clowns t’do any damage t’me.”
Prowl wrapped a gentle arm around her waist and tried to look her over for injury, but the lighting in the club made it hard to see anything, even for her. Sighing, she started to lead her through the on-lookers towards the exit.
Madame Helene met them at the doors as two policemen they didn’t recognize entered the club and went to take care of the two men. She held out a long coat to Jazz and Prowl helped her into it, wrapping her up securely. The older woman touched Jazz’s arm.
“I’m so sorry to have caused you this much trouble,” she said.
Jazz gave her a half-smile. “It’s not your fault that some guys’re too thick-headed to take a hint. And I’ve had worse than just bumpin’ into a wall. Don’t worry about me, Madame.”
“Take a hot shower, if you don’t have a bathtub. It will ease the soreness in your body. Then get a good rest.”
“I will, Madame, thanks.”
Jazz headed outside and Prowl was about to go after her when Madame Helene called her name and stopped her. Prowl halted and tilted her head at her curiously and a little impatiently, wanting to be with Jazz.
“Remember what I said about trying new things with your lover,” the other woman told her.
Prowl’s expression softened a bit. “I will. Thank you, Madame.”
She nodded. “Now go and take care of your lady-love.”
=====
Having said goodnight to the house owner, Prowl joined Jazz on the street, her hand finding and slipping into her bondmate’s as their fingers laced. Jazz was staring at the street in front of them, but Prowl could tell her thoughts were elsewhere and they were not the pleasant kind.
“What troubles you?” she asked quietly, giving Jazz’s hand a light squeeze.
“Those girls go through this kinda crap every night; guys lookin’ at them like they’re meat t’be bought off a shelf and cut up every which way. Ain’t right.” She looked at Prowl. “Ain’t just them either. It’s the same for… well… you know who.”
And Prowl found she did. “The strippers, the escorts… the dancers…. The ones who sell their bodies in some way or the other, whether in a bed or on a stage; like you did once.”
Jazz nodded and Prowl wrapped her up in a gentle embrace, holding her silently in her arms and sharing her empathy and love. Jazz leaned into her hug, smiling a little more when she felt her partner’s warm, comforting presence through their bond and returning the light ethereal touch.
“It just makes me sad when I think of how many of these girls - and guys - will never know what real love is, like I do with ya,” she said.
“We can’t give them all fairytale endings, Jazz.” Prowl pulled back a little and looked at her. “We can only give them a little nudge towards the road that leads to one. The rest depends on the choices they make.”
“I know.” Jazz sighed a bit. “Doesn’t mean I can’t hope, right?”
“Of course you can.” Prowl kissed her gently on the lips. “Hope is, after all, one of those unexplainable things that makes more sense the less you try to make sense of it.”
Jazz chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
“Pfft, yeah. Always?”
“Most definitely. For instance, I would say that at this moment a mug of hot chocolate and a warm shower are the two things you are looking forward to the most, am I right?”
Jazz shook her head and started walking down the street with her, hand-in-hand. “Yes Prowler, you’re absolutely right.”
“I rest my case.”
~END.