Anniversary Challenge fic 5/7
Title: Silver Tongue
Universe: Bayverse
Rating: G
Content Advisory: none
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Prompt: Under Cover
Notes: written for the 2014 anniversary challenge at prowlxjazz.
Jazz watched, optics narrowed behind his visor, as the Decepticons hauled Prowl into the cell. He had no idea where they had found the other Autobot or how they had managed to capture him, but the proof was in front of him and undeniable.
He resisted the urge to swear as the cell's energy field activated, separating him from the black and white mech.
"You, there." The larger of the Decepticons--a heavy ordinance alt mode with a narrow optical band--pointed at him.
"Stepper, sir." Jazz stood at attention quickly.
"Stepper," the heavy ordinance mech nodded. "You guard the prisoner. Lord Megatron wants to interrogate this one personally."
"Yessir!" Jazz did his best to sound like an eager recruit, rather than a friend who was deeply afraid for the mech in the cell. He might just have to blow his cover to get Prowl out of here.
"And don't listen to this one. He'll try anything to get you to let him go." The heavy ordinance mech's friend--some kind of jet, though he didn't recoginze the frame type offhand--told him. "He's a smooth one."
The undercover agent resisted the urge to laugh. Prowl was many things--including convincing as the Unmaker when he wanted to be--but he was not smooth. "I'll be careful, sir!"
"Good mech." The heavy ordinance mech praised him. Then he and the jet turned to leave. "Someone will be down to relieve you in a groon."
"Thank you, sir!"
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Prowl watched the young mech assigned to guard him warily. He was black, with a garish flame accent on his chest plates that reminded him of a paint scheme Jazz had worn briefly after they joined the security force, and far too eager to please the more experienced Decepticons.
It was disheartening, to see such a young mech throwing in his lot with Megatron when he was clearly not even a war frame.
"Prowl."
The black and white mech started at the direct comm on his personal line.
"Don't talk. And try not to react. They've got a mech up in the control room watching me. You, too, but mostly me, since my cover's as a defector."
"Who are you?" Prowl asked tentatively.
"I'm out in this paint job and you have to ask?" The other mech chuckled. "Must be a better disguise than I thought."
"Jazz? But I thought you were undercover at Darkmount."
"And I thought you were putting the finishing touches on the Ark back in Iacon. Guess we're both full of surprises."
"Indeed. Now, what are we going to do about this situation?"
"Well, I was thinking..."
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
"No way." Jazz laughed and the corners of Prowl's lips turned up at Smokescreen's flat rejection of their story. "No possible way."
"I assure you, that is how it happened." Prowl's faint smile stayed in place.
"There is no way in the Pit that you talked Starscream into opening the cell door, keeping his back turned on Jazz long enough to be slapped with a neural inhibitor and then the two of you walking out without anyone else lifting a finger to stop you."
"Ah, you skipped the part where we told everyone I was taking him to Megatron." Jazz leaned back against the wall and grinned. "Face it, Smokescreen, you're just jealous of our talent."
"More like jealous of your amazing storytelling ability." The blue mech frowned. "Now, tell me what really happened."
"We already did," Prowl replied.
"If you don't believe us, that's on you." The still black mech shrugged one shoulder. Then he stood back up and extended a hand to his partner. "I believe we have an appointment with the medic and the detailing shop."
"I believe you are correct, though hopefully not in that order. I thought that color scheme was atrocious the first time around."
"Wait that's it?" Smokescreen watched, open mouthed, as the two mechs left the tiny room that served as the commissary. "You're not even going to tell me how you got back to Iacon?"
"That information is classified," The black and white called back.
Universe: Bayverse
Rating: G
Content Advisory: none
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Prompt: Under Cover
Notes: written for the 2014 anniversary challenge at prowlxjazz.
Jazz watched, optics narrowed behind his visor, as the Decepticons hauled Prowl into the cell. He had no idea where they had found the other Autobot or how they had managed to capture him, but the proof was in front of him and undeniable.
He resisted the urge to swear as the cell's energy field activated, separating him from the black and white mech.
"You, there." The larger of the Decepticons--a heavy ordinance alt mode with a narrow optical band--pointed at him.
"Stepper, sir." Jazz stood at attention quickly.
"Stepper," the heavy ordinance mech nodded. "You guard the prisoner. Lord Megatron wants to interrogate this one personally."
"Yessir!" Jazz did his best to sound like an eager recruit, rather than a friend who was deeply afraid for the mech in the cell. He might just have to blow his cover to get Prowl out of here.
"And don't listen to this one. He'll try anything to get you to let him go." The heavy ordinance mech's friend--some kind of jet, though he didn't recoginze the frame type offhand--told him. "He's a smooth one."
The undercover agent resisted the urge to laugh. Prowl was many things--including convincing as the Unmaker when he wanted to be--but he was not smooth. "I'll be careful, sir!"
"Good mech." The heavy ordinance mech praised him. Then he and the jet turned to leave. "Someone will be down to relieve you in a groon."
"Thank you, sir!"
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Prowl watched the young mech assigned to guard him warily. He was black, with a garish flame accent on his chest plates that reminded him of a paint scheme Jazz had worn briefly after they joined the security force, and far too eager to please the more experienced Decepticons.
It was disheartening, to see such a young mech throwing in his lot with Megatron when he was clearly not even a war frame.
"Prowl."
The black and white mech started at the direct comm on his personal line.
"Don't talk. And try not to react. They've got a mech up in the control room watching me. You, too, but mostly me, since my cover's as a defector."
"Who are you?" Prowl asked tentatively.
"I'm out in this paint job and you have to ask?" The other mech chuckled. "Must be a better disguise than I thought."
"Jazz? But I thought you were undercover at Darkmount."
"And I thought you were putting the finishing touches on the Ark back in Iacon. Guess we're both full of surprises."
"Indeed. Now, what are we going to do about this situation?"
"Well, I was thinking..."
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
"No way." Jazz laughed and the corners of Prowl's lips turned up at Smokescreen's flat rejection of their story. "No possible way."
"I assure you, that is how it happened." Prowl's faint smile stayed in place.
"There is no way in the Pit that you talked Starscream into opening the cell door, keeping his back turned on Jazz long enough to be slapped with a neural inhibitor and then the two of you walking out without anyone else lifting a finger to stop you."
"Ah, you skipped the part where we told everyone I was taking him to Megatron." Jazz leaned back against the wall and grinned. "Face it, Smokescreen, you're just jealous of our talent."
"More like jealous of your amazing storytelling ability." The blue mech frowned. "Now, tell me what really happened."
"We already did," Prowl replied.
"If you don't believe us, that's on you." The still black mech shrugged one shoulder. Then he stood back up and extended a hand to his partner. "I believe we have an appointment with the medic and the detailing shop."
"I believe you are correct, though hopefully not in that order. I thought that color scheme was atrocious the first time around."
"Wait that's it?" Smokescreen watched, open mouthed, as the two mechs left the tiny room that served as the commissary. "You're not even going to tell me how you got back to Iacon?"
"That information is classified," The black and white called back.