Festival Challenge - Day 14 (sorry it's late)!
Fic: Broadening cultural horizons
Rating: K
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Festival: Jenadriyah National Festival
Day and Prompt: Day #14, Family
Warnings: None
Universe: Any (G1/IDW, pre-war)
Disclaimer: HASBRO and TRANSFORMERS do not belong to me.
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“Jazz?” A dusty black figure pushed his way past milling crowds. Prowl was not panicking. Oh, certainly not.
“Jazz!” Okay, maybe he was a bit frantic, but panicked? Never.
“JAZZ!” It was no use. Prowl’s shout was lost in the boisterous crowd.
The black-and-white mech stopped his shoving to think. Where would Jazz have wandered off too?
A dromedary brayed, it’s nervous calling unremarkable, and barely heard above the conversation of thousands of bots.
The racing stables of course! Jazz had talked of little else once he had learned Prowl had been invited to attend the Jinriksha races.
Much relieved, but still worried, Prowl turned and trotted off to the unmarked race course, where dromedaries shifted on their peds, eager to be harnessed and released.
No sign of the familiar white frame among the mob, waiting for the start of the nineteen-kilometer race. The little scamp had to be here somewhere.
Prowl scanned the impatient mechs, trying to hold down his rising panic. Giving in to the mindless fear and dread would not be productive - nor a responsible reaction to realizing one of his household had disappeared without a trace.
Moving towards the outskirts of the town, Prowl was stopped by a welcoming shout. “Prowler!”
He spun dropped to one knee, and hugged the small running figure.
Jazz jumped into Prowl’s open arms, hung on tight.
“Jazz,” Prowl could only whisper, glad the wayward mechling had been found, untouched. “Why’d you run off, my sweet spark?”
Held snuggly in Prowl’s welcome embrace, Jazz started babbling in a way few could. “Didn’t run, Prowler. Walked. And walked. And rode, and …”
“Jazz,” Prowl’s relief quickly turned to exasperation. “Where did you go?”
The smaller black-and-white mechling squirmed in Prowl’s arms, wordlessly begging to be put down. Prowl resisted, knowing the young tyke would soon be lost amid restless peds. “Jazz?”
Not giving up on his squirming, the mechling pointed towards the spark of the crowds. Away from the popular racecourse. “Found pretties. Wanted to show.”
Prowl walked in the direction indicated. “The race is about to start - don’t you want to see the dromedaries run?” Through everything he refused to relax his hold on the wayward scalawag.
“Pretties, better,” the not-sparkling firmly declared. “Can I get some?”
Facial plates set just as firmly, Prowl almost said no - then he realized what had caught his youngling’s attention, drawing him away from the much-anticipated races.
Music.
Not the syncopated beat that was so prevalent in Tarn, or the clanging symbols popular in Praxis, and nothing like the caterwalling in Iacon.
No, this soothing blend of melodious notes and rhythmic was purely of Kaon origin.
Jazz noticed his kindler’s distraction. “Hear it, Prowler?” He hadn’t stopped moving, but now, instead of squirming, he was bobbing in tempo with the measures.”
“I hear it, Jazz. But don’t go exploring without me.” He mock-scolded the rambunctious mechling. “Now, where were the pretties you wanted to show me?” Prowl was expecting Jazz to have found an energon-treat, or stall selling oil cakes.
Instead, Prowl was treated to a booth where otherwise plain mechs and femmes were decorating themselves with jewels, dabs of metallic paints, and shiny babbles - those finished with adding the colorful decorations moved on to a large open area, where couples were lining up and swinging to the music.
The fancy footwork, arm twirls, and spectacular leaps where organized into dance steps Prowl had never seen before. He grew enthralled with the movements. Then, a splash of white amid the colorful costumes caught his optics. Prowl looked at his side, where a very distinctive mechling was missing. Again.
“Jazz!”
In his musing and watchfulness, Prowl did not remember letting Jazz down - or allowing his attention to wander from his perpetually curious mechling. No one else in his household was forever getting into mischief due to an inability to stop exploring everything. “What are you doing?”
“Dancin,” Jazz said moving his body in a way that imitated the twists and twirls others his size were performing. “Dance with me, Prowler.”
Prowl resumed his watch of the adult dancers, trying to get a feel of the steps, instead of simply appreciating the precision of the performers. When the black Praxian did jump in, his moves, while duplicating the footwork lacked the zeal, passion, and extravagate display of the local dancers.
Little Jazz, still dodging the peds and heels of everyone around him, laughed. “Fun!” He explained lost to the music, the dancing, and the festive activities.
Slowly adding some flare to his arm throws, Prowl had to agree. Participating was fun - better than standing in the sidelines, or simply observing from a distance.
This, this was life - and all it took form Prowl to realize, was for his youngest family member to show him the way.
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Author’s Note: Not totally satisfied with this piece, but muse fought me if I tried starting the fic any other way - abandoning me entirely when I tried taking it a different direction.
Let me kow what you think, please.