1st Chapter of Fishtailing

Feb 20, 2012 00:28



Two frames were curled together on the small berth; their plating pinged and popped as they cooled from their earlier activities. A soft blue glow slowly dimed and flickered off as one fell into recharge, curling closer to the other.

The other was content to stay awake, his servo slowly stroking his berthmate’s back. His red optics took in the sleek form that he was curled around; somewhat surprised that he was actually in that berth with the other mech. He vented deeply, systems trying to expel as much heat as they could. He was more relaxed than he had been in the last ten vorns, and despite the cramped space on the berth, he was very comfortable. So he continued to gaze at his berthmate, because nothing could ruin that moment.

He awoke a few joors later to the annoying sound of his comm beeping incessantly at his processor, and making a soft grunt of irritation, the red opticed mech answered it. It wasn’t good news, it never was, and he had to leave then, or it would be too late.

So the red optic mech moved slowly from the berth, disentangling himself from the still recharging mech, stopping only to trail his finger down the side of the other’s face, assuring himself that he’d be back. Then he was out of the door and the door was closing silently in his wake. And he was gone.

In the dark room, a blue visor flickered on, staring at the closed door across the room.

He should have known.

===

“I think we’ve set a new record,” Red Alert commented wryly, and Wheeljack’s vocal indicators flashed merrily.

“Maybe for you, but I know Ratchet was way worse back at the Academy,” the inventor sniggered as Ratchet glared at him.

“Really, Ratchet? You of all mechs?” Ironhide mocked, his face split in a wide grin as the medic turned to glare across the table at the weapons specialist.

“My apartment was far away from the Academy at the time,” Ratchet replied primly, Wheeljack made a noise of disagreement.

“More like you were always over-recharging and had to hurry up or be late.”

“Almost like he was preparing for now, ‘cause Primus knows he hardly ever recharges these days,” Blaster added, and Ratchet growled at him, but Optimus decided to stop the teasing before the officers got Ratchet too riled up. They were gathered in the conference room for a reason.

“All joking aside, things have to change; this is in no way conducive to our relationship with the humans. That most mechs have a problem with a standardized law is beginning to reflect badly on us.”

“Prime, even I find it funny that in the past two weeks alone we have gotten 58 speeding tickets,” Red Alert commented wryly.

“Which is why we are here trying to find a solution that will cease our constant breaking of a human law,” Prime said pointedly, and Prowl, who had been silent since arriving, spoke up.

“What would help you obey the speed limit laws, Prime? I think that, because you are one of the worst offenders, what would deter you, would most likely deter the rest.”

Prime bit back a groan as his officers began to snicker at his expense.

“I’m sure the Twins have me beat in that regard,” Prime retorted, trying to turn the teasing away from himself, but was confused when Prowl shook his head and Ratchet began laughing.

“The Twins have yet to acquire a single ticket. You have a total of nine, with Tracks, Brawn, and Inferno tied at second with seven,  and Ratchet is tied with Jazz at 6,” Prowl summed up, and everyone stared at Jazz in surprise.

“What? That’s just the count for the last two weeks; I’ve been a bit busy. I’ll catch up next week,” Jazz quipped, causing mechs to shake their heads at him, and Prowl to frown.

“Only you would make it a competition to see who can break a human law for entertainment,” Prowl commented, and Jazz grinned widely, and was about to reply when Ironhide cut him off.

“What I wanna know is how the twins don’t have any tickets, I know I’ve seen them go over the human limit before,” the red mech commented causing Red Alert’s lipplates to twist in wry smile.

“They limit their speeding to near the Ark, and they’re better at not getting caught by the police. They also make up for their good behavior with their pranking,” was the explanation, and Ironhide nodded, accepting the answer.

“Which brings up the point of how we are going to deal with this problem,” Prime cut in, trying to steer the conversation back to its original purpose.

“Didn’t Praxus have a problem with speeding before the war?” Wheeljack asked, and Prowl frowned and shook his head.

“While Praxus had problems with racing gangs, the problems mainly stemmed from smuggling dark energon and endangering civilians,” Prowl explained, and Jazz’s grin widened.

“Why not do that?” Jazz suggested, and Ratchet glared at the saboteur.

“If you’re suggesting we manufacture-”

Jazz sat up straight and frantically shook his head.

“Frag no! That stuff screwed over a good friend of mine!” the saboteur protested. “I mean, why don’t we do what Praxus did to help mechs let off steam. They had some nice tracks there.”

Optimus stared at his third in command incredulously.

“So your solution to end our mechs-” Wheeljack coughed a ‘your’ “-speeding, is to have a place for them to speed?”

Jazz shrugged.

“Worked for Praxus didn’t it?”

At Prime’s less than enthused look, Jazz continued. “Look at it this way, OP, we always gotta be careful around humans, which includes us bein’ on their roads. There’s no real place for us to drive at what’s a normal speed for us, a track would help with that.”

“It will also help you show off more once the actual racing has become established,” Prowl added dryly, and Jazz smiled blandly.

“Two birds with one stone and all that,” the saboteur retorted with a wave of his hand, and Red Alert glanced at him suspiciously.

“What about birds?” Red Alert demanded, and Prowl shook his head.

“It’s a human saying,” Prowl explained, and, after glaring at everyone in the room to stop their eventual teasing about him actually knowing the euphemism, continued to add his thoughts. “A racetrack would probably help, however, we have the problem of either acquiring an abandoned one from the humans, which would need to be rebuilt, or building one of our own.”

“What else would be needed for a racetrack?” Prime asked the tactician, curious to see what Prowl’s opinion on the idea would be.

“Depending on which option we chose, both would require we purchase the property, we would also need resources to fit the track to our standards, and it would need to be within defendable distance in case the Decepticons attack Autobots who are at the track, and most importantly, it would need to be in a location that is not easily accessible to humans, for their own safety,” Prowl summed, and Optimus nodded understanding, and somewhat relieved, that Prowl was against Jazz’s idea.

“Oh, come on, Prowl! Just think about how much fun it’ll be!” Jazz protested, and Ironhide snorted.

“Prowl don’t know what ‘fun’ is.”

Prowl frowned at the both of them.

“Your beliefs on my being able to have ‘fun’ aside, the question becomes how we’ll be able to acquire money to purchase property for the racetrack.”

Nearly everyone stalled at the statement.

“Ya mean, ya-?” Jazz began and Prowl nodded, his face expressionless.

“It is the most viable suggestion, and as pointed out before it did work for Praxus, and if gone about the correct way, the chances of the racetrack solving most of the problem is over 80 percent,” Prowl explained, the corner of his lipplates twitching up in a subtle smirk. “The only problem, is acquiring money to buy the land needed for this project.”

“Since you’re so agreeable to this, I’ll take care of gettin’ the money, Prowl,” Jazz offered with a wicked grin.

“I am from Praxus, Jazz, and it would be nice to go a normal speed every once in a while,” Prowl admitted, causing a few mechs to grumble in agreement. “Though I shudder to think what you’ll do to get ahold of enough money for this.”

Jazz’s grin widened as he leaned back in his chair, putting his servos behind his chair.

“Don’t ask any questions Prowl, and I won’t tell ya any lies. ‘Sides, this way I get a say on what we get.”

“Ulterior motives, of course,” Prowl remarked, his voice dry, and Jazz chuckled.

“Always.”

“Very well, is anyone against this plan?” Prowl addressed the rest of the officers, and they all shook their heads. “Then once Jazz has acquired the money, we shall proceed with purchasing an ideal spot.”

“I request that I be allowed to survey any possible spots to assess how defendable it is before any purchase is made,” Red Alert requested, and a few snickers sounded throughout the room.

“You sure it’s not to get first dibs on a date there?” Wheeljack prodded, and Red Alert lifted his head defiantly.

“That’s just an added benefit,” the security director answered primly, causing more laughter, and the meeting then divulged into the officers saying what they would like to be able to do with a racetrack specifically made to their standards.

Jazz leaned back glancing off to the side at Prowl, who was watching the other officers with what looked like fond amusement.

“Looks like most mechs are gonna have other motives for this racetrack, huh, Prowler?” Jazz asked, and Prowl arched an optic ridge at the saboteur as his lipplates curled into a faint smile.

“So it would seem.”

fishtailing, fanfic, prowl, bunny farm, jazz, g1

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