Most Precious of Treasures: Chapter 2: Searching for Home
Chapter 2: Searching for Home
Prowl woke quickly, as he was wont to do, and spent a moment trying to remember where he was. It wasn't a hotel - that much was made obvious by the bright colors of the walls and the trinkets on the shelves.
Then he remembered. That small, silver mech he had bumped into. Jazz. The offer of a place to stay for the night. The brilliantly painted apartment he had been led to.
Venting heavily, he sat up, twitching his doorwings to remove the kinks that always accumulated overnight. After allowing himself the barest moment to luxuriate in the warmth of the berth and the long, refreshing stretch, he swung his legs to to the side, pushed himself up, and stood. Another moment to stretch, as he arched his back, flared his three-part doorwings, spread his armor, and loosened tension lines, and he walked out of the room, heading toward the kitchen area he had been led past the night before.
Jazz was there, humming quietly as he pulled a few different colored cubes down from a cupboard.
The silver mech smiled as he turned to face Prowl. “Hungry? Ah've got pretty much anythin' ya could want. What color d'ya favor?”
Prowl stared for half a klik, then slowly moved to sit down at one of the barstools next to the counter. “I am partial to red, myself, but I will take whatever is easiest for you.”
Grinning merrily, the mech pulled a glimmering, red cube from an upper shelf. “Got some here, an' it ain't a probl'm 't all.”
Prowl took the offered cube and drank slowly, watching Jazz from the corners of his optics. The silver mech danced around the kitchen, cube of blue energon in hand. Prowl could discern no reason for the dancing. He was obviously not trying to draw attention to himself. It seemed to be simply for his own fun.
It confused Prowl, but after vorns of knowing his cousin, Smokescreen, and living with his brother, Bluestreak, he was rather used to the strange actions of less logical mechs.
“So, what'cha plannin' on doin' t'day?” Jazz asked suddenly, making Prowl twitch.
“As I told you last orn, I will look for somewhere to stay.”
The silver mech regarded him with a grin for a few long moments. “Well, Ah wish ya luck. But remember yer always welcome here. Ah like havin' company.”
Prowl simply twitched his doorwings in a shrug and continued drinking his energon. Sixteen breems later, he was saying goodbye to Jazz and walking out the door of the apartment.
He visited every apartment complex in the area, and found none suitable. There were a few he would stand living in himself, but none he would consider bringing Bluestreak to live in.
At the end of the orn, he found himself standing at Jazz's door, knocking and waiting for the silver mech to answer.
He did within kliks, grinning widely when he saw who it was. “Didn' find anythin'? Mm. Sorry, not many good places 'round here nowadays. All th' good places 're either occupied or gone outta business.”
“As I have found. I do hope it is all right for me to stay just until I manage to find somewh-”
“Sure, mech. Ah already tol'ja. Yer welcome here. Ah like company, an' yer polite t' boot. Mah place is yers, fer as long's ya like.”
“That is... uncommonly generous of you.”
Jazz shrugged as he sauntered over to his wide, comfy couch. “So people tell me. But Ah've always been this way,” he said as he flopped down, still grinning. “Please. Make yerself at home. Energon's same place it was this mornin'.”
“Thank you. I would be happy to pay you for your trouble.”
Shaking his helm, Jazz straightened slightly from his slouch. “Look, mech, y' don' need ta do that.”
“I insist.”
“Ah... There won' be any convincin' ya otherwise, will there?”
“No,” Prowl said firmly, staring down the smaller mech.
Jazz just chuckled and relaxed back into his comfortable slouch. “Suit yerself, then.”
Frowning, Prowl walked into the kitchen and pulled out a cube of the red energon he had partaken of the night before and drank it quickly. Then he retreated to his room, where he spent the night most definitely not hiding from Jazz.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Prowl spent the next orn doing much what he had the orn before; searching for a place to take up residence. Once again, he failed, and returned to Jazz's apartment. He tried again the next orn, and the next, and the one after that.
Finally, Jazz told him to stop. “Yer jus' tirin' yerself out. Ya ain't gonna find a place, not now, not ever. Let it be. Ah like havin' ya here, an' jus' admit it, ya like it here, too.”
Prowl glared at the silver mech for a long time before venting and letting his doorwings drop. “I am sorry, Jazz, but-”
“Ah know, yer lookin' fer a home fer yerself and yer bro. Don' worry. Ah'm sure we can find some room t' let him stay here wit' us.”
“Jazz, that goes against everything I stand for. I cannot impose.”
“Hey. Mech. Listen. Yer not imposin'. Yer th' best guest Ah've ever had. Ya pay. Yer... Ya ain't a guest anymore, yer a tenant. A roomie.”
Another heavy vent. “I... I still cannot bring him here to stay in this apartment, Jazz.”
The silver mech smiled again. “Then don'. Stay fer a bit, keep lookin' if ya need to. But get settl'd here. Make friends. Get t' know th' city. If people know ya, they'll find ya a place t' stay. It'll jus' take some time.”
Prowl's doorwings drooped a bit more. “I suppose. But I do not like the idea of leaving Bluestreak alone for so long.”
“Well, contact him. Ask him if he's okay wit' ya takin' a bit longer.”
“I already know what he would say.”
“Well, then. Don' worry.”
Mentally throwing his hands in the air, Prowl sat down on the edge of the couch, next to his... 'roomie.'
Prowl woke quickly, as he was wont to do, and spent a moment trying to remember where he was. It wasn't a hotel - that much was made obvious by the bright colors of the walls and the trinkets on the shelves.
Then he remembered. That small, silver mech he had bumped into. Jazz. The offer of a place to stay for the night. The brilliantly painted apartment he had been led to.
Venting heavily, he sat up, twitching his doorwings to remove the kinks that always accumulated overnight. After allowing himself the barest moment to luxuriate in the warmth of the berth and the long, refreshing stretch, he swung his legs to to the side, pushed himself up, and stood. Another moment to stretch, as he arched his back, flared his three-part doorwings, spread his armor, and loosened tension lines, and he walked out of the room, heading toward the kitchen area he had been led past the night before.
Jazz was there, humming quietly as he pulled a few different colored cubes down from a cupboard.
The silver mech smiled as he turned to face Prowl. “Hungry? Ah've got pretty much anythin' ya could want. What color d'ya favor?”
Prowl stared for half a klik, then slowly moved to sit down at one of the barstools next to the counter. “I am partial to red, myself, but I will take whatever is easiest for you.”
Grinning merrily, the mech pulled a glimmering, red cube from an upper shelf. “Got some here, an' it ain't a probl'm 't all.”
Prowl took the offered cube and drank slowly, watching Jazz from the corners of his optics. The silver mech danced around the kitchen, cube of blue energon in hand. Prowl could discern no reason for the dancing. He was obviously not trying to draw attention to himself. It seemed to be simply for his own fun.
It confused Prowl, but after vorns of knowing his cousin, Smokescreen, and living with his brother, Bluestreak, he was rather used to the strange actions of less logical mechs.
“So, what'cha plannin' on doin' t'day?” Jazz asked suddenly, making Prowl twitch.
“As I told you last orn, I will look for somewhere to stay.”
The silver mech regarded him with a grin for a few long moments. “Well, Ah wish ya luck. But remember yer always welcome here. Ah like havin' company.”
Prowl simply twitched his doorwings in a shrug and continued drinking his energon. Sixteen breems later, he was saying goodbye to Jazz and walking out the door of the apartment.
He visited every apartment complex in the area, and found none suitable. There were a few he would stand living in himself, but none he would consider bringing Bluestreak to live in.
At the end of the orn, he found himself standing at Jazz's door, knocking and waiting for the silver mech to answer.
He did within kliks, grinning widely when he saw who it was. “Didn' find anythin'? Mm. Sorry, not many good places 'round here nowadays. All th' good places 're either occupied or gone outta business.”
“As I have found. I do hope it is all right for me to stay just until I manage to find somewh-”
“Sure, mech. Ah already tol'ja. Yer welcome here. Ah like company, an' yer polite t' boot. Mah place is yers, fer as long's ya like.”
“That is... uncommonly generous of you.”
Jazz shrugged as he sauntered over to his wide, comfy couch. “So people tell me. But Ah've always been this way,” he said as he flopped down, still grinning. “Please. Make yerself at home. Energon's same place it was this mornin'.”
“Thank you. I would be happy to pay you for your trouble.”
Shaking his helm, Jazz straightened slightly from his slouch. “Look, mech, y' don' need ta do that.”
“I insist.”
“Ah... There won' be any convincin' ya otherwise, will there?”
“No,” Prowl said firmly, staring down the smaller mech.
Jazz just chuckled and relaxed back into his comfortable slouch. “Suit yerself, then.”
Frowning, Prowl walked into the kitchen and pulled out a cube of the red energon he had partaken of the night before and drank it quickly. Then he retreated to his room, where he spent the night most definitely not hiding from Jazz.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Prowl spent the next orn doing much what he had the orn before; searching for a place to take up residence. Once again, he failed, and returned to Jazz's apartment. He tried again the next orn, and the next, and the one after that.
Finally, Jazz told him to stop. “Yer jus' tirin' yerself out. Ya ain't gonna find a place, not now, not ever. Let it be. Ah like havin' ya here, an' jus' admit it, ya like it here, too.”
Prowl glared at the silver mech for a long time before venting and letting his doorwings drop. “I am sorry, Jazz, but-”
“Ah know, yer lookin' fer a home fer yerself and yer bro. Don' worry. Ah'm sure we can find some room t' let him stay here wit' us.”
“Jazz, that goes against everything I stand for. I cannot impose.”
“Hey. Mech. Listen. Yer not imposin'. Yer th' best guest Ah've ever had. Ya pay. Yer... Ya ain't a guest anymore, yer a tenant. A roomie.”
Another heavy vent. “I... I still cannot bring him here to stay in this apartment, Jazz.”
The silver mech smiled again. “Then don'. Stay fer a bit, keep lookin' if ya need to. But get settl'd here. Make friends. Get t' know th' city. If people know ya, they'll find ya a place t' stay. It'll jus' take some time.”
Prowl's doorwings drooped a bit more. “I suppose. But I do not like the idea of leaving Bluestreak alone for so long.”
“Well, contact him. Ask him if he's okay wit' ya takin' a bit longer.”
“I already know what he would say.”
“Well, then. Don' worry.”
Mentally throwing his hands in the air, Prowl sat down on the edge of the couch, next to his... 'roomie.'