Would it be childish of me to go 'neener neener'?
Title: The Nine Rings of Vos: Oppression
A Transformers G1 Fanfic
Author: Sanjuno Shori Niko
Summary: First meetings - black and white, order and chaos, chance and fate... Monte Blanc and Molotov Cocktails.
Timeline: More fic found here.
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(In which Jazz meets Prowl.)
Jazz had not been looking forward to doing joint exercises with the Tactics and Strategy students. Jazz was comfortable with the other Special Operations students, who all shared - if not similar life experiences - then at least operated under a similar philosophy. It was easy enough to figure out which groups at the War Academy were safe to hang out with, as opposed to the ones that would turn on you at the first sign of vulnerability. Tactics students were mostly slotted into the Command Track or were bring trained up as future officers by the simple virtue of their chosen field of study, and a vast majority of them were the creations of important mechs or were somehow connected to mechs in positions of power. Jazz kept his audios tuned, and what he heard about this Tactics class made Jazz wonder if he might be better off playing hooky.
But as tempting as skiving off was, Jazz was a scholarship student, and as such he could not afford to play truant if he wanted to keep his place in the Academy.
Jazz had grown up on the streets of Polyhex, and his Formatter - a small-time performance musician - had struggled to support them. Jazz did not know who his Genitor was - his Matter had a bad habit of giving up his spark to anyone who offered when he was overcharged - but it did not really matter. Jazz wanted more than a life of day-to-day survival. He wanted a life where he could make plans for the future; he wanted a life worth living.
So Jazz worked his aft off - trained and studied and learned to be in the right place at the right time, learned how to get noticed by the right people and learned how to stay unnoticed by the wrong people. All of his hard work had paid off in the end. Jazz said farewell to his friends - his Formatter having expired from energon poisoning some time ago, which had left Jazz in the care of the government - and Jazz packed up his things, moving into the residences provided for the War Academy students.
Now he was going to be stuck with some snooty slagger with delusions of superiority for the next few megacycles until this stupid exercise was over. Honestly, he knew he would have to get used to it eventually - Tactics and Ops tended to require quite a bit of collaboration after all - but even though he knew it was immature, Jazz wanted to just keep avoiding the whole issue of needing to take orders from whichever jumped up calculator he got stuck with. Cycling air in resignation, Jazz checked his chronometer. Better get going - the last thing he needed was to be late.
Arriving early with the intent of scoping things out, Jazz was surprised to discover that someone else had beaten him there. A black and white Praxian - the elegant sweep of doorwings (yes, Jazz knew that was not the correct terminology, but street slang was hard to shake off) was unmistakable - was seated on the far side of the room. Ironically, the other mech had chosen the seat Jazz himself would have taken - the one that gave the best view of the room and door and had the least number of viable attack routes. Grinning, Jazz chose to ignore the obvious signs of paranoia and took a seat next to the other student, idly wondering how this would play out as he shifted to face the Praxian.
“Hey there.” Jazz pasted a friendly look onto his face, careful to keep his emissions calm as he spoke cheerfully, “You here for the joint exercise? I’m Jazz, from the Ops class. Who’re you?”
Frosty blue optics lifted from the datapad the other mech had been studying to look at Jazz with a blank non-expression.
“My designation is Prowl. Tactics.” The Praxian answered after a moment, expression unchanging and voice mild, “And yes, I am here to participate.”
Jazz could not help but feel that there was something… off about Prowl.
“Pleasure t’meet ya, Prowler.” Jazz said brightly, hiding his unease under a wall of chatter as he puzzled over the odd feeling of apprehension-joy that looking at Prowl stirred in his spark.
(Word Count: 706)
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I bet you were all getting excited about seeing more of Defection. Maybe you were even expecting something from Abduction? Nah, I'm going back to the first arc. *evil giggles* In fact, the next three posts are going to be for Oppression. And are mostly about Prowl and Jazz... at least we'll get to see Interceptor again? *sheepish smile*
Here there be dragons!
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A Transformers G1 Fanfic
Author: Sanjuno Shori Niko
Summary: First meetings - black and white, order and chaos, chance and fate... Monte Blanc and Molotov Cocktails.
Timeline: More fic found here.
=/=
(In which Jazz meets Prowl.)
Jazz had not been looking forward to doing joint exercises with the Tactics and Strategy students. Jazz was comfortable with the other Special Operations students, who all shared - if not similar life experiences - then at least operated under a similar philosophy. It was easy enough to figure out which groups at the War Academy were safe to hang out with, as opposed to the ones that would turn on you at the first sign of vulnerability. Tactics students were mostly slotted into the Command Track or were bring trained up as future officers by the simple virtue of their chosen field of study, and a vast majority of them were the creations of important mechs or were somehow connected to mechs in positions of power. Jazz kept his audios tuned, and what he heard about this Tactics class made Jazz wonder if he might be better off playing hooky.
But as tempting as skiving off was, Jazz was a scholarship student, and as such he could not afford to play truant if he wanted to keep his place in the Academy.
Jazz had grown up on the streets of Polyhex, and his Formatter - a small-time performance musician - had struggled to support them. Jazz did not know who his Genitor was - his Matter had a bad habit of giving up his spark to anyone who offered when he was overcharged - but it did not really matter. Jazz wanted more than a life of day-to-day survival. He wanted a life where he could make plans for the future; he wanted a life worth living.
So Jazz worked his aft off - trained and studied and learned to be in the right place at the right time, learned how to get noticed by the right people and learned how to stay unnoticed by the wrong people. All of his hard work had paid off in the end. Jazz said farewell to his friends - his Formatter having expired from energon poisoning some time ago, which had left Jazz in the care of the government - and Jazz packed up his things, moving into the residences provided for the War Academy students.
Now he was going to be stuck with some snooty slagger with delusions of superiority for the next few megacycles until this stupid exercise was over. Honestly, he knew he would have to get used to it eventually - Tactics and Ops tended to require quite a bit of collaboration after all - but even though he knew it was immature, Jazz wanted to just keep avoiding the whole issue of needing to take orders from whichever jumped up calculator he got stuck with. Cycling air in resignation, Jazz checked his chronometer. Better get going - the last thing he needed was to be late.
Arriving early with the intent of scoping things out, Jazz was surprised to discover that someone else had beaten him there. A black and white Praxian - the elegant sweep of doorwings (yes, Jazz knew that was not the correct terminology, but street slang was hard to shake off) was unmistakable - was seated on the far side of the room. Ironically, the other mech had chosen the seat Jazz himself would have taken - the one that gave the best view of the room and door and had the least number of viable attack routes. Grinning, Jazz chose to ignore the obvious signs of paranoia and took a seat next to the other student, idly wondering how this would play out as he shifted to face the Praxian.
“Hey there.” Jazz pasted a friendly look onto his face, careful to keep his emissions calm as he spoke cheerfully, “You here for the joint exercise? I’m Jazz, from the Ops class. Who’re you?”
Frosty blue optics lifted from the datapad the other mech had been studying to look at Jazz with a blank non-expression.
“My designation is Prowl. Tactics.” The Praxian answered after a moment, expression unchanging and voice mild, “And yes, I am here to participate.”
Jazz could not help but feel that there was something… off about Prowl.
“Pleasure t’meet ya, Prowler.” Jazz said brightly, hiding his unease under a wall of chatter as he puzzled over the odd feeling of apprehension-joy that looking at Prowl stirred in his spark.
(Word Count: 706)
=/=
I bet you were all getting excited about seeing more of Defection. Maybe you were even expecting something from Abduction? Nah, I'm going back to the first arc. *evil giggles* In fact, the next three posts are going to be for Oppression. And are mostly about Prowl and Jazz... at least we'll get to see Interceptor again? *sheepish smile*
Here there be dragons!
♠
♣
♠
♣
♠
♣
♠
♣