were-cars nine

[dragonofdispair]

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.



Were Cars of Cybertron: part nine

Rhythm was waiting in the treat shop, as he'd said he'd be. He'd also pulled a datapad from somewhere and was deriving some sort of entertainment out of it. At first, Prowl thought he might have been reading, but at he and Red Alert got closer, he could see Rhythm fiddling with it -- a game of some sort then.

There was also the unexpected courtesy of the were-car having chosen a table big enough for the three of them and purchased treats and cubes for the two officers in addition to whatever else he'd bought for himself. He didn't look up when they approached, but spoke when Prowl stared at the energon quizzically.

"Nothing's wrong with it. Been with you two nearly all day -- figure you gotta be running on near empty by now."

Prowl wasn't sure what to make of the gift. While he wasn't particularly low on power, the energon would be appreciated. And they did need to stay here for a bit longer and wait for the sweepers and the police transportation they'd called.

"Thank you." He and Red Alert each took a seat -- Red Alert with a sullenly muttered "thanks." Rhythm smiled, nodded in acknowledgment, and continued his game. There was a dominance game going on here -- with were-cars there was almost always a dominance game going on -- but Prowl was having a hard time figuring it out. It was subtle, and not something he'd seen before. Yet it had to be a variation on something were-cars did within their track, or else it would have no meaning. And Rhythm just remained focused on his game and managed to give no clues away with his body language. He riffled through his memory of every time he'd seen one of the Praxan were-cars buy fuel for one another to see if there was a pattern, and couldn't find one. Would --

"Relax, Prowl. You're working your wires int' knots." Prowl's optics flickered in surprise. He'd been sure none of his thoughts or worries had been reflected in his own body language. "If it helps, it ain't about status this time."

Which ... did help, a bit. It meant neither Prowl nor Red Alert would appear submissive to Rhythm if they accepted the fuel. But it also didn't tell him what accepting did mean. Not that it mattered -- he didn't have any real reason to refuse without offending the silver were-car.

The cube was a good quality midgrade. It wasn't high quality enough to be usable as a bribe or high enough grade to be considered an attempt of get the officers drunk. The energon treats were still packaged so they could either me eaten here, or taken with them to eat later. Prowl and Red Alert both chose to save them, and Rhythm gave no indication that he cared one way or another.

"We need to return to the station after the sweepers get here," Prowl spoke up when they were done with the energon and Rhythm had looked up from his game. "You don't have to come with us, but your First needs to come to us tomorrow."

"'Kay, I'll tell him. You still gonna want t' talk t' the motorcycles tonight?"

"Yes."

888

Prowl left Red Alert still at his desk when they both got off-shift. They were both working overtime tonight.

Surprisingly, the other officer hadn't wanted to come. He was focused on the information they'd gotten from Brawl and Backtrack's quarters and on coordinating the search for the two were-tanks. Now that they had a direction, he wasn't letting his conflict with Rhythm sidetrack him. Prowl approved.

Rhythm was waiting for him right outside the station. After a short meaningless conversation, the were-car began leading the way down the street.

He didn't lead him out to the slum area as Prowl had expected he would. He was slightly surprised that there was an establishment here that could serve as a shapeshifter "hang out". Many believed shapeshifters to be virus-infested mongrels or Unicron-tainted drones, despite the Prime's declaration that shapeshifters held all the same rights all other Cybertronians did. In fact, from what little research he'd been able to do, Iacon and Praxis were the only cities that didn't have separate laws for shapeshifters. Still places that would serve shapeshifter clientele were often restricted to areas of the city were the owners cared more about credits than religion. In contrast, Artemis' Bow was located only a few blocks away from the government buildings.

As they walked, Rhythm was explaining why a place in a somewhat affluent neighborhood was a shapeshifter gathering place.

"Orion's place is one of the few that treats shapeshifters all equal-like. Most outside the slums either don't let us in cause the owners think we're tainted or overcharge us on general principles. Orion... don't. Truthfully, he don't believe in shapeshifters at all. Not sure how he pulls that off," The were-car made a self-depreciating gesture at his openly showing tires, "but he does. So no arguing with him over it, else Melanthios and Ironhide'll throw you outa there, police-mech or not."

Rhythm was serious, with no trace of the grin. This was obviously one of the rules that was followed by the shapeshifters in Iacon, and if Prowl wanted to use this place as they did -- a neutral spot, where one could meet with and talk to those not of one's 'shifter type without violence -- he would have to follow it too.

Praxis had its neutral spots too -- restaurants and bars where even the were-car first and his enforcers and the were-jets (who usually couldn't get within line of sight of each other without brawling) could be sat at adjacent tables and they'd do nothing but growl at each other.

Prowl nodded in agreement to the rule.

Rhythm continued his explanation, "Now just 'cause he ignores that we're Unicron-touched don't mean he's stupid. He knows we're problem customers and we get int' fights a lot. Melanthios and Ironhide work as bouncers, and the only two of us they haven't physically thrown out of there at least once are Skyfire and Perceptor."

The black and white started a bit in surprise. So Artemis' Bow wasn't completely neutral, but was still a place where such fights would not cause a small war. "Even your First?"

The were-car laughed. "Yeah. Even our First. Ironhide!" That last had been called out to a larger, slightly bulky mech with black paint who was about to enter the bar. Prowl could easily see him working as a bouncer. Ironhide stopped and waited for them to catch up.

When they were in easy conversation range, he greeted them."Rhythm. Who's this? One of yours?"

"Naw... Prowl ain't mine. He's a police 'bot, from Praxis. Ironhide, Prowl. Prowl, Ironhide."

Ironhide grinned and clapped a hand against Prowl's shoulder in greeting. "Nice ta meet ya." Prowl managed to nod and murmur a greeting in return as he shook off the hold. Luckily Ironhide didn't seem to offended. In fact -- "Personal space issues?"

"No." No Prowl did not have personal space issues. He just didn't like to be touched casually.

The black mech just shrugged. "Doesn't matter ta me -- believe me you haven't seen issues until you've pulled Rhythm here and his buddies offa Starscream and get your wires ripped out for your trouble."

"Facinating as this conversation's getting," Rhythm cut in icily, "I did want t' ask a favor of you, 'Hide."

"Shoot."

"Could you take Prowl here, and introduce him t'," he glanced in through the bar's window, "that gaggle of mechs in the corner near the 'screen?"

Ironhide looked confused, but agreed.

"Sweet! Doubt you'll have any fights t' break up with the police-mech here anyway. Later!"

With that Rhythm slipped into the door.

The two mechs eyed each other for a moment, then Prowl tilted his head to one side. "Shall we?"

"Sure."

The interior was tastefully, but inexpensively decorated. The tables were heavy, sturdy metal that looked like they would survive a small war, the stools were lightweight with gel cushions as their only concession to comfort, and the overhead lights were sheltered behind decorative crystal panels. Which fit with what Rhythm had said about fights and the owner's practical approach to the habits of rowdy, drunk shapeshifters.

The place was about half full with most of the customers gathered around an entertainment screen (protected behind a clear glass or transparisteel panel). A good number of those not part of that "gaggle" were sitting at the large table Rhythm had seated himself at.

As they neared where the group of smaller mechs were gathered in front of the entertainment screen, Ironhide called out to them, "Which one of ya lunatics is in charge tonight?"

He and Prowl were suddenly the focus of over a dozen blue, red, yellow and purple optics. Through experience and expectation, he could see the way the mechs clustered together into three smaller groups -- teams -- within the larger one.

One, a brown and rust red individual with a pair of tentacle-like decorations on either side of his mouth, stood with a jerky motion. "Won the race, didn't I?"

"Sure, whatever," Ironhide shook his head in exasperation, then pointed three individuals, each in one of the three teams, out to Prowl and introduced them. Starting with the one who'd spoken, "Prowl, that's Wreck-Gar," then a slighter pink and white femme, "Arcee," and finally a darker pink or perhaps purple mech, "and Sideways." Prowl presumed those three were the leaders of their teams. "Everyone, this is Prowl. He wanted ta talk ta ya'll."

Both Prowl and the were-'cycles were too busy staring warily at each other to notice when Ironhide left them to it. Prowl did feel about half of them ping his comm system for his police credentials and identification number. It was disconcerting -- he was well known in Praxis and everyone Rhythm had introduced him to had accepted him without that verification. He'd quite forgotten that, being new to Iacon, this was expected.

Finally Wreck-Gar snorted, "And what if we don't want to talk to a police-bot whose energy field just reeks of cars?"

"I am not allied with the were-cars -- I simply wish to know if any of you saw anything unusual during your normal activities on these dates," he rattled off the dates of the murders.

"No. Now go away."

After a moment of observing which of the motorcycles looked like they disagreed with the current leader, he did so. Primus, he disliked dealing with were-motorcycles.

He caught sight of the Rhythm sitting with the group of were-cars on the oposite side of the bar and debated for a moment joining them, or at least exchanging a few words with the silver car. He decided against it. He didn't want to do anything that could be interpreted as allying himself with the were-cars while in sight of the motorcycles -- not if he wanted to be able to talk to any of them later.

tbc