were-cars seventeen
Oct. 10th, 2008 04:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonofdispairnotes: hey look. i'm back. plus i went a rewrote the first scene of chapter sixteen, some details of which may eventually be important. plus i think it's so much better now than it was.
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 seventeen
Canvassing the area turned up twelve witnesses -- one cowering vagrant who witnessed the murder itself and eleven residents or workers who admitted to seeing their suspect (or someone who fit his description), either before or after. With the exception of the vagrant, all had been inside or with a group of over three mechs. Combined with the evidence of carelessness at the murder scene, Prowl was forced to conclude the victim had been a kill of opportunity. One more than likely provoked by rage.
The question of rage at what or whom was one Prowl did not speak aloud since Rhythm was within hearing range.
Of all the witnesses, only the vagrant was willing to give up his memory to a mind-medic, and only then in return for the memory being subsequently erased fro his processor. That was between the witness and the medic and didn't matter much to Prowl -- what mattered to him was that the memory would provide an image of the killer, in both primary and vehicle forms, that could be inputted into the Iacon Police's skyspies and other surveillance systems.
It was nearly morning by the time they were finished and the trail ran cold somewhere in the warehouse district. Prowl knew Rhythm and Sideswipe had shadowed the two officers the entire time and back to the station, but hadn't seen either of them since Prowl had been able to assure Rhythm he was fine after his breakdown.
A small misstep due to low energy levels had Rhythm catching him around the waist. Sideswipe made as if to support his other side, but backed off when Rhythm growled.
Which, Prowl thought distantly, wasn't very logical. Not Sideswipe backing off -- that was logical. He'd been warned off by a superior. Rhythm refusing to let Sideswipe help -- that was not, especially in light of the height difference he was re-realizing existed between him and Rhythm. Awkward.
Red Alert frowned at the two were-cars and at Prowl's acceptance of their -- or rather Rhythm's -- help, but hadn't yet commented. He seemed too tired to expend the energy on protesting just yet.
With the dayshift of officers and admins gone, leaving only guard-mechs, the few nightshift officers and cleaning drones, the station was very quiet. As Rhythm helped him into a chair, Prowl couldn't help but be relieved by that fact. He had one last thing to do before he could drop offline for a few hours and noise would make it that much more unpleasant.
He'd just started clearing a datapad to download the crime scene images onto when Red Alert spoke up. "I need to speak with Prowl. There's an Energon dispenser in the conference room -- through that door."
Rhythm bristled tiredly, causing Sideswipe to do the same, but then glanced at Prowl. Prowl was sure to not communicate anything to the were-car -- the relationship between him and Rhythm had changed and he didn't know the proper responses, and so defaulted to not responding at all -- but he still acquiesced, saying, "Comm me when you're done. You probably need t' refuel before you try transferring those files."
He pinged Prowl's comm to leave behind his personal code, then left, grabbing Sideswipe, whose struggles against the much smaller mech had to be for comical effect, and dragging him to the indicated door.
Red Alert didn't waste time and looked directly at Prowl. "What's going on?"
The question was slightly vague and Prowl immediately had a dozen answers. None of which, he was sure, had been answers the other wanted. "Clarify."
"Between you and that -- that Unicron-tainted pain in the aft! Don't think I didn't notice: before the scene, you wouldn't have touched each other for anything short of arresting him and after you couldn't turn around without slapping him with a sensor-panel. What is. Going. On?"
Prowl let said sensor panels sag a bit. He was exhausted and he didn't want to deal with answering Red Alert's questions, Not when he wasn't exactly sure of the answers and their implications. Plus he wasn't sure how much was appropriate to disclose to the other officer, either from a were-car perspective and a friend perspective.
He finally settled on, "I've found that some of my information on shapeshifters needs revising."
The read and white stiffened. "The case --?"
"Nothing that affects the case," he assured,"It's just," he paused, searching for the correct word, "personal."
That got him a huff of vents. "You shouldn't get personally involved with Rhythm and his miscreants. It'll just make arresting them harder."
"They aren't suspects."
"This time, but they're trouble makers, Prowl. I'm lucky if I can go a week without having to haul either a were-car or a were-motorcycle in for trespassing, destruction of property, dangerous recklessness, fighting, or who knows what else." By the time he was finished, Red Alert was nearly screeching.
"I am not surprised."
"Then how can there be a personal problem -- it's a conflict of interest!"
"Quiet," Prowl admonished when he realized Red Alert would only yell louder, "or they will hear you even in the other room. For one, I am as aware as you are of the trouble were-cars cause -- Motormaster and Crankcase, the First and Second of the Praxis track, don't even have the incentive to behave Redline and Rhythm do. Second, as soon as our suspect is caught, Nightbeat will relieve me of authority in Iacon and anything Rhythm and his Track do will no longer be within my jurisdiction. There is no conflict of interest."
"That doesn't mean anything," Red Alert hissed, "They're were-cars -- why would you even want to?"
Prowl's sensor-panels betrayed the surprise he otherwise managed to hide. Red Alert's attitude wasn't particular surprising. Prowl would have had to be blind, deaf, and without any deductive capabilities at all to have missed that Red Alert had some issues with shapeshifters, but he'd thought the source had been his professional conflicts, not the base prejudice found in most Cybertronians.
"They're mechs," Prowl said firmly. He had never approved of his race's prejudice. The 'cursed by Unicron' excuse was based off the writings of mechs, who themselves were prejudiced and nothing else even pretended to have a logical basis. "They're programmed and modified differently than other mechs, but you and I both have modifications and programming that make us different from other mechs as well."
Red Alert scowled in response, but didn't refute the point. Hopefully that meant he'd think about it rather than dismissing it.
Prowl chose to ignore the question of why he might want a friendship with Rhythm. As far as he was concerned, this was an issue of the were-car wanting a friendship with him and he being unable to come up with a reason to deny him that didn't sound like Red Alert's reasons. Prowl did not want a friendship. Prowl would not let himself want a friendship.
So he and Red Alert stared at each other slightly awkwardly. Neither had responded properly to the other, leaving the conversation unfinished. But neither wanted to continue it either, so the conversation was finished.
The awkwardness was interrupted by the console beeping to inform them that the datapad Prowl had started clearing was finished reformatting. Red Alert huffed and plugged his networking cable into the console as Prowl unplugged the datapad, both returning to work.
Then Prowl's systems warned him that he needed to replenish his energy reserves before attempting any networking for any reason. He remembered Rhythm's offer to bring energon and sent a short comm to the other. Had he been less tired, he would have realized Rhythm probably wouldn't understand the Praxan police code for "all clear."
Fortunately, about the time he realized his mistake, Rhythm commed back with a playful, lightly-encrypted "coming."
Rhythm and Sideswipe were both carrying a pair of cubes. Sideswipe did not look happy as they set them in the middle of the desk. Reflexively, Prowl noted the nuance -- where they'd been placed, the energon was in a neutral spot, closer neither Prowl nor Red Alert. A communal pile, at least until Rhythm casually slid two of the cubes closer to Prowl -- providing energon for both officers, but only interacting with Prowl while doing so. Prowl filed that away as he thanked Rhythm. He'd figure out how that expressed the tangle of dominance and relationships of the four later, after he had rested.
Energon was a relief to his tired systems. For a moment, Prowl considered drinking the second cube, then decided to save it for after.
Deftly he connected the networking cable in his wrist to the reformatted datapad.
All Cybertronians were physically capable of networking with a computer, but few had the programming that would make it an easy or pleasant experience. Most used the standard networking cords and equipment almost exclusively to network with other Cybertronians. Those in the higher levels of the government or military who had to connect to door locks to unlock them on a regular basis learned to either tolerate or isolate the pain caused by the incompatibility of mechs and computers.
Prowl was no hacker -- someone who had taught himself the nuances of connecting to a computer safely and relatively easily -- nor was he designed for networking like Red Alert. So as usual the connection overwhelmed his other senses and didn't register on his memory. And as usual, when he disconnected, everything hurt.
"C'mon," Dimly Prowl felt strong arms pull him out of the chair and into some semblance of a standing position. He had the blurry reflexive deduction that since Rhythm was shorter than him, the person nearly carrying him had to be Sideswipe. He onlined his optics to check -- Sideswipe was red... right? "Let's get you somewhere you can shut down." But that was Rhythm's voice.
Outside Prowl got an impression of yellow with a voice that growled and hissed like a feral cyber-cat, but Rhythm's voice was the only thing he could concentrate on. "-- sure he gets home, then pick up 'Blue from wherever you left him. 'Swipe and I are taking the police-mech t' our place, 'less he wakes up enough t' object, so don't be surprised, got it?"
Yellow growled as Sideswipe hitched Prowl higher in his grasp with a cheerful response and followed Rhythm away.
And no matter how much Prowl tried to prove he could walk, or at least give the were-cars directions to the temporary quarters he was renting, he only became more and more limp in Sideswipe's hold.
Then finally blacked out all together.
tbc
notes part two: the good news is that my muses were-cars have not abandoned me and i will be finishing this fic. the bad news is that, for me at least, writing fanfic was a substitute for many of the things i lost when i moved, and in the last two weeks have managed to gain access to again. So my time and energy is mostly going back into those and thus will not be updating this very fast at all anymore. and probably will not start any new fics for a very long time.
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 seventeen
Canvassing the area turned up twelve witnesses -- one cowering vagrant who witnessed the murder itself and eleven residents or workers who admitted to seeing their suspect (or someone who fit his description), either before or after. With the exception of the vagrant, all had been inside or with a group of over three mechs. Combined with the evidence of carelessness at the murder scene, Prowl was forced to conclude the victim had been a kill of opportunity. One more than likely provoked by rage.
The question of rage at what or whom was one Prowl did not speak aloud since Rhythm was within hearing range.
Of all the witnesses, only the vagrant was willing to give up his memory to a mind-medic, and only then in return for the memory being subsequently erased fro his processor. That was between the witness and the medic and didn't matter much to Prowl -- what mattered to him was that the memory would provide an image of the killer, in both primary and vehicle forms, that could be inputted into the Iacon Police's skyspies and other surveillance systems.
It was nearly morning by the time they were finished and the trail ran cold somewhere in the warehouse district. Prowl knew Rhythm and Sideswipe had shadowed the two officers the entire time and back to the station, but hadn't seen either of them since Prowl had been able to assure Rhythm he was fine after his breakdown.
A small misstep due to low energy levels had Rhythm catching him around the waist. Sideswipe made as if to support his other side, but backed off when Rhythm growled.
Which, Prowl thought distantly, wasn't very logical. Not Sideswipe backing off -- that was logical. He'd been warned off by a superior. Rhythm refusing to let Sideswipe help -- that was not, especially in light of the height difference he was re-realizing existed between him and Rhythm. Awkward.
Red Alert frowned at the two were-cars and at Prowl's acceptance of their -- or rather Rhythm's -- help, but hadn't yet commented. He seemed too tired to expend the energy on protesting just yet.
With the dayshift of officers and admins gone, leaving only guard-mechs, the few nightshift officers and cleaning drones, the station was very quiet. As Rhythm helped him into a chair, Prowl couldn't help but be relieved by that fact. He had one last thing to do before he could drop offline for a few hours and noise would make it that much more unpleasant.
He'd just started clearing a datapad to download the crime scene images onto when Red Alert spoke up. "I need to speak with Prowl. There's an Energon dispenser in the conference room -- through that door."
Rhythm bristled tiredly, causing Sideswipe to do the same, but then glanced at Prowl. Prowl was sure to not communicate anything to the were-car -- the relationship between him and Rhythm had changed and he didn't know the proper responses, and so defaulted to not responding at all -- but he still acquiesced, saying, "Comm me when you're done. You probably need t' refuel before you try transferring those files."
He pinged Prowl's comm to leave behind his personal code, then left, grabbing Sideswipe, whose struggles against the much smaller mech had to be for comical effect, and dragging him to the indicated door.
Red Alert didn't waste time and looked directly at Prowl. "What's going on?"
The question was slightly vague and Prowl immediately had a dozen answers. None of which, he was sure, had been answers the other wanted. "Clarify."
"Between you and that -- that Unicron-tainted pain in the aft! Don't think I didn't notice: before the scene, you wouldn't have touched each other for anything short of arresting him and after you couldn't turn around without slapping him with a sensor-panel. What is. Going. On?"
Prowl let said sensor panels sag a bit. He was exhausted and he didn't want to deal with answering Red Alert's questions, Not when he wasn't exactly sure of the answers and their implications. Plus he wasn't sure how much was appropriate to disclose to the other officer, either from a were-car perspective and a friend perspective.
He finally settled on, "I've found that some of my information on shapeshifters needs revising."
The read and white stiffened. "The case --?"
"Nothing that affects the case," he assured,"It's just," he paused, searching for the correct word, "personal."
That got him a huff of vents. "You shouldn't get personally involved with Rhythm and his miscreants. It'll just make arresting them harder."
"They aren't suspects."
"This time, but they're trouble makers, Prowl. I'm lucky if I can go a week without having to haul either a were-car or a were-motorcycle in for trespassing, destruction of property, dangerous recklessness, fighting, or who knows what else." By the time he was finished, Red Alert was nearly screeching.
"I am not surprised."
"Then how can there be a personal problem -- it's a conflict of interest!"
"Quiet," Prowl admonished when he realized Red Alert would only yell louder, "or they will hear you even in the other room. For one, I am as aware as you are of the trouble were-cars cause -- Motormaster and Crankcase, the First and Second of the Praxis track, don't even have the incentive to behave Redline and Rhythm do. Second, as soon as our suspect is caught, Nightbeat will relieve me of authority in Iacon and anything Rhythm and his Track do will no longer be within my jurisdiction. There is no conflict of interest."
"That doesn't mean anything," Red Alert hissed, "They're were-cars -- why would you even want to?"
Prowl's sensor-panels betrayed the surprise he otherwise managed to hide. Red Alert's attitude wasn't particular surprising. Prowl would have had to be blind, deaf, and without any deductive capabilities at all to have missed that Red Alert had some issues with shapeshifters, but he'd thought the source had been his professional conflicts, not the base prejudice found in most Cybertronians.
"They're mechs," Prowl said firmly. He had never approved of his race's prejudice. The 'cursed by Unicron' excuse was based off the writings of mechs, who themselves were prejudiced and nothing else even pretended to have a logical basis. "They're programmed and modified differently than other mechs, but you and I both have modifications and programming that make us different from other mechs as well."
Red Alert scowled in response, but didn't refute the point. Hopefully that meant he'd think about it rather than dismissing it.
Prowl chose to ignore the question of why he might want a friendship with Rhythm. As far as he was concerned, this was an issue of the were-car wanting a friendship with him and he being unable to come up with a reason to deny him that didn't sound like Red Alert's reasons. Prowl did not want a friendship. Prowl would not let himself want a friendship.
So he and Red Alert stared at each other slightly awkwardly. Neither had responded properly to the other, leaving the conversation unfinished. But neither wanted to continue it either, so the conversation was finished.
The awkwardness was interrupted by the console beeping to inform them that the datapad Prowl had started clearing was finished reformatting. Red Alert huffed and plugged his networking cable into the console as Prowl unplugged the datapad, both returning to work.
Then Prowl's systems warned him that he needed to replenish his energy reserves before attempting any networking for any reason. He remembered Rhythm's offer to bring energon and sent a short comm to the other. Had he been less tired, he would have realized Rhythm probably wouldn't understand the Praxan police code for "all clear."
Fortunately, about the time he realized his mistake, Rhythm commed back with a playful, lightly-encrypted "coming."
Rhythm and Sideswipe were both carrying a pair of cubes. Sideswipe did not look happy as they set them in the middle of the desk. Reflexively, Prowl noted the nuance -- where they'd been placed, the energon was in a neutral spot, closer neither Prowl nor Red Alert. A communal pile, at least until Rhythm casually slid two of the cubes closer to Prowl -- providing energon for both officers, but only interacting with Prowl while doing so. Prowl filed that away as he thanked Rhythm. He'd figure out how that expressed the tangle of dominance and relationships of the four later, after he had rested.
Energon was a relief to his tired systems. For a moment, Prowl considered drinking the second cube, then decided to save it for after.
Deftly he connected the networking cable in his wrist to the reformatted datapad.
All Cybertronians were physically capable of networking with a computer, but few had the programming that would make it an easy or pleasant experience. Most used the standard networking cords and equipment almost exclusively to network with other Cybertronians. Those in the higher levels of the government or military who had to connect to door locks to unlock them on a regular basis learned to either tolerate or isolate the pain caused by the incompatibility of mechs and computers.
Prowl was no hacker -- someone who had taught himself the nuances of connecting to a computer safely and relatively easily -- nor was he designed for networking like Red Alert. So as usual the connection overwhelmed his other senses and didn't register on his memory. And as usual, when he disconnected, everything hurt.
"C'mon," Dimly Prowl felt strong arms pull him out of the chair and into some semblance of a standing position. He had the blurry reflexive deduction that since Rhythm was shorter than him, the person nearly carrying him had to be Sideswipe. He onlined his optics to check -- Sideswipe was red... right? "Let's get you somewhere you can shut down." But that was Rhythm's voice.
Outside Prowl got an impression of yellow with a voice that growled and hissed like a feral cyber-cat, but Rhythm's voice was the only thing he could concentrate on. "-- sure he gets home, then pick up 'Blue from wherever you left him. 'Swipe and I are taking the police-mech t' our place, 'less he wakes up enough t' object, so don't be surprised, got it?"
Yellow growled as Sideswipe hitched Prowl higher in his grasp with a cheerful response and followed Rhythm away.
And no matter how much Prowl tried to prove he could walk, or at least give the were-cars directions to the temporary quarters he was renting, he only became more and more limp in Sideswipe's hold.
Then finally blacked out all together.
tbc
notes part two: the good news is that my muses were-cars have not abandoned me and i will be finishing this fic. the bad news is that, for me at least, writing fanfic was a substitute for many of the things i lost when i moved, and in the last two weeks have managed to gain access to again. So my time and energy is mostly going back into those and thus will not be updating this very fast at all anymore. and probably will not start any new fics for a very long time.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-10-13 07:08 pm (UTC)Thank you for posting! I shall patiently wait for further chapters!
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2008-10-13 10:47 pm (UTC)Rhythm is most awesome. XD And I'm loving poor Prowl.
Awesome awesome chapter!!!!!!!!!