#forbidden Magic ficbit

[starsheild]

Forbidden Magic- Inspection

“There’s a good chance if they’ve taken him to the temple he’s already dead.” Checkpoint commented from where the small band was gathered in the shadows, observing the comings and goings around the grand structure that was the focalpoint of Praxus, more grand than even the Fauceted Palace that served as the residence of the royal family.

While in theory the royal family were the political rulers of Praxus and the temple was the spiritual body, it was an unspoken fact that Praxus had been a religious state for milennia, and the royal family merely ruled with the good will of the high priest.

“Doubt it.” Jazz countered softly as he observed and waited for Ricochet to return from his reconnaissance. “Or if’e is, it’s not been long. ‘E’s got a couple o’ bitties, ‘n at least the younglin’ would feel ‘m go and be able ta talk.”

“Still take a couple meta-cycles to get word, even by fast messenger flit.” Checkpoint argued, but dropped the matter when Jazz shook his helm

Maybe the polyhexian was just being stubborn and in denial, but he refused to give up on the Praxian just yet. While he still knew almost nothing of Prowl’s story, or those of the creations he claimed as his own, Jazz had seen enough in his own functioning to see the strength in the core of the other mech. Prowl had seen his own share of pain and trouble in his life, and he had not only come through everything that had challenged him so far, but he had managed to carry two others with him as well. Nevermind that Jazz had made a promise to that youngling that was already showing the same determination and strength as his creator in carrying himself and his brother to safety.

Jazz felt Ricochet’s before he appeared at his shoulder, his twin radiating determination and cautious optimism.

“So what’s the word?”

“Good ‘n bad.” Ricochet replied as he accepted the flask of energon that twin offered, taking a long swig before he continued. “Getting in should be easy ‘nough. ‘M thinkin’ the place is more ment ta keep mecha in then out. Had ta tread a lil careful, bringin’ up witches, but once I hint’d that I was a hunter ‘n heard that there were good credits on the offer… mecha opened up pretty fast.”

“Oh?” Jazz prodded, tilting his helm as he considered the temple in a new light.

“Yah. The temple pays a reward for any tips leadin’ ta a capture, and a true bouty if ya bring one in.” Ricochet expanded. “Glyph is that witches go. Some come back out, but only ta die. Parently every once ‘n in a while they make an example ‘o one. Most ain’ ever seen again.”

“So, the question is how we wanna go in.” Jazz mused, weighing plans in his helm as he considered. They could go in looking for more information, continuing on the seeds that Ricochet had planted of them being a band of hunters after a good score. Something inside his spark shied at that idea as soon as his crossed his processor. While he could not quite pin down a reason as to why the thought troubled him, Jazz had learned long ago to rely on his instincts and is guts. And when they they twisted his tank like it was right now, his best option was drop the plan down to the last resort category.

Which left a more direct route- simply going and getting what they were after. Preferably as quietly as possible. “How hard is gettin’ in gonna be?”

Ricochet shrugged. “Ta pubic space? We’ll get some looks since we ain’t Praxian, but easy ‘nough. Deeper ‘n that? Who knows?”

It was a fair enough answer, and Jazz finally pulled his optics from the temple to look over the small badn at his back. Granted they were smal in number, but each and every one of them had made it through the civil war. Each was smart, hardened, and experienced, and Jazz had worked with all of them many times over. They had won his trust and respect, and held theirs in return.

“A mega-cycle. Find out whatcha can, gather anythin ya think yer gonna need, ‘n meet back here.” He ordered. He didn’t want to risk raising suspicion or something happening to Prowl if they waited any longer. Ya know where ta meet, ‘n what ta do if somethin’ ain’t right.”

Each set of determined optics met his own before vanishing as the band scattered to see their assignment. Finally it was just Ricochet beside him, and Jazz reached out and gave his twin’s shoulder a solid squeeze, a promise. Ricochet had just as much riding on this mission as Jazz did, more even. It was not his mate and unemerged creation whose lives hung in the balance.

“Les go.”

[starsheild]

Forbidden Magic 9- Brave

Ratchet wasted no time herding the younglings through the halls, barely slowing as he flagged the first servant they passed and ordering energon to be delivered to Lord’s wing. The twins looked as though they were going to resist when they realized where they were heading, but Ratchet didn’t give them a chance, simply pushing them with Smokescreen. He had picked up Jazz’s feelings when the young lord had gotten a good look at the pair, and suspected that their lot was about the change if there was any way that the Polyhexian could manage it.

“Ratchet?” Ricochet met them at the door, took in the small herd with a single sweeping glance, and stepped back to let them in.

“Blankets and pillows for all of them.” Ratchet ordered and shooed them all to a large sette. “Smokescreen, can I look Bluestreak over? You three get settled.”

“What’s happenin’?” Ricochet asked as returned with the demanded blankets and pillows, offering them to younglings. The suspicious looks from the gold and red pair were not lost on him, but they were silent as they took the offered comforts and settled in around the Praxian youngling.

“Apparently strangers broke into their hab on the edge of town.” Ratchet explained as he settled in a chair with the newling on his knees and started to give the tiny frame a thorough going over. The bitty squirmed and whimpered in protest as the wrap feel away, but soon settled under the gentle touches and soothing field of the medic. “Prowl-”

A knock at the door interrupted the medic. Ratchet glared as Ricochet opened the door, his expression only softening as the Poly accepted the tray of fuels he had forgotten he had ordered delivered.

“Well, whadda we got ‘ere?” Ricochet asked as he crossed the room and set the tray on a low table. “Looks like some goodied energon. Jus’ three though. Looks like Ratch fergot ‘bout me.” He joked as he offered the sturdy cubes to the mechlings.

Ratchet snorted at the comment as he reswaddled the newling, but otherwise ignored it. “We’ll need some formula for the newling.”

“On it.” Ricochet replied as he stood up. “Sure there’s gotta be some stored somewhere ‘round here. If not, we’ll get some.” He promised as he set off.

“Bluestreak is fine.” Ratchet informed Smokescreen, having noticed that the youngling still had not touched his energon. “You can hold him again when you are finished with your fuel.”

The young Praxian nodded and obediently started on the energon, his shakes subsiding as he consumed the warmed, sweetened energon. The twins on either side of him snuggled closer, finally starting on their own energon when he did.

“Ready.” Smokescreen announced as he held up the empty cube for Ratchet to see.

“Think you can tell me what happened?” Ratchet asked gently as he stood to return the newling to his brother, unable to hide the small smile that pulled at his face at the tenderness with which the youngling handled his little brother.

“I think so.” Smokescreen frowned, focusing on Bluestreak and leaning into Sideswipe on his right as he started to speak. “We’d just gotten home from the market. Origin was gettin’ Bluestreaks formula ready, when-.”

“Ricochet?”

All three of the younglings jumped at the question that came out of nowhere behind them, Bluestreak wailing as Smokescreen squeezed him close and spun around on the settee.

The Praxian standing in the doorway looked as surprised to see them as they were to see him. “Ratchet? What is going on? Where is Ricochet?”

“Tracking down fuel for the newling.” Ratchet said as he motioned for the newcomer to join them. “Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Smokescreen- it’s all right. This is Ricochet’s mate, Barricade. Settle down.”

Though still startled, and slightly wary, the three obeyed as Barricade made his way to a chair. Obviously gravid, the stranger was far from threatening as he settled, the short walk clearly exhausting him.

Smokescreen managed to settle his brother, gathered himself, and started again. He recounted the story, telling of the banging on the door, and how his origin had sent him and Bluestreak away, the mecha that had chased them and how Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had saved them from the hunters. “Origin said to find you, and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe said you were here, so…” His glyphs trailed off, small doorwings falling sadly as he rocked his brother.

“You did well.” Ratchet informed him. “All three of you.” He added, pointedly looking at the twins.

“Very well.” Barricade echoed. “And you can all stay here until Jazz brings him home.”

“He said ‘e would. He said he’d bring Origin home.” Smokescreen whimpered as he rocked Bluestreak and looked at Barricade. “Do ya think he will?”

Barricade smiled at him. “I believe he will. He is stubborn, and he does not make promises lightly. If he said he would bring your origin home, he will.”

Smokescreen smiled a little in return, doorwings rising a little. “You sound like him.”

“Like Jazz?” Barricade was clearly amused by the comparison.

“No, like origin.” Smokescreen clarified. “You two talk the same.” He tilted his helm to side, clearly studying Barricade more closely.

“My own origin was rather particular about how we spoke.” Barricade explained with a laugh. “She said there was no excuse for us to speak poorly, even if we did not have much formal schooling.”

There was another knock at the door, though no real delay as Ricochet entered the room, folding up a small cube of formula triumphantly. “Found it! ‘Nough fer this cycle, at least.”

“It’ll do.” Ratchet agreed, taking the cube and expertly judging the mix and temperature with a shake before kneeling by Smokescreen to help him feed the newling. “Come on Smokescreen, let’s get your brother fueled. Barricade is right, Jazz is stubborn. He won’t stop until he finds your origin.”

“Ya. Ratchet don’t lie.” Sideswipe added his assurance. “They’ll bring Prowl back to you and Blue.”

“Prowl?”

“Yah.” Smokescreen looked up at Ricochet where he was standing over them. “That’s my origins designation.”

Ricochet frowned as he looked over at his mate. “‘Cade, wasn’ yer brother named Prowl?”

The darker Praxian nodded, red optics bright as he looked at Smokescreen in shock. “Yes. White frame, with black. Blue optics-”

“Sounds like ‘em.” Sideswipe piped up. “He makes the best treats!”

“Ya think-” Ricochet was cut off by a small explosion.

“You mean to tell me you have witch-code?!”

[starsheild]

Forbidden Magic 8- Pursuit

He ran.

Bluestreak was silent in his arms, and this frightened Smokescreen, but still he ran. The way beneath his pedes was rough and uneven, but familiar. He had been this way many times with his origin, looking for local crystals.Taking a right at the giant copperfall tree would bring him to the edge of the market-

“What makes ya think he came this way?”

“A mechlin’? Where else would he go? Out inna the wilds?”

“These mecha are funny. He might have.”

“Nah. Pretty sure there was another one too, even smaller.”

Smokescreen froze, hunkering down and listening. He started to panic, hugging Bluestreak tighter to him. Though they had stopped speaking, he could still hear them moving through the rough terrain. The mechling searched for a escape route while staying as still as he could, stifling his own vents in an attempt to be quiet despite his panic. His focus narrowed so much that he squeaked when he was grabbed from behind, stilling only when he recognized the voice that hissed in his audio.

“Shhhh!” Sunstreaker warned, though any noise that they made was easily drowned out by the taunts that Sideswipe let loose.

“Hey uglies, ya looking for me?” The red mechling popped out behind the hunters and made a rude sound. As soon as he has their attention he added a few choice gestures to the noises. “Are ya as slow as ya are stupid, I wonder?”

“Is that the one we’re looking for?”

“Who cares?”

“Well if ya are, I ain’t got nothing to worry about!” Sideswipe cackled as he took off with the pair crashing along in his wake.

“Sideswipe?” Smokescreen asked as soon as Sunstreaker removed his servo from over his mouth.

The yellow twin snorted. “He’s fine. He’ll lead them in a couple circles, loose them, and the catch up with us. What are you two doing out here?” Blue optics that were far too sharp for a mechling his are took in Smokescreen and Bluestreak.

“Mecha broke inta our hab… They attacked Ori. He pushed me ‘n Blue out the door. Said to run, to Ratchet.”

Sunstreaker helped him up from his crouch, frowning as he thought. “Do ya know them? The mecha?”

Smokescreen shook his helm. “I know I have seen them in the market, but they never stopped at Ori’s stall. Ori’s been kind of upset the last few megacycles…”

“If you're looking for Ratchet, we’re gonna have ta go to the keep. We saw him headin’ that way before we left earlier. He goes there almost every megecycle.” Sunstreaker explained as he guided Smokescreen down an unfamiliar path. “Com’on.”

“My Lord?” Though he was young, Frontrunner was levelhelmed and loyal, as well as skilled and brave. All of these characteristics has earned him a postion as Jazz’s captain of the guard. For him to sound so unsure of himself, and to be interrupting Jazz when he was with family, was highly unusual.

“Yah?” Jazz turned with frown, helm tilting to the side a bit.

“Sorry ta bother ya, but there are some younglings at the gate askin; after the medic. One o’ got a newling ‘e’s holdin’, and they’re all plenty upset.”

“They are asking for me?” Ratchet straightened from where he had been checking Barricade offer. “Who are they?”

“That set of twins that is always running ‘round the market, and the Praxians. Smokescreen ‘n-” Frontrunner frowned then shrugged. “Dunno the bitty’s designation. But they’re all askin’ fer ya.”

“Bes’ go see what they need.” Ricochet said from where he was sitting beside his mate.

“If Smokescreen brought th’ bitty ‘ere alone…” Jazz pondered as he and Ratchet started down the hall, Frontrunner on their heels.

“I’m more worried about the fact that Prowl is not with them.” Ratchet commented, his stride lengthening as the longer he thought until the shorter polyhexians were practically jogging to keep up with him.

“If it was him or the bitty that needed care he could have just sent Smokescreen.” Jazz frowned. “The twin’s bein’ wit’ don’ surprise me, since they’re friends from what ‘ave heard.”

By the time the trio arrived at the gate the younglings had been pulled in and the gate closed back. The twins flanked Smokescreen, clearly uneasy but also unwilling to leave their friend. Jazz had to give them points for bravery and loyalty even as his optics took in their dull and scuffed appearance. He would need to address that before they left, but more urgent matters demanded his attention in the moment.

“Smokecreen, where is your origin? Is something wrong with Bluestreak?” Ratchet was on his knees in front of the Praxians as soon as he reached him, his gentle manner and tone one that would have surprised many full grown mecha.

“Blue’s fine. Ori gave ‘em somethin’ ta make him quiet while I ran.” Smokescreen explained, stumbling over his glyphs as he tried to push too many out at once. “Origin’s the one in trouble. They broke ‘n and ‘e made me run.”

“Who broke in?” Ratchet demanded on top of Jazz’s own quick, “Where Smokescreen?”

“The hunters. Our hab.” Smokescreen answered, then started to whimper and shake as the memories caught up with him and his panic induced energy waned. “They came… we ran…”

“Frontrunner-” Jazz started.

“On it.” The guard nodded. “We’ll be ready soon when ya join us.”

“Ratchet-.”

“I’ll see the mechlings Jazz, and see if I can’t piece together what happened.” Ratchet promised as he stood.

“Anything ya need fer any of ‘em, jus’ sing out. I’ll be back.” Jazz said, pausing long enough to look Smokescreen in the optics. “We’ll find yer Origin, Smokey. Ya just go wit’ Ratchet fer now.”

The mechling nodded, all that he could manage around his fear and exhaustion, and leaned into Ratchet as he watched Jazz sprint away.