#roughwrite

[starsheild]

Play for Me?

More self-indulgence, though not part of MerMay. Apparently music is my current write prod.

Jazz had returned from his mission in one piece, but that was really all that could be said. The mission had been a failure, a dangerous chance that had been revealed to be all based on faulty information. While he kept on a good front, bold and confident on the surface, Prowl knew him far better.

He had known Jazz for far too long to be fooled by the facade.

Jazz was hurting, depressed, and losing hope.

Finishing the report he had been working on, Prowl locked his workstation and departed his office.

He had a mission of his own tonight.

Jazz paused outside the door of the quarters he shared with Prowl. Limited space was the excuse that they had used for rooming together, citing the fact that Jazz seemed capable of tolerating Prowl’s habits and better than most. Those who had known them both before war kept their knowledge close to spark, the deeper relationship that existed Polyhexian and the Praxian a treasure to be shared between only them.

He knew that Prowl would be there waiting for him. The single glyph message that had pinged him had given him a helms up. Selfishly, he wished that Prowl wasn’t. Right now he just wanted to curl up and wallow in his hurt, alone, maybe get painfully overcharged on some illegal homebrew that they both pretended wasn’t stashed in Jazz’s personal pedelocker.

With a sigh Jazz stepped into the room, and froze as the door slid shut behind him.

The small folding table that was normally stored away out of sight under a berth unless they were indulging in one of Prowl’s strategy games was centerpiece in the darkened room, the softly glowing crystal, one of Prowl’s few treasures left from Praxus, illuminated an object that Jazz had thought long gone.

“Where? How?” He whispered as he stepped forward and ran a servo over the vibrolin case. “I thought, when the base in Altihex fell…”

“I was there for the final evacuation.” Prowl explained softly. “I was able to grab a few things.”

“You’ve had it all this time?”

Prowl nodded. “When I mentioned it not long afterward, you brushed it off.”

Jazz made a face, his own glyphs coming back so clearly. Forget it Prowl. Ain’t got the time for things like that now. Looking back now, he had given up playing anything right after that battle. He still sang on occasion, but those were all songs to entertain others, usually over some highgrade. He hadn’t made music for the joy of it in… more vorns than he cared to count.

“Why now?”

Prowl rose from his seat on the smaller of the two berths, the one meant to be Jazz’s if anyone came snooping around. He circled the table carefully, catching Jazz’s helm in his servos and holding it gently. “It hurts. We all hurt. I can see your pain.”

Jazz’s servos rose up to cover Prowl’s as he looked into his lover's optics. He could see Prowl’s pain as clearly as he knew Prowl could see his, visor or no.

“But if we let it overwhelm us, we have already lost.” He leaned forward and kissed Jazz gently. “Play for me? Like you used to, before, when it was just the two of us? So we remember what we had, and what we are fighting to have once more?”

Jazz hesitated, his spark spinning in his chassis, at war with himself. Prowl was blessedly silent, simply holding him close as thoughts and emotions swirled. A vent escaped him, and with it the tension that had been vibrating through him. He stole another kiss before guiding his love back to the berth, the larger one that was ‘Prowl’s. No need for everyone to know that they shared it more darkcycles than not.

Silently he opened the case once Prowl was settled, the crystal glow illuminating the sleek surface of the instrument nestled safely in the padding. Gentle digits traced the smooth body and the long neck, then Jazz pulled it from the case. Almost on autopilot skilled digits made adjustments, his audios tuning it back to perfection as though it hadn’t been vorns.

Satisfied, he lifted the bow and pulled it across the strings, the music bringing back the memories they both needed as he played for his audience of one, and for his own spark. 

[silverintheblood]

the moon howls

Three years ago Melissa would have missed the knock at the door. As she padded down the stairs she wondered if she'd dreamt it.  It wouldn't have been the first time she'd gone to the door or the window, only half-awake, called out of bed by a feeling, an unease, an unknowing of some kind.

Being the mother of a teenage werewolf had a way of honing both the senses and the nerves simultaneously.

The movement of trees outside sent shadows skittering in front of her bare feet.  She didn’t bother turning the light on. Her feet knew the stairs. The house was silent, the cold light of the full moon touching the furniture with greedy fingers.

Sometimes it felt like a house made of absences – Rafael, Isaac, the stillness of the air when she arrived home at 4am, fumbling with her keys, and knew, somehow, that Scott wasn’t in his bed. Can you make a home out of a battlefield, a way-station, a military encampment? She sighed, running fingers through her loose hair as though she could shake out the shadows.

She opened the door, half-expecting the porch to be empty.

Chris Argent was leaning against the doorjamb. His bare arms and hands were soaked with blood turned black by the darkness.  He was wet to the skin and covered in mud, one hand pressed to his stomach and the other wrapped around the handle of a knife . "I'm sorry," he managed, between gritted teeth, "I didn't..."

He crumpled at her feet.  

Notes and disclaimer: title from a George Marlin quote. I liked it. Also these aren’t mine, obviously, I just like playing with them.

[gritvan]

[SOLUTION DOWNLOAD] Discussion Instructions Please answer the following questions after reading chap

[SOLUTION DOWNLOAD] Discussion Instructions Please answer the following questions after reading chap

Discussion Instructions Please answer the following questions after reading chapters 5 and 13 in the RoughWriter’s Guide: 1. What are the three parts of an argument? 2. Based on the last few months, discuss a strong argument you have heard. This can be from a friend or something you’ve seen in the media. Discuss how the argument addressed ethos, pathos, and logos. 3. Based on the last few months,…

[duhitsroevision]

[SOLUTION DOWNLOAD] Discussion Instructions Please answer the following questions after reading chap

[SOLUTION DOWNLOAD] Discussion Instructions Please answer the following questions after reading chap

Discussion Instructions Please answer the following questions after reading chapters 5 and 13 in the RoughWriter’s Guide: 1. What are the three parts of an argument? 2. Based on the last few months, discuss a strong argument you have heard. This can be from a friend or something you’ve seen in the media. Discuss how the argument addressed ethos, pathos, and logos. 3. Based on the last few months,…

[greenpupper]

[EXPLAINED] After reading Chapters 4, 7, and 9 of The RoughWriter's Guide, answer the follow

[EXPLAINED] After reading Chapters 4, 7, and 9 of The RoughWriter’s Guide, answer the follow

After reading Chapters 4, 7, and 9 of The RoughWriter’s Guide, answer the following questions: 1. What do you think differentiates college writing from essay writing? 2. Which part of the writing process do you like the most? Dislike the most? 3. Think about the Essay 1 directions as they apply to what you might write: What type of pre-writing will you use and why? How can you refine/narrow your…

[drxcos]

[EXPLAINED] After reading Chapters 4, 7, and 9 of The RoughWriter's Guide, answer the follow

[EXPLAINED] After reading Chapters 4, 7, and 9 of The RoughWriter’s Guide, answer the follow

After reading Chapters 4, 7, and 9 of The RoughWriter’s Guide, answer the following questions: 1. What do you think differentiates college writing from essay writing? 2. Which part of the writing process do you like the most? Dislike the most? 3. Think about the Essay 1 directions as they apply to what you might write: What type of pre-writing will you use and why? How can you refine/narrow your…

[geofflewriter]

It’s All There, On A Plate #carrotranch #roughwriters

It’s All There, On A Plate #carrotranch #roughwriters

Charli’s prompt this week is 

February 8, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes fireweed. You can use it as the plant, a flower, a metaphor or as the name of someone or something. Go where the prompt leads. Burn bright when you write.

‘Hey Morgan, what you got?’

‘Caterpillar.’

‘Geez, that’s huge. Hey, it’s got a trunk.’

‘Yeah, it’s an elephant hawk moth.’

‘Must…

[macjam47]

On the 31st

Pam Wight posted her delightful Halloween poem on her blog, Roughwriting. The bewitching hour is nearly upon us. Read if you dare.

[starsheild]

MerMay: Broken Mast Bay

This is a complete piece of self-indulgence born of MerMay and my current obsession with this song. You have been warned.

The mech in the corner hid his amusement behind the heavy mug. Many of the locals considered themselves at least half-way decent singers, even if half of them could not have carried a tune in a bucket with a sealed lid. The sailors that came and went with the ships were hardly any better, coming ashore with their pay and often staggering away, leaning on an equally inebriated shipmate if they were lucky, to sleep off their overindulgence and deal with the consequences.

Every now and then there was something new though, and Prowl was bored enough that he had risked coming ashore when there had been reports among the pod that a new ship had put into the port. New ships meant new sailors, and sometimes new songs or tales.

The door to the pub opened, admitting a young Polyhexian sailor. Though his frame had the look of youth, the mech moved a world weariness that Prowl was far more used to seeing in the grizzled sea veterans that frequented these locations. He made his way to the bar and plunked down his credits without flair, ordering a standard strong brew. He didn’t acknowledge Andromeda as the barmaid flirted with him beyond thanking her with a small, tired smile as he took his drink and drifted further down the bar.

Curious, Prowl found his attention captured and held by the newcomer as the dark-cycle wore on. One ale led to another, and another to another, until the mech was raising his voice to join in songs of the carousing crowd that rang through the pub. It was a drunken dispute over some lyrics that erupted in a rendition of a common shanty that saw the newcomer thrown out on his faceplates. From his table Prowl could see out the door, and he winced as the smaller mech went facefirst into some of the stale runoff along the edge of the street.

As the mech pushed himself upright Prowl saw his visor flash, and for a moment he feared the Polyhexian would push his luck beyond the fight that he already initiated. There was something about him that drew Prowl, but if the mech chose to continue the altercation he would likely find himself back on the side of the road, only this time without a still pulsing spark, and there was nothing that Prowl could do to prevent it.

Prowl’s doorwings dropped in relief as instead the mech stumbled to his pedes and set off in the direction of the docks. Finishing his drink with a final gulp Prowl rose from his table and followed.

He had only meant to make sure that the sailor made it back to his ship safely. Perhaps he had been too generous in thinking the mech was still rational as the Polyhexian freed a dingy from its mooring and started rowing out past the shelter of the cove. With a frown Prowl turned and moved swiftly along the rocky shoreline in the direction he knew the tide would carry the small vessel if the mech continued on his current course.

The stars overhead were so bright and clear now that he was far away from the light and noise of the shore. Jazz laid back in the boat and looked skyward at the view that was different from that fateful dark-cycle not even a vorn ago. Giving into his grief and not caring that he was floating drunkenly out to sea he began to sing again, this time a song of loss and sorrow so different from those tunes back in the pub.

A new ship, a new crew, one he did not belong to. He didn’t belong anywhere anymore. His kin and friends were gone. Every time he tried to find some sort of solace, find a new belonging, he failed. In his grief it took several kliks for him to realize that he was not singing alone and he bolted upright, jaw hanging open as he found himself looking into a set of the most brilliant blue optics he had ever seen.

He had stories of the selkies that were rumored to roam these coasts, but he had thought them merely tall tales born of too much drink, myths spread by older sailors for amusement of newcomers and landlubbers. If that was the case though then he was more drunk than he had ever been, or it was a very real myth whose enchanting voice was echoing the song that he had just been singing.

As the song ended the selkie smiled at him, helm tilted to the side curiously until he spoke. “Its not wise to be out so far at night in such a small vessel. If anything were to happen it is unlikely that you would be able to make it back to shore in your condition.”

The statement pulled a bitter laugh from somewhere deep in Jazz. “Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Maybe it’d even be goin’ home.’Cause I’m sure I’m outta my processor seeing something like ya.”

How the selkie managed to make his way into the small boat without disturbing it Jazz was too drunk to process, but the warm frame that was suddenly next to his, smooth protoform tail against his legs as the selkie rested on his elbows and looked up at him. “My name is Prowl, and I am very real, I assure you.” He lifted a servo in offering, squeezing Jazz’s servo firmly when Jazz reached out in return. “And I can assure you that there are none of your kind down in my world.”

“None living.” Jazz agreed, fingers convulsing as his grief surged once more and spilled out in a flood of glyphs. The loss of his origin and his progenitors, the rend in his spark as his twin had slipped under the waves when his strength had given out and he had lost his grip on the float in the storm. Family and extended kin, they had all been on their shipping vessel, all of them lost to sea save Jazz in one cruel sweep of fate.

“Not alone this darkcycle.” Prowl countered once his glyphs had run, touching his face gently, wiping away the filth and grime that was still smeared across his cheekplate from earlier. “I will stay until the light.”

Settling down the selkie began to sing, the glyphs haunting and beautiful, and even though he couldn’t understand many of them Jazz spark found a whisper of peace, and possibly the start of a healing.

He didn’t want to let go as Prowl rose as the light of the sun appeared on the horizon, shining over the water. The selkie offered no glyphs as he slipped back over the side of the boat, never letting go of Jazz servo.

“I can’t go on alone.”

The Selkies' other servo rose up to cradle Jazz’s, then withdrew with a final squeeze, “Just hold this close and think of me, and you will never be alone.”, before slipping beneath the surface.

Jazz’s spark leapt into his throat at the sudden emptiness, so close to what had happened before, as servo tightened around the object and he finally looked down. The pearl pendant in his palm glowed in the growing light, and with a deep vent held it close for a moment, then gathered the oars to head back to the shore.

For a change the coming light cycle held a sliver of hope where only pain had resided before.

[juannaa]

London Life

I’ve been in London for more than a month now and I’ve been feeling similar to the city London itself-- hectic. There’s always something going on-- festivals, protests, cultural events that include food and music. Here I am, sitting in my room, finally being able to jot down my experience here thus far (a little over a month). London has treated me amazingly. At first, i insisted that I could never live in a big city due to its overcrowding population and streets, but now that idea is debatable. Here I’ve learned how to navigate areas by reading maps. I’ve learned to use the tube railway service, the bus routes and I’ve even managed to get to places in London by walking. London is smaller than I would’ve figured. Anything and everything seems to be readily at my convenience. I’ve walked to the grocery store alone. I’ve walked to the grocery store at night with sweatpants-- another thing, not everyone in London dresses formally (I like to be either comfy and casual or sophisticated and formal). Hmm, I’ve been living in flats in Waterloo. I live in a flat with 8 other girls, and man, has it been hectic. Our flat is decent in space, just enough room for the 9 of us. My flatmates and I have managed to keep our flat clean despite our lack of communication. Our lack of communication has often led us to having passive aggression towards one another, and at some point, we have probably all hated each other. 

In the beginning of my London journey, I felt so out of place. 

“Big city. Many people. And me. All these people and spontaneous events here and I still can’t manage to find myself being completely satisfied. I’m in London and I should have fun” is what I thought.

And so I did. My one month in London so far has taught me so many things, but mainly this: do not expect, just let it be. At first I was a bit upset thinking that one of my flatmates cooked for everyone in the flat except for me. I also thought I was the only one who had a hard time understanding navigation and managing how to get from one place to another. I also had a bad feeling that the people in my college program did not want to bother to get to know me and not take the chance to get to know me. Everything was getting to my head. Finally, I gave everything a chance. 

I’m enjoying my stay here so far and hope that these three months don’t go too fast nor too slow. I hope I can keep up with London’s pace. I know that I will not be able to explore everything in London in these four months, but after my study abroad here, I plan to return... and perhaps live here again.

[starsheild]

Blank

Blank.

A blank slate. A clean start. Something new. Something fresh.

It was a choice. A chance. An opportunity. And he was going to seize it with both servos and hold on for dear life.

Jazz stepped out of the clinic and into the sun. He had been given a second shot at functioning. The medic who had found him almost in pieces on the side of the street had carried him back and put him back together.

Ratchet had demanded no payment for his services. And when asked why he was doing, the medic had simply stated that he was working to correct a wrong in the best way he was able. Well, the mech may have not used that exact phrasing, but that was the gist of what he was saying, from what Jazz gathered.

Jazz felt his twin before the other came into view.

“You’re alive!”

“Which you already knew.” Jazz shot back, smiling as he teased his twin.

“Ready to head home?”

“Ready to head out.” Jazz countered, and he could feel the shock in Ricochet as his words processed and hit home. “What da ya say? Blow this place?”

He could feel the indecision, feel the fear and the thrill that the idea stirred in his twin.

“Ready when you are.”

[starsheild]

Care

“Hush now, and be still.” Windswept ordered as he gently restrained the small green flyt, checking over the wing the creature was attempting to pull him grasp critically. The female squawked again, the tone defiant and snarky this time, but she did stop resisting.

“I know you don’t like it,” Windswept continued to speak as he worked, tone soothing. While many insisted that the creatures did not understand actual glyphs, the blue mech had worked with them long enough that he was confident they understood far more than many mech were willing to give them credit for. “But if this doesn’t heal right you won’t be able to fly properly again, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

While their beaks allowed for very limited facial expressions, the bright eyes could still express volumes of emotion, and the glare that was directed at him before she pointed looked away made Windswept chuckle. The small mammals were an invasive species, though no one had been able to determine if their introduction to Cybertron had been intentional or accidental. When it was discovered that their preferred diet consisted of skitters, another invasive species that, while harmless, had started to be a nuisance simply because they were multiplying unchecked, it was determined to let the flyts be and see if the two would balance each other out.

Greensong, as Windswept had dubbed the small female, had been clipped by a transport Rhodion and her wing had been injured. From the way she acted he suspected that she was either an escaped or abandoned pet. When no one had stepped up to claim her and no reports of a missing pet had been filed, she had been transported to the flyt sanctuary on Damaxus, and by extension Windswepts’ care.

“It looks much better, Lady Greensong.” Windswept informed her as he finished his examination, smiling at the head that was still turned away from him. “Another few megacycles and maybe you can join the rest of the residents. But for now, I think you deserve a treat for being such a good little lady?”

The green head turned just enough to evaluate him through the corner of one eye, and Windswept held up a bit of dehydrated skitter. After another klik of haughty consideration she turned and took the treat, swallowing it in a single gulp. Windswept pretended to not notice the purr that emitted from her as stroked her crest and returned her to rehab enclosure.

[starsheild]

Forbidden Magic- Hope

Prowl’s helm was still swimming in confusion as he hauled away from his audience, presentation? To the high priest. Very little of what had been said had made any sort of sense to him. He had heard stories that spoke of how witches were regarded in other states, but he had always thought that they must be some sort of sparkling tale. Surely the tales of place where they were actually respected, even honored, had to be exaggertions.

But the hunter had made it seem as though this were not the case. And if this was so, was the high priest of Praxus so set on eliminating them even beyond the bounds of Praxus? Wasn’t enough to chase them out of his own place of power?

While the guards were not exactly gentle with him, Prowl realized that they seemed to be taking care to now injure him as they bustled him along. He was also surprised as he realized that instead of going down, as he assumed they would be towards some sort of holding cell or dungeon, they were actually going up levels, and the routes they were taking were back halls.

Finally they brought him to a rather plain looking door. Though when they pushed it open Prowl discovered that what lay on the other side was anything but plain. The quarters were not ostentatious, but they were lavious and luxurious. They looked like something that had come out of one of those other tales that Prowl had heard as a sparkling when they spoke of noble mansions and royal palaces.

Two more mecha appeared as though from nowhere, moving so silently that Prowl actually saw them before he sensed them. They said nothing as they took him from the guards. It did not escape Prowl how quickly the guards retreated as soon as they had handed over their charge, the door closing quietly behind.

He opened his mouth to ask questions, and froze as he found himself looking into the optics of the two. While at first glance they appeared normal, when he looked again he found them as cold as Lifespark’s, if not quite as deep. Any questions he might have had died on his glossa, and even though fear welled up in his spark and screamed at him to flee, he felt as though his frame was no longer under his control as he was steered deeper into the chambers

Another door, and then another, and another, and then- a room that was so stark it was startling in contrast to the one they had just left. Cages lined the back of what appeared to be a laboratory, It was to one of these that Prowl found himself deposited, restrained so that he could barely move and left without a sound.

It was not until the door closed again that Prowl actually heard another sound. A sound that tore at his spark in it’s familiarity.

Despair, followed by weeping.

Prowl forced his helm around until he was looking into a pair of familiar green optics. Optics that he had not seen in vorns except in dreams and memories, framed by dull but familiar faceplates. Even stripped down to bare protoform as she was, Prowl knew her.

“Originator.”

“Prowl.” The voice was soft and raspy, whether from abuse or disuse Prowl could not determine, but it was still clearly his originators voice. “Prayed non-stop that you had far enough, hidden wll enough, that they would never find you. But it seems as though Alchemist has abandoned us.”

“It was you who always encouraged us to hope and be strong, Originator.” Prowl countered gently, his spark breaking at seeing her so. “Do not give up just yet.”

“Those who come here do not leave alive.” Soarings green optics traveled along the line of cages, then over to the wall where the lights hung. Prowl’s optics followed, and only then did he actually process what she intended for him to notice.

He was thankful there was nothing in his tank to purge as he realized that the crystal lantern that lit the room were not merely functional pieces. Each one was a spark chamber, suspended from wall or ceiling, and there were hundreds.

Those who come here do not leave alive…

How many of their kind had met their fates in this very chamber?

With a deep vent Prowl dimmed his optics and focused inward, to his own spark. After a klik he found the links he sought, faint as they were for the distance between them. The whisper of Bluestreak, his creation by adoption, and the stronger light that was Smokescreen, creation borne of his own spark. They lived. Smokescreen was brave, smart, and resilient. He would not give up. So Prowl would continue to hope. He might not be able to tell her, but he would be a light for Originator as they were for him.

“Do not give up yet.”

[starsheild]

Forbidden Magic- Payment

“You are sure he is one?”

“As many as I’ve brought you and you still question me?”

Prowl ignored the exchange. He was tired, beyond tired. His frame ached. His helm ached. But neither pain came close to the pain in his spark. There was small comfort in knowing that his creations had escaped the hunters, but that was all it was. A small comfort.

Had Smokescreen been able to make it to Ratchet? He knew that they were not dead, but that was all. Hurt, lost… beyond his ability to help… He had fought.

A jerk to his chevron brought his helm up, and Prowl found himself staring into the cold optics of a priest. He was marked as priest of Primus, one of the high priests no less. Prowl’s spark went cold as his tired processor supplied a designation to match the faceplates.

Lifespark.

It was his designation that was signed to all of the proclamations and ordinances condemning Prowl’s kind. It was his closest disciples that spread the word from city to town to village all across Praxus. He had been high priest longer than any other on record, his spark and frame seemingly ageless.

“Witches garden in full season behind his hab.” Shadelock elaborated. “Bags all packed to run with supplies that won’t spoil and concoctions that the average mecha wouldn't know what to do with. And final proof?”

The dark plated hunter held out a cracked crystal, a the keystone that Prowl had used as he fought to give his creations time to flee. “Laid out two of my band with this before we could get it away from him. Set two more on their heels with a short blade.”

Lifespark took the dull crystal shard and rolled it in his servo critically before nodding once. “Very well. You will be paid your standard rate. I will take care of this abomination, and all of it’s tools. See Abacus. He will have your payment, and another lead.”

“In Praxus?” Shadelock demanded as he let go of Prowl’s chevron, allowing the his helm to fall forward again.

‘Monoplex.”

“Mono-. Forget it.”

The cold optics flashed. “What did you say?” The high priests voice was soft, but the threat was there, an undercurrent of icey warning.

“I said forget it.” Shadelock repeated, refusing to back down, one servo resting on his hip as he met the priests optics squarely. “Sure, Praxis is convinced that witch-coded mecha are the spawn of Unicron, but that only goes so far. Catching this one in Polyhex was a trick. You aren’t paying me enough to keep hunting them that far.”

“They are an abomination. They must be destroyed by the will of Primus-”

“Save the slag-speech.” The hunter interrupted. “I do it for the credits, not the good will of your god. Not my problem that you’ve managed to hunt down all the ones close. I don’t care why you want them or what you do with them, but if I’m risking life and limb hunting them outside of Praxus, my rate’s tripled.”

Prowl felt as much heard the hiss of anger that escaped the priest, and it sent a tiny shudder through his frame. There was something deeply malevolent about the sound. Beside him, even Shadelock seemed knocked back a bit, though the hunter stood his ground with continued confidence and bravado.

“If you will not serve the will of Primus, I shall find one that will. Out..” Lifespark ordered.

“Yah, good luck with that. If you change your processor let me know.”” Shadelock quipped as he departed.

[starsheild]

Prize- Allowance

The next light cycle there was a chime at the door. Before he could rise to answer it the door opened to admit a stream of mecha. As much as Jazz was annoyed by the intrusion, having mecha of the status that were entering announce their arrival before actually setting physical pede inside the door was something of a novelty as well.

Chopper led the small parade, stepping up to stand before Jazz as the rest of the mecha fanned out through the room. Jazz lowered his helm in greeting and submission, but did not bother to rise from where he was still seated on the low couch. Pantera had elected to settle on several thick cushions on the floor after looking over all of the seating options in the sitting room. Of them took into account his doorwings, and at least in the nest of cushions he could arrange them to sit or recline comfortably as he pleased. Out of the corner of his optic Jazz saw Oilslick, the stable medic, make his way over the Praxian, but he his attention was quickly refocused as Chopper began to speak.

“Ah, my champion. What did you think of last dark-cycles celebration?”

“It was certainly a party n’ a half.” Jazz replied, nodding as though in appreciation of the spectacle that he and Pantera had been forced to partake in. “I got nothin’ ta complain of, and ‘m bettin; yer guest don’t either.”

The vain stable master seemed to soak in the praise as he nodded his helm in agreement. “Your post match medical check came back clean, and Sawtooth said you appeared well after the bout. How are you feeling?”

How was he feeling? Disgusted. Used. Tired. If he was honest, all of that with at least another half dozen or so negative adjectives that he could add to the list without even straining himself. But Jazz also knew what to say, and what not to say, so none of those glyphs left his lips. “Still a lil’ sore. Havin’ my own bath is helpin’ wonders wit that though.”

“I wondered how much of your new accommodations you had been able to explore. What do you think of them?”

Here, at least, Jazz was willing to be a little more honest. “The bath’s nice, n so’s all the space. The berth ‘n furniture could use a lil help. Color scheme could too.”

Chopper looked, and to Jazz’s surprise actually nodded in agreement. “Since you are entitled to spending stipend now, put together a list and give it to Sawtooth, He is being assigned to you permanently. Outside of the compound you will still be under his authority. Inside well-” The stable master waved a servo, inviting Jazz to draw his own conclusions.

Jazz managed to hide his surprise under a nod of thanks. “I’ll get ta thinkin’ on it.”

“Excellent.” Chopper declared. “But now for the other matter at servo. How do things look with our new breeder, Oilslick?”

“The ember is still there and strong.” The medic straightened, apparently satisfied with his examination and done with the complaint Praxian at his pedes. “The administration of the pro-creo series inducers was timed perfectly. The breeder is in excellent physical health. So long as a proper diet is maintained and there are no unforeseen complications, I see no reason the carry should not be successful.”

The stable master rubbed his servos together, the expression of glee on his face making Jazz’s spark twist in disgust. “I will need to find him proper accommodations then, where he can have regular supervision.”

Oilslick looked about the small quarters thoughtfully. “Regular contributions would be beneficial as well. I see no reason why he should not remain here, unless you fear there is a chance that the fighter will harm him.”

Jazz’s entire frame went tense at the implication, his focus narrowing in on the medic. While the medic did a fine job of keeping the gladiators healthy and combat worthy, it was for his own sake more than any concern for his patients well-being, and Jazz’s dislike of the medic was inversely related to how much he trusted him, which meant extremely high and not at all. On top of his personal feelings for the medic was the sudden surge of code that rose in his processor at the news that he had kindled and ember in the other mech. If it was nothing but a spark of energy at the moment, it and the mech he had kindled it in were his, and no one was going to take them from him.

A bark laughter interrupted his train of thought an refocused his attention as Chopper spoke. “On the contrary, I think here might be the safest and most secure place in the entire compound for him. Put together a comprehensive dietary plan for the breeder. He will simply be fed when Jazz eats. And a list of anything else he might need. It can be added into the budget for renovation and supplies here. If nothing else, it saves setting up and securing separate quarters, at least for the time.:”

His attention shifted to Jazz. “You have two mega-cycles of down time. Heal, enjoy your prize. It’s back to training with the others when the new orn starts.”

“Thank ya. I will.” Jazz replied. With his glyphs the Chopper turned, and the small circus that parade through the door left as abruptly as they had come.

[starsheild]

Forbidden Magic- Related

“Now, explanation.” Ratchet demanded as he settled in a chair facing the pair of mecha.

“You knew that Prowl is a witch?” Barricade answered the demand with a question of his own, clearly shocked and suddenly clearly uneasy. On the settee Smokescreen had drawn back as well, Bluestreak cradled close as the twins closed ranks around the pair.

Ratchet’s posture eased, his burst of temper fading as fast as it had sparked. His next glyphs were offered in a more level tone. “I had suspicions when I first saw him at the clinic. The changes that started to occur after he moved in with the bitlets just confirmed them.” His attention turned briefly to where all of the young ones were huddled together. “I’m not going to hurt any of you, Smokescreen. And I swear I had nothing to do with the hunters that came after Prowl. I would have tried to help you all hide, had I known they were about.”

Smokescreen seemed to think the glyphs over, and slowly the tension in his small frame eased. Ratchet had never been anything but good to them, and his origin had trusted the medic. His origin would not have sent them running to Ratchet otherwise.

“You’ve had dealin’s with witch-mecha before.” Ricochet surmised. 

Ratchet nodded. “One saved my life once. They’re not branded as the creations of Unicron most places, as they are in Praxus, but even where they’re honored and revered most of them try to at least blend in.”

Barricade nodded in agreement, though his optics were locked on Ricochet, and there was a hint of tension in his frame as he studied the Polyhexian. The flame patterned mech did not miss the look, or the tension, and promptly settled on his knees next to Barricades chair. He waited, unusually patient, until Barricade spoke.

“I’m sorry. We do try to hide. And I didn’t think it’d matter.” His optics shifted to Ratchet. “ I still don’t understand why it matters. I don’t have any power. Prowl got it all.”

“It’s very rare, less than one chance in a million from what I’ve been told.” Ratchet said as he leaned back and crossed his arms, frowning. “For a non-welder to carry a gifted spark, but it does happen. And it sounds as though that is what is happening. It all fits now. You’re not gifted, but you still carry the code, and the spark on yours is gifted. Only the extra that it needs your spark can’t provide.”

“Whadda’s that mean?” Ricochet demanded as he rubbed Barricades shoulder, offering what comfort he could, and making his support clear.

“It means that we need to get Prowl back here, or we need to find another witch if you want that spark to survive.” Ratchet sighed. “If the stories, and that is more what they are, are true, once it migrates to the frame the chances of survival are about the same as any newspark.”

“Until then?” 

“You felt better when you were drinking Prowl’s teas and eating the fuels he was making. The power that he was putting in them was compensating for some of the drain. You need that, and more.”

Ricochet squeezed his lovers shoulder. “How much ‘o that do ya got left? The stuff from Prowl?”

Barricade’s optics dimmed a bit as he figured in his helm. “An orn, give or take a megacycle. More if I stretch it.”

“No stretching.” Ratchet interrupted that line of thought as soon as it was uttered. “At the strength you’re taking it now it’s just helping. It won’t do any good taking less to try and make it last longer.”

“I can help.” Smokescreen piped up from where all the mechlings were still ensconced on the settee. Three pairs of startled adult optics locked on him.

“You have power?” Barricade asked softly, hopefully.

Smokescreen shook his helm. “No, at least not yet. But Origin split the stuff he wanted ta take with between me ‘n him. I got some of the travel snacks and energon add-ins.”

“I’ll look them over, but even a little bit will help.” Ratchet said, nodding in approval of the mechling.

“That settles it then.” Ricochet declared as he rose to his pedes and leaned in to kiss Barricade. “I’ve got ‘n orn ‘n a bit to catch up with Jazz ‘n get yer brother back ‘n back here.”

Barricade caught his servos in his own, red optics looking intently into red tinted visor. Ratchet caught the the youngling’s attention and motioned them to follow, giving the pair a moment.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Barricade whispered as the door clicked softly shut behind the small herd.

“Like ya said, no reason fer ya to.” Ricochet countered, tilting his helm to rest against the Praxian’s crest. “Ya already know witches are welcome ‘ere, same as everyone else. I’ll get yer brother back, ��fer all three ‘o us.” He promised, servo resting briefly over his lovers spark before he claimed one more kiss and departed.