Author's NB:
The over whelming responses I get from my stories, both in PM and on the reviews is that I'm kinda good at writing violence and general soul destroying angst. Writing for me is a way to challenge my widdle brain into improving my vocab, spelling and grammar, but I've been thinking, what about improving my scope?
So here's where I try and write something that is not riddled with corpses and heartache. There will be violence I'm guessing, but it's gonna be G1 '80s cartoon cutesy violence!
I'm going to try and insert romance, my warped sense of humour and hopefully without turning this into some smutty drabble of Mary Sues or whatever.
I've been thinking of this plot line for a few years now, so I know where it's going, it's not just me sitting in front of my messed up keyboard with too much Red Bull seeing where things.
However, ideas in my brain and ideas on paper generally wind up different; this might turn out to be a complete failure. I'm also going to be throwing in probably far too much New Zealand lingo and esoteric references into this as well.
Anyway, a Kereru is a dirty great big pigeon that generally lives in the forests of my beautiful homeland, New Zealand. It's my favourite native bird, and the fact it gets drunk on ripened berries and shits everywhere is probably why. Plus, they's so purdeee. :B There's one that lives in my neighbour's garden and my cat has had a go at it's endangered self.
My cat lost.
oooOOOoooo
Chapter One:
Whoops, didn't think that through
"Someone really dropped the ball on this one, didn't they Prowl?"
"As I recall, this mission was 'pose to be on the low down, you know, none of the fleshies noticing us, driving around through this…"
"Primitive little country?"
"I was gonna say quaint".
"My aft manifolds you were".
"You wouldn't give up your aft manifolds if Megatron was pointing his fusion cannon at your wax collection!"
"That's true, so true… anyway, Prowl, do you know who fragged up?"
"Be quiet, Sunstreaker, we're drawing enough attention as it is, without you speaking loud enough for the humans to hear".
"Aw, come on guys, play nice, and just enjoy the view".
"What view? The archaic buildings with terrible, terrible pastel paintjobs or those hideous squiggly façades decorations?"
"I think the humans like squiggly things".
"Yeah, fine, they like squiggly things but do they have to adorn every damn structure?"
"From my data files the "squiggly things" as you so aptly put it, Sunstreaker, are part of the motifs found in the building style Art Deco, this city was rebuilt in the style post an earthquake during the time designation 1930s".
"…"
"To add words to my brother's shocked expression, how in the Pit do you know that, Prowlie? That's a little random and a rather useless piece information for your logical brain to bother with".
"Don't call me Prowlie; such as it is, I immersed myself in the local culture of this particular nationality to better react to any social situations that may inadvertently arise. It was only logical".
"My diode, I bet you did it to impress the J-Man. Isn't that a fact Prowlie-McProwl Prowl?"
"Your attempts to illicit an outburst from me by corrupting my name will fail, Sideswipe".
"Alright then, just trying to have a little fun, Prowlster".
"I prefer Prowlie McProwl Prowl".
"I quite like the Prowlster".
"Jazz. You're not helping".
"Relax Prowl, just a bit of harmless fun".
"When those two are involved, no fun is harmless".
"Is that your professional opinion?"
"It is most certainly a professional opinion, Sunstreaker, one born of vorns of having to tolerate your ill-advised shenanigans".
Jazz chortled.
"What is it you find amusing, Lieutenant?"
His voice was rather stern this time, well sterner, he was getting frustrated.
"Heh, shenanigans".
The other two lambos added their laughter.
"Alright. Enough. We need to try and blend in. Isn't that what you were concerned with Sunstreaker?"
Prowl was using his 'enough's enough' voice. Calm. Level. With that irritating hint of seriousness that was bordering on significant reprimand.
"Yes, Prowl, Lieutenant, Sir, tactician and brilliant logical minded mechanoid. Blend in, which is something I doubt we can very much do as two Lamborghinis, a Datsun 280ZX with foreign police markings and a gosh darn Porsche, driving through a town where the most elaborate car would be an illegally modified Mazda RX7, circa 1986".
Sunstreaker's voice was so deadpan that the aforementioned Porsche almost rare ended the tactician from the sudden strike of amusement that the golden twin could make such a statement without sarcasm or the obvious hilarity infecting his tone.
The two Lamborghinis then had to stop as equally hard in order to prevent an accident in a foreign country – which all three were sure wouldn't go down swimmingly well with the local authorities. Not to mention Prime.
"Jazz".
Prowl grumbled.
"Chur bro! Check out them choice cars, ow!"
"O is for awesome, cous!"
Two of the natives stood in the centre of the road mouths agape at the luxurious sight.
The holoform in Prowl's front seat turned and looked seriously at them, unimpressed by the overall lack of concern of his fellows at the delicate situation they were in.
"Wanna chip bro?"
The first of the two asked, holding out a cardboard cup filled with a highly fried potato "chip", hot, soggy and over salted for healthy human consumption.
"Can't eat chips bro, only eat plankton!"
Jazz's holoform yelled out.
The two men started "cracking up" as Jazz would later describe their laughter in his animated re-tellings of their trip down under to those unfortunate enough to miss out.
Prowl was most put out.
"We're leaving. Now".
The tactician grunted over the internal comm. away from the prying audios of the gathering humans who were quite intrigued to see such a display of automotive beauty in their small town.
"Not until you admit your total cluster cuss of a fail for thinking just because disembarking into the port of a small town was a clever way to go considering most of these peasants haven't seen anything as spectacular as us… and by us, I mean me of course. So here we are, all dressed up and no where to go, in a town full of funny speaking hicks who are, of course, going to notice us!"
"Shut up, Sunstreaker".
"No. I will not shut up. I am sick and tired of Prick acting as if he's somehow better than us because he happens to be Prime's number one aft kisser".
"Hehe, did you just say Prick instead of Prowl?"
"Indeed I did, brother, indeed I did".
"Hey! Check out those cars! Is there a show in town?"
"Here? In Napier? Get real, bro".
Two more humans had taken notice. The chip eating ones, still standing in the middle of the road, eating chips; one wiping the salty fat residue on his stubbies and walking towards the Yellow twin, his hand outstretched as if too introduce himself to the driver.
"Better get a move on, Sunny, those humans are ingesting some pretty greasy chow, you don't want their mucky paws all over your finish do you?"
Jazz stated a rather passive aggressive move on his part. It certainly ended the discussion the vanity stricken twin going so far as to overtake Prowl, almost striking the chip eating humans and sped off ahead towards the outskirts of the small city.
You owe me for that, Prowlie McProwl Prowl.
Jazz said with a level of cheeky mockery over their private comm. Prowl responded with a groan.