Prowl stood silently at attention.
Lord Streetwise looked at the young mech standing before him, seizing him in and not trying very hard to hide his distaste. Most beings would have considered the mech rather handsome. He stood tall and straight, with plating polished appropriately for one of his station and marked with the symbols of his rank among the Enforcers. His coloration was attractive, white on black with a red chevron accenting clear blue optics. But then, his carrier had been a looker too. And one who had lacked discretion and any concept of decency or propriety.
"Prowl."
"My Lord." The mech answered, bowing his head to just the appropriate inclination, tone void of emotion or feeling.
Lord Streetwise leaned back in his seat, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction. Sponsoring the mech with the Enforcers had been the right way to go. It had gotten the youngling out from underfoot and given him a purpose in life, it had also stopped him leeching from society, like so many other mistakes.
It had also served in teaching him proper respect and his place. No more was that that longing in those optics for an explanation. In fact there was nothing in those optics any more. The lord found this immensely preferable.
"Your training is complete, and your service had been noted as satisfactory."
The barest flicker of the doorwings was the only response he got, the mech before him not raising his optics, and Streetwise continued. "You have one joor to pack your things and say whatever goodbyes you have to say, and then you will travel to the main transport hub. My aide will be waiting for you there with further instructions."
Prowl waited several kliks to make sure that the Lord of Praxus was finished before responding. "As you command, my lord."
Prowl stood silently at the transport hub, travel bag at his peds. Packing had been easy. He had entered his training with little, and he was leaving with little more than he had come. As for his goodbyes- he had made the rounds, offering the proper words of respect and gratitude to his mentors and instructors, and blessings of the future to those he had worked with.
They had said the proper things in return, commending him for his hard work, but none of them had been sorry to see him go. In truth, Prowl had not been sorry to leave them. The job he had come to know, the place were he finally felt like he sort of fit, he would miss, but not them.
He did not know where he was going. His tactical computer was busy computing locations and reasons, assigning odds to each scenarios and ranking them in order of probability, but it was more an exercise to keep him busy and in practice than an attempt to find an answer. It didn't really matter, in the end. He would go where the lord commanded and do as he was ordered. He had learned long ago that this was the best course of action when it came to matters of his life. Asking questions just got him in trouble.
He had no family. No history, no status. It had been made very clear to him that if the Lord of Praxus had not taken an interest in him, sponsored him, there was a good possibility he would have ended up in the streets. Just another drain on society like the mechs and femmes he arrested.
A mech appeared before him. "Prowl?"
Prowl nodded in acknowledgement.
"I am Smokescreen, Praxian Ambassador. You will come with me."
Prowl picked up his bag and followed obediently and without question. It was not his place to ask question.
