Okay, here's Chapter 7. Just letting you guys know now, the updates are going to stop for a while; I'm going to band camp soon and my time on my laptop will be coming to a stop. I'll try and update regularly when I get back.
Warning: This chapter may be a little depressing, depending on who you are.
Enjoy, read, and review, please!
The room was dimly lighted. Windstar was seated in a chair. Jazz was lounging rather nonchalantly in another, his legs over the side and his visored gaze on Prowl.
The Praxian was pacing, seemingly unnerved about something plaguing his mind. His doorwings were raised high, his hands clasped behind his back. His optics were shuttered, and his mouthplates were moving, muttering inaudible words.
Jazz watched somewhat nervously. Why was the detective so on edge? Was that the appropriate word? Prowl was not edgy, he was…what was he?
"Start with what happened to make this crime lord come to your town." The Praxian's voice tore him from his thoughts.
Windstar shifted in her seat, her wings pointed downward. "My hometown was always chaotic and disorganized. Riots and gangs were always somewhere, and so many murders took place it was common to find randomly discarded bodies."
"You spoke of riots. Why did such things take place? I have it narrowed to two causes: a badly organized government or a leader who cared only for himself and gave nothing to the town."
"Th-The government," she stammered. "They…it was full of stuck-up, hard-helmed fools. All of them 'royalty', or so they say themselves. They cared for no one except themselves and were too stubborn to listen to our protests and ideas on reorganization." Her optics darkened suddenly, and her wings shot up. "The glitch-heads…it would be nice for someone to take over."
"You speak of someone taking over, and that it would be 'nice', as you put it. Why do you say something like that if someone has already taken over?"
Easy, Jazz insisted. She's doin' her best. She is terrified of ya.
So you say. The Praxian's voice showed he was unconvinced.
She is, an' ya know it.
"I was coming to that." The femme was now mildly annoyed, Jazz knew, from the height of her wings and the shine of her optics.
"I assume this usurper was the crime-lord?"
"Yes."
"He abused his power, did he—" The Praxian cut off suddenly, freezing in place. Jazz was about to ask what was wrong when his comm-link whirred to life.
"You are needed, Jazz." Smokescreen's rumbling voice sounded.
"Ah'm in ta middle of a questionin', Smokescreen. Can't it wait?"
The warrior growled. "I am fine if you are the one to tell Whiplash you ignored his orders."
Jazz scowled darkly, aware that the sudden change in his mood frightened Windstar. He turned sharply away, ducking his helm so she wouldn't hear. "Watch ya tone, Smoke. Ah'm busy, and Ah'm on a lead for a case."
"A case?" The Praxian's voice deepened. "With no authority from Whiplash?"
Jazz snarled. "Ya are a real stickler for rules, aren't ya?"
Smokescreen was quiet a moment, but his engine could be heard growling threateningly. The Polyhexian was aware not to push the warrior too much; Smokescreen was a force to be reckoned with when he was in one of his rages.
"Perhaps I am." The Praxian's voice was eerily calm. "But you should know Whiplash has demanded the presence of you and your partner. There has been a murder."
"Why didn't ya say somethin' inta first place?"
The Enforcer growled. "Report to the backwater alleys of the Tower community, near Riskave Central. It is near Mirage's place."
"Hold on." Jazz's processor was still a few words behind. "Mirage? As in filthy rich, uptight, Tower mech Mirage?"
Smokescreen hissed, while at the same time his engine growled. Jazz was startled at the noise for a moment before remembering that Mirage was one of Smokescreen's relatives. It figured—they had the same black tempers and thought they were better than everyone else.
"Get your chasses over here. Now." The line disconnected.
Jazz narrowed his gaze, his visor blazing as he was swept up in the tide of his furious musings. He knew he shouldn't let Smokescreen get to him, but the Praxian knew where all of his buttons were and how to press them accordingly.
"I apologize for cutting this short," the Praxian detective informed Windstar, his voice controlled but his doorwings trembling and showing his rapidly increasing excitement, "But we are needed elsewhere. Jazz, if you would show her out?"
The Polyhexian nodded, jerking his helm to signal to Windstar to leave with him. As he exited the room, he received a private comm. from the detective.
Meet me in front of the complex. Make sure you have the essential Enforcer supplies.
Never leave without 'em.
"Jazz?"
He shut off the comm., facing Windstar. It was then that it hit him—she was so small and vulnerable. How could she have grown up in such a violent hometown, let alone one ruled by a crime lord? It made him want to rip out his spark for hurting such a beautiful femme.
Wait—beautiful?
"Yes, Windstar?" He looked down at her, visor softening and losing the rage that had hung over him for a while.
"Are you okay? You've been acting weird since you froze up earlier." She stared up at him, her soft optics holding concern.
"Ah'm fine, Windstar. Jus'…thinkin', tha's all." He held open the door for her, and noticed her wings jerk up in surprise. Jazz was the kind of mech—at least, when they had known each other better—that would hold a door open, slam it on your pede, laugh at your pain, and then make sure he didn't break it before laughing some more.
"Jazz." She spoke once again. "I'm sorry."
"For what? You ain't done anythin'."
"Your friend doesn't seem to like me, and my attitude wasn't improving things." Her tiny servos crossed over her chest, wrapping herself in her own embrace. "I made everything worse than it already was. He hates me, doesn't he?"
Jazz felt himself screech to a stop, his engine choking. She thought Prowl hated her?
"Windstar." When she didn't respond, he repeated her designation with more force. "Windstar. Look at meh." She did, but not before he steeled himself for the look of self-hatred and sadness and fear in her gaze. "Prowl does not hate ya. Ah told ya before—he ain't used ta meetin' new bots. An' ta way he acted in there—Windstar, look at meh. Ah ain't kiddin' with ya, alright? Ta way Prowl acted today is how he acts all ta time. He's ta same, cold, emotionless mech every orn. Do not beat yourself up 'cause ya think ya made someone hate ya."
"But it's not just with him. No one likes me, no one talks to me. It's as if I don't even exist. I'm stepped on all the time, I'm ridiculed, and all of my ideas are either rejected or stolen and put under someone else's name. I'm worthless, and everyone tells me so."
Jazz felt a surge of anger to whoever told the femme, this strong, beautiful femme that she was worth nothing. "Windstar." He placed his servos on her shoulder panels. "Ya are not worthless. Ya are anythin' but. Ya are ta strongest, kindest femme Ah've ever had ta pleasure o' knowin'." He held her chin in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. "If anyone ever tells ya otherwise, ya come tell meh and Ah'll see ta it personally tha' they see meh in a rage."
She smiled slightly. "I appreciate you looking out for me, Jazz, but please don't tear anyone limb from limb. You don't need to be incarcerated for assault."
Jazz grinned back, his visor flashing. "Ah ain't givin' ya any promises. Ya can make it back fine on ya own?"
Windstar put her servos on her hips. "Jazz, I've lived there all my life. I know where to go."
"Jus' checkin'. Ya be careful, now, hear?"
"I will." She walked away, aware of the Polyhexian watching her as he began to leave. The sound of rushing footsteps reached him, and before he could process what was happening, Windstar had tackled him and enveloped him in a strong hug that contradicted her small frame.
"Windstar, what—?"
She buried her face in his chest for a moment before looking up at him. Tears of expelled Energon streaked down her face, and then she buried her face once more. "Thank you," she murmured.
"Ya shouldn't be thanking meh," he whispered back, stroking her helm in gentle movements. Primus, she was so small. He could easily crush her if he wanted to. "Ya should be thanking yourself."
"Why?" Her large optics were fixed on him again.
"For believing what Ah told ya an' not dismissing it without a second thought." His comm-link whirred impatiently, and he pulled back. "Prowler's getting annoyed. Ah have ta go."
Windstar laughed at the Praxian's new nickname before letting out a disappointed vent, hugging him tighter. "Find me later, okay? We still need to talk."
"Ah will. Now get. Ah don' want ta keep Prowler waitin'."
"Okay. Bye, Jazz."
"Later."
You guys still haven't told me if you like my version of Smokescreen, or if you like Windstar. I'm assuming you do?
