Title: Stressed Out
Rating: PG
Characters: Prowl, mentions of Jazz
Summary: When Prowl's stressed out, he retreats to his office and rants to himself.
Warnings: none


Contrary to popular belief, Prowl did not have infinite patience.

Sensory panels twitching, he wondered if Jazz would mind it if he scared the rest of the Ops mechs (all of Jazz's little underlings, obviously not including Jazz himself) and his Tactical mechs (Prowl's underlings, obviously not including Prowl himself) into cowering and hiding together. He surely felt like doing so.

"They're acting like idiots!" He muttered to himself in the privacy of his office, "I mean, seriously, why can't I just get a minute of me time that's actually all to myself?! I keep getting interrupted whenever I even attempt to relax; I thought they wanted me to relax and 'calm down' with the punishments that result from when they act out. . . . They're all stupid idiots." Prowl hissed to himself as he got up and paced around his office. "Primus, I really am stressed out, but is it my fault my battle computer and logic center snapped from literal millennia of tolerating how they act? It might be, but I certainly don't think so!"

He looked to the door, thinking. Grinning suddenly, Prowl rubbed his hands together as if he was a villain from some cartoon the humans liked watching.

"Is it time to freak out some soldiers? I think so!" He cackled to himself. First: get his act together in preparation for the Plan.

[Words: 229]