Song: Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have With Her Clothes On - Panic! At The Disco
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Summary: Logically speaking, he could of simply lied about his feelings to himself, but that wouldn't seem illogical, wouldn't it?
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Lying Is The Most
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Two.
Three.
Four.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
One. Two. Three. Four. The counting could of been for a song beginning to start, a band beginning to play, a game beginning to end, a timer beginning to ring, an aggravation beginning to cease. It could of been for a rich man and his money, a poor man and his pennies, a student and the school clock, a cellmate and the tiles on the ceiling. But the voice was too calm to be anything near those. The voice was too haunting and beautifully in tune with the beat to be anything near those. The voice belonged to someone just as calm and carefree, but strict when it came to staying focused on his passions. Instead, the counting belonged to the voice, and the voice belonged to the owner, the dancer, the one inside of his room practicing for a stage performance that would decide who won the million dollars. The numbers continued to be counted off, repetitively, and with each number spoken was a tap on the floor as his feet came in contact. It would of been a perfect number, a perfect performance, a perfect moment to walk in and wish him luck, but he already had someone. The two shadows were connected and in tune with each other as they danced in the dim light. It angered him.
Logically speaking, he could of cared less. He could of been sitting in his office pondering over the last set of numbers delivered to his desk, then spending the next few hours awake in the night typing up the reports and sending them to Optimus Prime. Logically speaking, he could of believed it never happened, if belief was a logical thing. He could of walked down the other hall and met up with the twins, and listen to the medic chew them out as he attempted to connect the wires again in Sideswipe's leg, all the while the screaming echoing out of the medical bay; everyone knew that Sideswipe was too tough to be shut off during Ratchet's procedures, even if it meant he lost his vocals over it. Of course, this was all logic speaking. It would be absurd for some reason he was thrown from that track. The perfect and reasonable track of logic. But as absurd as it sounded, he frowned at the thought that it may be true.
There was a chuckle from inside the room, and he recognized it at once. He clenched his fists as the shadows stopped momentarily, and listened. Whispers, another chuckle, and more whispers. And then it began again. This time, it was him counting off, and the other two were quietly moving across the floor, a click, a thunk, a tap here and there. It was here that the piano registered in his mind, and pressed a series of chords through his core. Every so often an individual key would be tapped, and he would respond ever so slightly, but with each individual key that was tapped, whatever the equivalent of a human's heart was hit directly with a mace. It struck him again, and soon, he was pushed against the wall, his optics dimmed, doorwings lightly scraping against the metal of the wall seperating him from the dancers. He was not a dancer, and it was this thought that racked his mind with the reasons his logical side had tried to console him with. At this point in time however, he wasn't so sure it was logic trying to reason as much as it was his emotions. Prowl learned long ago that emotions made you succumb to decisions you never wished to make; they made the decisions so much easier, but later, disasterous to the long-term cause. He forced himself to believe in the logical side and to train himself vigorously to always think that way. In a few years he had succeeded, but here again, since his time on earth, the unreasonable and emotional had struggled to take over.
He kept himself pressed against the wall, listening to the lyrics of the music from the other side. He never found out what had made it so appealing enough that Jazz would choose to listen to it, but then again Jazz was easy to amuse and things appealed to him if they were simplistic enough. The lyrics seemed to fit the two inside, but outside, they made no sense whatsoever to him. Prowl stared up at the ceiling and began to mouth his own lyrics to the music, temporarily consoling himself in the process. He had too much work to do to be standing here, but he couldn't pull himself away anymore. It was too late and he was caught by the notorious villian, and his henchmen had chained him to the wall so he couldn't escape, and he would be used for some cruel and disgraceful experiment later. Somewhere in his mind jumped the idea that he was simply there to be tortured, and if it was so, than it had been successfully done as he felt himself being whipped harshly. If that wasn't the emotional side speaking to him, then the logical side had something to say instead. The logical side stated that instead of being chained to the wall by his enemy, he was moreso jealous. It wasn't a feeling he had frequently, if at all in the past, but now it dug into him, leaving scars in his body. It raked its claws underneath of the metal and into the wires, uncaring how sensitive they are, unsympathetic to the acids that were beginning to spill. It growled threateningly into his audio sensors, and was climbing onto him to take over its prize. In an attempt to rid of his victim it opened its jaws widely, ready to bite into his neck, but at the last second, when the teeth began to scrape across the nape of his neck, it retreated, bounding off in cries of agony.
Prowl froze as he returned to the present, to reality, and to the fact the door to Jazz's room was open, and Mirage had already made it down the length of the hallway, unaware he was there at all. A hand was set down lightly on his shoulder, making him jump. Jazz chuckled and pulled Prowl back against his chest, sliding his fingers down an arm and grasping the other's hand.
"I can't tell whether you're green or blue." Jazz mused. Prowl made a confused face, looking down at his hand. He wasn't either color, and the light wasn't affecting his---then it registered. Inwardly, Prowl groaned at his lack of common sense for the moment, and he narrowed his optics at the saboteur.
"Neither."
"No? Then I have permission to fetch Huffer?" Jazz was toying with his mind and he knew it, more than he knew some other things but, the fact Jazz had mentioned a name with the taunt sent an arrow of jealousy to his spark, momentarily disabling it. He turned and grabbed the Porsche, pushing him into the room, the door sliding shut behind them, almost clipping his doorwing. Jazz could only grin as he stumbled backwards against a machine. Prowl noticed the glow from the machine and glanced over at it. ENERGON was illuminated in bright neon purple, the background a contrasting orange. He frowned, and looked at Jazz.
"What is that?" He inquired. Jazz glanced over his shoulder, then smiled.
"One of Wheeljack's experiments. Spike told him about a strange machine that dispatches aluminum cans---but they don't transform." Prowl could only continue to frown at the increasing amount of humanoid items starting to appear around the Ark, and here Jazz had decided to decorate his room with one as well. It occured to him that this was the reason for the shadows dancing across the walls earlier. Prowl gave a sigh, and Jazz peered at him. "You're right. You're turquoise." The Datsun glared at him, before pulling away. He found it awkward that when he didn't have access to Jazz a moment ago, he was much more wanting. Only now, the two of them present in the room made him as annoying as usual. Prowl had work to do, and this was a mere distraction that had already faded from his mind. Turning, he went to leave before hearing the steady music coming from the speakers lining the walls. He stopped and gazed up at the speakers aligned with one another, creating the effect of a wallpaper banner as they continued their pattern around the room. The pattern was the same, from larger speaker to small, and small to large. Each one vibrated as the sound rang out from them, even though it was a low frequency. He watched the shadow of Jazz cross the room to the main stereo, pressing a button gently. A series of clicks and hisses emitted from inside the machine as it changed discs. It finally settled with one, and he turned up the volume as it began to play. Jazz learned earlier that he didn't have to do too much in order to keep Prowl where he wanted him, but he found it a perfect opportunity when he could send him over the edge or when he had to play hard to get.
He danced across the room over to Prowl, taking his time and choosing his movements carefully as he slid around his mate. The music seemed to get louder with each step he took around the tactician, but maybe it was because Prowl was paying attention, a little too much attention to the saboteur as he moved about. For only a moment, Prowl thought back to the day Spike and Carly saw Jazz dancing. It amazed them that the mechs could move so freely and fluidly as if they were human themselves. Prowl had some reason he explained, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what he had said. If he had to explain it again, it would only be that it was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen since they had landed on the planet; even that was underneath the proper definition. His thoughts were shaken away abruptly when he felt Jazz's hand take his own, the other sliding gently down his side to his waist. His mate's smile was up close, and his optics lit up.
"Daydreaming again?"
"...It's 8:32:04 in the evening. 05. 06." Jazz chuckled and nodded as if he was actually paying attention to him, but in reality, he was more focused on his feet as he began to move, taking Prowl with him. The Datsun hesitated, looking down as he tried to keep track of what Jazz was doing. The Porsche stopped and took his hand from Prowl's waist, lifting his chin.
"Eyes on me. Let me lead." He smiled and replaced his hand in its previous place, and once again the two began to move, Jazz taking the first step as Prowl followed. Prowl realized he was definitely not thinking logically; he hadn't been thinking logically since he first walked down this particular hallway, past this particular room. Every so often he would realize, and every so often he would lose track of that logic, like now. It only occurred to him now that the song was on repeat, and that it blended its ending into its beginning, so that a beat was never missed as it transferred from one to the other. The idea that Jazz would do such a thing seemed so obvious to him now that he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. Then again, it mustn't have been that important, or it had lost its importance somewhere in the past as he realized something new. The presence of a sound that was completely angelic. The singer's voice had seemed to die out of the song itself, and had been replaced with another better voice, if that was all he had to define it. His vision seemed to return to him as he saw the saboteur singing the lyrics to him, closer to him then before when he was just beginning to get his logic back. Prowl scrapped his foot against the ground, skipping over the beat, and Jazz stopped to catch him in case he fell.
"Train kinda missed the station, huh?" He joked. The Datsun looked up at him.
"What?"
"Your train of thought."
"...Clever." In his mind, Prowl found that it was pretty clever, had he not been the butt of the joke. Jazz smiled.
"Where was it that we last left off?" His smile turned into a grin as he began to move again, and once again Prowl danced along with him. He must of subconciously learned the moves because at times it felt at if he was the one leading; either that or Jazz was taking coffee breaks every few minutes.
For the next hour, the two danced to the same song, the same beat, the same rhythm, the same melody. It didn't matter to one that it was on repeat, because there was a reason for him to put it on repeat; and it didn't matter to one that it was on repeat, because he was repeating the same thing over with someone who had brainwashed him, sort of. As the two continued to dance to the song repeatedily, it occured to one that there were more than just the singer and the drum in the song. He would begin to pick up the vocals behind the singer, and the chimes, and the guitar, and the subtle violin hiding behind the latter. Then, as the night continued to creep up on the both of them, and as the energy was slowly running out of them, even though they were barely exerting any effort on either's part, he noticed the same piano he had heard earlier. With each individual key that was tapped this time however, he felt a connection that continued to have parts added on. He felt the same as he would when he finished a report for Prime, minus the frustration of knowing there was another report to write up on his desk. This time, he didn't mind it at all. In fact, this time, he took his time tapping. Each. Individual. Key. One. Two. Three. Four.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.