The Diego Diaries: Strategy 6 (dd3 436)
-0-Prowl
He stood in the doorway watching the melee, ducking when bottles flew past his helm.
Standing behind him automatically assessing all of the mechs and their personal visible damage, Ratchet grinned. :Wow. This is going to be interesting:
:Only you would think so, loser: Prowl replied dryly. He stepped forward and grabbed a mini-con. Holding him over his helm, he threw him at the two in the center doing the most fighting. The little bot bounced off the pair and landed on two others. Those two turned, spotted Prowl, then assumed rigid attention. Others unaware of or too angry to stop because Prowl was there continued.
Unfortunately.
For them.
The two at attention wavered, then began grabbing mechs, holding them tightly in some forlorn hope that it would mitigate the shit details they were sure they'd be on until Christmas Surprise.
If they were that lucky.
The hapless goofs flailed, then spotted Prowl. Like a red tide, the realization of his presence spread devouring every hostile impulse but that of the High Caste Slagger Brigade. They swung and were caught up, too, until they stilled and saw the reason for the sudden change in things.
Shrugging off their captors, they stood together defiantly as Prowl stepped over stuff on his way to the middle of the room.
Ratchet followed, their place by the door taken by Blackjack and Alor who'd left dinner at Cafe Praxus heading to the Club themselves.
Joining them at the doorway, Devcon and Smokescreen appeared. "Looks like we're too late for the fun," Smokescreen said as Devcon smirked.
Dev had already located Smokey who'd crawled up from under the pile, a rather sharp looking older mech clinging to him with a giant grin.
Alor snorted. "We always are, alas," he said to general chuckles. They watched as Prowl turned slowly in the middle assessing the wreckage. There were several distinct groups he ascertained.
Mini-cons.
Of course.
High castes and soldiers, a bad brew on a good orn.
Half his family, something that stuck sideways in his craw.
Barricade and Scorponok weren't there. Their provisional parole required them in lock up when the last school siren sounded. Chalk that up to a good thing.
There were two bouncers holding slightly bent steel pipes in their servos. House 'keepers' he thought. Fat lot of good that did from the looks of it.
Springer and Drift were standing in the middle with uncertain expressions. Good for me, he thought.
*TAKE THAT FIRST MRS. OPTIMUS PRIME!*
He snorted.
Inside his processor.
Then he filed it away for later guffawing with the bond. His outward expression never changed even through the endless patter from Ratchet that burnt up the line between them.
Internally, of course.
Then he finally asked in his educated cultivated calm tenor … "What happened here?"
"*THEY STARTED IT!*" -everyone in the room pointing their digits at everyone in the room.
Alor guffawed. Loudly.
Blackjack grinned around the laughter going on internally that he was sharing with Ratchet.
Ratchet snorted, then laughed aloud earning a frosty glance from Prowl. He didn't care. It was hilarious.
Dev leaned against the doorjamb as he watched every soldier in the room come to attention. The mini-cons gathered together in a circle like tiny musk oxen, their metaphorical horns pointing out to defend their weakest links … their own afts.
The high castes gathered together striking the same pose … crossed arms over chassis, defiant sneers on their faces, all Sons of Anarchy without the bikes … in short, they looked like the punks they probably were.
Prowl glanced at a grinning mech, then nodded. "Hello, Mistermaster. Why am I not surprised to see you here?"
Mistermaster smiled with his usual flare. "Hello, Prowl. How are you? I haven't stopped in to pay my respects but consider that done now." He grinned broadly even as he gripped Smokey's shoulders tightly.
Smokey startled, then tried to shake Mistermaster off giving up at last as Prowl gazed at him with a baleful expression. "Mistermaster, please come here."
He squeezed Smokey's shoulders. "Don't go anywhere, youngling." He walked to Prowl, then paused. "What can I do for you, Prowl?"
Ratchet standing beside Prowl with his servos on his hips and a grin firmly on his face listened. Everyone of the senior Autobots and governmental civilians knew Mistermaster who had any contact with the government back then. Everyone knew that he was a fool for love in a single minded narcissistic clueless nearly unlawful sort of way.
They'd seen him in action, his processor set on whomever he felt looked like a good fling and it took the patience of Primus to get him off your trail. Obviously, he was after Devcon and Smokescreen's handsome grandson. Whatever Mistermaster was, two things were true. He was a whiz with finance. He was a fool for love.
There were other things but they were deeply and highly classified.
He was also a nice mech with a good attitude who didn't put stock in the caste system. If you had a nice aft, he'd chase you no matter your caste. That he was a pretty sweet happy guy most of the time worked in his favor, too.
Ratchet waited for the fun.
"Well, I was coming in for a drink and saw him," he said glancing back at Smokey who looked mortified. The youngling stood straighter at attention even as snickers from the other soldiers could be heard.
A glance from Prowl ended that.
"We danced, then the fight broke out. I think that my nephew there, Haro-n doesn't approve of my flights of l'amour."
Prowl almost grinned, but he didn't. "How did the fight start?"
Mistermaster considered that, then glanced at the mini-cons. "Perhaps one of those mechs had a better view. I personally only had optics for him." He grinned at Smokey.
Prowl considered the mech, then looked around. "Did this mech have anything to do with the fighting and did he fight?" Everyone stood silently, then Prowl looked at Mistermaster. "You may go home now."
"What about him?" Mistermaster asked nodding over his shoulder to Smokey.
"He stays. Good night, Mistermaster," Prowl said with a nod.
Even this redoubtable figure vented a sigh of defeat. With a mournful backward glance he exited the room after exchanging pleasantries with Alor, then Blackjack.
Prowl watched him go, then looked at the mini-cons. Quashing a sigh, he considered them. "Who speaks for your group? I'm assuming you are a group?"
"You'd be right," a little black and white bot said rising up to his full height of ten feet. "I'm Tix. I work at the energon conversion plant. We," he said nodding to the four other mini-cons with him, "we were here to celebrate a ten decaorn record of no accidents at the plant. Then these slaggers," he said nodding to the high castes nearby, "decided to start trouble."
"How?" Prowl asked.
"They began to rate everyone in the room … who they thought was 'face-able and who wasn't."
Everyone in the room glanced at the other, then glared at the high castes who stared back with blank expressions.
Tix looked at them in outrage. "They didn't think even one of us was 'face-able! Slaggers!"
"You aren't," one of the high castes retorted.
"FRAG YOU!" Tix said with outrage. He looked at Prowl. "They didn't like their uncle … that crazy old mech that just left hanging all over him," Tix said as everyone in the room stared at Smokey.
Smokey for his part stood at attention like a pro.
Dev on the other servo glanced away to grin.
"That's when they stood up to fight and we did, too. No one ever deserved to be slagged more than them."
Prowl considered that. There'd be mini-cons in the brig when this was sorted. The little slaggers stood with THEIR arms crossed over their chassis and it is was easy to see how they felt about all of it. Turning to the soldiers, he watched with satisfaction as they snapped to. "Jolt, report."
Jolt glanced sideways at Sunstreaker as he stood beside the smaller bot. Looking at Prowl, he nodded. "We had a … thing happen. It sort of ..." He fizzled out.
Prowl considering which of the three forward bases to stash the little bot upon like *FOREVER* glanced around. "Where was everyone in this … 'thing'?"
Jolt gulped. "We were there," he said pointing at a big pile of sticks where a table once was. "The mini-cons were there," he said pointing at another pile of debris, "and the high castes were there," he said pointing at a pile of kindling.
Prowl nodded. "What happened?"
"It was fast," Jolt said as the others nodded. "The high castes jumped up and ran onto the dance floor to grab someone. We were watching when a bottle hit Blue on the helm."
Prowl blinked. "Blue? Where is he?"
Bots parted as Bluestreak stepped out. A blast of sensor light hit him as Ratchet scanned the slightly tipsy bot. "You have a bump. It isn't terrible," Ratchet said.
Prowl feeling less than mollified looked at his son. "Go stand by the door."
Blue understanding the tone did as suggested.
Alor slipped his arm around the mech to steady him.
All watched. One could even hear the chronometers ticking away. It was noon in London and midnight on Cybertron or so said the clocks on the wall above the bar.
"After that, what happened?" Prowl asked as calm as before.
On the outside.
Even Ratchet tuned out now as he watched the S.I.C. calmly prepare everyone's doom.
"We jumped into the brawl. Sir." Jolt stood straighter which still made him shorter than the rest.
"What about it?" Prowl asked Tix.
Tix nodded. "It sounds right."
Prowl glanced at the bouncers. "What can you tell us?"
"We were working at the bar loading a keg," one of them said. "Then it all went to the Pit. I saw the high castes walk to the dancers, then the mini-cons grabbed them. They were dragged into the slag. Then the soldiers jumped up and jumped in. We came out and bopped noggins. Then you came in and it all got … uh … like this."
They looked at him with a slightly visible case of loathing and fear. It was just like the soldiers but theirs was greater.
The high castes just looked pissed and the mini-cons were waiting for the word to rumble once more.
"Who landed the first punch?" Prowl asked.
Everyone pointed at each other.
Then the bouncers pointed at the mini-cons.
Then the bouncers stepped back over debris to a safer more defensible position. Prowl's calmness was scary.
Prowl turned to the high castes who looked at him with haughty contempt. It was a look low castes were used to and most of the room felt their hackles rise once more. Prowl was used to it, too. In reverse.
The high caste contempt he'd come to know was that of his kind condemning him for 'mixing'. He looked at them and prepared himself for the slag he would get even at his level of power and control. "What do you have to add?"
Haro-n considered that. "What does it matter? You have your processor made up already."
Sio who was staring at Prowl shook his helm sadly.
Prowl knowing the gesture having had it granted his direction many times before turned to him. "What is your problem?" he asked without rancor or emotion.
Sio looked at him, then found his nerve. "You're such a disappointment."
The room temperature dropped many degrees as the rest of the combatants stared from Prowl to the youngling. Prowl's outward demeanor and his calm voice never wavered even as Bluestreak stepped forward.
"Frag you," Blue said as Alor and Blackjack grabbed his arms to pull him back.
Everyone stared at Blue, then Sio stepped forward emboldened. "You're a traitor to your caste, Prowl."
It was silent a moment, then the younglings nodded together.
Haro-n stepped beside Sio. "You're high caste but you mingle. I don't know how you stand it spending your time with them, working with them. You know they aren't capable of judgment or quality work but you promote them anyway. You're a traitor to your caste."
The icy atmosphere was explosive, then Blackjack stepped forward. "What am I, youngling? I'm Praxian Warrior Elite. Every single mech and femme on Cybertron was lower caste than me including you and yours. Even the Primes. I bonded with a mid caste. What does that make me?" he asked, his enormous powerful physique exuding power and confidence before them.
They looked at him, then Sio answered. "You're a traitor, too."
Ratchet snorted. "Consider this, younglings … the high castes had control of Cybertron. Your elders ran it and your caste is responsible for the war that happened because the rest of us weren't going to eat your scraps forever. This colony has been built by teamwork between the castes. I've seen your refugee camps and settlements. They don't hold a candle to this place. How is it if you're so awesome that your encampments don't measure up to this? How come you aren't there now living the dream?"
Cold optics stared at Ratchet and Blackjack.
Sio shifted. "The System was there for a purpose. It was there to keep the lower castes out of the way so that they wouldn't bring down Cybertron. Look what happened. Look what the lower castes did. You blame us for the Fall but its you and yours that did it. If we had had a Prime that had the ability to battle Megatron the way he should have, we'd still be there." That was as far as he got. A short jabbed fist hit him in the face and he staggered, then sat down hard.
The others stared at Sio, then turned to Prowl. He hadn't changed but for the fact that his wings were elevated nearly off his body. He stared at the younglings without expression though his aura was filled with rage.
"YOU HIT HIM!" Haro-n said. "YOU HIT SIO!"
"I did," Prowl said.
"YOU TRAITOR! YOU MIXER! NO WONDER THIS PLACE IS SUCH A MESS! YOU AND THAT BOND OF YOURS!" That was as far as Haro-n got before he fell to the floor on his aft.
Ratchet looked at him, then Prowl. :You can't go to the brig by yourself, Prowl: he said as he lowered his fist. A rap on the noggin had dropped the youngling.
Alor appeared at Ratchet's side, then gripped the younglings to pull both up. They stood unsteadily, then someone behind them pushed Alor's arm away. He returned the arm coupled with his fist and another youngling went down. Glancing at Prowl and Ratchet, he grinned. :I told you I was to be called when you got brigged, remember?:
Ratchet nodded even as he thanked Primus for awesome in-laws. He turned slowly to watch as the remaining younglings who were warily watching them as they stepped back a bit.
Prowl looked at Springer. "Have this riffraff taken out. Everyone in the brig. The Fortress brig. Can it handle this many?"
Springer called Inferno and Red Alert, then nodded. "It'll be a tight squeeze but its doable."
"Make it so," Prowl said.
The mini-cons who were proud of their defense of 'decency and the city's honor' walked without a hiccup toward The Fortress without anyone guarding them. By the time more Watch mechs arrived, the groups had been gathered. They were collected to be taken away.
Prowl watched them go past, then looked at Bluestreak. "Go to the hospital for a check up, Bluestreak. I want a report to see in my own servo. Then go home and take care of the babies. Get them to school, then come to bail the twins out. There will be magistrate court for the civilians and a drum head for the rest of us."
Bluestreak nodded, then hugged Prowl. "It really was a mess. No one wanted a fight even though the mini-cons jumped the high castes. The high castes are awful. Are you okay? You and Alor and Ratchet?" he asked with concern. "Are you going to the brig, too?"
"We all are," Alor said with a grin. "Go, youngling. Go with him, 'Jack."
Blackjack nodded, then took Blue's arm. "Come on, infant. Let's get you checked out."
They left passing Dev and Smokescreen who stood to one side as the groups began to leave. Smokey when he reached them paused a moment.
Dev nodded as did Smokescreen, then he moved onward.
The high castes passed with ill grace, then all was quiet. They watched as Prowl spoke to the owner and bouncers. When that was over, he turned to the others. "To the brig," he said simply.
Walking past Dev and Smokescreen, they traded slag and grins but for Prowl who was still feeling the burn. Then they glanced at each other. "You up for the show at the brig?" Smokescreen asked with a grin.
"I am," Dev said as the two walked out to follow the parade to The Fortress nearby.
Knockout and Breakdown who'd sat out the waltz grinned at each other, then followed everyone else out toward the brig since that was where the floor show was going. As they did, others like homing missiles began to make their way to The Fortress themselves.
Ultra Magnus to file reports and accidentally get his metaphorical panties in a twist. Again.
Ironhide to see what the frag was going on with Ratchet. Again.
Ravel and Tie Down to watch the younglings. Once more.
Fenix because a youngling had called their atar and he'd called Fenix. For the first time.
Others to be named later. Probably.
Springer and Drift would bring up the rear.
-0-TBC September 18, 2013 7-30-19 12-03-2022