whitefirebird: (Kagome)
[personal profile] whitefirebird
Title: You’ll always be…
Author: whitefirebird
Day: 10
Prompt: 2 – My favourite mistake
‘Verse: G1/movie
Word-count: 1,053

“I’ll not have it!”
“I don’t care. I love him, he loves me, and we’re doing this anyway.”
“You won’t! I forbid it!”
“Forbid all you like, it’s still happening.”
“Ungrateful sparkling, I’ll blister your paint for this, see if I won’t!” A sharp glare from his mate caused him to subside into fierce grumbling and snarled curses.
His carrier stepped forward. “Dear, don’t you think this may be a little hasty? You barely know this mech after all.”
Prowl looked at his progenitor coldly. “That’s what you think. I know him far better than anyone else ever could, and more than you ever desired to know me.”
Her face turned mask-like. “Do you truly believe that?”
“Yes.” She turned her gaze from him to her mate.
Deeprun firmed his gaze upon his heir. “If you do this, it will be the last thing you do as heir. You do understand that? The Family cannot let such a stain mar our honour.”
Prowl snorted. “Honour, sire? I think you mean reputation. And yes, I know what this will mean for me, and the House.”
“We’ll have to disavow all knowledge of you, in whatever life you lead. All ties we have will be denied to you, no-one in Praxus will aid you- “
“So be it.”
Shadowglass stifled a distressed cry. Deeprun sighed heavily.
Primus bless, Prowl. I do wish you hadn’t inherited your stubborn coding from me.”
Prowl smiled grimly. “Before this is over, I’ll need it to see me through. I’m not so blind or naïve as to believe that everything will be crystal snow and mercury trees.” He turned to leave.
Deeprun made one final entreaty. “You’re making a mistake. Please, let this mech go, settle within our echelon. Surely there is someone- ?”
Prowl shuttered his optics. “That you even think to ask me that…” He shook his head slowly. “No, father. Not this time. I’ll bow to no-one but Prime now.”
As the door fell closed, Deeprun enfolded his mate in his arms, even as her frame shook with sobs.

Prowl, their most beloved child, was no more.

~ * ~ o ~ * ~ o ~ *~ o ~ * ~

As Prowl stepped from the building, he vented a sigh of relief. The worst was over; his parents told. Now there was only weathering of the storm of High Society scandal. It would be a messy affair, with his frame verbally shredded as well as his personal reputation.

It was fortunate that he wouldn’t be around for it.

~ * ~ o ~ * ~ o ~ *~ o ~ * ~

“So, lover, how’d it go?”
“It went.”
“Ah. That bad?”
Prowl shrugged. “Not as bad as it could have been. But it will definitely be worse if we stay here.”
“Time to move then?”
Prowl raised an optic-ridge.
“Ah’ll just get mah synth-harp.”
They were gone within the breem.

~ * ~ o ~ * ~ o ~ *~ o ~ * ~

A quirk of the laws of Cybertron’s city-states meant that it was practically impossible to change your origin point. An Iaconian was an Iaconian. Gygax would never match with a Kaonite. So-and-so of Tarn would always be identified as such. But there were ways and ways around such things.
So when the Polyhexi Jazz returned home from a cultural exploration of Praxus with his new mate not a word was said. Even if said mate was clearly Praxian by frame.
Because a mate-pair could only belong to one city-state. And by returning to Polyhex, they had both declared their origin.
And in doing so, they had ensured that “Prowl of Praxus” was gone for good.

Along with all the scandal that had died with him.

~ * ~ o ~ * ~ o ~ *~ o ~ * ~

Unrest had started to develop. Mecha were protesting the excesses and corruption that had riddled the last three administrations of the Golden Age.
One of the most eloquent speakers, a former miner turned gladiator from Kaon, was pushing for the dissolution of the Senate. Many of his followers agreed, and their movement was gaining strength. They called themselves the Decepticons, pretentiously named in reference to the “deceptions they had suffered”.
Jazz worriedly glanced at his partner. Polyhex was quite close to Kaon geographically, and their population heavily favoured the Decepticons. Praxus, on the other hand was more in line with the current administration. There was every chance that Prowl might be targeted by hatemongers.
“Stop worrying.”
Jazz grimaced. “Ah can’t help it.”
“Yes, you can. So stop it.”
“Aren’t yeh worried? Ah know yeh c’n see where this unrest is headed, thanks t’ the Tactics computer yeh have.”
“About the only thing I’m thankful to my creators for.” Prowl muttered.
Jazz frowned. “An’ that’s another thing. Yeh don’t miss ‘em? Not at all?”
Prowl finally turned to face his mate. “My sire told me when I left that I was making a mistake.” Jazz looked hurt. “I never listened.”
Jazz smiled. “An’ Ah’m right glad of that.” He embraced his mate, and Prowl laid a kiss on his cheek plating, then continued. “If loving you is a mistake, then it’s my favourite one.”

~ * ~ o ~ * ~ o ~ *~ o ~ * ~

Millenia later, it’s something of a joke between them. The Autobots know Prowl as Praxian. So do the Decepticons.

Neither side ever bothered to look deeper than the frame. They never saw that Prowl loved music and art as much or more than Jazz did. They never knew of the Cleristal string-horn stashed away in their quarters (it only sounded when there was either a great victory or great defeat). They never bothered to wonder why he only spoke Iaconian or Cybertronian standard to Bluestreak and Smokescreen.

They never thought to question why the only show of emotion at Praxus' destruction was a light sorrow (mainly aimed at the loss of the crystal gardens), when he’d been an emotional wreck over the obliteration of Polyhex.

Jazz will twit him about it, calling him “his winged mate”. (No one knows it’s actually referring to his propensity for high places and soaring acrobatic leaps).
And Prowl? His endearment for Jazz?
He calls him “my favourite mistake”.

The end

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