#meister

(Maybe Origin Cybertronian Jazz and Siege Prowl would look even Cuter Together, Maybe)

To hold an event that where every elegable mech in Praxus would attend. Therefore, through process of ilimination, if there was a mech in their kingdom he was compatable with, then they would have to be there.

Prowl had originally proposed a series of mental and physical tasks for any interested parties to participate in, then by evaluating their scores, he should have been able to calculate his most compatible match.

But ever the romantic, his Carrier had argued for a ball instead, since that had been how she had met his Sire afterall. (She also said that his proposal sounded too much like the Energon Games held in Kaon and she didn't want the kingdom's current Lord to sue them for copyright infringement).

Prowl conseded to her compromise. Ultimately, it should still acheive his goal of meeting the mech most suitable to him.

Which was why Prowl was currently adorned in restrictive drapes and jewels at the head of the palace ballroom in his Sire's old throne.

Despite being in his final frame, the throne still felt to large for him.

Sharing the raised platform sat his Carrier,  the current Queen, helm held high and wings flared out as she thanked everyone for attending tonight, as though the cape and crown draped upon her were weightless.

Prowl tried to emulate her grace, not allowing himself to sneak any jealous looks at his two younger brothers by their Carrier's othet side whose adornments  weighed less than his combined.

Inferno, Prowl's personal guard, kept him distracted from those internal musings as he announced the names the hopefuls who had waited in line to meet the Prince.

A majority of these mechs embodied elements that most comsidered physically attractive. But Prowl did not care for their armour overly polished and brightly coloured paintjob if it hid the ugliness hidden in their sparks.

Some mechs, mainly those of nobel background, had been too obviously eager to apease the future king. The two identical mechs with guady golden visors who had tried to shove their augmentidly enlarged bumpers into Prowl's face being a prime example of this. With other nobles acting as if this entire event was above them, being openly disgusted at the apearnce of the commoners that Prowl had insisted upon also being invited. Prowl automatically discarded those that did so, as anyone who could nto treat all their citizens with respect would not make an apropraite future ruler.

Similarly, Prowl also discountes any mech who bowed to himself and his Carrier, but ignored the presence of his two younger brothers. If they could not see those who were younger than themselves of being worthy of respect, especially those who Prowl was closest too, then they would not be suited to the Prince's conjunx.

Eventually, Prowl had greeted every elegable mech who had presented themselves. None had immediately struck Prowl as his perfect match. However, this did not allow this to deter him.

Unlike his Carrier, Prowl did not beleive in the fairytale of love at first sight. So far, he had only had a surface level introduction to these mechs. It made sense to him that in order to find his future conjunx, the person who would not only be his life partner but also Praxus' future ruler, he would need to access on a deeper level their strengths and skills to calculate if they were compatible.

Unfortunatly, this method required mingling, a skill that Prowl himself lacked. Hopefully whoever he did end up conjunxing would be more effective at deploying that tactic.

But for now, he would have to suffer through it himself as the band started to play the tune of the ball's first dance. Before the first note had finished, Prowl was soon swarmed by bots desperate for his attention. He even found himself having to physically fight off the two identical mechs from eatlier.

Thankfully, he was saved by Baron Mirage, materialising by his side to offer a hand for his first dance.

Prowl had crossed paths with the fellow noble at many a politcal party as the pair had grown up. They had bonded over their shared disgust at the obscene hordes of wealth their so call superiors gorged on instead of sharing that shanix with the people who they were supposed to provide for. Prowl had been relived that he wasn't the only one compounded by the hypocrisy. The two had grown close over the years, though at his point in their relationship, Prowl knew that he was not attracted to Mirage in a romantic sense. Regardless, he was greatful to have found a friend the mech. Especially in this moment as an excuse to escape the horde of hungry hopefuls.

Taking Mirage's hand, Prowl lead the noble to the centre of the ballroom. It didn't matter where they danced, they'd be centre if attention anyway. Prowl knew how much Mirage hated to be seen so publically, so he appreciated his freind's sacriface.

"Anyone caught your optics?" Mirage asked, as they faced eachother for the dance's starting potion.

Prowl shook his head.

"Then I will keep an optical out for you." Mirage pledged.

Prowl nodded his thanks, bending into the spin of the dance's first step.

Prowl performed the practiced motions of the traditional Praxian dance that had been drilled into him since he was a sparkling. He had been told by many a tutor growing up that he lacked any natural rythym so he aprecaited how the repative structure helped him not to make a fool of himself in front of his people, even if the predictability of it bored his processor.

Soon the dance was over and Prowl once again resisted to dig his claws into his own servo as he was once again swarmed by wanne be suitors again. But before he could be barreled over, the riff an electro-bass stole their attentions.

Prowl's optics snapped to the sound. At the front of the band Prowl's Carrier had hired, stood a mech who brandished his elctro-base like a sword. Atop his helm were a pair of Polyhexian audial horns and across his face was a silver-blue visor. Even though Prowl couldn't see any optics through the glass, somehow in his spark he knew the mech was looking at him.

Then the mech smiled.

Prowl's spark stopped.

For once his processor blanked, lost in the light of that smile, the rest of the world silenced, till that smiled widened, the mech's mouth opening alongside the base into a song, and then all Prowl could process was sound.

It wasn't like anything like Prowl had ever heard.

Instead of the practiced predictability of traditional Praxian music, the rythym was constantly changing. As soon as Prowl thought he had figured it out, it adapted again, capturing the essence of transformation that Primus had instilled inside every Cybertronian.

The music was infectious. And whilst it might not have had a designated dance, everyone seemed to know it in the beat of their sparks as they all danced together, not caring about impressing a Prince. Instead just here to have fun.

Even Prowl found his pede tapping along.

For once the crowd payed attention to someone other Prowl, everyone now eager to throw themselves at this new centre of attention.

Prowl couldn't blame them.

The mech's visor was such a bright blue it was almost silver. And that wasn't the only part of him that shined.

As soon as he strummed his servos and song poured out his smile, his very being appeared to glow. It wasn't like the gaudy glitter or gold that Prowl had seen too much of that night, instead it was as though the light from his spark was shining through his music to the bless the whole room.

Of course that attention was helped by an optic catching centre stripe that enhanced the curve of the mech's already enlarged bumper. His black and white armour was classic in its elegance, unlike the over the top garish clash of colours Prowl had been afronted with that night. Prowl alsk couldn't help but notice that monochromatic colour scheme perfectly complimented his own.

However, Prowl wasn't the only one entranced. From the corner of his optic, Prowl saw his youngest brother rush from his throne to the edge of platform. Bluestreak babbled over his shoulder to their Creator, too distracted by his excitement to remember the incoming edge the platform until he toppled over it. 

Music forgotten, Prowl rushed to catch his baby brother. And he wasn't the only one. The music came to an aprupt holt as the musician threw his bass on his back as he sprinted towards the young royal. The stage being closer, the mucican reached Bluestreak first. With an impressice display of speed and egiloty, the mech leapt from the stage, transforming into vehicle mode mid jump to surround Bluestreak so that he landed safely in his backseat.

"You okay sweetspark?" The mech, asked opening his side door.

"Oh my Primus! That was so cool! The way you dived off the stage like a rockstar! Then you flipped around like-" Bluestreak  flailed his arms around. This time Prowl made it in time to catch him as his brother tumbled out the car door.

Prowl held his brother close as he checked him over. Thankfully he appeared uninjured. And judgung by his continued rambling, he hadn't been shaken by the ordeal either.

"- and then you flipped me around too as you caught me mid-transformation like you were a hero in an action holo!"

Umlike those eatlier mechs, this mucian didn't ignore or interupt Bluestreak's ramblings. Instead he listened, transforming back to robot mode so Prowl could see that that smile never left his face. 

"Hey I saw your dancing sweetspark. Ya'll got some pretty cool moves yourself!"

Bluestreak beamed, the sight bringing a small smile to Prowl's own faceplates.

"Thank you." Prowl said, as he lifted his brother back into his Carrier's waiting arms.

"Don't want anyone busting their knees if we want to keep on dancing." The mech shrugged as though saving the young prince was no big deal. Not even asking for a reward or demanding a dance with the future king as payment for his efforts..

It was only then that Prowl realised that he was once again centre of the crowds attention. Hundreds of pairs of optics stared at him, his wings catching the whispers wriggling between them as they eagerly debated wether Prowl would kill the mech for touching his kin.

The intensity of the crowd must have been too much for even a muscian, as the mech stood between Prowl and the energon thirsty horde.

"Sorry about that but hey what's a show without some rock and roll?" The mech said with a clumsy recreation of his earlier mid-air roll, sending the crowd into a fit of giggles. "And as my dearly departed Carrier was so fond of saying 'the show must go on!' Right meistro?" The mech cried, pointing his base back towards the band.

The conductor, a red and white cassette player named Blaster, jolted out a nod, before quickly guiding the band back into playing one of their earlier Praxian melodies.

This distracted some of the crowd. But others only saw it as an opportunity to get even close to the Prince./p>

Prowl watched as the Polyhexian stayed between them, somehow managing to ward the mechs off with just his words. Until even they were too much for even his mastery of mingling.

"Hey is that engex?" The msucian asked, reaching out to grab a sparkling cube from a nearby waiter before intionally accidently  knocking the tray to the ground. The fluted cubes of sparkling cyber-champagne shattered, creating a curtain of smoke in an impressive improvised distraction.

From their side of the curtain, the mech started stalking along the edge of the platform, before looking back over his shoulder, silently asking if Prowl wss coming too. Needing to unravel this enigma of a mech, Prowl decided to follow.

At the end of the platform, they soon reached a trap door that Prowl had never seen recorded before.

"How did you know about this?" Prowl asked. Despite being suspicious, Prowl couldn't help but be impressed that the mech had managed to find something that even Prowl, who had spent much if his youth survaying the castle, had been able to uncover. 

"When others don't want you to be seen, you get used to looking for ways to sneak around." They replied, the cryptic answer that only piqueing Prowl's curiosity further.

It apeared that the door, (which was technically a hatch and therefore not included on official floor plans explaining why Prowl had been unable to find it till now) lead to a cramped passage underneath the podium where their thrones had been staged for the ball. Prowl theroisied that the passge had been used by previous performers as an easy way to access the back of the stage when performing ontop of the podium. Prowl supposed it made sense that one performer would recognise the equipment of another, as he crept behind the muscian, careful not to dislodge his unessisary abundance of crowns and capes on any of the beams that lurked in the darkness, ignoring his head of security as they screamed down his audial about the likelyhood of him being assassinated.

But by the time they reached the end of the tunnel, the mysterious muscian had not murdered him, so Prowl was fairly confident that if that had been the mech's intention, he would have done so when they were trapped in close quarters.

Inside the old green room of abandoned polish and empty cubes, the mucican turned to Prowl with a grin that shined as bright as the mech's visor.

"So where to now?" He asked.

Prowl's processor whirred. The servants would be busy so he did not want to distrubuted them in their domain. Inviting the mech to his private quarters would invite too many unwanted rumours that Prowo did not want to deal with. (And Prowl dismissed any images that his processor conjured in relation to that line of thinking). Plus most closed off areas of the palace would be a security risk and Prowl did not want to occur any more ire to Red Alert than he knew he already had. Leaving Prowl with only one available course of action.

"Would you care to join me in the Palace Gardens?" Prowl suggested.

The mech's grin grew even wider.

A notification chimed in Prowl’s internals, and he turned his datapad back on to check on the message from Soundwave. The mechs Prowl had identified were all new recruits, to be trained and assigned in the sector surrounding this base. Base DF- the base of Dread Fell, an overly ornate name but highly beneficial outpost in the war against the Autobots. They had been processed prior to arrival and would be assigned their handlers within the joor. Prowl scrolled briefly through each of their profiles. Internally, he sighed.

The recruit being targeted, designation Tracer, had a flighted alt mode (which they were not using to utilize their inherent air-superiority to fight or get away. The small handful of mechs surrounding him were medium-large frame types, none of which were capable of flight. They were also, by appearance and reputation, blundering mechs with slow processors and violent tendencies. Perfect attributes for military grunts, but not smart or skilled enough for what Prowl was looking for. Prowl flicked a doorwing in irritation, started to leave, then noticed something new.

There was another mech on the scene, watching the brawl from a distance. The mech spotted Prowl, gave a brisk salute and partial (theatrical) bow- then went back to watching the fight. Prowl checked his files- yes, it was another new recruit, designation Meister, a medium-small frametype built for stealth. In all likelihood, the mech would simply slink off- they purportedly had the ability to do so with ease, and beyond such had no reason to intervene. Still, Prowl flagged the profile. A stealth frame could be useful, especially if the mech was competent.

Prowl shut off his datapad, and almost subspaced it, when the stealth mech began striding towards the group of mechs. Prowl frowned, switching his datapad back on, accessing the mic closest to the fight and running its audio from the datapad to his internal comms.

There was no sound of the mech’s pedefalls, no sound of the mech at all, until they were directly behind the 3 heavy frames and spoke.

“What’s the party for?” the mech chirped, frightening the much larger mechs, who jumped to turn and face the small stealth mech. Prowl’s prospects for the mech soured- it was foolish, to an absurd degree, for the mech to pointlessly aggravate that many mechs of such size and disposition.

“None of your business,” the ugly red-and-purple mech- Bruiser- snarled.

“Frag off glitch,” the medium purple (of a much less optic-offending shade) mech- Slagshot- hissed.

“Hrrg,” said the large green frame ‘intelligently.’ BB, short for Boulder Brain, was aptly named.

The newcomer snickered in response. “Wow, you’re a bunch of dumbafts.”

The mechs turned all the way around, earlier prey forgotten.

“What did you call us?” Bruiser growled.

“Fraggers looking for a beating!” Slagshot screeched.

“Rrrg!” Boulder Brain challenged.

The stealth mech yawned, and Prowl could see him begin to stretch. “I mean, come on, what if that guy were a medic? Or becomes one later on? You really want the one saving your aft to have a grudge? Also, wow, it really takes 3 of you to beat up something half your size? You’re dumb and weak!”

Bruiser pounded a fist into his hand.

“You just sealed your fate slagger,” said Slagshot.

“Grrg,” BB growled.

The newcomer laughed. Prowl could not see the stealth mech’s face from this angle, but he could hear the grin in his voice.

“Let’s dance.”

Inspired by this

This

And this