#prowls-analysis

Swaybar has never been in any major battles. Sure, in his eight years a Decepticon he's done some 'policing patrols' that are generally shooting up an entire town for fun.  Much more fun than anything he had back in the mountains. But the infantry company he was assigned to was in turn assigned two years ago to guard a chemical lab and factory and hasn't had a shoot 'em up day since.

Swaybar has certainly never been in a fight for his life. That changed four hours ago when an Autobot air attack squadron shewed up as the first wave. Once holes opened in the defences, the ground force moved in. Swaybar was gradually pushed back, and back, into one of the lab buildings, where he is only allowed to guard the inner doors and not the floor. His access codes only ended up trapping him in front of the last door in a hallway. He can hear the Autobots at the other end of the hallway, on the other side of the previous door, running about, then working on the door, ramming something into it and banging at the wall panel.

@prowls-analysis

“Yes,” Prowl answered in the same tongue. He was physiologically incapable of producing some of the sounds necessary to proper grammar, but he managed well enough to make his meaning clear through context. “Brutes, and worse.” He jeopardised his right hand by taking hold of Predaking’s chin and lifting it to make optic contact. 

Only one blue optic met the captive’s gold ones. Where Prowl’s left optic should have been was only an armoured patch made of two thick layers of steel. “But your species will survive. Your children are on their way to sanctuary. You are too well-documented to send with them–if you weren’t among the captives those who argue for extermination would have the leverage to demand a search.” His voice hardened just a little. 

“Arranging for you to be captured and turned over to me as an ‘exotic pet’ rather than a corpse to be mounted for display cost me political favour and some of my personal honour. If you cooperate with me I may be able to both allow you some dignity and freedom and keep you out of the hands of some who would happily make a lab specimen and foundation stud of you. I recognise your sapience and the right of your people to exist and live as they wish. I’m in the minority. Don’t put me in a position where I have to decide between your life and anything else I hold dear.”

The scowl when his helm was forced to look at them in person was absolutely nothing to the look of pure fury the moment younglings were mentioned, moving to thrash and bare fangs when the shockprod was pressed right into the small of his back. Venting heavily he flexed in place, refusing to show he was in pain but all of his rightful anger was burned into Prowl, aware he could speak Predacon.

“We were peaceful! You steal our young, kill our gatherers-” He cuts off, seething. He visibly heats up, eyes smoldering with a new kind of heat before it dissipates shortly after, thinking better of something. It takes him a few moments to regain his voice, chains straining to hold him back. It earned him another prod and this time the growl he let out was loud enough to be felt through the floor. Wings wilted, quaking from the prolonged shock before finally they took the shockprod away again.

Human news reports tended to copy each other, even to the point of using the same phrasing to describe an event that could be described in any number of ways. Today, the reporters were all repeating, “on the wings of angels”.

“Our headline tonight is ‘On the Wings of Angels.’ What could have been a tragedy ended in joy today as a crippled airliner flew nearly fifty miles and made a safe landing on a runway outside Kansas City–all without any engine power and with only minimal flight controls…”

“They’re calling it a flight on the wings of angels. An EcoEagle 727 carrying 156 people set down safely outside Kansas City after a terrifying 37 minutes of engine and flight control failures. But this happy ending comes with mysteries–at the same time EcoEagle Flight 673 was struggling to stay aloft, another plane, this one a Golden Air 747, suddenly stopped responding to its pilots and followed Flight 673 all the way to the runway. The Golden Air plane, according to its crew, circled the rural airstrip at low altitude, then resumed flying the route programmed into the autopilot. Golden Air Flight 89, which was bound for Los Angeles, landed in St. Louis so the aircraft could be inspected.”

“You’ve heard of flying on a wing and a prayer, well, today they were flying on the wings of angels…”

It went on and on, repeated over and over again on the human networks. Human imaginations were already running wild–the datanet overflowed with talk of religious omens, government conspiracies…and alien invasions.

On a return trip to his ‘home port’ of Louisville, Ky., Sortie wasn’t even over the New York state line when the radio chatter suddenly rose to a panic level.  His own pilots started panicking, pulling up instrument panels and maintenance covers.  Sortie had to work the holographic pool, quickly shifting it from one position to another till the crew were satisfied they are flying a real plane.  They are flying a real plane.  Sortie continued to monitor the human panicking on the airwaves while sending a small message to his charge to stay down and quiet on a frequency the humans do not normally monitor.

By the time he landed in Louisville, Sortie was a bit tired and hoped he’d fooled the crew into a Go-check mark and will be left alone till next flight.  He was unloaded at the UPS terminal, taxied, and shut down for the night.

A prank of Sideswipes. A bedlam of Sideswipes.

Sides: *snerks* “A chaos of Sideswipes.”

“A confusion of Sideswipes?”

“Wait that one was taken. Uuuum. A Madhouse of Sideswipes?”

On the one hand, Jazz has every right to be insufferably smug considering all the other ways Lingo has been insufferable to him. He had told her it wasn’t the Autobots, that it was weird that all the folk close to Prime getting sent away was a big red flag that something else was going on.... 

“…The Ratchet breed is prone to moping if not provided someone, preferably someone of his own faction tree, to fuss over. Your Ratchet will, if necessary, resort to attempting to nurture other household pets, and perhaps even any younglings in the household, but for his happiness, and to see the full range of his natural behaviors, give him a little friend of his own kind (not his own breed, please).”

“Ratchets are gregarious but reserved. When confronted with a stranger, they are likely to retreat to some relatively inaccessible shelter (under furniture and inside ventilation ducts are frequent choices) and growl. A Ratchet may be convinced to come out of his hideaway if another friendly Cybertronian is interacting with the stranger, but the typical pattern is that a guest will rarely see your Ratchet until the guest has made several visits and your pet has learned to tolerate the visitor’s presence. Never drag your Ratchet out of his secure place and attempt to force him to accept petting from guests, no matter how noteworthy. Adult Ratchets have formidable claws, second only to those of Optimi, and they can leave painful wounds when they feel threatened!”

“Your Ratchet will naturally inspect and groom any other Cybertronians in the household. If your Ratchet becomes more vocal than usual and starts fussing over one of his companions, take his ‘word’ for it–he has almost certainly found some injury or detected an illness that your other little pet is hiding. Have a qualified veterinarian examine your pets immediately–a Ratchet may take an injury too seriously, but he is almost never wrong.”

“Ratchets grow very attached to their homes and rarely venture far alone. Establish where 'home’ is early on and your little friend is unlikely to stray. If he disappears and isn’t home by dark, there is something wrong. He is almost certainly injured, sick, or being held against his will, and as a pet owner, it is your duty to find and rescue him!”

“Your Ratchet will not take to his tires as often as some other Cybertronians. Nor will he run and climb as often or as nimbly. There is a breed-specific preference for a sedate pace, making him an excellent choice of pet for those with joint trouble or simply a low-energy temperament. This does not mean your Ratchet can go without exercise, only that he will do much of it indoors and at an easy walking pace rather than a zooming, headlong rush. Don’t assume that he won’t climb if he sees something of interest! A Ratchet is still a Cybertronian, and comes with the Cybertronian gift for getting into all the places you don’t want him to be. He’s depending on you to fence him away from danger, so take precautions BEFORE he finds trouble!”

“Ratchets are possessive of their toys and 'tools’. They will scold–noisily–anyone who takes something they consider theirs, and can fuss for hours over a broken toy. Make sure to have new objects for your Ratchet to play with stashed somewhere out of his reach.”

“Ratchets as a rule are quite intelligent, and like having their minds challenged. Offer yours plenty of 'puzzle’ toys to prevent boredom from driving him to destructive behavior. Boredom can send even a well-trained Ratchet looking for some small object to get his nimble little fingers into, and once he does, you may never get your hunter’s-light cube back together!”

// OMG OMG, AAAAAAHHHHHH....!!! OH...MY...FRIKKING LORD THAT WAS PURE. PERFECTION!!!

I have no words. Today is a day I can’t do words. Just pure absolute WOW. How do you do it, can’t comprehend, just pure awesome. I’m depressed AF and this actually made me feel something, I’m not even kidding. Wow. Just.... WOW.

@prowls-analysis