Chapter Text
Prologue.
A jaunty medley is weaving it’s way through the slums. If one follows it, one can find a young mech sitting in the square. He opens his intake to start another verse as he strums away on a sitar made of a polished piece of an insecticon molt and a single, taut string. Under his ped there is on a box of bolts that he kicks in tune with his song.
On another side of Cybertron there is a youngling of a same age, sitting alone in a well-lit study. A cube of energon sits on his desk untouched next to stacks of musical notes before him. He is not entitled to it yet, not until he reads the entire piece. As he studies the patterns carefully, little sensor-wings twitch in tune with the piece he is trying to read.
Fast-forward nowadays
Prowl woke up to a pounding helmache that pulsed in an upbeat rhythm only to realize that the cause of his helmache was external. Someone was beating Something in a slightly off-beat rhythm in a manner that he was sure was meant solely to annoy him. He grabbed around himself to summon his house aid only to realize that the bell handle was not there. In fact, the berth did not feel like his either.
-”Shut it!”
-”Ya ‘wake doll?”
JAZZ the memories of their doubtlessly notable spat from the night before
-”Hardly possible to recharge with you making all that racket.
Jazz was beating the metal bars with his knuckle and tapping with his foot.
-”I’ll call it the Jail-House Blues. Blues because I’m in the jailhouse with you.”
Prowl had heard about JAzz’s performance art shticks landing him behind bars before.
-”This might be a fitting environment for you but I, for one, do not belong here.”
Jazz blew a raspberry, seating himself comfortably on the detention area bench. -”Ya, mech, ya belong in a crystal garden, with the rest of th’ statues.”
-”Can I please contact my representative?!” Prowl called out to the enforcer who monitored the detention cells.
-”Yea, like ‘e will want ta hear from ya after that thin’ we pulled yesterday.” Jazz jibed while examining the scruffed paint on his knuckles.
-”Regardless of the fallout he is bound by the contract to do it.” Prowl responded tersely.
Jazz observed Prowl for a long moment. -”Ya sure their contract didna have a clause about you totally losin’ ya face?”
Prowl winced at that. He was not sure about that and pulled up the agreement immediately to verify that. What they did yesterday, well..