Chapter Text
Title: Paint Streaks. (1/??)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slashy goodness. Fluffyness.
Pairings: Implied Blaster x Tracks, Inferno x Red Alert. Eventual Prowl x Jazz.
Characters: Prowl, Jazz. Mention of Blaster, Tracks, Red Alert, Inferno, Sentinel Prime.
Summary: Prowl is a very careful observer of many things, and few details ever escape him. He puts that ability to good use, and Jazz discovers that use was not the one he could have expected.
Notes: This is a little piece for 
snugsbunny, inspired directly by one of her drabbles. Hope you like, Snuggles! Yes, your name is now and forever Snuggles.
The bar wasn't one of the busiest, loudest places one could find in these parts of Cybertron, and quite frankly that suited him just fine. Prowl was never one for loud and crowded places, he preferred the cozy and quiet atmosphere this bar provided.
Sure, there was still music playing, but it was so soft and soothing that was more like a pleasant background noise than the cacophony of booming drums and loud strings one usually heard played on the busier bars. And although the bar provided a small stage where on certain cycles the patrons were welcomed to try their musical prowess either playing an instrument of choice or singing along a pre recorded track; even the worst singers or instrument players could hardly disturb the other patrons.
Prowl leaned back comfortably against his plush seat, feeling the special gel-like filling of the backrest mold itself perfectly to the black and white mech's back. He watched from his place, almost completely enshrouded in shadows, dim lights coming from the small lamp on the table, and the glow of his own blue optics and the data pad he had as companion, a lone cube of high grade only half way consumed rested within his reach in the neat surface of his table.
It was the fourth cycle he came to this bar to unwind from a long and exhausting shift, and he could only imagine how tired others had to be if he himself was taking to come to this place this often in a single deca-cycle. He knew Red Alert would blow a gasket or two if he found out he was coming to this place this often, in his co-worker's opinion, someone of Prowl's status and high standing in the security forces had no business being in such a place, exposed to any of the dangers Red Alert could so easily conjure happening in his mind.
Normally, Prowl would have agreed with Red Alert's assertions, but the past few cycles had been extremely taxing, and quite frankly he needed to unwind a little. Besides, although he would never admit it openly, Prowl enjoyed to sneak away from Red Alert's overprotective gaze once in a while.
No matter how much he liked his job, and the satisfaction it brought to him that his work was meant to do something good for the population of the planet at large, it was still very frustrating to work under someone like Sentinel Prime sometimes. Prowl knew he was but a glorified secretary for their prime, and despite his strict adherence to protocol, and all the extra work he sneaked in during his regular shift in order to try to complete as much of the administrative work required in the Security Forces headquarters; Sentinel Prime's total disregard for the administrative protocol more often than not implied not only Prowl but everyone in the division had to be submitted to a deca-cycle or two devoted to catch up with pending work.
Despite the reputation he knew he held among his co-workers and subordinates, Prowl was not keen on having to spend sometimes several extra joors past his shift devoted to helping to take care of the heavy load of pending work along with everyone else in the force. it was specially grating for him because, by Primus, he already worked so diligently to try to prevent these situations as much as he could, and his direct superior not only did very little to help him out, he added an extra load to everyone's job --and then the mech was in a foul mood because he couldn't understand how that much pending administrative work had pilled up. Those were times when Red Alert would go into a rant that often ended with Sentinel Prime sneaking out of the room to avoid the tirade, and Prowl being the one having to listen to Red Alert rant then about Sentinel Prime making it harder for everyone to do their jobs, specially for the white and red mech.
So, slag it all, if Red Alert at least had Inferno to go back home to and help to ease out the stress; Prowl was going to sit down on this cozy and secluded corner of the bar, data pad in hand, and enjoy a little piece of peace before going back home to drop himself on his bunk for a meagre few joors of recharge before getting up to deal with more catching up.
The black and white mech set his stylus down on the table and reached to pick up his cube, sipping just a tiny amount of the mild brew of high grade, casually sweeping the large establishment with his sharp blue optics. He set the cube down and picked his stylus once again, bringing it back to his data pad. It was a different kind of data pad that he normally used at work, instead of the see through solid holographic display, this pad was mounted against a framework, keeping its contents hidden from prying optics.
The stylus rarely stopped moving, and only a very well trained optic could see the difference on the movements and realize the black and white mech was not writing. The strokes of the stylus' tip were soft, swift, tracing shapes, lines, curves, slowly but surely beginning to take form, depth and finally, identity. Prowl's optics were casually trained on a table on the far side of the room, watching a mech and a femme talking with each other amongst sips of high grade.
'Engaged.' Prowl though, observing carefully their body language as he traced new lines on his pad, giving a more defined look to the hand of the femme on his drawing, holding delicately her cube of high grade. She was smiling, with a dreamy glint coloring her optics, giving the impression she was beyond ecstacied with whatever she was talking about with the mech across from her. Although the femme moved a lot, Prowl had captured already the basic sketch of her and her companion's shapes, and only looked up every now and then to confirm the details and accents he was now adding to his drawing. He added some of the tables and random patrons that were in the way between him and the couple he had been drawing, finally re-touching the subjects of his drawing until he was satisfied and saved the sketch, opening a new blank file to draw something else.
For the past few cycles, he had been doing the very same thing every time he came out of work. Instead of heading right back to his living unit, he detoured to this lovely little bar, pulled out his sketch pad, and drew away for as long as he could before his sense of responsibility and duty told him it was best to go so he could get a decent recharge before work. Nobody in the security forces would ever peg him as the type to have any kind of flair for the arts, let alone that he was actually quite skilled in the trade, a good reason why he kept his artwork a secret of sorts. Couldn't let a few of his subordinates crash their CPU by the realization their stiff 'stick in the slag', 'pipe up his aft', strict and stoic, nagging-bot extraordinaire was actually interested in something other than rules, regulations and protocol. He couldn't help the soft snicker that came from his vocal processor at the thought. Nope, nobody would ever believe he enjoyed art, or that he had the capacity of expressing himself through it.
He kept drawing for a while, little by little draining the contents of his cube of high grade, more interested in capturing moments through his stylus and data pad than on actually drinking the substance. When he was preparing to finish his cube and leave for the night, the black and white mech heard a rather familiar voice, rather loud for the quiet establishment, prompting him to look up from his pad to see a bright orange mech followed by two smaller ones.
Prowl watched the trio curiously, face partly hidden behind the pad. Blaster, the orange mech, led his companions towards one of the tables near the small stage where they sat down and called a waitress to order their drinks. Prowl tried to identify the other mechs, he recognized one of them vaguely, Jazz, as one of the field operatives in the force. He was in a different sub-division so Prowl rarely interacted with Jazz directly, but he knew of his exploits and entire service record. Blaster was a communications specialist serving in the security forces as well, right under Red Alert's command. The other mech, blue with white accents and a red face he didn't recognize, most likely a civilian friend of Blaster.
'Perhaps more than just a friend.' Prowl mused, watching the way the blue mech's and Blaster's hands touched. The black and white chevroned mech pondered if this was a good moment to retreat or if he should stick around a little longer and see what the trio was up to, deciding he'd be more inconspicuous if he just stayed where he was, otherwise he could attract attention easier. In a sea of bright colors and gleaming metallic paint, his primarily black and white color scheme stuck out too much to not be noticed by someone like Blaster, and there was no doubt in his processors that word of where he had been would be passed to Red Alert. He did not fancy an argument about his personal habits clashing with security matters the following cycle, so he stayed on his secluded, partly obscured corner, watching the three new comers.
The trio talked and laughed among cubes of high grade, a little too much and too quickly on Blaster's part for Prowl's taste, but it wasn't his business as long as Blaster was fully functional and attentive at work the following cycle.
A cube or so later, the three mechs took to the stage, beginning to sing some cheerful songs that, oddly enough, fitted the calm and warm atmosphere of the bar. Prowl was impressed by Blaster's performance, and although the red faced mech didn't seem to be that up to his partner's standards, his performance was definitely a good one; Jazz, however, impressed Prowl the most.
The black and white chevroned mech watched the three mechs sing along with each other, happy and content smiles on their faces, enjoying the time together. Prowl couldn't help himself and picked his stylus again, sketching away with a little smile on his lip components, tracing the basic details of the three mechs that sung so happily, trying to capture in his drawing those feelings of contentment and happiness that he found so inspiring.
Blaster, Jazz and the third mech finished their song, earning a round of applause from most of the patrons and even the establishment's staff. Prowl did not clap, but still smiled as he saved his sketch and subspaced his pad and stylus. Reaching to finish the few drops left of his high-grade, Prowl stood up, making his way silently out of the bar. He had no idea a pair of optics hidden behind a blue visor followed him as he left.