Difference between revisions of "2018-11-08 That's What You Think"

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Revision as of 23:21, 8 November 2018

That's What You Think
Date 2018/11/08
Location Command -- Incident Room
Participants Prowl, Rodimus
Summary Prowl and Rodimus try to share the Incident Room for planning. They don't get much planning done.

In the incident room, Rodimus stands overview the current status of the spacebridge as well as a map of Cybertron, last updated during Tempo's rescue. It's not much of a leap to imagine what's on his mind, particularly as he pulls reports -- mostly reports that Prowl has put together -- on the status of the Cybertronian population. He's currently reading through Soundwave's report of his little excursion with Hound. He's taking a lot of notes.

...that's what it looks like, anyway.

Prowl is sometimes a little protective of the Incident Room. He treats it like his office when he's left a plan pending. Left all of his holograms unfurled, all of the holoboards on, as he goes out to get a frosty ener-latte. But he doesn't lock up, and he doesn't expect Rodimus to be there the next day. Wordlessly, Prowl rounds the table and casually tries to shoo Rodimus out. "I'm working here."

"Cool. Me too." Rodimus puts his feet on the table and turns to watch Prowl as he advances around the table. He angles his feet wide, catch Prowl in the V between his feet.

Prowl pauses, caught there, then reaches to take a big ol' foot by its prongs in hopes of sliding it off the table. "All my plans are on my holo desktop. Go... Go use the Captain's chair, isn't it set up for that?"

"Ow, ow, ow!" It can't actually hurt that much. It's hard to drag Rodimus's foot; it's so massive, after all. His foot scraaaapes over the table. "I don't want everyone on the bridge wondering what I'm up to and speculating, and anyway, it's bad for morale to keep up a giant picture of Megatron-controlled Cybertron. This isn't your office. Do you need an office? We can make space. Stop being greedy, Prowl."

Prowl abandons Rodimus foot and flicks his doors, hard. "I don't need an office. I prefer planning here. It's roomy." He eyes Rodimus a moment longer and finally moves further down the table to log in through the nearest console. "Speaking of morale, I trust you addressed the troops?"

"It's roomy becase it's a room for people, many people, to work in together. It's not an office. For you." Rodimus drags his feet back and slouches more aggressively.

<FS3> Rodimus rolls Inspire: Amazing Success. (5 3 2 1 8 1 8 8 2 5 2 7 7 5 7 5 2)

Lifting his datapad again, Rodimus watches Prowl over the edge. "I did. I talked to them, walked with them. Sat by their bedsides. Spent a lot of time in medical, actually." His gaze tracks to the side in a brief, wandering detour and then back. Maybe he doesn't credit for all of that. "We'll see if it helps, but I did."

Prowl waits to see if Rodimus will slouch even harder, watching, just in case he slips off his chair. He seems to relent in his short fight for territory, saying no more on it. "Good. Thank you. I'm told my speeches are discouraging. Why wouldn't people want to hear the percentages? Tch." ... "Do you know when Minimus will be back?"

"Uhm--." Rodimus pauses, looking up. In his distraction, as he pulls down data and calendars, his visor slips down in place to offer a more robust HUD. "He's only scheduled to be out a couple of days. Personal time. Kind of tempted to set the shuttle bay on fire when he gets back, though. It'd be hilarious."

"No it wouldn't. Don't do that. He'd have a fit, and then make us all take Hot Spot's fire safety course again, which is extremely outdated." Prowl points his stylus at Rodimus. POINTEDLY. "A few days... I should give him a call. When did you get a visor? ...Are you seriously trying to match Soundwave?"

"What?" Rodimus drops his feet to the floor as he snaps upright, visor lifting. Beneath, his gaze is flustered as he makes a face at Prowl. "No! I was -- I've always had it. I had it before. A mod." He pauses. "Had it by default when I was reforged, or whatever. Probably because I had one before!" Please note: the shape and angle is similar to Soundwave's visor, rather than his old mod. "Anyway, just a little fire. Maybe fake fire. Spray paint some graffiti. Fire graffiti."

Prowl processes all of this unusually slowly. He waves off Rodimus' mod excuse, too caught up in just how eager Rodimus seems to VANDALIZE. Is this bait? Prowl chomps onto it like an idiot. At first it's just puffy posturing with his doors flared. "So help me Captain I'll have Ratchet declare you unfit for duty and you can perch in the wards with all the time in the world to engage in physical affection with pied patients."

Rodimus's fluster goes cold, shocked into an icy stillness when he finishes parsing that line. "That's not--. Uh."

"One of Soundwave's tapes no less. He's put in a request for removal from the roster. Did you know that? The interns have woven a few theories. I think I'm going to pick up the next issue of the LLI for this one." Prowl doesn't smile, but his doors keep hiking higher. (edited)

"He what?" That shocks Rodimus upright where he threatened to slip into another slouch under the table, and he looks stricken. "From the crew?"

"Yes, from the crew. Was his departure supposed to be temporary?" Prowl asks, "unfolding" a stack of holographic grids.

"I mean -- I guess it was just like. A leave of absence?" Rodimus winces even as he says it, even as Prowl's brutal questions tear down his illusions. He drags his hands over his helm and goes quiet. Prowl can almost pretend like he has the room to himself for a while!

Prowl lets Rodimus stew in this silence for just a little bit. He's busy at the glowing boards when he looks over his shoulder. "I'm going to assume that it was an impulse decision. Do you think Soundwave is going to be pleased when he finds out?"

"I sent him a message about Penchant leaving," Rodimus says, oblivious to Prowl's actual meaning, and a bit distracted in tone. "Just hope it catches up to him."

Prowl rolls his optics and finally turns to face Rodimus, across the table. He sets his hands on his hips. "I meant you giving one of his cassettes that parting gift. Mechs have left the crew before. You still get caught up?"

"Uh, oh." Rodimus stops. Rodimus thinks. Rodimus says, "You think Soundwave won't be -- yeah, okay, dumb sentence, dumb me, dumb all around. Penchant's not just anyone, though. I mean, uh. Obviously. Shut up. Don't you have someone else's life to make miserable?"

"How is this my fault," Prowl growls. "You're the one just DOING things. Or SAYING you're going to do things, like fire graffiti. Hey, Rodimus, here's a little test in foresight. If I let go of my stylus, what do you think is going to happen to the stylus?"

"I'm going to pick it up and stab it through your hand," Rodimus suggests, eyes narrowing at Prowl. He probably won't. P R O B A B L Y. The glare melts into a slump of his shoulder and spoiler, rounding down in his seat. "I was just saying -- never mind, you don't care. And the graffiti would have been funny."

"The chance of you actually attacking me is phenomenally low," Prowl points out, dryly. And Rodimus wouldn't throw him out of an airlock into the sun. This is the one thing Prowl remembers. Rodimus SAID.

He then turns indignant. "I care! I just spent a year learning how to care! Try me. Also, would it be? Would Minimus like that? I'm asking seriously. You would know."

“That’s what you think.” Rodimus evaluates Prowl thoughtfully like he’s thinking of doing something stupid without foresight. “Minimus wouldn’t find the fire funny, but he might find something that references his certainty he couldn’t leave without it all falling into chaos a nice, uhm, reminder anyway. We function and we think of him. You should do it. Something small.” He looks away. “Show him you’re thinking of him.”

Prowl tracks Rodimus' gaze as it tilts elsewhere. "...Fine. I will. And I won't light anything on fire. I also plan on asking him out again. One last time. I think he might snap me in half if I persist too long. I try to be patient..." He looks over his virtual battlefield, frowning.

Rodimus's gaze zags back to Prowl in confusion. "You went to -- FontCon? That's not--? What do you mean, again, I thought you guys were--." He breaks off and bumps his fists together, like metal faces mashing together in a clang.

Prowl flusters keenly. "That's not what I'm after. Don't... Don't say anything about that. Don't spread that. And I only went to FontCon to be his company." He fiddles with the holograms settings, checking the same box over and over, trying to look busy. "...Perhaps we disagree too often."

Rodimus frankly stares at Prowl. "What are you after, then? Spell it out, Prowl, because if I'm confused, Minimus might be, too." He bonks his fists together again and again, idly, until it looks more like a fidget, but inevitably calling to mind the mash mash of smooches.

"Stop doing that!" Prowl lets his stylus drop with a faint clatter atop the table, and smooths his hands over his helm. "I'm pretty damn sure I made it clear what I'm after. You're not confused, you're just... mashing your fists together. I'm not after the thrill of contact. That appears to be your wheelhouse."

Rodimus, who hadn't quite realized the fidget, now does it AGGRESSIVELY and in PROWL'S FACE as he LEANS FORWARD. He then flattens his hands on the table, and pushes to his feet. "Well, I got bad news for you, then, because I gotta say Minimus pretty much thrilled at my contact."

"Did he." Prowl readily turns on the offense, poised similarly with his palms flat. He lifts his chin, staring down with a growing snarl. "Maybe it's better that he clearly failed you satisfy you. And now Soundwave is losing out to one of his own team members. Keep going through them, Rodimus. You appear to have an endless supply." He wets his lips suddenly, as if his own words tasted foul to him.

There's a twitch, a moment of tension, where Rodimus almost, but doesn't quite act. Then the bile runs out of him: punctured, gutted by Prowl's words, and he sinks back into his seat. He crosses his arms on the edge of the table and rests his forehead against the edge, face shadowed by the table. At least he stopped mashing his hands together. "Go jump in a smelter," he mutters.

Prowl had worked up some venom in that twitchy moment, ready to sink fangs, waiting for Rodimus to lash out in some way. His anger surges when Rodimus shifts to sit instead, and one palm curls into a fist, lifting to slam against the table. It... slowly settles back down, and regret creeps into his voice when he says, "Rodimus-"

Rodimus shifts, rises, and turns away. His gaze slips past Prowl without lingering or particularly registering him. He pauses, like he might apologize, but he doesn't. Instead, he says, "Flame-shaped confetti. He'll love it." Then he leaves.

That is definitely sincere advice which Minimus would totally appreciate and not hate at all.

Prowl watches Rodimus depart. That was some bad foresight. But he does make note of the confetti. And he gets absolutely zero work done now that he has the whole room to himself. All alone, just like he wanted. Ugh.

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