2018-12-03 Commendations

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Date 2018/12/03
Location Someplace
Participants Prowl, Rodimus
Summary Rodimus stops to give Prowl a thumbs up on his way out.

Prowl ought to be on top of everything. He ought to be following up and prodding and nagging and spearheading the logistics of a grand surrender, but with Megatron dead, truly dead, Prowl coasts on the air of a smug victor, and nothing seems terribly urgent to him.

He catches Rodimus as the captain attempts to fold into the loop between fleet ships. Prowl is in his alt, zooming down wide halls with Xaaron and Barrister, when he screeches to a stop. "I'll meet you there," he tells the lawmechs. "Rodimus! You're awake."

Lightly distracted as he finishes off some message or another on his datapad, Rodimus looks up to Prowl with a harried edge to his reflexive grin. "I am, and believe me, four hours ago I would've said it was an improvement, but I was just in a two hour meeting and I'm barely caught up. Holy slag, Prowl, who knew winning was so terrible?" He holds himself a touch stiffly, and there's a hint of fatigue in the down-turned angle of his spoiler. Too bad he has ten-plus hours to go before he'll hit a slab.

"What're you guys up to?" Rodimus asks, nodding after Xaaron and Barrister with a cheery wave as they move on.

Prowl springs up into his root mode with a nice, unpleasant scrape of dented armor. "I'm glad you're alright," he starts off with, and shoves the gesture of earnest relief out of the way. "Terrible? It's just... lengthy. We're getting through it, one step at a time. Then you can go park the Lost Light on some resort planet and bask for a bit."

Then he winces. "We're... They're making sure our second victory doesn't involve my "colorful" ideas, like planting explosive chips in everyone's heads."

When Prowl mentions the chips, there's a little flicker in Rodimus's gaze: something he was going to say, which has already been said, and now he no longer has to say it. His tone is dry as he says, "That's ... probably for the best. Nice work on the overall assault, though. Reading through the reports -- and, honestly, from firsthand experience -- that air breakdown was brutal, but Raptorion has always been one of their strongest third stringers. She and Soundwave gone to the mats to wrestle for leadership, yet?"

Prowl endures Rodimus' dry response without interruption, his shame clear and honest on his down-turned features. But the praise that follows spurs a full-body perk. "I hate to speak highly of our enemy but she's... she's very good. Effective." Prowl's favorite attribute.

At Rodimus' question, Prowl turns his palms out. "I should know that, right? But I don't. Been focused on everyone's frantic rush to keep the reins out of my hands. I don't blame them. To be clear, I don't think Soundwave is actually going to fight Raptorion. We can... work that out in a Command meeting later, if you want."

Rodimus is startled into a bark of laughter, and the look he gives Prowl is wry. No comment. "Well, you'll be recognized with a special commendation for going above and beyond with the strategy. I'm not sure that Decepticon leadership is Command business, honestly. It's definitely not Lost Light business. We're Autobots, most of us." We. It's been a long time, Rodders. "Did Ignition tell you that the Galactic Council has reached already?"

Prowl grumpily eyes Rodimus with just enough tolerance to avoid hissing at him. He straightens and very nearly preens at the promise of commendation. "I'm pleased with how everything unfolded. Partially luck, mostly skill. I wasn't sure what Soundwave would do. Bulkhead and Wheeljack coming through... Our hackers... The timing!" He balls his fists, back to grinning.

"Fine, we needn't be involved." Prowl fans his fingers, hands off! He might've used the gesture a few times today. "Reached... what? A verdict? On us?"

"Reached out. Made contact. Offered to put their re-arming on hold, although that wasn't the words they used, if we played along, which definitely isn't the words they used," Rodimus says, with a gesture that illustrates -- nothing, really. His hands fold together in a smush. That's probably hat-killing. "Ignition thinks there's a chance for, uh, something like peace, anyway. They made loud noises of interest in hearing how our justice commission was coming along."

"That's great. Great to hear. All we had to do is risk everything to take out our dear tyrant. You're welcome, galaxy!" Prowl mutters. "Which justice commission? Our restorative project?" Something catches Prowl's eye, and he shifts around to Rodimus' left, peering over at the dark marks he can spot on the edge of his spoiler. "You should... get Swerve to look at that."

Rodimus's face scrunches in a sympathetic grimace at Prowl's mutter. "Yeah. I know. But -- if he was our problem to solve, and we fragging well solved it. Better we did than a bunch of squishies came trampling through trying to take us over again."

When Prowl edges to the side, Rodimus turns, trying to keep facing him, before he finally realizes what Prowl is up to. He turns back, letting Prowl see not just a dark edge, but the full swirl of it. "Wow, that sounds dire when you say it like that. Medical said there was a mark--?" A thin note of anxiety threads through his voice. IS HE STILL PRETTY.

"Huh." Prowl eyes the swirling scar's core to its sweeping outer half-rings. "It's big. I think you're supposed to use the Matrix from the front, Rodimus," he teases. "Did you know what it was going to do? To... Soundwave? How is he holding up, by the way?"

Spoiler twitching a warning before he twists back, Rodimus looks tempted to thwack Prowl in the face with it judging by his scowl. He resists. BARELY. "I don't know what happened. I mean--." He gestures at his back before his hand falls, waving this way, that, in a more thoughtful wiggle. "I don't know what happened to me. I didn't know what would happen to Soundwave, not really. I guess, I was just--."

Rodimus hesitates. Then he admits, "Desperate, I guess." His voice is quiet. "All I could think of was how cold it was, when Megs'd blasted me. It was stupid. I should've been focused on the threat, on him, but all I could think is that if I was fast enough, if I got it into Soundwave--."

Prowl waves his hand - Rodimus doesn't need to continue. "You did what you're good at. You followed your impulse. Is Soundwave still carrying the Matrix? Did you... officially transfer it to him? Not sure how that's going to look to the Decepticons."

Rodimus taps his chest with an expression of relief. "I have it. He doesn't want it. He all but threw it, honestly," he says with a deep and profound fondness. "He could have kept it, though. He had the right to it. It accepted him, it helped him. But he didn't."

"It scars your metal and puts you into comas, I can't imagine why he wouldn't want to keep it," Prowl says. "He deserves commendation too, naturally, but... Would he want it? I was hoping I could count on you to gauge that."

"For bravery, yes. For Megatron--." Rodimus breaks off, vents, steadies himself. "No, not for that. I still haven't caught up on everything that happened while I was out."

"Everyone is still sort of reeling and sorting things, so don't worry, you haven't missed any parties. I'm sure the fleet is planning something." Prowl's doors flick. "Not that I've been invited to anything," he huffs. "Alright, I need to go defend myself and promise everyone I'm not going to lock all 'cons in their alt modes or whatever. Seriously though, get Swerve to look at that."

"Come by my office." Rodimus pauses. "Tomorrow or something, when you've got time. I owe you a drink at the end of all of this. Just resist your urge to melt Decepticons into fresh sentio okay no that's a terrible joke, they actually did that, and you're not Tarn. Never mind." He makes a face, making no promises with Swerve. He will. Probably.

Rodimus' joke is so off-color that Prowl has to laugh. "Oh, good, I'm not Tarn." His smirk levels into an apprehensive squint, but he nods in the end. "And bad television. You don't have to accompany me, I'll just take the drink and mind-numbing feeds and a locked door."

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