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Today will likely be the same as yesterday was and tomorrow will be like. It's yet another cycle of endless repetition that I've managed to get myself into. Wake up, refuel on rations, go to work, review mission reports, read the battle possibilities the theoreticians made, draft up counter attacks and battle plans. Then do analyze data inputs for the rest, report to Commander WindRose, and leave work to recharge. Repeat the next cycle. Again, and again, and again, and again, and-
"Officer Prowl." At the sound of the Commander's voice addressing me, my focus on the data (and my existential crisis) broke as I quickly stood. The datapad I had been using was left open to the mass amount of information written on it while Commander WindRose stared me down. It was always quite annoying how my staring was a problem for others, but never anyone else's staring in the unit.
"Yes, Commander?" She never answered me orally, though it was obvious with how she turned away and started walking that I was expected to follow. Which I did. After turning off my datapad and pushing in my desk chair. Wordlessly, I trailed behind her as she herded me to her office, my door wings twitching once at my back at seeing a figure already there. "Commander Jazz."
Once I was let into the office, I saluted and waited to be addressed before sitting in an open space. This is the first time I've met the Prime's second in person. With the false, easy going grin he made while simply nodding at me casually, it confirmed my belief about his rumored friendly behavior to be partially incorrect. The bleakness to that smile... did not seem to be from the recent grief of losing a brother-in-arms to war. Though Command WindRose did not mention as she took her sear opposite of him. Or perhaps she didn't noticed?
I leaned forward just slightly in my seat as my door wings raised from their resting position against my back, an instinctual response to the flash in Commander Jazz's visor as his head tilted at me. He seems to know that I've caught onto his behavioral farce. Yet it's hard to tell what exactly the mech is thinking with how composed and unresponsive his body language is.
"Commander Jazz, this is the analysis and tactician you requested," my door wings lowered back to their usual position at her glance over to me, "Prowl of Praxus."
A short, almost pleased whistle sounded from my superior. Odd. Not the usual reaction me or my title of heritage receives. This Jazz has been very intriguing so far. In the back of my processor, there's the urge to question his behavior and attitude, an urge in which I ignore. It's hardly the time or the place to act on the TACnet's desire for further knowledge.
"Didn't mention Prowler's a pretty bot too, Rosey." There was the faint coolness of wind against my neck, from the motion of my door wings flaring up and out of position, without my permission. Not that I could think about it in that short moment, with how hot the protoform of my face felt. Luckily, Commander WindRose seemed to not have the same error as me.
"Commander, it is hardly the time for your moral boosting shenanigans," I could practically feel the annoyance leaking into her EM field. "I suggest you get to the point of this meeting, so Officer Prowl can prepare for his transfer."
"Transfer?" My voice echo the thought bubbling to the top of my processor before I could even process the Commander's words properly. This seems to make a more genuine, almost amused, grin brake across the other Commander's face. As the mech stands and approaches me, there's the feather light feeling of my sensory panels pressing against my back. The repetition of my schedule isn't terrible. It's better than the unknown. This is the unknown and I don't like it. Though I can already tell where this is going, so it isn't truly unknown, but the responsibilities that would come with it certainly are unknown.
The curve of Jazz's lips softens at the edges a little as he speaks smoothly, "I have an offer for you, sweetspark." A subtly twitch of my door wings from against my back and me tilting my head to hus direction is what ques him to continue. "With the recent battle, my team has been lacking in an expert strategist, and you are just perfect for the job." The Commander ignores me opening my mouth to speak, likely because he knows I'm about to protest.
"You've been working tactics and data analyzing for vorns now. Those plans your pretty processor's been thinking up? Top notch." Despite the teasing nicknames and somewhat flirtatious manner of speech, he does seem to have an edge of seriousness in voice. It's unfortunately attractive and the hand on my shoulder doesn't help. Perhaps Ratchet was right about me being touch starved and unaccustomed to praise. "I could use that sharp thinking of yours in my troop- and that cool attitude you always seem to keep under pressure."
"So what do you say, Prowl? Wanna tackle the role of Head Strategist for my merry little group?"