The Invictus - Chapter X

[thecrazyalaskan]

Chapter Ten

“Prowl, could you come to my desk please?”

Prowl looked up from his pad and stylus. In the quiet of the classroom, the simple call seemed a loud as the schoolhouse crashing down around him. About two dozen sets of optics, not including the bespectacled ones of the proctor, bored into his chassis as he stood and made to agonizing long journey to the front of the room. He heard a few whispers follow him up to the worn desk. “Yes, Proctor?” Prowl asked quietly, bowing slightly to his teacher.

The proctor looked up from grading a few assignments. “Take a seat, Prowl,” he suggested, referring to a low chair next to the desk. “I just want to have a little chat with you.”

“Yes, sir,” Prowl answered, seating himself primly on the chair’s edge. He squirmed on the seat as he folded and refolded his hands on his lap—between the fact that his formative years were spent kneeling on cushions and he feared the “chat,” crawling out of his chassis and out of the room like a slug sounded horribly tempting.

The teacher pushed his own chair away from the desk and scooted a little closer to him, closing the conversation off from the other students and making Prowl’s air pipe close up uncomfortably. “Where were you yesterday, Prowl?” he asked, keeping his tone nice and gentle. “We all missed you.”

“I had to stay home yesterday, Proctor,” Prowl answered, looking down at his hands and swinging his pedes.

“One of the other student’s parents told me they saw you at the market yesterday afternoon,” the proctor told him. “Did you really stay home?”

“I did, Proctor,” Prowl repeated.

“Prowl,” he replied with more than a slight hint of seriousness, “if you are being dishonest with me, now is the time to speak up.”

“It’s true, Proctor!” Prowl cried. “My grandfather was very sick and I had to take care of him! The medic Starcatcher said so!” He subspaced a small disposable pad and thrust it into his teacher’s hands. “There’s the medic’s sign and Grandfather’s sign—it’s there! I only went to the market to get Grandfather’s medicine—I swear it!”

The proctor looked down at the note in his hands—

Please excuse the absence of student Prowl for the care of his grandfather Positron, my patient, per Starcatcher, village medic. Patient’s legs rendered him immobile due to severe platinum imbalance; care of a close family member required. Questions will be directed to myself or to Positron. Thank you.

The scribbled mark of the medic and the old-fashioned mark of the youngling’s grandfather followed; both were dated for the previous solar cycle.

“I swear, Proctor—I would never ditch!” Prowl was going on, his tone becoming more and more distressed. “Please, you have to—“

“Hush, Prowl,” the proctor answered gently, laying the note on his desk. “It would seem I owe you an apology—I was too quick to judge.”

“I-It’s nothing, Proctor,” Prowl stammered, bowing in his seat.

“In any case, Prowl—I apologize,” the proctor insisted. He lowered his tone to a more polite, respectful one. “Does this happen… often?”

“N-No, Proctor,” Prowl answered, swiping at his visor and trying not to cry. “Grandfather’s legs seized—he couldn’t walk, and it’s never happened before.”

“I see,” the proctor answered, nodding his head slightly. “I’ll make you a deal, Prowl.” He laid a reassuring hand on the mech’s shoulder. “If you can bring me a note from your grandfather or his medic when you are needed at home, I will excuse your absences.”

“B-but Proctor…” Prowl weakly protested.

“Don’t think anything of it, Prowl,” the proctor replied. “I know you live with just your grandfather, and I understand that you may be needed if things like this happened again. As long as I have the note, I will excuse you.” The bespectacled optics searched his faceplates, and he smiled warmly. “You are one of my best students, Prowl, and I want to see you go as far in your life as you can possibly go, and farther. I see potential in you; as your teacher, I am bound to nurture that potential until you set foot in the world to make your mark. And your mark will be big, Prowl—doing things on a small scale is not in your core programming.”

Prowl bowed his head in gratitude. “Th-thank you, Proctor,” he whispered, swiping at his visor again.

“You may step out to collect yourself,” he told Prowl gently, patting his shoulder again. Nodding, the youngling stood and bowed deeply before slipping out the door of the schoolroom; the proctor turned back to his students’ assignments, and didn’t even shutter an optic when Prowl returned ten cycles later.

~*~*~*~

Prowl looked down at the simple lunch in front of him—a slab of lightly sautéed energon the size of his hand sprinkled with flecks of copper and cheap iron; a small handful of naturally, lightly spicy aluminum knobs; and a bottle of cold low grade tea. Leftovers from last night. At the semi-tender age of nine, Prowl was by no means a gourmet chef, but he was proud of the meal he had presented his grandfather.

A burst of laughter from a cluster of his classmates hit his audios, and Prowl turned his head to subtly observe them. There were six of them, arranged in a loose semicircle, all talking and exchanging parts of their lunch. Prowl saw high-quality energon and energon candies, low grade with lithium and silver additives—lithium and silver, for spark’s sake! Did his classmates’ families have credit to burn?

He looked a little more brazenly, watching them unwrap and devour the sweet foods as easily as they cycled breaths. Yes, he realized as he pegged the families from which they came—a few military brats, some government officials and the son of the owner of the energon mines—their families did have credits to burn on the luxuries of sweets and high quality foods.

Sighing dejectedly, he turned back to his lunch. He wasn’t too proud of it anymore.

He felt something small and rock-like ping against the back of his helm, close to dead center. “Atchaaaa…” he hissed under his breath, looking over his shoulder.

He felt compelled to turn around and stare at the dirt. Afterburner was right behind him. Though he was the same age as Prowl, he was upgrading into his adult form faster than anyone really knew what to do with him—twice Prowl’s weight and a head taller, he made everyone younger than him (and a few older than him) cower in fear. For all his brawn, though, he wasn’t blessed with great intelligence. On top of all of it, he was king of the schoolyard, ruling with an iron fist (quite literally) and quelling any rebellions, both literal and perceived, swiftly and… ahh, rather violently.

Prowl drew his head into his shoulders, trying to keep himself as inconspicuous as he possibly could. What he forgot was that Afterburner’s vision was, quite probably, based on movement because he felt the other youngling’s palm come down in a perceived death grip. “Hey Prooooooooooowlie,” he intoned in a sickeningly faux-sweet voice.

“Hello, Afterburner,” Prowl neutrally replied, keeping his eyes on his lunch.

“Whatcher doin’?” Afterburner asked, his voice still rumbling lightly in Prowl’s audios.

“I’m eating my lunch,” Prowl said tartly.

“Oh you mean this?” Afterburner asked, seizing one of the aluminum knobs from Prowl’s bag. “I thought you were eating dirt—looks about the same.”

“Give that back,” Prowl requested in no uncertain terms.

“Why should I?” Afterburner replied smoothly.

“Give it back,” Prowl asked again, tone still hard.

“Nope,” the bigger youngling answered, tossing the food into his mouth. He chewed it once… twice… three times… and spit it out on the ground at Prowl’s feet. “That’s disgusting! It is like eating dirt!”

Prowl recoiled from the rejected aluminum, abject horror etched in his features. “How could you do that?!” he queried incredulously. “Those were expensive! I spent almost a full credit on them!”

“A credit?” Afterburner parroted. “That’s slagging cheap!”

“Well, to me it’s not!” Prowl retorted. “I had to really save to get them and I’m not wasting any!” He clutched the tiny pouch of aluminum almost protectively to his chest hull.

“Oh yeah, I forgot—it’s because you’re so slagging poor,” Afterburner answered.

“I am not!” Prowl cried.

“Yeah you are—no one but the poor worry about aluminum,” Afterburner shot back.

“I’m not poor!” Prowl retorted hotly. “Grandfather and I are just really careful about how we spend our credits!”

“Well what about your mom and dad?” Afterburner questioned.

Prowl paused. “I don’t have them,” he answered. “I’ve never seen my dad and I never met my mom.”

“Ohh yeah, I forgot,” Afterburner added with pseudo-realization. “You live with your poor old grandpa.”

“Don’t say that!” Prowl snapped. “Grandfather’s not poor and he’s not old.”

“Yeah he is!” Afterburner said in no kind terms. “Look at you! You have bum school supplies, cheap meals and you can’t even afford to ride to school! Now you’re getting all bent out of shape about aluminum! That stuff’s cheap as slag!”

Prowl looked down at his pedes. His school bag had spilled over a little, exposing his battered writing pad and came-chewed-up stylus, both bought semi-gently used from the market for a very good price. The knobs of aluminum in his hand felt very heavy now. When was the last time he and Grandfather had ridden anywhere in the village? Never, honestly… because it cost too many credits. “Grandfather’s not old,” He said softly.

“You know he is!” Afterburner shot back. “Y’ever notice how there aren’t any other mechs in the village with his body type? That’s ‘cos all the mechs with that body type offlined years ago! He’s a dying breed!”

“Shut up!” Prowl snapped. “My grandfather isn’t going to die!”

“Pffft, well yeah—not right away,” Afterburner dismissed. “It’s gonna take some time for him to get with the program and offline.”

“Stop saying that!” Prowl cried, feeling mech fluid pricking at the back of his optics.

“Yeah, and it’s gonna be slow and painful,” Afterburner said with a nigh sadistic grin. “First his legs are gonna go so he’s stuck in his berth and you’re gonna have to drop out of school to take care of him. Then the whole rest of him is gonna break down, circuit by circuit.”

Prowl winced as he pictured that fate for his grandfather. Was it not bad enough that he’d spent all day in bed yesterday, needing to call out to his grandson for energon and low grade and to be able to take a brief walk across his own room?

“Then his CPU is gonna start to wear down,” Afterburner went on, “until he can’t even recognize you—he’s gonna think you’re his bondmate or a Decepticon, but he’ll forget what all that is, and then he’s gonna die—he’s gonna die a slow, painful deactivation and be melted down for the war.” And then he laughed. He laughed a cruel, sparkless laugh that would have instilled pride in the entire Decepticon military. He laughed, long and hard, at the idea of Prowl’s grandfather being thrown, unmourned, into a smelter and turning into a puddle of white hot liquid metal and transformed into an instrument of death.

Prowl clenched his hands into fists. Letting out an energon-chilling scream, he ran right for Afterburner, ramming him in the stomach and waist. Despite his massive size, Afterburner toppled easily, hitting the dirt with a yelp. Taking advantage of the other youngling’s lapse in his guard, Prowl perched on his chestplating and, with a war cry, started to hit him as hard as he possibly could. “Shut up shut up shut up!” he bellowed. “You don’t know anything about my grandfather so you just shut up!”

Afterburner yelped and whined under Prowl’s assault. “S-Stop it!” he cried. “Get offa me!”

Prowl continued to swing his fists, vaguely aware of a group of his classmates watching. “No!” he cried, feeling his hands coming into repeated contact with Afterburner’s faceplates. “You’re a bully and I hate you! I hate you, you slag-faced motherboarding slagger!”

Afterburner continued in vain to try to deflect Prowl’s blows, which only fueled his rage and attracted more of his classmates. Prowl snarled and swung harder and harder, becoming a fountain of rage and obscenities. He could feel a little energon on his fists, but it did little to satisfy his thirst for revenge. His swears were growing more and more callous, his use of frag becoming more and more liberal.

He hardly had the time to call a weeping and whining Afterburner a slag-faced fragger no one would ever fragging want to love when he felt himself get yanked off his victim by the scruff of the neck. “Prowl, what on Cybertron do you think you’re doing?!” The voice of the proctor cut hardly into his consciousness.

Prowl’s arms fell limp at his sides as he looked up to see the shocked look on his teacher’s face. “I… I… he…” he stammered, looking from his pedes to his teacher to Afterburner, who staggered to his feet cupping his hands under his nose to catch the energon dripping form it.

The teacher took both of them by the arm. “Inside—now,” he said firmly, leading them off the grounds and into the schoolhouse. Prowl bowed his head, preparing himself for the punishment that was to come; Afterburner whimpered and cried. Prowl shot him a sidelong glance to survey the damage he’d inflicted. All he’d done was draw energon, but considering the reason Prowl was beating him in presence of Primus and his fellow students… well, he should have been grateful that was all he got.

The proctor stood them both in front of his desk and sat, considering them. Afterburner was an absolute crying wreck, bleeding from the damage Prowl had inflicted; Prowl’s head was bowed, but he had no damage.

The proctor addressed Afterburner: “Go take a moment to gather yourself at the back of the room. I wish to speak to Prowl first.” He steepled his fingers and watched the youngling scurry away to lick his wounds in the back of the classroom, then gestured for Prowl to come around to his side of the desk.

Prowl complied, keeping his visored optics averted. “Look at me, Prowl,” he instructed, his voice level as he crossed his legs and tapped his fingers to his chin.

Prowl lifted his eyes. His expression was kept carefully neutral, but the proctor could see a flicker of defiance deep in his optics. “Why did you try to hurt Afterburner?” he asked, cutting to the spark of the matter.

“He was talking scrap about my grandfather, Proctor,” Prowl replied, ever the matter of fact youngling.

“Language, Prowl,” he replied before going on. “What did he say?”

Prowl relayed the rest of the story to him—starting from Afterburner coming over to him to when he was plucked off the bigger mech. “I got in a lot of hits, Proctor,” Prowl finished with an odd note of pride.

“And you’re proud of this?” he questioned.

“I don’t care what anyone says about me,” Prowl explained. “But no one’s ever allowed to talk bad about Grandfather without me kicking their skidplates.” Prowl bowed quickly, apologizing for his language.

The proctor nodded slowly. “And you were able to hold you own against him? Even though he’s so much bigger than you are?”

“Yes, proctor,” Prow answered, “right up until you pulled me off him.”

The proctor dismissed Prowl, calling Afterburner up to his desk. For the time being, Prowl sat in his seat, tracing an abstract pattern on the worn out desktop. He could hear Afterburner sniffling and crying still. Didn’t even slagging hit him that hard, he groused.

After a few cycles, the teacher called him back up to his desk. Prowl stood, stiffly, next to Afterburner, who had finally quit crying. Prowl kept his head high, satisfied that he looked like the bigger mech compared to the youngling next to him.

“I’m very disappointed in both of you,” the proctor seriously intoned. “Afterburner, I know we’ve discussed picking fights with your fellow younglings. Prowl, I had expected a much better response from you.” The proctor shook his head sadly. “I’ll have to send you both back home. I’ll call your guardians to come fetch you.”

“Proctor, is that necessary?” Prowl cut in a little urgently. The proctor looked over the rim of his glasses. “I-Is it really necessary to call Grandfather?”

“It is,” was the simple reply. Prowl bowed his head and tried to envision how Grandfather would react. He could feel his knees shaking as he retreated to his desk to wait for Grandfather. He laid his head on his arms and blocked out any auditory stimuli.

The dark youngling remained in his position until, about fifteen cycles later, he heard footsteps near the rear of the building. They were loud and fast, not his grandfather’s. Indeed, he could see someone related to Afterburner, if the color scheme was any indication, march up to the front of the room and have a hurried, hushed conversation with the proctor. After a few moments, the relative—judging by the squat build and facial structure, an older femme, probably not Afterburner’s mother; more likely an aunt… or a really unattractive older sister—turned away from the desk and marched back out, snatching Afterburner from his chair and promising intense punishments when they got home.

Prowl almost felt bad for him… Almost. Then again, how did he know Grandfather wasn’t going to physically punish him when they got home? He shuddered at the thought.

Comments

Chapter Ten (Part One)

[lunaeshark.livejournal.com]

*smacks palm with fist* Afterburner got off lucky, I think.

Your grandfather won't hurt you, Prowl, but you're in for a chewing out, I'm sure.

Re: Chapter Ten (Part One)

[thecrazyalaskan.livejournal.com]

So do I. But boy, did the aft-kicking he got feel good when I wrote it.