We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
Prowl managed to rise to his feet, adopting a standard combat ready stance with his hands up and open in anticipation. He slowly began to move towards his right side, gazing at her from behind his open hands while seeming to size Patch up for a long moment, reevaluating. She had skill that could not be denied. That would explain a few things then...
“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”
It was a matter of necessity in both his previous occupation and current to be good at this. Those who did not adapt ended up dead in the gutter, or torn apart for Primus knows what intents. It’s how you survived, especially as an enforcer banished to the Dead End.
“I had to by necessity.”
A sudden motion forward on his part was accompanied by a quick jab cross aimed at Patch’s faceplate followed by a knee to her midsection and an elbow to the side of her helm. Grappling was all and well and many a fight would be won or lost by how well a combatant could mix it up on the ground. But what also mattered was actually landing blows on your opponent. Blows that caused pain served two purposes. One was to distract, the second reason was to shut down a threat.
Though for this one, Prowl was leaving it open. If he landed a hit, he’d roll with it and go from there. If not, that meant he would get to see her blocking or dodging game, which would give him more information for his analysis.
Patch paid close attention In the crucial moments between Prowl’s movements.
She managed to quickly duck sideways from the first strike. Optics widening slightly as she angled down and fought to keep her gaze upon the officer. He was moving faster than she’d planned. Before that fact had been fully realized, however, a truth came to fruition.
Patch could not keep up.
The small frame curled over Prowl’s knee as it struck her abdomen. Again, her already windless vents were taken aback by the impact. What remaining air she still carried spat from them, from her back, and the backs of her peddes. It stunned her. Her fists released to lightly curled digits, and her arms, dropped enough that they were no longer protecting her helm.
Then a very sharp force suddenly crashed into her peripheral. Stinging against her cheek and temple. It knocked her jaw funny, made her twist away; her helm first, though her whole frame followed swiftly.
The young form staggered away as she unceremoniously struck the ground. A hardy metallic crash as her shoulder impacted. Her frame twisted violently as her servos flew to the side of her helm.
She did not get up.
There was no yelp- the femme didn’t even breath, actually for a second or two. Her helm quirked in a little, as freckle dotted features contorted to a grimace. She froze like this as it seemed she silently evaluated; trying to give the pain a moment to fully kick in, to determine just how bad it actually was before doing anything about it. The calm before the storm.
She chuffed an ex-vent, as it seemed she decided it wasn’t serious.
“What the FRIG dude!?” An earth curse... Sort of. Even in anger, the young femme wasn’t quite willing to fully commit to a proper cybertronian equivalent. in the known presence of her superior.
Her frame curled some as she clutched her helm a bit tighter in both servos. “Ahhh…. I thought you were tryin’ da make me feel better...” Still mad, a little, though the hurt was much more evident now. There was still a little room in there for forgiveness too- Patch understood Prowl probably hadn’t meant to hurt her. Intent to push, and discover her boundaries.
Prowl expected a longer fight, but it had become evident that Patch fought more on strength than speed. And she needed to work on her blocking. He moved forward, kneeling down by her side as she tried to regain herself after his blow to her head. He had only been going at fifty percent, but the blows still carried weight to them.
“What the FRIG dude!? Ahhh…. I thought you were tryin’ da make me feel better...”
Dude?
He stared down at her from behind that mirrored golden visor, mouth pressed together in a firm line. It appeared she had fallen into a similar habit shared by many in this outpost. Time that he corrected that notion right here and now. He held up his pointer finger to enumerate that point.
“One: you need to work on your blocking.”
A second finger came up to form a two.
“Two: Do not address me as 'dude'. I am not your friend."
A third digit.
“And three: I am doing this so that you will get back in the right mindset. I do not need soldiers who let their emotions get in the way when there is so much at stake. Understood?”
Was he being too hard on her? Perhaps, but coddling was Ratchet or Optimus Prime’s job. He took a short pause before continuing. His specialty was tough love that had been for most of his history beaten into him by war and betrayal, despite a short pause.
“You’re feeling betrayed right now by your ‘friends’, aren't you? It happens. Get over it.”
Patch appreciated that Prowl knelt beside her rather than looming.
Those warm and fuzzy feelings, however, swiftly dissipated as it became clear what he was actually saying. A lecture? Way to add insult to injury. The police mech didn’t… Seem even a little sorry… Patch wasn’t sure she liked that very much...
At the first point, the young femme eased up and around enough to look at the officer, still rubbing her helm. “Yeah, no slag...” Yet another nail in the coffin, unaware of what he had to say next.
Her optics got wide and popped up at the next point. Oh no, this was suddenly a very different scenario.
There was so much she wanted to tell him. SO MUCH the little femme wanted to say to try and defend herself. So many arguments she could bring up; What was Prowl’s point in attempting to move her forward if he wasn’t addressing the ISSUE? Patch was sadbeneath the anger. That wouldn’t just go away by making her hit something. She needed to get through the feelings in order to address the hurt or both would only fester...
A hollow word of condolence back in the hallway to their quarters would have done just as much, if not more than all this time, and effort to... what? Reprimand? Hit her? Make her sore? What was the end game? All questions that flashed through the young soldier’s helm as her temple, and belly, and even her pedde still ached a little...
And yet? The rules still stood...
Instead of letting go, or giving up, the last-sparked twisted those feelings around to wind her tighter. As far as she could tell he hadn’t told her to stop- he’d made the mistake of getting closer, in fact. Generally Patch may not be keen to take advantage of that expression of care, but…
Frankly, the last-sparked was fried. She felt like he was treating her like an idiot- and with that, the child suddenly felt a burning need to prove she wasn’t; Prove Herself.
He hadn’t called it off, therefore; the game was still on.
Before the mech could so much as finish his third point, with a swift, sudden motion, the young femme reached out for the Officer’s now compromised stance on the ground. Aiming to grasp his front leg and wrench it toward her- in hopes of getting the mech to fall forward, so she could kneel up and get over him in a head-lock beneath her right arm.
If by some miracle this managed to succeed, the young medic then had plans to curl her lower body under, and wrap both legs around her opponent’s waist- preferably to lock them with each other behind him. That way, regardless of whether he fell, or found the strength to stand, she’d be attached. Clinging to his chassis like a monkey with his helm still tucked beneath her arm.
This was not something Speedtrap would have done...
No, it was something Lockstep would have done. But Speedtrap had not always been right, and Lockstep had not always been wrong.
She wanted to say something, he could tell from the thoughts that seemed to race across her face. Surprise, Anger, Resentment and finally Determination. What came next was...unexpected to say the least, but not unappreciated. She knew how to fight, and did not give up.
But it was still surprising when she reached forward and grabbed his forward pedde, attempting to yank him forward. He ground his ped into the ground, but she still yanked it forward. So he started swinging, aiming a series of off handed punches towards her faceplate. The thing about grappling was it needed to be executed at certain times.
“You have something to say? Say it.”
He attempted to swing his other leg out from underneath so that he could get on top of her and dominate the fight from above. From there he could rain down punches at will and control the situation by limiting Patch’s useful options while maximizing her useless options.
One of Patch’s servos quickly rose away from Prowl’s ankle to her audial to try and block the onslaught. With that, however, the force with which she could pull was nearly halved. Before long, the second servo was brought up to try and protect herself, which, lead to other problems.
A murpled, crumpled, higher pitched whine from behind clenched fists in response to his query. forearms tight to her face as punch upon punch fell upon her. A grunt of sorts, a growl of a squeal with her neck squenched down to be as small as possible as she attempted to vocalise and failed thanks to the harsh block. She did not respond to Prowl’s question with more than this, as unfortunately, the child did not find the current scenario terribly conducive to conversation.
Patch could not see with her servos up, and her face away, hence, she did not realize what Prowl was trying to do until his pedde was already over her. She knew she had no time to shift her hip and move out of the way. She did however manage to barely flip over in time before being squished. The cop’s weight on her belly instead of her back, so she could continue facing upward, and semi-seeing his movements.
All at once, her right pedde rose from the floor and slipped to the outside of Prowls left. Servos opened up from her faceplate barely enough to try and grab his left wrist as it came down. If she got lucky enough to catch? The young femme planned to wrench it down across her chest toward her left hip, as she thrust that same hip upward. Attempting to topple the mech, while also taking away any points on which he could catch himself. Holding his pedde in with her own, his servo away, and breaking his core by shifting his current foundation; her. "GNH!"
Prowl was heavy, however. More so than Patch, and even if only slightly that made a big difference. Swiftness and angle were more important than strength here- though strength still mattered a lot. She summoned as much of all three as she could, though without the aid of a deterrent -like a blaster or a knife- the femme knew she was somewhat at a loss.
If the movement managed to succeed, Patch intended to roll up upon the mech to essentially switch positions with him. If it failed? The both of them would likely shift upon the floor slightly, though Patch would remain in the submissive position.
Prowl grit his denta together as his fist was caught and pulled down while Patch shifted her weight and bucked her hip up to dislodge him. It was effective enough and the tactician was thrown off and landed on his side. While he might have been dislodged, it did not mean he was down and out.
As he was thrown he took his right fist and began aiming a series of quick punches into her side as he fell. Not enough to cause serious damage, but enough to distract her as his leg came up and attempted to drill into her midsection or leg, to gain him some space. She had the grappling aspect of combat down, no questions about it. Put her in a real scenario and he would put her chances of survival at above 85.724 percent.
“Impressive.”
This was going to take much longer than originally calculated. But other calculations were within projected results. His statements earlier had produced an angered response from her. She was running on rage at this point, all emotions. Not the screaming madness some people descended to, but anger filled nonetheless. While these made someone powerful in the moment physically, it made them stupid in the long run. And stupid people made mistakes.
That is what he counted on the most. Maximize mistakes, minimize good choices.
Patch was beginning to accumulate a few little dents and scuffs of her paint along her forearms and sides. Even at limited strength they hurt, and one after another in the same few spots was starting to make marks.
Of course she knew the rules; if anyone asked, she’d tripped and fallen. But still, they were there, and they were becoming more apparent as the fight went on.
With that one, mighty heave, it seemed Patch managed to gain a touch of freedom. Though it seemed gaining full-mount would be harder than she thought. The instant onslaught upon her side curled her over to try and protect herself. Elbow lowering to try and block. The knee was not helpful either, and did manage to completely dissuade her from trying to get atop the mech.
Patch was no longer responding to the praise. Whether it registered or not was unclear.
Instead of straddling Prowl's waist, the young femme whipped her frame around to go more for his helm and shoulders. Attempting to draw herself out perpendicular to the mech into side mount. She tried to push her forearm beneath his helm, and -as she was not tall enough to reach all the way around him- grip whatever of the plating she could on his other arm with her free servo, aiming for his ‘bicep’.
Had this been a real conflict, on a real battlefield, this was likely the point the young femme would have tried to end it- preferably quickly, and without much fuss, or pain. Severing, or disconnecting a major line on his neck, or putting her knife through his optic.
Had this been a real scenario, with someone she needed alive and unharmed; if a patient had turned hostile and she didn’t have help, this was likely the point she’d try to incapacitate. Inject a sedative, or -in unfortunate lieu of that- attempt to limit the energon supply to their brain only just long enough to loosen their grip on consciousness.
This was neither of those scenarios. And Patch wasn’t entirely sure where to go next.
It was with this thought there was an instant of hesitation. A simple loss for what was expected next. Did he want her to try and incapacitate him? Was a wrist lock more prudent? Would he even tap out if she managed before something was broken?
If this was a real combat scenario, Prowl would have done one of two things in this situation. First
option, jab his pointer and index finger into her neck and activate his taser, overloading her systems for a few seconds to where he could subdue her. Second option, deploy his blaster and discharge it point blank into her head until she stopped.
But this was not a real combat scenario. And Prowl felt that some points needed to be made. He could not make them while he was on the floor.
“End Ex!”
Those words had been drilled into him during training, just like every other recruit before and after him, the code for ‘end exercise’. He kept his eyes on her though, watching her from behind that golden visor to make sure she got the message.
There seemed to be yet another moment of computation in the young femme. As though she were grounding herself once more in there and then. All of a sudden any perceived threat, and perceived danger that she would get hit again if she couldn’t hold him down… All that aggression simply flatlined at those magical words that spelled the end to PT as well as sparing, in her unit.
The most effective means of disarming aside from straight up knocking her out.
Any grip, and pressure she had on Prowl's frame released the very instant he uttered the phrase. Though the child did somewhat hesitate -if only for an instant- to relinquish the position she’d gained. After a sparkpulse, her arm slipped cautiously out from beneath the officer’s helm, making sure he didn’t hit it on the stone floor, as her shoulder eased up off his, and she brought her hands back to herself.
From here, she settled back on her aft to kneel beside him with her peddes beneath her, and her servos on either leg. Expression quiet and blank as it had been while trying to search for the proper holds. Listening. Young blue optics trained on the officer. From here, she’d stand if he did, though would otherwise simply listen.
Prowl took a mental note of that fact, filing it away in the back of his mind while she untangled herself from him. Just in case he ever had to take this medic down, for whatever reason be it for her safety, his, or another’s, he might be able to use this to shut her down long enough to get her pinned and cuffed. But that was not the point right now, just a useful note for later.
The tactician came up to a sitting position after she had extricated herself, though he did notice the considerate arm under his head until he had freed himself. Always best to avoid injury if it could be helped during a training exercise, as everyone needed to be fighting the enemy and not each other. He stared at her from behind the golden visor while he pressed his lips together in thought before speaking.
“One: Your grappling game is some of the best work I have seen. But grappling, while useful, can sometimes only prolong a fight. You need to work not only on your defense against strikes, but you should also practice more with strikes in general.”
Some of the quickest fights Prowl had ever been in as an enforcer was when someone came charging at him and he laid them out on the deck with a quick combo of punches and kicks, usually an overcharged laborer who was mad his buddy was getting hauled off for something. A quick series of strikes usually took it out of them.
But there was something else on her mind. He could tell from her attacks later on.
“I said something that upset you, did I not? Well, it’s the truth. I do not need your admiration, respect, or your trust necessarily. I need your obedience. You want to respect someone, look up to Prime.”
Prowl’s job at the end of the day was to strategize, nothing more. And while it benefited in multiple ways to minimize the casualty projections to the best of his abilities, some bots seemed to forget that they were in the middle of a fragging war, where individuals died. It was an inescapable fact of what they were doing. And yet, some people had trouble getting that into their processor...
Whoa. That was… Surprising. Patch knew she was good at wrestling. Damn good. It had saved her aft a lot of times, but even she wouldn’t count herself amongst the best. There were still countless little mistakes she’d made in her form even now. A pedde flexed that didn’t need to be, a point of contact a few inches off from it’s mark. Not much that would matter unless facing off with someone very skilled (and or large) but notes she intended to correct herself on nevertheless.
Her chin lowered slightly with the words regarding her strikes and blocks. Patch knew that was a weaker skillset of her’s. She nodded mildly, intake flat, optics serious, and turned away from his gaze to the floor at her left. “Yessir.”
Her optics widened slightly as he spoke of upsetting her. A flick to look up at that yellow visor, before they swiftly dropped again. A very subtle retreat of her helm in her shoulders. As though chided for a crime she’d expected to get away with.
Had he stopped at the first two points, the last-sparked would have simply agreed again. Yet another ‘yes sir’ an expectation to be either dismissed, or ordered to continue… But that last bit.
'You want to respect someone, look up to Prime.'
Patch did trust Prowl, by default. He was her senior by a very large amount -according to the only system of hierarchy the femme had ever known- and she trusted that was for a reason. Respect and admiration were two very different things. He did not demand either, and in that he gained the first. It would seem he wished to reject the latter, however, if he could. The little medic had a feeling it wasn’t necessarily admiration he wished away anywhere near so much as affection.
Patch couldn’t help but wonder why...
“You don’t control whether I respect you, sir.” She muttered lowly, though loud enough to be heard. A submissive position of the helm, with optics open, but lowered. They calmly rose to meet his gaze. Still cautious. Aware of his seniority. Aware of his skill. Making no move, carrying intention to challenge either in her field, or her face, or her voice. She spoke deeply.
Prowl moved to rise up onto his feet, indicating Patch should rise to her feet as well. While they were here, he might as well give her a helping hand in the striking and blocking department. As he had said previously, he needed soldiers at the top of their game. Unlike some officers Prowl had met, he was willing to assist those soldiers get to the top because if not him, who else would.
That same line is what drove him each day to do what he did, what kept him going after he had to sacrifice thousands in order to achieve the objective. That was one thing he admired about some of the Decepticons. They knew the cost of war. The majority of the Autobots he had known and currently knew seemed to forget that fact. They expected grand victories, then looked for someone to blame when the casualty reports came flooding in, and the survivors told their horror stories.
Prowl’s gaze rested upon Patch when she spoke. He heard her quite clearly. He knew he had a few out there who did not think he was a total monster that most of the rank and file made him out to be. Prime was one of them, otherwise Prowl would not be where he was today. Jazz was another, as well as Ratchet. Anyone who really knew him, what he had been through and what he was trying to do, knew that he still stuck to his original programming. Prowl kept that list of people to a minimum as much as possible. It made the pain of losing people much easier to bear if there was a small chance of them getting hurt or killed. But to the medic’s statement, he offered nothing but silence.
She was right. He did not want admiration, or affection. It merely got in the way.
“Let’s work on your strikes first, then your blocks. I will run you through some basic drills to gauge your ability.”
He held out his right servo, open and palm out to accept a waiting strike. His other one was left hanging at his side.
It seemed Prowl wished to continue helping her. That was a pleasant surprise.
With a soft darting of optics, and no particular expression of note on her freckled faceplate -still simply quiet, relaxed though cautious- she stood as directed. One pedde up, both servos down upon her leg as she lifted the other. Their heights were once again a bit starker as they faced one another, the young femme looking well up to Prowl now.
It seemed he didn’t wish to acknowledge what she’d said.
Not bad, nor good. Certainly better than being reprimanded for speaking a bit more freely. Again, his lack of need for her approval got Patch thinking. She noticed. She appreciated it.
And yes, she did respect it.
Her gaze quickly flicked from his hand to his visor, then back again. A slight nod, and a low, serious “Hm.” sort of grunt in affirmation as she set herself up to do as ordered.
She fell to a relatively shallow stance. A slight shift of her peddes so one sat further behind her more than an actual bracing of anything, as she wasn’t expecting the mech to jump, or trip her. She offset her shoulders from the open hand a bit, so the left was closest to the mech. Both servos to fists, again, her left hovering at an angle in front of her chest.
She wound up a bit more than was at all necessary then shot forward to try and strike the center of his palm. A light scowl took to her plain, dotted features as she threw as much of herself behind the action as she felt was prudent to show off. “Mmph.”
Provided he did not move the servo too much, Patch’s strike would likely sting. Her fist was clean and strong, the top flat, the first two knuckles hard and correct. It was a practiced operation evidently, with a sharp bit of power behind it; though her torso and shoulders moved and tensed much more than was needed. Effective, though perhaps not a technique honed by… Shall we say terribly institutional means, at least not in more recent years.
That same fist drifted down a bit after the strike, as young blue optics rose again and began to blankly search the officer’s face for signs of approval. An idle hope -without showing as much, to the best of her ability- that A) she’d done what he wanted and B) done it well.
Prowl refrained from shaking his servo from her punch, as Patch did pack quite a bit of power that was more than one would normally expect from one of her frame size. She did a correct punch, but it was...sloppy. She transmitted way too much in that one punch, and if Prowl had not been sitting and waiting for her punch he would have either blocked it or dodged and lit her up with a quick series.
“Good on the strength, but you’re transmitting. Do you know the difference between a jab and a cross?”
The tone he spoke in was not a lecture type, nor patronizing. Prowl had known from day one that training programs during the latter days of the war on Cybertron had been cut severely in the interest of churning out more cannon fodder to be fed into the grinder of front line combat. It had become a war of quantity over quality, much to his displeasure. But when the enemy had a seemingly limitless number of vehicon drone soldiers which they could throw at a problem until the bodies stacked over the obstacle, desperate times called for desperate measures.
Still, Prowl did not have to like it. Anyone could throw bodies at a problem until said problem was beaten to death from exhaustion. No, to truly win the war, one had to rely on tactics, strategy, and cunning to win the day. Numbers helped, but a smart commander with one hundred troops could defeat an idiotic leader with a thousand any day if he played his cards right.
And that extended down into a one on one match as well. The strongest one did not always win if the smarter one played their cards right and maximized their strengths while maximizing the enemies weaknesses.