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.
Even as she stood there staring at him for it, the mech’s expressions were remarkably difficult to read.
Patch was a little disappointed that he didn’t shake his servo out; she’d been aiming to make him, somewhat. This action -or lack-thereof- however only further cemented in the child’s helm that Prowl was yet more of a hardaft; the young femme deaf to the notion he even considered it. She was impressed. He didn’t speak of his strengths, though displayed them readily. Showing them in a much louder language than claims.
“Pfft” A dismissive sound. That was like someone asking if she knew the difference between her aft and her elbow! Fighting was all Patch had ever known! Ever since she was the youngest their species could ever really be it had been figuratively -and at times literally- beaten into her.
Suddenly it seemed she realized who she was talking to again, and put her servo up. “-Sorry.” She shook her helm slightly, a nonchalant movement, though her tone was serious through the smile. “Yeah, I know the difference.”
One pedde shifted up, then settled as the other rose. A slight resetting of her stance as she stood there and continued to wait for instruction.
If his visor had been risen she would have seen his right brow raise in that “really” as it was known to do occasionally. But fortunately for Patch, she had corrected herself. Prowl kept his servo raise, watching her. So, training was not as far gone as he had anticipated due to the war going poorly. It seemed that the young recruits were still taught quite a bit.
“When I say ‘jab cross’, I want to see your fastest, most powerful jab cross combination. We will do that for a few times, then we will get into hooks and elbows.”
Prowl really liked his servo strikes. There were moments when he would be in a two on five street fight and he needed space or time to deal with a more severe threat, but a more immediate threat was upon him. A quick jab, hook or elbow was usually enough to buy him time by stunning the first opponent and giving him enough time to respond to the next one.
Strikes could be divided into two types in Prowl’s mind. Time, which were quick strikes to faceplates and other open areas designed to stun an opponent, giving time to a more elaborate or time consuming move. Secondly, there were power strikes, the crosses and heavy stuff designed to flatten an opponent. A jab might give you space, but a cross would flatten someone on the deck if you hit them right.
There were moments of occasional tension, of course, though at no point in this had the child feared with any real depth. Patch loved- she LOVED to learn, she loved to be taught. Ever since she was young it'd been ingrained in her to value time above many things. The time people gave her carried so much weight in her spark; and as the officer gave her an actual assignment? Her fastest most powerful combo!?!
The last-sparked actually felt a little burst of elation!
A sudden little pop, a fresh snap of respect for the mech before her. She understood how to do this, and the young soldier was EAGER to show that off. With a new flush of determination, she set her stance again- a bit deeper this time. Servos coming up to where they were meant to be in the way of her helm. A fire in young blue optics as she gazed intently at her target- the other mech's palm.
“Yessir!” And she was raring to go. A competitive little ball of white and red fire and fury- all he had to do was say the word and she’d let loose! More prepared to please, to succeed, to fight than nearly anything in the world!
It was… Perhaps a slightly older version of Patch Prowl was currently conjuring. The little thing she used to be, all green and desperate to succeed; to keep getting that attention she so craved.
Strange for one devoted to the preservation of life to be so excited by violence. Must be the fact that Patch was considered young for one of their species. For one of the first times, Prowl was beginning to feel his age. Sure, he was not up there like Ratchet, Kup, or even mechs like Megatron, but he was old enough to remember the days before this all went to scrap. He had lived and worked in those days. He knew how fragged up it was.
Prowl shook himself out of his mental tirade and focused himself on the task at hand. Knowing what he now knew based on his previous experience fighting her hand to hand moments ago, this young medic had power in her pistons. She was no delicate statue. In some ways, she reminded him of Speedtrap, broad built to tackle crazy over juiced miners or hopped up washouts. With that, he braced himself a bit and gave the command.
“Jab cross!”
Knowing that she had the power aspect down, Prowl was looking intently for something else. He wanted to watch her technique. Power was all well and good in a fight, but improving upon that, that came down to technique. Technique built upon what was already there and added to it, giving one more power and speed. He was also concerned that she was winding up too much and transmitting each time she was about to strike. That was what he was watching for the most.
The way Patch’s helm was angled down at present, the tops of her optics were shielded a bit more by the white, angled panels it was mainly comprised of. It gave the femme a more angry appearance. More serious, more aggressive. The illusion of drawn down optic ridges from the angled way they blocked the deep blue light. More of her head taken up from this angle as well, by the red, almost sharp cut of extra metal down the center of her silver crest. Again, as she focused, her smile disappeared.
A sharp, quick -albeit forceful- tap, then a good, solid strike.
The first one was good form wise- it was okay at least. From a technical standpoint her positioning was right- but it was hasty. In such a rush to retreat and ‘get to the good part’ she wasn’t putting as much behind it as she could have.
She was in fact, still transmitting on the right servo- though nowhere near so much as before. Just a hint at a windup. A tiny brush back of her elbow before the fist shot forward. Again. Hard.
Both fists snapped back to the blocking position beside her helm the instant they could. Her posture was good. The stance aware and alive. Optics forward. Prepared to bounce or bob her helm out of the way, or repeat the exercise as she was told.
She really knew how to hit someone when she wanted to.
Prowl shook servo loose then stepped back, tucking his servos behind his back while he nodded. Overall, Patch had excellent form but she was still transmitting every time she fired off a punch. While this was negligible if using a cross, with a jab that should be limited as much as possible. Time to make things more interesting.
“Put more effort into your jab, but understand it is more of a stunning blow. The power comes from your crosses.”
He began to circle her, keeping his optics on her.
“Do it again, and this time watch that elbow. Do not rush. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.”
That little act of validation, only sweeter- more earned by its absence at first. A wicked little flicker of accomplishment flashed through the young soldier as Prowl shook out his servo. A small inkling of the achievement in her optics- though she fought to stay focused.
As the officer’s servos met his back, Patch fell to parade rest. Watching. Listening as he began to move. Was she meant to trust him with her back? Patch wasn’t sure how much of an ‘opponent’ the mech was meant to be treated as in this scenario. Would he take the opportunity to trip her, or choke her if she allowed him behind? Teach her a lesson about letting people into that vulnerable space?
Once he’d left her peripheral, Patch made the decision to turn her helm forward again. Her chestplate eased a little higher. A bit prouder, more proper. The words were contradictory, though the meaning- the feeling was clear, and she searched for it. She even closed her optics to nod. A trusting gesture… It seemed she would escape unscathed.
Even if subconscious this tiny little action let a seed take root. It would be Safe to trust Prowl. Even blindly. It would be expected. That establishment was comforting.
Patch came back to a ready position. At the command, she swung, this time at the air in front of her. The collection of movements were faster, both in response time, and execution. Hardly flawless by any means, though it was much better. The transmission MUCH more limited. The time between strikes was a little smaller too. Almost making her jab seem like the actual strike, then snapping out hard with her other fist.
“Huh!” A sharp ex-vent on the latter movement more than a kiai- though the sound remained a subtle mix of both.
Prowl noted with inward approval at Patch’s series of punches. Her technique had improved rapidly, more rapidly than he had expected. The medic seemed to be a quick study, leaving the question in the back of Prowl’s processor as to what else she would be a faster learner at. The transmission that plagued her cross punch had all but disappeared, and her jabbed seemed to have increased from a tap to a solid blow.
“Good.”
Now they could work on defense.
“For this next exercise, I want to see how effective you can be at blocking. I will be striking at fifty percent. It is up to you whether you dodge or block.”
Honestly, Prowl did not have very high expectations of Patch for this exercise. Their previous spar had revealed that he had been able to overwhelm her with a quick offensive pattern targeting her weak points. If this had been a real combat scenario she would have most likely been killed then and there while she was recovering.
Though, he suspected she had the potential to learn. Despite being last sparked, she had survived this long apparently, especially being a front line combat medic.
The young femme’s focus broke from the air in front of her as Prowl spoke. A simple word of praise- though she didn’t take it lightly. This mech didn’t seem the type to grant it unjustifiably. Indeed, Patch took pride in that little word. A light smile slipping through the steadied features as she turned to look up at the officer.
As the new command was laid out, the last-sparked let her extended arm go slack, and lower slightly with a light release of young hydraulics. Her elbow came in toward her belly a little. A quiet expression settling once again on her face as she listened.
Once Prowl was through, she nodded, then took a bladed stance toward him. Both servos up, shoulders forward, helm down. Chest a bit lower, and ready to move at a moment’s notice. Patch was in the zone. And with the luxury of forewarning, now she could apply 100 percent of her focus to dodging, rather than trying to figure out her attacks.
“Hm.” A slight nod accompanied the sound in affirmation. Optics hard and watching closely.
And she would be right. Prowl was not one to shower praise on someone for performing a task. He simply made observations regarding the performance. Such statements also held another purpose, one that he was sure Speedtrap would have rolled her optics at and called him cynical for, but Lockstep would have thought was quite clever.
He observed the recipients of his comments for their reactions.
You wanted to know someone’s personality? Pay them a compliment and see if they started to strut around like a primadonna. Give them a criticism and see if they became defensive. So far, Patch seemed like the one who took criticism well and did not let praise go to her head.
In other words: acceptable.
Prowl mirrored her bladed stance and raised his servos into a basic fighting stance, optics studying Patch from behind his visor before exploding into a combination of moves. The left servo came forward in a jab while the right came in a hook punch, both blows aimed for Patch’s head.
Patch’s frame twisted away from the hook, then dipped sharply back out the way of the jab. A wide circle of her torso on her hips that threw her way off her center of gravity. The last-sparked kept her intake clamped over any sound she might have made.
The clunking of peddes sounded out in the hollow room as they -quickly and without much thought- staggered back a bit. One toppling behind the other as she regained her balance.
Normally this would be where she struck back. Hard and fast and aggressive. Hopefully to stun, though potentially to finish things; though for now, she simply remained alert, and attempted to recover. Bright blue optics focused hard for whatever quick movements would surely come next.
But as Prowl watched, he saw that Patch was knocked slightly off balance by her dodging maneuver. Had this been centuries ago, Prowl might have smirked. Instead, his mouth pressed together in a firm line in a slight hitch of irritation, before he advanced towards Patch, capitalizing on her misstep. She was still dodging and weaving, not blocking.
Left and right servos came forward in a quick jab cross aimed at Patch’s faceplate, followed up with a knee aimed at her midsection. Some might have considered that last move a bit underhanded, or plain dirty. Prowl did not care to listen to those people. He was training Patch to survive, and that meant expecting your opponent to not fight fair.
That also meant not fighting fair yourself. You could not call something fair or unfair if you were not there to discuss the issue.
"Dodging and weaving can knock you off balance. Sometimes you just have to block."
Of course the young femme was dodging and weaving.
Despite her stature, and plating thickness, Patch had been a frontliner. Part of the reason she’d been selected for the position was because she was fast and scrawny. She was little enough to get into spaces others would get stuck in, while also being large enough, and strong enough to drag her comrades. She may not have been ‘small’ but she’d been among the smallest there.
Moving out of the way of those larger, slower strikes had not only been the most viable option… It had often been the only viable option for someone her size. Old habits died hard.
Thanks to the previous exercise, ‘jab-cross’ was now fixed nicely in the young soldier’s mind. Hence, her forearms rose to just the right spots to take the stinging strikes in stride. What she was not however prepared for, was the knee… Her belly was already aching from the previous strike to nearly the exact same spot, and hence, though she did move with it, she took it rather poorly.
As the impact rang out, and skittered across stone walls, the young form curled and guffed a short, low. “Agh!” Before pain could so much as register however, her frame responded by cutting power to the actuators beneath that lighter silver layer. Her chest threw forward by result, as there was no longer enough 'muscular' support to hold it upright.
Patch fought to stay on her peddes, she did. She struggled, and staggered as her abdominal actuators collapsed and refused to acknowledge her begging them not to. One servo clenched over the spot as she took wide steps forward to try and compensate for the mass of her chassis; trying desperately NOT to go all the way down. She likely moved wide past Prowl’s side in the process, so long as he opted not to catch her, or trip her, or strike her again.
Should the police mech had left her to her own devices? Patch would swiftly buckle yet again, catching partly with her elbows and knees before -with greatest distaste- crashing hard and fast to the ground and clutching her side as the ache finally managed to settle upon her. Weight upon her shoulder and hip as she rolled to try and face downward. “Ugh.” A small chuf of a sound as already she struggled to rise as quickly as she could. One servo on her stomach as the other elbow pressed into the floor in front of her.
As Prowl’s knee came down and his ped came back into contact with the concrete floor he stepped off to the side as Patch bent over, her processor clearly blanking from the pain. It was something Prowl had experienced first hand for himself, when one’s processor is so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of pain sensations assaulting it, so it just shuts down for a moment.
It was something that Patch should, or would, get used to in time.
Because it would be a constant throughout time.
As Patch began to collapse down to the floor, still trying to process what had happened, Prowl stepped back and allowed her to drop to her knees. He slowly began to walk around so that he was standing directly in front of her as she tried to catch her ‘breath’, and dropped to one knee next to her. As he stared down at her from behind his visor, his mouth pressed together in a thin line before speaking again.
“Get up.”
A simple command, so easy to speak. But it would be difficult for Patch to fulfill. But she needed to learn something simple. Pain was an illusion. Pain was something that could be pushed through.
As he saw her begin to try to get up, he kept his optics on her before speaking again.
“Unless you cannot. In that case, you should just quit. Stay at base. You aren’t cut out for the field then.”
It was a simple ultimatum. But there was a reason to Prowl’s madness. He wanted to stoke her anger, her hate and resentment. Give her something to hate besides what had happened with Windshield and Carbine. Build it up against him, then turn it loose against the Decepticons.
As Prowl knelt once more, the young medic looked up to him, then lowered her helm and chuffed, still clutching at her side. She spat a growled grunt at the floor.
On some level Patch understood what Prowl was trying to do; pull the most out of her. Get her angry enough to prove she could do this, to him and herself. It was hard for her to imagine someone would drag her down here, beat the scrap out of her, then insult her otherwise; at least not without her having done something to them.
That didn’t mean she had to like it though...
Oh and BOY did he know just what to say to get her angry. Patch hadn’t seen much of the field since she got here, and yeah, sometimes she wondered if it was because she was perceived as weak. That was the second to last thing the young soldier was willing to be- the first last thing being ‘coward’. It mattered so much to her that people understood what she had done- what she could do… But she was small, and young, and it seemed people lapped up the idea that made her less than… That the dark spot fifteen seconds away in every spark didn’t exist in her’s...
Every circuit in her frame told her to swipe out and try to trip him all over again, try to push up and shove him. A complete repeat of what they’d only just done. The young femme restrained herself. Barely. Needless to say, however… This was no longer ‘fun’ for Patch.
Now it was personal.
With the very successful prod at her pride, the last-sparked shoved herself into the ground and threw herself up with a short, sharp shout that cast across the walls. “AGH.” She staggered back a few steps as she cycled air, hard and heavy through her denta. Her white and red frame folded forward, and faced him.
Now she had something to prove, and no, she wouldn’t HARM the officer… Not on purpose at least… But she was done holding back.
The smaller form was still hunched over, and lopsided, though she forced her servos away from her abdomen to hold before her face- in hard fists now. Tilted forward and down, she limped somewhat, in a smooth sort of crossing over crab-walk. beginning to move to the side. Circling with the mech if he chose to engage.
Her expression was, perhaps, on the surface, still small. Her young features- that roundness didn’t go away just because she was mad, after all… a blaze however still remained behind her azure optics, cut down into by the edge of her helm to make them angrier as she tilted it down. The scars upon her crest, and through her paint- the ones beneath it long covered over caught beneath the lights above…