#i don't think i can tag this as jazzwave but the intention is there

[sunnyashe]

A prequel to this: we might get there. maybe. just setup for now

next scene under cut!

Rumble and Frenzy both stiffened instantly. Scrap. 

Rumble side-eyed his twin, watching shock dawn to horror on Frenzy’s faceplate.

Jazz.

“Seems the terrible two are taking the party outside!” Jazz was still standing directly behind them, his grin practically audible. Fragger fed off Cassetticon fear. “‘s there a reason you didn’t pay for that engex?”

“Nope,” Rumble responded immediately, turning to face Jazz. The word dragged out, ending with a lilt, as if he was unsure.

Simultaneously, Frenzy launched into a ramble on the spot. “We have special instruction, clearance, from the Prime! He wants energon samples from across the undercity for…”

Rumble picked up the thread as Frenzy trailed off. “Because he wants to try out the local culture! The Op’s so bored of the fancy shmancy energon they keep serve’n him in that palace, so he asked us to bring him some of these commoner…delicacies!”

Jazz exaggeratedly brought a digit to his helm, miming a comm exchange. "Wow! I thought you might've been stealing for yourselves, but if you're stealing for the Prime, it must be fine!” After a beat, he sighed theatrically “OP says he didn’t order any engex, you sure you didn’t get the wrong guy?”

Frenzy was still rooted to the spot, facing the street. :Turn around, dumbaft!: Rumble crackled through to him with comms, :Face that slag-head helm first! It’s too late to run.:

:Idiot, it’s called deniability!:

:What, like you talking to him didn’t give up the jig?:

:I was telling the concrete!:

:It’s too late, flickerbrain, grow some self-respect!:

:What, like how you respect Autobots?:

In one swift movement, Rumble dropped all of the stolen engex he was holding. He hopped in front of Frenzy, snarling, with a fisted servo extended to crack his brother’s stupid visor.

A warm, scarred servo yanked Rumble up by his backplate. Frenzy, who had unsheathed a vibroblade from who-knows-where in retribution, was also bodily hoisted up into the unforgiving air of Kaon’s industrial sector. Jazz’s rictus took on an amused tinge, “Woah there, mechs. It’s my job to keep violence off the streets, you know? You’re makin’ it real easy.”

Rumble wiggled in his grasp, limbs flailing ineffectually, “Then be glad about it, turbofox wannabe!”

Frenzy twisted his helm to attempt to bite Jazz’s servo “Yeah, you’re so great at your job! Now let us go!”

Jazz tilted his head, as if considering. As soon as he moved to speak, Frenzy plowed over whatever he was about to say with an interrogation he had little diplomatic power to execute. “Why the frag are you even here? Low-end neutral bar in the sticks? Does your job require engex overcharge or some slag?”

Rumble fought with renewed vigor, as if Jazz was diverting processing power away from his grip to consider his answer the question. “Yeah! Too scared of fighting a little crime without bein’ drunk?”

“As a matter of fact,” Jazz said blithely, ignoring them, “I was considering letting you miscreants off with a warning and a promise that you’ll give that poor bartender a sparkfelt apology.” 

Rumble glared at the underside of Jazz’s helm distrustfully, sending Frenzy a databurst comm, :Liar.:

:No slag.:

Jazz continued on, unruffled, pretending not to be hacking their private comms, “But, y’know…there’s no harm in a little catch-up. I haven’t seen you two since the war!”

“As if it’s over,” Rumble growled. Bitterly.

Jazz’s smile widened, and Rumble realized he kind of fucked up. “Anyway, how’s Sounders doing?”

Frenzy scoffed, crossing his arms while dangling a meter in the air, “Who the frag is Sounders?”

Jazz laughed a little, softly. He lowered Rumble to the ground. The Cassetticon ripped himself out of Jazz’s hold as soon as his pedes hit the cobbled, gritty floor, arm raised defensively. Maybe he was making good on that obvious falsehood from before? It wasn’t like him, at all, there was probably another trick–

Frenzy was still suspended midair. With his now free left servo, Jazz materialized two pairs of miniature stasis cuffs, lightly spinning them between two digits with obscene expertise.

“So, my mechs. Where is Soundwave?”