Base it on Facts

An independent 18+ Prowl RP Blog

[basedonequation]

@red-in-revolt cont’d

Ah-! Redstrike was teasing him? His glyphs suggest as such. Prowl’s overjoyed he’s managed the conversation this long without utterly ruining it. He can hope that his streak lasts through the art exhibit and their meal. Logic tells him at this time, he as a One-third chance of success. Which is far improved from his more miniscule ten percent change of success when he had sent the gift to Redstrike to begin with. :: Considering my occupation. I would hope I would be. Regardless of appreciation, I thought that at least the fact this artist has refused all over public displays might intrigue you. A-:: Prowl mulls over the proper word. :: A historical event, art wise. Even if you find his art itself... less grand then expected.:: He settles for it, glpyhs noting a dry sort of amusement and maybe the suggest of a dark humor. He folds his digits together. Doorwings bobbing slightly. Distracting himself briefly from work. He’s ahead of his cases and all of his datawork is otherwise completed. Barring any emergencies... he might- Well maybe he’d leave early? :: Your discussion has done more than rub off on me. I might have added a bit of color to my office space since our last discussion.:: Glancing to the wall that he looks at most often. The one directly across that holds his door. It had been silver-grey and unadorned this entire time. Now there is a small painting dead center of a spiraling helix pattern in red and gold with Black glpyhs that are partially obscured behind it. It is meant to show beauty and harmony in matrix formations. But the glpyhs behind with its swooping lines that spell ‘calm’ stand out in the somewhat chaotic nature that the strokes of a traditional brush create. :: Nothing overtly sized. But... I find that having it does improve my productivity and adds...personality to my office space. My superior actually asked if I was unwell when he spotted it. Then my clade sibling came to see if it was actually present since my superior notified my unit that I had installed art in my office. He was rather proud of me. Though I am unsure why.:: A little snort to himself, lip curling slightly. :: Regardless. IF you wish to bring a gift I would not feel stepped upon or imposed. Simply bring yourself and anything else you desire. The space for our meal is indefinitely ours for the entire evening. We may spend as little, or as much time sitting if the rest of the art display does not tantilize you. Then we can enjoy some talk in the garden itself and I shall have found it an evening worth spending.:: Not really thinking about how that might sound. Prowl simply wanted Redstrike to know that he wanted to enjoy the gift of his presence. The art was something to do and to give a conversational plot point if need be. Or it could be the subject of needling and Prowl could watch Redstrike in his expert element explaining why the art was drivel.

[basedonequation]

A common gesture between mechs on a potentially...romantic or romance interested individual was touch. Though the other had a package in his grip, Prowl looking at it with curiosity, the other had a spare servo. One Prowl takes very carefully, doorwings dipping down briefly. He brings the smaller servo briefly near his chevron before lacing their digits together lightly. “ Perhaps a new conversation for now. The exhibit should give us plenty to discuss. And if we find it does not, we can always return to our prior train of thought.” Prowl is trying not to ask about the box. Curiosity makes his optics a little brighter. Fingers gently tightening on Redstrikes at the looks the other garners. Stepping a fraction closer with his doorwings lifting just a bit higher. The other Praxians subtly avert their gaze in polite pretend of indifference. His markers a clear warding gesture. Prowl lets his Doorwings settle back to a more neutral position before smiling up at Redstrike slightly,” I in particular, look foward to some of the supposedly interactive art exhibits. The rumor is that the touch of others changes the art. I would like to see if this particular art piece is present today. The art community has been tight lipped about what is or is not here.” Inclining his head as he offers his other servo to the mech guarding the gate. Letting him scan his ident attached to his tickets. Waving both through with a smile.

[basedonequation]

@red-in-revolt cont’d

Ah-! Redstrike was teasing him? His glyphs suggest as such. Prowl’s overjoyed he’s managed the conversation this long without utterly ruining it. He can hope that his streak lasts through the art exhibit and their meal. Logic tells him at this time, he as a One-third chance of success. Which is far improved from his more miniscule ten percent change of success when he had sent the gift to Redstrike to begin with. :: Considering my occupation. I would hope I would be. Regardless of appreciation, I thought that at least the fact this artist has refused all over public displays might intrigue you. A-:: Prowl mulls over the proper word. :: A historical event, art wise. Even if you find his art itself... less grand then expected.:: He settles for it, glpyhs noting a dry sort of amusement and maybe the suggest of a dark humor. He folds his digits together. Doorwings bobbing slightly. Distracting himself briefly from work. He’s ahead of his cases and all of his datawork is otherwise completed. Barring any emergencies... he might- Well maybe he’d leave early? :: Your discussion has done more than rub off on me. I might have added a bit of color to my office space since our last discussion.:: Glancing to the wall that he looks at most often. The one directly across that holds his door. It had been silver-grey and unadorned this entire time. Now there is a small painting dead center of a spiraling helix pattern in red and gold with Black glpyhs that are partially obscured behind it. It is meant to show beauty and harmony in matrix formations. But the glpyhs behind with its swooping lines that spell ‘calm’ stand out in the somewhat chaotic nature that the strokes of a traditional brush create. :: Nothing overtly sized. But... I find that having it does improve my productivity and adds...personality to my office space. My superior actually asked if I was unwell when he spotted it. Then my clade sibling came to see if it was actually present since my superior notified my unit that I had installed art in my office. He was rather proud of me. Though I am unsure why.:: A little snort to himself, lip curling slightly. :: Regardless. IF you wish to bring a gift I would not feel stepped upon or imposed. Simply bring yourself and anything else you desire. The space for our meal is indefinitely ours for the entire evening. We may spend as little, or as much time sitting if the rest of the art display does not tantilize you. Then we can enjoy some talk in the garden itself and I shall have found it an evening worth spending.:: Not really thinking about how that might sound. Prowl simply wanted Redstrike to know that he wanted to enjoy the gift of his presence. The art was something to do and to give a conversational plot point if need be. Or it could be the subject of needling and Prowl could watch Redstrike in his expert element explaining why the art was drivel.

[basedonequation]

Prowl unfolds himself at the entrance to the garden. The enforcer produces a tablet to offer to the attendant. Who scans it and gestures but Prowl shakes his helm. Doorwing flaring then dropping to indicate he is waiting on his companion. Though a flash of distinct red makes his helm turn. Standing a bit taller in hoping it is indeed Redstrike. :: I would be delighted to assist you with any knowledge of crystal cultivation. It can be difficult but rewarding. If you select a cultivation that requires a high level of specialized care then it can be very high to fail. Which of course is more likely to cause a new cultivator to quit the endeavor. I know many simple crystal seeds with vibrant colors that you might like.:: He chuckles to himself as he thinks of his disasterous efforts on his first crystal growth. :: I shall take a sample off my green crystal and seed it. Though you might have to assist me with finding a ‘violet’ pot. I’m afraid that my knowledge of violet starts at V and ends with T.:: A little glossa in cheek and he’s sure the joke is terrible but, it was...impulsive and felt correct. Letting himself send the message with less thought over every glyph. Arms crossed under his bumper comfortably as he lets himself smile a little once more. :: I am afraid you are already set quite a bit in my thought process. Thus my nefarious plot to interest you in crystal cultivation is revealed. After all, if I must help you with them? Then you will simply have to remember my words of advice to care for them.::

[mxestro]

:: You have remarkable Symmetry and very lovely framing. Though I am unsure how I received the image I did. Would you prefer I deleted it from my records?::

They blink behind their visor- tilting their helm as they read the message on their HUD. Delicate claws reach up to gently readjust the veil on his face- fine bells chiming gently as he moves. ::You may keep it, Arbitor-:: he demures softly. ::I dare say that Lord Prime will not be too worried about it.::

[basedonequation]

Prowl places a discrete chip under his chest, working it into the under armor. With a tiny flicker of charge his paint changes. Stepping into it with his black and white paint and stepping out a smokey blue-grey. Chevron a dusty yellow-gold though his servos are dark black and his face is covered with a mask. Pale blue optics watch over it as door wings settle a little lower. Glad that he had collected one of the chips used by the precinct for discrete observation and undercover work. He looks a little like smoke screen and bluestreak. No one could mistake him for Prowl of Praxus. The mask he kept in storage as well. Many mechanisms could not identify a figure in and out of a face mask as the same individual. It was amazing how the processor would ‘dismiss’ the lack of features and put the mech more out of thought and thus delete memory files. :: I am unsure at this time.:: A dangerous position to be in. No access to his creds and no access to his home. Prowl is unsure if anything he knew or who he knew was accessible. Accepting the files after a check before tucking them into his databanks. :: Your help has been indispensible. Perhaps I shall observe the Basilica first. It would be a shame to miss enjoying it prior to the festivities...:: If this truly WAS the Primal Temple- It was a myth.

He desperately wished to see the Prayer Hall.

[mxestro]

Progress: working on flats.

[basedonequation]

Prowl is unsure what having so many berth partners has to do with anything. To be fair though, his tokens in that gambling den are quite low.

[mxestro]

:: You have remarkable Symmetry and very lovely framing. Though I am unsure how I received the image I did. Would you prefer I deleted it from my records?::

They blink behind their visor- tilting their helm as they read the message on their HUD. Delicate claws reach up to gently readjust the veil on his face- fine bells chiming gently as he moves. ::You may keep it, Arbitor-:: he demures softly. ::I dare say that Lord Prime will not be too worried about it.::

[mxestro]

He remains on his knees, still indulging in the personal ritual of benediction. He continues to converse with his newfound contact- his frame on residual memory to go through the motions without his input. The gossamer robe flutters as he moves, sheer metalsilk nearly transparent in thickness.

::I talk in riddles sometimes,:: he admits- a smile curling painted lips upwards. ::Though my Prime says I chant in parables. Little lessons wrapped up in gentle packaging. And the Blinde are just. You are of them.::

A great chime sounds out from the Iacon Deep Temple, each note calling out the segments of time. The voices are singsong as they fade to nothing beyond the horizon. He allows the sound to thrum through his body, shivering his struts and rocking his internals.

::The Temple is calling the time. The chimes are my own. It is my prayer time. My meditation.::

[basedonequation]

:: They sound beautiful.:: Prowl isn’t ssure which he is talking of more. :: You do speak round about. But I find it enjoyable. A puzzle to be opened and regarded to gather the information left within.:: Prowl relaxes at his desk. Pulling the image back up on his HUD of the other. :: Do you dance?:: The why his joints are constructed and the segmentation of his frame indicates a high level of flexibility. :: Or did you dance? Or entertain-?:: Curiosity eats at him. Caught by the other with his demeanor and mystery. :: Though perhaps I should let you be if you are at prayer. It would be rude of me to impose on your sacred time.::

[mxestro]

::I am glad to entertain you, Arbiter. You will find I am no real puzzle. I simply am, and simply will be- same as you.:: He undulates his spinal column as he continues the prayers from one to another- rolling up til he's seated on his skidplate, legs crossed underneath him as he rests palms on knees. The Vespers are almost at an end, a paroxysm of orgasmic joy from the riveted populace below.

Surely, Primus can hear their joy.

::I dance,:: he admits softly. ::I know mostly the Temple Dances, some of the Ritual ones as well. The most difficult ones are the Primal Dervishes. They require a bit more experience with handling your inner gyros.:: ::I facilitate goodwill. The Prime finds his relief in me and my kith-group. We are his and His will, Primus's beloved. Perhaps, if you come to the Festival of Prima on the next quartra-vorn... I could show you.::

[basedonequation]

:: There is no such-:: Yet as if summoned as he's checking the global access calender of festivals and holidays it's there. A soft cool color glyohs against the darker color of the calender.

Innocently mocking him.

Is this madness? Perhaps he's been externally hacked. He knows for certain no such holiday was celebrated.

:: Where will the festival be held?:: His calender mocks him still. He feels like the first time he took a high drop during a high speed chase. The free fall in root mode, and that split second before folding back into alt mode. When the world was rushing to meet you.

Exhilaration but also the sensation that something was deeply wrong.

:: I would like to meet you. To speak with you, if your duties allow.:: Glad for once he'd packed his prayer items with him. His office feels foreign. Like someone had moved something and he couldn't identify it.

[mxestro]

He rolls to his pedes as the prayers end. His blanket is pulled up from the balcony's plasticreet surface and folded neatly. He drapes it over the disinfectant rack as he makes his way into the room past the crystal curtain. The robe is removed finally, to be hung on a peg for cleaning by the staff.

The tolls of the bells can still be heard in the distance- but softening as the balcony's protective shield comes online, providing some sound escape. He smiles as he makes his way to the washracks to finish cleaning himself up.

And then go in search of food afterward.

::The festivals are always held in the Gardens of Iacon- the ones adjacent to the Basilica.:: He activates the hot cleansing fluid spray- waiting for it to warm before he steps underneath it to finish his morning routine. ::The Dances of Virtue start somewhere around the third orn, with the two proceeding it are the Tithes. You can usually see different citystates and frame types coming to pay tribute if you're lucky.::

The expensive cleanser is gently squeezed into his palm as he begins to lather his frame to rid it of nonexistent dirt and grit.

::I hope to see you there. I think you'll like it, especially the singing, and the Cants.::

[basedonequation]

Prowl feels like his processor has been glitched. He closes his computer. Sliding his key card into his storage. His doorwings go tight together, hiding the symbol on his door wings. Slipping discretely from his office. The bullpen looks differently. There is a subtle shift of objects, and the primary shield of Petrohex, of Praxus, is emblazoned on the wall opposing the door of his small private office. Just beyond the open pens for the other officers and detectives; it rises with a darker color. The two Praxian Sight hounds are still reared in rampant, but one holds a downward vibro blade, the other a pair of scales. Dark black with gold draped over their heads instead of heads open and mouths open. ‘ To Serve Blinded Justice’ flows in Praxian script. His face is inscrutable. He slips away from the precinct. The glittering city sprawls before him where he stands on the raised steps. He can see it, in the distance. Risen like the sun with its dome catching the rays that last from the setting light on the horizon. Dear Primus what has happened to him now? But Praxus has never looked more beautiful- Prowl can’t find his apartment though. Which is- well its unfortunate. His apartment doesn’t exist. :: ... Is there perhaps a place that an individual with no place to go may seek respite?:: Someone associated so closely with a Prime surely might know? Everything seems...off. There are frames of all type that walk, drive, and fly. Even amazingly beastformers that lope freely through the sidewalks, greeting others in soft content voices. Not a single individual flickers an optic at the sight. :: As I find myself evicted from my holdings.::

[mxestro]

:: You have remarkable Symmetry and very lovely framing. Though I am unsure how I received the image I did. Would you prefer I deleted it from my records?::

They blink behind their visor- tilting their helm as they read the message on their HUD. Delicate claws reach up to gently readjust the veil on his face- fine bells chiming gently as he moves. ::You may keep it, Arbitor-:: he demures softly. ::I dare say that Lord Prime will not be too worried about it.::

[mxestro]

He remains on his knees, still indulging in the personal ritual of benediction. He continues to converse with his newfound contact- his frame on residual memory to go through the motions without his input. The gossamer robe flutters as he moves, sheer metalsilk nearly transparent in thickness.

::I talk in riddles sometimes,:: he admits- a smile curling painted lips upwards. ::Though my Prime says I chant in parables. Little lessons wrapped up in gentle packaging. And the Blinde are just. You are of them.::

A great chime sounds out from the Iacon Deep Temple, each note calling out the segments of time. The voices are singsong as they fade to nothing beyond the horizon. He allows the sound to thrum through his body, shivering his struts and rocking his internals.

::The Temple is calling the time. The chimes are my own. It is my prayer time. My meditation.::

[basedonequation]

:: They sound beautiful.:: Prowl isn’t ssure which he is talking of more. :: You do speak round about. But I find it enjoyable. A puzzle to be opened and regarded to gather the information left within.:: Prowl relaxes at his desk. Pulling the image back up on his HUD of the other. :: Do you dance?:: The why his joints are constructed and the segmentation of his frame indicates a high level of flexibility. :: Or did you dance? Or entertain-?:: Curiosity eats at him. Caught by the other with his demeanor and mystery. :: Though perhaps I should let you be if you are at prayer. It would be rude of me to impose on your sacred time.::

[mxestro]

::I am glad to entertain you, Arbiter. You will find I am no real puzzle. I simply am, and simply will be- same as you.:: He undulates his spinal column as he continues the prayers from one to another- rolling up til he's seated on his skidplate, legs crossed underneath him as he rests palms on knees. The Vespers are almost at an end, a paroxysm of orgasmic joy from the riveted populace below.

Surely, Primus can hear their joy.

::I dance,:: he admits softly. ::I know mostly the Temple Dances, some of the Ritual ones as well. The most difficult ones are the Primal Dervishes. They require a bit more experience with handling your inner gyros.:: ::I facilitate goodwill. The Prime finds his relief in me and my kith-group. We are his and His will, Primus's beloved. Perhaps, if you come to the Festival of Prima on the next quartra-vorn... I could show you.::

[basedonequation]

:: There is no such-:: Yet as if summoned as he's checking the global access calender of festivals and holidays it's there. A soft cool color glyohs against the darker color of the calender.

Innocently mocking him.

Is this madness? Perhaps he's been externally hacked. He knows for certain no such holiday was celebrated.

:: Where will the festival be held?:: His calender mocks him still. He feels like the first time he took a high drop during a high speed chase. The free fall in root mode, and that split second before folding back into alt mode. When the world was rushing to meet you.

Exhilaration but also the sensation that something was deeply wrong.

:: I would like to meet you. To speak with you, if your duties allow.:: Glad for once he'd packed his prayer items with him. His office feels foreign. Like someone had moved something and he couldn't identify it.

[rxng]

@basedonequation

It looks like someone's Grandma got ahold of illustrator for six hours.

Which is, in a way, very much what happened. But it has all the right times and information on it, so they kept it.

Even if it has the absolute worst photo of the Guiding Hand, all bunched together and weirdly lit by Primus' glowing.

[rxng]

Gold optics narrow back. Solomus' crown, the thing that judgemental decor is based upon, shines.

"We have troubles with Sparkeaters." Comes that threatening rumble. "And those who look upon our idol as a good ransom. You would suspect as well, Enforcer."

White eyes narrow at him. With a sigh, Tyrest pulls that ID out; and yes, it's legitimate. Bit of an old photo though; he still has his holes there.

The golden one smiles. Suspicion isn't a good way to greet someone.

"My name is Primus." He curtsies, holding up his cape. Oh, he got his name right. Solomus looks pleased. "My apologies. Most simply assume, what with that silly statue out front. And, ah, the glowing. I hear that's a bit of a tell."

"But I don't much look like that Warrior, I suppose. But being small suits me, so I hope you'll forgive that difference."

[basedonequation]

He should feel a thread of outrage.

But there's also a feeling of disconnect.

He'd heard of such anomalies...

" I don't believe I am where I started." Tone almost Prim after scanning the ident. It comes back and well Prowl can safely verify the Enforcers systems are truly that ancient.

" Prowl of Praxus. Heir of the Tower of Trackers." It's not the correct name but its the closest translation. Dipping his helm and doorwings to Solomus.

Then regarding... the God?

" You would be pleased to know Praxians do not view Primus as the Warrior. That was the role of Megatronus to be the Sword and Shield. Primus was seen as Carrier of all. Creator and Teacher. Why would Creation desire to destroy? All things certainly decay, sentience drives violence. But creation is life." He shakes his helm.

Decides he's simply going to play this act through.

" Praxians also view light frequencies differently. I might have auto adjusted my settings to better see you."

[basedonequation]

Prowl knows the shelters, community centers, bars/warehouses/etc that will pay if you turn up to do some work, and equivalent of soup kitchens.

Later he might lose that hopeful intensity to help others.

But for now sometimes all he can do is slip a card with an address into paint flaked digits and give directions. He will also, if called to a scene to remove them, tell buskers where it's legal to beg and/or perform music or acts.

He tries to tip them when he can.

There are more important crimes to be chased. Plus of they have knowledge they don't become repeat offenders in the books.

[rxng]

@basedonequation

It looks like someone's Grandma got ahold of illustrator for six hours.

Which is, in a way, very much what happened. But it has all the right times and information on it, so they kept it.

Even if it has the absolute worst photo of the Guiding Hand, all bunched together and weirdly lit by Primus' glowing.

[basedonequation]

“ ... I see.” Prowl had perused it politely, uploaded it to his databanks and tucked it away. “ As you are handing these out in a public place that allows the hand-out of not for profit organizations-” His door wings shift slightly,” I simply wish to ask if you have fueled recently and the organizers of your temple are providing for your basic needs.s”

[rxng]

Rung pauses, his audial fins lifting in surprise. Hm. Never been asked that before. Most usually assume.

"Well, I do not consume energon. Given that I produce many forms of it, it's a touch unpalatable. I receive all the power I need through my cord." And he turns to show it, safely clicked into place. "But I do enjoy metal ruffage and gemstones."

"Otherwise, my room is over there. Where the grumpy jet in the cape is trying to nail a rule board to." He gestures to the confession booth and, indeed, Solomus trying to put a sign up. He's not having much luck. "My Hand takes wonderful care of me. They're fair more immersed in the lives of Beta Cybertron, so I rely upon them in many ways."

"... are you an inspector, dear? I could give you a tour."

[basedonequation]

“ A concerned citizen comm’d about a mech passing out brochures. They had felt a little uneasy due to other loitering figures near the individual in question. I was merely the closest Enforcer to the area.” He tips his helm slightly to the left. Servos tucked neatly behind his back. Watching the other for a long moment. “ If you have the time I would not mind a tour of your establishment.” His room is a box. His door wings tip down with a sutble ire. Optics turning a colder paler Cyan. “ Perhaps you could also tell me more about your Hand.”

[rxng]

"Oh, is that bad?" He asks, setting his box down and waving it off into its corner. "I'm sorry. I don't quite understand social norms yet."

"But! I can give a tour." He gestures to be followed, cape and cable dragging behind him. "Our temple, and our garden, is simply sublime. I designed most of it myself. I'm the Builder and Creator of the Hand; it's my job to make sure every Cybertronian is born and has a home. And, ah, to make sure the population doesn't place a building on a seam."

He gestures out their room of worship, decorated in the Guiding Hand's symbols. And, newly added, those of the Thirteen. A medical jet is in there now, giving speeches. "That's my Adaptus. He's in charge of Culture. He understands finances, media, and social typicals. If you have questions on our monetary expenses, he's the one to ask."

Following that is the stairs leading down, where heavy rock music slips through. "Epistemus, my Knowledge, is in charge of record keeping and the distribution of technology across the colonies. First, we have to build a way to get there. He's working on a space bridge today."

"You probably saw him coming in," a gesture up. "But my Mortilus sleeps in the bell tower. He just got back from gathering the dead from one of the war-touched worlds. He brings them home to my Allspark for reincarnation processing."

"And," hands clap together, optics shifting from the Enforcer to the high speed jet trying to sneak along. "The one being a worry-wart back there is Solomus! He's a lawmaker. He's also the key figure in the revitalization of the Cybertronian Colonies. Please pardon him; he's a touch nervous when I'm left with strangers."

"We also have patient bedrooms, for my rehabilitation program, but I'm afraid I need consent from my clients before you go in. Oh, and the various other bedrooms, meeting rooms, and the Gardens. You can visit those whenever you'd like."

[basedonequation]

Prowl glances over his shoulder.

Gaze a little cutting," ...The one nailing the rules to your 'room'. I'm unsure why a lawmaker would have any reason to be nervous about the presence of a law keeper." Doorwings spreading a touch wider. Flashing the symbol on them briefly.

" I'd be happy to give him my ident even. Provided he would supply his?" Sliding his pede to pivot. Half turning. Servos still behind his back. Watching first this Solomus then back to the smaller mech.

" You've yet to give me your designation." Directed at the mech who'd lead him thus far. Concern nagging at him. It felt odd that a full framed mechanism required monitoring. His first indication was not to identify himself but all other mechanisms present. His accommodation was hardly enough for a legal living quarters.

And Prowl was not pleased at the attempted stalking. Pallid optics narrow sharply again on the jet.

[rxng]

@basedonequation

It looks like someone's Grandma got ahold of illustrator for six hours.

Which is, in a way, very much what happened. But it has all the right times and information on it, so they kept it.

Even if it has the absolute worst photo of the Guiding Hand, all bunched together and weirdly lit by Primus' glowing.

[basedonequation]

“ ... I see.” Prowl had perused it politely, uploaded it to his databanks and tucked it away. “ As you are handing these out in a public place that allows the hand-out of not for profit organizations-” His door wings shift slightly,” I simply wish to ask if you have fueled recently and the organizers of your temple are providing for your basic needs.s”

[rxng]

Rung pauses, his audial fins lifting in surprise. Hm. Never been asked that before. Most usually assume.

"Well, I do not consume energon. Given that I produce many forms of it, it's a touch unpalatable. I receive all the power I need through my cord." And he turns to show it, safely clicked into place. "But I do enjoy metal ruffage and gemstones."

"Otherwise, my room is over there. Where the grumpy jet in the cape is trying to nail a rule board to." He gestures to the confession booth and, indeed, Solomus trying to put a sign up. He's not having much luck. "My Hand takes wonderful care of me. They're fair more immersed in the lives of Beta Cybertron, so I rely upon them in many ways."

"... are you an inspector, dear? I could give you a tour."

[basedonequation]

“ A concerned citizen comm’d about a mech passing out brochures. They had felt a little uneasy due to other loitering figures near the individual in question. I was merely the closest Enforcer to the area.” He tips his helm slightly to the left. Servos tucked neatly behind his back. Watching the other for a long moment. “ If you have the time I would not mind a tour of your establishment.” His room is a box. His door wings tip down with a sutble ire. Optics turning a colder paler Cyan. “ Perhaps you could also tell me more about your Hand.”

[rxng]

@basedonequation

It looks like someone's Grandma got ahold of illustrator for six hours.

Which is, in a way, very much what happened. But it has all the right times and information on it, so they kept it.

Even if it has the absolute worst photo of the Guiding Hand, all bunched together and weirdly lit by Primus' glowing.

[basedonequation]

“ ... I see.” Prowl had perused it politely, uploaded it to his databanks and tucked it away. “ As you are handing these out in a public place that allows the hand-out of not for profit organizations-” His door wings shift slightly,” I simply wish to ask if you have fueled recently and the organizers of your temple are providing for your basic needs.s”

[mxestro]

:: You have remarkable Symmetry and very lovely framing. Though I am unsure how I received the image I did. Would you prefer I deleted it from my records?::

They blink behind their visor- tilting their helm as they read the message on their HUD. Delicate claws reach up to gently readjust the veil on his face- fine bells chiming gently as he moves. ::You may keep it, Arbitor-:: he demures softly. ::I dare say that Lord Prime will not be too worried about it.::

[mxestro]

He remains on his knees, still indulging in the personal ritual of benediction. He continues to converse with his newfound contact- his frame on residual memory to go through the motions without his input. The gossamer robe flutters as he moves, sheer metalsilk nearly transparent in thickness.

::I talk in riddles sometimes,:: he admits- a smile curling painted lips upwards. ::Though my Prime says I chant in parables. Little lessons wrapped up in gentle packaging. And the Blinde are just. You are of them.::

A great chime sounds out from the Iacon Deep Temple, each note calling out the segments of time. The voices are singsong as they fade to nothing beyond the horizon. He allows the sound to thrum through his body, shivering his struts and rocking his internals.

::The Temple is calling the time. The chimes are my own. It is my prayer time. My meditation.::

[basedonequation]

:: They sound beautiful.:: Prowl isn’t ssure which he is talking of more. :: You do speak round about. But I find it enjoyable. A puzzle to be opened and regarded to gather the information left within.:: Prowl relaxes at his desk. Pulling the image back up on his HUD of the other. :: Do you dance?:: The why his joints are constructed and the segmentation of his frame indicates a high level of flexibility. :: Or did you dance? Or entertain-?:: Curiosity eats at him. Caught by the other with his demeanor and mystery. :: Though perhaps I should let you be if you are at prayer. It would be rude of me to impose on your sacred time.::

[mxestro]

:: You have remarkable Symmetry and very lovely framing. Though I am unsure how I received the image I did. Would you prefer I deleted it from my records?::

They blink behind their visor- tilting their helm as they read the message on their HUD. Delicate claws reach up to gently readjust the veil on his face- fine bells chiming gently as he moves. ::You may keep it, Arbitor-:: he demures softly. ::I dare say that Lord Prime will not be too worried about it.::

[basedonequation]

:: I am unsure of what you mean.:: That was odd. Prowl did a quick search. Beloved comes up with several terms, mostly general endearment. But there’s a few less accurate hits on the term as a form of affection came from an ancient Primal practice. :: I hardly believe you could be a drop when you seem so very singular to me. I have seen many mechs and face plates. I have researched many more for case studies and information gathering. Never have I seen another quite like you.:: His processor wants to dig into this oddity. This anomaly to his day. What an odd individual. But his tone is sweet, pleasing to the audial. Was that a faint bell that could be heard? There was an even louder sound, like the greatest Primal Temple bells. But there was no such bells on Cybertron. All of the major temples had them removed or were forcefully silenced by order of the councils. They were considered disruptive. :: One of the Blinde- :: Prowl isn’t sure what he means. :: I fear you have me mistaken for someone else. I do not recognize these terms nor have I ever been referred to as such prior.:: He wants to know more. The bells remind him he should take his little cousin to his first Oratory. It was his honor to give him his first door bells. A single one for the tip of each door wing edge. He’d had them forged on Camia with the symbol of their den pack into each. The other side was blank as Bluestreak did not hold a specialty yet. Prowl’s bells held his den pack and gems to mark his achievements. It would be wonderful to teach him the prayers for a bit. The two had been distant due to work and studies. :: ...Are those temple bells?:: Almost wistful.

[mxestro]

:: You have remarkable Symmetry and very lovely framing. Though I am unsure how I received the image I did. Would you prefer I deleted it from my records?::

They blink behind their visor- tilting their helm as they read the message on their HUD. Delicate claws reach up to gently readjust the veil on his face- fine bells chiming gently as he moves. ::You may keep it, Arbitor-:: he demures softly. ::I dare say that Lord Prime will not be too worried about it.::

[basedonequation]

Prowl should have just deleted it and never messaged this mech he has never met. But- Truly there is artistry in the posing of the other. The way they are framed is unlike he has ever seen. A part of him longs to have the image made solid and framed. Placed in his apartment. Or Perhaps done in the style of old Vosnian Silver Scroll Art. :: I should apologize for being so forward. I-:: What did he say to such a beautiful mech? :: I am glad that you will let me keep the image. You remind me of the figures seen in old metaloscroll art.:: A beat. :: How were you aware that I was an Enforcer?:: Though the term the older version of the same glyph.

[mxestro]

~ Good morning, darlings.

[basedonequation]

For those Curious to Prowl’s religious practices is something that was considered based on the way Praxus seems to be viewed. A fairly rigid and orderly place. Prowl has a string of beads for each blessing of Primus ad the Spark, the Processor and the Hand. Its a bit like rosary beads but it has no free symbol that hangs off it. The beads can go around one arm or both servos . And a drape that goes over his wings with little bells at the bottom. It takes a lot of practice to make the bells ring in harmony. So its almost meditative and is consisdered a sign of a devout that can make all teh bells ring once without extra flare and in perfect unity. Particularly religious individuals will then wear a veil over their helm, to show humility to primus and the primes by not looking upon them. It also indicates that they want privacy. And will keep other devotes from interacting with the individual in prayer. They have a slightly sskewed versison of Primus and the Primes and tend to quietly keep ti to themselves. Outwardly they seem to follow the same edicts. But its more that they knnow and mime the expectations while quietly followinng their own views in private. If you know you know sort of thing. Either born pr married in and very well liked and trusted.