#datapad work | musing

[best-head]

There's some sort of... lingering sense that something is going to happen.

Prowl frowned. Surely everything was fine? Cameras working, all silent everywhere else..

No. Nothing happening.

[best-head]

“Doing good things for bad reasons is still doing good things.”

[best-head]

"If Unicron is 'daddy', does this make me 'son-in-law'?"

[best-head]

Prowl, already well into a meeting that should've been an email, sneezed, sirens whooping loudly and startling the people unfortunate to be next to him.

[best-head]

Tarantulas and her counterpart, Tarantulus, as they'd taken to calling him, had gifted him a table that righted itself when he flipped it.

There had been the excuse of replacing his old desk, and he'd allowed it with a measure of patient grace, only because Tarantulas wouldn't let Tarantulus put a bomb in his desk, he was sure.

And then he'd gotten frustrated and flipped the entire thing onto its side.

When it automatically righted itself, any anger he'd had fizzled out, and he puzzled over the entire thing before, servo on the edge, flipped it again. The second time it righted itself, with no small amount of amusement, Prowl realized that perhaps they were both attempting to nip having to buy another desk replacement in the future.

He doesn't think any of them, including Prowl, anticipated how much he would enjoy the damn thing.

At first, it went about the way it usually went- Prowl got upset, he flipped the table. A typical Tuesday. But gradually, Prowl went from flipping it when he was frustrated to flipping it when he was thinking.

Which was always.

He flipped it when he was reading a case, he flipped it when he was reading a datapad, he flipped it when he was doing a puzzle or playing a game.

He flipped it when he was bored.

Which led to now, which was Prowl, datapad in one servo and other servo flipping the table repeatedly, leading to a dull thud with each flip.

[best-head]

Up, down. Up, down. His doorwings flicker in agitation as he stares at his datapad, irritation rising as he realizes that he can’t quite focus on anything on the screen.

He needs to focus to finish his work.

After a moment, however, of struggling with the priority trees of his tacnet, he sets the datapad aside with a sigh, and stands.

Perhaps a snack will help.

[best-head]

Tarantulas wants to go out, and Prowl.. actually wants to go out, too, for once.

Can't exactly do that in these forms, however.

Which means he has to tweak things on his own form, just a little, until he gets what he wants. He doesn't know what Tarantulas is going with, but Prowl has already picked out his look.

Which is to say, for the moment, he lets go of the Datsun form, which is strange, admittedly, to mimic another vehicle.

He's not tried motorcycle, before. The change of it comes easily, though, with his scanner, slimming him in areas like his waist, streamlining his chest and thighs without losing the emphasis of them.

His doorwings don't so much disappear as they become more accessories to the motorcycle, glass panels that flutter attractively. Like a moth, he thinks, or perhaps a dragonfly.

He looks.. sleek. Whip thin, with his wheels on his heels, and his chevron smaller, smoother on his forehead. The visor over his optics is transparent, and he can just make out an optic through the blue glow of it, but that optic isn't necessary- not when the entirety of the visor acts and an optic.

Even his face seems a bit more lean, tapering to a slight point at the chin, mouth pouting.

..he wonders if Tarantulas will like this.

[best-head]

His desk, once empty, had become home to many of the soft paraphernalia that Tarantulas liked to knit or sew together.

To make it more like a home, she'd said.

Over time, it had become home to odds and ends, something lived in as opposed to the way he'd kept everything before- uncluttered and organized. Now there was evidence of someone else's existence in his home, and he would never admit the comfort it brought to anyone else but her.

But those little odds and ends had made their way to his study desk and originally he'd been irritated, but one day, as he'd gone to pick one up and re-home it, he'd found that the texture was... Fascinating. And so his tacnet had silenced itself for just a moment, so focused on the off softness of it that Cybertron never had.

And Tarantulas had found him like that, thumbing over the toy donut with a perplexed look. From there, he'd found more items of the same on his desk.

His personal favorite? A black and white moth with red antennae, and a big soft ruff not unlike the fur of Tarantula's chest.