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.