".... I know... I know I shouldn't want the... the mice." Prowl murmurs. "But... I can't stop thinking about them." He lets his optics shutter, and his field eases still more.

Howlback trusts him. Grimlock is near. He can control himself; he will. Servos work into fists, then relax again. ".... Airachnid says desiring glitchmice isn't unnatural, in and of itself." He tells her, quieter. "And that eventually I won't associate them with... other things."

A long pause. "... Am I allowed to drive around yet? Or does Megatron still think I need house arrest?"

Howlback sends a quick comm to Airachnid and Grimlock, then nods.

"Airy thought you might hurt yourself before i could get here. I can ask my sister to send us a glitchmouse, but there aren't any here. I have six little saurians running around since the eggs hatched and most of them aren't herbivores. If we had any here, the emberlings would be picking them out of the walls."

Once Grimlock's slipped into the room, she removes the cuffs, gently, rubbing his wrists.

Checking to see if he's got any marks on him, there or anywhere else she can see.

"Then have one sent." Prowl not quite snaps, but at least his plating and field already aren't so agitated. "I... I don't..." He softens, further, when the cuffs are removed, and Howlback's checking him over, her own field calm. Grimlock's presence also settles him further. The saurian can stop him, if he can't stop himself.

Howlback sends a quick comm to Airachnid and Grimlock, then nods.

"Airy thought you might hurt yourself before i could get here. I can ask my sister to send us a glitchmouse, but there aren't any here. I have six little saurians running around since the eggs hatched and most of them aren't herbivores. If we had any here, the emberlings would be picking them out of the walls."

Once Grimlock's slipped into the room, she removes the cuffs, gently, rubbing his wrists.

Checking to see if he's got any marks on him, there or anywhere else she can see.

"Airachnid," Prowl bites out, still bristling, "has no idea who I am or what my tolerances are." His scowl deepens. "... I resent being cuffed like some common Autobot thug. And there's glitchmice in the walls. There are and I want one." He's trembling a little, red optics bright.

He simmers, quietly. Tension coils in his struts.

He waits.

Soon.

Prowl glares at her, doors hackled up and plating flared in the approximation of a bristle.

"I want these cuffs off. Now."

He simmers, quietly. Tension coils in his struts.

He waits.

Soon.

@mnemoiisms started following you

Prowl stops, midstride. "Leave. Me. Alone."

He simmers, quietly. Tension coils in his struts.

He waits.

Soon.

"I... understand." Prowl responds, even flatter somehow, and locks down his doors before they can give away just how much he Does Not Want. He owes it to Viridian, to explain.

A pause, and then he's adding, deeply reluctant, "I will not archive and lock the memory files away completely until I have spoken to her."

And just like that, Prowl is himself again.

He stands. Dusts himself off.

Walks straight to the washracks in his quarters without looking to either side or acknowledging any of the jumble of delayed messages and reports.

"I am having difficulty with my tac net." Prowl tells her, and his armour is flat to his frame, his doors held at a completely neutral angle. "Please do not refer to that time period."

And just like that, Prowl is himself again.

He stands. Dusts himself off.

Walks straight to the washracks in his quarters without looking to either side or acknowledging any of the jumble of delayed messages and reports.

Prowl catches her, because that at least is reflexive, requiring no thought and only motion.

He sets her to the side of the solvent shower even as he activates it, steps underneath.

He needs to reset. This is the fastest way.

And just like that, Prowl is himself again.

He stands. Dusts himself off.

Walks straight to the washracks in his quarters without looking to either side or acknowledging any of the jumble of delayed messages and reports.

And just like that, Prowl is himself again.

He stands. Dusts himself off.

Walks straight to the washracks in his quarters without looking to either side or acknowledging any of the jumble of delayed messages and reports.

Starter Call!

Mutuals, like or reply for an interaction with Prowl! 

"Yes." Prowl confirms, quietly. "And you are a Decepticon." He ceases his forward motion, though he doesn't retreat. "Are you out here for nefarious purposes?"

That is a car. A funny looking black and white car.

It looked interesting, especially as it rolled closer to his form. Keen optics landed on a certain insignia on the cop bot, which made a rumble spill from his throat following his next word, drawn out.

"..Aauuutobooooot...."

@goodkiitty started following you!

That is a lion. If an oddly Cybertronian version

Proceed with caution.

Prowl stays in altmode, easing slowly closer.

send me    ‘ swept away ‘    for your muse to find mine weak, cold, and exhausted on the bank of a river, after they’ve fallen in and been carried by the stream…

send   ‘ swept away reverse ‘   for my muse to find yours

Prowl cheeps, softly, and bitty doors relax finally all the way, tiny engine purring as he settles into more of a sprawl and releases Ravage's line.

He is full, and that has made him a little sleepy.

Ravage lets her optics shutter a bit as the little one feeds. She doesn't have Soundwave's deep parental instincts, but she enjoys the warmth of her daughter and ... her daughter's friend, whether or not this is Howlback's Prowl, in her lap. And the happiness of a hungry bitlet taking fuel, and of Viridian as she sips from the cup Soundwave gave to her. And last but not least, Soundwave's loving, approving presence as he watches the little ones.

"There you go," she says gently.

"Synthwave, Shadow: napping."

"That's good." Ravage smiles. "I'd tell you to come here, but I don't want to scare him."

Soundwave nods, and sends her warmth, but he is concentrating on the little one's unguarded surface thoughts.