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For the most part, Decepticons didn’t really hold to any particular pre-war traditions. The seekers had their Vosnian ways, but they were outliers in that regard, the rest of the faction adhering, or not adhering, to an ever-evolving culture grown from gladiator pits and low-caste labourers and disenfranchised warframes, all made equal, all forged anew in the fires of war.
Autobots, by comparison, were... rigid. They clung to the traditions they’d been raised in, cultures belonging to cities long dead, ways of life which would never again be known, even now that the war was ended. Most of the time, such things were utterly unimportant, barely warranting more than a flicker of attention. Jazz’s behaviours were more or less predictable to him by now, the mech fusing Polyhexian customs with human ones as he pleased, but sometimes, like now, his choices baffled Soundwave.
In human custom, a male wishing to enter their facsimile of a sparkbond with a female was required to obtain permission first. Not from his intended partner, but from her male progenitor. It was, in Soundwave’s opinion, a foolish custom. Autobot Carly agreed with him, even, calling the tradition outdated and archaic.
Still, when he had asked Jazz to consider a courtship with him, Jazz had grinned and insisted and Soundwave had to get permission first. Not from a progenitor, all Cybertronians came from Vector Sigma after all, but from the other most important mech in his sparkmate’s life. His amica.
Standing outside Prowl’s office door, Soundwave thought he would’ve preferred a progenitor.
“Come in.” Prowl called, radiating exhaustion strong enough Soundwave couldn’t help but pick up on it. The door opened, and Prowl’s doorwings canted back in clear suspicion as his optics found Soundwave’s visor. “What are you doing here? Come to harass me on Megatron’s behalf?”
“Soundwave: on personal business.” he said smoothly, stepping into the office and letting the door slide shut behind him. Prowl squinted at him, doorwings flicking minutely as he gestured to the chair sat in front of his desk.
“Sit.” he ordered. Soundwave did so. “What personal business do you have with me?”
“Prowl: is aware of Jazz’s personal relations.” he said, folding his hands in his lap. “Jazz: requested Prowl’s approval before pursuing further commitment.”
Prowl visibly turned that statement over in his processor a few times before sighing and leaning forward, bracing his forearms on his desk, doorwings drifting apart in a subtle and likely unconscious attempt to make himself appear more threatening. “You want to court him.” he said, equally blunt. Soundwave nodded. “I don’t see why I should agree to this. You and yours have done nothing but try to kill the lot of us for the past nine million years. Why should I trust you with Jazz’s spark now?”
A h.
He understood now, why Jazz had asked this of him. If his lover’s amica was truly set against their relationship, given that it was Prowl, the mech might just decide to take Jazz’s safety and happiness into his own hands. In order to avoid future conflict, he had to convince Prowl that he meant no harm, and he had to do so well enough that Prowl, as the humans said, gave his blessing. “Soundwave: has no intention to harm Jazz.” he said plainly. Prowl, unsurprisingly, looked unconvinced.
“Jazz: is well-trained. Capability for self-defense: higher than Soundwave’s capability for damage.”
Prowl’s optics narrowed slightly, doorwings bobbing behind his back as he read Soundwave’s field. “You’re claiming that, since you haven’t yet managed to kill him, you won’t try now that he’s giving you a clear shot at his spark?”
“Jazz: has provided many such opportunities.” Soundwave said, letting a touch of smugness slip into his field. Prowl’s engine growled in warning. “Soundwave: has no reason to harm Autobot Jazz.”
Prowl glared at him, and after a moment of silence Soundwave touched a hand to the center of his dock cover. “Soundwave: offers cassettes as proof.”
“And how is your team of spies proof that you won’t hurt Jazz?”
“Cassettes: currently with Autobot Jazz.” he informed Prowl. “Cassettes: integral to functioning. Cassettes: would suffer, should Jazz be injured.”
Prowl’s optics focused on his chestplate, and Soundwave lowered the layer of dark tint he used to keep prying mechs from peering into his internals. “I still don’t trust you.” Prowl said after a long moment, sitting back in his chair. “But if Jazz does, I suppose I don’t have much of a say in his decisions.”
“Incorrect.” Soundwave stood. “Autobot Jazz: refused to agree to further commitment without your approval.”
Prowl blinked, and Soundwave caught a flash of genuine shock from the mech before his shields came back up. “Autobot Prowl: is important to Jazz.” he said, keeping his voice low. “Soundwave: is no longer an enemy.”
“No, I suppose you’re not.” Prowl leaned an elbow on his desk, propping his chin in his hand. “I’ll comm Jazz, you go collect your little miscreants. If your idiot twins get collaborating with our idiot twins, we’re all slagged.”
“Agreed.” Soundwave inclined his helm, and turned to leave Prowl’s office. Only once he was in the hallway did he allow himself to ex-vent, his cooling fans quietly kicking up a notch. Thank Primus he only had to do that once.