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Jazz sighed in pleasure as gentle hands massaged cleanser into his back, helping to wash away the accumulated dust and dirt.
"Mm, that's nice."
"I should be scolding you." Prowl mused, now using a silicate brush to scrub a little harder at a patch of stubborn grime. "You were supposed to be welcoming the Perihexian Ambassador, and instead you return in this state."
"I didn't know anythin' about any ambassador's visit."
"Of course you didn't, since no-one could find you. Dare I ask where you were?"
"I went for a walk."
"Through a construction site, it seems. Jazz, we've talked about this. You're nobility now - you can't continue acting like a commoner."
"I just wanted to help, is all." Jazz argued, turning to face his mate. "There's so much to do."
"You can help most by allowing those responsible for this work to simply do it. Your role is to provide moral support, not to grab a shovel. You must realise it makes them uncomfortable."
That much was true, at least. In spite of all his efforts to make the Praxian inhabitants feel at ease, they were always shocked by his attempts to become involved.
"You are a Lord of Praxus." Prowl continued. "Can you imagine Sentinel Prime helping with the reconstruction?"
Jazz balked at the mental image, then shook his head in frustration.
"But I ain't Prime."
"Of course you're not. But you're no longer a courier and bar owner, either. You're my mate, acknowledged - finally, thank Primus - as my equal. And it has been difficult enough for my people to accept you in that role without these attempts on your part to pretend that you are unfit. You can do this, Jazz, you just have to want to try."
"Blue doesn't care if I act like a quick-cast Iaconian." Jazz mumbled, feeling chastened.
Prowl surprised him by laughing softly and pressing up against him, kissing him firmly.
~Neither do I, when we're alone. You can be as improper as you like, so long as it stays being when we're alone.~
Jazz broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against his mate's.
"Okay, I'll try. I'll pro'lly fail miserably, but I'll try. But what the frag am I meant to do all orn?"
"What you are supposed to be doing."
"An' how'm I gonna know what that is?"
"I have an idea about that."
"What idea?"
Prowl smiled secretively.
"You'll find out in the morning. For now, I had hoped that you might take advantage of the fact that for once we both have an evening with no other engagements."
With Prowl's request from the previous evening firmly in mind, Jazz attempted to behave properly the next morning.
He patiently allowed Clipper, his newly assigned personal servant, to touch up his waxing even though he could have done it himself and did not think he even needed it. He held back from dashing down to the kitchens to retrieve his own energon and instead went to the dining room and waited for it to be brought to him.
For that, he received an approving nod from Prowl and a smile from Bluestreak.
"Are you finally learning proper manners, Caretaker Jazz?"
"Jazz has always had proper manners," Prowl responded, sipping at his own delicate infusion of energon and argon, "he is simply choosing to display them this morning."
"So." Jazz spoke up, changing the subject. "What is this surprise you have for me?"
"A surprise?" Bluestreak echoed. "What kind of surprise? Did you get Caretaker Jazz a present? Is it a hunting gun? You did say he could come with us on the next hunt when we go. Or some new polish? Because that old stuff he uses isn't really that great and he's always got rough spots and blemishes even when he hasn't been out digging... uh... I mean walking... Sorry, Caretaker Jazz."
Prowl gestured to one of the servants who immediately approached.
"Yes sir?"
"Please send in Datatrack."
"Who's that?" Jazz asked.
"Your new secretary. A personal assistant, if you will. He will make sure you get to wherever you are supposed to be, and manage your schedule."
Jazz frowned.
"I don't think..." he began, then stopped as the servant returned ahead of a looming Vosnian shuttle-type nearly twice his height.
His appetite vanished entirely. This mech was even bigger than the Prime, and could fly. And was going to be organising his activities?
He turned to tell Prowl that he would not allow it, but found his mate and adopted sparkling both looking very pleased.
Fine, he decided. He would be gracious. And he would make sure Datatrack asked to leave by the end of the decaorn.
In fact, it took nearly three decaorns of giving the mech the wrong information about appointments and spending time in cramped spaces where Datatrack could not join him before the shuttle finally gave up. But he did not complain to Prowl: he complained to Coil, their butler. Who took it upon himself to handle the matter quietly.
The next orn Jazz found a new secretary waiting for him in the study. This was a minibot with the designation Twitch.
Quite what had caused the mech to have such an unfortunate name in the first place, Jazz never learned, but after a few decaorns of 'losing' the minibot in crowds and calling the Enforcers twice to help him locate the ostensibly missing servant, the minibot quit.
Coil did not give up, however. Next was a tetrajet, but he was so easily irritated than he only lasted a decaorn. Then there was a succession of three Iaconians and two Altihexians in a short space of time, but Jazz managed to completely confound them all.
It had become an enjoyable game, and a complicated one too since he had to manage his own schedule well enough that Prowl had no cause to ask about the 'gift' he had given.
Over time, he even found himself settling in to the work. Once they were sure he was not going to attempt to take part, the Praxians seemed to be happier with his visits and he spent much of his time raising morale amongst workers and smoothing obstacles with officious bureaucrats. Yet another game to enjoy.
Humming cheerfully to himself, he skipped down the corridor to the study where his new secretary should be waiting. He knew that Slidestep had quit halfway through the previous orn, so it had to be someone else.
What would Coil try next, he wondered. He was looking forward to the challenge, whatever it was. Yet when he got there he found the butler waiting alone.
"What's this? You've run out of ideas? You disappoint me."
"Your new secretary will be along presently, sir." the butler responded stiffly.
Jazz cocked his head.
"Not a great start, turnin' up to work late on the first orn. We could dismiss him for that, right?"
Coil did not answer, and Jazz nodded.
"Okay, well where's he from?"
"Praxus, sir."
That was a surprise. All of the known remaining Praxians were fully employed in one capacity or another, it was one of the first things Prowl had organised.
Maybe this one had only recently arrived.
"An outcast?" he guessed.
Coil stiffened even further, his own doorwings quivering in what Jazz thought might be indignation. Or maybe humour? No, surely not.
"It is not my place to say, sir."
The door from the hallway opened and Jazz turned, mildly surprised to see Prowl walk in.
"Somethin' wrong?"
"Not at all." Prowl assured him. "Thank you, Coil, you may go."
"Yes sir." the butler bowed and left them alone.
"So." Prowl began, unsubspacing a datapad. "Where shall we begin?"
"With what?" Jazz asked, confused.
"With your schedule. Now I see you have a commitment for lunch with the Vosnian envoy, and before that you need to ensure time to visit the new sparkling care centre..."
"Wait. What is this?"
Prowl looked at him mildly.
"You appear to be having difficulty finding a secretary who can work with you, so until we find one I am suggesting I take on the role myself. I can show you my references if you would like to see them - I worked very efficiently as a secretary for many vorns here in Praxus, as well as on short term contract in Iacon."
"But you're busy!" Jazz flailed. "And... how do you even know about this, anyway?"
"I sign off on all estate expenses, if you recall. And your games with the staff have been generating some significant expenditure."
"Oh." Jazz winced. "Sorry about that."
"So you should be. But what I don't understand is why you did it. You have been doing what I asked perfectly well without their help. Why did you not simply tell me you could manage on your own?"
"I thought you'd be disappointed."
"Ah."
Jazz waited, then cocked his head.
"Well? Are you?"
"Mostly with myself." Prowl admitted. "I should have realised you did not need the assistance."
"I forgive you if you forgive me." Jazz offered.
Prowl smiled.
"Done. So. Shall we both go on with our own schedules and simply..."
"Uh-uh, hold on there a click." Jazz stopped him. "You're supposed to be workin' for me all orn, right?"
Prowl's doorwings dipped in the first hint of irritation.
"You know that that was a ruse."
"I know nothin' of the sort. I happen t'like the idea of a Praxian secretary, y'know. I bet I'd even let one keep up wit' me, just so we could spend th'time together."
Prowl looked at him appraisingly, then nodded slowly.
"Very well. Tomorrow you will have your Praxian secretary."
Mid-morning the next orn, Prowl's office
"Sir?"
Prowl looked up from the document he was drafting to find Coil entering the room.
"A message, sir, from Lord Jazz."
Prowl had been about to reach for it, but now withdrew his hand and set his work aside.
"Indeed? Read it to me, please."
Coil was clearly confused, it being entirely inappropriate for a servant to read private messages, but obliged as instructed.
"To Lord Prowl, from Lord Jazz. Thank you very kindly for the kind attempt to find me an appropriate assistant. It was kind. Very kind. I would like to inform you that from tomorrow I will no longer be requiring his assistance and will manage adequately on my own as we discussed yesterday. I will see you at dinner this evening. In the meantime, if you can think of any way at all to get our lovely sparkling to be quiet for just a few breems at a time I would gratefully appreciate the advice..."