Drabble ahoy! Slowly getting back into the swing of writing for nanowrimo... I am going to be so bad at it.

Disclaimer: Not mine, but I do love to play with them.


"You make a grave mistake pairing Sunstreaker and Sideswipe together again." The shadowy figure said with displeasure. "Sunstreaker is much more effective without his brother holding him back."

The black and white Praxian didn't twitch or let his disgust with the comment show outwardly. Inside his optics were narrowed and his plating bristling at the implication that one of the twins was something more than the other. And the other less. "They're much more efficient when paired together. They depend on the other to watch their backs, projecting their focus onto the enemy without the distraction of needing to look over their shoulders in a firefight." He answered cooly.

"Who needs efficiency when one brother can take out an entire squadron on his own? Sunstreaker is a ticking time bomb and a threat with the distraction of his brother involved." Another shadowed figure said, the council around him murmuring and some even nodding. "Remove that distraction and all that raw, beastial energy becomes focused on a safer target."

"Our predictions conclude that Sideswipe is also less effective with trying to keep his brother under control when it is not necesarry."

Prowl's helm slowly turned, disbelief coloring his em field though not his facial expression. They wanted Sunstreaker a raging psycho? Could they not see the damage to morale that would cause? The damage to the twins themselves or the risk that would be?

"Therefore we put forth the conclusion and decree that your twins be seperated and their efforts focused elsewhere."

A strange swell of protectiveness rose within Prowl's spark and anger quickly followed on its heels. "With all due respect, /Council Member/." With no respect at all. "You are on the Council of Autobots. Not the War Council. We are at war, one in which our Prime has taken over the leadership of. It is not your decision to make." He stood, optics cold and face devoid of the roiling emotions he was feeling. "Your decree is refused."

"But the predictions-"

"You keep to your predictions." Prowl nearly spat, turning on his heel. "I will keep to our results."

Prowl is taking none of your shit today, Council. R and R?