(no subject)

[cliffjumper]

Cliffjumper: This whole situation was demeaning and insulting, really. He could take care of himself, he's not a protoform. And yet. Cliffjumper scowled, arms crossed, as he stared down the street, glowering at anyone else on the street in suspicion. No one came close, but whether that was due to the angry minibot or...

"Primus help me, if ya get the idea to pick me up an' run if somethin' happens, I don't care what they paid, I'm shootin' ya in that mask with the glass gas an then punchin' you," Cliffjumper growled, suprememly unhappy he had neither managed to convince anyone to allow him a normal gun in addition to the 'proper protection' glass gas gun, nor managed to swipe said normal gun himself.

Optimus: "...If it is required to save your life, then it will be done. Despite that risk." The bodyguard was well trained enough to keep his optics on their surroundings, gun at the ready, rather than the irate client. 'Client' being a loose term, as he clearly wasn't wanted.

...Not that it mattered. In this case, he wasn't getting paid to make himself wanted. He wasn't getting paid by the little red mini at all, even if he was the current recipient of his skills.

Which gave him a little leeway to snark, even as he scanned for the supposed threats.

"In fact, I believe fees for repairs to injuries caused by you were specifically mentioned in the contract. ...I can see why, now."

CJ: "Yeah, whatever. At least the other ones get guards they don't need to wear out their neck cables to talk to." Cliffjumper shifted his glare from the surroundings up at his Primus-damned bodyguard, the mech more than half again as tall as he was.

He wondered, briefly, if they amused themselves with finding the largest mechs they could, just to annoy him. Cliffjumper liked his size, thank you very much, but when someone took pleasure in matching you against the biggest they could find, it... got to you.

"The afts had it comin' to 'em. 'Sides, I don't see the reason for this... ah, slag it. This is stupid." With that decision, Cliffjumper marched out from the doorway they'd been standing in, heedless of any potential trouble... perhaps even aggressively not caring about it. Maybe not even considering that there would be trouble, and that was why his bodyguard was there. Among other things.

This had, also, been mentioned and included with an extra fee in the contract, since Cliffjumper tended to leap before he looked.

O: "I'm afraid my height is something I cannot alter much, while still being of any use." As a guard, anyway.

He followed without any visible signs of exasperation, only increased vigilance as they stepped into the open. Another issue he'd been warned about, indeed. It was enough to make him wonder if the mech was suicidally brave or just suicidal.

"Clearly they have reason enough, if they chose to hire me. Do you not fear the threats?"

CJ: Cliffjumper snorted, but didn't dispute it; if you weren't formatted for it, you weren't formatted for it. His bodyguard's height wasn't anything he really was annoyed at the truck-alt mech for.

It probably wasn't that he was either of those as simply... reckless. Of course, in this situation, that 'reckless' should probably be read as the other two possibilities.

"If I did, I'd slaggin' well have to stay inside a high-security room or whatever. I ain't gonna agree to that," Cliffjumper scoffed, once again, though, wish for a proper gun... or even a cannon. Why he wasn't 'allowed' any of those besides a potentially non-lethal weapon he just couldn't understand.

"What, if it were you, would you just have stayed put like a well-behaved protoform?" Cliffjumper frowned, eyeing the large gun his bodyguard was carrying with envy. It was all 'blah blah ransom this, blah valuable that, too precious blah blah blah' and slag that scrap.

O: "Hn. I supposed that would depend on why I was under threat in the first place." The guard shrugged, optics on the rooftops as his systems scanned the area for anyone taking an undue interest in his client.

He only knows the barest bit of info about the little mech, and why he needs protection. 'Need to know' basis and all that. He's curious, but he wont' ask.

CJ: "Uh. Bein' in the wrong place at the wrong time..." Cliffjumper shrugged, but in his opinion it hadn't been 'wrong place, wrong time' but right place and right time. Of course, being the protegé of a high ranking senator had given him access to said place and time, but even so, most others wouldn't have gone snooping.

But he hadn't liked the look of that 'Con senator. And he'd been right. And they called him paranoid.

"Callin' me 'badly diciplined', hah. Glitches. If I wasn't we wouldn't even know 'bout that---" he cuts himself off, almost apologetically. Firstly, out in public. Secondly, the boduguard may have to hang around like he's attached to Cliffjumper's plating for... however long this will take, but he's not supposed to know.

Some stupid slag about bribery risk and whatelse.

Cliffjumper, while usually attentive and somewhat used to being a target, still wasn't paying attention where he wandered along the edge of the pavement to the road, and thus wasn't seeing the approaching sports car. Which was driving way too close to said pavement.

O: He merely blinks at the sudden silence, before nodding mostly to himself in quiet understanding.

He doesn't want to know, more than likely. Or then he'd need a bodyguard, and well...

Senators didn't usually pay for expensive bodyguards to protect those of such...diverse skill-sets, like himself. Expensive or not, he was considered expendable.

So he doesn't ask. And instead focuses on all movement and motion nearby, which definitely includes traffic. Hmm... Choosing to be safe, he deftly slips in on Cliffjumper's side closest to the road.

CJ: There's an annoyed noise when the guard slips between him and the road, but Cliffjumper has had enough bodyguards (especially lately) to do no more than cast a glare up at the mech... and thus catch sight of the sports car who only veers away from the pavement-edge side of the road at the last possible second, maybe hoping for the large mech to just move out of the way.

Cliffjumper stares, glaring after whoever-it-was, and then vents a sigh. Okay, maybe he should be more careful. But the area's not too bad it's in the middle of the slagging day... he didn't really think anyone would try anything, even something as 'subtle' as attempting to run him over a bit, and/or snatch him.

"Rrr... Okay. Whatever," Cliffjumper mutters, and moves in closer to the building-side of the pavement. "So, since ya might be stuck with me for a while... What's your designation? An' what do ya do when you don't get stuck followin' overly tempramental mechs around?" the grin accompanying those last words are sharp; Cliffjumper knows what people think of his attitude, but while he's... almost apologizing here, that's all.

O: Optimus watches the car-mech speed off, noting the colors and frame type for record. It could have been a bad driver. It was in the middle of the day, yes. But he hadn't worked the bodyguard detail for so long without catching on to the fact that 'could haves' and 'maybes' generally weren't worth the risk.

It wasn't paranoia when someone actually was out to get his clients, after all.

He turned back to the other mech, lifting an optic ridge at the comment. At least the grumpy little mini was beginning to get amusing.

"...Optimus. And I just tend to follow less temperamental mechs around, that's all."

No reason to mention the other, varied details of his services.

CJ: Well, even grumpy little mechs deprived of the weapons they want to use and in need of protection could be somewhat personable, right? Cliffjumper still, despite the maybe-obvious attempt of some sort doesn't like or want to have to be all careful. It just isn't in him to think of things like that, or take them into consideration.

"Huh. That gotta suck, or is the pay really that good to make up for it?" This sort of gig really must be frustrating, but then again... Optimus had kind of chosen the job in general, right? At least he could carry any slagging weapons he wished without getting censured and told "no, that's not proper" or what-the-slag-ever.

He may be eyeing his bodyguard's brandished weapon with some envy as he grumbles about the unfairness of it, even though what he actually wants is to try out one of those large cannons.

O: "Hn. It can. The pay makes up for a lot, though." It has to. 'Escorts' can only hold so many certain jobs, after all. There are certainly worse things to be doing.

He does note the gun-envy with some amusement, though, and moves the weapon closer pointedly.

"Ion blaster. It should be sufficient, should things get...messy."

CJ: It's probably a testament to Cliffjumper's relative naivéte that he assumes there's more choice in Optimus' position than it is... But then, since what he remembers is being picked up off the street by the same senator that is, and has been since then, his patron, and he's never noticed any strange reactions around this, one could, perhaps, forgive the innocense.

"... that was three vorns ago," Cliffjumper's mutter is quiet enough it's obvious it's not meant to be heard, but since they're walking as close to each other as they are... But that little incident was quite (in)famous, of Cliffjumper just ripping the gun out of his bodyguard's hands to take a few shots of his own (that was when he was given the glass gas gun).

"What else do ya got?" Shrugging off his earlier mood, Cliffjumper grins lopsidedly up at Optimus, clearly curious and eager to know... and the heightened glow of his optics could be taken for a less innocent interest, considering his words.

O: "What was?" He wonders, shrugging and tilting his head. He gestures to his own forearms before giving the area another visual sweep. Well, why not. If the client wants to know what his capabilities are, there's certainly no reason no to say.

"Small-round, low burst cannons. ...Energon blades for close range combat, if I must."

CJ:"There was a... situation." Cliffjumper waves one hand vaguely as he speaks, not really paying attention to the slowly growing crowds. It is, however, the wrong time of day for a natural congestion of people to be happening in this part of the city, as they have, by now, turned onto the large multi-levelled avenue leading up to Iacon's High Council Pavilions and the Forum of Enlightment... Which usually didn't have a large collection of 'regular' people moving slowly but determindedly closer.

"An' I kinda plucked th' gun the bodyguard had," Cliffjumper finally admits with a shrug, not really sounding sorry about it. It may also have been this incident that led to all bodyguards he's had since be taller and stronger than he is. The two of them have now been forced into single file by the growing amount of people, some of them who are doing rather obvious... and muttering, double-takes of the minibot.

"Huh... Well-armed. Ya always carry that much, or this a special occasion?" Cliffjumper merely sounds amused, not as if he's arrogantly expecting that he should be the cause of all those armaments.

O: "...ah. Well. Don't do that. Really." He almost laughs - he might have if it wasn't for the growing crowd. He quickly shifts gears, pressing closer to Cliffjumper, resting a hand on his backstrut to guide him.

"...Stay close." His gun rose to a ready position.

CJ: At least his new bodyguard sees the humour in that situation; most others had been summarily unimpressed, stonily silent or saying something about badly integrated defense/offense routines (where they thought he couldn't hear). He'd always ignored that.

"Yeah, well, why do ya think you're---huh?" Cliffjumper's amusement is derailed first into brief confusion, and then a scowl as that hand comes to rest at the bottom swell of his back-kibble and the backstrut just under it. He is not incompentent and can walk alone thank you very much. But Cliffjumper's used to such behavious by now, and doesn't protest more than by an irritable rev of his engine.

"... Shouldn't be this many people 'round here at this time," Cliffjumper mutters, Optimus' actions actually having had him look around and pay attention. Somewhere far to the front of the crowd, a chant starts up, and by now it's not just the closest passing people that's sending narrow stares at the minibot, though his bodyguard garners slide-over nervous looks.

No one is, yet, antsy enough to do anything... rash.

O: "...We need to move. Come, quickly," he mutters quietly, keeping his optics on those protesters closest to them as he looks for the thinnest part of the crowd. They need to get out of there. Discontentment with the council and elite being what it was, a discontent crowd could easily become a mob.

CJ: "Where, though?" Cliffjumper frowns, tilting his head up and back to cast a glance at Optimus, gesturing slightly at the crowd; where there might have been open spots and slightly less mechs before, seemingly in answer to Optimus' need for the crowd thinning out, there's no longer any such spots.

"Ya wouldn't even be able to transform right now... Me either, for that matter, unless ya want to crush someone," he points out, and then jerks as someone just off to the side glares at him, before turning away and echoes said threat of crushing... but what they're referring to, is harder to tell.

Especially as a wave of muttered unease flows through the crowd around them; there's been reports of the protestors having set up their own encrypted channels, but comminucations haven't been shut down. It's as much a show of faith as it's an attempt to keep tensions low, really.

O: He only pauses for a moment, before tightening his grip on Cliffjumper's back. There is no way he will allow the crowd - or Cliffjumper himself - to separate them in this mess.

"This way. Stay close."

He's going for the thinnest part of the crowd to their left, with the as-of-yet unblocked alleys behind the growing mob. And he's going to shoulder his way through them whether they like it or not.

CJ: Cliffjumper would probably, by dint of being smaller and having good reflexes, along with an optic for opportunities, managed to separate them the moment Optimus pointed out where he wanted to go (Cliffjumper had been keeping a rather awkwardly tilted look back at his bodyguard for this). The grip then serves its purpose of both keeping them together and allowing the bodyguard to guide his client where he wants him to go.

To Cliffjumper's displeasure.

"Stayin' close ain't a problem... specially not with that grip," the last part is muttered, almost sullenly, even if he understands the reason for it, and doesn't do anything to even attempt to dislodge it. At the same time, the crowd is more than displeased at being pushed aside roughly, elbow or shoulder going in various places.

Some just glare, other protest loudly, but each, by now obviously a protestor, being pushed aside leads to notice of what Optimus is pushing in front of him.

"Hey, you!" Someone who just got pushed aside calls out, righted by one of their fellow protestors. "Y'don't need t'guard one of them y'know? Could just---" Whoever they were disappears further into the crowd, but by now Optimus' and Cliffjumper's progress is halted, not far at all from the alleys, as the slowly firing-up mob heaves and there's a roar of rage from somewhere further up front.

"Uh... this ain't good, huh..." Cliffjumper trails off with a frown before he's jerked and only Optimus' grip keeps him from being pulled into the crowd. This apparently doesn't dissuade whoever has his wrist from pointing a gun at his helm, grinning.

O: As soon as the gun comes up - as soon as he even registers the fact that the other mech is carrying a weapon, Optimus is in motion, hardened bodyguard programming snapping online so fast he doesn't even have time to berate himself for not paying closer attention.

In a flurry of movement, he jerks hard at Cliffjumper's backstrut, twisting his charge to angle him away from the barrel even as he swiftly moves to shove his own bulk between the minibot and the stranger. The shot intended for Cliffjumper's processor burns instead through the upper level of plating on his arm and continues on into the crowd, and someone screams, but he doesn't even feel it yet. His gun arm comes up in the same motion, and for a nanoclick it looks as though he might fire - but that would only cause a frenzy in the crowd, the protector of the noble 'firing on innocents', and so instead he uses it as a lever, jamming it against the attacker's shoulder joint, twisting his own arm just so...

There is a pop, and a scream, and suddenly the mech's elbow joint is turned completely the wrong direction, his grip on Cliffjumper's arm is gone, and his the pistol is clattering to the ground.

"Run!" He bellows into Cliffjumper's audials, not even waiting for an answer before he jerks the smaller mech off his feet, hauling him through a crowd already reaching for them both.


CJ: It's obvious who of them is both used to acting quickly, and has combat programming, besides the fact that for a glass gas gun to be useful, you at least got to have both hands free (or the leverage) to follow through with a punch or something. Cliffjumper's barely registered the gun before he's pulled away, the arm (however briefly) still gripped by his would-be assailant stretched out rather uncomfortably.

But there's no time to think about that as he kicks after a few others in the crowd, but they don't have the time to grip onto a flailing pede to attempt to pull him away; Optimus bellows, leaving his audials ringing before they readjust, and then sets off into the crowd.

"Slaggin'--- This ain't gonna work!" Cliffjumper shouts as he does his best to stay on his feet, not so much because his bodyguard is faster than he is on his feet (which he obviously would be), but because he's barreling forward through the now very angry crowd, the closest all fully aware of what's happened, with all the - heh - subtelty and force of a truck.

Now, the mob isn't interested in being careful around the large bodyguard and his shorter charge, or avoiding them; several attempt to trip Optimus, or use more blunt weapons, but there's, by now, a few more guns flashing in the streetlights, and while they're getting closer to the alleys, it's hard to say if getting there will help.

"Hey-- Let go!" Cliffjumper snarls, pulling the trigger once of his gun before it's ripped away, and even as he kicks out and meet metal more brittle than it was just a few astroseconds earlier, someone takes the opportunity as Optimus charges past to slam down the butt of a gun against the minibot's helm, causing him to stumble, momentarily stunned.

O: Optimus snarls, dodging blows when he can, stomping down with heavy, grated pedes on joints and delicate servos when he can't, and all the while barreling down with all his weight to keep breaking through the crowd despite the raining blows.

But even he can be blindsided, and the hit to Cliffjumper's helm is noticed a moment too late. Snarling, he spins on a heel, slamming the barrel of his gun into the attacker's face, and hauling the stunned minibot up and under his arm, tucking him protectively against his chest.

Then he hunches down, and charges, engine roaring as he plows through the crowd like the truck he is. He aims for the lighter, weaker mechs all the same, bodily tossing them out of the way when he can. Often, blows meant for him land on those flying over his shoulders, which makes it worth it.

CJ: In all probability it's possibly both better and easier for them with Cliffjumper being where he is, now, but when the brief disorientation of a recalibrating processor is over, he's rather... well, not so much unhappy, as feeling awkward, even if there's not much time for that.

Gripping what he can just to feel a bit more active as Optimus charges through the last rows close to the alley, Cliffjumper has to admit to some admiration of the heavy-duty engine working beneath the chassis he's held against... Casting a glance over his shoulder - mostly to see when he could demand to be let down - the minibot sort of sputters static when they're through, the last congestion of the mob, even if the nearest mechs are intent on following them into the alley anyway.

A bit into the alley stands about another ten or twenty mechs and femmes, much more heavily armed than anyone in the mob, whispering. Cliffjumper has time to wonder if the mob was as random as it seemed, what with this group---

"Get rid of th' slaggin' noble an' the sellout!" Someone bellows from behind Optimus and Cliffjumper, a piece of broken metal going flying past the bodyguard's audial fin.

O: "...Scrap."

The swear is muttered, not meant for Cliffjumper's audials, but he doesn't pause or hesitate. Mob to their back, armed forces to the front...they have no choice but to go through. The others haven't fired on them yet, they might have a chance - and the second floor windows of the alley's buildings are just by them.

If they can just get to them...

Keeping his path irregular to prevent anyone from getting a good line of sight on them, he charges on into the alley, hunched over to keep as much of Cliffjumper's frame protected.

CJ: Weapons are cocked, and some of the group do attempt a few shots, but with Optimus' irregular path and a number of people spilling into the alley from the mob on the avenue, most don't chance shooting what is probably some of their own people. One or two, however, take to riddling the ground with laserfire, attempting to both impede and slow the bodyguard down, so he'll be easier to hit.

This is such slag. The mutter, even if not meant for him, has Cliffjumper both tensing and almost attempting to squirm out of the protective grip and go for the gun still clutched in Optimus' hand, just so he could do something. But moving may mess up Optimus' balance, so with a few muttered swears, Cliffjumper stills even as they're closing in on the group.

"Going the wrong way, escort. Shoulda kept to the other part of your profession!" One of the larger ones shout before they launch themselves bodily at the bodyguard, a smaller, handheld weapon in one hand... not a gun, exactly, and it has four fuel cells instead of the usual one or two.

O: Oh.

Oh but now he's getting slagged off.

And the situation has gotten far too dangerous to restrain himself any further. One look at that overpowered weapon is all he needs - finally raising his gun, he targets the other weapon and fires.

If the other mech ends up loosing a hand or arm, well...he shouldn't have been trying to kill them.

As soon as he fires, he doesn't bother to confirm the hit, just dodging to the side from the inevitable explosion, and leaping for the second floor windows.

CJ: The group on the ground are all yelling and either flinging themselves away, or crouching down, depending on how close they are to the mech Optimus shot at.

There's a static-laced shriek which is cut off and swallowed as the fuel cells explode and the mech slams into the ground, tumbles, and then finally skids to a stop; the arm is completely gone, several other plates have been warped, cracked or partly-melted, and the side of his helm on the same side as he'd held the weapon in is kind of a mess.

He'll survive, though.

Cliffjumper's not sure if he should wish to be in a spot where he can see more, but would be less protected, even as his bodyguard leaps and there's a jerk as he grips onto the windowsill of a window, and then a rather gentle crunch as they meet the wall of the building.

"Can ya even climb with me in this position?" Cliffjumper hisses and despite the fact that there's scattered shots being aimed at them, he's already on the way to squirm out from between Optimus and the wall, to climb himself.

O: "Only if you hold on," he growls back. That explosion won't distract them for long, and his back is completely exposed.

Swinging his gun arm, he smashes the barrel of the weapon through the window, sending glass raining down on them and their attackers both. The gun is tossed through the now open space, and Optimus grabs hold of Cliffjumper to keep himself between the minibot and the mob. There is a muffled clang as a heavy piece of still-hot shrapnel hits his shoulder armor and bounces away. It hurts, but he's more worried about the guns. With a grunt, he heaves himself and his charge up through the window as shots begin to ring out.

CJ: ... Well, that was probably true, so Cliffjumper freezes in place right before Optimus actually grabs onto him again to make sure he's between him and the people on the ground. He supposes he's way too impatient for these sort of things, but he hates just kinda... hanging there. Literally, in the case of his current bodyguard hauling him around. Not that Optimus couldn't haul around most other frame-types, but still.

So despite the fact that he wants to do something, Cliffjumper - kind of - accepts that trying to 'help' will just make Optimus' work harder, and he kind of... likes this bodyguard.

When they're inside, Cliffjumper stays where he should be, actually waiting for Optimus to decide what to do next. At least the building, in the area they're in is empty.

"So, uh... what'd we do now?"

O: He rolls inside with an overclocked engine rumble, away from the window, and gestures for Cliffjumper to stay back as well as he scans the building they ended up inside. Office building. Empty. Good.

"...We get back. Make sure no one else gets up here. And find a way out."

He hisses quietly as he moves to sit up. Despite the dark of the room, the glow of spilt energon is slowly lighting the place up.

He's obviously been shot.

CJ: Cliffjumper frowns up at the broken window they came through and while no one seems to be immediately following, he doesn't trust that at all, but his question gets quietly requeued as he looks back to the bodyguard and catches the slowly growing line of dripping, glowing pinkish-purple.

"Uh... slag. You got anythin' for this? I have have something, otherwise, but it probably ain't gonna be enough." Shuffling around to the side the wound is, it takes about a few seconds of waffling before he gently pokes it, then wipes away the energon to get a better look; he's been clinging to the mech for a bit now, and it's not as he hasn't ended up body checked or otherwise manhandled by bodyguards before, but usually... he'd never actually been alone with one of them like this, injured.

Usually they could, and did, go to get the injuries fixed and he'd never have to think about it.

"What's the chance they're gonna come crawlin' through that window, or followin' us at all?" This isn't an orchestrated assassination or kidnapping attempt, after all, 'just' an anrgy mob, and Cliffjumper doesn't really have any experience with those.

O: He shifts over, craning his neck to get a look at the blast wound on the outer side of his thigh. The location is awkward - it figures he'd finally get hit while climbing in the damn window.

The poke makes him twitch, leg servos firing in pain, but he avoids crying out. At least he should still be able to walk.

"...If they don't come up through the window, they'll come up through the building. Or try to burn us out. We need to move." Growling, he digs through his own subspace, before tossing a small field path kit at Cliffjumper.

"Just stop the leakage. We don't have time for anything else." He'd do it himself, but can barely see it at that angle... and he has to pick up his rifle as the sounds from outside pick up again. The mob is getting over the confusion from the explosion, and someone's flailing fist peeks over the edge of the window ledge.

He shoots it off.

CJ: He catches it, then kneels down, briefly distracted, however, when Optimus shoots the fist off the window ledge. Bossy, isn't he?

"Uh-huh..." While bodyguards obviously have the jursidiction, so to speak, to make or demand their clients... or charges, do what they say when they're doing their job in an active situation, it's still kind of a strange experience. Not that he's going to go off on the mech; he's doing his job, and even Cliffjumper can see the location of the wound is in a bad place (though he is acquintained with one or two mechs and femmes who wouldn't care to help their guards like this).

"They're really gonna do that? I mean... you've already kinda shown this's more trouble than it ought to be worth, right? I ain't that special," Cliffjumper scoffs as he patches the wound up, his expression as annoyed as it's disbelieveing; despite the reason for Optimus' precense, Cliffjumper doesn't really consider himself important... naïveity or an accurate opinion?

He gives the patch-job a frown and then shrugs, but in his opinion the metal mesh bandage doesn't really look enough, or sturdy enough... though anything else would probably break and open with any greater acrobatics or whatever. There is, however, besides the scrabbling attempt to get into the window, the distant noise of rage and heavy footspets.

"Slag. I think you're right."

O: "...I hate it when I'm right." He groans, forcing himself back up to his feet. The wound is small, and with his size he won't bleed out any time soon, but the patch doesn't change that it hurts and it's going to effect his movement. As the newest oncoming mech clears the window, he grabs at the nearest bit off office furniture - a heavy chair - and sends it flying at the attacker. It hits with a crunch, and sends the mech flying back down the way he came.

"Because we've made them angry. Mobs are never rational. Come on," he turns to Cliffjumper, gesturing him toward the door as he turns on his nightvision. "We need to move before they get up here. Up the stairs, to the top floor!"

CJ: "What? Up the stairs? The roof? Last time I checked, neither of us're any sort of flyers, less ya hidin' some flight mods somewhere!" Cliffjumper protests, gesturing in emphasis, even as he gives Optimus another look. He can't see any proof of tucked away flight mods at all, though; his bodyguard's all... truck, and while it's a nice sight, that doesn't refute the fact that neither of them can fly.

It has him incredulous enough that he turns towards the door on the other side of the room that'd probably lead down instead of up, but the faint noise of footsteps have become slightly louder, and he growls. They can't go down, unless they find elevators...

"Okay, okay, whatever. Hope ya have some sorta plan, though," he snaps before turning towards the door Optimus wanted them to go through and actually starts running towards it, turning on his own nightvision with another growl. He isn't exactly afraid of heights; he even has a jetpack, but he doesn't have it with him, which means it's useless, so why the slag are they going up?

They'll be just as trapped, if not more, on the roof.

Comments

[cliffjumper]

O: "There is always a plan. And a backup plan." He glares down the stairs at the sounds of the mob breaking in. The alarms have probably already been tripped because of them, which should work in their favor. But they don't have time to wait, and he jerks his helm up, motioning Cliffjumper on.

"Go, as quietly as you can. I will keep you alive." Then he overrides the pain sensors in his leg, and trudges on up after the red minibot, managing a fairly respectable pace despite the wound.

All the way to the top.

CJ: Quietly is always a problem when you want to go fast and is made of metal. But since two of Cliffjumper's wheels are situated on the outer edges of his pedes, he manages to actually be kind of quiet by putting down the wheels first. And he really kind of hopes there's a plan, as well as a backup plan.

Cliffjumper doesn't question Optimus' pledge of keeping him alive; firstly, that was what the bodyguard had been hired for, even if the point had been to protect Cliffjumper from Decepticon assassins and not an angry, anti-government protest mob.

Secondly, he is, after all, used to being told that, and doesn't think anything of it, so he moves as quickly as possible, until they come out on the roof, even if Optimus has to shoot out the controls to the door-pad, since the tripped alarm had locked down any such controls, no matter if the door had been locked before or not.

"... Great, what the slag now!?" Cliffjumper runs further out on the roof, then turns around to face Optimus, arms wide as he gestures around them. "Ya really can't mean we're gonna climb down the buildin' from the outside, right?" Cliffjumper scowls, walking over to the edge and carefully looking over; but at least there's no one on that---

"Augh!" Tossing himself backwards and skidding to a stop on his behind, he'd barely avoided getting shot in the helm (again) as someone had apparently been keeping an optic on the upper floors of the building. But whether that person was part of the mob or not...

[cliffjumper]

O: "Scrap!" He swore again, hobbling over to Cliffjumper to haul him back further. "Don't do that. You're lucky you've got such fast reflexes, or you'd have gotten yourself killed vorns ago." He shakes his head. So many of the reports from previous guards make so much sense now.

"Come on, away from that side." He gestures to the far side of the roof, opposite the road with the mob.

"If they didn't already know we were up here, they know now. We don't have much time. You're going across even if I have to toss you." ...The next building's roof is a floor lower, and only an alleyway's length jump away.

CJ: The reports where the kindest descriptions had included variations of 'recklessly impulsive' or 'impulsively reckless' and 'especially in potentially/definitely hostile situations'? Yes, they probably do, at that.

The only reaction to Optimus' admonishment about what he should, or shouldn't do and that he's only survived this far due to fast reflexes gets a huff, but nothing else. It's true, after all. Cliffjumper's just lucky his leap-first personality comes with fine-tuned, hair-trigger reflexes, really.

"... What?!" Cliffjumper looks over the new edge, towards the roof Optimus wants them to get to, and up at his bodyguard. "Are you absolutely glitched? What 'bout your leg, huh?" The distance isn't so bad, really... maybe. Cliffjumper scowls, judging it. He'll... probably be able to take it, but even 'just' the width of an alley is kinda large, when you're short.

The threat of being tossed across has the minibot giving his bodyguard a suspicious glare, arms crossed, as he edges away slightly. There'll be no tossing anywhere, even if Optimus could probably toss him easier than he could jump.

[cliffjumper]

"Right..." Cliffjumper eyed the door again and felt a lot less sure about this. They had no idea where they were; while it could still be somewhere in the Towers - or beneath them - that wasn't necessary, and could just as well be in any of Ratbat's hideouts or "known" residences and those... could be large and there could be any number of guards around.

"Dunno why you'd want to take either of 'em with us. The hacker's probably got somethin' that automatically scrubs any info 'bout Ratbat and what she's done for him... Guard probably would too," he said with a frown at the two down and out Cybertronians, showing once again that no, while he was naive... or innocent, in some things, in others he was decidedly not.

Staying close up behind Optimus as the door opened, it led into a large room beyond that was... empty, surprisingly. There was a pit in the center of it, large enough to hold and least two pairs of average sized Cybertronians and it, compared to Ratbat's austerity at the party, had several definitely cloth (though if it was actual organic cloth was hard to say) pillows covering the bottom and pushed up against the sides.

In fact, the room, trailing lengths of wire mesh up on the walls along with plugs, hooks or chain ends set into the metal creating some strange sort of decoration along with the seating arrangement looked quite... decadent. There was also a scent that lingered that was decidedly... unsettling. Cliffjumper grimaced as he looked around his large bodyguard, and felt something curl up inside.

What caught most of his attention was an incongrulously abandoned collar on a low table by a comfortable chair, the chain - a thin, delicate triple braided chain that was probably a lot stronger than it looked - trailing down and spilling on the floor.

Somehow, seeing that there, in this room with the scent of some sort of spiked oil and energon fumes, was somewhat like realizing what might have been going on in the room right behind him, but worse.

"... Ya know, when Ratbat appeared at settings like the party which required some sort of company... They were always either minobots, or someone close of a size with one of us," Cliffjumper muttered, shifting nervously behind Optimus, despite the fact that they were alone.

[ichooseboth]

"Hnn. You have a point, but there are people who can sometimes reverse that."

He checked around the corners as they progressed, gun at the ready, but they did truly seem to be alone. The lounge setting, however...

Was familiar. Not that specific one, of course, but the general setup was quite popular with rich
mechs... And he had plenty of experience with rich mechs with credits to burn and boredom to soothe away. It was the room they had just come
from - and Cliffjumper's words that made it suddenly so sinister. Not all mechs with deviant tastes were cruel...just many.

"Probably not a good sign. Let's keep moving. We can't help anyone else if we get caught for good." Hw motioned ahead leading the way protectively.

/girly scream

[cliffjumper]

The arm becoming slightly heavier as it tightened wasn't really registered at first (large mech, of course the arm slung across him would be heavy), so Cliffjumper was caught by surprise at the sudden blue glow as those optics turned on.

The first noise from the minibot didn't come until a few seconds had ticked by, and it wasn't anything really coherent, but rather a sort of high-pitched twitter (easily recognizable as a retained protoform expression for embarrassment) as Cliffjumper ducked his helm back down and attempted to untangle his legs from Optimus' thighs.

"Uh--- Sorry. I mean. Rrr. Sorry I woke ya up, you can stay I'll just---" The verbal flailing was accompanied by a physical attempt to get away without actually touching Optimus.

Of course the mech had woken up just as he'd gotten to an angle where he could actually look up better at his faceplates. Obviously- Cliffjumper knew his optics were too bright, and that damnable shift in his engine hadn't disappeared, even with his nervousness.

EEP

[ichooseboth]

The arm around Cliffjumper's side flattened out, palm pressing gently against back platting, trying to keep him from flailing off the berth. The only sign of his amusement at the childish squeal was a slight deepening of his easy grin.

"Easy. You're alright. And you didn't wake me. You're supposed to be resting, you know."

[ichooseboth]

Only partially aware and still mostly asleep thanks to the long, good night, Optimus couldn't help but grumble when Cliffjumper's warm frame moved about, arm tightening around the mech.

The announcement, however, made his optics online with a snap, servos groaning.

"Well that is...unexpected." He stretched with a sigh. He'd been hoping to sleep in a bit longer.

[cliffjumper]

Being made to keep still because he was sleeping with someone else in the berth was a new experience - sure, he and Bee had done it, but they were of an equal size, mass and strength, so it wasn't the same - and Cliffjumper snickered at the grumble.

"Yeah, it is. Mirage didn't say why it'd been moved," he muttered, immediately reminded of what the trial meant, now. Before all this, he'd just been eagerly awaiting the chance to put the slagger away... or mess things up for him, anyway. Now, though? The thought of having to be in the same room caused cables to tighten, twitching armour and Cliffjumper hunkered down in the embrace.

Had it merely been about violence, he wouldn't have cared. He could have handled that easily, he was sure; he did remember quite a few things from before Mirage had adopted him, after all.

"... Couldn't have been next cycle, or somethin'..."

TEH FYUTOOOR aka Prime and Punishment ;)

[lordmegatron]

Many had been shocked when the next Prime after Sentinel Prime had turned out to be an Escort of all possible things. It was an outrage, a scandal... And as with many such things, it had, in the end, settled and been forgotten about, as the new Prime showed what he was made of and the first vorns passed.

Well, most forgot about it, either way.

Some... or maybe even quite a few, especially among the higher castes found themselves... Not forgetting. But currently, that was neither here nor there, because the entourage that was walking through the corridors of the Council Pavilions and Senate Halls towards an out-of-the-way court room were dealing with something else entirely.

"... And so, for review, the crimes the accused is guilty of; incitement of the populace, spreading propaganda, usurping the order of society and disrupting the peace, resistance of arrest, murdering government officials, guerrilla warfare, stealing government and civilian equipment and supplies, engaging in illegal sports and indecency. The sum total of the crimes would suggest the most suitable punishment to be execution." The speaker was dry, precise and utterly dull as he recounted the litany that the Prime had - most probably - already been made privy to, but this was part of procedure.

If the mech's fingers tightened just slightly as he revealed the "appropriate" judgement, none would surely notice, or if they did, think nothing of it. For it surely was nothing, right?

The doors into the courtroom slid open to allow Optimus Prime and his entourage inside, the only other people already present were several guards as well as the cuffed - and chained, no matter how much of overkill that might be - prisoner in the middle of the room.

Mmmyessss

[ichooseboth]

"All serious crimes. And yet," the Prime started, sliding into the room and staring down at the assembled group, presence seemingly filling up the room. "And yet you know I am loathe to extinguish any spark."

Especially a spark with such obvious potential. This 'Megatron' had lead his Autobots on a lingering chase, baffling and evading them with a impressive display of skill and leadership over his rebels. It had been impressive - and some of the rhetoric Megatron had spouted had rung true.

Coming from the previous reigns of Nova, Zeta, and Sentinel, the government was still painfully corrupt, though Optimus Prime was doing everything he could to rectify the situation. A number of those dead officials had been on the watch list for various crimes, and Optimus did not mourn their passing beyond the distant grief of a Prime to faded sparks that lost their way. Only blatant, gleeful murderers, slavers and rapists, traitors to their species, and madmechs deserved death.

Megatron could be useful, if he lived. And if they could find a way to use his intellect, it would be a waste to kill him.

And, the former consort-programming couldn't help but notice, the mech was absolutely gorgeous, rough miner-turned-gladiator build or not. With those spark-lights still glowing defiantly in the courtroom, indecency charge didn't do him justice.

"Especially a spark that Cybertron may still have use for. And so, the accused and convicted will have a choice."

He turned his gaze onto the rebel, grateful that his mask covered his smirk. He wasn't about to turn the rebel into a martyr.

Round Two!

[cliffjumper]

It'd taken nearly half a year before Cliffjumper had forgiven Mirage for at least not telling him what was going to happen sooner or later whenever a new Prime stepped forward. That it had been sooner than Mirage had thought it would be didn't really matter, or help really, now did it?

It was still hard to know how to deal with it, though. Not so much that there were several others around - while he'd never thought that would happen, it wasn't so bad, even (especially) considering the singing session two weeks ago - but rather this whole... thing.

Growling and tossing a glare at the displayed trailer for an upcoming holo-vid with a very familiar storyline as he drove past, Cliffjumper wasn't even sure why it was so hard to trust a mech that he knew was in all ways decent. When he'd finally managed to voice it to Mirage, he'd winced and shaken his helm.

But he'd have to if not learn to trust the Prime... Optimus, then at least give that trust either way and maybe the rest would come later.

Transforming on the plaza in front of the Tower of Pion, Cliffjumper tilted his helm back, staring narrowly up towards the top where he knew the floors he now (had to) called home were. The whistle down at his feet had the minibot grinning slightly and he shrugged.

"Okay, okay. We're goin'." Huffing, Cliffjumper stopped just standing around, but at the doors into the Tower itself, one of the guards waved him over. He didn't have any time to ask what the guard wanted before he spoke, and considering what was said, everybody involved was lucky Cliffjumper didn't just short-out then and there.

"Uh... Lord Cliffjumper. Lord Prime told me to tell you... 'The turbofox is in the nest'?" The guard looked extremely quizzical as he said it, and Cliffjumper managed to swallow his sputtering, but his optics widened and flared brighter for a moment.

He hadn't just... said..!

"... Rrr. I can't... Frag. Uh, I mean. Thanks. I'll, er. Tell him we'll..." He could say it. That was the point of it, after all; if he never gave any trust (though some would say this was a slightly extreme wya of going about it) he'd never know if Optimus could be trusted like this too.

"Tell him... we can go huntin' whenever... rrr, whenever he's ready," Cliffjumper finally managed to mutter, nearly spat it out as he glanced upwards, though from this angle he only saw the ceiling of the first floor, of course.

The guard, confused over being told to deliver this message when Cliffjumper could no doubt have done it himself, nodded and stared quietly as the shortest of the Prime's consorts wandered off into the tower, and then jerked up straight and carefully sent the message on.

Standing at the elevator, Cliffjumper looked down by his feet again and snorted, nudging Roller.

"Hey, you. Ya can't take this way up. That'd be cheatin' and I... ain't... gonna make it that easy." Voice fuzzing with embarrassed static, Cliffjumper quickly jumped into the elevator intended only for the Prime and his harem and waved to the drone as the doors closed.

Why had he thought this was a good idea again?

FIGHT- er, HUNT!

[ichooseboth]

Optimus had been sitting, enjoying a nice vintage cube when one of the first floor guards pinged him with the reply.

By the time Cliffjumper was in the elevator, Optimus was in motion, quickly exploring the halls to readily himself for the chase. Roller was trilling with laughter in the back of his head, making his own way up via the other elevator. For the sake of fairness, Optimus wouldn't be using his drone in the hunt, but if Cliffjumper happened to pass the drone by...well. They were part of the same person, after all. Kind of hard to hold secrets against yourself.

He did hope the minibot's idea would help them both, of course. Cliffjumper needed a way to relax in to his new role, and find a place for himself in his new home. ...And Optimus could not deny that he was looking forward to the end result of this 'hunt' himself. Cliffjumper had been an enjoyable partner before he had become Prime, but the dynamics had been soundly reversed once he had ascended.

He would never regret taking up the Matrix, but Optimus now found himself in the role of contractor rather than consort, and he was not pleased by the idea of becoming what he often hated. So Cliffjumper's plan, while delightfully kinky, would also serve as a brilliant trust building exercise.

Now if only he could find the little mech...

[lordmegatron]

Three days later found the former gladiator not just exploring the library, but making use of it. Two of those days having been spent perhaps in a suspicious amount of recharge and energon consumption while the hacking program and his own processors negotiated and throttled the resources needed to attempt to squirrel out the shell-program and destroy it.

He didn't expect too much of a relatively small private library, but it was the Prime's, so there was some chance there might be items of interest in there, that he might not have to contort himself unduly for.

At the moment, however, he was reading a common adventure, half sprawled out over and out of the large chair, one leg dangling over an arm rest. On the little shelf that jutted out from the window that worked as a table, however, was a small chip-holder with a slightly more... challenging content; energy conversion and use theory, social construction and a history of conflicts in Cybertronian history... Not that he much expected a particularly nuanced view of those conflicts from a chip found in the Prime's library.

[ichooseboth]

Then Megatron might find himself surprised, eventually.

Optimus' library, though physically small, is well-stocked with various holopads and datachips, and all varied intensely. From action stories and engine-thrumming shareware fiction, to the papers on the latest science discoveries and social-political writings from all eras. Optimus may have spent most of his time as an escort fragging around and enjoying the entertaining things in life, but ever since he had realized what he was and how their society labeled him and others of his make, Optimus had read whatever he could find on their caste system.

Eventually, Optimus himself would show up, leaning casually against the door frame to the library, silent and watching on in vague amusement until Megatron noticed him.

And then for mine adventures!

[lordmegatron]

Megatron had been busy considering why there hadn't been reports of mysterious disappearances/corpses in the wider population, and who, or what, the sparkeaters were preying on now with less actual miners on the mines. What was he missing? He knew the sparkeaters were kept to rumours in the cities, but...

"... What?" Scowling, optics flickering in bright surprise, he looked from the Prime to the vehicle and then back, for a moment completely, utterly confused. "If you say so. Back?" Megatron said with a grunt as he momentarily paused, and then preceeded Optimus towards their ride. He couldn't (wouldn't,) actually expect Optimus to entertain their conversation for forever. Especially as he actually was - or at least seemed to be with some very strong evidence for it being true - a well-intentioned Prime.

The question would be if those good intentions would last all the way they needed to, but he did have such bills as the one he'd seen Optimus refuse a bribe to retract.

he is a DIRTY LIER WHO LIES

[ichooseboth]

Optimus nodded, a faint grin cropping up only after Megatron's back was turned, and quickly vanished. He strapped into the transport easily, preferring the utilitarian craft to far more flashy, extravagant models he could have been using.

That one would at least be more likely to keep him alive. Far more armor. And guns.

"A few more stops along the way. I have one or two more errands to run."

The craft lifted off at his signal, and they were quickly up on their way through the neon cloud banks.

And most definitely heading away from Iacon.

This is a party, but perhaps later we'll have a wedding! ;D

[lordmegatron]

This was not what he'd signed up for. Of course, he hadn't precisely signed up for any pof this even if capture had been a distinct possibility. Of course, he'd fully expected to either simply be tossed in prison in some way, or out and out executed.

It was merely because the current Prime actually seemed to be somewhat decent that he was still functioning, and in possession of a relative freedom to move around.

He still didn't see what he was doing here, standing on the opposite end of the room from said Prime and the doors themselves, in front of the mirrors that took up the back wall of the antechamber.

"Someone thinks they're funny," Megatron growled, mostly to himself, as he stared at the traditional jagged designs of a top-tier gladiator and the stylized glyphs forming "champion", the first on the front of his helm, the second on each of his upper arms/shoulders.

Someone had done their reading, since this was the exact arrangement he'd carried during the three vorns he'd spent as the champion of the gladiator games. The only difference was the quality of the etchings done, and the paint used to fill them in.

What he didn't find amusing was the colour of the paint used; bright, purple-shaded pink, the exact shade of processed energon... None would actually carry this colour in actual life (even those who carried shades closest to the most important liquid did not wear the exact such), and not even the gladiators' glyphs were painted in this.

Further, while he knew no one actually knew the exact glyphs his designation were made up of... he was now brandishing it on his frame again. That part was the only thing vaguely amusing in this.

Using the mirror to look across the room to see what Optimus was doing, Megatron somewhat viciously hoped the mech was as uncomfortable as he was, but... considering he'd been an escort, that was highly improbable.

He just had no idea how to handle these sort of high-society parties that they were about to enter, and he did not like that. Either the Prime, or whoever else who'd convinced Optimus to take him with him, would pay for this.

[ichooseboth]

"Hmm?"

The Prime glanced back (or rather, used the mirror to look behind him, as the number of assistants polishing armor and applying decorative glyphs blocked his view,) to look over Megatron's frame. He chuckled at the mech's expression, causing a servant to gasp in dismay as the laugh jostled his careful brushing.

"...You look good. The markings suit you." As they should. Optimus had wanted the mech decorated, even if it was in the most obvious way possible. He quickly gave the frazzled assistant a pat on the shoulder, keeping his own expression light despite his dislike for the hovering horde of bots. He didn't like being fussed over any more than he liked these stupidly wasteful and extravagant gatherings, but they were unfortunately required for the time being.

At least until he make his move.

"Is something wrong with them or do you just not like...'reliving the look', so to speak?"

[ichooseboth]

Optimus couldn't decide if he was impressed or furious. He would prefer to go with furious, given the nature of the source of his ire, but unwillingly he found himself firmly both.

The drone factories had been destroyed. Only the smallest, privately run specialty lines had been spared, probably due to ignorance rather than any sense of mercy. It hadn't happened explosively, thank Primus; not dangerously, but thoroughly. Wiped by some master-crafted virus that left little trace - and infected every drone hubbed to it's originating factory.

It was a decisive blow. The police forces had little evidence in any direction, but Optimus knew it was Megatron's doing.

It had been one of the points in Their Plan, after all. But Optimus had not been told it was coming. He hadn't even been warned.

So despite being impressed by the method used, he was still furious as he stormed into his harem chambers, optics immediately seeking out Megatron.

[lordmegatron]

Said mech was sitting, or rather, for the first time and maybe because he was for once alone in the large common hall shared by the consorts, sprawled out on a large reclined seat. He wasn't really reading the datapad he was flicking through, not since Vibes had burst in, optics wide, and relayed what had happened before disappearing again.

He'd looked through the newsfeed, and had allowed a smirk to settle briefly as he did so. Soundwave had come through, as he knew he would, and done it beautifully. The only question was how the Prime would take it.

They'd talked of it, yes, but talk was not action and he hadn't really (at all) indicated to Optimus that it wasn't just something he'd thought up then and there during their discussion. That it wasn't a plan in its protoform state. That it wasn't something he was going to reveal how far along it already was when he'd made the leap and told Optimus about it.

No, all that had been left was the last stages, which Soundwave had been able to do. It'd obviously taken a bit of time, but overall... exceedingly short.

The chaos was both expected and surprising.

So, really, he wasn't overly surprised when Optimus literally stomped inside, the glow from his optics bright. In the beginning of this, he would have remained sitting. Turning himself to sit properly, but remained sitting.

Now, however, he stood up, crossing his arms. It was a bit hard to keep his pleasure contained, but at least he tried, and besides, the flickers of rage was sort of... annoying him.

What had Optimus expected when something like this happened, even if they hadn't talked about a time-frame?

[lordmegatron]

He'd fully expected that it might take a while to get what he needed, so while he'd spent the morning planning it all out, he'd definitely not expected to have the luck to find what he needed so soon.

But it seemed his Prime either still indulged in a few kinks from his Escort days, or simply was bent that way, along with the things he'd picked up. Which suited Megatron excellently, really.

Smirking as he put away a length of simple chain and accompanying stasis cuffs, along with some magnetic locks which he wasn't sure he'd need, but better be prepared... Casting a glance out the closet door to the room outside, Megatron didn't really need to do that to confirm Optimus wasn't yet close enough to surprise him in the closet.

Optimus had, after all, been gracious enough to ping him to tell him he'd been briefly distracted into a conversation by Cliffjumper, Magnus and Elita after coming back from his meeting with his security.

The Prime was confined to the Tower of Pion for at least a day, just to make sure the risk of a follow-up attack was minimal.

Surprisingly delicately moving around and then carefully putting back the various... ahem, toys Optimus had tucked away in the closet in his quarters on the Harem Floor, Megatron wondered if he'd find...

"Ah. I thought you'd have what I'd need, my Prime," Megatron said with a chuckle, kneeling down by the shelf he'd just pulled out and let a finger trail over the gags. There were some fancy ones, of course; things that were mostly just a ring to hold your mouth open, or lie flat and downwards to leave as much of the mouth free but still muffle sound production...

Well, while that was all well and good - the first did have its potential intriguing use - it wasn't what he was looking for at the moment. Did... No, there. Smirk growing as he picked up a relatively simple ball sort of squashed backwards in one end, Megatron nodded, pleased, and put it away with his other "supplies" in his subspace.

That would make sure Optimus couldn't badger him into hurrying up...

Time to move.

Sliding the shelf back in to its spot, Megatron stood up and cast a glance over the contents of the closet to make sure everything was as he'd found it, and then wandered out, sitting back down in the chair he'd taken when Optimus first left, picking up the datapad he'd been reading just as the doors slid apart to admit the Prime again.

"Went well?" Nothing different here at all, no sir. Megatron barely glanced up from the datapad before he turned it off and put it down on the table, expression politely curious.

Which was more of a gentle tease than genuine interest in how well the discussion with security had gone; Megatron was more interested in what they'd said.

[ichooseboth]

Not every single bit of the 'supplies' belonged to Optimus, of course.

Each of his own consorts had...contributed to the collection, either by bringing the various tools-of-the-trade along with them when they joined the Prime's Consort, or by acquiring them after the fact for personal or group use.

But the Prime knew his former craft well, and in between bouts of vicious politics and assassination attempts, ruling could get...boring. So the collection had been put to good use.

...And he had contributed a number of items himself. Old habits die hard.

None of that was on Optimus' mind when he entered the room, grunting out an irritated sigh. The deep, restful recharge he'd fallen into after their intense interfacing sessions - with Prime-coding more at ease than he'd ever felt it since before confirming his Highlord - had not lasted long enough. He'd been woken far too early by both irritate senators and later, his own investigative team.

The Prime was sore, grumpy, and dearly in need of fuel and a good soak and wax treatment. Not the best time for Megatron's plots.

"Not well enough. The investigators have yet to track down the source of the assassination attempt. One of the survivors attempted to purge their own memory banks in the middle of interrogation. The others were locked down into status to prevent them from trying the same, but that one was the ringleader - and the medics don't know if they will be able to retrieve anything that was lost."

His engine growled unpleasantly, and he momentarily wished for assassin right then, if only to grant him someone to kick across the room.

[lordmegatron]

He didn't wince at the bite, or even Optimus' teeth settling in and holding, merely pushed in very briefly after Optimus let go to pre-empt any of those... ahem, processor-melting kisses Optimus could give, and then drew back and sat up more properly.

Drawing his free hand down the area beside his neck and then down his arm, Megatron sort of twitched his treads and straightened a little. The grimace about his lips was surprisingly soft.

"I apologise Optimus, but this is why." There was a miniscule pause, and Megatron had been about to say something about him realising he'd probably wore out Optimus' patience and goodwill a lot faster than otherwise, but then realised that everything leading up to now had probably distracted the Prime with both frustration and curiosity.

He'd probably gotten more time than he otherwise would, given his slowness and the lack of mutual working each other up...

"I know at this point it probably means nothing, but hopefully later it will..." He trailed off with a shrug, and before Optimus could do more than get ready to probably shout him out of the room and call up his consorts or Ironhide or anyone, he shoved a slightly ovoid black ball into his Prime's mouth.

It had a softer covering, showing flickering lines running around it underneath it, and the astrosecond it was deep enough it hummed, expanded just enough and the electric locks snapped in place.

For a gag, it was very minimal, but it was still there and wasn't just forcing Optimus to keep his mouth open at delightfully spread open but filled angle, but also disrupting his voice production... and the comms.

[ichooseboth]

For a brief moment, Optimus went cross-optic'd, comically staring down, hands clenching as he attempted to figure out what Megatron had just shoved in his mouth.

Then, the brief, high whine of electronics against his teeth- and his vocalizer went dead, right in the middle of a growled swear.

As did his comms.

...What.

His engine roared, trapped jaw working minutely and soundlessly as he thrashed under Megatron to the fullest extent of the stasis cuff's settings - and possibly past them. His anger was allowing him to push the restraint's limits. If the absolute fury in his optics was any indication, he was probably attempting to use language severely unbefitting of a Prime.


He should have bit harder.

[ichooseboth]

Refueled and well-rested, thanks to his beloved consorts, Optimus was able to focus once again. Both on his own anger (which was largely undiminished,) and on the correct reprisal for Megatron's trespass. Perhaps there were unknown factors involved in the warrior's plans, but that did not change the results.

The Prime had a score to settle with his Highlord.

Thanks to his ever-present guards and the basic Tower surveillance, he knew Megatron was within the training area, and had been for some time. Which was perfect. He'd leave him to it for some time, allowing Megatron to exhaust himself, and silently had the energon dispensers in that room - and every room leading up toward the consort quarters shut down.

Settling himself into the Prime Consort Hall, Optimus Prime went to his closet of supplies, and began setting up for Megatron's eventual arrival.

Depending on how long he might be forced to wait, he would eagerly drag the worn out mech back up himself.

[lordmegatron]

Optimus would need to invest in some new supplies in the training room after all was said and done. Megatron, personally, quietly, thought it just showed the subpar quality of the training dummies and swords he'd used, the swords since that was the only one of his usual weapons beside hand to hand that he had available to train with.

Halfway through the joor-long stay in the training area, Megatron wandered over to the energon dispenser. Briefly surprised and confused that it didn't work, he just shrugged his shoulders, treads twitching to loosen up some tension, and went back to "training"... Which was, to be honest, more like using all his strength and the most brutal and dirty techniques that could be found in pit fighting to basically shred the admittedly very durable training dummies, and bend or break around three separate training swords.

But they obviously couldn't stand against the assault of a frustrated former gladiator and designated Highlord Protector of Cybertron.

Nearly a full joor after he'd stomped inside the floor in the tower designated for training, Megatron wandered out, a lot more relaxed than he went in and for the moment less frustrated. Even if he still wasn't sure if he'd actually achieved what he'd wanted to the night before, and that made him unsettled, since it'd make it even less justified than it had been.

But his frame was settling with tiny, high-pitched pings as heat was forced out, and some faint soothing twitch from somewhere said it would be okay and he could think on that later. Presently, he wanted energon to top up what he'd lost from such an intense work out... and was againt left confused, but none the wiser as he tried another dispenser before taking the lift up the floor the consorts used.

Maybe that floor would actually have a working and/or filled energon dispenser. Megatron had completely forgotten that the one in the training area hadn't worked either, and so wasn't connecting the two oddities as he stepped out of the lift at his destination, completely unawares... pretty much like Optimus had been last night, that anything was waiting.

Or anyone, really, since he was pretty sure Optimus would be avoiding him for probably the forseeable future.