O: Well, it could have been much worse, really. Cliffjumper's touch was downright innocent. Some customers liked to get the trailer involved, since it was a direct extension of himself - and the trailer itself had suitable mods for exactly that.
...Those seatbelts aren't the only restraints in that trailer.
But the trailer is quickly forgotten and resubspaced once they arrive, and the limping mech gives the minibot a shrug and a somewhat wry smile.
"You're hardly the one that shot at us or arranged the attempt. The concern, however, is appreciated."
Honestly, he's more worried about what would happen once they got inside. The little red mech had nearly died, and they both took some damage.
CJ: And anything else from Cliffjumper probably would continue to be so, even if anything actually happened when(ever, or if) the minibot actually (bothered to) remembered what 'Escort' actually fully meant. Contrary to what his patron sometimes got in his processor, Cliffjumper did know the general layout and meanings of the various castes... even if he could be rather innocent in general.
"I know, still." Cliffjumper huffed, and then led the way into and up the giant spire they'd stopped in front of, interlinked with others of its kind on levels above groundlevel with wide walkways and balconies, some of finely wrought metal of various types, others of more rare, transulcent sorts.
From above, the Towers were a coherent, delicate artwork of a geometric figure, interspersed with gardens between them.
Optimus needn't have worried overly much; while Mirage was obviously displeased at seeing both his protegée and the bodyguard hurt and obviously having run into trouble, he had, frankly, seen worse. Even been involved in worse, with his protegée, so there was that.
There was, simply, a huff, a narrowed stare pinned to Cliffjumper, and two medics sent after as well as a demand for each to get ready; the gathering wasn't just important for standing and prestige, but there were hopes that the Senator Cliffjumper had accused would give away more to use when the trial actually rolled around.
Until then, the Senator walked around like a free mech, since before the trial begun, he wasn't technically accused or under suspicion for anything, no matter the proof that had been gathered. Which, when Mirage found out about the clear kidnapping instead of assassination attempts (besides the mob), didn't surprise the noble. Get his protegée out of the way, get the incriminating logged memories gone, and there was no case.
Also, a potential hostage situation, if that what was the Senator was after. Decepticons. So crude.
"This slaggin' well sucks. Why ain't it enough with just a nicer paintjob?" Cliffjumper growled and crossed his arms, glaring at his patron who just smiled slightly and shook his helm.
"You're not a protoform any longer, Cliffjumper. That means more responsibilities and more visibility. Therefore, you need to look the part. Don't dawdle, please." Mirage gave his protegée a warning stare and nodded to Optimus as he passed the mech on his way out, his white and blue paintjob highlighted by gold filigree.
Cliffjumper, on the other hand, had a complicated, snowflake-like fractal pattern along any egdes; the doors, around his wrists, along the spoiler and scrolling gracefully down along the edges of his main armourplates of his chassis and the kibble on his back.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2011-11-14 12:31 am (UTC)...Those seatbelts aren't the only restraints in that trailer.
But the trailer is quickly forgotten and resubspaced once they arrive, and the limping mech gives the minibot a shrug and a somewhat wry smile.
"You're hardly the one that shot at us or arranged the attempt. The concern, however, is appreciated."
Honestly, he's more worried about what would happen once they got inside. The little red mech had nearly died, and they both took some damage.
CJ: And anything else from Cliffjumper probably would continue to be so, even if anything actually happened when(ever, or if) the minibot actually (bothered to) remembered what 'Escort' actually fully meant. Contrary to what his patron sometimes got in his processor, Cliffjumper did know the general layout and meanings of the various castes... even if he could be rather innocent in general.
"I know, still." Cliffjumper huffed, and then led the way into and up the giant spire they'd stopped in front of, interlinked with others of its kind on levels above groundlevel with wide walkways and balconies, some of finely wrought metal of various types, others of more rare, transulcent sorts.
From above, the Towers were a coherent, delicate artwork of a geometric figure, interspersed with gardens between them.
Optimus needn't have worried overly much; while Mirage was obviously displeased at seeing both his protegée and the bodyguard hurt and obviously having run into trouble, he had, frankly, seen worse. Even been involved in worse, with his protegée, so there was that.
There was, simply, a huff, a narrowed stare pinned to Cliffjumper, and two medics sent after as well as a demand for each to get ready; the gathering wasn't just important for standing and prestige, but there were hopes that the Senator Cliffjumper had accused would give away more to use when the trial actually rolled around.
Until then, the Senator walked around like a free mech, since before the trial begun, he wasn't technically accused or under suspicion for anything, no matter the proof that had been gathered. Which, when Mirage found out about the clear kidnapping instead of assassination attempts (besides the mob), didn't surprise the noble. Get his protegée out of the way, get the incriminating logged memories gone, and there was no case.
Also, a potential hostage situation, if that what was the Senator was after. Decepticons. So crude.
"This slaggin' well sucks. Why ain't it enough with just a nicer paintjob?" Cliffjumper growled and crossed his arms, glaring at his patron who just smiled slightly and shook his helm.
"You're not a protoform any longer, Cliffjumper. That means more responsibilities and more visibility. Therefore, you need to look the part. Don't dawdle, please." Mirage gave his protegée a warning stare and nodded to Optimus as he passed the mech on his way out, his white and blue paintjob highlighted by gold filigree.
Cliffjumper, on the other hand, had a complicated, snowflake-like fractal pattern along any egdes; the doors, around his wrists, along the spoiler and scrolling gracefully down along the edges of his main armourplates of his chassis and the kibble on his back.