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red_diode_district2011-11-14 01:01 am
cliffjumper) wrote in red_diode_district2011-11-14 01:01 am
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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.
"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.
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Optimus smiled, expression wry. "Using Decimus' own wealth against him would have been an interesting blow, and the energon would have gone to a good use, but no. I'm not going to be bought."
He already knew all too well how that sort of existence would go.
"Good use of noble-funds or not, I won't play by their rules and make deals outside the law. I'm not here to serve them any more."
Optimus chuckled. "I have some standards, after all. Besides, the funds from that deal would run out long before any true wide-spread change could be felt. Loosing the goodwill I have gained by pushing this bill at all? Irreplaceable.
My bill is on it's way to being accepted and he knows it. He'll fight me on other things in the future, but this change will hurt him."
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Megatron looked away, unsure why he was even trying to point out why. Oh, he had decided that Optimus might be... an acceptable Prime, and since he was here, why shouldn't he attempt to direct the Prime when he had the chance? If it succeeded, he might have more than the single avenue he'd had access to before to change things, and if it didn't, he still wasn't planning on being stuck here forever.
The note about "not here to serve them anymore" had him tilting his helm in something of a nod, a tiny smirk hoveirng over his lips. Indeed Optimus wasn't. Technically, while the Prime was there to serve the planet and the population... the population was also there to serve the Prime.
The only part he'd taken use of was, clearly, the official Primacy harem.
"Hmmm." Frowning as he ran a quick calculation of the funds offered, and what things on this level might cost, Megatron nodded. "Probably would. Last a stellar cycle... maybe two at the most, perhaps?" It was as much a note to himself as a question to Optimus, and Megatron finally looked back when Optimus mentioned the goodwill of those the bill concerned.
"So you are aware of noise it's made, hmmm. Personally, or from research and reports?" It'd be curious to find out if the Prime actually retained some sort of connection with those lower on the social scale.
Even if Optimus himself hadn't been a low-ranked Escort at all, and wouldn't have moved in the circles of those lesser than his own stature, serving others or not.
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"Two and a half, if you stretched it out and had the right connections." He shrugged, though Optimus' answering smile definitely had an element of slyness to it.
"A little bit of both, actually."
The fact that the Prime's spark was split was a carefully-controlled secret, and not one Optimus felt like sharing widely any time soon. The anonymity his drones provided him was priceless when it came to exploring and visiting the population of Cybertron.
The added bonus of being far more difficult to assassinate was a welcome twist as well.
"I have my connections. I'm hardly completely cut off up here, despite how it may seem, living up in a tower now."
He watched Megatron for his reaction as eagerly as the other mech waited for his own, silently comming his guards to back off now that the threat had gone. He wanted to continue this conversation, at least.
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Megatron did, however, visibly pause, bringing himself up short mentally and crossed his arms, frowning, when Optimus claimed it was a bit of both. Sure, the eaisest would be to dismiss it; he was the Prime, having "spies" out in any echelon of society would actually be clever, and not really dishonest.
The thing was, there was... something in Optimus' tone that implied something less... simpler than just regular "informants" or "proper" research and reports. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but it was there.
"Indeed?" Megatron looked the Prime up and down, and then actually stalked around him slowly while he spoke. "And what, exactly, can you claim to know, if you're not cut off up here?"
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"Well yes. Numerous sources, as is simply wise. I've got a number of people who keep tabs on the political situations out there, and advisers who, startlingly enough, advise." He chuckled, nodding to himself. He could throw the mech a little bit of detail, after all.
"I also get many messages from bots of all classes about various issues they face, be they truth or exaggeration."
The death threats and fawning and viruses were handedly by other members of his staff, thankfully.
"I try to get out and about when I can. You haven't been here for any of our usual travels yet, but you probably will be soon enough." Optimus finished with a smirk.
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Which was at a greater distance from himself than others might keep it, but it was as much a question of being "in touch" with those around him, as a dominance move. Both, in one, and one he'd picked up when feeding his little rebellion.
"And you actually listen... are you trusting them as well?" Because even advisors (especially trusted ones) could filter information as more suited to them, the situations or the outcomes they wanted to see... or had been bribed to provide.
Of course, this was a very cynical stance. However, Megatron did frown, actually quite surprised to hear both about actually listening directly to members of the populace, and the travels.
"You reinstated that function, then?" Megatron's helm tilted thoughtfully, but he would reserve judgment; just because the mech was listening didn't mean he'd take them into account. Even if the worker bill was a point in his favour.
"Cybertron is large, Prime. Do you actually go where you get to see what you need?" But he would indeed be interested in coming along, merely for the experience and seeing what the Prime did... Not that he might not tailor it to allow Megatron to see what would suit Optimus to allow him to see.
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"I don't announce it, to the area or my team, until the day of, so no one can be...informed and prepared ahead of time. I won't even be telling you or the others ahead of time when or where."
He was pretty smug about the idea and measures he had taken; no Prime since those before the last Golden Age had really made an attempt to connect to the regular masses; Nova Prime would have spat on the Matrix before slumming it with the regular folk.
"I have an open Primacy frequency and databox for just that very thing." Optimus chuckled, having expected the question, still eying Megatron as he circled. "It's listed on the public network. And I go through it myself, except when someone tries to get cute and sends a virus or death threat. Then my team gets in on it."
He shrugged. Optimus hardly needed to tell a rebel leader how often someone tried to assassinate him daily.
Still too many. But the numbers had gone down once they'd realized he at least wasn't going to make things worse.
"I listen. I don't always follow everything they've told me, and I certainly don't trust them blindly. I've gone through at least three aids and twelve financial specialists so far, rooting out those who are paid off, leaking information, preforming various levels of sabotage, and, in one memorable case, was trying to sell scandalous holo-images to the slag sites."
Optimus chuckled to himself. That had been an amusing cycle.
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It all fit with what he'd already said, and if it was true? Mmhm. Maybe he'd need to defuse his own building rebellion. But that was a maybe still, despite how the words resonated.
"You seem to at least have put some thought and planning into this," he finally said with a grunt, and then just snorted. Indeed Optimus didn't need to tell a rebel leader like Megatron how often he got threatened to life and limb.
"Pre-announced death-threats are scare-mongering tacticts and attempts at creating instability. Amatuerish, but effective."
Calling it getting cute was really all such behaviour deserved.
"..." Megatron snorted, hididng his raw chuckle behind the noise. "It wouldn't be hard, really, but I think only a few areas and cities consider a harem scandalous... You don't really seem the type for something... supposedly worse than that." He looked Optimus up and down as he said it, not so much checking him out
he already knew the Prime was attractiveas playing with/relaying the intent of what was said.And the fact that no, Optimus himself, at least from what Megatron had seen, didn't really strike him as particularly... kinky. Being an escort was one thing, personal preferences another.
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But despite the posturing, the Prime was effortlessly able to switch gears to more serious topics - without losing the pleasing hip cant. At least he'd be able to keep mechs attention during speeches?
"I do certainly wish to at least try, and that requires that I put some thought into this." Optimus snorted back with a wry grin. "I hardly want to just...sit back and watch as our society continues to fall, while a precious few reap all the spoils."
He shrugged his shoulders, finally glancing away from Megatron to look out at the city around and below them, lights glowing neon and cobalt in the fog.
"Even if I didn't want to improve the lives of those down in the 'lower' levels - and I most certainly do - it's simple foolishness for us to continue as we have."
He turned back with a smirk, clenching a fist. "The nobles and energon tycoons may not understand 'stop sucking the life out of the poorest of us - it's wrong'. But even the greediest of them can damn well understand that their practices are leaving Cybertron weak."
He tapped fingers on his arm, shaking his head as his gaze went hard. "Obviously, I'm not built to be a fighter or tactician, but I've seen the reports. We are at a very dangerous place right now. Even you should know it's worse than many suspect."
He didn't say it out loud, but if there was one thing he could trust Megatron to do, even if he ended up stabbing him in the back in the end, was to defend Cybertron rather then selling them out to their enemies offworld. Megatron would fight. So he had no problems dropping that tidbit of intelligence. It wouldn't be classified for much longer, anyway.
"My laws and bills will take precious time. If I can get them to change their ways more quickly by appealing to their greed and desire for self-preservation, then I will try. If I have to invoke the name of the Quintessons themselves, and how we wouldn't be strong enough to fight off an invasion from them at this point if our lives depended on it - and they would - I will."
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Optimus' continued hipcant got a dimissive, if admittedly appreciative, glance; he had too much practice remaining businesslike even when tossing in other things if suitable to be distracted. Megatron's optics dimmed slightly as Optimus spoke; the Prime was saying more or less exactly what he'd arrived to as well.
"Ah, but will they care?" Rubbing his chin as he turned slightly to look out over the skyline of Iacon, Megatron sneered, though it wasn't for anyone present as much as it was for the objects of their conversation. "They have no proof, even if anyone with a half-functioning probability program and an attention span for history can find the correlations between the points when we've been attacked by the Quintessons..." He cast a glance at the Prime for his "even you", but let it passed unmrked upon.
"And from what I could gather from those factors, even if I didn't have a tactical computer, which I do, nor access to current... or secure information which I... don't, most available scenarios given gives a possible instigation of hostilities in a bare ten vorns, at the thirty."
That he didn't have access to secure information was... partially a lie. His original predictions had been made with what was available publicly, or what he'd been able to wrestle from hidden or forgotten archives. His new ones? Data supplied by some of his... ah. Accomplices.
Giving the Prime another glance, Megatron turned nearly fully away to stare out at the view. He hadn't really considered admitting this, but since Optimus was saying part of it...
"I would suggest you perhaps do start bandy about the name of 'Quintesson', Prime. We are not - as you acknowledged - ready for an invasion, material, personell or knowledge-wise... This, besides the... mis-management by the earlier Primes of Cybertron was partly the reason for my... mission."
/dug out the allspark almanac for this!
'Creativity' was certainly a strong trait of the Prime, in the berth and out. And one or two of his consorts did happen to enjoy things a bit more rough than most, so it could have been easily misconstrued. But the Prime himself, as well as his previous function, were a bit of a scandal all their own, and images of him in the berth were...while mildly scandalous, popular enough to be worth a great deal, be it for mocking or the perverse pleasure of the more common of mechs got by staying in-tune with the famous.
...Hm. Perhaps he should 'leak' a few photos himself, anonymously, and put the reward to good use. He'd forward the idea to Jazz later.
But Megatron's - startlingly accurate - assessment of the situation quickly took up his full attention. The glance the mech gave him for his comment earned a smirk.
"As I thought, you're a great deal more aware of this than most. Your calculations aren't far off from our own." And they were the ones with a precious-handful of spies off in Quintesson space.
"I know a few, at least, will care. Some of the eldest, usually the most stubborn glitches in my vents about anything I push forward, still remember." Prime smiled lightly, optics going a bit fuzzy as he recalled a memory of a memory, gleaned from the Matrix.
"I'm not saying it is a guarantee, of course. Many of the council mechs are younger now, without a threat of invasion in their lifetime. I've even heard rumblings from some superiority groups who think the old records of Quintessons were created just to keep mechs down or some nonsense." Optimus rolled his optics, trying not to grumble about ignorant idiots under his breath and failing.
"But some of those same council mechs were the ones Nova was able to tap into, when he was building his 'exploration' fleet. Those greedy mechs funded most of that - in exchange for massive tax ride-offs, of course, but they did. If the majority of that fleet had not been lost, we might actually be somewhat more prepared."
The Prime ventured closer, voice dropping, though he made no other preparations to keep what he said quiet.
"Most people are not aware of this, but Nova and his advisers at the time thought an invasion was imminent - within the next vorn, before word got out that we were strong enough to expand in the name of science and conquest."
He took a step back, gesturing out with both hands. "Apparently it worked. The next intelligence we got on the Quintessons was their progression in the opposite direction, when they invaded the Neutral Territories and claimed the Zamojin Quadrant."
Optimus vented, rubbing a hand over his helm. He had not intended to get so involved in this conversation, but it would be good practice for taking on the council and noblemechs themselves.
"I would rather take them down directly, but short of killing them, it would only spark a further depression at best, and a civil conflict at worse - this time lead by the nobles rather than the lower class." He gave Megatron an acknowledging nod.
"And who would trust a Prime who culled rather than built? We don't have time or resources for that. The nobles are greedy fools, but they are also fearful. I have every intention to continue chipping away at their power, but even then, there are other plans."
Backup plans, wheels within wheels, cogs and gears, endlessly turning, as one of his old teachers outside of his 'profession' once said. He smiled faintly at the memory.
"If it works, they can feel reassured that helping me might also be helping themselves - and they can profit off the publicity boost in the meantime."
/suitably impressed
And he didn't have access to everything, even if he had, ah... explored some of the deeper areas forbidden to the public.
"Hn. If they remember, I suppose they could take it seriously if you could lay out... or remind them of the pattern and whatever new information you have." Megatron eyed the Prime as he said this, both because he knew he had some sort of spies somewhere, and because even if he didn't know, he'd certainly assume it.
He snorted at the mention of the younger ones; if they couldn't take potential threats underbuilt with a proof of previous pattern and current intel, then they were fools and shouldn't have the position they did have.
"... His expansion had merits but what he did to the population to get there didn't. The only thing that's not satisfactorily is the fact that it only put the Quintessons off temporarily, not permanently." Megatron paused, looking away, weighing the potential good in saying any more... Well, it'd be less... incriminating than verbally admitting when and how he was escaping or his other planned high profile targets.
"We need to be strong enough to strike them, then, and either annihilate them, or break them enough to drive them back to their own planet! Do your plans actually take into account the implied time-frame the Quintessons might be on... Or will we be standing around, not prepared to defend ourselves, when they strike?" This was frustrating; his plans for rebellion hadn't just included a shake-up and hopefully cleaning up of the corrupt upper echelons in society but particularly the government, but also plans to make the population at large ready for a Quintesson attack.
"We don't have time to sit around waiting for the senate to decide to pay attention to the state of society. If you actually are just what you seem to be, Prime, you're going to have to act." It was frustrating because he didn't just have ideas and ideals, but felt driven to fulfill them. To protect Cybertron.
Megatron might, of course, be slightly mis-balanced in what he wanted to do, and what might be the best action for their whole planet, however.
/CULLS THE LENGTH DOWN
Optimus moved to pace, eying Megatron speculatively.
"Change things too quickly, and what is left of our economy will fall apart. As much as I loathe the practices of the nobles and richest of us, and find most of the individuals themselves repugnant, they are some of the largest employers we have left outside of those that work for the governments and entertainment. Manufacturing has gone to slag - we need to make drone-outsourcing illegal soon; it is one of my priorities. We don't have the overproduction to export, and importing anything but energy is a waste at this point."
He shook his head, audials flipping back and forth with displeasure.
"The masses can't run on fear of Quintessons alone, and until our supply chains are stable again, going into full wartime production at this point would choke off the lowest zones completely. We wouldn't have anything left for them. But do it too slowly...and well, you know." He spread his arms out, miming a slow explosion with his hands.
/GASP
Growling, he crossed his arms, back straight as he followed Optimus' pacing. He wasn't sure what he thought about this conversation overall; he did not have any power really here, and yet the Prime was affording him not just the respect of listening to what he was saying, but the merits of it... And also the illusion of power. His suggestions, his wants held no power, useful or not.
But to be quiet would be to betray his own cause, especially as he felt like Optimus was still being too cautious, not observant enough of the dangers presented.
"Soon? Try now, Prime, within the half-vorn; it would give a lot of mechs and femmes jobs, and it'd make a wider use of the resources we do have, and which the fools at the top are merely stockpiling, creating choke-points and artificial poverty of goods." He hadn't always been this insightful, of course, but he'd had time as a gladiator, and especially after to find out how things worked, what was going on.
"... If the majority of the drones were destroyed, you could always push that it'd be a waste of resources to manufacture new ones, and that there's a perfectly capable work-force available without waste of resources to manufacture new ones," Megatron said, nearly offhandedly, his voice bland as he looked away from the pacing Prime, out over the skyline of Iacon.
;3
Then Megatron kept talking.
And Optimus was only vaguely horrified that he kept listening...and considering.
"That would certainly be a...terribly convenient occurrence." He glanced over at the mech with a carefully mild look, processor racing as he considered possibility, probability, and his own morality all at once.
"...But it would certainly be a waste of resources to replace them, in that hypothetical event." He could admit that much.
;D
"Sooner or later, accidents happen. Unforseen and hidden glitches on factory hardware as well as drone programming and software... these things can pile up." One hand was lazily gestured with in the air, slowly extended away from Megatron in an expansive arc as he spoke into the air, though still to Optimus.
"The only thing that might ever be... ah. Inconvenient would be if it all happened at once. Which, while supposedly terribly convenient depending on who you are, have happened before. As far as I know, this is even one of the arguments used against having extensive drone production in the service of extracting raw resources as well as production of goods. Even just one extensive accident at some point in the chain..." Megatron's expression as he turned around to lean back against the balustrade, stopping his rhytmic drumming and spreading both hands wide, was as bland as his voice was.
"Usually ends in a large blow to the effectiveness and profit of using drones." He pulled his arms in, folding them over his chestplates and partly obscuring the light from his sparklights as he gave Optimus an arch look.
Of course, there were precautions and protections in place against these sort of natural accidents. That didn't mean the drone production chain wasn't vulnerable - from the drone factories to every instance where drones were used - to a more direct... "accident".
But they weren't talking about that, now were they?
AHA. THERE.
Optimus was always finding new reasons to be happy that he was built with a mask, because he wasn't sure he was keeping a straight face while staring back at Megatron, self-doubt and concern warring with mildly hysterical laughter.
This was a mad idea, worthy of the cruelest of old Primes and nobles, and it was entirely plausible that the mech was simply testing him and his willingness to bend the law for his own ends....but it was still 'hypothetical', after all. And if it should creep into territory that was not so hypothetical, it would be done in the interests of protecting and saving Cybertronians. He had no desire to see anyone truly harmed.
...Optimus wasn't sure if that made it any better.
But for the sake of the 'argument', he continued. "That sort of weakness in supply chain - our fuel - simply could not be tolerated. If such a weakness was revealed... I could never allow it to be replicated again. It might well start a planet-wide shortage."
The thought almost drew him up short, audials twitching back in brief distress, but his processor whirled as he thought on the data. He knew the numbers involved. The speculations on just how much energon had been stashed away, given what was actually coming out of the mines from production. How much would be required to keep people afloat.
...How quickly jobless civilians could be rerouted out to work the mines in place of the drones, and get production flowing again.
"...It would only be fair for those who caused the weak chain and the shortage to assist with the recovery. The supplies would have to be commandeered, if necessary."
Again, he was grateful for the mask. The Prime should not smirk so eagerly at the idea of crippling the tycoons by falsifying a disaster.
YAY
All one needed to do to bring down a drone factory without casualties was to draw away the contigent of security it had, and the factory overseer.
"Indeed, it could. I suppose Sentinel Prime thought it an excellent idea to bring back the drones, since it'd let the 'common mech and femme' work less. More time for pursuit to the more 'vital things in one's function'." For once, since this 'offhanded' discussion about impeding Quintesson attack and the dangers of drone workers and the lack of jobs, Megatron's expression went cold and serious.
The drone production line was robbing most of those mechanoids of any chance to work, which was why some areas were in such dire straits. But paying out wages were such a hardship, of course.
Optimus, though, seemed to be... at least hypothetically entertaining the thought and at least (thankfully, surprisingly) aware and considering it a problem. They really did need a proper staffed production-line again; it would help with every step and make them able to actually build up to a level that would be a protection against the Quontessons.
"And that would be such a pity." Optimus might be grateful for his mask hiding his smirk; Megatron, however, was not ashamed of it, and let his own curl freely about his lips.
It was all, after all and obviously, hypothetical.
CO-CONSPIRATORS NOW
Of course not. And that slag-eating grin of Megatron's meant he was as innocent as a new protoform. He almost rolled his optics, instead moving the conversation on, as though they had not just been talking sabotage and planned chaos.
"Besides, in an ideal society, the drones might have been a help, allowing more leisure time and pursuit of more intellectual and scientific and...hedonistic advancement."
Optimus sighed, hiding his morbid amusement under a not-entirely-false veneer of regret. It was interesting to ponder where their society might have been if starvation and ordinary survival weren't such pressing concerns for the majority of their population.
"Unfortunately, we haven't been in that sort of position since the last Golden Age. But it would certainly be nice if we could throw the drones at the Quintessons instead." He laughed, optics finally betraying his hidden grin.
HOW EXCITING~ LURING THE PRIME INTO SHADY AFFAIRS
Which, in this case, wasn't true. Not that the whole production chain was only drones, or had started that way, but near enough by now as the senators, nobles and businessmechs thought it was such a stellar idea.
Snorting at the 'hedonistic advancement', he shook his helm. Of course the Prime would bring that up as one of the prime reasons for a partial-fill of drones in the production chain.
"As long as the drones are kept at a small percentage, yes, or used in shifts." He shook his helm again at Optimus' suggestion to throw the drones, but a small smile slid forth anyway. "That'd be utterly useless and a waste of resources, unless we could arm them."
VERY EXCITING
Well. "...Aside from the potential flaws and backfiring, etc. That doesn't mean they can't be used as suicide bombers in a last resort. Better drones than any living spark, and they are still resources, if resources that are being used wrongly."
Technically there were plenty of other reasons not to, but then they were supposedly having an 'amusing', 'entertaining' conversation, after all. Throwing ideas out there was the point.
"And it would get rid of the drones all the same."
ALL IN THE SERVICE OF CYBERTRON, OF COURSE
The issue, however...
"It certainly would, but getting those who own the drones to agree to such a use, when we're not under attack?" He shook his helm, basically mirroring Optimus' earlier motion by rubbing his own chin.
This might be for "entertainment", but he was already enough of a strategist to actually consider this seriously, how it could be done, if at all.
"And with the lack of, as you said, a full production and economy, arms and normal warriors and planetary defense, requisitioning the drones for a pre-emptive strike wouldn't just be a foolish empty gesture of defiance, but could doom us, as we don't have the regular forces to back up a suicide drone attack." Frowning down at the floor, Megatron had his arms crossed over his chestplates again, fingers drumming against one arm.
He was getting invested in this, and that wasn't any good. Why was the Prime entertaining this, as if his word had weight? Beside that, he and the mech he counted as his right hand had considered the merits of hijacking the drones for just such an attack... Not immediately, Megatron was well aware they were lacking the infrastructure currently for a proper war...
Wait.
"Why haven't the Quintessons attacked yet, considering how things are?" Helm snapping up to stare narrowly at the Prime, Megatron wondered if he'd miscalculated something somewhere. "I don't think unsubstantiated rumours of a planet-wide weapon as a defense against invaders would keep something like the Quintessons away, if they knew about our current state."
And how couldn't they?
He and Soundwave had both dug around somewhat for this... Omega Lock, which had supposedly been key at other invasions, but they'd found nothing... substansive. Which frustrated Megatron greatly.
Of course, of course~
"They would only be infantry, or backup bombers, to protect Cybertronian lives. I certainly didn't mean to imply they would be...sent off to spark a full-on war. Especially before we were ready. That is foolishness."
Optimus could craft rebuttals against that sort of idiocy all day, but Megatron's sudden, serious question drove the fun out of the conversation faster than a prudish senator walking in on a 'consort party'.
"I don't know."
He could only shrug, staring straight at the other mech, fingers tapping on armor.
"It could be any number of reasons, but their reasons are unknown. Word of our old bluff might still be out there, but the most probable of reasons is that they are likely too busy subjugating their recently-gained territories to come after our world. At least until those areas become profitable for them, with resource-flow only increasing their empire's power. Then they will probably come for us."
Omega Lock? What Omega Lock. That wasn't something Optimus was going to bring up at all, not with Megatron or anyone outside his inner-most circle. He had no idea the mech even knew about it - which he shouldn't have. Even Optimus himself had only recently learned of it, and only after delving deep into the Matrix at his mentor's behest.
With the Lord Protector position empty for so long, most didn't even remember what had won the fight the last time the Quintessons had managed open invasion.
But the Prime did, now. And without a High Lord Protector, he could not count on any powers one could bring to the table. They'd have to fight on without him, if it came to that.
He just wants what is best~
Not that he was a fully educated and integrated general and military strategist, but his time as a gladiator had honed certain observational skills, and for some reason anything martial came easier than some other things...
Which was only weighed up by Megatron's tendency for philosophical inquiry.
"... Mmh, that would make sense, and does." Relaxing some, Megatron tilted his helm slightly, breaking their stare. "What worries me, however, is that from what I've learned, if it is correct," Megatron paused, giving the Prime a slightly arched look before he continued;
"---they're most effective at doing just said subjugating, and they redirected their imminent attack during Nova Prime's reign... shouldn't they already have their new acquisitions under control?"
He knew he was pushing. For what, he wasn't sure; Optimus would hardly give him classified information, but it just felt as if some piece was missing... or the Quintessons were slow in coming back to an earlier target, and his projected longest time until invasion which laid at several vorns was correct...
Re: He just wants what is best~
Optimus smirked lightly, before simply shrugging again, not rising to the bait - he simply didn't find it tempting in the least. He had an entire host of excuses and explainations - and most of them were at least mostly true.
"That doesn't mean some other races can't fight back, even if they seem to be slowly failing at it. There are a lot of planets and colonies in that sector, and all our sources show they had been fighting hard until just recently. Even some of the Outer Rim news sites touched on it, not that many bots heard."
And if they had had enough man power before now, they would have helped, and Optimus felt a pang of guilt and conern at their helplessness there. Even if they had no alliances with the unknown races - against the Quintessons, Cybertronians would join up with anyone short of those allied with the Unmaker himself.
But they couldn't even protect themselves properly, back then or now.
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/canon mixing goooo
yaaaay
c8
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