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Nov. 14th, 2011 01:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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red_diode_districtCliffjumper: 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.
UNDERLINE MYSTERY 8|
Date: 2012-05-06 06:07 am (UTC)"Well. I'm not doing to tell you everything." That would be stupid, especially if Megatron's confidence wasn't misplaced. And he did actually have several plans. Despite the light of the Matrix, being the carrier of that light seemed to invite the darkness to himself. He never wanted to be that fallen Prime. Optimus settled for leaning up further, smirk deepening as they were close enough to feel the heat from each others ventilations.
"You're one of them. And probably not in any way you might immediately assume, either."
I EVEN WENT INTO EDIT TO CHECK! 8c No reason! MYSTERY~
Date: 2012-05-06 08:12 pm (UTC)Seemed foolish at best.
"Hmmm. I suppose that's sound, not telling me everything." Gently mocking, Megatron stayed still as Optimus leaned up closer, the heated air from the vents mingling between them, leaving tiny droplets of condensation briefly on their frames where the air hit.
"... Indeed? Or are you going to keep that from me as well?" He cocked his helm as he spoke, the glow from optics and sparklights both a low, but fierce, glow.
Weiiiiird D:
Date: 2012-05-09 05:10 am (UTC)He shrugged, or at least did as much of the motion as he could manage, pinned down as he was. He used the movement to subtly test Megatron's hold, though the not-really-hidden little arch and hip wiggle was entirely for his own pleasure.
The larger mech was so warm. Damn him for being so appealing - he was overdue for a good, hard frag as it was, and Megatron was the only mech among his consorts larger than he was.
"But I will tell you one thing. If I did end up falling like Nova, I would certainly hope someone like you would put me down before I could do much harm."
Despite the serious sincerity of the words, he didn't allow his grin to dissipate.
>_> Yeah...
Date: 2012-05-09 07:55 pm (UTC)He did, as well, notice the arch and... wiggle. Gracing the Prime with a flat look before he very deliberately ground down where he sat perched over the Prime's hips, Megatron shrugged.
"You have no idea what you're aksing for, Prime, but I would certainly oblige. Given possible locations and ability to get to you in such a scenario, you might end up doing some considerable damage either way." He cocked his helm, expression sliding from the flatter one to a more pointed.
"But since that's merely hypothetical... Do you yield?" It was a simple questionm straight-forward and only concerning their current situation, and yet Megatron's smirk wasn't just smug, but despite the probable innuendo, there was no other accompanying signals.
In fact, one could have said that after the earlier brief grind of his pelvic plate against Optimus', Megatron was sitting near... infuriatingly still.
no subject
Date: 2012-05-10 07:02 am (UTC)Primus, what a tease.
"Yes, yes. I yield. It is good to have a hypothetical assist if I ever loose my processor. Now, if you're not planning on doing anything, get off me." He laughed, engine purring stubbornly. He was going to have to jump one of his dear consorts when he returned.
...Maybe all of them. If Megatron didn't want him, he could certainly convince at least one of them to frag him senseless.
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Date: 2012-05-10 08:21 pm (UTC)"I could be convinced. I wasn't aware you were willing to risk such vulnerability with your frame and spark in my hands, especially as you are perfectly reasonably keeping other things from me." Even he he could not harm the Prime.
That didn't really mean anything, though... Or perhaps it did. Perhaps Optimus was willing to trust the program in such a way that he'd lay himself open for a criminal. Briefly, the sparklights on Megatron's chestplates flickered and strengthened.
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Date: 2012-05-11 07:21 am (UTC)Such a pity. The mech was probably amazing in the berth.
"That is an entirely different vulnerability, mech. Being careless with intelligence is one thing, but being 'vulnerable' during interfacing something else." He tossed the mech a rather cheeky grin.
"Even criminals need affection."
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Date: 2012-05-11 07:48 pm (UTC)And if the Prime got all he wanted, whenever he wanted it, the moment he wanted it, without expending some effort? No, that wouldn't do.
"Perhaps from your point of view. Do you know how many injuries could be inflicted on someone unguarded while during interface or in overload? Not that I could currently do many of them." Megatron said with a shrug, let Optimus' hand go to grip the bars in front of his headlights differently as he stood up, hauling the Prime with him, and then...
Since Optimus had been so forthcoming as to withdraw his battlemask after their spar was done, he pulled the mech in with the same movement he'd pulled up on his feet with, and kissed him.
There was nothing gentle about it, but he leaned in, helm angled, and was certainly thorough... as well as slightly charging the surface plating of his tongue, to... literally make the kiss electrifying.
Not just consorts had tricks, after all.
And then he stepped back.
"Come back when you're willing to work for it, Prime." Megatron looked around as he said it, but his frown was quickly smoothed over. The lapse, as he'd been looking for at least his arm cannon, was annoying.
He wondered where they might keep his weapons, if they'd kept them at all.
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Date: 2012-05-12 05:45 am (UTC)It really ruined the mood.
"OF course I do-mmmrhm." The Prime wavered on his feet, unbalanced by the sudden lift- and, of course, the kiss.
The surprise was almost as impressive as the quality of the kiss itself, and had Megatron kept it up for longer, Optimus might have slipped back into older, more submissive habits. As it was, he leaned in during the brief joining, tilting into the electric kiss, and readily allowed the larger mech access with a low groan.
His engine rumbled with objection when Megatron pulled away, leaning briefly toward the distanced mech as if magnetized, but he didn't whine, simply licking his lips to spark the last of the lingering charge.
"...Work for it?" His chuckle was a bit rough, charge and suddenly surged want making it difficult to focus. But he always had recovered quickly. "I could say the same for you and what you might want here."
Then he turned and walked to the exit of the sparring area, intent on seeking out his own consorts.
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Date: 2012-05-12 04:59 pm (UTC)"Me, Prime?" Megatron laughed, and since he was already here and the book files would still be waiting for him when he got back, he went into one of the smaller training rings, slowly starting up a regular set.
"I'm not the one who needs to go blow off steam with my harem, and what I want? Can only partly be accomplished from in here."
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Date: 2012-05-13 08:03 am (UTC)The Prime made his way back upstairs, working the kinks out of his frame caused by the spar as he went. Megatron was an excellent fighter, and he had his fair share of dings and scrapes to show for it.
He stepped into the consort hall with an easy smile, sliding onto the couch and flopping on his back as he rumbled a greeting and caressed helms affectionately.
Hopefully he could manage a few more good scrapes to round out the day.
~scene break~ 8D
Date: 2012-05-13 10:28 pm (UTC)A leashed and collared, if not muzzled, pet.
That was okay, though; he might be collared and leashed, but that didn't mean he was harmless. And while he might not want to admit it - at least not where it could be noticed - it felt good to have a bit more space to move in outside as the State Gardens were a fair bit larger than the balconies of the three levels that was the Primacy Residence.
Leaning against the balustrade, he was half hidden by a fanciful collection of Praxian Helix Crystals, suspended above their anchor pots by glowing blue gas. The Prime, he knew, was somewhere near, beyond that collection of crystals.
At the moment, he could have been alone, however, and yet he scowled down at the collection of suspended balconies that made up the State Gardens, feeling... Restless. This was one of the places (in general, that was), where he knew he had things to change if anything were to change, but... He hadn't exactly planned for a situation like this.
He needed plans.
Megatron had just straightened, intent on coming around the crystals and bother the Prime again when he saw someone approach the mech through the haze of gas and crystals. He'd be close enough to hear, so he settled back against the balustrade to listen, unless the Prime called him out.
~*~*~*~
Date: 2012-05-15 08:48 am (UTC)The gas didn't respond well to scanners or optic sensors alike.
"Senator Decimus. What a surprise." Optimus spoke up. He was perfectly polite, but there wasn't an ounce of real surprise there, nor did he move to clasp the other mech's forearm. The old Senator didn't seem to notice, remaining icily calm despite it.
"Prime. Lovely seeing you here. Enjoying the Crystal gardens, are we?"
"Very much so. Thank you."
The Senator nodded briskly, taking a step closer and lowering his voice in the guise of having a more friendly conversation.
"Well then Prime. Tell me. Have you reconsidered my offer?"
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Date: 2012-05-15 06:39 pm (UTC)But he also seemed to be the type unable to get out of such a situation because he was too polite. Megatron kept the snort in, barely, and was about to straighten to push away from the balustrade he was leaning against when the senator mentioned his "offer".
Well, now.
This was... interesting.
He relaxed from his frozen position and twined his hands together as he stared down at the balconies below, and the skyline of Iacon itself. He'd listen in, and go rescue the Prime (if he needed it) when it seemed like nothing more would be said... and why was he even thinking of it in terms of "rescuing" him?
Scoffing to himself, Megatron went back to concentrating on what was being said.
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Date: 2012-05-16 05:17 am (UTC)"I already told you, no. You're asking for too much." The senator's bland face developed a hint of a grin, and he shook his head. Condescendingly, Optimus couldn't help but think.
"Ahh now, I thought you might say that."
"Then why are you-"
"I am here to add to my offer. The a fore-mentioned twenty thousand tons of energon and generous contribution to your Primacy- plus twenty percent."
The senator's smug little grin only widened, as the Prime's vents huffed in surprise. The amount on the table before had been a good fortune as it was.
"In addition, a minority share in the corporation and my full support on whatever next pity-project you might have that does not involve me or my interests. All in exchange for the veto on that worker bill you've been pushing."
Optimus fell silent, for a moment shamefully tempted. He could do much with that sort of funds. Perhaps help even more people...
But that bill had been fussed and fought over for half his reign already, and would give the oft-forgotten lowest-class of workers unprecedented rights and benefits, as well as working toward reemploying those rusting in the deepest slums.
It would cut into the exorbitant company profits and monopolies like nothing else, though, and the senators had been fighting it servo and claw.
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Date: 2012-05-16 05:22 pm (UTC)Now, the biggest question was how the Prime would react; from what he'd claimed he should summarily reject the offer, despite the obvious benefits of the bribe. Because a bribe it was.
The pause made him twitchy, but Megatron could be patient. This would be the first indications of many if Optimus was who he said he was, even if it was obvious he probably could do a lot of... "good" later by actually taking the bribe. Megatron did know, however about that bill, and it would have a lot of both immediate and far-reaching good consequences that were both known and not...
What surprised him more than the pause was his own urge to stomp around the crystals and growl at the senator, chasing him off bodily if necessarily. That mech was a threat and needed to be taken care of---
... Staring quietly, unfocused, at the faintest glitter of the energon pools around the Pavilions, Megatron had to concentrate back on the (lack of) conversation, inwardly frowning at his reaction.
Sure, the senator was one of the ones who had been tagged as potential targets, and he had a temper... This was odd, however.
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Date: 2012-05-17 07:11 am (UTC)Despite the temptation and vast possibilities, actually accepting was never truly considered and Optimus was pleasantly surprised by himself. Despite his own convictions, they had, until now, never been put to the test. After learning of the previous Prime's downfalls so intimately, he had begun to fear for himself. Megatron's words had not helped.
But he had not failed, and he felt like he had won something vastly more important.
"Despite your very generous offer, I'm afraid I have to decline." Optimus finally said, fighting the urge to laugh as the senator's face fell spectacularly in the moments before rage clouded the mech's features. Optimus Prime straightened up further, confident and every bit a Prime, despite his beginnings.
"You may make all the offers you wish, but I will not back down from this or any other bill or law that will truly help our people."
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Date: 2012-05-17 06:17 pm (UTC)Decimus, even while Megatron couldn't see it, managed to school his expression and then leaned forward slightly. He might not be taller than the Prime, but he was not as impressed as he perhaps should be... he had had that frame before.
"You will regret this, Optimus Prime. I can rally obstruction for your pet projects as easily as you can create them to lay them at our agenda... And I also still know how your frame works, and I think you'll find---" the senator trailed off, optics widening and the glow paling to near white as he glanced behind and to the side of Optimus.
Megatron had heard enough. He did not approve of threats upon someone's frame due to their function - at least that was what he told himself, because the strange... protectiveness? wasn't something he wanted to pay attention to - and with a growl, he stalked around the crystals.
Glaring at the senator as he slid up beside and slightly behind the Prime, arms crossed, and no matter the amount of restraining programming, his intent of harm was clear enough to make said programming send warning twangs down along his circuits.
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Date: 2012-05-17 11:23 pm (UTC)"I think 'I will find' something far different than you expect, Senator. I don't abide threats against my person, and you will find my guards like it even less."
Megatron played a good guard, even as a silent ping sent other, actually bodyguards slowly drifting into sight at the edge of the garden. The one known as Ironhide looked particularly threatening, rubbing a hand over a massive rifle, eager for an excuse.
"You may certainly try and stonewall me all you like. But then again, I can do the same for you and your projects and ill-funded agendas. So I suggest you reconsider your stance on the current situation. Good day, Senator."
It was a clear dismissal, and with the rebel glowering at the Prime's back, and who knew how many other guards lurking in the shadows, the senator had no choice but to turn and huff off.
The lack of proper acknowledgement or formal parting made it insulting, but Optimus was hardly prone to fits over protocol. If that sort of insult was the best the mech could manage, he felt as though he came out ahead.
Once the senator was a safe distance away, he turned to Megatron with a calculating nod.
"...Thank you."
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Date: 2012-05-18 07:11 pm (UTC)"I did nothing," he said with a shake of his helm and a hand both, keeping his voice smooth and flat, even if there was a faint sneer over his faceplates. He'd revealed too much, and way too early, even if Optimus did seem to be as good as his word... At least this early in the game.
"It seems the senators are quite used to getting their way by offering bribes... And haven't learned that you aren't as amenable as your predecessors?" Hopefully, he'd be able to deflect that calculating look and the thanks itself; he wasn't exactly sure why he'd stepped around the crystals.
Besides that implication of using the Prime's body again, most probably against his will. Not that, as the Prime (and a former escort), Optimus didn't have failsafes and security in place, but the threat itself was abhorrent. And Megatron wouldn't put it past some mech to actually have the sort of potential control the senator implied he had... or could have, over the Prime to be able to fulfill his threat.
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Date: 2012-05-19 08:48 am (UTC)The threat was far more subtle and less graphic than many he has received before, so Optimus has largely put the threat itself out of his processor, focusing on the social fallout instead. But it didn't make him less grateful.
It felt, optimistically, like a potential breakthrough.
"Most have tired it at least once, and some have learned, but many seem to think I am holding out for a better offer, like Decimus just now."
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Date: 2012-05-19 08:06 pm (UTC)"And it was a good offer." Casting a frown after the now long-gone senator, Megatron wasn't impressed at all at the amount of assets the mech had to throw around. Sure, he was aware that the nobles, as well as the senators did have, or amassed, a truly impressive amount of wealth, but still.
"I have to admit, I'm... impressed you actually didn't take it, for the possible future benefits, no matter that the bill he wanted tabled have a lot of tangle benefits as well." For workers and other lower on the social scale, if not those higher up.
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Date: 2012-05-20 06:11 am (UTC)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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Date: 2012-05-20 08:06 pm (UTC)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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Date: 2012-05-21 06:59 am (UTC)"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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From:/dug out the allspark almanac for this!
From:/suitably impressed
From:/CULLS THE LENGTH DOWN
From:/GASP
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From:YAY
From:CO-CONSPIRATORS NOW
From:HOW EXCITING~ LURING THE PRIME INTO SHADY AFFAIRS
From:VERY EXCITING
From:ALL IN THE SERVICE OF CYBERTRON, OF COURSE
From:Of course, of course~
From:He just wants what is best~
From:Re: He just wants what is best~
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From:/canon mixing goooo
From:yaaaay
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