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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.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-21 11:59 pm (UTC)It was...disconcerting, as was the flash of amusement at his expense he half-sensed from the Matrix behind everything else.
But he and Ratchet both followed, a bewildered Ironhide and the guard-team catching on quickly enough to bring up the rear. ...It didn't take Optimus long to notice the strut in Megatron's stride, and Ratchet gave him an odd look as it drove up another growl.
He couldn't really imagine Megatron normally acting like a spark-tease, but it pinged him on all levels, Matrix to old consort-coding.
It was a nameless sort of want that was increasingly difficult to ignore.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-22 12:18 am (UTC)But as their little train fell into step and there was no reason for him to fall behind (it still felt odd. Not the right place), Megatron caught himself multiple times using that same strut, that did not belong in his repertoire of gaits.
It was utterly infuriating, as was the insistent, sudden feeling of feeling of being empty... Which did nothing for the slowly healing port on his thigh. It ached, and nothing was getting better at the periodic flexing and twitch from the caliphers and connectors.
The faint growl from Optimus that he could hear was, on the other hand, somewhat amusing.
As they finally got to the medbay connected to the Prime's floors, Megatron was all too relieved to simply toss himself with an annoyed grunt up on a berth, scrubbing his faceplates and then lowering his hand to seek out the blue optics of the Prime.
He wasn't even sure why he was staring, but nothing wrong with it, right? And to pre-empt Ratchet, he let the plates hiding his shielded spark chamber retreat again.
Whether that was to give him a chance to check it closer, or actually look over the injuries he sported, Megatron didn't really care at the moment. Staring Optimus baldly in the faceplates, it seemed like... the thing to do.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-22 06:52 am (UTC)"So you said it hasn't always been there? And you don't even know what it is?" The medic boggled, leaning in for a closer look. This was why a full inspection should have occurred when they first acquired him! The former rebel could have had a bomb in his damned chest for all they could have known!
Optimus allowed Ratchet to approach first, taking a moment to quietly station Ironhide and the others outside. It was only an excuse though. The sight of Megatron up on the berth had set his engines redlining as he fought to contain the insistent rumble. He wanted, and the points on his frame ached. The pressure was reminiscent of the pain of a too-long-recessed-spike lodged in it's housing, which was ridiculous.
A few, heavy ventilations later, the door was closed with guards properly guarding, and Optimus approached, eager to hear the explanation himself.
Perhaps he would find time to mediate as well, and search the Matrix for answers if Megatron had none.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-22 11:05 am (UTC)But to reveal this or not?
Shaking his helm to refocus his gaze on Ratchet instead of Optimus, he gave the medic an arch, slightly irritable look.
"While there wasn't much chance for mirrors as a miner, we did have decivorn medical checkups if nothing came to attention earlier, and I both did and do have my specs from then. I'd think the medics would have said something about it, like the ones after I became a gladiator." Resting his weight on one hand and carefully poking about with a finger inside his opened spark chamber, Megatron was pleased to no longer feel pain at the connection between... the thing, whatever it was, it looked vaguely like a key, and his spark chamber.
He then, with the practice of ease and prior knowledge, searched out three points partly hidden by the wires and circuits around the spark chamber, where, set in seemingly a sort of counterpoint to the thing at the bottom of his spark chamber, above and around it were three ports.
Whole, since they hadn't been anywhere close to the vibro needles.
"I've asked medics about that thing, as well as the extra ports I found myself with after the accident. I assume whoever repaired and," here Megatron paused to sneer, even if he was sort of grateful, though something didn't ring right - "Reformatted me put them there. Otherwise something else happened in the mines."
Optics flickering as he - as easily as you please - admitted something he hadn't so much as revealed to a medic over comm at any point previous, Megatron frowned and settled back. Even if it wasn't Ratchet he wanted up close and personal with his frame--
Hm.
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Date: 2012-09-22 11:44 pm (UTC)Ratchet's jaw dropped, and he glanced between the consort and his Prime, completely confused but putting the pieces together all the same.
"Optimus-"
Both of them had seen something incredibly similar to that before. Just one thing, ever.
"Leave, Ratchet." His tone was hard, but distracted, and his optics didn't leave Megatron's frame. Optimus felt a shiver work it's way up along his spinal struts as he lifted his optics to meet Megatron's own, armor rattling with a sudden rev, knowing, something. Something vastly important.
The ports matched up exactly with recesses near the top of the Prime's own chamber. Matched enough to be obviously part of a pair.
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Date: 2012-09-23 12:00 am (UTC)Megatron's optics narrowed immediately at the reaction his words caused, glow brightening in suspicious surprise. They knew something. And that was enough to distract Megatron from the misbehaving... everything as a growl reverberated up from engine and vocaliser both.
"I want explanations, and if you have them, neither of you are leaving." Snapped out in an irritable, demanding rumble, even though he didn't - as far as he knew - have the position to demand anything.
He could feel the Prime's stare and turned his helm to glare at him, but was... caught. Obviously, while Optimus knew something, he was also clearly... affected by whatever was going on.
Somehow, that soothed part of his annoyance away and the tilt of his helm was more aggressively questioning rather than demanding. The unconscious way he was leaning back with his hand on the berth, however, wasn't as out of place as the earlier strut, but he wouldn't have done it on his own yet, either.
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Date: 2012-09-23 12:42 am (UTC)"-Slaggit Prime, you're both still injured-!"
"And we're not going to keel over and go grey in the next five breems." Optimus growled back, the pain of his own injuries forgotten in the face of this half-unraveled mystery.
Ratchet shook his head, glancing between the two of them. "Optimus. Whatever this is-"
"You can repair us after I figure it out. Now leave!" His voice rose up into an uncharacteristic bellow. He was the Prime and this was between him and his-
His Own. Whatever it was.
Wisely, Ratchet nodded reluctantly, and turned to the doors fairly quickly.
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Date: 2012-09-23 12:52 am (UTC)The brief dip in pitch and speed of his engine and the thirteen-point pulse of another flash of priming charge in those ports made it hard to deny how that affected him, which... Was annoying as well.
And he also felt a familiar frustration over being countermanded, because how dare his Prime simply disregard his opinion in this matter that affected both of them---
"And you know what's going on, Prime?" Megatron snarled, all the annoyance, frustration and slowly and insistently building charge coalescing into a ball of angry engine rumble and a vibration through Megatron's frame as he slid off the berth to stand, about to stalk closer to Optimus.
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Date: 2012-09-23 01:32 am (UTC)"...Not entirely."
The Prime stalked forward, all of the way up to the berth, engine rumbling. He looked Megatron up and down, optics lingering on the still-parted chest plates, and the ports contained within.
His own clenched and the pressure surged, almost driving him to sway on the spot.
"I am developing a...hunch. Lie back down."
It wasn't a request.
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Date: 2012-09-23 01:49 am (UTC)And then closer. Those optics lingering on his spark chamber, bared (if still shielded) as it was, made his lips curl and almost close up. He didn't at first though, not even with Optimus basically standing chest to chest with him.
What did, however... Was that.
"Who gave you the right?" Instantaneously, after an astrosecond of stunned, outraged surprise, Megatron roared, not even paying attention to the slide and click of his chestplates closing up.
Boiling anger kept him upright even as every strut, cable and piston ached and shivered to do as ordered, and he didn't get any less angry by the realisation that the consort-convict programming - understandably, but rage-inducing nonetheless - had controls to make him obey.
Failsafes, in the case of necessity. There was, after all, a key word in that phrase; convict.
Nonetheless, Megatron remained standing, even as he had to take support from the berth behind him, legs practically locked in place for a few agonizing moments.
"Your hunches, Prime, doesn't give you the right---" The groan was as much from anger as frustration as he felt his knees buckle, power redistributed and his grip on the berth shift.
"Slag you."
Because the Prime had just gotten - delayed, admittedly - what he wanted; Megatron back up on the berth, and this time not sitting but rather lying down... though propped up on his elbows.
Ever the rebel.no subject
Date: 2012-09-23 08:08 am (UTC)Megatron was his and had him in return after all. Why would he...?
...That made no sense. And yet it did, according to the whispers from the Matrix.
Optimus tilted his helm, considering, before he growled out a chuckle and reached up to push Megatron further up onto the berth. He could keep his elbows there all he wanted. Optimus was coming up there anyway, and moved to straddle the other mech.
"Well. We might actually find out. Now open back up."
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Date: 2012-09-23 09:50 am (UTC)Optics first widening in confusion and then narrowing as Optimus apparantly thought he could just... push him around and rearrange him as he pleased, he gave an engine rev back to the chuckle, not at all amused.
And then...
"No." Oh, somehwere he ached to do as ordered/asked, because it was right and it might (would) reveal some explanation, but the greater part of Megatron was angry enough not to listen, curious or not.
"If it's the ports you're wondering about, there's more elsewhere," Megatron said with a sneer, annoyed at the rightness (at least for the moment) of the Prime's position, hovering above him. "Unless you were also a medic along with being a consort before you became Prime."
Somehow, compared to getting up on the berth, this, here his resistance held. Optimus would have to work harder than just demanding he open up for it to happen.
He had no (except he did, but not like this) right to just demand it left and right.
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Date: 2012-09-23 01:42 pm (UTC)Megatron had just given him exactly what he wanted to know with his defiance, and Optimus' grin widened.
"Where?"
He resettled in place, hands lightly flicking over armor - shoulders, forearms, over the closed chestplates - where some of his own rested. A background hum began to increase as well, optics slowly bleeding color and going white as his internal questioning deepened his connection to the Matrix.
What does this mean...?
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Date: 2012-09-23 02:01 pm (UTC)Opening his mouth and engaging his vocaliser to answer the question, Megatron snapped both closed the second after. Not before a surprised grunt escaped him when Optimus began to poke around, however.
Staring, dumbfounded, it took a moment for him to collect himself before he lashed out with one hand, catching one of those errant roaming hands of his Prime. His frame already buzzing with building charge in a few particular spots - not that Optimus had actually hit many of his actual extraneous port locations, but it seemed some part simply anticipated the touches.
"Optimus!" He didn't even notice using the mech's name instead of the title, and merely with exasperation. What Megatron did notice, however, was the Prime's optics having gone white, but he couldn't know the meaning.
"Stop poking me! You only hit three of them, and those were the ones underneath my chestplates, which you already know are there." Tilting helm and gaze down to beseech the (possible, Megatron wasn't much of a believer) power below, he shook his helm and would have trapped Optimus other hand as well if he could.
But he didn't feel like being forced to lay down flat on his back.
"Two each on each forearm, two each on each thigh, two in my lower back, and three above the sparkchamber. Thirteen in all." He paused, frown deepening. "I want explanations. Now."
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Date: 2012-09-23 09:52 pm (UTC)It was less a question, and more a unneeded confirmation. He'd known there would be thirteen of them, no matter their differing locations. All of them in identical spots would just be boring, and predictable. Optimus grinned despite his snagged arm, reaching in turn for Megatron's bracing forearm and idly seeking out them mentioned ports despite layers of armor hiding them.
"...We match."
Not an explanation in the least, but Optimus never stopped grinning as, optics white with power, he let himself drop into a half-meditation, head dropping forward far enough to rest his brow against Megatron's forehelm.
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Date: 2012-09-23 10:07 pm (UTC)"Yes, yes, fantastic, Prime. How about you explain what they're for if you also have them?" Megatron said, voice dry and the snark underlying the words heavy indeed, before he twitched, the hand he was bracing himself with twitching as Optimus successfully found the covers for the ports.
Armoured or not, it was... right, and Megatron felt a deep-seated shiver go through him, spark flaring out to sort of reverse-connect with each port. Gritting his teeth, Megatron jerked when Optimus was suddenly leaning in, against and on top of him, the ridge on the front of the Prime's helm somehow balancing perfectly against the angled joint on his helm.
"... What are you doing?" Megatron hissed and while he could shake off the mech, probably even toss him clear off the berth by now, with no intention of injury and he would still be reclining on the berth...
But no.
If he wanted answers, he would have to wait, apparently.
Not that he had any fragging clue what the Prime was doing and he had the greatest urge to shout for Ratchet.
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Date: 2012-09-23 10:39 pm (UTC)The apertures were the same, laced with the same, often mirrored glyphs, but despite being fully retracted, whatever the equipment held, it was certainly not ports.
Optimus gave him little time to recover from whatever reaction he might have, chuckling; his voice echoing oddly. The sound was less Optimus, and far more what could very well be the voices of hundreds of previous Primes speaking through him. Clearly, the overall tone was amusement at them both.
"Hmm. You wouldn't have seen a Prime access the Matrix before, would you, young Highlord?"
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Date: 2012-09-23 11:05 pm (UTC)Of course, Megatron couldn't see even if they could extend some distance, how anything could fit, especially the ones on his lower back...
Yanked away from what turned out to be mostly incredulous confusion when Optimus chuckled... Or rather, apparently not just Optimus what the everloving scrap??
"That would've been quite difficult, ye--- WHAT!?" The light sneering was completely lost in choked off glitching, his vocaliser reduced to static and optics growing wide and bright, bleaching out into pink.
There wasn't even any risk of Megatron taking to violence in his utter surprise, as he'd pretty much frozen in place at the title. The bellow, however, could probably have stirred sparks departed for the Well of All Sparks as well as those who had not yet left it.
He recognized it.
Knew, at least after an approximation, what it entailed, what it meant, and they couldn't be serious!
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Date: 2012-09-24 09:11 am (UTC)Optimus' mouth twisted with another echoing laugh, though it didn't reach his optics, which were rapidly regaining their lost color. The Primes were amused, and it was up to the two of them to deal with the revelation on their own, now that they had enlightened their successor. Optimus however looked just as bewildered as Megatron, and as the presence and influence of the former Prime's left his body, his frame began to show that dawning understanding properly.
"-Highlord?"
Kin and Mine he could understand, as Megatron had given him an increasing sense of familiarity and that specific, thirteen-point-desire since he had first met the mech, but Equal Co-leader?
He'd expected conspiracy, but his wildest thoughts hadn't touched on anything that big.
The power of the Matrix seemed to ebb abruptly, all at once, and Optimus dropped against Megatron with a small clang, limp as he regained control over his own frame.
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Date: 2012-09-24 03:49 pm (UTC)But that wasn't active processing of sensory feedback, but rather recieved in a lower priority queue.
Highlord Protector? That was... that couldn't... Except it... sort of made sense, what with the details that had kept cropping up since he had been captured and sentenced. Red optics suddenly focusing on the swaying Prime, Megatron wondered if this had been planned, if it was all...
No. The confusion prior to the surprise the revelation had brought had been honest. Besides, if there were any sort of choice involved (there weren't, a fiber-optic thin, sparklight whisper assured him suitability couldn't be wrangled through politics) he doubted he would have been chosen...
Just as little as the Prime who now was would have been---
The clang of Optimus' frame hitting his own startled Megatron out of his thoughts, but his hands had - combat and miner instinct both, more than anything else - kept the mech from falling too heavily into him.
"You better not have fallen offline, Prime, or I'll pitch you onto the floor." It was a genuine, if joking threat. He needed more information. Actual, non-biased information, though he would of course read anything else as well.
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Date: 2012-09-24 11:51 pm (UTC)The unease was not solely from the effects of the Matrix - the knowledge he had been gifted with had hit him hard. So much information, lost to general knowledge. A Highlord Protector in a rebel fighter, chosen like a Prime.
Sitting back, still on top of Megatron, he couldn't help but note the ridiculousness of the situation and snorted out loud, glancing down at the mech under him with a wry smirk.
"...Well. That escalated quickly."
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Date: 2012-09-25 12:46 am (UTC)"And it'll escalate further unless you move. I don't care what sort of off-the-wall urges are going on, this isn't going further until I have more information." Megatron tapped Optimus over the front of his chestplates, which, ironically, meant above the Matrix. Though he hadn't actually meant the Matrix here, but either way.
"Though, I have to admit... this is an interesting set-up. How many cogs will be turned askew this time?" Considering the uproar when Optimus, an Escort, had been made Prime... Megatron frowned at Optimus, giving another tap to his chestplates.
"I assume communing with the Matrix didn't actually impair you?" Megatron asked dryly, but behind it was some vague and real concern, which he was more annoyed that it was there already.
The mech was obviously acceptable, a better Prime they'd had for the last few, but he didn't like having random feelings put before any reason to develop them, at least to his conscious mind.
The assumptions grated, even if he could easily put together the clues and details he already have and come up with "I can work with him".
More than, really.
The mech didn't look half-bad, Megatron noted to himself, casting a glance up and down Optimus where he sat. Not that he hadn't known that before, but noting it and acknowledging it were two different things.
Especially when it could (would) have impact on him personally.
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Date: 2012-09-25 10:17 am (UTC)Which he didn't particularly want to, no, but they had much to discuss...and it wouldn't do to further frag up what was apparently supposed to be a divinely-chosen cohort of leadership. Throwing a leg over Megatron's prone frame, Optimus hopped back down - though not without giving the mech's chest plating a parting poke.
"For once I agree with you on both counts. The collective Noble class is going to strip their cog threading when hey hear of this." He laughed softly, unable to really feel concerned. It was about time they had something hit them back in the face.
"But no, I'm not impaired. Just tired. So ask your questions. I might actually have answers now." He waved a hand out, mock-loftily.
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Date: 2012-09-25 04:42 pm (UTC)"What will this end up practically changing at the present? Considering how and why I'm here," he said dryly, optics flickering. He didn't know enough to know what he'd be able to influence and change, but he knew one thing; with this, he'd have a greater net to cast.
And wouldn't even necessarily have to give up his clandestine operation as a forceful last (or not so last) resort as needed.
"All I know from what I've previously read, is that the Highlord is supposedly responsible for the "defense and protection" of the planet and Prime both, but since you are certainly meant to protect as well as lead, that definition is... soft, at best." He snorted at the "defense and protection" even if he... ah, couldn't say he disliked the sound of it.
He was for the moment also avoiding the questions which might have more... personal impact to their answers. They'd come soon though, unless Optimus volunteered them.
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Date: 2012-09-25 08:41 pm (UTC)...Not that he didn't still want to pin the other mech back onto the berth and show him what his own 'ports' could really do. But he could think through it far better now. And there was far too much to think of and discuss to get distracted.
"We probably shouldn't do anything right away." He raised a hand to forestall any possibly raged arguments.
"At least, nothing obvious to everyone else. Many of the same limitations from before still apply. The Primacy is still weak from eons of poor power management, and the Highlordship has been lost for so long most people don't even recognize it."
He glanced Megatron up and down, nodding to himself. It was a very, very good thing that he had already been plotting with this mech. It would have been a rough surprise for him to deal with if he didn't already like the way Megatron thought. Fortunately, the idea of sharing power didn't hurt his pride, either. The Prime currently didn't have much to begin with - and they would be able to regain it together.
That felt right, provided that Megatron didn't end up stabbing him in the back.
...Maybe he should work on getting his not-quite-metaphorical tendrils into the mech sooner rather than later. Knowing his processor personally - and Megatron knowing his in return - would probably work out issues of trust before they could fragment any new alliance.
Later, maybe. Politics first.
"We'd be inundated with more assassins that even you can deal with if word got out this early on about the truth. The Council would jump straight to open rebellion if they knew We existed. But most of our previous plans should still apply, if in a starkly different, likely faster form. But yes, that is the Highlord's purpose. Traditionally, to put it simply, the Prime rules the civilian populous and manages the bulk of the economy, and the Highlord the martial powers and the defense of the planet itself from outside forces; while both have veto powers in each others area of expertise."
Optimus shrugged. "It is really far more complex than that, but that is the general gist."
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