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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.
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Date: 2012-11-14 12:16 am (UTC)::It's pleasant to know you're affording me that much, at least.:: The comment was neutral, nearly bland, and then Megatron put the cube down, managed to give Optimus a rather wicked, closed grin and swooped down, one hand closing about his Prime's throat to tilt his helm back, thumb against the bottom of his chin guard.
This wouldn't be simple, and would most definitely be sloppy, but he had a feeling that if he could just get the mech to get a little of the energon to swallow, he'd be a lot more amenable for more... helped or not.
Their lips sealed together, he pushed the tip of hos tongue out and flicked it against Optimus' lips, feeling a thin trickle of energon escape. That, too, ought to help really, as it'd spread over Optimus' lips before running down his chin.
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Date: 2012-11-14 01:07 am (UTC)His pride was taking a painful blow, but that didn't stop him from tilting into the hold; mouth opening wide and pressing into the 'kiss' to drink down the (forcefully) offered energon. His systems were demanding fuel, and if this was the lengths his Highlord was going to go to 'feed' him, he might as well take it. Of course, the single mouthful was gone all too quick, even after lapping the last of it up from Megatron's tongue and from between their mouths.
Then, as revenge for his wounded pride, he bit Megatron's lip.
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Date: 2012-11-14 01:16 am (UTC)::Stop me whenever you feel like it.:: There was teasing challenge in Megatron's comm. as he leaned back down again, this time pausing right over Optimus' mouth, thumb stroking the chin guard and laying a quick, vent-light closed kiss on the lips beneath his before he dove down, this time not teasing for entrance, but rather forcing his tongue in.
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Date: 2012-11-14 01:45 am (UTC)::...Oh slag off,:: he grunted over the lines. He knew he was beaten.
Optimus drank the energon down even faster than the first time, hunger only whetted by the first mouthful - and the second did little but rouse it further. Engine growling demandingly for further fuel - and perhaps other things as well - he bit Megatron's lips again, with slightly less force, and even lapped his tongue over the mark afterward.
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Date: 2012-11-14 08:10 pm (UTC)The next mouthful of energon was accompanied by much less force. While it rather pleased him to have Optimus yield beneath him, this wasn't what he wanted to lay energy and focus on. If it was somewhat less humiliating for the angry Prime to take the energon this way, he'd do it this way.
That didn't, of course, mean he wouldn't tease at Optimus' tongue with his own after the fourth mouthful, briefly deepening the perfunctorily fuel-laden "kiss" into an actual one, though he did keep his hands still, trying to push as little as possible.
he didn't really have a complete understanding on how quickly and easily Optimus' Consort coding could affect him, and if he did... or when he did, he'd be displeased. That didn't seem quite right, and further, might be dangerous for the Prime himself.
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Date: 2012-11-15 07:55 am (UTC)It wasn't completely lacking in humiliation, but the much-needed fuel, kisses, and...strange sort of kinky intimacy kept it from becoming overwhelming.
...And it was an excuse to get at Megatron's mouth again. How could he resist?
He purred into the most recent transfer, mouth wide and helm angled to allow for the deepest kiss possible. He was still eagerly seeking out every last drop of energon from his Highlord's mouth and tongue; it was good highgrade, which made the task all the more sweet, if time consuming. The cuffs were irritating in a new way, as well: he wanted to be able to grasp Megatron's jaw, to pull him down deeper, and his own preferred angle, and speed up the whole processes.
...But on the other hand, being bound like that was only triggering further ideas. Perhaps he could allow Megatron to finish with his own ill-planned plot here.
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Date: 2012-11-15 02:59 pm (UTC)Not that it was unpleasant, no, but the intimacy of it felt awkward. But he wouldn't stop now that he'd begun, and the first cube's contents disappeared both faster and slower than he'd have thought it would. When he started on the second, his hand around Optimus' throat was pressing in tiny, caressing circles against the metal. Not an attempt to make the Prime swallow faster, merely because it was pleasant to feel the faint vibration of Optimus' swallows through it, and the friction his fingers created.
And despite not having gotten very far, the flashes of his Prime spread out, stretched out as he was, was affecting Megatron in two ways. One, the most obvious; the pleasure of seeing, feeling Optimus yield to him at least for now, and hopefully through the evening as well.
That thought made him smirk through the next energon transferring kiss. The second? Well, it was obvious how much Optimus was (or had been) displeased with him at what he'd been doing, and the thought of his Prime attempting to set him right after he'd gained what he hoped to from this, made an uncomfortable, hot tingle flash across his circuits.
Optimus had been embedded in him in all ways that were possible, yes, but that didn't mean true, honest submission was easy. It brought uneasy arousal, but that was neither here nor there, and he'd ignore it.
Sitting back with a third of the second cube, Megatron eyed Optimus, eyed the cube, and then knocked that last bit back himself. With the level of high quality, high-energy energon like this, even a fuel-starved mech, large as Optimus was, wouldn't need much more than he'd have gotten.
"What else would I need to do, to convince you to stay a little longer?" Megatron murmured and leaned slightly backwards, resting one hand on a knee behind him and stroking the joint, pressing in, while his sparklights glowed brightly.
Completely unintentionally, of course.
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Date: 2012-11-16 09:12 am (UTC)"...I haven't called anyone yet, have I?" He licked the traces of the last mouthful from his lips, trying not to eye the sparklight glow too obviously.
Gladiators shouldn't have something so pretty. He had no idea how Megatron had survived the arenas intact with such a vulnerable display.
"But I would suggest you don't stop what you were doing. I'm still hungry."
And given the tone, it was possible that he didn't just mean energon at this point.
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Date: 2012-11-16 05:37 pm (UTC)"I suppose not, no..." Megatron trailed off, smirking slightly as he thoughtfully fingered the spot that held the release to his subspace, but... No. Not yet. He'd let Optimus writhe and make noise beneath him until and unless he started up with his demands to go faster.
Maybe he'd manage to do it not at all this time, when he wasn't both tired and charged up? Somehow, Megatron doubted it, especially from the flickers he'd seen.
"Pity I'm all out of energon, then." Not that he couldn't tell it wasn't energon that Optimus had meant, and his sparklights gave another, nearly taunting flare. Sparklights weren't in use among gladiators any longer, Megatron had been one of the last fitted with them... rather, woken up in the lab of whoever-the-mech-was that must have fitted him with the shell program and done some changes, but clearly most were at the behest of the Omega Key stuck in his spark chamber.
But he'd woken up with them, and he didn't mind. They were great for mocking his opponents, showing the vitality still within... Had he been of another personality, the itention would probably also had been to tease others with what they couldn't have. Though, of course, Optimus could... Just not at the moment.
"I hope, Optimus, that you're comfortable because this is going to be a long night," Megatron said and knew Optimus probably didn't realise how or in what fashion it'd be long. The hand on Optimus' knee trailed lazily upwards along his side, settling at Optimus' waist to let the thumb stroke roughly down the slatted silver metal in the center as Megatron himself leaned forward and and gave a nipping "kiss" (more of a bite, but gentle enough) to the tip of one audial antennae.
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Date: 2012-11-17 06:31 am (UTC)"Obviously, not even me." He gave the cuffs another pointed jangle, eying Megatron's advancing hands.
And 'all night'?
"...What are you even plannin-" The touch made him interrupt himself with a loud, startled rev, but that nip made him jump, sputtering static.
"Nzzn- S-seriously?"
Of course Megatron had some elaborate plan. He should have known. But he didn't know what to make of a plan that, so far, seemed to consist only of 'tie up Prime, do kinky things to him'.
...Tired or not, he couldn't really object. Though given the sharp sensory feedback from his too-delicate antennae, he was lucky he could even speak.
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Date: 2012-11-17 05:02 pm (UTC)//I could, yes, but I think that would be more fitting at the end, to top you up. And no, if you could gte up and leave and do that, I'd be impressed... and they aren't on their highest strength, Optimus.// Hands stroking along and under the bottom rim of Optimus' chestplates to dip up along the edge of the headlights, Megatron paused to give his Prime a wicked, and possibly much too pleased, smile before he switched audials.
Tracing that out as well, he this time went up against the rounded audial spine, his mouth melding around it. Humming as he went and thumbs pushing up against the seam where abdominal plates and chestplates met at an angle.
This pleased him because he could find out, by touch and not just through their connection, what and how Optimus reacted to, and he was fully alert and not mired down in the most all-encompassing and consuming merge he'd ever (and probably would ever) been part of.
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Date: 2012-11-18 07:40 am (UTC)"-Nnn... g-get off those." The last thing he wanted to to loose even more ground than he had the moment he'd been cuffed down. His audials were far too sensitive for this sort of power game - he was bound to lose.
Optimus shifted himself away jerkily, uncoordinated with the sharp sensation coursing through his helm and down his spinal struts, feathering out into his entire frame. They were an obvious weak spot, one he'd only stopped protecting viciously after becoming Prime and being able to relax some from his old bodyguard mindset.
So much for that.
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Date: 2012-11-18 12:17 pm (UTC)"I'm not going to talk politics here, Optimus... not even of the personal kind," he said with a slight sneer harshing his voice, now against the rounded base again; he did not believe in wringing things out of his partners while trying to interface with them. Especially not now, as this was, or was an attempt to be(come), about trust.
Nibbling back up the audial, surprisingly delicately even with the sharp, short nips, he let one hand scrape downwards along Optimus' side while the other was stroking the rim around the left headlight. Of course, the headlights themselves weren't very sensitive at all, so it was more for the contrast of the long, lazy and featherlight caresses, fingers pressed back against the bars covering them.
The errant hand going downwards, the tips of his fingers digging with short, rough scrapes into the seams along the way, settled at the crook of the join between Optimus' right leg and hip, thumb stroking down the edge of the pelvic armour.
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Date: 2012-11-19 08:43 am (UTC)"Nnnnngh- N-not what I was-ah! Asking!"
It wouldn't work now, not without a heavy restart to his coding; with someone already fondling them, it was a lost cause. Everything else Megatron was touching was just background noise, earning smaller twitches as he tried to lean away, pulling the restraints taunt. The nips and hot vents against his audials were driving short, heavy little cries out of the back of his throat, optics going dim with lack of focus. He was quickly becoming a trembling mess under his Highlord.
The touch to near his panel was completely unexpected. Optimus jumped, crying out with both surprise and the sudden tingling jolt racing to his interfacing equipment. His valve clenched, and all he could do was groan and weakly glare at the perpetrator.
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Date: 2012-11-19 05:59 pm (UTC)//You've demanded I get off, but you haven't asked anything... was there something you wanted Optimus?// With that, he slid down the audial, using only tongue and lips to caress it this time, in comparison to the other one earlier.
He knew he had to be careful; he could feel the delightful, uncontrolled trembling underneath him, and he didn't want Optimus to overload here and now. No, that would take a while, to underscore not just the end result, but also that Optimus didn't need to fear he'd just leave him hanging. His preferred method was usually driving his partner out of their processor with several consecutive overloads, but given the faint, flicker of fear, humiliation and hesitance he'd caught when they'd been merged when he was "taking too long", his favourite and favoured method wouldn't get him what he wanted.
Megatron figured he still had a few moments before he got to continue his exploration of Optimus frame elsewhere than his audials, however, and so wriggled the fingers forced down into the hip gap.
He had to admit, he was slightly impressed Optimus hadn't demanded he go faster yet, but that would probably happen when he backed off in the next few moments or so and didn't let his Prime overload when it first came up.
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Date: 2012-11-20 11:33 am (UTC)Hands fisting futilely as he strained against the cuffs, Optimus gave up on speaking out loud completely when the only sound to come out when he tried was high static.
::Either get off those or tease something else!:: Despite being pinned, chained, and trembling, he wasn't about to start begging.
Not yet.
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Date: 2012-11-20 01:35 pm (UTC)"... As you wish." The words, despite the implied compliance with the demand, were whispered right into the base, lips brushing against the metal and his voice set low, rumbling. With a chuckle Megatron laid another lick across the base before he actually backed off.
Laying the hand not partly jammed into the hip joint gap over one trembling thigh, Megatron idly stroked it, using his whole palm over the white, slightly rounded plates of armour, and the angles of his fingertips to follow seams. His red optics were glowing brightly, but the colour was a deep, vivid crimson.
Simply exploring and undoing his Prime or not, he was enjoying it, and feeling every response in that frame made his own engine purr and arousal wind down his circuitry. The fingers buried in the hip joint gap pushed down just slightly, to teasingly brush against the tops of cables and live circuitry buried within, and when the sting of static died against his fingertips, Megatron knew what he'd do next.
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Date: 2012-11-21 12:14 am (UTC)The sudden lack of sensation around his helm made him sag, venting hot air heavily. Such was the abject difference in sensation that it took his systems a moment to catch up with the fact that he was still being touched, in a less overwhelming manner.
Still venting hard, his lower frame twitched, hips bucking into the large hand. Thanks to the contact against his inner-circuity, the mild jerking didn't stop, leaving him looking as though he was rocking into a spike that wasn't there. His valve twinged with the sensation, flexing hard. Optimus glanced up, meeting that burning gaze with a weak glare.
"...Are you seriously planning on doing this all night?"
He was figuring things out, and didn't look especially pleased about it.
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Date: 2012-11-21 12:27 am (UTC)Ah, yes, there it was. His earlier, small grin grew into a full-blown, eyeteeth-showing smirk, partly due to the frustration present on those very handsome features and partly because Optimus couldn't do a single thing about it. What he'd want would be the trust that he wouldn't just bring OPtimus to the edge and then just go away and leave him there, but he knew he didn't have that.
Even if this night went as he hoped it would, he probably would only begin to have that. Carressing down the thigh to squeeze the knee joint and curl his hand around to rub against the back of the joint, Megatron leaned forward slightly.
"I am, yes. I'm going to take my time, go over every single inch of you, and you'll be too caught up in it to demand anything by the end. At least, that's the plan. I'm sure you know perfectly well how many ways you can always bring someone to overload, after all." His helm tilted and he stroked his thumb over the hatch overing Optimus' interfacing equipment while he twitched the fingers in the hip joint again.
What he really wanted to do was to be bent over and bury his tongue in a place Optimus probably wouldn't want it to be, mostly because he wouldn't get what he wanted immediately. Megatron had had quite good responses to it, though, especially when arousal and charge was already working through his partner's frame and tied-up inactivity meant current was collecting a bit more than usual in the circuitry around joints.
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Date: 2012-11-21 08:40 am (UTC)"...Couldn't have done something like this the other night, could you?"
Of course not. That would have been far too convenient. Optimus huffed, squirming under the touches and the effect that Megatron's words were having on him. His leg jerked out at the touch under the sensitive part of his knee, kicking Megatron's thigh. Thanks to the cuffs and the nature of the involuntary reaction, it wasn't enough to even leave a scuff...much to Optimus' further irritation.
Damn that mech and his (skillful, delicious) silver tongue!
"You do recall that I am still exhausted, don't you? I hate to break it to you, but this is one time that haste would be greatly appreciated."
Especially since it was now all he could do to keep his panel closed. Resisting was still a matter of pride at this point...no matter how undignified the startled, pleading mewl was that escaped his throat at the touch to his interface cover.
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Date: 2012-11-21 12:08 pm (UTC)The frown that was present was actually rather meditative, his optics on a low, half-aware glow. He could hear the truth; he knew Optimus was still tired, and once again considered merely letting his Prime up. Parts agreed with this; respecting boundaries and all.
Other parts inexorably drew up the memory of Optimus urging him on the other night, demanding he not be slow and the accompanying shame and fear of being left danging, of being mocked.
Those other parts also snarled over not being completely trusted by his Prime (while knowing there was some parts he was hesitating handing over as well, and yet denying that) and an underlying, fundamental part beneath those other parts pushed soon, now.
So Megatron slid down to lie before Optimus, between his thighs and... completely avoided the interface cover as he bent his helm, but rather pulled his hand out of the hip gap, pushed that leg wide to the side, and stuck his tongue in the gap, jerking slightly at the touch of live circuitry against his tongue.
A precursor for what he was going to do later, one could say.
::I know. And no, it couldn't have been done the other night, considering you had me quite exhausted with the multiplicity of the merge. But you don't need to do much, now do you?:: Part honesty, part gentle, prickling teasing in the hope of distracting Optimus as he pushed his tongue down, flicking it between a cable and the circuitry it partly covered.
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Date: 2012-11-22 12:07 pm (UTC)"...A-apparently not." He gave the cuffs another pointed jangle, but the action was weak at best.
"So this is, what? Revenge for that?"
And really, he could just lie back and...allow Megatron to pleasure him. Which was what he apparently intended to do. It wasn't like he would - or could - have to do any of the 'work'.
...Well. He could probably get used to that.
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Date: 2012-11-22 01:29 pm (UTC)It was always curious to stimulate circuitry not really meant for it; it was sensitive, and would as such respond to "disruptions", sending more current to keep it working properly and to guard against more disruption... which meant it became more sensitive. Not sensory nodes as such, stroking fingers or... well, tongue against it could be pretty maddening on its own.
::Why would I want to take revenge for that? It was quite pleasant. Maybe it's just about being able to give you the attention you deserve.:: Another chuckle, physical as well as voicelessly, over the comm. Both true and not, since there were other ways, and later, he could have given his Prime said attention, but as it was...
Megatron shrugged, both hands now at Optimus' knee joints to holds his legs apart as well as stroke and pinch the undersides, scraping the tips of his fingers against the cables there.
He'd get to the center. Later.
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Date: 2012-11-22 11:15 pm (UTC)Legs and hips twitching, he debated opening his paneling in Megatron's face, preferably when his Highlord least expected it. That idea had him snickering roughly in-between his quiet moans. It wasn't like there was a terribly great number of things he could to do antagonize the other mech - and thanks to the surges jolting through his lower frame, his spike was more than ready to expand out, pressing impatiently against the back of his panel.
Hnn. Revenge indeed.
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Date: 2012-11-22 11:32 pm (UTC)Which, admittedly, made it feel sort of numb, but the point wasn't how it felt for him, but rather when that faintly charged tongue met the circuits in Optimus' hip joint as he firmly licked down, keeping himself from jerking...
And then had to straighten up again, amused at Optimus continued chuckles.
"Enlighten me to what's so amusing?" Even asking that, however, one hand stroked down the length of Optimus' lower leg while the other wandered upwards to follow the detailing set into the side of Optimus' hip and pelvic armour, thumb rubbing along idly.
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