(no subject)

[cliffjumper]

Cliffjumper: This whole situation was demeaning and insulting, really. He could take care of himself, he's not a protoform. And yet. Cliffjumper scowled, arms crossed, as he stared down the street, glowering at anyone else on the street in suspicion. No one came close, but whether that was due to the angry minibot or...

"Primus help me, if ya get the idea to pick me up an' run if somethin' happens, I don't care what they paid, I'm shootin' ya in that mask with the glass gas an then punchin' you," Cliffjumper growled, suprememly unhappy he had neither managed to convince anyone to allow him a normal gun in addition to the 'proper protection' glass gas gun, nor managed to swipe said normal gun himself.

Optimus: "...If it is required to save your life, then it will be done. Despite that risk." The bodyguard was well trained enough to keep his optics on their surroundings, gun at the ready, rather than the irate client. 'Client' being a loose term, as he clearly wasn't wanted.

...Not that it mattered. In this case, he wasn't getting paid to make himself wanted. He wasn't getting paid by the little red mini at all, even if he was the current recipient of his skills.

Which gave him a little leeway to snark, even as he scanned for the supposed threats.

"In fact, I believe fees for repairs to injuries caused by you were specifically mentioned in the contract. ...I can see why, now."

CJ: "Yeah, whatever. At least the other ones get guards they don't need to wear out their neck cables to talk to." Cliffjumper shifted his glare from the surroundings up at his Primus-damned bodyguard, the mech more than half again as tall as he was.

He wondered, briefly, if they amused themselves with finding the largest mechs they could, just to annoy him. Cliffjumper liked his size, thank you very much, but when someone took pleasure in matching you against the biggest they could find, it... got to you.

"The afts had it comin' to 'em. 'Sides, I don't see the reason for this... ah, slag it. This is stupid." With that decision, Cliffjumper marched out from the doorway they'd been standing in, heedless of any potential trouble... perhaps even aggressively not caring about it. Maybe not even considering that there would be trouble, and that was why his bodyguard was there. Among other things.

This had, also, been mentioned and included with an extra fee in the contract, since Cliffjumper tended to leap before he looked.

O: "I'm afraid my height is something I cannot alter much, while still being of any use." As a guard, anyway.

He followed without any visible signs of exasperation, only increased vigilance as they stepped into the open. Another issue he'd been warned about, indeed. It was enough to make him wonder if the mech was suicidally brave or just suicidal.

"Clearly they have reason enough, if they chose to hire me. Do you not fear the threats?"

CJ: Cliffjumper snorted, but didn't dispute it; if you weren't formatted for it, you weren't formatted for it. His bodyguard's height wasn't anything he really was annoyed at the truck-alt mech for.

It probably wasn't that he was either of those as simply... reckless. Of course, in this situation, that 'reckless' should probably be read as the other two possibilities.

"If I did, I'd slaggin' well have to stay inside a high-security room or whatever. I ain't gonna agree to that," Cliffjumper scoffed, once again, though, wish for a proper gun... or even a cannon. Why he wasn't 'allowed' any of those besides a potentially non-lethal weapon he just couldn't understand.

"What, if it were you, would you just have stayed put like a well-behaved protoform?" Cliffjumper frowned, eyeing the large gun his bodyguard was carrying with envy. It was all 'blah blah ransom this, blah valuable that, too precious blah blah blah' and slag that scrap.

O: "Hn. I supposed that would depend on why I was under threat in the first place." The guard shrugged, optics on the rooftops as his systems scanned the area for anyone taking an undue interest in his client.

He only knows the barest bit of info about the little mech, and why he needs protection. 'Need to know' basis and all that. He's curious, but he wont' ask.

CJ: "Uh. Bein' in the wrong place at the wrong time..." Cliffjumper shrugged, but in his opinion it hadn't been 'wrong place, wrong time' but right place and right time. Of course, being the protegé of a high ranking senator had given him access to said place and time, but even so, most others wouldn't have gone snooping.

But he hadn't liked the look of that 'Con senator. And he'd been right. And they called him paranoid.

"Callin' me 'badly diciplined', hah. Glitches. If I wasn't we wouldn't even know 'bout that---" he cuts himself off, almost apologetically. Firstly, out in public. Secondly, the boduguard may have to hang around like he's attached to Cliffjumper's plating for... however long this will take, but he's not supposed to know.

Some stupid slag about bribery risk and whatelse.

Cliffjumper, while usually attentive and somewhat used to being a target, still wasn't paying attention where he wandered along the edge of the pavement to the road, and thus wasn't seeing the approaching sports car. Which was driving way too close to said pavement.

O: He merely blinks at the sudden silence, before nodding mostly to himself in quiet understanding.

He doesn't want to know, more than likely. Or then he'd need a bodyguard, and well...

Senators didn't usually pay for expensive bodyguards to protect those of such...diverse skill-sets, like himself. Expensive or not, he was considered expendable.

So he doesn't ask. And instead focuses on all movement and motion nearby, which definitely includes traffic. Hmm... Choosing to be safe, he deftly slips in on Cliffjumper's side closest to the road.

CJ: There's an annoyed noise when the guard slips between him and the road, but Cliffjumper has had enough bodyguards (especially lately) to do no more than cast a glare up at the mech... and thus catch sight of the sports car who only veers away from the pavement-edge side of the road at the last possible second, maybe hoping for the large mech to just move out of the way.

Cliffjumper stares, glaring after whoever-it-was, and then vents a sigh. Okay, maybe he should be more careful. But the area's not too bad it's in the middle of the slagging day... he didn't really think anyone would try anything, even something as 'subtle' as attempting to run him over a bit, and/or snatch him.

"Rrr... Okay. Whatever," Cliffjumper mutters, and moves in closer to the building-side of the pavement. "So, since ya might be stuck with me for a while... What's your designation? An' what do ya do when you don't get stuck followin' overly tempramental mechs around?" the grin accompanying those last words are sharp; Cliffjumper knows what people think of his attitude, but while he's... almost apologizing here, that's all.

O: Optimus watches the car-mech speed off, noting the colors and frame type for record. It could have been a bad driver. It was in the middle of the day, yes. But he hadn't worked the bodyguard detail for so long without catching on to the fact that 'could haves' and 'maybes' generally weren't worth the risk.

It wasn't paranoia when someone actually was out to get his clients, after all.

He turned back to the other mech, lifting an optic ridge at the comment. At least the grumpy little mini was beginning to get amusing.

"...Optimus. And I just tend to follow less temperamental mechs around, that's all."

No reason to mention the other, varied details of his services.

CJ: Well, even grumpy little mechs deprived of the weapons they want to use and in need of protection could be somewhat personable, right? Cliffjumper still, despite the maybe-obvious attempt of some sort doesn't like or want to have to be all careful. It just isn't in him to think of things like that, or take them into consideration.

"Huh. That gotta suck, or is the pay really that good to make up for it?" This sort of gig really must be frustrating, but then again... Optimus had kind of chosen the job in general, right? At least he could carry any slagging weapons he wished without getting censured and told "no, that's not proper" or what-the-slag-ever.

He may be eyeing his bodyguard's brandished weapon with some envy as he grumbles about the unfairness of it, even though what he actually wants is to try out one of those large cannons.

O: "Hn. It can. The pay makes up for a lot, though." It has to. 'Escorts' can only hold so many certain jobs, after all. There are certainly worse things to be doing.

He does note the gun-envy with some amusement, though, and moves the weapon closer pointedly.

"Ion blaster. It should be sufficient, should things get...messy."

CJ: It's probably a testament to Cliffjumper's relative naivéte that he assumes there's more choice in Optimus' position than it is... But then, since what he remembers is being picked up off the street by the same senator that is, and has been since then, his patron, and he's never noticed any strange reactions around this, one could, perhaps, forgive the innocense.

"... that was three vorns ago," Cliffjumper's mutter is quiet enough it's obvious it's not meant to be heard, but since they're walking as close to each other as they are... But that little incident was quite (in)famous, of Cliffjumper just ripping the gun out of his bodyguard's hands to take a few shots of his own (that was when he was given the glass gas gun).

"What else do ya got?" Shrugging off his earlier mood, Cliffjumper grins lopsidedly up at Optimus, clearly curious and eager to know... and the heightened glow of his optics could be taken for a less innocent interest, considering his words.

O: "What was?" He wonders, shrugging and tilting his head. He gestures to his own forearms before giving the area another visual sweep. Well, why not. If the client wants to know what his capabilities are, there's certainly no reason no to say.

"Small-round, low burst cannons. ...Energon blades for close range combat, if I must."

CJ:"There was a... situation." Cliffjumper waves one hand vaguely as he speaks, not really paying attention to the slowly growing crowds. It is, however, the wrong time of day for a natural congestion of people to be happening in this part of the city, as they have, by now, turned onto the large multi-levelled avenue leading up to Iacon's High Council Pavilions and the Forum of Enlightment... Which usually didn't have a large collection of 'regular' people moving slowly but determindedly closer.

"An' I kinda plucked th' gun the bodyguard had," Cliffjumper finally admits with a shrug, not really sounding sorry about it. It may also have been this incident that led to all bodyguards he's had since be taller and stronger than he is. The two of them have now been forced into single file by the growing amount of people, some of them who are doing rather obvious... and muttering, double-takes of the minibot.

"Huh... Well-armed. Ya always carry that much, or this a special occasion?" Cliffjumper merely sounds amused, not as if he's arrogantly expecting that he should be the cause of all those armaments.

O: "...ah. Well. Don't do that. Really." He almost laughs - he might have if it wasn't for the growing crowd. He quickly shifts gears, pressing closer to Cliffjumper, resting a hand on his backstrut to guide him.

"...Stay close." His gun rose to a ready position.

CJ: At least his new bodyguard sees the humour in that situation; most others had been summarily unimpressed, stonily silent or saying something about badly integrated defense/offense routines (where they thought he couldn't hear). He'd always ignored that.

"Yeah, well, why do ya think you're---huh?" Cliffjumper's amusement is derailed first into brief confusion, and then a scowl as that hand comes to rest at the bottom swell of his back-kibble and the backstrut just under it. He is not incompentent and can walk alone thank you very much. But Cliffjumper's used to such behavious by now, and doesn't protest more than by an irritable rev of his engine.

"... Shouldn't be this many people 'round here at this time," Cliffjumper mutters, Optimus' actions actually having had him look around and pay attention. Somewhere far to the front of the crowd, a chant starts up, and by now it's not just the closest passing people that's sending narrow stares at the minibot, though his bodyguard garners slide-over nervous looks.

No one is, yet, antsy enough to do anything... rash.

O: "...We need to move. Come, quickly," he mutters quietly, keeping his optics on those protesters closest to them as he looks for the thinnest part of the crowd. They need to get out of there. Discontentment with the council and elite being what it was, a discontent crowd could easily become a mob.

CJ: "Where, though?" Cliffjumper frowns, tilting his head up and back to cast a glance at Optimus, gesturing slightly at the crowd; where there might have been open spots and slightly less mechs before, seemingly in answer to Optimus' need for the crowd thinning out, there's no longer any such spots.

"Ya wouldn't even be able to transform right now... Me either, for that matter, unless ya want to crush someone," he points out, and then jerks as someone just off to the side glares at him, before turning away and echoes said threat of crushing... but what they're referring to, is harder to tell.

Especially as a wave of muttered unease flows through the crowd around them; there's been reports of the protestors having set up their own encrypted channels, but comminucations haven't been shut down. It's as much a show of faith as it's an attempt to keep tensions low, really.

O: He only pauses for a moment, before tightening his grip on Cliffjumper's back. There is no way he will allow the crowd - or Cliffjumper himself - to separate them in this mess.

"This way. Stay close."

He's going for the thinnest part of the crowd to their left, with the as-of-yet unblocked alleys behind the growing mob. And he's going to shoulder his way through them whether they like it or not.

CJ: Cliffjumper would probably, by dint of being smaller and having good reflexes, along with an optic for opportunities, managed to separate them the moment Optimus pointed out where he wanted to go (Cliffjumper had been keeping a rather awkwardly tilted look back at his bodyguard for this). The grip then serves its purpose of both keeping them together and allowing the bodyguard to guide his client where he wants him to go.

To Cliffjumper's displeasure.

"Stayin' close ain't a problem... specially not with that grip," the last part is muttered, almost sullenly, even if he understands the reason for it, and doesn't do anything to even attempt to dislodge it. At the same time, the crowd is more than displeased at being pushed aside roughly, elbow or shoulder going in various places.

Some just glare, other protest loudly, but each, by now obviously a protestor, being pushed aside leads to notice of what Optimus is pushing in front of him.

"Hey, you!" Someone who just got pushed aside calls out, righted by one of their fellow protestors. "Y'don't need t'guard one of them y'know? Could just---" Whoever they were disappears further into the crowd, but by now Optimus' and Cliffjumper's progress is halted, not far at all from the alleys, as the slowly firing-up mob heaves and there's a roar of rage from somewhere further up front.

"Uh... this ain't good, huh..." Cliffjumper trails off with a frown before he's jerked and only Optimus' grip keeps him from being pulled into the crowd. This apparently doesn't dissuade whoever has his wrist from pointing a gun at his helm, grinning.

O: As soon as the gun comes up - as soon as he even registers the fact that the other mech is carrying a weapon, Optimus is in motion, hardened bodyguard programming snapping online so fast he doesn't even have time to berate himself for not paying closer attention.

In a flurry of movement, he jerks hard at Cliffjumper's backstrut, twisting his charge to angle him away from the barrel even as he swiftly moves to shove his own bulk between the minibot and the stranger. The shot intended for Cliffjumper's processor burns instead through the upper level of plating on his arm and continues on into the crowd, and someone screams, but he doesn't even feel it yet. His gun arm comes up in the same motion, and for a nanoclick it looks as though he might fire - but that would only cause a frenzy in the crowd, the protector of the noble 'firing on innocents', and so instead he uses it as a lever, jamming it against the attacker's shoulder joint, twisting his own arm just so...

There is a pop, and a scream, and suddenly the mech's elbow joint is turned completely the wrong direction, his grip on Cliffjumper's arm is gone, and his the pistol is clattering to the ground.

"Run!" He bellows into Cliffjumper's audials, not even waiting for an answer before he jerks the smaller mech off his feet, hauling him through a crowd already reaching for them both.


CJ: It's obvious who of them is both used to acting quickly, and has combat programming, besides the fact that for a glass gas gun to be useful, you at least got to have both hands free (or the leverage) to follow through with a punch or something. Cliffjumper's barely registered the gun before he's pulled away, the arm (however briefly) still gripped by his would-be assailant stretched out rather uncomfortably.

But there's no time to think about that as he kicks after a few others in the crowd, but they don't have the time to grip onto a flailing pede to attempt to pull him away; Optimus bellows, leaving his audials ringing before they readjust, and then sets off into the crowd.

"Slaggin'--- This ain't gonna work!" Cliffjumper shouts as he does his best to stay on his feet, not so much because his bodyguard is faster than he is on his feet (which he obviously would be), but because he's barreling forward through the now very angry crowd, the closest all fully aware of what's happened, with all the - heh - subtelty and force of a truck.

Now, the mob isn't interested in being careful around the large bodyguard and his shorter charge, or avoiding them; several attempt to trip Optimus, or use more blunt weapons, but there's, by now, a few more guns flashing in the streetlights, and while they're getting closer to the alleys, it's hard to say if getting there will help.

"Hey-- Let go!" Cliffjumper snarls, pulling the trigger once of his gun before it's ripped away, and even as he kicks out and meet metal more brittle than it was just a few astroseconds earlier, someone takes the opportunity as Optimus charges past to slam down the butt of a gun against the minibot's helm, causing him to stumble, momentarily stunned.

O: Optimus snarls, dodging blows when he can, stomping down with heavy, grated pedes on joints and delicate servos when he can't, and all the while barreling down with all his weight to keep breaking through the crowd despite the raining blows.

But even he can be blindsided, and the hit to Cliffjumper's helm is noticed a moment too late. Snarling, he spins on a heel, slamming the barrel of his gun into the attacker's face, and hauling the stunned minibot up and under his arm, tucking him protectively against his chest.

Then he hunches down, and charges, engine roaring as he plows through the crowd like the truck he is. He aims for the lighter, weaker mechs all the same, bodily tossing them out of the way when he can. Often, blows meant for him land on those flying over his shoulders, which makes it worth it.

CJ: In all probability it's possibly both better and easier for them with Cliffjumper being where he is, now, but when the brief disorientation of a recalibrating processor is over, he's rather... well, not so much unhappy, as feeling awkward, even if there's not much time for that.

Gripping what he can just to feel a bit more active as Optimus charges through the last rows close to the alley, Cliffjumper has to admit to some admiration of the heavy-duty engine working beneath the chassis he's held against... Casting a glance over his shoulder - mostly to see when he could demand to be let down - the minibot sort of sputters static when they're through, the last congestion of the mob, even if the nearest mechs are intent on following them into the alley anyway.

A bit into the alley stands about another ten or twenty mechs and femmes, much more heavily armed than anyone in the mob, whispering. Cliffjumper has time to wonder if the mob was as random as it seemed, what with this group---

"Get rid of th' slaggin' noble an' the sellout!" Someone bellows from behind Optimus and Cliffjumper, a piece of broken metal going flying past the bodyguard's audial fin.

O: "...Scrap."

The swear is muttered, not meant for Cliffjumper's audials, but he doesn't pause or hesitate. Mob to their back, armed forces to the front...they have no choice but to go through. The others haven't fired on them yet, they might have a chance - and the second floor windows of the alley's buildings are just by them.

If they can just get to them...

Keeping his path irregular to prevent anyone from getting a good line of sight on them, he charges on into the alley, hunched over to keep as much of Cliffjumper's frame protected.

CJ: Weapons are cocked, and some of the group do attempt a few shots, but with Optimus' irregular path and a number of people spilling into the alley from the mob on the avenue, most don't chance shooting what is probably some of their own people. One or two, however, take to riddling the ground with laserfire, attempting to both impede and slow the bodyguard down, so he'll be easier to hit.

This is such slag. The mutter, even if not meant for him, has Cliffjumper both tensing and almost attempting to squirm out of the protective grip and go for the gun still clutched in Optimus' hand, just so he could do something. But moving may mess up Optimus' balance, so with a few muttered swears, Cliffjumper stills even as they're closing in on the group.

"Going the wrong way, escort. Shoulda kept to the other part of your profession!" One of the larger ones shout before they launch themselves bodily at the bodyguard, a smaller, handheld weapon in one hand... not a gun, exactly, and it has four fuel cells instead of the usual one or two.

O: Oh.

Oh but now he's getting slagged off.

And the situation has gotten far too dangerous to restrain himself any further. One look at that overpowered weapon is all he needs - finally raising his gun, he targets the other weapon and fires.

If the other mech ends up loosing a hand or arm, well...he shouldn't have been trying to kill them.

As soon as he fires, he doesn't bother to confirm the hit, just dodging to the side from the inevitable explosion, and leaping for the second floor windows.

CJ: The group on the ground are all yelling and either flinging themselves away, or crouching down, depending on how close they are to the mech Optimus shot at.

There's a static-laced shriek which is cut off and swallowed as the fuel cells explode and the mech slams into the ground, tumbles, and then finally skids to a stop; the arm is completely gone, several other plates have been warped, cracked or partly-melted, and the side of his helm on the same side as he'd held the weapon in is kind of a mess.

He'll survive, though.

Cliffjumper's not sure if he should wish to be in a spot where he can see more, but would be less protected, even as his bodyguard leaps and there's a jerk as he grips onto the windowsill of a window, and then a rather gentle crunch as they meet the wall of the building.

"Can ya even climb with me in this position?" Cliffjumper hisses and despite the fact that there's scattered shots being aimed at them, he's already on the way to squirm out from between Optimus and the wall, to climb himself.

O: "Only if you hold on," he growls back. That explosion won't distract them for long, and his back is completely exposed.

Swinging his gun arm, he smashes the barrel of the weapon through the window, sending glass raining down on them and their attackers both. The gun is tossed through the now open space, and Optimus grabs hold of Cliffjumper to keep himself between the minibot and the mob. There is a muffled clang as a heavy piece of still-hot shrapnel hits his shoulder armor and bounces away. It hurts, but he's more worried about the guns. With a grunt, he heaves himself and his charge up through the window as shots begin to ring out.

CJ: ... Well, that was probably true, so Cliffjumper freezes in place right before Optimus actually grabs onto him again to make sure he's between him and the people on the ground. He supposes he's way too impatient for these sort of things, but he hates just kinda... hanging there. Literally, in the case of his current bodyguard hauling him around. Not that Optimus couldn't haul around most other frame-types, but still.

So despite the fact that he wants to do something, Cliffjumper - kind of - accepts that trying to 'help' will just make Optimus' work harder, and he kind of... likes this bodyguard.

When they're inside, Cliffjumper stays where he should be, actually waiting for Optimus to decide what to do next. At least the building, in the area they're in is empty.

"So, uh... what'd we do now?"

O: He rolls inside with an overclocked engine rumble, away from the window, and gestures for Cliffjumper to stay back as well as he scans the building they ended up inside. Office building. Empty. Good.

"...We get back. Make sure no one else gets up here. And find a way out."

He hisses quietly as he moves to sit up. Despite the dark of the room, the glow of spilt energon is slowly lighting the place up.

He's obviously been shot.

CJ: Cliffjumper frowns up at the broken window they came through and while no one seems to be immediately following, he doesn't trust that at all, but his question gets quietly requeued as he looks back to the bodyguard and catches the slowly growing line of dripping, glowing pinkish-purple.

"Uh... slag. You got anythin' for this? I have have something, otherwise, but it probably ain't gonna be enough." Shuffling around to the side the wound is, it takes about a few seconds of waffling before he gently pokes it, then wipes away the energon to get a better look; he's been clinging to the mech for a bit now, and it's not as he hasn't ended up body checked or otherwise manhandled by bodyguards before, but usually... he'd never actually been alone with one of them like this, injured.

Usually they could, and did, go to get the injuries fixed and he'd never have to think about it.

"What's the chance they're gonna come crawlin' through that window, or followin' us at all?" This isn't an orchestrated assassination or kidnapping attempt, after all, 'just' an anrgy mob, and Cliffjumper doesn't really have any experience with those.

O: He shifts over, craning his neck to get a look at the blast wound on the outer side of his thigh. The location is awkward - it figures he'd finally get hit while climbing in the damn window.

The poke makes him twitch, leg servos firing in pain, but he avoids crying out. At least he should still be able to walk.

"...If they don't come up through the window, they'll come up through the building. Or try to burn us out. We need to move." Growling, he digs through his own subspace, before tossing a small field path kit at Cliffjumper.

"Just stop the leakage. We don't have time for anything else." He'd do it himself, but can barely see it at that angle... and he has to pick up his rifle as the sounds from outside pick up again. The mob is getting over the confusion from the explosion, and someone's flailing fist peeks over the edge of the window ledge.

He shoots it off.

CJ: He catches it, then kneels down, briefly distracted, however, when Optimus shoots the fist off the window ledge. Bossy, isn't he?

"Uh-huh..." While bodyguards obviously have the jursidiction, so to speak, to make or demand their clients... or charges, do what they say when they're doing their job in an active situation, it's still kind of a strange experience. Not that he's going to go off on the mech; he's doing his job, and even Cliffjumper can see the location of the wound is in a bad place (though he is acquintained with one or two mechs and femmes who wouldn't care to help their guards like this).

"They're really gonna do that? I mean... you've already kinda shown this's more trouble than it ought to be worth, right? I ain't that special," Cliffjumper scoffs as he patches the wound up, his expression as annoyed as it's disbelieveing; despite the reason for Optimus' precense, Cliffjumper doesn't really consider himself important... naïveity or an accurate opinion?

He gives the patch-job a frown and then shrugs, but in his opinion the metal mesh bandage doesn't really look enough, or sturdy enough... though anything else would probably break and open with any greater acrobatics or whatever. There is, however, besides the scrabbling attempt to get into the window, the distant noise of rage and heavy footspets.

"Slag. I think you're right."

O: "...I hate it when I'm right." He groans, forcing himself back up to his feet. The wound is small, and with his size he won't bleed out any time soon, but the patch doesn't change that it hurts and it's going to effect his movement. As the newest oncoming mech clears the window, he grabs at the nearest bit off office furniture - a heavy chair - and sends it flying at the attacker. It hits with a crunch, and sends the mech flying back down the way he came.

"Because we've made them angry. Mobs are never rational. Come on," he turns to Cliffjumper, gesturing him toward the door as he turns on his nightvision. "We need to move before they get up here. Up the stairs, to the top floor!"

CJ: "What? Up the stairs? The roof? Last time I checked, neither of us're any sort of flyers, less ya hidin' some flight mods somewhere!" Cliffjumper protests, gesturing in emphasis, even as he gives Optimus another look. He can't see any proof of tucked away flight mods at all, though; his bodyguard's all... truck, and while it's a nice sight, that doesn't refute the fact that neither of them can fly.

It has him incredulous enough that he turns towards the door on the other side of the room that'd probably lead down instead of up, but the faint noise of footsteps have become slightly louder, and he growls. They can't go down, unless they find elevators...

"Okay, okay, whatever. Hope ya have some sorta plan, though," he snaps before turning towards the door Optimus wanted them to go through and actually starts running towards it, turning on his own nightvision with another growl. He isn't exactly afraid of heights; he even has a jetpack, but he doesn't have it with him, which means it's useless, so why the slag are they going up?

They'll be just as trapped, if not more, on the roof.

Comments

[cliffjumper]

O: Well, it could have been much worse, really. Cliffjumper's touch was downright innocent. Some customers liked to get the trailer involved, since it was a direct extension of himself - and the trailer itself had suitable mods for exactly that.

...Those seatbelts aren't the only restraints in that trailer.

But the trailer is quickly forgotten and resubspaced once they arrive, and the limping mech gives the minibot a shrug and a somewhat wry smile.

"You're hardly the one that shot at us or arranged the attempt. The concern, however, is appreciated."

Honestly, he's more worried about what would happen once they got inside. The little red mech had nearly died, and they both took some damage.

CJ: And anything else from Cliffjumper probably would continue to be so, even if anything actually happened when(ever, or if) the minibot actually (bothered to) remembered what 'Escort' actually fully meant. Contrary to what his patron sometimes got in his processor, Cliffjumper did know the general layout and meanings of the various castes... even if he could be rather innocent in general.

"I know, still." Cliffjumper huffed, and then led the way into and up the giant spire they'd stopped in front of, interlinked with others of its kind on levels above groundlevel with wide walkways and balconies, some of finely wrought metal of various types, others of more rare, transulcent sorts.

From above, the Towers were a coherent, delicate artwork of a geometric figure, interspersed with gardens between them.

Optimus needn't have worried overly much; while Mirage was obviously displeased at seeing both his protegée and the bodyguard hurt and obviously having run into trouble, he had, frankly, seen worse. Even been involved in worse, with his protegée, so there was that.

There was, simply, a huff, a narrowed stare pinned to Cliffjumper, and two medics sent after as well as a demand for each to get ready; the gathering wasn't just important for standing and prestige, but there were hopes that the Senator Cliffjumper had accused would give away more to use when the trial actually rolled around.

Until then, the Senator walked around like a free mech, since before the trial begun, he wasn't technically accused or under suspicion for anything, no matter the proof that had been gathered. Which, when Mirage found out about the clear kidnapping instead of assassination attempts (besides the mob), didn't surprise the noble. Get his protegée out of the way, get the incriminating logged memories gone, and there was no case.

Also, a potential hostage situation, if that what was the Senator was after. Decepticons. So crude.

"This slaggin' well sucks. Why ain't it enough with just a nicer paintjob?" Cliffjumper growled and crossed his arms, glaring at his patron who just smiled slightly and shook his helm.

"You're not a protoform any longer, Cliffjumper. That means more responsibilities and more visibility. Therefore, you need to look the part. Don't dawdle, please." Mirage gave his protegée a warning stare and nodded to Optimus as he passed the mech on his way out, his white and blue paintjob highlighted by gold filigree.

Cliffjumper, on the other hand, had a complicated, snowflake-like fractal pattern along any egdes; the doors, around his wrists, along the spoiler and scrolling gracefully down along the edges of his main armourplates of his chassis and the kibble on his back.

[cliffjumper]

O: Optimus is grateful for the medics, even if the repairs were abrupt and somewhat painfully swift; he even manages to take the swarming servants in stride, far too used to taking orders at this point to argue. The complete cleaning and polish was thorough and rather relaxing after that panicked flight for their lives, and something his richer clients had often indulged upon him.

The addition of the decorative markings, however, was new and something he wasn't entirely sure about.

Flame outlines traced in copper and gold coloring across his plating seemed a bit much, especially for him, and he gave Cliffjumper a questioning glance the first chance he got.

CJ: Huffing at Mirage's back, arms crossed, but presenting no other protest, Cliffjumper turned to his bodyguard when he came out, shrugging at the glance before he even looked that much closer at the mech. When he actually paid attention, however, Cliffjumper wasn't sure about the flames either.

Sure, they added bold visibility and would catch light even where there was little, allowing for a striking silouhette with highlighted flames on a darker frame, but Cliffjumper wasn't sure Optimus needed that. The cleaning along with the polish had turned the red almost glowing, subtle but fitting the sort of attention he was meant to attract...

"Er..." Cliffjumper shrugged again, shaking his helm as he briefly looked away and tried to stop staring. Embarrassing, because while he knew well and good how imposing the mech was it was suddenly just... evident. Cliffjumper scowled at himself before turning back, resolutely ignoring queries about paying more attention to Optimus' chassis. The mech was his bodyguard, right now, nothing else, slag it.

And Cliffjumper coulod be stubborn, no matter what his patron had implied could be a safe option...

"Sorry, didn't know you'd get roped into that too." Cliffjumper grimaced as he lifted up one arm to stare at the silvery pattern, the frosted tone going well with the small, glowing points underlaying his own paint; Mirage had insisted, since apparently it added... whatever it was.

"Apparently this is 'cause it's a holiday as well as for the eight vorn anniversary of the Prime or whatever." Cliffjumper frowned at the door, and the next words were probably not exactly meant to be heard. "Ya know, I find it kinda... backwards it's got a charity element too when there were riots earlier..."

[cliffjumper]

O: "I assumed I would be there, and probably more polished then I have ever been in my life, though I didn't expect the deco. It looks nice?"

It's a poor attempt, and he shrugs, gently rubbing a finger over one of the new lines on his plating, careful not to scrape it off. Optimus generally doesn't like the attention he gets as it is, and this isn't exactly going to help.

Additionally, he doesn't make it obvious, but he thinks he caught a hint of the extra attention. It's probably just how ridiculous he looks with the added color, given Cliffjumper's attitude up until this point, but you never knew.

He'll just have to keep an optic on the little mech for more than one reason, now. If Cliffjumper was going to take 'advantage of the offered services', he needed to know ahead of time.

"Hn. Interesting timing. I doubt it will do much to help soothe the crumpled plating of the rioters, though."

CJ: "It, uh, yeah. I don't think ya need it, though." He managed not to throw another look over at Optimus this time, and was rather stubbornly facing the door as he spoke, but after having done so he wondered if that was as telling as actually having looked and... ugh.

Growling quietly, Cliffjumper stalked up to the doubledoors, which slid open as he came close and despite the fact that the area outside still belonged to the half-floor Mirage claimed as his... 'apartment' Cliffjumper gave the open, court-like reception area with its colour fountain and graceful pillars a suspicious glare before he continued out into it.

"Wouldn't think so, no. 'Course I can't see that sort of thing bein' planned since half the Towers would go spare if they didn't know it was supposed to be a charity too ahead of time... Unless they---" Cliffjumper cut himself off, frowning. Unless the riot had been knowingly instigated. Impossible to know, since they hadn't been where it started, only caught up in it and stirred further angry reactions.

The lift arrived promptly, but despite having a bodyguard, and despite the regular guards/reception mechs at the lift and the desk, Cliffjumper gave another frown at it before getting in. Not just because he was suspicious since the happenings earlier in the cycle, but because he also didn't want to go to this stupid gathering.

[cliffjumper]

O: It really was just as telling, if not more so, and Optimus is glad yet again for his mask, as it hides his amused smile as he follows the mini to the elevator.

"Thank you. The white at least looks good with your coloring. I don't see how these colors go together at all."

Shy, unsure clients were his favorite. It always felt more real and less like a job, and comforting another mech emotionally was just simply more fulfilling. Who knew such a rough and tumble little mech had it in him?

He frowns once they get in the lift, though, rubbing his chin. "...Possible, but doubtful. We probably shouldn't even speculate, of course."

Of course. Who knew who had audials where, especially in a place as politically cutthroat as the Towers. Subject change time.

"So. Any tips on how to survive this party?"

CJ: Well, in Cliffjumper's opinion the copper and gold works well enough and doesn't really clash; it just makes him more visually impressive, really.

"Uh... I'd think it's cause the gold an' the copper's on the same spectrum as your red, and all those three go well with the blue," Cliffjumper broke off with a huff, frowning at the elevator doors as they close, extremely displeased; sure, he's supposed to know scrap like that because of their station blah blah blah, but he doesn't like it. Felt unnecessary, and all these things sometimes made him feel quite inadequate; Mirage probably shouldn't have picked up a random protoform for whatever reason but taken someone from a caste that would fit better.

Optimus comment that they should 'of course' not even speculate gets a sharp, narrow grin and a shrug. Indeed they shouldn't. Especially not in the elevator.

"Well, you ain't an official guest, so even if someone starts talkin' to ya, if you don't like 'em, you could just glare an' then ignore them. In fact, you're welcome to," Cliffjumper said with a grin; it wasn't something he could do, but it was often something he'd like to do, especially concerning some senators and nobles because frag they could sometimes be not just annoying, but... creepy.

Cliffjumper frowned at that thought and then shrugged.

"I think that's it. If any of them actually knows ya from other places, you probably should at least acknowledge 'em an' then just claim you're workin'."

[cliffjumper]

O: "...Hm. I'm glad it looks alright. I wouldn't want to embarrass either of you as well as myself." He nods his head in a slightly joking bow, trying to put the little mech back at ease. Making a mech comfortable is what he's supposed to do after all, not just guard.

"And thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

Oh, he'll do more than that. His client has just given him permission to turn down the 'offers' and 'suggestions' of the other mechs at the party.

His own tension about the gathering fades rapidly, and he has to fight the urge to chuckle. Optimus might manage to actually enjoy himself, for once.

CJ: The bow gets a grin and a brief, equally joking hand waving it off; the tone as well as the bow does its work to distract Cliffjumper from earlier embarrassment as well as moody thoughts about creepy mechs.

"Pfft, if you could embarrass someone even if ya tried, Mirage wouldn't have hired you. I think he knows I need someone to balance my.. er... 'rough edges' out or whatever." Cliffjumper shrugged, snorting just as the elevator arrived. The minibot huffed and gave the doors a glare as they opened, and then his expression, amazingly, smoothed out some.

It wasn't the elegant non-expression of a senator well-used to hiding their opinions and be as encouraging of their conversation partner to express their own. It wasn't, either, the non-descript smile of a noble of whatever suitable caste listening 'attentively' to someone of like or higher stationm feigning interest.

It was more like a neutral, slightly diaspproving stare, and it was probably as good as it was going to become in Cliffjumper's case.

The elevator let them out on a walkway and balcony suspended between two Towers spires, the walkway having transparent metal set in squares along it, the balcony a spiral pattern of the same, affording a rather dizzying view of a crystal-tree garden beneath them and between the two spires.

Every single mech and femme slowly milling about the open area, or sitting at the couches and the lounging seats available sported the same sort of (though of varying design, obviously) detail work that Cliffjumper, Mirage and Optimus did. Some also wore overly-expensive organic cloth strips, mostly as scarves.

There were a few senators, however, who were carrying full cloaks of the same. Cliffjumper sneered at the sight of them, shaking his helm.

"Ya see those? The ones in the cloaks? All but one of 'em are Decepticon senators. You'd think with their attitude to other species, they wouldn't be wearing cloaks of cloth derived organically," Cliffjumper muttered, tilting his helm up briefly at his bodyguard before his expression smoothed out again, and he wandered out onto the balcony, surprinsgly gracefully picking up one of the offered open-traingle, curved drinking 'glasses'.

He was, however, unable to not cast a glare at the single 'Con senator not in an organic cloth cloak.

[cliffjumper]

O: "Oh, you might be surprised - I have my ways," he whispered before the doors opened, before assuming a calm, protective stance just a step behind and to the side of the small mech, as though the sly comment had never been.

Mask firmly in place, he followed after Cliffjumper, careful to keep his inner curiosity hidden while tactically evaluating the room. Exits, windows, safe places to duck and hide, and areas that might cause panicked guests to bottleneck are silently noted. If they need to leave quickly, he has a dozen routes planned out within the first few klicks after entering.

Then he can focus on the guests and their pretentious accessories...and whether or not it looks like they are hiding weaponry. Cliffjumper's heated glare doesn't go unnoticed either, and he shifts the focus of his attention on the uncloaked senator.

"...Hn. 'Hypocrisy' seems to be lost on them in the name of expensive fashion."

CJ: The comment surprised Cliffjumper, but he didn't have much time to react to it, and just sent Optimus an as much startled as questioning glance before he just didn't have the time (or freedom, really) to indulge in being attentive... Though there were comms., too, of course.

"Rrr... I suppose. Slaggers, the lot of 'em," Cliffjumper hissed, then, to not be too obvious with his dislike, took a sip from the glass, frowning down into the near-transulscent energon, additives giving it a rainbow shift as the glass was tilted.

The only Decepticon senator without a cloak had obviously felt... either Cliffjumper's earlier glare, or now Optimus', as he tilted his strangely-shaped helm, its front casting a shadow over his upper faceplates and making the red optics fairly burn. His smirk as he first let a very obvious glance travel over Optimus wasn't... or at least shouldn't be fitting for a gathering of this caliber, but he didn't seem to care.

His gaze then dropped to Cliffjumper, and he waited until the mini wasn't actually glaring surreptitiously at him, but didn't seem to care that Optimus was still looking (indeed, he seemed to make it a point to make sure the bodyguard was seeing it). While he didn't smirk in the same way as he'd done when he'd looked over Optimus, his expression courteously smooth, the intense, burning stare, and the way it exceedingly slowly followed the minibot from his feet up to the sensory horns topping his helm and then looked back at Optimus, helm tilting with a tiny smirk before he turned away, was, perhaps, worse in a way.

Cliffjumper, oblivious (presently, anyway), huffed and looked up as a graceful white and pink femme approached, two mechs close behind her; one obviously a triple-changer, pleasantly green, the other a race-car alt in red and orange.

"Couldn't hide any longer, could you? And Mirage outdid himself this time, I think!" The last part was quite obviously not about any detailing, but rather apparently in Mirage's choice of bodyguard for his protegée as she looked Optimus over. Though it was a rather impersonally appreciative look rather than the flat-out creepiness of the 'Con senator.

"Arcee." Cliffjumper looked away briefly, and then back, a tiny smile on his faceplates.

//Nevermind her, okay? No matter what she says, she's not gonna give those two up.// Cliffjumper somehow managed to keep his face straight while making this rather insightful comment while talking with the noble femme.

[ichooseboth]

Optimus merely nods in agreement, keeping his gaze locked on the senator. He is used to being stared at like that, all barely-restrained intent and lewd want, but it doesn't make the feeling of optics trailing over him any less unpleasant.

He'll be keeping his sensors tuned on the senator, even when he can't be watching him. The way he looked at Cliffjumper worried him more, and he can't help but wonder what situation they've managed to step into this time. They just barely escaped the last one!

He quickly makes a note to himself to never accept any job offers from anyone affiliated with the mech, much-less the mech himself.

The arrival of the femme was enough to make him look away from the unpleasant con at last, though he kept his sensors focused. She was quite lovely, especially her color scheme, and he was reminded of his Elita with a pang.

Her gaze was far more tolerable, and given Cliffjumper's favorable reaction, he allowed himself a polite nod of greeting, with the proper deferential tilt of a lower-caste mech greeting a higher one.

::They seem quite protective. Guards or consorts or a combination of both?:: The green mech looked like he could pass as a guard, or even a military mech. Most triples were. The red mech looked far flashier, with much less armor covering sensitive plating; and with that lazy smirk crossing the mech's faceplates, Optimus could easily picture him as pure pleasure-consort.

[cliffjumper]

A situation that might, or might not, have to do with the whole reason Optimus had been hired as a bodyguard, it's kind of hard to know probably, since there'd been no outward mention of which Decepticon senator Cliffjumper had incriminating proof on.

Arcee smiled, clearly pleased at the greeting; Optimus did, of course, have the possibility of ignoring her in favour if his work, no matter her higher status, especially if he's been told it all right.

"Cliffjumper, it's pleasant to see you... and so fetching, too. No matter the new optics looking, perhaps you should have waited, though?" Arcee frowned just minutely, and Cliffjumper scowled, but there was more confusion than understanding what she's referring to in that expression.

"What? Mirage told me I had to, so I got it. An' he's a---" Cliffjumper cut himself off, huffing. "Your imagination's too slaggin' huge, Arcee." Cliffjumper scowled again, tapping his glass against his upper arm as he loosely crossed his arms.

::Both. Or, rather, Springer is. I think he's been teachin' Hot Rod.:: Cliffjumper did his best to not sound either flustered from Arcee's earlier implications, or jealous that someone else who wasn't supposed to learn weapons, was.

[ichooseboth]

Professional until the end, Optimus simply listens in without being obvious about it, taking a stance and keeping at his place behind Cliffjumper. He exchanges a barely-perceptible nod with Springer, a similarly armored mech in a similar position as himself, while the nod and wink thrown at him by Hot Rod does nothing to change his earlier impression of the mech.

::...It is a good idea, honestly. Guards or not, everyone should know how to defend themselves.:: Yes, even you, Cliffjumper.

::Hot Rod looks like he could be fairly adept at situations requiring speed and stealth...in the dark, at least.:: He chuckles. Analyzing the other mechs is unconscious habit - it was always good to know who you might be pitted against later.

[cliffjumper]

"Walk with me for a while?" Whatever the reason for Arcee's question, Cliffjumper gave the offered arm a stare and then he snorted, shaking his helm even as he hooked his arm with hers.

"Ya sure you want us to clash?" Of course, considering Hot Rod, she must have accepted this by now, and just laughs softly at the smaller mech, leading the small contigent of five around the large balcony slowly.

::Yeah, I... I mean, I think so. I dunno why Mirage's so recalcitrant 'bout it, or why weapons an' skills like that are separated by caste lines...:: Cliffjumper managed to keep his expression free from any reaction to the internal conversation, even if his broadcast tone indicated annoyance.

::In the dark, without anyone capable of pickin' up other ranges of the visual spectrum; his paint's reflective in a few other bands.:: The smirk, while again kept of his faceplates, was clearly evident.

At this point, however, Optimus would be getting a heavily encrypted, narrow-band message that had clearly been bounced enough to not reveal who the sender was. The message was clear; an offer of a quite substantial amount of credits for handing over his charge at a provided set of coordinates after the party.

[ichooseboth]

::I don't know for sure. Though I know mechs I've worked with before feel that it is beneath them to be forced to resort to such 'crude devices'.:: And yet 'crude' was a fitting description for plenty of the other things those mechs had done.

::...Ah. I'd hate to see what he'd look like under a blacklight, then,:: he chuckles quietly.

Optimus' only reaction to the message is a tightening of his lips under his mask. The move isn't unexpected, but he didn't think they would try anything so soon.

The credits are only slightly tempting, if only for the fact that it was practically enough to buy your way into a new caste and as well as have a reformat to fit in to that caste on the side.

But he would never condemn another mech to such a fate for his own gain...and he doesn't even believe for a nanoclick that he'd actually get the credits. He'd be a witness, yet another one to get rid of, and one that would be far easier to deal with. Following docilely behind Cliffjumper, he gathered up the message, encrypting it with the codes granted to him, and forwarded it to Mirage. He tacked on a query at the end: did they want to try to set up an ambush? After that, it was up to his employer.

[cliffjumper]

Cliffjumper huffed at that, physically, but managed to abort his reaction before it's too obvious what he was doing.

::Eh, they're all slaggin' idiots. Crude, my aft.:: There's a brief pause as Cliffjumper grumbled, both mentally and along the comm. before his mood lightened again and he chuckled.

::Trust me, while it ain't terrible or anythin', he wouldn't be able to sneak up on anythin'.:: Cliffjumper chuckled and shooed Arcee away with a - perhaps surprisingly, perhaps not - graceful bow as a senator and two nobles came up; the large group briefly murmur pleasantries before Arcee went with them, off to the side.

The message Optimus got back from Mirage was a firm 'wait' and an acknowledgement of the message recieved, but not even a klik later Optimus got another one of those heavily encrypted, bounced messages.

This time, the sum of credits have been raised by two thirds.

short tag is short

[ichooseboth]

::All true.::

With a sigh, Optimus forwards the second message as well, trying very carefully not to think of what those credits could bring.

His answers are a bit distracted, as he focuses back on the surrounding party and crowd. Arcee gets another slight bow as she departs, and he watches the new mechs calmly.

::So. Anyone else you know?::

:'D

[cliffjumper]

Since they're, for the moment, 'alone' (insofar as Cliffjumper doesn't have immediate company), he snickered and tilted his helm, glancing up at Optimus out of the corner of his vision.

::Well, depends on what ya mean. I do of course 'know' every single one present, by name an' station, rank, whatever, at least. But, uh, Bumblebee should be 'round here...:: Cliffjumper trailed off as he looked around, and thus both Cliffjumper and Optimus had their backs to the mech who came up to them.

"I didn't expect to see you this soon. A pleasure as always," the voice was fairly a purr, and while there's technically nothing unpleasant implied, the intensity was all wrong as the purple-plated Decepticon senator with the strangely shaped helmet swept a bow.

Cliffjumper, shoulders firming, whirled around to glare up at the mech.

"Senator Ratbat. Wish I could say the same." Somehow, the clearly angry little mech managed to sound rather courteous. Didn't stop his fingers from tightening around the glass, however.

"I'm surpised you're here, actually, ain't ya kinda... busy these days? Managed to get all your affairs in order?" Cliffjumper snapped and managed to keep from shifting in place.

There was something about the look on those faceplates he didn't like, at all, and it had nothing (or everything, he wasn't sure) to do with Ratbat being a 'Con.

Re: :'D

[ichooseboth]

::Bumblebee?:: he started, only to pause when he felt that mech creeping up on the sensors at his back. He turned with Cliffjumper, stance calm as he sized the Senator up.

Was this the mech that had sent him the messages, or would he have used a proxy, if it was him at all? Probably.

Still, he stays carefully silent and composed, alert for anything. Noticably, Ratbat does not get the same little bow of greeting.

[cliffjumper]

Cliffjumper would have replied to that question, really, but the Senator coming up had completely derailed him except for a brief twitch of his helm to the side where a gold-tinted minibot sharing a general frane-type with Cliffjumper had been approaching them... but had to stop when the Decepticon Senator came up.

Noble he may be, but like Cliffjumper, lacking any official station just yet, he hardly had the influence and authority to have the right to interrupt a senator.

A senator who was now smirking narrowly down at Cliffjumper, giving a tiny shrug.

"I am always busy... inefficiency abound, of course. And I obviously have time for a gathering that has charity as a goal... the business that needs wrapping up is in good hands and ought to soon be finished." Ratbat paused, helm tilting, and glanced at Optimus, then down to Cliffjumper again.

"Spectacular choice. Wouldn't care to share?"

There's a faint choking noise from Cliffjumper and he glares narrowly up at Ratbat.

"You'd have to talk to Mirage, I ain't the one who hired him. 'Sides, could always ask him yourself." Cliffjumper scowled suspiciously when Ratbat merely smirked and looked straight at Optimus.

"I believe I already have. Perhaps the offer of sharing should be redirected to you instead?" There was an exceedingly brief brush of Ratbat's hand - easily seen as accidental - against Cliffjumper's shoulder.

The implication, especially to someone of Optimus' caste, should be quite obvious.

[ichooseboth]

Optimus barely gave the gold mech a sensor-sweep, focusing on Ratbat. The slimy mech was nothing new, though considering their setting the blatant innuendo was unexpected.

The mention of 'sharing' barely earns a blink; he's heard worse in far more threatening situations. The implications toward Cliffjumper, however, earns a low engine growl, and he moves from his place just behind the little red mech to his side. He'd far prefer to step between them, but without an outright threat to the adopted noble there is little he can do.

"I believe you overstep, sir. That's hardly my place." He keeps himself polite, but chillingly so.

[cliffjumper]

Cliffjumper's highly aware of the guns he still have in subspace; the ones Optimus told him to take care of. And the urge to take out the one that wasn't the stasis-shot gun was burning through his circuits.

He's not sure why he's so angry; sure, the implications and questions towards his bodyguard were unsettling and were pissing him off, but the mech was a full Escort caste, so it wasn't, exactly, surprising.

Not even in a place like this.

"Ah, I suppose not. Not yet, anyway. I... apologize. Sometimes my zeal for efficiency gets the better of me," Ratbat said with a smirk, and Cliffjumper's relieved - though he's not sure why, exactly - for Optimus' bulk beside him.

When the senator actually tilted his helm after that and then left, Cliffjumper was as surprised as relieved.

"I have no slaggin' idea what just happened, but good riddance," Cliffjumper muttered and grimaced into his glass, taking a sip from it. Well, except for the part where Ratbat had implied he should 'lend' him Optimus, and not for any bodyguard reasons.

[ichooseboth]

Optimus too is surprised when Ratbat leaves, but doesn't allow it to show; instead he watches the mech's back until he vanishes into the crowd, before turning to Cliffjumper with an arched brow.

"I have to agree. I don't know what he wanted, but I didn't think he'd give up so quickly."

Which...probably means he got what he came for. Whatever that might be. Intimidation? Cliffjumper did seem a bit rattled, but that was about it. The lack of conclusion only made him more wary, and he increased his scans of the crowd.

[cliffjumper]

Cliffjumper's also following Ratbat's disappearing form, arms crossed. The slagger touched him. Sure, it was probably accidental, and it had been really brief, but still.

"Ugh, I dunno. Not that he could've gone 'round here makin' threats to get me to drop the accusations, which I ain't gonna do anyway, but... What's the point?" Cliffjumper shifted, and wished things were easier.

Oh, he could deal with the sort of turn-of-phrase (even if he was consistently using slang and less correct phrasing), acting, etc that was needed, but he didn't like it.

Didn't feel natural.

"Cliffjumper!"

Turning around, Cliffjumper grinned at Bumblebee as he came up, trailed only by a handful of guardian drones buzzing around. Those were annoying, but kind of cute.

"Thank Primus for someone less objectionable." Cliffjumper grinned but remembered something concerning Ratbat, and while he didn't turn to Optimus, he did address him.

::Could you keep a sensor or whatever out for some mechs in all black an' purple? Ratbat ought to have some around, but I ain't seen any at all.:: Those were his personal little force of servants as well as guards, and all other senators had them present.

[ichooseboth]

"I don't know. And that's what bothers me." He sighs, glancing up and down Cliffjumper discreetly, searching for any sort of bug that might have been planted on the little mech, but he doesn't see a thing.

::Easily done. I'll be watching, but I haven't noticed any yet.::

He turns to the new arrival, expression shifting back to neutrality at the red mech's pleased exclamation.

::Another friend?::

[cliffjumper]

Cliffjumper nodded just slightly, not really comfortable with the fact that they were nowhere to be found. He just didn't get it; they ought to be present, at least one or two. Instead there were none.

::Yeah, definitely. 'Bee's great.:: Cliffjumper was easily even more openly happy about talking about and with Bumblebee than he'd been even with Arcee, even if she was obviously also a friend.

The two minibots wandered together for a while - probably slightly longer than was polite in a setting like this, but they obviously didn't care - before separating to continue to mingle.

This wasn't Cliffjumper's favourite thing, but he managed well enough (long practice), but he was definitely slowly getting shorter and shorter with his 'polite' smalltalk.

::... Okay, finally. Mirage says I... we, can leave.:: Cliffjumper huffed over the comm., keeping his face clear of any relief.

[ichooseboth]

Bumblebee is infinitely more agreeable to watch and be around than the Senator, and not even Arcee was as jovial. The two of them interacting lift his spirits as he continues to scan the party with no sign of the missing guards.

When Bumblebee finally departs, Optimus grants him the same nodding-bow he gave Arcee.

::Sounds good. I would not object to a rest after this day, and if I could be so bold, I think you could do with one yourself.::

He chuckled over the comm, glancing around as they made their way to the elevators. Most of the party goers were still on the floor, and still no sign of either Ratbat or his missing mechs. He wanted to relax - they were almost in the clear, but he wasn't that unprofessional.

Or that stupid.

[cliffjumper]

Cliffjumper waited with replying until they're inside the elevator again, slumping a little against the wall and dragging a hand down his faceplates.

"Tell me 'bout it. Sure ain't burned through energon enough to have nothin' left, but it's not as if it's been easy either." Shaking his helm, Cliffjumper straightened enough to reach over and key in the code to get the elevator moving, crossing his arms as he slumped back against the wall.

"If it was anything else, I probably could've stayed at the apartment, but this... as it is, gonna be missin' the, however brief, appearance of the Prime, but I don't think I'm gonna be missed." Cliffjumper snorted, and then frowned, looking around.

"... Something's wrong. This thing's takin' too long." Cables tensed and hes wlowly pushed away from the wall with a scowl, itching to whip out the guns hidden away.

But it was impossible to know what was going on, so maybe he shouldn't do that before the situation became clear. Couldn't just one thing today go smoothly the whole way?

[ichooseboth]

If the elevator ride seemed a bit long, Optimus didn't consciously notice until Cliffjumper pointed it out. He hadn't much paid any attention to the ride up the tower the first time. But he was instantly on guard, taking a stance between the red mech and the doors.

"Where is it taking us?" He glanced over at the floor indicator as it continued to drop. "...My comm is jammed. Must be a local scrambler on the elevator car itself. Can't get a signal out."