red_diode_district | The Start of Something Interesting...

"That is why we get p-paid well for our stress," Mirage joked, giving Cliffjumper a light nudge.

Members of the Special Operations division -being of higher rank as it was - were paid a decent amount in credits. Nothing compared to the life Mirage had once enjoyed, of course, but well enough in their current, militarized life.

"And true. At least the weather isn't trying to kill is on purpose."

"Not that there's anythin' to s-spend it on," Cliffjumper said with a snort, amused despite himself. Differences in pay grade or not, they were all, theoretically at least, amassing quite a bit of credits.

Not that they were, at present, able to be paid, or, indeed, have anything to spend it on. But, in theory it was there.

"Not sure i-if that's better or wo-orse, though." Shaking his helm, Cliffjumper relaxed - and then sat up straighter again, engine rumbling in embarrassment at having leaned back against Mirage.

Why couldn't it have been Bee he'd have been stuck here with, or something?! Far less conflict and being flustered that way, slag it all.

"Well yes, the commissary is q-quite poor on selection."

Mirage snorted a laugh, resting his chin back down on Cliffjumper's helm after he stopped moving around. What he wouldn't give to be able to buy even a hint of the resources he once had access to...

"The weather is an enemy easier bested when one is prepared." He cast a glance toward their rushed tarp protection at the door - which was still holding fast, thank Primus.

"In our current s-state, we simply have to do our best."

And hope that no Decepticons showed up to finish the job.

"Y-yeah." If he hadn't had a crush, he'd have been yelling by now, Mirage's chin on the top of his helm pressing down in a very distinct way. He sort of wanted to tell the slagger off anyway because he wasn't a fraggin' rest for Mirage's head, but the blush and his vocaliser locking up because he was so. blasted. flustered. sort of made that thoroughly impossible.

Cliffjumper tightened his hands into fists slowly, keeping them there and then let go, just as slowly. Okay. Maybe he'd actually be able to speak now at least.

"A-ain't better by bein' stuck on this mudball... Either for the weather or the s-selection in the commissary."

It was simply convenient to rest his chin between Cliffjumper's horns; convenient and warm, nothing else.

The situation may have forced close-quarters on them, but even that wasn't enough for him to lose his mind and actually touch the horns themselves. No matter how curious he might have been.

"Of course n-not. Far too wet. And dirty. And cold."

Mirage sniffed, giving the doorway another hateful glance without moving his chin from Cliffjumper's helm. He was warm, but he still didn't feel warm enough.

If Mirage had actually, acidentally or not, touched the horns, Cliffjumper would have told him to get the slag off. It was more the fact that he was simply right there, resting, that did it.

"Least in a way that ain't h-helpful," Cliffjumper agreed with a snort. It wasn't like Cybertron's polar regions weren't cold, but that was just useful, really. This cold, with the wind and snow and everything, rather seemed made to, if not kill them, at least try.

Try really hard as well.

"Mud's worse, usually. Gets s-slaggin' everywhere, like t-the bugs and bits of grass or seeds or what the s-slag ever." Before Earth, he'd been able to avoid proper showers for a long time, and just do regular clean-off maintenance. Sure, there were temporary bases on similar planets, but that'd been tolerable.

Here, they didn't even know when they'd be getting off, which meant he couldn't just put off letting scrap build up and stuff. Sometimes he did anyway, but not for long - it didn't feel pleasant.

If Mirage ever did that, hed'd have to be pretty far gone.

Or trying to provoke the minibot, flirtatiously or otherwise.

"Mud. Oh my Primus d-don't even talk to me about mud!"

Mirage hissed, squirming in an aborted thrash of emphatic ire.

"Do you even know what all is in mud? Ignoring it in the field is one thing, but cleaning it out after? Ugh!"

The way he shuddered had little to do with the cold.

He shouldn't snigger at Mirage's reaction, but his shoulders still twitched in muted chuckles. He suddenly had a brief flashback to Mirage ranting about having stepped in mud which Hound had tracked in...

"I d-don't wanna know," shaking his helm empathically, Cliffjumper snorted, "I ducked out the time a-after Ratchet found out, ya know, right in the beginning? When he'd h-had it analyzed and went on a really long and loud rant that boiled down to 'don't you f-fraggin' dare to leave it stuck anywhere in you!' and slag."

He ended up sniggering again as he felt Mirage shudder. At least his being flustered was, for the moment, pushed away under the amusement and common disgust of the mud on the planet.

"You really, really do not want to know. At all."

Despite Mirage's disgusted shuddering, he couldn't help but snicker at the reminder. Even if he was spelling things out in a medically-horrifying way, Ratchet's rants were the stuff of legend.

Creative, too. Hound actually stayed out of the mud for almost three months that time.

"I have a-already heard more than I ever needed to, thanks to Hound's frequent 'off-roading adventures' and the resultant mud coatings. Makes my tires itch just thinking about it. So t-try not to."

"Yeah, I think I can s-survive without it. Other things far more necessary to know 'bout Earth, s-so I figure as long as I m-make sure it doesn't get stuck anywhere..." Shrugging, Cliffjumper grinned at the snickering he could hear, and suddenly it just struck him, that forced to or not, they were sitting here just... talking.

That felt both extremely strange and pretty good.

If he wasn't still so slagging cold.

"... It's kinda a-amazing... disgustingly amazing the stuff organic p-planets got." The awareness of the... simplicity of the situation made him hesitate as he spoke next, but at least he wasn't blushing. Just self-conscious suddenly.

"You better not. You're sitting on me, after all. I don't care of the organic bits are probably dead from the cold." Mirage sniffed, glaring at the back of Cliffjumper's head.

"...And keep talking like that and I'll sic Hound on you for a 'field trip'," he threatened with a snicker, only half teasingly.

Mirage really would encourage Hound to take Cliffjumper 'offroading', given enough incentive.

At that statement, he couldn't help it and rolled his optics and let out a snort.

"Honestly, Mirage. If it's stuck somewhere in joints and slag where I've missed it or not gotten to it yet, it's stuck and ain't gonna be fallin' out all over you. That afraid of a little dirt?"

Despite his own proclamation that he didn't know and that he wasn't happy anytime he got covered with scrap or had to poke it out of places, he still taunted the noble, revving his engine shortly as he grinned.

"And no ya don't! Didn't I just say I didn't want to know slag 'bout all that?" Because Hound probably knew and after any initial discomfort had gotten over it and was probably now revelling in knowing and discovering more.

Mirage gave a not-entirely-faked shiver at the idea of dirt crumbling all over him from his source of warmth.

"No, but you could still go slogging through it with him. You like 'off-roading', right?"

He waggled his optic ridges at the back of Cliffjumper's head, covering up his discomfort with a smirk.

It was probably just as well Cliffjumper couldn't see Mirage waggling his optic ridges, because that'd either leave him flustered or annoyed. Probably both. As it was, he snorted.

"Not like he does! He doesn't fraggin' mind it, I just don't let the slaggin' environment stop me and like navigating through it, but that doesn't mean I like gettin' all muddied up!" He couldn't quite resist the shiver at that thought.

On Cybertron, he hadn't minded - the sludge and slog and 'mud' found there didn't contain the scrap organic mud or... well, organic anything did. It wasn't really the point that they couldn't get sick from it, more the unpleasant films that covered them and everything.

"Off-roading is fun, but Earth makes it hard to enjoy it than elsewhere," Cliffjumper said with a snort and grimaced.

"Maybe if you ask nicely, he'll take you somewhere dusty or rocky, instead of muddy."

Mirage snickered. He eyed the back of Cliffjumper's head, wondering if he should go with the absolutely overused bit of teasing...

"You could even go cliff...hopping."

To his half-frozen processor, this was hilarious.

"At least dust's better than mu---" Cliffjumper broke off, and it took a moment for him to catch up to what Mirage had said, slag the cold, and then Cliffjumper sputtered, his elbow smacking back against Mirage.

"Yeah, I haven't heard that one before, at all! I can't fraggin' believe you just went for that!" And then he couldn't help himself and started to laugh despite trying really hard not to.

It wasn't even funny, because that stupid joke was so fragging annoying! Cliffjumper still ended up curled up on himself and laughing.

At Cliffjumper's own laughter, Mirage simply lost it, breaking into loud chuckles that couldn't be stopped, not even by the elbow hitting his side.

"N-No, I am quite certain my joke was one-hundred percent original. No one else could have ever made such a remark!"

He snicked against Cliffjumper's helm, trying not to fall over or disturb the tarp off them both.

Mirage has a nice laughter. Cliffjumper's own chuckles dwindle down and he squirms then shakes his helm. He could feel the vibrations from Mirage's chuckling against the back of his helm.

"Yeah, of course, it fraggin' was," with a huff, he crossed his arms over his chestplates, amusement still lingering, "I'll have you know my name don't got fraggin' anythin' to do with jumping actual cliffs!"

At least not in the meaning Mirage had meant it, or the meaning anyone else who'd pulled out that joke - especially if they did it in English - had used. Subsequently, there'd been an increase in those stupid jokes after their crash on Earth and he chose to translate his name this way. It'd just been easier, that was all.

Mirage's guffaws were slow to fade, his amusement lingering thanks to cold and their odd sense of comfort.

"...O-oh really? I should hope not. I've seen you jump."

Straightening back up with a final snicker, Mirage gave Cliffjumper an apologetic pat.

"I don't think I've heard the glyphs of your name rendered in anything but Common."

"I am goin' to beat you up," Cliffjumper said, grumbling even if the threat held no greater heat, "that was just once, ya know!"

Everybody and their fragging protoform liked to pull that one failure up! Though he supposed it was better than poking at his tendency to seeing spies and traitors in a lot of places...

Huffing at the pat, Cliffjumper nonetheless settled and gave a grimace.

"Don't see why it matters, not like the meaning changes or anythin'..." glancing back over his shoulder as much as he could, Cliffjumper eyed Mirage briefly, "but if ya want to hear it..."

That... he wasn't sure how that made him feel, beyond a bright little twitch around his spark chamber. Which was stupid.

But fine, Mirage sort of asked, and it wouldn't really hurt to respond.

So Cliffjumper did, and it felt weirdly good to fall back in his native Central Polyhexian dialect. Bumblebee was usually the only one who tried to use it while they were alone - he tried to do the same for Bumblebee, but Cliffjumper's proficiency in other city-states' dialects and accents wasn't... the best.

He tried though, and Bee appreciated it just the same.

"If we get out of here, you are more than welcome to try..." Mirage started seriously, apparently willing to deal with an attempted beat-down if it meant they would escape their current fate. But he paused when Cliffjumper spoke, voice shifting back into proper Cybertronian.

It was...nice to hear. The minibot's voice simply sounded better in their native language, even if the dialect was one the Towers - and the old Mirage - would have scoffed at.

He certainly wasn't scoffing now.

"...And I did want to hear it, thank you. Not a dialect I am very familiar with, but your designation does sound much more refined in your native tongue."

"I still might," Cliffjumper said with a mutter even as he ducked his helm at the compliment about his name, "dunno 'bout refined, but yeah. I like it." Huffing, Cliffjumper shifted around and tried to ignore the bright, pleased glow at Mirage having liked it.

That was just embarrassing.

"Ever go to Polyhex before the war?" Cliffjumper asked, this time not turning around as he traced out armour seams and angles in his legs, "and... uh, what about your name?"

He knew Mirage probably wouldn't think any of it, given that Mirage had asked and it'd just be polite to ask again, but it still felt like it'd be something special. Partly because none of them spoke anything but Iaconian Common since early on in the war.

He was sure it had something to do with 'ease of understanding each other' or whatever slag, and he didn't care, really. But it did render their native dialects and accents something near special.

"Cliffjumper. Earth languages make Kaonite sound good. Of course Polyhexen sounds refined."

He laughed, before shaking his head.

"I've only ever passed through, unfortunately."

He carefully left out the general opinion of Polyhex held by Towers-mechs involved generally disparaging remarks about 'commonality'.

"You will have to tell me the highlights. As for my designation..."

He preened a bit, before reverting back to the luting, elegant dialect he had been forged to - his name sounding both longer, prettier, and far more pompous in Towers-speak.

He shouldn't laugh, but he did, giving Mirage's right knee a knock with his elbow, but he had to quiet himself before he got to say anything as Mirage continued, and he wanted to hear it.

Even if he probably... yeah. Cliffjumper managed to not snort, but ended up grimacing. At least Mirage couldn't see that. It did rub him the wrong way, that pompous, arrogant inflection... But the rest of it, the way Mirage spoke and his voice shifted, not just in a subtle way in tone but also in cadence, seemed to just fit him far better than the more straightforward Common.

Not that Iaconian didn't have nobles, or poetry, or pompous windbags and everything, but Towers-dialect was... well, it's own thing, and it was no more clear than right then.

"... Pretty." Pause. "In a stuck-up, prissy noble sort of way," Cliffjumper quickly added, ducking his helm to hide his blush at letting his first, (mostly) unfiltered opinion slip out.

"And ya know, I'm pretty sure the mess the Neutral Territories made of the language is far worse than Kaonite. And there ain't nothing wrong with Polyhexian," Cliffjumper said with a huff, defending his native dialect, though not particularly seriously.

"Oh haha," Mirage grumbled, rolling his eyes at the back of Cliffjumper's helm. But his following sigh was resigned, even if he felt some warm pleasure at the idea that even a mech like Cliffjumper could find his name pretty.

"Thank you. But I'm sure most of our names and words come across that way to most at this point."

He sniffed haughtily, having a hand airily under the tarp.

"And of course there is nothing wrong with Polyhexian - it is perfectly, boringly average. A solid middle ground."

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