red_diode_district | The Start of Something Interesting...

With Mirage attempting to meditate, it was left to Jazz to make the first move.

Despite Cliffjumper's wandering route, it didn't take the special operations commander long to track him down. Guessing that the minibot would end up going to the gunrange wasn't exactly a leap in logic, given what he'd heard from Red.

Jazz parked himself on the sidelines beyond the safety lines, giving the red mech a ping - and waited for him to notice he was there.

Startling a jumpy 'bot like 'Jumper on a range was asking for trouble.

Concentrated as he was on what he was doing - at the moment trying to get better at controlling the shots with his glass gas - the ping got the equivalent of 'a moment' in reply, though when he realised who the ping was from and that there was someone else in the room---

"Jazz?" turning around, Cliffjumper frowned up at the mech, belatedly dropping his gun to point at the floor instead of at Jazz, changing his grip on it as well, "didn't think you were here already."

What Cliffjumper was more surprised at, however, was that Jazz was even here. What could he even want?

"... What's goin' on?"

"Heya Cliff. Been here for a bit. Nice shootin', by the way."

Other than giving the gun slip-up a bit of a stink eye, Jazz didn't outwardly react until Cliffjumper dropped the gun.

"Mhmmn. Well, we found a lost Cybertronian colony - or rather, they found us. Seems legit, too."

He waited for only a beat, before shaking his head.

"Which is why I'm here. Walk with me." It wasn't a request. He nodded his helm off to the side, where a few small conference rooms were tucked off to the side of the range, mostly used for privately discussing shooting technique.

He had the grace the squirm a bit at the look Jazz gave him the way he jerked around with the gun ready, feeling a bit embarrassed even as he stubbornly also felt it better to be too ready than be taken by surprise...

Not that he sort of hadn't either way, though.

"Uh-huh," Cliffjumper said, grimacing at the 'they seem legit' comment, because that's not what he thought, even if he hadn't exchanged a single word with any of their visitors.

And even if they were exactly what they said they were... who's to say they were trustworthy anyway.

"What do I... uh, sure." Frowning, and giving Jazz a narrow stare, Cliffjumper followed the spec ops officer. He wasn't really suspicious at Jazz, but well, what the frag did he have to do with this?

Regardless of what it was, undoubtedly there were at least a handful of other mechs that would be more suitable.

So it was really hard to not stop before they got into the room, or even just start asking questions as they walked there - he did, however, cast a look around the room when they entered, but it looked like they usually did.

Nothing off.

With a huff, Cliffjumper hopped up in one of the chairs (not one of the rooms with kindly adjustable seating, these) and crossed his arms over his chestplate.

"So what's goin' on? Why're ya comin' to me?"

"Well see, now that's the thing..."

Jazz took his time, locking the door after them, and dropping a small device on the table between them - a electronic bug-blocker, meaning their conversation was going to be completely unheard and seriously off the record. Despite the obvious seriousness, he still swung down into the chair backwards, propping his arms over the headrest before meeting Cliffjumper's stare straight on.

"Right now, we're workin' on a bit of diplomacy. Gonna send an envoy over to their world, Paradron, make everything real friendly and formal, ya dig? I't real important to reconnect with our lost colonies, if just ta make sure they don't pick sides."

He held up a hand to stop any possible outbursts that little bit of information might provoke. But he watched the minibot closely, evaluating any reactions he provoked.

"Now, this would normally be a job for one o' our most diplomatically trained 'bots, but the ambassadors do things a little differently - especially since they took a real shine to Mirage."

The longer Jazz took, the straighter Cliffjumper sat up, instead of slumping back in the chair as he had to start with. Not even the relaxed way Jazz sat down helped, and Cliffjumper almost burst out with...

Well, he wasn't sure what he was going to say, but Jazz hand in the air stopped him either way, so it didn't matter.

The tense confusion didn't abate when Jazz continued, though he couldn't quite help the little twitch and his optics flickering when Mirage was mentioned.

"So? What the slag's does anything of that has to do with me, Jazz? I'm pretty fraggin' sure I ain't even in the top fifty of 'most diplimatic', trained or not, so why're ya tellin' me this?"

And since they barely had even fifty mechs on the Ark, that said something.

By now, Cliffjumper's tension had been somewhat outweighed by his confusion - though he probably sounded more annoyed than confused given his tone.

"No, you're not," Jazz agreed, eyeing the smaller mech seriously. He caught that little twitch, but allowed to it pass unremarked upon- but inwardly, Jazz allowed himself a brief congratulations at a suspicion increasingly proven correct. It might make things go a tiny bit easier.

"But unfortunately, you're the only 'bot for the job."

He gestured vaguely back up toward the conference rooms on the other side of the ship.

"See, like I said, the Paradron's do things a little differently. Most, if not all, of the envoy they sent us are made up of Priests of Primus. Which is why they decided they wanted Mirage instead of ah real diplomat. Mirage is technically in charge of the whole sect for Cybertron - a real honor, to have him be the one comin' to their planet. Of course, we agreed."

He sighed.

"The problem is one of those little 'differences'. Accordin' to Mirage, the Paradrons seem to have come from a portion of the religion based around spark-bondin', and it's use as some sort of religious grounding. To simplify it - every single priest has a spark-bonded sensitive as a partner. To not, is a sort of scandalous taboo to be fixed at first opportunity."

He paused to let it sink in - and to see if Cliffjumper would catch on.

"What?" Staring, Cliffjumper couldn't figure it out, even with Jazz's increasing elaboration on the issue.

It wasn't hard to understand why they did go with Mirage, if the paradrons were as much of religious zealots as they sounded from this, but...

"So just pick someone and---"

'Sensitive'.

The word, which Mirage had used, and Jazz was now using, suddenly bubbled up like a stubborn reverse echo, becoming stronger instead of fainter, and suddenly what Jazz was saying, why he was saying this to him made sense.

The first, unfiltered reaction was a blush, because of course his slagging processor went with connecting 'spark bonding', 'Mirage', and 'me', as understanding dawned.

And then...

"Like slag! I ain't doin' it! Just fraggin' pick someone and say they're sensitive or what the rustin' slag ever!" He almost jumped down from the chair, but instead he threw his arms up and then back into the chair, crossing his arms over his chestplating and scowling.

Edited 2014-12-11 20:14 (UTC)

With a final sigh, Jazz's jovial nature vanished under a heavy stare. Cliffjumper's embarrassment was understandable - but the outburst was not.

"'fraid it doesn't work like that, Cliffjumper. You don't get a choice in this one. It's a mission, and it is gonna be an order if I have to make it one."

Jazz clomped a fist down on the table next to the scrambler, a reminder of the seriousness of the situation.

"You may have ignored this talent o' yours, so I'm gonna have to be the one to to tell ya that sort of thing just can't he faked. Aside from Prime himself and Mirage, you're the only other Autobot on board we know about with any sort of sensitivity. Even if the need to be linked through bondin' is a load of zealot backwash, true sensitive talent - or the lack of it- is pretty obvious t' a trained priest. And them findin' out is not an option."

Pit of a fragging mission.

Glowering, Cliffjumper didn't so much settle when Jazz stared at him as he puffed up, as much as he was capable of it.

"Hey, I didn't even fraggin' know I had it until recently! And it ain't like Mirage wants to... can help!" Cliffjumper defended himself, only reluctantly changing it to 'can' instead of 'wants'.

He couldn't fragging believe this!

"You can't be serious! I ain't gonna do it!" locking down his joints so he didn't squirm, Cliffjumper couldn't stop the blush though. That was as much from frustrated embarrassment as the thought of having to play a couple with Mirage.

The contents of his tanks squirmed, and the flustered feelings dropped down into a sick, clinging feeling.

Having to play at being a couple, being spark bonded with Mirage, and yet it wasn't as if the mech cared in that way.

"They're probably just waitin' for a chance to sell us out anyway!"

That wasn't a good argument, but at the moment it was all Cliffjumper could muster, pushing away the unpleasant feelings into anger... and a (only partly faked) usual display of his paranoia.

"I am, and ya are."

Jazz glowered across the table, pointing a finger Cliffjumper's way.

"What Mirage can or can't do for ya ain't the point - or even important. It's a critical mission that only you can do, and yer gettin' drafted."

Normally, playing off a 'bot's desire to be singularly important to the cause would help - but in this case, with this stubborn of a mech? Jazz wasn't so sure. Perhaps focusing on the priest stuff and less on Mirage wasn't the way to go...

"At spark, it's a simple diplomatic mission- one that doesn't even require much patience or diplomacy from you. Ya don't have to pretend to be some sort of expert or even a real priest. Just bein' a sensitive should be enough. You don't even have ta fawn over Mirage if you can't stand him that badly - just stay polite and pretend your 'relationship' is on the rocks."

Sputtering angrily, Cliffjumper tried to find arguments that would get him out of this - or even just for something, anything else to say, because otherwise he'd probably just start yelling.

"I don't fraggin' hate the guy, when's people gonna give it a rest already!" That wasn't what he'd planned to say as he threw himself back in the chair, EM field in a right, jagged flurry around him. Even if he didn't completely trust Mirage, and certainly hadn't liked him all that much before this stupid slagging crush had wormed it's way inside his processor and spark, he actually, really, didn't hate him.

"Probably when you two stop havin' issues."

Jazz waved a hand, casting the subject aside (and hiding his hint of amusement under layers of impenetrable stoicism.)

"But that's hardly the point I'm trying to make. If ya don't hate him, then ya should be dealin' with this better. It's a mission, Mirage is your leading partner on this one. Deal with it.."

Pausing to pull a datapad out of his subspace, Jazz slid it over to the other mech.

"All we know on the Paradrons, what they expect from us - and you - and a basic primer on Temple matters that you would be used to as a bonded-consort of a Priest. Download, memorize, and delete the second half off the pad. It will defeat the purpose of all this if you blow your cover."

Engine growling at the dig, Cliffjumper opened his mouth - and then closed it again, letting his vocaliser click on and then off. Because what else could he say? It wasn't like he was going to tell Jazz he had a crush on the stupid, fragging noble!

"Just 'cause I don't hate him doesn't mean I wanna work with him! Especially in somethin' like this!" he couldn't help the blush again, optics brightening and field flickering, and he tried to pretend it hadn't happened by snatching up the datapad and glowering at it, though not really reading.

"This is fraggin' dumb," Cliffjumper muttered as he stared at the datapad, and it was not whining, "religion is fraggin' dumb."

Regardless of the fact that he wasn't actually a believer in atechnogenesis or anything like that. The whole thing nonetheless had him torn between curling up and slumping in the chair or tossing the datapad across the room.

Why the frag did he have to get stuck with this?!

"Well maybe now is the time to learn how to work with him. You don't always get to choose who has your back in a fight or ends up with you on a mission."

Case in point, right now...or when you fall out of a ship in the middle of a frozen battleground. Jazz gave Cliffjumper a lingering stare.

"Religion may be dumb, but alliances ain't. We need 'em and you know it. So study up - you've got a few days to get used to the idea."

"I can work with him on the battlefield perfectly well!" bristling, Cliffjumper waved the datapad in the air choppily, once again restraining the urge to toss it - this time at Jazz's head and if he did that, he'd spend the rest of the time until it was time to leave in room arrest or something.

So he refrained, barely, though the furious flash in his optics probably told pretty well that he wanted to do something he didn't.

"This? This ain't fraggin' combat!" In fact, it was the opposite of it - or a very different sort of it, but not the sort Cliffjumper liked or was any good at. It also involved a very personal angle.

Especially since it was Mirage.

Growling, Cliffjumper slumped down again and gave the datapad an ugly glare. He knew there was nothing else he could say or do, not when they were so adamant they'd do this, to get out of it.

"Great. Can I go now, then?"

Finally reaching his tolerance limit, Jazz slapped his palm down on the table with a bang, hard enough to rattle the device.

"No. Download. Memorize. Delete, first. Or are the secrecy levels involved here not reachin' yer processor?"

He jabbed a finger at the still-sealed door, before turning it toward Cliffjumper himself.

"Just 'cause you're the only option doesn't mean I'm gonna tolerate you actin' like a scraplet - if I didn't think you couldn't manage it, we wouldn't be tryin' this. But you need to get your head out of your aft long enough to git with the program, Autobot Cliffjumper. This is another form of combat, and one yer getting a crash-course in. Deal with it."

Jerking at the slam of Jazz's hand on the table, Cliffjumper reflexively clutched the datapad closer. He really, actually, hadn't realised how serious this was supposed to be.

Even with the door being locked, even with the jamming device on the table, he had thought that he could do the downloading and deleting at his leisure, not right now.

It only had a little to do with the fact that he'd been pretty distracted by his frustration and embarrassment.

Blushing out of embarrassed anger, Cliffjumper demonstratively yanked out the cable from the base of his helm and plugged it into the datapad.

"Fine. There." He'd not admit that he actually hadn't caught on to the fact that this briefing was being treated with a higher security clearance than he was used to.

"I can get a hint..." Cliffjumper muttered, transferring his sulky glower to the datapad to glance through some of the infomation even as he downloaded it.

... Nevermind that Jazz's little outburst was hardly a hint, and that somewhere, his feelings nonwithstanding, Cliffjumper wasn't sure he could do what was being asked of him.

It just didn't seem honest.

Download complete, Cliffjumper frowned at the datapad and glanced up at Jazz again, asking, "the last half of the info, right?" just to confirm, before he deleted it as told.

"Good. Just start showing that you can more often."

And like that, Jazz's anger slid away, forgotten or - more likely - well-hidden once more.

"Yeah. Everythin' past "~DELETE~" in the bold letters," Jazz snorted, but not unkindly. His helm tilted far enough to watch the words vanish off the datapad screen, before he nodded in satisfaction.

"Good. Go memorize the rest of that the old fashioned way, and prepare yourself to leave in a week. You'll be meetin' with both Prime and Mirage later this week, before you head out with the envoy, so be prepared for that as well."

He nodded his helm toward the door, which unbolted wirelessly with a click.

"Unless you got any questions, you're dismissed."

Cliffjumper just huffed and gave Jazz a sulky glare at the comment, then bent his helm back over the datapad, trying to pretend he hadn't missed that - or the way Jazz spoke.

Glancing from door to Jazz when the door unlocked (it hadn't just been locked, Jazz had actually locked him in?!), Cliffjumper scowled.

"... I guess. How long's this gonna last?"

He just had the unpleasant thought of Mirage finding out or otherwise realising he had a huge, embarrassing crush on him and then laughing.

Or something else, like sneering.

He wasn't sure which was worse, even if he tried to convince himself he didn't care, either way.

They had both been locked in - and keeping other people locked out was the most important part.

Jazz leaned back in his chair with a casual shrug.

"Hmm. We're not sure yet. That bit is still involved in the negotiations. Prime will fill us in when it's settled, but if I had to guess, I'd say a week to a standard month at worst."

Staring at Jazz, Cliffjumper grimaced.

A week - sure, no problem (hopefully). That would probably not lead to too much of a mess or frustrations. A month however?

In more or less close quarters with Mirage? Having to pretend they were bonded?

Annoyance almost pushed away the sick, lurching dread.

"Fantastic. Better fraggin' not be a month." Cliffjumper barely managed to keep in the, admittedly spiteful, mutter about Mirage probably not wanting to leave at the end.

(And really, if he wouldn't want to, given that he'd always been somewhat... standoffish to direct action, no matter what he thought of the war or what the Decepticons worked for, Cliffjumper wasn't even sure he could begrudge him the chance.

More than one person probably would want to be able to not fight by now, but if they didn't... who then? With another grimace and a huff, Cliffjumper gave Jazz a wave after briefly pausing to see if the mech would bring anything more down on him, and then left.

He'd ignore this stupid datapad for as long as possible, but he knew he'd have to read it (and the data he'd downloaded from it) at least a few times before the week was up.

"Hopefully not," Jazz agreed readily enough. Having Mirage - and even Cliffjumper - gone for that long could cost them more than they might immediately gain by establishing new allies.

"But ya never know. I'm sure we'll try ta avoid it, but don't discount the possibility just yet."

But Jazz left it at that, returning the wave as the minibot escaped out the door. Returning the scrambler back to his subspace, Jazz pondered how he might break the news to Mirage himself...

While Cliffjumper stormed off, too distracted to even go back to the shooting range (while he did use it to unwind sometimes, it didn't work for everything), Jazz wandered out in search of the ~~next target~~ the other person involved in this mission.

At the least, not liking it or not, he could be certain Mirage would understand why... both from his position as a priest and as part of spec ops.

Mirage, while all this was going on, had settled himself in his small shrine room, attempting to find calm in meditation.

It was slow going.

The excitement of finding other priests - an entire culture, still intact - had been tempered by the realization that they were from an entirely different branch of their faith. One that Mirage couldn't help but find foolish...and inconvenient.

Of course they would be zealots. Of course he would have to lie and present himself falsely to even get to their world. He would prefer not to, of course, but he also preferred not to be stuck bonding his spark to some random, 'convenient' mech for the sake of allegiances.

Mirage's engine growled, disturbing the quiet of the room. He didn't even want to think about who he was going to have to rope into this farce...

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