red_diode_district | The Start of Something Interesting...

He probably shouldn't be amused.

Not even the smaller amount of patience he had to call on diminished the fact that he was, however, as he watched Mirage curl up like an overdramatic newspark told they couldn't have an energon treat.

Tapping the corner of the datapad against his cheek, Jazz grinned.

"Decided ta start in the hardest end when I found out we couldn't choose anyone else, considerin' his temper," Jazz said, still resting the datapad against his cheek while he spoke, "Pretty poorly. There was yelling. He'd probably argue with Primus himself if he didn't like what he had to say."

He would have said "argue with Prime", but well. That was a definitive and known thing that had happened, so it would be moot to use it.

"He knows he has to go, though."

Not that Jazz had fully begrudged him his reaction, if his suspicions were true - which they seemed to be - but there was no time or possibility to accomodate such things right now.

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Mirage grumbled, voice muffed from his position, face buried in his own knees and pillows.

It took a long moment, in which Mirage tossed the pillow away in disgust, wheels twitching and fingers raking down his otherwise pristine, glyphed plating, but when the spy finally turned back to his superior, he was much more composed.

"So. He actually agreed to this farce?"

He was certain Jazz would be polite enough to ignore his still-spasming tires. He reached out for the datapad.

"He did, yeah," Jazz said as he handed the datapad over, smiling humourlessly, "I didn't quite have ta make it an order, but I told him I would if I had to. Cliffjumper's difficult but not impossible." The humourless tone disappeared under a sharply amused smile.

"At least like this, we ain't gonna have to scramble the last day or so if we'd found this out then and had to change things around."

Frankly, whatever the frustrations right now, it was probably far calmer than anything else that might have happened if they'd had to order/convince Cliffjumper to go just a day before they were due to leave...

"To you he's not impossible, maybe." Mirage muttered darkly, paging through the datapad with a detached air. It was more interesting then he let on, but he was still too vexed to openly show it just yet.

"...I wouldn't have put it off for that long," Mirage snorted, shaking his helm.

Tilting his helm, Jazz snorted.

"You've worked with him before, albeit not in a situation like this," and Jazz didn't mean the 'pretend to be a couple' part, "was it so unmanageable?"

Then he chuckled, shaking his helm as well.

"Meant more if none of us found out what qualities the anchor would need and we'd need to switch at the last moment. But I guess you'd figure it out before then, if we didn't already know?"

Jazz sure hoped so, if they hadn't been successful in obtaining the information now contained in the datapad already.

"He may have gotten -somewhat- better recently, but that doesn't change the fact that Cliffjumper is a difficult mech to work with." He really wasn't as bad as all that but...well. Old grievances were hard to forget.

Mirage snorted. He waved a hand, gesturing with the datapad.

"Oh, I'm sure I would have been able to make some discreet inquiries. Disguised as exploring cultural differences if nothing else."

"Like I said, difficult, not impossible," Jazz said with a chuckle, but the pat to Mirage's shoulder was certainly not unsympathetic, "you'll both have to learn to work better together."

And if nothing else, Mirage might mostly have to contend with Cliffjumper's tendency to get flustered more than his actively aggressive and challenging parts, depending on.

Not that that made it any easier, but Jazz was sure Mirage would be able to handle it.

"Hopefully so. Luckily, it ain't like we had to wait either way. Anythin' ya know you want me ta start do or gatherin' up immediately, or should I leave so you can curse me out in private some more?"

Jazz's grin was nearly wicked.

Mirage huffed, resisting the urge to roll his optics. He settled for an affronted sniff.

"Close enough. I am perfectly capable of being professional. Even if there will be much cursing once you leave."

He shrugged, paging through the datapad a little more as he considered.

"Just any further information we don't already have, if you can manage it. You know as well as I how any little detail may come into use. And perhaps..."

A sigh, before Mirage ruefully laughed.

"Well. I doubt anyone would give much advice on how to keep a novice, headstrong idiot playing 'spy' from botching the entire thing."

Jazz just chuckled at that.

"We'll both try ta wring them out for all the information we might need, hm? 'Cause I don't think they'd be suspicious if you did have some conversations with them previous to leaving under the guise of exploring possible cultural differences." Jazz would certainly not just stop digging himself, either.

This was far too important to do that, and the more they knew before their 'ambassadors' left, the better for all of them - away team and everybody remaining on the Ark... as well as Autobots elsewhere in the cosmos, Cybertron or not, as well.

"Ah, that's the dilemma, ain't it? But as long as it's hammered home that he doesn't need ta do a thing beyond actin'... well, almost as usual, it should be fine. At least any arguments you two have, as long as no one overhears them too clearly, should be easy to wave off as normal bickerin'," Jazz said with a grin, visor glinting.

"Asking more would be fine, I'm sure."

Mirage waved a hand

"I may not be a professional ambassador, but I know or can at least guess what I can ask safely. Taboos are landmines neither side wish to set off."

He made a face at the idea of Cliffjumper stepping on said conversational landmines, however. The red mech would run blindly into them headfirst, and then keep charging ahead into the rest out of sheer stubbornness.

Mirage harrumphed.

"Now bickering is one thing I am sure we will do quite well."

"I don't doubt it," and really, he didn't. Mirage and Cliffjumper were both in possession of strong personalities, like many others on the ship, and putting them together when one added differences in opinion, prejudices and a dash of class difference, regardless of the fact that it'd been millions of years since that had mattered in any greater way?

Well, bickering was the least of it that could happen.

"Hopefully not too much so ya can do your job, too. And you're as good a choice as any of the other ones we might have suggested, considerin' you're probably knowledgeable of things by upbringing that others had to learn from trainin'," Jazz said with a shrug and a wave of his hand, dismissing any possible concerns anyone might have (present or not) over Mirage's suitability.

Finally, Mirage had to laugh at the sheer stupidity of the two of them arguing in front of the Paradrons.

"Perhaps."

If his long career as a spy ended like that, he would have to laugh.

"But yes. We still might fail miserably, but I will do my duty. And...do my best to prepare him as well."

The assurance was reluctantly given, but given nonetheless.

Hopefully, his career wouldn't end like that!

"You won't be alone in that, Mirage. We'll all do our best ta make sure ya can succeed and that Cliffjumper might be, if not an active help, not a hinderance," jazz said with a lopsided smile, dropping a hand to Mirage's shoulder before he bent to pick up the scrambler.

"I'll leave ya to it."

There was a reason Mirage usually worked alone. This was nudging on at least three of them.

"Oh what fun that will be," Mirage sighed, before giving Jazz a wave.

"Go on, go on. I'll figure out how to approach the little cog soon enough."

He had a few ideas, but once Jazz was gone, he returned to his meditations. Or his attempts at mediation. Oddly enough, they went slightly better than before, if only because things were now decided. Even if he was not pleased with the outcome.

The polite thing to do would be to call on Cliffjumper and arrange a meeting...but as Cliffjumper's involvement had been spring on him, Mirage didn't see much wrong with springing their meeting on an unsuspecting minibot. Checking the duty rosters, Mirage waited most of the day up until third shift in the evening, fueling himself and reading that datapad. Eventually pinging Teletran for the red mech's location and finding him home in his quarters, Mirage set out on the pre-mission...mission.

Cliffjumper would've pointed out he got the whole fragging thing sprung on him as well, if he knew that was Mirage's reasoning. As he didn't, Cliffjumper was curled up on his berth, glaring at the datapad Jazz had given him while trying to concentrate on another, far more fun datapad.

It was harder than it should have been, because despite doing his best to ignore it, its presence seemed as glaring as headlights right into his optics, and even when he could concentrate on his own datapad for a bit, the circumstances and the fragging situation that was coming at the end of the week just kept popping up and circling around in his processor.

Having to play bonded. With Mirage of all people.

If he simply disliked the mech, it'd probably be easier to swallow than his actual feelings for the slagging glitch made it.

Great.

He hadn't been able to read more than a full sentence or two and he kept having to start over. Cliffjumper was overcome with the urge to throw both datapads across the room.

He didn't mean to, but Mirage ended up invisibly stalking through the halls before he even thought about it. It was part of a mission, after all; it was easy to slip into the right mindset. And he didn't particularly want to be seen slipping up on Cliffjumper's quarters, not when it could start some sort of rumor that could reach the ambassador's audials.

Despite the mindset, he didn't announce himself right away. Even after all that mediation, Mirage had to take a moment, staring at Cliffjumper's door, to steel himself for the coming fuss.

Then he pressed the door-comm, not bothering to ping the mech himself. He honestly wasn't sure if the minibot would even answer the door if he knew who it was...

"Gah!" Jerking upright and almost dropping the datapads he had, in fact, thrown against the wall (it was a good thing they were not overly fragile), Cliffjumper stared at the door in startled incomprehension at first.

It couldn't be Jazz again, right? What'd he even want, if so? Cliffjumper was pretty slagging sure it wouldn't be Bumblebee or any of the other minibots - they'd have pinged him first, and not many others would come seek him out while he was in his quarters.

Realising he was still staring at the door, Cliffjumper belatedly put the datapads in one hand and reached out to key it open, ending up staring at white and blue armour (and not the darker crotch, nope).

"Uh---" looking up to meet Mirage's optics, Cliffjumper felt the tell-tale heating up of optical components straining slightly as he blushed and scowled, looking away.

Of course it had to be Mirage.

"What'd you want?"

A moment too late he remembered to throw a glance behind Mirage (even if the Paradronian entourage doubtfully knew who was Mirage's (supposed) bonded yet) to check the corridor, but it was empty.

Probably just as well, considering the sharpness of his voice.

Edited 2014-12-25 14:01 (UTC)

Flickering back into the visible spectrum the moment before Cliffjumper opened the door, Mirage stared down at the smaller mech.

This was the 'bot he'd be stuck living and working with for the next month or so.

Primus help him.

"We need to talk," he huffed, pressing his way past the minibot into the doorway - if only to keep it from being slammed in his face.

"But not out here. Inside."

"Hey---" Scowling, Cliffjumper scuttled aside if only not to have to be pushed aside when Mirage just barreled inside. Cliffjumper smothered the urge to throw one of his datapads at him, but if he did that, who knew if they'd be okay since he'd already tossed them once.

He didn't actually have a single thought of forcing the door closed - partly because he was too distracted and surprised, partly because... well, he wouldn't do that unless he was actually really angry.

Which he wasn't.

So with Mirage out of the doorway and Cliffjumper having hopped aside from the same, the door slid closed.

"Couldn't this have waited until tomorrow, slag it?" Cliffjumper was aware he sounded plaintive - almost but not quite whining. It wasn't hard to guess, now that he'd had half a moment to think about it, what Mirage wanted to talk about.

Well, not that he knew exactly what it was about, but it obviously had to be about going to Paradron.

As a couple.

He almost blushed again, especially when he looked back from throwing a frowning glance at the door as if it'd somehow fix everything, and looked up at Mirage.

Who was in his room.

... Why the frag did Mirage have to come talk to him here!?

"Not really, no."

Mirage gave the hallway one last glance as the doors slid home; the room he only gave a perfunctory glance, to assure himself that no one else was inside. Curiosity could be sated later.

Staring down at Cliffjumper's glaring, flustered face for a long moment, Mirage suppressed a sigh and began.

"...So. I hear that Jazz has fully briefed you on the...situation?"

"Yeah, he did, so you ain't got anything to fraggin' worry about, I already said I'd do it!" Cliffjumper grumbled and stomped across the room to put the datapads down on the desk. He then shuffled them around until the one he'd been given by Jazz was beneath the other one.

Not from any sense of that he should hide even vaguely sensitive material, but rather because he didn't want Mirage to know it was there. For some reason. Also the fact that the mech could now see what his room looked like (despite that it hardly looked much different from anyone else's) made him want to squirm.

"So if that's what ya wanted to ask about..." Cliffjumper shrugged and wasn't sure if he'd rather have wanted that Jazz make it an actual order instead of just threatening it.

A potential month, living with Mirage? On an alien, possibly hostile planet?

... On the bright side, maybe his crush would finally get squashed by getting to know Mirage better.

"Actually, that isn't why I'm here."

Mirage raised an optic ridge at Cliffjumper's reaction. "Jazz already told me you agreed, after all."

And he wasn't blind to the thought of what Jazz probably did to get Cliffjumper to agree, but the agreement was still there. And now Mirage had to plan around it. He gave Cliffjumper a long look.

"I've...come by, because we now need to figure out how we will be going about this."

He couldn't quite help the grimace when Mirage mentioned the whole thing as well, and briefly he wondered if Jazz would've told Mirage how it had gone down... but no, he wouldn't do that.

"You... what for?" Cliffjumper looked up at Mirage, optics flickering a little in his confusion. He felt, vaguely, like he wanted to be annoyed or frustrated, but since he couldn't even figure out what Mirage meant, what was necessary for them to figure out, Cliffjumper just frowned.

They had to act like a couple, what else was there to figure out?

... Well, besides him having to spend at least a week and up to a month playing at something he wanted but couldn't have. It was almost enough to make him flush with frustrated embarrassment.

Mirage stared for a long moment, internally shaking his head and trying not to be annoyed. Cliffjumper was not special operations - it wasn't fair to expect him to know what he needed to do and how to prepare for such a mission.

But that didn't mean he was immune to the aggravation.

"Planning? You do realize we need to come up with our supposed story ahead of time, correct? We cannot make up the lies and 'history' on the fly, Cliffjumper."

To be honest, Cliffjumper wasn't just not special operations, he also sometimes needed things to be spelled out for him.

"Planning..?" Staring up at Mirage, even if what the mech was saying now made sense, Cliffjumper suddenly felt ill and had to resist the urge to yell at Mirage to just get out.

Or storm out of the (his own) room himself.

"... Fine," Cliffjumper said, growling out the single word as he substituted stomping out to to stomp across the room to throw himself to sit on the berth. Not that he wanted to sit on the berth with Mirage in here, but he wanted even less Mirage to sit on it.

That was just inviting trouble - trouble his processor was already latching to with an eagerness that was just shamefully embarrassing.

"I guess you should sit down," Cliffjumper said, jerking his hand to the chair at the desk. It was adjustable, so all Mirage had to do for it to fit him was to adjust the height setting.

Cliffjumper and the other minibots had been relieved the Ark had those "amenities", mostly because as the war went on, they became less and less usual when resources dwindled or just got harder to access because the other faction was fighting just as hard to get at them or stop them from accessing or processing them.

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