red_diode_district | The Start of Something Interesting...

The Start of Something Interesting...

The day was calm, with no recent Decepticon attacks, and none suspected to be incoming for some time. The cons were too busy licking their wounds from the last battle, one that the Autobots had decidedly come out ahead on. The celebrations had gone on long into the night and the recreation room was already a mess.

Thus, it was the perfect chance for a lone Autobot to slip casually outside.

Mirage had no shift currently scheduled, so he was free to spend his time as he pleased. He certainly made no move to hide his departure, greeting his comrades in the halls on the way out, but the box in his hands remained unopened despite any passing curiosity. It was quietly shifted into subspace before long, and the former noble shifted into alt mode just as smoothly when he reached the doors. Despite the completely inappropriate earthen race car mode, the mech had little trouble self-adjusting before driving off into the forest covering the mountain, for business unknown...

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It was probably a good thing Cliffjumper had missed Mirage leaving originally as otherwise he'd be stomping through with another intent entirely. Instead he passed the same way as Mirage had a few kliks later, annoyed and kind of restless. He'd been kicked out from the targeting range as the twins, Tracks, Smokescreen and Bluestreak and taken the whole thing over (admittedly, they had a slot), and while there was a smaller, simpler one outside, it wasn't the best one.

But deprived of shooting holes in physical or holographic dummies, Cliffjumper didn't feel like staying inside - it was a rather stunning day.

And if Bumblebee hadn't been foolish and gotten roped into helping cleaning up the rec room, he'd have asked him to go for a drive. As it was, if he'd have been spotted, he might have been roped into it as well, but he'd avoided detection.

Passing under the giant engine nozzle and out into the sunlight, Cliffjumper scowled a little as he looked around at the barren ground in front of the mostly-buried Ark, then the trees swaying in a gentle wind in the early Oregon summer.

Letting out the ex-vent he'd been holding, Cliffjumper started to pick his way around the side of the Ark, and beyond that, along the base of the peak the Ark was buried in. He supposed he could take a look at what Earth actually looked like on foot, like Hound always harped on them all to do.

Despite the ease and speed of his departure, Mirage took his time. He set a leisurely pace around the entire circumference of the mountain housing the Ark. He wanted to inspect the area himself, as was proper; the...unique nature of the location made him want to be doubly sure of his plans.

Organic worlds. So...gritty and constantly shifting, with it's irregular ground and sopping wetness.

Yuck.

Even he had been subject to Hound's encouragement to explore, and while the green mech was something of friend, Mirage certainly wasn't doing this for the scenery.

Eventually, his path came full circle, if higher up on the mountain than when he started. The tree-line seemed like a good place to start - a natural boundary line between stark rock and leafy organic life, with great slabs of rock that could almost be mistaken for crude altars.

If one was missing their optics. But still! It would suffice.

Mirage transformed and took out his box.

He had no idea why he'd thought this was a good idea.

Of course, it wasn't immensely uncomfortable, not really. The sun was warm, but the air and wind was still cool, reducing the need for additional cooling even with the sun above, and he was walking in shadow more often than not. The colours of the trees and plants and flowers were... nice?

There was nothing wrong with them, really. There was a veritable riot of colour, but the green seemed somewhat off and Cliffjumper found that he caught himself thinking there should be glowing, and in some cases more brighter colours.

Grimacing, he tried to tuck the rare flare of fragging homesickness back where it belonged, where it could be ignored, and looked down at the ground he was picking his way over.

Weeds, flowers, last year's leaves, plants, fresh wheel tracks---

Fresh wheel tracks?

Optics narrowing sharply, Cliffjumper started to actually pay attention to the ground and thus where those were going, because this wasn't the regular patrol route around the mountain.

Which could only mean one thing.

Technically, having realised this, he should probably contact Red Alert, or Prowl, but Cliffjumper wanted to have some proof first, otherwise they'd never listen to him.

Just because he'd once or twice had (well-founded!) suspicions that didn't lead anywhere...

The box held a number of items, but the only thing Mirage removed at first after a moment of rummaging was a laser-blade.

It was much thicker than his personal ritual blade, with a larger haft and laser cutting area in turn, but still blessed for the same purpose.

Only this one wasn't meant for the fine, intricate detailing work that once existed on his own plating.

Kneeling down, Mirage murmured a brief prayer in Primal Vernacular before starting work on the rock, cutting in a series of detailed glyphs and runes.

It was more luck than skill that had Cliffjumper spot the probable origin of those wheel tracks as the sun winked off blue and white armour in a reflexion that made Cliffjumper look up from the ground.

Optics flickering, Cliffjumper stopped where he was, standing in the shadow of a huge, old tree and slowly frowned. He thought the tracks had been familiar - not that he knew Mirage's wheel pattern by sight, of course!

And what the slag was the mech doing?

Lips setting in a thin line, Cliffjumper eyed their surroundings, backtracked a little, and slowly worked himself up and around Mirage, to get a better view than below and behind.

Once the runes were carved, Mirage went back to rummaging through the box, currently oblivious to the watcher at his back. So close to the Ark and with his processor firmly devoted the task at hand, it was easy to miss Cliffjumper.

For now.

Eventually, the former noble pulled out another tool - a type of soldering iron, loaded with solder of gold for filigree work.

He began to trace the runes once more, this time leaving them highlighted with gold, murmuring to himself all the while; blessing the crude rock alter as a leyline of protection and survival.

And a desire to return home, to the embrace of Cybertron itself.

Crouching in the shadow of a respectably-sized outcropping (a larger mech wouldn't be able to use it as effectively as he), field pulled as tight as he could around him, Cliffjumper frowned, faceplate nearly ending up in a scrunch.

He couldn't see what Mirage was doing, precisely, but the fact that he was doing something with tools, just screamed suspicious. Sure, he hadn't precisely thought the noble - former or not - would do anything to compromise them, despite his less than enthusiastic participation, but what else was he seeing?

What had the 'Cons promised him? Or had he always...

Shaking his helm to get rid of that, both because maybe that was getting slightly ahead of himself and it sort of made him angrier than the other two situations he'd been so sure at, Cliffjumper pinged Red Alert.

::Cliffjumper?::

::Mirage ain't got any reason to be out here by my position, does he?::

There was a pause, probably Red weighing his natural hair-trigger paranoia and his duty against probability before he answered.

::... No. But Cliffjumper, we don't forbid anyone to wander around the mountain outside of patrol. Even if we perhaps should... Prime would never agree---:: One could nearly hear Red's frown, and Cliffjumper huffed loudly over the comm, frustrated.

::Well, he's got tools, okay, and he ain't fraggin' carving a smeltin' statue with 'em!:: Cutting the call, Cliffjumper stood up and only barely managed to keep his urge to pull out a weapon contained.

"What the slag are you doing?" Suspicion cranked to the max while trying to ignore the warring I-knew-it and why-him feelings? Definitely.

In the middle of concentrating on his work, leaning in to give the rock what was likely far more artistic detailing than it deserved, Mirage was caught completely unawares.

He jerked at the unexpected yell, helm hitting the stone directly in front of him hard enough to draw sparks, soldering iron tumbling erratically down.

Mirage knew that outraged voice.

"Ow-! Cliffjumper?"

He jerked away from the rock, hand cupping his forehelm in pain as he turned to give the minibot a vicious glare.

"What in the molten pit is the matter with you?"

The swear slipped out in Primal Vernacular without Mirage even thinking about it, bristling as he was over the disruption to his already poor ceremony.

"I think that oughta be my question! I ain't the one doing... smelt knows what to the mountain we have our base in!" Scowling, Cliffjumper threw his arms out and then pointed at Mirage, optics bright. Had the situation been different, he'd probably have found Mirage's crack into the rock momentarily amusing, however ill-advised that would be.

But right now he was just angry and maybe upset, and didn't even pay attention to the soldering iron more than to note that whatever Mirage had been holding he'd let go of. If he'd looked closer, instead of glaring lightning at the noble, he might have seen what it was.

"And what the frag was that, anyway? Code?" Stomping downwards towards Mirage, angry enough to not pay full attention, Cliffjumper almost lost his footing, stumbling briefly before he caught himself in a jump and crossed the last bit of distance between them with heavy steps.

"The base? What- Code? Code?!"

Mirage hissed, optics flaring with righteous indignation as he climbed to his feet.

"Is that that this is? Another one of those 'let's try to claim that the damn noble is a Decepticon sympathizer' games?"

Mirage was still dealing with the fallout from the last time someone decided to sling unfounded accusations around. The Autobots were not terribly violent amongst their own, unlike the Decepticons, but the hazing could get rough, as he had well learned.

Mirage strode forward, fists clenched, field radiating anger and bitter disappointment. His ritual was ruined now, and he absolutely refused to tolerate another claim.

Not even from this mech.

"It's not my fault you don't recognize old Cybertronion, you ignorant, presumptive troglodyte!"

The heavy field literally buzzing almost had Cliffjumper back up a step - but when he noticed that, it just made him angrier and he dug the back of his feet into the rock, pushing his field out in stubborn response.

"Wh---At least fraggin' insult me in a way I can understand, you stuck up, rusty cargo-hauler!"

He'd actually felt guilty for believeing the previous accusation, especially as he'd not particularly wanted to believe it... and now this.

"You're sneakin' around, doin' something weird and it ain't hard for ya to claim it could be 'old cybertronian', you fragger, 'cause how many on Earth can understand it?!" Cliffjumper yelled, the echo bounding around the mountain and it almost made him relieved he hadn't yelled what he actually thought Mirage was doing just yet, because that would make it more true than just going about it and trying to make him confess to it.

Treason. Spy - which, well. Mirage was, but, uh. Double spy?

"Oh yes, because doing 'something weird' automatically means someone is secretly working for the Decepticons or some other nonsense?!"

Mirage growled, punctuating his words with a finger jabbed at Cliffjumper's chest.

"And given your disgraceful lack of respect and tact, as well as your complete inability to process rationally, I'll insult you any way I damn well please! Because you deserve it, you gibbering idiot!"

His engine was roaring as Mirage's voice rose up to a yell in turn. Field erratic with anger, his fans vented the rush of waste heat from the blue mech's rage-heated frame in the minibot's face, adding further insult to the words.

Whacking the hand with the offending finger poking at his chestplate away, Cliffjumper snarled, his engine not particularly quiet either. And getting waste heat - which happened sometimes, mostly in passing - in his faceplate wasn't adding to his mood either.

"I'm processin' rationally, you're just actin' really fraggin' suspicious! We've got the blasted Insecticons on Earth, so you tell me sneakin' around and doing something suspicious and noone knowing why you're out here ain't grounds for---"

Cliffjumper's angry bellowing, underscored by his own jerky field which was causing a pretty unpleasant jangling static in the air between them, was interrupted by a loud, piercing whistle.

The noise sent whatever animals hadn't fled the mechanical roaring echoing around Mt. Hood scurrying away, and Cliffjumper jerked, stumbling a step back and rubbing his audials.

"Mechs." Jazz, whose arrival had gone unnoticed in all the noise, looked distinctly... unamused, arms crossed over his chestplates. Privately he was more exasperated than annoyed however, even if somebody would probably have to be assigned to soothe Mirage's scratched paint.

Edited 2013-11-14 12:08 (UTC)

"You-!"

Mirage hissed at the interruption, startled at the painful noise but forced himself to bite off his snappy response; his anger wasn't enough to make made him ignore the unspoken order.

Armor still defensively bristled, Mirage took a reluctant step back and turned toward the mech he actually still respected.

"Sir."

Cliffjumper just knew that what was coming wasn't any sort of congratulations of a job well done of warning of something suspicious - not by Jazz's expression, because just their yelling wouldn't have caused Jazz to frown as he was.

"He was---!" So Cliffjumper attempted to get out his point of view as fast as possible, whirling to face Jazz and widly gesturing at Mirage, but Jazz just shook his helm and held his hands up.

"While I ain't gonna say you're not lacking in initiative, we can't go around mistrusting everybody of the crew who's found somewhere you don't know why they're there, Cliffjumper." Jazz eyed the minibot, who made a noise like his engine was dying and jerkily crossed his arms over his chestplates, glaring at the ground.

While he was sure he could deal with this normally, the situation required a different take than just telling, or not telling, Cliffjumper anything. So he shot off a ping to Optimus while he looked to Mirage.

::Prime, I ain't sure how much I can or should tell him, and I don't think Mirage's up for it, could ya mediate?::

"Sorry 'bout the interruption, Mirage. Your effort's appreciated, but while this is kinda similar to what happened before, a bit of moderation might be a good idea? Why don't ya take a break and finish this off when you feel up to it?"

Jazz didn't know precisely how or what Mirage was doing worked - he wasn't well-versed enough in Primal Venacular or the various ceremonies and prayers or the disparate religious orders that had survived to know the exactly what Mirage was doing. But he didn't need to know more beyond the fact that Mirage was from one of them - this had come at the behest of Prime, after all.

Mirage sniffed irritably, shoulder-wheels bunching with noticeable agitation.

"I'm hardly inclined to finish at all at this juncture. The spirit is thoroughly ruined."

He carefully didn't glance at Cliffjumper at all, completely ignoring the minibot's existence with a sort of disdainful, purposeful obliviousness designed to shield his own wounded pride.

Even so, he strode back over to the rock to retrieve his discarded tools, replacing them in the box.

Over the commline, the Prime sighed with vexed resignation.

::And I suppose it would make for a more lasting impression if I was there personally.::

Because Optimus, as well as everyone else in the command structure, was tired of pointless, slag-stirring accusations. Against Mirage as well as others.

And he'd been looking forward to what Mirage had been working on, too. So much for that moral-booster.

::I'm on my way.::

Cliffjumper would've missed Mirage's pointed ignoring of him if he hadn't been sneaking narrow glares up at Jazz and Mirage - and that ignoring both made him angrier and guiltier and he didn't even know why.

"Pretty please?" Jazz drove his pitch high up and visor going bright in an attempt at lighten Mirage's sour mood, before he sobered up again, grin small and dry as he gave Mirage a pat on the arm as he passed him. "Whatever works best for you."

::Got it in one, boss-mech! At least this time it wasn't done in front of an audience, even if I'm gonna have to do damage control with Red.:: Jazz glanced from former noble to minibot as he talked to Optimus, holding back an almost amused exasperated sigh.

Because if there was one thing Jazz was good at, it was reading people (but he didn't put up with whatever slag, contrary to what people might think. He'd shut down the twins more often than Prowl had actually), and if he was reading the signs right, well.

Cliffjumper didn't make it easy for himself.

"Hrmph."

Mirage grumbled at Jazz's faux-plea, but he didn't say anything further as he gathered his tools. Jazz's enthusiasm always made it hard for him to turn the mech down, which is probably how he ended up stuck on board the Nemesis for weeks at a time.

And he was too angry to even entertain the notion of continuing at the moment.

Trusting Jazz to watch his back, the former noble stooped down in front of his ruined work. Thrown by the sudden, inexplicable urge to grieve, he covered the impulse by scoffing at the new scratches on the ancient detailing tool and sighing over the spilt, now-hardened gilding that had spattered with Cliffjumper's unexpected arrival.

So. Very. Ruined.

As for Optimus Prime, the Autobot leader had prudently already been heading toward the entrance of the Ark when Red Alert's call had come in, so dust plume of his arrival was already beginning to show on it's way up the mountain.

Jazz was indeed standing quietly between Mirage and Cliffjumper, tapping a foot to the music he'd dialed in to - Cliffjumper didn't really seem ready to do much of anything than glare at the ground and squirm.

A squirming that sort of froze when the noise of the Prime's engine differentiated itself as it came closer; there was just no way to not recognise it, and Cliffjumper's expression briefly flickered into a wince.

That just wasn't fair, calling in Prime?!

He'd just been--- shoulders stiffly bunching up as his crossed arms tightened over his chestplates as Optimus arrived and transformed, Cliffjumper stared even harder at the ground.

Mirage hastily stood back up when he heard the rumbling arrival, optics going briefly wide when he saw that Optimus himself had been called to the scene.

How humiliating.

"Jazz," Optimus transformed and stepped up to the gathered mechs, greeting his second-in-command with a nod before addressing the rest of the group.

"Well then. I hear that there is something going on that I need to know about?"

He addressed the circle of Autobots with a raised optic-ridge and a unusually cold tone. Mirage simply clutched at his box, shame burning in his fuel tanks.

"Prime." Jazz threw a jaunty salute at Optimus, but was otherwise serious as he glanced from Prime to minibot to noble.

::Mirage, you can leave if ya want to, since ya ain't done anything wrong.:: And, frankly (and unfortunately) he doubted Cliffjumper would be able to apologise even if he should.

Cliffjumper couldn't quite contain the wince at Optimus' tone and had brief flashes of the other times he'd brought up accusations of espionage/treachery. Only one of them had turned out to be true, so maybe his sense of picking these things up was a bit wrongly calibrated, but frag it all..!

"Red Alert didn't know what he was doin' out here, and he was doin' somethin' weird and doing it on the rock where the Ark is buried, so what was I supposed to think?!" Cliffjumper spat out, engine grumbling beneath his tone as he glared at the ground, frustration, anger and a confusing mix of guilt and feeling like he was being picked on because of Mirage bubbled somewhere.

It wasn't his fault other people had gone further than he just had - but at the same time Mirage had been pointed out a fair few times and that had made him just throw his arms up the second time it happened (and yet, uncertain whether it was true or not, he'd behun to believe it right around when it was proven not to be true).

"I think you were supposed to simply ask your fellow Autobot what he was up to. Or perhaps follow procedure and do proper recon if you had any reason to expect violence."

Optimus only gave the rock a passing glance as he approached, sighing and nodding to Mirage in turn.

::You are, of course, free to go, Mirage. Thank you for your attempt - it is appreciated.::

Whether or not he was already aware of Jazz's own comm, Optimus still gave Mirage his own blessing. With a finally adjustment of his box and a nod to his Prime, Mirage flickered into invisibility. The faint crunch of a single footstep against gravel betrayed his hasty retreat for only a moment.

::Thank you, Prime.::

The sputter slipped out even if it probably shouldn't and he also probably shouldn't argue with the Prime, but.

Well.

"I did!" Tossing his hands up in the air, Cliffjumper stomped one foot and then crossed his arms over his chestplates again. "I asked, all right? Just 'cause he decided to get angry..." He hadn't 'asked' (demanded to know, more like) in the best way, perhaps, and quickly jumped to adding other things, but in Cliffjumper's mind, he had started out asking.

If in an overly antagonistic way.

Jazz had to look up at the sky to not make a noise or a not-helpful comment, because he could well imagine how that had went. Especially by how quickly it had escalated.

Diplomatic and good at hiding it when he was suspicious or letting his paranoia get the better of him, Cliffjumper was not.

Edited 2013-11-17 21:17 (UTC)

Optimus sighed again, waiting until he was reasonably sure that Mirage had time to make his way out of the clearing before continuing.

"And how did you ask him? Is there any possible reason why your phrasing might have upset your fellow bot?"

By Optimus' tone, it was obvious he had a pretty clear idea what that possible reason might be. But he rather wanted to see how deep a whole Cliffjumper was planning on digging himself into.

Cliffjumper opened his mouth, but his vocal processors ran on empty and he snapped it closed again.

While he was still upset, and even more so by this response, his processor contained more than two bits of processing power.

"Well, I didn't call him a traitor or spy or anythin'!" Cliffjumper muttered as he stared, stubbornly and narrowly, at the ground by the Prime's feet, his field pulled in tight.

Jazz, for his part, had almost made a noise at Optimus' question, and then again when Cliffjumper answered.

::Not as bad as it could be, but even without an explicit accusation it ain't hard to see how it went down considering 'Jumper's abrasive personality. They were very loud.:: Jazz knew he shouldn't smirk at that, and he didn't, but his tone was briefly amused.

Besides the seriousness of yet another accusation, it had, at least, not had the chance to have a huge fallout.

Except on a personal level for at least one of the two involved - he knew Mirage didn't have anything against Cliffjumper but nothing more than that... And it was probably "hadn't had" anything against him, unless Cliffjumper pulled himself up by his bearings and made amends.

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The Start of Something Interesting...

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STEALTH ACCOUNT SWITCH GO

/GASP