red_diode_district | The Start of Something Interesting...

"Why n-not?" huffing, Cliffjumper gestured at the opening with his gun, frowning, "it's a fr-raggin' blaster, Mirage, not a bomb! A few shots ain't gonna collapse anything!"

Really, why was he being so difficult about this? Killing his headlights since the light outside was easily enough to see by given the size of the cave, Cliffjumper stomped his feet.

"Just a f-few scrappin' shots to loosen up some rocks so we can weigh the bottom down, and maybe create some deeper s-scores to tie the top up. You've got a better blasted idea, or what?" He tried to ignore the way his vocaliser kept glitching or freezing up thanks to the cold.

"Well let me look first and I might!"

Mirage hissed, shivering as he shoved around in his subspace recklessly.

His tools, rifle (no), field kit...hmm.

He pulled out the first aid kit, glancing inside, before pulling out a small staple gun, use for field-patching torn fuel lines and mesh wounds.

"I don't know if it will go into the rock but at least try this first before you shoot stuff?"

He offered it over, unwinding his parachute to start holding it over the doorway.

Huffing, Cliffjumper crossed his arms over his chestplating as he waited, kicking the jagged rocks of the opening near the ground and loosening frozen rocks, pushing them aside.

Looking up when Mirage spoke and held the staple gun over, Cliffjumper gave it a narrow stare and took it, turning it over in his hands.

"Dunno how the slag ya think this is gonna work on rocks, but fine. We'll try it your way first. A few blasted shots ain't gonna collapse this thing though," Cliffjumper said with a mutter, waiting until Mirage had the parachute spread out before he stretched up and shot the staples through the parachute into the rock, both up near the top and against the ground.

"... Don't think this is gonna hold long. At least try tie it up with the strings or some slag like that?" Cliffjumper didn't trust the parachute to stay up long with just the staples, but if Mirage was going to be an anxious protoform about it...

He laid the rocks he'd kicked loose on top of the parachute on the ground, to help the staples he'd shot through it stay in place, but he really didn't think it'd stay up long near the ceiling.

But well. If Mirage wanted to do it this way... He tried to suppress the next grumble.

"Feel free to use it liberally," Mirage said, reaching up to test a staple with a thumb, attempting to jab it in further with a frown. Many were loose, but others had gotten a decently solid hold in softer rock.

Shrugging, he reached for the chute straps readily enough, pulling them out to tuck into crevasses and looping them around any useful rock. Hopefully, between the staples, straps, and rocks, the tarp would keep the doorway blocked enough.

"...feels better without that wind, at least."

But the rocks were still frigid on their skidplates, and Cliffjumper had the remaining tarp.

"Yeah, yeah..." Shaking his helm, Cliffjumper still went back to punch in more staples, tugging on the parachute in a few places and finally shrugged.

"Yeah, it d-does. That's one slaggin' good thing about this. And I guess unless it starts stormin', it's probably gonna stay up. Here." Holding the staple gun out, Cliffjumper bent down and picked up his torn parachute and held it up, frowning.

It was big enough it ought to cover them both as long as they didn't decide to sit at completely opposite ends of the cave, even if it was a tiny cave. And, with something to cover the entrance of the cave somewhat at least, what heat they'd give off wouldn't escape immediately.

It wouldn't really do much to help the expelled heat build up or anything, but... Grimacing, Cliffjumper twitched his shoulders in an attempt to warm up the joints.

"I guess we just sit our afts down and wait, now." Cliffjumper muttered and very definitely didn't look sideways at Mirage. Sitting around in a confined space with the spy.

Great.

Mirage shivered in agreement, eyeing the remaining parachute. Cliffjumper seemed to be at a loss.

But Mirage was already well aware of what they needed to do to survive this. Carrying Cliffjumper across the snow had made that clear.

He vented a sigh that skipped from the cold.

"Come here." Mirage gestured toward himself with a shaky arm.

Eyeing Mirage with a stare that wasn't so much suspicious as it was hesitant, Cliffjumper shrugged. He had intended to get closer when Mirage was away from the opening and sitting down properly again after all.

"What? I was gonna come over..." Shaking his helm, he took the basically single step needed to get to Mirage and held the parachute out, uncomfortably aware of the cold and how stiff his joints were.

Also completely unaware Mirage had decided they'd need to do better than 'share the parachute sitting down beside each other'.

Mirage sighed in exasperation, increasingly chilled waste-heat from his vents still warm enough to cloud the air.

"I don't think you realize what we are going to have to do to survive this."

Taking the offered corner of parachute in one hand, Mirage leaned over to snag a red wrist in the other, limbs opened and beckoning with the gesture. He gave an impatient tug.

"Come here. We are not going to conserve heat by leaning on pride and acting like touch-repressed ninnies."

"What? We can just---gah!" It was probably more testament to how unprepared he'd been for Mirage to grab his wrist as well as the parachute and then tug that the noise slid out, rather than Cliffjumper loosing any footing in his surprise.

"You can't be fraggin' serious---!" Tugging on his arm, Cliffjumper stopped.

Mirage totally was serious.

He was also probably absolutely correct, and the potential heat they could scrounge up between them was very attractive. But that meant sitting right next up to Mirage and...

And it wasn't like he - technically - disliked the idea.

He just fragging well didn't want to because... because this was worse than the elevator and he'd accidentally slipped there. Even if Mirage hadn't been able to tell what the slip meant.

Shifting on his feet, Cliffjumper glared at the craggy, icy rockwall of the cave and finally huffed.

"Fraggin' blasted slag. Fine!" Ducking his helm to try and hide the flare - dimmed from the pulled resources from non-essential systems and processes, but still there - of his blush, Cliffjumper scowled and dropped down between Mirage's knees.

This was embarrassing and he couldn't believe he was agreeing to this!

"Completely serious."

Mirage simply stared as Cliffjumper ranted, too cold to actively object despite how dire the situation was.

When Cliffjumper finally sat down, he could only sigh again.

"...Really? Oh, but I am far too cold for this."

Releasing his grip, Mirage leaned down, wrapped both arms around the smaller mech's frame (warm warm warm) and hauled him up into his lap.

"Now help me with this tarp."

"Wh--- Mirage!" If he just disliked the mech, this would've been... bearable. Annoying and displeasing and frustrating, but bearable. He'd have insisted on squirming away if it was Sunstreaker, just on principle, however.

Maybe Tracks too.

But with Mirage? The urge - need - to move away had nothing to do with any dislike, and he squirmed, field twitchy. It was already obvious this would be the better option, though, if the slight increase in temperature where their frames were pressed together was anything to go by.

He - well, he'd be lying if he said he didn't actually want something like this, but it'd be better it it wasn't happening at all and slag all this.

"Rrrr--- Guh." Angrily ducking his helm and glad Mirage couldn't see his optics, he grabbed the parachute and shook it around until he had a corner of it.

"There."

"Thank you," Mirage said as sincerely as he could manage.

Grabbing what he could of the parachute, Mirage worked it around the frames, attempting to cocoon them both in. The tear didn't help things, nor did the stiffness in his limbs, but with some careful tucking and folding, he managed something passable.

He was very carefully ignoring the fact that he was pressed up against another mech who had any number of issues with him - the warmth was too tempting, and he unashamedly took advantage of it.

When they were actually wrapped up, Mirage around him and the parachute around them both, Cliffjumper slumped a little - even this small difference made a lot of difference.

Enough of one that he noticed how very cold he was and how cold it still was, even if their now closed-off 'area' helped somewhat. It made him want to curl up more, both into himself and up against Mirage.

Grimacing at that though and pushing away the eager little flustered flutter at that thought, Cliffjumper huffed and curled up, pulling his legs up against himself and his arms on top of his knees.

Why couldn't he just dislike the stupid, frustrating mech? That would be far more simple.

Electing to ignore Cliffjumper's twitchy field by pointedly relaxing his own, Mirage tightened his grip in direct opposition. He was stubbornly trying to eke out every last iota of possible warmth from this arrangement - even if he had to mesh their plating together to do it.

Maybe if they actually survived this, things wouldn't be so tense? ...Or maybe it would just make things worse. Who could tell, with minibots?

Despite his apparent 'relaxation', Mirage finally allowed himself to crank up his engine, burning valuable fuel and energon to try and heat them both up.

It might be worth it now that they had a little area to trap the heat in.

Cliffjumper was extremely glad he was facing away from Mirage when the noble's grip tightened, and he had to cut of a groan of frustration before it slipped out and made things even more awkward.

Mirage's smoother field teased him into calming his own, but Cliffjumper was still too flustered to manage that completely and instead squirmed again. His frame, however, was relaxing, despite his tightly embarrassed curl. The slight heat already being trapped between them was a fragging blessing.

The slightly heightened vibration of Mirage's engine against his back had Cliffjumper looking up with a frown, even as he - unnoticed to him - pressed back slightly into the very same vibration.

"Should ya be doin' that? You might not be a mini, but you sure as slag ain't armoured like Ironhide or even the regulars like Bluestreak." He twitched his leg out to tap his bumper against Mirage's leg, trying to cast a glance behind him without moving much at all.

Mirage was taller, but his stupid glitched noble self was plated like life was a fragging party, even with the war, so he couldn't quite retain heat the same way other mechs of his size could.

Even when the war and injuries had necessitated replacements and thus some heavier armour.

"Hmpf. You prefer freezing, s-status lock, and possible death instead? I needn't remind you about Jetfire and what happened to him. He's lucky to have s-survived."

Mirage's jaw clacked stiffly from the cold, making him stutter. Sullenly, he curled down further, face ending up half-way down the back of Cliffjumper's helm.

He stubbornly refused to consider the more social consequences of 'cuddling' like this.

No matter how blissful the faint heat of another frame was.

"If you're worried about my armor and heat-retention, you could always help."

A slight shudder that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold whispered through him when Mirage curled down over him. He stiffened up in an attempt to hide it, and scowled.

"A-at this point, at least we wouldn't feel anythin' if s-stasis lock happened!" that was just nonsensical - if true - because it wasn't like Cliffjumper actually wanted to go into stasis lock in the middle of nowhere in a frozen wasteland.

In response to Mirage's needling, he pointedly revved his engine up into a higher gear and curled up again, scowling.

"And what the f-frag's wrong with just askin? Just 'cause I didn't t-think of it..." It figured this was the way he'd end up being physically close to Mirage - the thought got his field flexing in a blush again - and he was way too flustered, angry and too blasted cold to even vaguely enjoy it.

Once it was over, he might be able to think back on the way Mirage had basically been wrapped around him and the vibrations from that strong racers' engine against his armour, but at the moment those things didn't penetrate very deep.

At least not beyond the surface embarrassment of Mirage somehow finding out how he was reacting to those things, however muffled they were by the cold.

Cliffjumper's body language - what little of it Mirage could feel, through the numbing cold - was worrisome.

Tensing and relaxing and shivering; and he certainly wasn't sure what to make of those field fluctuations, either.

"My armor may be thinner than yours, but burning energy to keep warm is something w-we're going to need to do. Even if I might not retain it as well."

Mirage sighed, already too tired to argue. Maybe Cliffjumper really did just have some sort of deep-seated beliefs about touching and contact? Who could tell.

At least he was revving his engine up. Mirage sighed again, this time a sound closer to a moan as a little heat finally began to seep back into his frame.

Mirage, get better at reading ~~tsundere~~ Cliffjumper! You're a spy, surely you can do it!

"S-still not fraggin' s-sure burnin' it beyond normal is a good idea if n-neither of us is gonna be able to f-fraggin' retain it much," Cliffjumper said with a scowl, glaring at the frozen ground in front of his feet.

It was just both their luck that neither of them were large or well-armoured enough to actually retain heat very well - Cliffjumper knew exactly how quickly he lost heat, an amount that had only been minimally (negligibly) modified by the extra armour he'd gotten for the war.

The noise Mirage made, so very close to something that did not belong here, or with him, had Cliffjumper twitching upright, engine stuttering before he curled up again.

Frag it all to the pit.

Forcing his engine to retake its higher gear, Cliffjumper ducked his helm and scowled, trying to ignore the way his field had flexed just earlier.

Edited 2014-07-11 12:09 (UTC)

Perhaps when he isn't so focused on survival, he'll manage to grasp those few important bits of data.

For now, he'll just make do with snark and snuggles. He gave the arm he was clinging to a stiff, jerky pat when Ciffjumper twitched.

"Easy. It isn't going to do us any good to freeze while sitting on top of full fuel tanks. and I have some field r-rations to keep us going for a b-bit longer if need be."

Squeezing around the curled up minibot, Mirage sighed against red plating as some of the heat from the powerful little engine began soaking into his chestplates.

Mirage needed to fragging stop.

It felt like all the heat he was dumping through his engine working in a higher gear was concentrating around his faceplate as his optics flared again. Weakly, thanks to reprioritising where the energy was going, but it was cold enough even the slighter heat from the wiring in his optics was noticeable.

The pat wasn't bad, really. It was kinda nice to get it reinforced that Mirage wasn't too good for those sort of simple gestures. He was just far more under his own control and the situation was less outlandish than the ceremony had been, so he noticed it more.

No, that stupid little puff of a vented sigh was far worse than the pat, as was Mirage curling up tighter around him, in something that was almost but not quite a hug.

"I g-guess goin' into stasis lock like that wouldn't be a good idea..." huffing, Cliffjumper scowled, tried to concentrate on their conversation - such as it was - and not Mirage's long-limbed, lean frame basically wrapped around him.

It wasn't easy, especially when he was just so very aware of it to his frustration.

"I got a s-single ration. Don't really use subspace for that, l-least not on what's s-supposed to be slag-s-suckin' s-simple missions!"

"I have enough for a day or two, at t-these temperatures. Maybe."

A sigh.

"And of c-course it isn't a good idea," Mirage huffed, affronted.

"Even ignoring the d-damage the cold and frost could do to our unconcious frames, w-would you really want to go into status lock in a place the cons could f-find us?"

Optics dimming as he relaxed, he kept his engine up at a heavy purr, core warming as his limbs stayed chilled.

"A b-blasted day or two?!" that was good, he knew that, but the possibility of this lasting that long was enough to get Cliffjumper worked up right now, "s-suppose that's a g-good thing but I s-sure as slag don't want this sludge-drippin', s-stupid thing goin' on for that long!"

Curling up again (narrowly having avoided slamming the top of his helm into Mirage's chin as he jerked), Cliffjumper huffed and revved his engine to work off the frustration at the thought of having to sit here for two days.

That better not happen, slag it!

"... Frag. Didn't think about the Decepticreeps bein' about. No, I don't want that," Cliffjumper said with a muttered scowl and fished out a gun out of subspace, not caring if him moving around disturbed Mirage's relaxing... dropping the gun in his lap though, the warmth from Mirage and that which was trapped between them was soothing his anger.

"This is-s a f-fraggin' sucky disaster," he finally muttered, voice still harsh with frustration even as he slowly relaxed into Mirage. And feeling distinctly embarrassed by the pleasure of being this close to Mirage.

The purr of his engine wasn't only from the gear it was working in.

"Good of you to notice," Mirage snarked back, though with little real heat. He jumped a bit, giving the back of Cliffjumper's head a glare when he pulled out the gun, but resettled the parachute around them sullenly.

"Just keep you comms open. I have the receiver out there, but I have n-no idea what temperatures and conditions it's rated for. P-Probably not ones these sorts of extremes, though."

Huffing, Cliffjumper didn't respond, just curled up again. He did make sure the emergency and mission frequencies were clear and prioritised as he settled down, squirming in his seat and fingering the gun.

He was sitting. On Mirage's lap. That had been a fleeting thought once or twice, but he'd pushed those away quickly, and at the moment not even the uncomfortable cold could really diminish the embarrassing pleasure he was sneaking out of this.

Then he frowned, rubbing a thumb down the side of the gun as he thought.

"That's just for one p-person, right? I can s-see you h-havin' rations and s-slag, but they ain't gonna las-st that long with both of us, are they? Mine's j-just... uh, good enough for one refuellin'." He didn't really prioritise that unless explicitely told when the mission ran a high risk of going badly, or separation from backup/base was a possibility counted into mission parameters.

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