[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Off Leash [Closed]

[Carbine]

Ep 2.5 | Week 1 | Day 3

Haven was an interesting place.

In a lot of ways, it was very similar to the Omega Outpost. Makeshift hallways, a sort of rough feel, the idea of a central room where everything else splits apart from, it was well designed! But on the other hand, it was not set up for war, so that is where a lot of the similarities ended. Comfort, functionality, easy of traffic should there be any number of individuals passing through... it was taken into account. Traders that were trying to take advantage of the war situation were a rather common sight towards the central areas, however, the further you got from these initial spots the more rough and worn things started to become and the less you tended to see others.

Metal clad walls melting away to stone, concrete floors cracked and unkempt... the deeper one got into the more functional bowls of the base, the more it became apparent that this outpost had once been a mining system, and could very well still have some of the valuable resources nestled deep beneath its layers. Sadly, it was out of the Autobots reach however... forbidden fruit that hung just before their noses, taunting and teasing, while they scramble to find their own mining system so the hunger and threats of starvation could go away.

Small flecks of the baiting smell of raw Energon danced through the near nonexistent currents, drifting up from the bowls of the mines to trail along the upper reaches. It was so subtle... so very delicate, just barely able to be picked up upon. To a normal individual it was probably overlooked entirely, clouded by dust and dirt as well as the smell of metals and the dry African air that seeped in from the outside.

But that was because they weren’t built for such things.

Tap tap...

Tap tap click...

Taptaptaptap...

A form started to walk down one of the empty hallways, its steps light despite the elongated shadows it cast along the far wall betraying its potential size. Soft clicks of peds, a near dancing trot to it... it didn’t sound particularly normal for a Cybertronian's gait all things considered. The reasoning behind this soon became painfully apparent however, as a large Cybertronian dog rounded the corner.

The canine was rather sizable, even among their kind, it looking like it had held a purposeful function before the war and was not simply a companion animal that draped over a lucky mech or femme's lap. To further accent this to be true was the clashing black and white paint job that seemed standard for many police officers, its surface dinged and scraped a bit, dusted over with grit that dulled out its natural gloss. A pair of emergency lights were planted above each shoulder, angled slightly forward and domed up so that the light could cast out when activated, though for the current moment they were off, the plastic shell scraped and hazy.

Bolo didn't really know why they had come to this place. He didn't really understand where they were fully. Master had needed to haul some boxes to this location, and let him drop free so that he could sniff around and stretch his legs a bit. There were orders of course... not to cause trouble, not to attack anyone. Basically be a good boy and mind ones own business, but 'minding own business' didn't really translate too well to the toddler like processor. So... Bolo was exploring, chasing the scent of Energon along the hallways with curious abandon for just how far he had meandered off.

Something of interest had to be down here.

[Sparkplug]

The Nemesis, as a base, had a lot of things going for it. It was massively armoured, festooned with heavy weaponry, utterly gigantic, and altogether virtually unstoppable. Impact with the ocean, however, had demonstrated that 'virtually' did not mean 'absolutely', adding to the warship's list of features such optional extras as a surging , drowning tide of silt and salt water, massive structural damage, and a distressing tendency to threaten to implode at any moment.

Given all of that, it seemed almost churlish to bemoan the fact that all the supplies and materials on-board were now somewhere between inaccessible and totally destroyed. Everything from the most delicate and complex of circuit testers to the bluntest and crudest slabs and steel beams had gone sharply from ubiquitous to entirely unavailable, leaving the Decepticon forces with an abundance of rocks and holes in the ground, but little else.

Well, one other thing. There was still plenty of energon, in storage in the satellite mines.

Now there was some in a series of small, tightly sealed vials, carried in a box on a shoulder strap. Other Cybertronians would have used internal storage for that sort of thing, but Sparkplug's body was so densely packed with mechanisms, weapons and condensers that she couldn't have fit anything larger than a matchbox under her plating.

On the one hand, it was only a little energon. On the other hand, she hadn't exactly asked for permission to go bartering for spare parts. She was a trifle nervous. Still, this was fine. So she was a little lost - so what? She just had to keep following the tracks of more frequent usage, towards the more metal-clad areas and away from the collapsing concrete.

Definitely everything was fine.

Skittering, clicking noises - footsteps? - echoed down the deserted corridor. Sparkplug froze, then mentally shook herself and straightened up out of the sudden half-crouch she'd hunched into. She was here to meet other mecha, after all. Neutrals. In fact, she could ask whoever this was to guide her to the trader's alley, which had to be somewhere in the aging tangle of old concrete and deserted corridors.

That was it. Straight back, friendly nod, casual greeting.

A large, quadrupedal form rounded the corner at speed.

"I'm totally meant to be here!" Sparkplug blurted in too-high a pitch, her right hand jerking into a protective posture over her face. Then, registering what she was looking at, she lowered her hand, and muttered to herself, "Sparky, you need to cool your sinks before you spontaneously catch fire."

Resting her complex left hand on her hip, she frowned thoughtfully at the creature, her expression lightening as interest took over from nervousness. "Well, hello there. You're a big one, for your chassis type... hm. Police paintjob, with the blinkers, too. Could use a respray, but still... not bad. 'least you've got a function." Remnant caution held her back from trying to touch the canine form - she'd had experience of the general class, and they couldn't always be relied upon to hold to correct safety margins. Still, she crouched down curiously, to get a better look at his morphology.

[Carbine]

The second that Bolo rounded the corner and saw Sparkplug, he was already a bit surprised since his mind was elsewhere... add onto this a higher pitched squawk of words that came from the Femme? And he was honestly a bit startled. This showed plainly in the new posture he instantly took, his trotting gait halting the very second he saw her while paws splayed out on either side with toes flared. He was digging his pads down into the rough ground, a soft creak of rubber forming that was soon followed by the most subtle of scrapes when his toes flexed and the small points eked against the ground. While his stance was broad, his head was hiked high upon a thick cable formed neck, the posture paired with bright eyes and pointed ears that were angled at the ceiling and turned in her direction, listening intently.

Despite being a bit caught off guard, since he had been more focused on the hunt for Energon than he was on finding someone down here, Bolo was more alert than scared, especially since this was a stranger. They were not someone he knew to be an Autobot, but they weren't someone that was labeled a danger to him. He didn’t need to try to confront her and drag her back to Master, but that didn’t mean she was a friend right? But even if she was bad, didn't Master say to not attack anyone at this place?

Bolo seemed to relax a bit as Sparkplug eased down into a crouch, his broad planted paws lifting and placing a bit more underneath his form so he didn't look like he was going to bolt at any moment. This action ended with his forelegs placed near one another in the front, his chest pushed a bit out with an almost regal posture, while luminous eyes stared back with as much consideration as she was giving him. There was a bit of a delay while he thought.

Here, fire, hello, big, one, police, blinkers, not bad...

Some of the words Bolo knew, he could figure out basic things, but some of Sparkplug's phrases were just a bit beyond his capabilities. He couldn't piecemeal together what she may have been talking about, though there was a long flick of an ear, and a sharp lurch as he looked a bit over his shoulder. Nothing was there however, it almost like he heard a ghost, before he seemed to relax and started towards the Cybertronian cautiously.

With Sparkplug crouching down as she was, Bolo absolutely towered above her, the large canine's form walking forward cautiously. While he could potentially barrel over her if he wanted to, he knew better than to be so rough at this point, his helm easing forward to try to sniff in her direction to see what he could figure out. While he kept some of his distance, Sparkplug would be able to reach towards his helm and probably touch it if she felt so bold, the canine's vents flaring as large huffs of air shifted through the mesh on his snout.

[Sparkplug]

"Primus's rusty aft, you're a big one for an animal-based design, aren't ya..." Sparkplug murmured to herself. At his full height, he was a little shorter than she was, but most of his mass was stretched out along the horizontal. His components were surprisingly slender, once you got over the size of him, but by volume, he probably still had her outmatched a couple of times over. Still, he seemed more inquisitive than hostile; if he was a guard for the neutral base - as seemed increasingly likely - he wasn't configured for immediate penalties on finding a mecha somewhere unexpected.

Of course, this wasn't exactly a combat-ready base...

The white-plated femme cocked her helm, lightly touching Bolo's rigid muzzle. The face wasn't particularly mobile; this wasn't some over-indulged towerling's pet. They tended towards complex, malleable faces to the cost of actual function, so they could better express fawning delight for their owner. This one, on the other hand... "Yep. Like I thought, you've been designed for a specific job, haven't you? I bet your bite strength is a nasty surprise. Solid frame for the muzzle, decent cross-bracing, and really get those actuators geared down... could even be hydraulic. Do you have a compressor in there?"

Leaning a little closer, Sparkplug tapped a finger against the cybernetic creature's chest plating, next to a prominent black hose that arched outwards and underneath his jaw. "Hm. This could be a pressure hose... enters the head about the right place to be powering a jaw piston. Why'd it be exposed like this, though? That's asking for it to get cut. Unless the risk of having a high-pressure hose severed internally, in the neck, would cause so much damage that it's better to have it separated out..."

For a moment, she considered touching the hose itself, to test how flexible it was - that'd tell her something about what it might contain - but it had the look about it of something less robust than the surrounding structure. When you had an obvious weaker spot, the natural thing to do was to introduce specific programmed behaviours to protect it. The last thing she wanted was to make it get hostile.

Dusting off her hands, Sparkplug straightened up again. "You're a nice piece of work, aren't you? Well, if you're not going to give me any trouble, guess I'd best be on."

Which was the moment she noticed the handle, sticking up from his shoulders. Blinking, her bright green optics traced along the grip. Whoever could grip that comfortably was huge.

"Yep. Hm. Definitely time to move right along," she murmured.

[Carbine]

As Sparkplug reached to touch his muzzle, Bolo rose and pressed up, twisting his helm a bit so that his snout was more angled into her palm more so than letting it rest over the arched ridge on top. This was met with a hard hefting snort of air being pulled in, the mesh on his snout almost like a vacuum for a moment as it heaved in a deep breath, only to spat it out a second later. A huffy pop, a lick of a ringed tongue flicking over the nose's end... he was trying to figure out what she smelt like while also struggling to keep up with what she was saying.

Dust and dirt, ozone and grease... There was a burning smell, melted metals and bits of seared paint dusted with tiny shavings. It was all bundled together tightly in one package, and if Bolo was a mech with real mech thoughts past the canine realm, he would have been able to compare it to a metal workshop. Beyond this strong framework of a base scent there was more though, faint inklings of something else... bits of salt that reminded him of a fun time at the beach, tiny bits of shrubbery and foliage and fresh tilled earth that ghosted nearly away. None of it really made a lot of sense to him, but it was a signature, muddled together with the more nitty gritty details. The makeup of her metals, the type of rubbers used, everything that made Sparkplug... well... Sparkplug.

Bolo's thoughts snapped back to the here and now when he was tapped however. Like a toddler that was confused to why their chest was just poked, the canine's helm reeled up and twisted down to try to look at where the pipe connected, but it wasn’t really a comfortable angle for him. The hose was stiff, reinforced by layers in a hatch pattern, and it didn’t really bend super easily, though that didn't seem to stop him from trying. A twist of the helm, a turn, he on gave up looking at the base of his neck, to peer back at the femme as she stood up and seemed to look like she was planning to leave.

Wait... what?

He had just met her! He was almost maybe going to get some pets! Why else would she have knelt down like that? As far as Bolo was concerned that was a universal 'come here so I can scratch your ears'. The lack of any conclusion seemed to make him a bit unhappy, but it was more in the sense of 'oh no don’t go' than any real unhappiness. In response to this, the large canine pushed up towards her far more, not really planning to let Sparkplug get any distance between them. He was now a bit less concerned with personal space, his helm raising up to try to sniff at her face directly, since faces aren't typically places he could reach to sniff.

[Sparkplug]

"Hey!" yelped Sparkplug, as the massive canine morph pushed forward to shove his nose in her face. "Look, now, I'm really not all that interesting, seriously. Uh. Reverse? Park?" What was the proper way to get this gigantic tin security system to actually just stay put and let her get on with things? "…hand brake?" she tried, without much hope of success.

Maybe he was scanning her for contraband. What would count as contraband to the neuts of Haven, anyway? She was pretty heavily armed, especially for her size, so he might be picking up on the explosives residue of her micro-missiles. Did any part of her primary weapons systems have a distinct scent, or scannable energy signature? Stealth and concealment wasn't really her area of specialisation. The internal paint cylinders for her sprayer could be twitching his nose, but that couldn't be a problem for a security machine. And it wasn't like energon could be considered smuggled goods… right?

There really was no need for this security bot to be spending so much time on her, anyway. She was just an innocent trader, here to carry out some legitimate business. 

In a hurry. A legitimate trader in a hurry.

With a nervous laugh, she planted a hand on his chest and tried to sidle around him to the right, keeping her chassis between him and the box of energon vials slung over her shoulder. "Hey, I'm sure you've got lots of things to do. Places to go, people to sniff, I know how it is. I should be moving, too. Y'know. That way. Off in that direction. So you've had a good sniff, or whatever you're doing, all friends, so – bye?"

[Carbine]

Hey!

Look. Now. Seriously. Reverse. Park. Hand. Brake.

A turn of the helm, a twist to the other side, Bolo was seriously trying to figure out what she was saying, wanting to understand what was going on here. He knew a fair number of the words that were spoken, but the context was somewhat lost on him since they weren't terms he was taught on specifically... well... that and the fact he didn't REALLY feel obligated to listen to her orders just yet. He could barely put together she probably didn't want him to follow, and was trying to make him sit maybe... but... there was no authoritative punch behind it. It wasn’t a DEMAND in the way he knew it, and because she hadn't earned his favor by petting him enough, he didn’t really want to please and be a good boy, when it would end with her leaving entirely!

Oh wait! She WAS going to pet him!

Sparkplug's hand placed down onto Bolo's chest, an action that the canine was rather pleased over. Yes! She was going to maybe itch at his shoulder or down at the base of his neck where he couldn't reach well on his own! He was super pleased at this, lifting his head a bit, offering his throat, but such a conclusion didn’t happen. Instead of some comfortable scratches and attention, she simply spoke more and slid around to his side to try to eek past him.

Hey. Lots. Things. Place. People. Sniff. Moving. That Way. Off. You've. Good. Sniff. Friends. Bye?

A squeaked pop, Bolo's head pivoted back and spun around to try to keep a closer eye on Sparkplug as she seemed intent to go still, his frame remaining in place until she had fully walked past him with seemingly no intent to actually give him any actual attention. Once she passed his haunch, the large Cassette spun around with a sharp whip of his frame, forelegs splaying out while chest dipped down a bit. It seemed as if he was intending to lurch forward, ready to pounce and chase after the small femme, but something else seemed to go through his toddler like noggin, and this plan stopped.

A wobbled faultier, a complaining grumble, Bolo eased down with an unmistakable sound of complaint as he settled into a lying posture. While he was lying down however, his back legs remained tucked beneath him tightly, ready to spring up should he be freed from his new shackle. The reasoning for this sudden change of heart was apparent, as down the hallway in Sparkplug's new chosen direction there would be a figure.

A larger Cybertronian stood down the hall a short bit, leaned against the side wall so that he didn’t look like he was trying to block the smaller individual's path. He seemed rather relaxed, calm, black armor melding into some of the shadows in the poorly lit corridor, while streaks of contrasting white blazed across his chest and forearms. He was tall, with broad shoulders, but a lot of that height appeared to come down to his legs which were narrow and cutting, sloping down with dinged and scraped armor to smaller peds nestled in front of hooking wheels.

"Tsk tsk..."

Amused, not angry, almost teasing as the implied shape of yellow optics stared down at the femme from across the way. The eyes had no 'pupils' to speak of, just a ghosted shape that was imprinted onto a black visor or screen, but they were crooked up a bit at the bottom edge.

"You never get to pl͟ąy ͝with a dog before?"

Purred words with the faintest inkling of static in its middle, the amusement continuing as one arm looped free from the crossed position against his midsection to gesture idly at Bolo. At being regarded, Bolo's haunches seemed to wiggle a bit happily, indicating that if he did have a tail it would probably be swishing back and forth.

[Sparkplug]

She couldn't tell if it was friendliness or nosiness, but the canine-morph really didn't want to let her go. As Sparkplug did her best to sidle past without scuffing her pristine white plating on the rough, unfinished walls, the big creature sniffed and pushed at her inquisitively, restlessly intent. "Easy now," she murmured, mostly to herself.

She'd just about managed to extricate herself when he whipped around to face her again, moving with startling speed for his size. Her shoulders hunched instinctively as she realised he was about to pounce.

And didn't.

Her optic ridges drew together in a puzzled frown as she watched him crouch down with a low grumble of complaint. Weird. Still, just as long as he wasn’t going to cause her any trouble…

Then she heard the voice from behind her.

The mech so casually leaning against the wall was big. Seriously big. She barely came up to his midsection, in fact. On the other hand, he didn't look hostile, he wasn't blocking her way, and if he owned the canine-morph, it was a lot less likely to do anything unexpected with him standing there. All things considered, this was probably a good development. Relaxing a little, Sparkplug strolled forward towards him.

She cut a diminutive figure, roughly the height of Arcee, but where the Autobot was slender to the point of barely having any internal volume at all, Sparkplug was a little broader across the shoulders, with rather more curves to her plating. Clean white paint was accented with picked-out details in forest green, gleaming with wax polish, and her expressive faceplate was dominated by large, bright green optics. Only her oddly structured, double-elbowed left arm was completely bare of paint, a dull silver. A small purple Decepticon symbol marked the centre of her chest plate, where the pendant of a necklace might have hung.

Looking up at the tall mech, she greeted him, "Well, hey there. Yours, I'm guessing? He's pretty impressive; those jaws look like they could really do the business. Nah, I've never spent much time with beast-form Cybertronians." Privately, she didn't take to them very much. Animal-inspired forms with sub-sentient processors were hard to predict, and could do sudden, violent things without much warning. Still, she wasn't going to go into all that, so she continued in a friendly manner, "Built a few, though. That was back before the war, mind you, but still."

Leaning against the wall opposite him, she looked up into his oddly blank faceplate. Interesting use of projection to give himself the appearance of glowing optics, and by deforming them he could hint at emotions. Idly wondering about the mechanisms underlying the display, she went on, "I was a frame designer back then. Pretty good, actually. Beast-forms were a different kind of challenge, you know? Mind you, didn't have anything to do with the actual programming of the personas. Not my speciality. The ones I worked on tended to be Towerling pets, real flexible faces, highly expressive. Now your one there, that's a face that's built for working. What is that crushing actuator, hydraulic? Pneumatic?"

She blinked inquisitively at him, then remembered herself, and added with a laugh, "Oh, right – Sparkplug. I'm Sparkplug. Hi." Her field swirled around her, expressing friendly curiosity textured with bursts of light amusement. If there was ever a polar opposite to Soundwave's utterly impenetrable blank stare, this was it.

[Carbine]

From the distance and angle, Carbine had noticed something was up with this little femme's arm, but just what was lost to him. It may have been an aesthetic choice, it may have been stripped to be re-painted later when she had time... who really knew! But when she turned to face him fully in the hallway, he could actually get a good look at her, and the arm most definitely was not just a re-paint job that got halted part way through.

It was weird, and that was saying a lot for their kind. In a world where individual's structures could be of any shape and design, some having extra limbs altogether while others could sometimes look more beast than biped, the idea of a body part being weird was almost foreign, but it came down to what the rest of the frame looked like. If this tiny little gal had been more animal, or had more silver on her body, the other arm matching, or legs being atypical from the most standard of mold, it may have flowed together far more into a cohesive shape. But no. That arm looked tacked on in a way, an afterthought compared to her crisp white and green frame that was otherwise standard in limb structure and proportion.

This sight caused the top edge of one of his optics to crook up a bit, helm rising some as he got a better view before he steeled his reaction. Really, he had other things to be looking at now that she drew closer, namely the Decepticon emblem that was nestled on her chest. Ah, he had expected some neutral gal, not a Con. Her unimposing frame, her bright colored paint, it clashed with what you would expect of a 'grr grr evil Decepticon' which... was admit tingly just a cliché. But lo and behold, there it was, a little purple marker held plain as day on the forefront of her frame as if boasting.

The last time Carbine interacted with a Decepticon, he had tried to saw her head off with her own knife he tore out of her arm like a grotesque trophy. The very blade was settled attached to his side on a makeshift clip. The area it rested almost itched at the memory, knowing how close he was to being able to snuff out one of this little thing's pals.

Ah well.

There was no threat of an ambush; the Truce meant that this interaction was safe, so long as the two of them played nice. Being this deep in Haven meant that a real fight would be out of the question even if the truce wasn't in play since it was... er... Haven... Both of them might as well just do a suicide pact if they did beat each other up so the head honchos didn’t tear them in half after the fact. Thankfully, she bridged this awkward little gap and instantly flowed into civil conversation, probably mistaking him for one of Haven's little occupants and not an Autobot, though that was just his guess since his emblem wasn't out in the open or displayed as prominently as her own, it black on black and off to the side like a badge.

As Sparkplug spoke, Bolo seemed to be able to pick up on the fact he was being spoken about. He didn't really know WHAT the femme was saying, or how she was complimenting him, but something about the way Master's emotions fluctuated with amusement and pride trickled down the line over to him. This flow-down resulted with Bolo's rump wiggling a bit more, but he remained good, not crawling towards them or approaching yet, simply watching with excitement. In turn, a slatted tongue rolled out from the front of his maw, flicking up at the mesh on his snout.

"Frame designing is rath͟e̵r͞ difficult, but interesting work."

Carbine spoke with amusement and praise with a tiny bit of static, yellow optics locked down to the smaller gal while he tried to take in more details without being too overtly rude. That was part of the joys however of not having visible pupils that could betray where he was looking directly. Call it sleazy, call it crass or rude, but he simply let his gaze meander across her frame as she settled across from him, trying to take in more other than her oddly jointed arm, masking it under 'eye contact' and being polite.

"Hy͞d̴raulic actually. He's a workin' dog. Has qui͝te t̕he bite should it be needed!"

Allowing his gaze to break away, Carbine glanced over at Bolo who was continuing to be good, before his attention was pulled back to the Decepticon, brow hooking a bit again at her polite introduction. Despite the war, despite the clash of interests, there was some fun to be had here, so in response he took a step forward when she introduced herself, before crooking at his hips. Bending down further than was traditionally comfortable, Carbine locked his knees straight, and folded his left arm behind at his lower back while the rotors that draped down flared ever so slightly for balance. This left his free arm to drape forward, turning palm up as if to ask for her hand in the most cliché of chivalrous taboos.

"Nice to me͜et͝ ̨you Sparkplug, name's Carbine, and th-at th̛èr͟e's Bolo, he likes to fetch bones."

Should she take his offer, he would dip and clunk the rounded edge of his visor against the top of her hand as if this was some medieval tale, but it was not something he relied upon. Should she choose otherwise or pull away, he would let the moment pass. Whatever the case, he looked back at Bolo with a nod of the helm, voice crooking with a sort of mischievous edge.

"Wanna lear͝n ̸h͘ow to tame a beast?"

At this closer distance the faintest of color variance could be seen in the yellow shapes, a paler tone indicating a rough 'pupil' that was angled in her direction.

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug cocked her helm as the big mech talked, intrigued by his slightly static-laden vocoder. If she had been trained medically, it was just odd enough that she'd have immediately been all over the possible causes and potential remedies. As it was, however, that sort of work was best kept for the specialists, and she merely filed it away as an interesting idiosyncrasy.

The sudden introduction of formal Towerling manners into the conversation took her quite by surprise, but as her field tangibly conveyed, she was both amused and delighted by the archaic, courtly gesture. Resting her right hand in his, she pressed the back of her left hand to her forehead in a dramatic swoon, and replied playfully, "Why sir, it is a pleasure to meet you and your faithful companion."

Adopting a more normal tone, she lowered her hand and added with frank curiosity, "He retrieves, what, organic internal support struts? Is he built for hunting down small-scale intruders? That kind of snout looks more like an armour-shearer, to me. Built a set of on-board shears for a melee fighter once, along those kind of lines. Still, suppose there's no reason he can't be tuned for intruders of multiple compositions."

Half-turning, she eyed the canid with frank interest, less concerned now that any further show of curiosity would result on the thing pouncing on her. "Guessed at hydraulics, with that external hose under the jaw. Air escape inside a confined chassis would be a pain, but high-pressure fluid leak would be really troublesome. Figured you could tell by the stiffness of the pipe, but wasn't sure if prodding it'd set off a defensive reaction. With an external part of the pressure circuit like that, I'd have stuck in some kind of 'don't-touch' subroutine. If I was a persona programmer, I mean."

Looking back up at the towering black and yellow mech, she grinned at him. "Like the optics, by the way. So what's beast taming comprised of?" Maybe he was going to tell her some kind of passcode that Haven residents handed out to non-hostile visitors. That sure would be nice.

[Carbine]

Carbine's field flicked and danced in amusement when Sparkplug did the exaggerated swoon of the back of her hand to her forehead, it playing well with his sarcastic makeshift 'kiss' on the back of her other servo. Thankfully, it wasn't the freaky one... though even if it was, it wasn’t like he was really placing a mouth on it or anything, the dull clunk of iron glass sounding out before he eased back and would set her free.

At her next words, he internally smirked.

With human culture being as vast and expansive as it was, trying to pretend you could learn it all in a short amount of time? Well... it was impossible... Those who did show an interest, tended to be shoehorned into a specialized field, or almost become a cliché within a certain subject matter. Bumblebee tended to focus on the children and their day to day lives, cartoons, and games... fun things for entertainment that was youthful and energetic. On the other hand Bluestreak seemed to be scary into home improvement and other weird decorator stuff. In Carbine's case? Well... the second he and Thundercloud got access to a computer to do some 'research', the two had instantly looked up reproduction, inappropriate jokes, and general depravity that permitted him to make raunchy comments that appeared to swing right over other's heads, which, he absolutely loved.

The fact Sparkplug didn’t even slightly get what he was implying, since... it honestly made zero sense to a Cybertronian who didn’t look up human terminology and jokes... made Carbine feel like he got away with murder, and his rotors flicked slightly in amusement as a sort of silent laugh before he listened to what she was saying, letting the joke flutter away in the moment.

"Ah, mult̴ip͞u̕rpose..."

A 'tsk' sound was made, Carbine flicking his chin up slightly while looking at the canine. In response, Bolo instantly popped up onto his feet once again, trotting over to the other two with curiosity and interest. While he couldn’t really make any sort of expressions, his face unable to hook eyebrows or pull lips back or really anything, there was almost a look of adoration while he peered up at his owner, waiting for an order or command.

"Originally we were police, and Bolo he͞re ̷coúld sniff down con-traband or lost indiv͞iduals, or restrain crooks."

While he said this with care to control his glitching, Carbine reached his hands forward, prying his fingertips into the gap between upper and lower jaw. Carefully, he would open Bolo's mouth for Sparkplug to look inside; exposing what looked to be a row of black teeth that interlocked together like a sharp zig zag. They were not very organic in design, almost looking like grippers or pointed gears in the way they came together. Potentially dangerous, until Carbine ran his thumb along the top one with firm pressure, showing the 'tooth' gave a bit, revealing that it was made of rubber.

"Once he getş ͞a ̨f͘irm g-grip, people don't tend to go far"

Letting go, Bolo dipped a bit and shook his helm not unlike a corkscrew, slender ears rattling and clapping side to side loosely on their mounts, before popping right back up when he stopped. The slatted tongue slipped out again, running over his snout a few times and the roof of his mouth in response to being messed with a moment prior. Overall, the canine didn’t appear to mind much, but that was more because of who just pried open his mouth. When Bumblebee had tried it, he got bit, but even if it was obnoxious, it was Master's want and Bolo jumped when told ((as long as pets were promised)).

Speaking of, Carbine plunked his open palm down to rub at the dog's ears while he spoke.

"Beast T-taming consists of a lesson in̕ ͢doggy body-language, so yo͞u͟ ̀kno͏w when Bolo likes you."

He mused in response, since Sparkplug had seemed so uncertain of Bolo's intentions before.

"Pro Tip: Bo͘l̢o ͡li͘k̡es you."

[Sparkplug]

Former police. That was interesting. The canid wasn't actually constructed as a weapon of war, then. Though obviously he was still pretty useful under battle conditions, and more than likely, had been modified over time to improve his combat capabilities. Bending down, Sparkplug watched curiously as Carbine opened the canid's jaw, revealing what seemed to be quite savage gear-toothed gripper jaws.

Then Carbine prodded one, which bent under his touch. Oh. Rubber. Maybe the semi-sentient hadn't been modified that much from his original design after all. Still, Carbine's reassurance that Bolo wasn't actively hostile certainly helped her relax a bit.

"That's nice to know. Rubber grippers or not, pretty sure he could shake me to pieces if he tried hard enough," Sparkplug observed. Bending slightly, she took another long look at the surprisingly large beast-form, trying to discern its behavioural cues. "So where do we start?" she asked, glancing over at Carbine.

And looked directly into the black-on-black Autobot symbol on his arm.

"Erk," she said involuntarily. Usually, she didn't have many problems with Autobots. Not while the truce was ongoing, anyway, and as long as they weren't - well, him. In fact, it positively delighted her to throw her full complement of amiable cheeriness at them and watch them struggle to keep up. But on this particular day, things were slightly different. For one thing, the Nemesis had crashed into the sea, leaving the entirely of the Decepticon forces stranded in a grubby, cramped hole in the ground, and no mecha seemed certain if the Autobots knew or not. Just on the off-chance they didn't, she couldn't let anything slip. Then there was the box of energon vials slung over her shoulder, that she technically wasn't authorised to be trading for parts.

She strongly suspected that trading a little energon to neutrals would be frowned upon, but trading it to Autobots, truce or not, would get her shot. Especially if doing so gave away how badly the Decepticons needed spare parts. Time to tread very carefully.

After a second, she added aloud, "Autobot, huh? Didn't notice that at first. Most've them can't wait to paint up a big frowny sigil in the most obvious place possible. Thought you were some kind of Haven security! Not that it's a problem, what with the truce and all. Bit of a chance to actually talk to mecha on the other side, rather'n shooting and calling insults over the barricades."

He'd noticed her sigil, right? He must have. It wasn't that big, but it was prominently placed and coloured; he'd have noticed.

"Ran into another one of your lot not that long ago," she added. "Now he sure wasn't interested in talking. Wouldn't even tell me his name, sure as scrap didn't kiss my hand. Pretty much just glowered at me in case I was thinking of offending the local species somehow. Downright spoiled my whole evening. So what brings you and Bolo out to the Neuts? After something special, or just a change of scenery?"

[Carbine]

Where do they start? Well, Carbine had some ideas. He could try to teach the most basic of basics such as ear position, what butt wiggles mean, and how to look out for raised plating or other defensive signals... but before he got so far as to even start to consider which to teach first and how to phrase it, something seemed to catch the little one's attention. At the 'erk', the ex-cop's attention snapped, and sharper yellow eyes shifted with a turn of his helm to peer to the side down the hallway where he had come from, expecting to see someone else. Perhaps another Autobot, perhaps someone in the Decepticon ranks she feared, he really didn't know what it was that would enact such a response at the moment. Instead of seeing another Cybertronian however, or even an organic or who knows what else may be lurking in the depth of the base, Carbine's gaze met nothing but the empty hallway, and the distant noises of the rest of the base churning with idle activity and the soft hum of generators.

Nothing.

Turning back to look down at the little con, he paused as she started to explain the sudden reaction, seemingly not noticing his Autobrand at first. It was no surprise really all things considered, his branding was not very obvious, black on black, just as scuffed and burred as the rest of his frame. It didn’t even have the luxury of being matte black on the glossier base coat, and almost bled into the surface details of his armor and the varied folds that extended when his Riot Armor was engaged. This realization that only now the Decepticon realized WHAT he was, caused a lower chuckle to rumble forth, eyes narrowing a small bit to peer down at her while she continued to talk, speaking only when she halted.

"Truce dictates evèr̶yth̴i̴ng."

Some of the chipper tone from before seemed to bleed away at this, perhaps an inkling of somber, or maybe more determined as his thoughts drifted back to previous events.

"I bet not all can ͞l̢ook ͡past the mutilation, murder, and the t-total collapse of our civilization and everything we held d͝ear͘. I and you, we can p-put things on pause it seems, but..."

A pause as he thought, before yellow eyes locked back down onto the femme with far more focus.

"I met a con not long before the Truce was f-formed. Lean, meek little thing, could argue it was cute if you were int͢o̡ ͘t̷he̶ ͢s͢crag͢g̸y t͘ype. But, I hold no punches when I don't have to."

With this, he reached his hand over across his midsection, grasping at a protruding bit of pipe that peeked out awkwardly as if it didn't belong, casually pulling forth with the calmness of one simply grabbing a scanner. It was far from an inert device however, as the object grabbed appeared to be a slender double sided blade. The hilt was a makeshift pipe that was welded crudely in place, where strapping was bound around it to provide a meager grip. The blade's edge itself had been freshly honed and sharpened, a silver glint that clashed with the dinged and dusty gray finish. It most definitely was not part of Carbine.

"Ripped this from th-them, nea̶rl͟y͢ s̶awéd ̡its head off with it."

A lower purr, darkness slipping in to corrupt and corrode away the pleasant tones from before. The black and white mech had been so civil, so nice to speak to a moment prior, but now, an inky aura snaked between his story with venom. To pair with this shift in tone, his frame seemed to adjust the angle in which he was standing, crooking forward a tiny amount, looming in a way. He was taking full advantage of the fact he was a fair bit taller than this Decepticon. But... this only lasted a brief moment, for a second later he eked back, and crooked a hip out, pitch going back up to cheerful and happy.

"So dif̢fe̷ŕent situations enact diff̨ere̛ńt r͢esp̧ónses!"

The shift was borderline two-faced in the way the darkness shed aside so abruptly. He clapped his hands together once with a pleased motion, sandwiching the hilt between his palms before he let the weapon and his left arm fall down to his side.

"Like I sai̶d, ̷I͢ can̵ p̧ut ͏it o͟n p-pause for a little lady who seems to be slinki̢ńg̛ ̵a͜r̢ǫu͠n͠d the back rooms of Haven."

While he had no smirk to pair in it, a grin could almost be heard in his words then, looking his right hand to settle on his hip while he relaxed. He was choosing to misdirect her question on why he was here, in favor of calling her out on her own mission in a way. Bolo meanwhile didn't really know what was happening, so he just watched, looking up at Master intently, before peering back at Sparkplug with large round eyes.

[Sparkplug]

Uh oh.

Sparkplug's instincts weren't hugely sensitive when it came to other mecha, and she often found herself overlooking subtleties of intonation and meaning unless she shook herself and really focused her attention. The shift in the mech's attitude, however… that really didn't require heightened attention to read. She'd come across his type before, the smiling psychopaths that liked to suddenly switch gears when you were off-guard, and bare the sharp edge of their sadistic mania. The kind that fed off fear like it was energon.

Options. Either this was an act, designed to freak her out, or he was actually the sadistic mutilator he was posing as. The presence of the blade did back up his story, but that could have been wrenched off some mecha in a perfectly normal skirmish… didn't necessarily prove anything. Fine, whatever; insufficient data. He was huge though, and with the entirely unnecessary addition of the canid, if he chose to get hostile, she was going to get flattened. Not before she did some damage, but… yeah, flattened. Leaning into looking intimidated might stave off violence, or might trigger it. Again, she didn't know enough. So… screw it.

The length of her pause was obvious, her expressive field pulling back towards her chassis as thoughts raced behind her green optics. When she finally spoke, it was in a tone coloured by sheer, raw stubbornness. "Could have done a lot better job with the haft. That weld's going to snap in half the first time you hit something solid with it. Not a bad job if you did it in the field, but if you had proper tools, it's a mess. I can fix that up if you hand it here."

[Carbine]

From oh so very outgoing, kind, and talkative, to oh so very quiet and reserved.

While others may pause at causing such silence, finding it awkward, perhaps second guessing if what was said was too far or out of line, Carbine almost seemed to drink it up like some kind of elixir. He relished the fact he had stunned a Decepticon into stillness, that he had pulled such an abrupt 180 that it seemed to confuse or made them question the situation they were in. That was the most important part, for if they question just how dangerous he was than chances are they could inflate his threat level out of the fear of the unknown. If they inflate his threat level, than if the Truce did go belly up, this femme may think twice about trying to go toe to toe against him.

While size is a factor, and one of his scale could potentially be seen as someone who could steamroll someone Sparkplug's size... that was an example pitting an inexperienced fighter against an inexperienced fighter. Their own talents, experiences, and hidden weaponry meant he couldn’t cast her aside as a complete non-issue. Terrain could play a role for sure as well... but... trying to eye her up for combat situations was not the most advantageous given the situation. It wasn't like he had to calculate the fact the hallway didn’t give much space to brawl, and didn’t have to try to judge her speed and dexterity.

She spoke.

The black and white mech blinked slowly, lifting his left arm back up to look at the side of the dagger with interest. His fingers peeled part away from the hilt as he did so, inspecting the rough welding and almost sloppy craftsmanship. He was no weapon crafter, he was no welder, and he didn’t have any real training or time put behind the skill, and it showed, but to have it pointed out was an interesting move on her part, but he did need to defend himself a little since she made it sound like it was going to be struck like a hammer to cut.

"Oh this? It’s a sta̛bb́iy' ͞wea̕pon, not a hitty' weapon."

Clarification.

Carbine seldom slashed with weapons, choosing the far more reliable plunging strike where an individual's full power can go behind it. He felt if an individual slashed, they had to have proper skill backed by power to carve into anything of valuable, the ability to AIM... but to stab you just had to hit somewhere hard enough in a less armored area, and the tip could even bounce off harder points and slip into joints. Or so were his personal thoughts on the matter, knowing he frankly didn’t have the finesse to straight up slash.

Yellow eyes broke away from the weapon then, peering at Sparkplug quizzically.

A flip of the hand, a flick of the wrist... Carbine tossed the dagger up slightly so that he could catch it again on the sharp end with a snatch. Now holding the blade, he presented the hilt first to Sparkplug with a crook of his waist to land himself slightly closer to her height. If she improved it legitimately? Great! If she made it worse? He wasn't above cutting the blade off entirely and starting over from scratch. What she may learn however is that despite being Cybertronian in look and Carbine claiming it came from a Cybertronian, the metals would not react in such ways, composed of some kind of alloy.

Bolo meanwhile continued to watch, but wasn’t really showing too much interest. His helm did lean forward slightly to sniff in the weapon's direction once it was being passed over, but he didn’t get up nor scoot in any way to get close enough to properly sniff at it. He would settle down after though, ears rotating a bit as he looked around bored.