[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]High Gloss [Closed]

[Sunstreaker]

Week One, Day One...

24 minutes before Groundwork...

Pssh, wouldn't take her half an hour to haul a whole-aft mech down to the lower levels. 

Sunstreaker had time to kill before she had to show up with Carbine, though that wasn't to say she couldn't multitask. She had an interrogation scheduled for today, and she'd be damned if she didn't prepare herself for it to the fullest. Knock Out was on the docket, the one Decepticon she'd seen so far with anything close to a flashy, well maintained paintjob, something that had struck a chord within Sunny. Whatever happened today, whatever questions they asked, however he answered...

She promised herself that she'd style on him, some.

Since arriving on Earth and crossing a continent in search for the Autobots, Sunny hadn't truly had a good opportunity for a nice oil bath, let alone a fresh coat of paint. Today's circumstances had graciously enabled her to indulge, just a bit. She truthfully had no idea whether or not it would change anything at all, though honestly she didn't care.

She deserved this.

A trail of water droplets speckled the ground behind Sunstreaker as she crossed through the dormitories, her presence foretold by the sharp hum of an orbital buffer going to town on her frame. A fresh coat of clear polish had been applied several minutes before, preceded by Sunny dumping a barrel of water over herself. Her own sense of vanity required her to look as best she could when looking down on others.

Sunny came to a stop just outside of Carbine's room, still running the orbital buffer along her arms. To her knowledge, the two of them had a few items in common. Well, one thing. They were ex-cops, but Sunny had the tact to stay out of Garrus-1 and leave the bleeding heart crap for her diary. Back then, at least.

"Carbine!" She announced, rapping her knuckle against the door over the hum of the buffer. "Got a job for you."

[Carbine]

The second that Sunstreaker called out Carbine's name and knocked on the door, a sort of bark sounded off once from the interior of the room that was swiftly followed by a snarl. It was a deep guttural heave... an animal of some sort that did not sound small and was obviously not pleased at the presence of someone else. It was nothing but a brief warning however, the precursor to much more as it was quickly followed by an impact against the door itself. There was a series of angry scratching that quickly followed the strike... and another series of snarling... only to stop as abruptly as it began.

Then the door wrenched open with a slam that made a horrendous bang.

Leaving a large black and white mech in its place.

It was a typical 'greeting' the Carbine had started giving others, a sort of aggressive postering to try to defend himself in some way. Don't look weak, don't seem passive... stand ground and see who the hell was bothering him. Not many ever did visit however to begin with, let alone after his incident with Windshield. As such, he had assumed any visitor was either Bumblebee, or whoever was trying to pretend to be a medic now that they didn't even have one.

If it was Bumblebee, the Scout should already expect this treatment. Having endured it more than a couple times to be sure. He understood Carbine's stance, that such an 'introduction' was simply what was going to happen unless he announced himself first. Such was the little dynamic they were starting to form. Working with the motions Carbine had to go through to get to a more comfortable conversational state. If it was a pretend hackjob new medic? That would be when things would get bad.

And it was a voice he didn't recognize.

Carbine regretted not going to Ratchet with his issues, when he was able to see a REAL doctor about what plagued him... yet... when he finally was pushed and forced to act out, a necessity of the fact his life was on the line, he then had to cope with option number two. Tolerate a second rate medic. A 'nurse' who knew her stuff, but was certainly not on Ratchet's level. It was from the grace of Primus themself that he had stomached this and tolerated it anyway, as evidently Medics were cursed and in a blink of an eye she was gone too.

So. What little shit for brains was going to take Patch's place? Pick up her notes and fumble with them like a lost child to now think they could help him?... It was this that further influenced Carbine's defensive aggression, the door panel rattling nosily as it tried to settle after the wrench to leave him standing dead center.

Squared off with the hallway, Carbine's frame filled much of the entry as he was not a small Cybertronian in the slightest. While he lacked a lot of the overall raw mass and weight of others of his size class, he could posture well and use his height to his advantage. Shoulders were broadly set, a deeper barrel like chest and a raised helm that looked down upon the new target with a slick black visor. Yellow optical projections shown on this faceplate, and while the pointed white of makeshift pupils were muddled over from the distance between the two, his gaze did bore down upon...

Someone he didn't know.

Once his eyes registered this fact and he realized what she was doing, Carbine's helm crooked back and his rotor posts hiked up, almost taken aback as if he had just been slapped out from left field. He had expected someone standing there to talk to him, and instead he was trying to comprehend that she was covered in water, seemingly fresh painted or coated, and was actively buffing herself. Could she have gotten the wrong door? Looking for someone else? No. She had mentioned him by name outside, and had a job for him... A job that perhaps was related to what she was doing?...

Happy Birthday?...

Carbine relaxed his frame then, no longer locked tense, nor posturing, leaning his weight to the side as the bottom edge of his eyes crooked up into the implication of a smile. As he did so, the helm of a canine's swooped up from beside one of his legs, its gaze angled directly at Sunstreaker in curiosity. Much like its owner, the Cassette didn't have much to emote with, a hard set metal face with no lips to peel back in a snarl to show aggression, and flat disk like eyes that did not have eyelids or brows to convey anything either. All there seemed to be to help her was the position of its ears, of which they were both rotated forward and angled directly at her intently.

"A͏h̡! ̢We̸ll..."

His voice crackled as he settled into the moment, as one of the greatest boons of having only solid colored optics was the fact he could overtly stare wherever he felt like and none would be any the wiser.

Something he was exploiting well.

"I am c-certainly able to help with ma͠n̡y ̧thįngs, it just depends on wha̕t you w-were look͠in͢g for."

The crackled voice from before dissipated into a lower amused purr.

[Sunstreaker]

She could have imagined what a sight she was. Soaked with water, dripping with polish, buffing herself in full view of an empty corridor. Add on top of that how fabulous she was starting to look, and one wouldn't have been wrong for calling the whole thing scandalous. The nature of the situation wasn't lost on Sunstreaker, despite the confidence she continued to exude. The clawing, snarling, and subsequent bang of the door practically being torn open had given her a considerable, if brief, pause. Sunny had Carbine's file on hand, which was to say she was moderately prepared, though the real thing was always something else.

Mild concern was all that colored her expression. No startling, no jumps. Sunny merely raised a brow in measured surprise. She switched off the buffer with a flick of her thumb, turning her optics up to scan the breadth of Carbine's form.

Police mech, aerial. She used to wear a lot of his colors, admittedly. The canine at his side had to be none other than Bolo, his cassette, and also the source of the frantic scratching that had accosted her audials a moment before.

He also lacked a face. They both did, really. Sunny thought they complemented each other nicely, in that way.

The little hitch in the mech's voice was noted; both of them, really. The janky audio, as well as the other thing she had detected. Sunstreaker's optics sailed over to the buffer sitting in her grasp, just as Carbine answered her. Two and two were quickly put together, the realization showing as her optics slightly widened. Oh. 

"Many things, huh?" Sunny repeated, tilting her head up and to the side to lock optics with the mech she'd come to fetch, offering a soft, knowing smile. Though he had an awfully slow start, Carbine showed that he could still hit his stride later down the stretch. He wasn't there quite yet, however.

The femme turned her free hand palm-down, flicking her fingers lightly in Carbine and Bolo's direction. "How about we go inside, first? I'm out here in the open, after all."

[Carbine]

Go inside?

What was going on here?

What the FUCK was going on here!?

Carbine was so confused that he didn't know how to even process this turn of events.

He was normally pretty good about rolling with the punches to play a scenario into his favor. Act like he always belonged somewhere so individuals don’t question why he may be snooping or lingering where he wasn’t permitted... pretend he knows information others need so that he can try to weasel something out of them before the ruse is revealed... yet this current adventure didn't even have a proper one two lined up in front of it to set a stage. All he had was a sudden buffing show and a femme that seemed way interested in him despite the fact that they had never seen one another before.

Was she some weirdo freak who just looked through the roster and saw something she liked? Carbine wouldn’t blame her. He did think he was a good lookin' guy and every girl likes a mech in uniform. Even if this skewed more likely than not wrong hypothetical was slightly in play, it left so many other questions. Namely, who the hell she even was? And why did Primus not let their paths cross sooner as she seemed like a blast? Oh well. He could use a pick-me-up after his multiple weeks of torture at Omega and its shit ass structure, so it would be nice to play along and enjoy it as long as it could be enjoyed.

Let his mind go on autopilot and relax for a change for some fun.

"By all means, co̢m̷e in."

Carbine dipped down and to the side as he said this in his recognizable vocal glitch, his right hand reaching out to plant on Bolo's forehead and push the canine to follow suit. Bolo scrunched backwards at the shove, squirming a second, before he scrabbled a couple steps to plop into a sit at his Carrier's side. He was still focused however, long ears flicking forward, before he looked up at Carbine, then over at Sunstreaker, idly sniffing the air to try to get her scent despite not being able to get close yet. His curiosity was apparent, as well as some wariness given some stranger was being brought in.

"I'm a-afraid I didn't rea͟l͟iz̧e I was going tò ̢have c͠om̧pany howe̴-̧ve͘r. I did not prepare accordingly."

Then again, there wasn't much of anything TO prepare. The room had very few belongings inside of it to clean up to make it look nicer, a sort of vacant shell than anything populated with possessions or objects that could be seen as entertaining or fun. The first most notable thing however was the size of the room itself versus others around the base. It seemed double what it should be, a larger stretch that dwarfed the standard individual. The reason for this however became abundantly clear after only a flicker, for the outermost edges remained in what had once been a wall.

Two rooms, two doors, joined together into one massive space.

It was one of the first things Thundercloud and Carbine did upon getting their new accommodations. Was it approved?... no... but what the fuck was anyone going to do about it? They both had 'their' rooms, it just so happened they shared and got a greater living space. The rest of the area was customized not by belongings, but by markings.

Carved across the ceiling were a series of filigree like constellations. Elegant shapes mixed with sharp accuracy and straight lines. It was art by someone talented, stretching across much of its surface before suddenly stopping abruptly. On the far edge there seemed to be an attempt to continue, but the lines were far sloppier and less refined, the effort stopping not long after it started.

Around the entire perimeter were scrapes about knee high, some smears of what may be dried Energon along with the supposed scratch and teeth marks. One wall seemed to be favored over others for some reason, but all areas were explored. There was some writing, though Carbine couldn't say what it even was, as well as a small station off to the side of barrels and pilfered cleaning chemicals that was likely being tampered with into a crude means of producing high-grade. One of the barrels had a large impact dent on its side, and one of the tubes was pulled out of its holder.

A couple containers were all else that remained, the very few moderate belongings tucked off to the side covered so that what it wasn’t wouldn't be instantly discernible. Alongside seemed to be a couple pipes that were dented in, as well as a sort of large ball and other things that must have been for Bolo.

Lastly, on the wall beside the door Sunstreaker would enter, were some small etched cliché dashes, started as a sort of laugh as the new prison they were now serving. Made to see how long this new home would last.

"Ma-̛ay̡-͜ztc̕hh-y I ask who I have the pleasure of spéak̕i̶ng to?"

While asking this in the amused purr as he played the game, Carbine's leaned over posture would dip further, his right hand reaching out palm up, while his left folded back to nestle at his lower back. Just as the prisoner lines were stereotypical, so too was the knightly introduction, awaiting her hand to place into his. Should she humor him, he would lean forward and click the curved shape of his faceplate against the top of her hand to play up the role of a gentleman.

[Sunstreaker]

She was going to have fun with this, that much was already apparent. Hell, Sunny'd make it happen herself, if need be. A war had been her only company for the longest time. Then, it was nobody; the vast emptiness of space, which happened to be terrible at conversation. And most recently, it had been the Autobots at Omega. The girls were both fun to hang with, but Prowl tended to be a drag. It also hadn't been lost on her that Prowl was starting to rely on her more and more, as time went on.

Why else would she be here?

Sunstreaker could imagine a few extra reasons, having matured over the past minute.

With an easy and unhurried step, she went and sauntered inside as Carbine so graciously stepped aside for her. Optics scanned around. As far as personal dwellings went, it was better than an overly cramped barracks, which Sunny was well acquainted with. That honestly wasn't to say much toward the quality and energy of the room, but she could picture worse ways to live. It only dawned on her after spending a few seconds inside that this room was actually two rooms.

Her brows bounced lightly at the realization. Aftermarket living quarters modification, huh? Sunny could get behind it. She somehow doubted that anybody important knew, or cared. No point in changing that now, though.

Then, he asked for her name.

Nothing wrong with that. If some random femme decided to show up to her own place of residence, orbital buffer in hand, Sunny would've wanted to know her name right away, too.

Then, he asked for... her hand?

A sum total of nothing at all passed through Sunstreaker's head, utterly flummoxed by the sudden display, temporarily incapable of processing a thing. It hit her all at once, a moment later. In spite of all the judicious effort she went through to keep herself presentable at all times, not once in her life had anybody requested her hand in such a manner.

About damn time, she felt.

Though thrown for a moment, Sunny confidently slid her digits into the mech's grasp, locking her optics on that dull, inexpressive face of his. "Sunstreaker..." she answered, her voice lacking the sort of bombastic twang it tended to sport, trying to keep with the tone Carbine was setting.

But, the real question was, would he actually put forth the effort to, oh, there he goes.

The back of Sunny's hand, recently buffed, shining like her namesake, was pecked. Well, it was more so a gesture, rather than the action. Carbine didn't actually have the equipment for the real thing, that equipment being a pair of lips. It felt like a monitor screen had just kissed the back of her hand.

However, she felt he managed to get his point across in spite of his facial difficulties.

A charmed grin, a real one as far as Sunny was concerned, slowly spread across her face, crinkling the edge of her lips. "Old school, are we?" she would ask, giving a slight waggle of her brow. It was corny and old fashioned, but hey, if it works?

It did give her another idea, however.

Without wasting anymore time, Sunny confidently, yet gently shoved the orbital buffer toward Carbine's chest. The way she saw it, she had a few details to elucidate the mech on before they headed down to meet Prowl. The least he could do would be to help a lady out while she talked. "Now... hop to." She gave a light flex of her as of yet unpolished door wings, for emphasis. "I got a lot to brief you on."

[Carbine]

The motion of 'kissing' the back of a femme's hand as first introductions, was one that Carbine had learned to do some time ago. Disarming in a way. Low risk. It was simply a pleasant greeting with an odd novelty to it that tended to amuse over repulse, since he was incapable of doing anything more than the tap of a cracked glass plate. In his experience most tended to humor him just to move on, others could play along and it would turn into a sort of game of theatrics, while a few negatively responded... like a certain large femme here on Earth that had tried to take his damn hand out of its socket.

Nice.

How they reacted could help inform Carbine on how to move forward as well. If they were nervous, confident or disgusted... In this case, the femme seemed to be taken aback by the motion. The falter was so very brief, a mere glimmer of possible confusion that snaked across her features, but it was there, Carbine saw it, and this fact alone made the bottom edges of the optical projects crook further up ever so slightly.

A sign of amusement and delight... the shifted expression indicating a renewed energy to the game that was going on... though it was more than just that.

Lack of proper features meant the world in cases like these. While her grin was that of charmed joy, his was in reality a devious smirk of sorts, a twisted grin masked under the continuously disarming shield.

"Only when t-trying to i̕mp̨r̕ess."

The chivalrous tones would bleed away at this, his following words hitting a lower note as he tested the waters.

"I can cer̵ta̷i͟nl̸y ̴c͢h̶an̸ge gears if wanted."

Easing back upright as he said this, Carbine would let Sunstreaker's hand slip off his, his intent then to settle into a more casual stance and judge how she reacted to his prior words. Feel around and learn as much as he could about the femme. Be direct, but not appalling. Give and take. Retreat or advance. Yet, instead of a simple reply offered where he would then try to respond properly, she shoved the buffer into his chest, catching him off guard as he fumbled a moment before grabbing the object.

Any form of a smile instantly snapped to confusion. No... Carbine KNEW what a buffer was and what it did, he was not an inept moron, but the way she effectively pushed it into his hand and acted as though this was a normal every day occurrence threw him off. He was accustomed to being the aggressor, not the one being lead, and this femme was taking charge in a way. He wouldn’t contest it! Far from it! He just ended up looking at the buffer a second, before looking over at Bolo as if they could share a collective 'what the hell' response.

Bolo simply stared back, the flat expressionless look offering nothing to the casual viewer, before Carbine flicked his free hand down in a somewhat subtle movement as it lowered. A short command, mostly through link than motion, but it was given, and after such Carbine started to move.

"Brief? Consider m-me in-in-te͜r͞e̶sted̀-"

Recovering nicely despite his continuing internal questions, Carbine smoothly rolled into a walk, moving to pace around Sunstreaker to get behind her. As he did, so did he continue to exploit his handicap, letting his gaze wander in less than appropriate ways... trailing over her paint and structure... effectively evaluating her worth like a slab of meat that only the worst of mech would do. While he did this, he crooked his stance forward, Bolo finally going into motion.

A clean jump.

A smooth transformation.

In just a flicker of a moment, Bolo's front limbs had slammed just below where Carbine's shoulder blades would be, the dog's elbows rocking back aggressively as its torso rings ripped apart in half to permit his head to hatchet within. The telltale sounds of such a motion rang out, though a rather short one, as the animal's recognizable features blended away into Carbine's torso. This removed the dog from the equation, his rotor posts clunking back in place as everything settled, including his stance behind her.

He still questioned this. Why wouldn't he? This was right up there with the most bizarre experiences he has had for countless years. Nothing made sense, and as such he looked to find logic within the madness. He kept a bead on what she was doing, watching her hands and where she looked sharply. While he had nothing of value to steal, the habit was there from the times he did, being mindful if she was casing out the place for a different goal.

Obviously, there wasn't really going to be anything REALLY here... even he wasn't that delusional... but he was still going to have fun while he could. As such, Carbine trailed his left hand from the bottom base of her door wing about half way up before stopping to support it. While he did so, he clicked on the rotary buffer, pressing the top grip into the side of his leg so he could move his grasp without using his left hand, centering his palm directly over the mechanism.

With this steadier hold so the brush didn’t tilt and create a hot spot or burn to the coat, Carbine would place it gently against the outer panels of the wing, using a light touch at first as he tried to figure out how aggressive the tool was.

"-for as much̨ ̡as I̧ ̀w͠oúl̴d love th-this charade to be true... what are you loo̵k-̢o̶ok͝-̶t̵ch̸h̴-̶ing for, hm? I doubt you simply need a h-helping hand."

Carbine would lean forward as he said this, almost as if he were trying to speak next to her helm, using his height in his favor. He was unable to fully embrace the intimidating posturing while working with the tool however, but the implication was there from how far he did hook over her mass. While this happened, his previous purrs transitioned into a momentary growl of warning, an action paired with his left grip tightening its hold.

A warning, but not fierce enough to overtly hurt.

Yet enough to make a point.

"I wi͢l̷l p͠l̡a̕y̛ t̵he ̢gam̧e, but I am n-not st̕up͞i̶d."

[Sunstreaker]

A soft groan, a release of tension, escaped Sunstreaker as the familiar whirr of the orbital buffer graced the sensitive little not-wings on her back. An excellent itch to scratch, even if she wasn't the canine in the room. It always felt better when somebody else was doing it, Sunny had found. She found she had half a mind to just let Carbine handle all the beautification, at this rate. Good thing Prowl gave her half an hour to get everything handled.

She eased her arms down, pressing her hands on the sides of her thighs as she resigned herself to the light pampering.

The sudden, subtle shift to the mech's grip drew a small hitch of air from her vents, barely audible, as did the slight growl to his stilted vocal processor. He wanted to reassert control, did he? Hell, Sunstreaker had practically handed it to him on a platter. Cute that he wanted to prove himself above whatever games he thought she was playing. She just liked a good buff, really.

Slowly, as to not alert her masseuse or give a false impression of shock, Sunny slowly turned her head to pass a gaze to Carbine from over her shoulder, one brow elevated above the other. Part of it was meant to chide him for having deluded himself that he was still in control. The other half of it was a soft, unspoken plea that she'd actually been enjoying herself.

"Look," Sunstreaker began. "I'm not here to play you. I needed a buffing..."

Whether or not her words were believed, the femme speaking them had made an effort to have them come off as truly earnest. Whether or not she was already stunning without the buffing wasn't something Sunny had considered. It was always time for a buffing, in her mind.

"But, Prowl 'n I need your help." Direct and to the point, but not a full caliber infodump at least. She'd let him form his own questions on his own time.  However, her face briefly took on a more serious note. "We've got the Decepticon CMO locked up, downstairs. Hauled him in, myself."

Granted, she hadn't run him off the road and gotten stabbed for it. But, she did haul his unconscious aft through the groundbridge. That counted.

"Come, don't come... I get to screw with him, either way," Sunny proudly declared, grinning. "But if you do, we've got a role for you to play. One that might help him loosen that glossa of his."

It was officially question time, far as Sunstreaker cared. That was the rhythm they'd established during their little dance, thus far. Despite that, there was another matter that begged for attention. Before Carbine could deliver the query she knew to be coming, Sunny deliberately switched gears on the old ex-cop. "But hey..." she started. Her right leg folded at the knee, the tip of her pede slowly tapping against the ground. Sunny stretched it back and hooked it between the back of Carbine's knee and calf, flexing it to bind it closer to her waist. "Been a while since I've been flattered like this... even if you're just trying to get a read on me. Wanna do something later?"

[Carbine]

Well. Game or not, she certainly was leaning into it. No?

The groan was a form of music to Carbine’s ears that he would normally be quite keen to try to entice more of. Only, he had to make his point. He had to show he was not some tool to be used. If she DID somehow just want to 'use' him like that however? Whatever. He would play ball. But she had to have known about him before coming here, which meant intent that branched past this little boxed in illusion of appearances speaking for everything. There was no way some photo in a file on current soldiers at base would start... whatever this was... No possible way in hell.

When she turned to look up at him, Carbine's gaze was rather fierce, the hollow yellow projections simply staring back at her to hear what she could possibly say next. The buffer was pulled aside as this happened, since he was no longer looking at what he was doing. As much as he was wary of this and on edge, it didn’t mean he wanted to unintentionally rip at the surface of her armor in any way. It was a good thing that he had considered this however, as the words that followed...

Hold up.

Wait.

Put a pause on this a second.

The second that Prowl's name was dropped, Carbine's mind was already thrown into high gear to try to find any fucking possible correlation between what was happening right here and now, with THAT mech's name. It was such a conversational whiplash, that it almost hurt him on a deep psychological level that he didn't know if he would be able to recover from. This name being slammed down alone was a large enough slap to the side of his helm, that everything that followed suit was mild in comparison. That isn’t to say it was something that was easy to swallow however... No... They had a Decepticon in captivity? What the heck was happening here!?

Ok so, buffing up a girl who seemed to be coming onto him... Prowl... a Decepticon Medic... trying to make said medic loosen up and start talking... Wanting him to play some kind of role here...

Did he even WANT to play any kind of role with this!?!

The absolute level of processor crash that Carbine was going through could borderline be felt, the inner edges of his eyes furrowed in the most concerned look possible as he blankly stared across the room. It was almost as though he was looking past the flat surface into an existential crisis on what choices had gotten him here in his long life, trying to slam wrong pieces of a jigsaw puzzle together frantically. Except, they were not wrong pieces of one cohesive image, but were pieces thrown together from a few different boxes that had been bought at the dollar store.

If this wasn't bad enough, while he was trying to scrabble for any semblance of logic, looking for ANY kind of thread that could start to weave it all together that didn’t add up to wildly appalling results that would make his tank crawl, she had to go and ADD to the entire ordeal that much more.

Carbine's right leg buckled forward as it was pulled, breaking him from his statue still lockdown with a lurched pop of the narrow ped scraping sideways. This caused his frame to dip, his rotors and left arm throwing out to try to counteract the movement and keep himself from crashing. It was further evidence on how good it was that he had stopped buffing earlier upon her verbal assault, for the tool would have undoubtedly sheered the metal edge of the pad across her in the process, the object dropping to the ground with a loud clatter and rattle as it whirred.

His limbs were lanky with a thin ped layout, lacking a proper ankle assembly that could rock side to side, as such, having it pulled without him even slightly coherent nearly took him down, his shin jutting forward between her legs with his knee pressed against her frame.

While Carbine's right arm was thrown out to try to act as a counterbalance, his left moved quickly to clasp his open palm on the front of her shoulder plating with a whap, the white fingertips flared to try to get a broad grip. Unlike his earlier movements, there was nothing crude to this one, the action done to seek balance since his left leg was off center to the side, trapped where he couldn't readjust it with the other held captive. This ended with him pressed flush up behind her, an action he would normally be a hundred and ten present game for! Only...

"Wh͜at."

One...

Two...

Trying to stretch those red yarn lines between the elements...

Three...

"WH̶͜O͝Áa͠a̶͢a͜ ̷̀W̷̧͢H̶̛O̧À̡͡!"

Carbine wrenched violently then, his right hand swinging up and back so that it could open palm whap it into the center of Sunstreaker's back, pushing her away as he twisted and heaved his leg free from her. It was a gangly action, the metal hoop of his heel squawking as it scraped along the concrete floor, before it got purchase and he bounced a couple steps away as if he had been slammed with a high dose shot of adrenalin and was suddenly in some kind of brawl, his hands held up some into fists.

Except it wasn’t to fight off a physical threat, more so than he was trying to shield himself from the popping nightmare flashes of imagery that was lurching through his processor.

"I ̨d-̧don't ͟kn͜ow ͠w͡h̢at y-yo͡u ́z̢zt̢ t͞hree tw͝ea͜k̵e̛d o-out souls to up͠ ̸kz̢z͝tt̶gh́h̸ ͢a͏r̵e, b-but I ain't wa̢n͞t̛i͜n'̧ non̶e ̕of ͢įt!"

Prowl!?

PROWL!?

His voice was pitched up from the earlier purrs, a freaked out edge to it all.

"I c-̷ca̵n ͘so͡m̡e̡ i̵nto ch̛tc̸h ̵b̡e ͏w̴eird sh̶it,͘ b̕u͠t͏ ̕th͢at r̕ight͏ t̸h͠-ther͜e̡ cro͘ss̸es͢ ͘a͞ ͝l̶ine!"

It didn't matter how hot the lady'con would be.

[Sunstreaker]

Good grief this mech was paranoid.

Though not to be unfair to him, he'd just had a lot thrown his way.

Sunny found herself unceremoniously ejected from Carbine's grasp as the mech apparently began a royal rumble with his inner demons. The hard shove to her back sent her stumbling several steps across the room, though perhaps fewer than it should have. The ex-SRT officer was a hard femme to knock over, as Sunstreaker had her balance back in half a second, spinning around slowly to direct her gaze toward Carbine mid-episode. She stared quietly for several moments.

She assembled a token inventory of the situation fairly quickly, most notably how he'd stopped buffing her, and how the buffer itself was sitting useless on the ground. That little outburst of his was nothing, if not amusing. So quickly had his bravado been shattered, Sunny wasn't even sure if he'd registered it yet. So what if she wasn't being buffed anymore? She had arms.

With a slow buildup and low hum, Sunstreaker began to chuckle amusedly to herself, folding her arms across her chest. What a sight he was, fists up, and ready for action. "Wow."

This was undoubtedly the worst reaction she'd ever received for trying to counter-flirt a dude's flirting, by a fairly wide margin.

Her best bet was triage, for the moment. Sunny raised a hand toward Carbine in an attempt to calm him some, though she couldn't beat the smug smile still resting on her lips. "Relax, you're not being asked to seduce a Decepticon, or anything."

A shift of air passed through the femme's vents. She unfurled her arms and planted them on her hips, ready to dig in and fight if necessary. "But I'm not taking an answer while you're all halfcocked, and not before you get the whole story." Her voice was in hostage situation-mode, by this point. No sense in riling him up even more by firing back at him. "You got questions? Concerns? Let's hear 'em. I got time."

[Carbine]

Carbine's frame let out a couple harder snorts through the large vent slates along his back while listening to the femme, trying to collect things back up, trying to come down off his momentary grandiose overreaction...

"D-̧d-e͠c͜ep̷ti̡cơn ͏ai͏n͘'t the iss-̀u͡e."

Hey, if he had the ability to get away with it, he would have made that white and green femme's night. Allegiance meant just about nothing to Carbine outside of the war scene, and the danger involved of not knowing if a knife was going to suddenly slam its way into the side of his throat would just make the encounter that much more exciting. Out on the battlefield however, away from a place where he wasn’t PERMITTED to attack, he would have been the one to take the first stab, punctuated with a little twist. That would be his goal, and what he would try to do, if he still had his damn knife.

Friggen thing.

Picking up the buffer, Carbine spun it around so that he was looking at the pad itself, trying to figure out if it had landed wrong side down to get any kind of bits of dirt or grit stuck within the fibers. He couldn't see anything overtly at first, though it wasn't something he could just shrug and call 'good enough' given what it did. He then twisted it as he spoke, letting the overhead light hit it at different angles as he searched for specks of gray or black.

"How abo͠ut͠ yo͏u t͟-͏t-͘a̵ke ten dozen da̢m͟n s͡t̵e̕p͏s͞ ̨ba̷ck, and story thi͘s̡ ̢ch͟h̀t͞t̴k spin around."

As he said this, Carbine reached his free hand out, pointing towards the ground with a little twirl, though he kept looking at what he was doing.

"Tell mȩ ̨a-a͜-̛bo͞ut the Decepticon, and wha̢t r-r̀-ơl͟ę zzt ro͘le you two evidently want me t-to play, since I am now undȩr̢s̡tandi̢ng our game had nothing to͘ do with͜ ͞įt."

Not seeing anything in the buffer, Carbine would turn it back on, watching it closely again to see if the disk was wobbling from being bent off kilter, or other ailments from its sad fall. It wasn't his intention to break someone else's belongings, far from it. He did not mean to drop it as he did. It seemed luck was on his side in that regard however, as the tool appeared to be working perfectly, even if there was a scrape along its side. He hoped she wasn't in love with the thing's appearance, and was more concerned with its function rather than looking good while functioning. Whatever the case, he would then press it into the side of his thigh, to see if he could feel anything gritty in the pad.

Carbine didn't care if his paint got scraped or scratched. If there was a rock stuck in there? Oh well. He already was covered in a sea of small chips and mars, many of which sloppily painted over with dabs of black here or there just to hide the glint of raw silver. The most prominent of these patch jobs was a larger webwork of more professionally painted over scarring. Mostly sanded down, the overt patterns of welding muted, but it was still present in a lesser extent. It branched across his sternum paneling and chest from a single centralized spot. The point was however, Carbine didn't care, and so he pressed the buffer pad rather hard into the metal.

Nothing was felt, nothing scratched or stung...

Lifting the tool aside, the black and white mech twisted his upper torso while pushing his leg out to let the light hit it better. There was a faint smoothing... the ever slightest of changed surfaces... but he didn’t see any spiraling etches or mars.

"You can't ģ-g̵-̢o̧ f͠r̡o̸m ̀tha͘t̀ t͠o P̨r̶owl without EVI̴D́E̡N̕TL͠Y sending me in-into a ̴ta̛il spìn."

Grumbled annoyance in himself as the slats on his back huffed once more.

That mech's reputation and almost fear-inducing no nonsense approach, as well as things Carbine had heard that said mech had done to end the lives of teammates over enemies, was enough to clash against fun times like oil and water. He already feared a direct confrontation with him after the Windshield incident, as the goodie goodie high command may give him a relative pass with a slap on the wrist, but Prowl seemed to float outside that ring, and was a lingering threat in the back of his mind.

"Co͟mpĺete̢l̕y rui̢n͏ed th͟e͘ ͜m̶oment..."

[Sunstreaker]

Good bot.

Part of her imagined that she'd be thrown out of the room, forced to sulk back to Prowl and let him know that she fragged up, again. It was heartening to know this wouldn't be the case. With any luck she'd be able to get Carbine on board with the operation, whatever the specifics were. Prowl had given her the broad strokes, which were enough for her to spin the story.

He met her with a fair and reasonable request, one she'd been ready to comply with before his little freak out. To Sunny's surprise however, Carbine went and fetched the dropped buffer from the floor, eyeing him as he carefully assessed its condition. She half-expected him to just toss it and move on, but something nagged to her that they weren't through just yet.

"The Decepticon, is Knock Out; Megatron's chief medical officer." Sunny began to elaborate. Her frame continued to drip little droplets across Carbine's beautiful slate flooring, a silent reminder that she still had some servicing to partake in. "Prowl knows he won't get him to talk just by leering at him hard enough, so I'm good cop..." There was her own role in the scheme, though it felt odd coming from her glossa. Sunstreaker loved being bad cop, a fact that echoed from her voice as it momentarily trailed off.

"We want whatever intel Knock Out's got: numbers, patrols, personnel, resources, their new base's location, even. There's a chance we can do it, but we need to catch him off guard." Despite his earlier request, Sunstreaker took a few steps forward, slowly. Her face was contorted in moderate contemplation as she approached Carbine, searching for the best words and route to give to him.

"We need you in there, with him." Finally came the purpose of her visit. Partially, at least. "Posing as a deserter. The plan's for you to get him to open up about things he won't spill to us."

Sunny didn't follow up the last of her elaborations with more elaborations, or instructions, or assurances. She knew just what she was asking of him, even if she was doing it on Prowl's behalf. It was going to be an uncomfortably familiar situation for Carbine, and her contrition was mirrored over her expression, brow furrowed, a light frown on her lips.

"And I'm sorry," she apologized, cutting the brief interlude. "For ruining the moment. But if it's any consolation, the mention of Prowl tends to ruin my moments, too."

[Carbine]

Carbine let out a low grumble of a growl while listening to Sunstreaker speak, though he didn't interrupt along the way at each beat that passed. He wanted to hear everything at once, so he could try to work with the full picture rather than plodding forward one step at a time. While things were already thrown off the initial path, a game that he loved to play cast aside like the buffer had been, he didn't intend for it to happen twice. He would be prepared for twists in this story, and he would metaphorically hold his tongue, even if irritation lanced through him on a deep core level while things unfolded.

To keep himself busy, he would press the buffer roughly into the same spot as before, not to try to make it look slicked, but more to tilt the brush to further feel for any grit that could completely blend up a clear coat in a split second. He rocked the cylinder upon its edge, yet still, he felt no scraping. He did feel heat however, the pad's narrower contact point creating a hot spot before he pulled it away, the joints in his hand creaking as he clutched at the device fiercely to channel his forming irritation.

"Oh͞.́ GR͝E̡AT. ͟Grea̕t to know I m-̨m͞a̸ke on̴e ̧m̵i̶śtake against a p-p-pretend Autobot and I am̨ c̨o͡r͝ner̵e͠d into th-the villain role and th͢ro͝w͠n back in the brig."

A snort, another huff flushing through his vents, one that was anger rather than stress.

"I b-bet that’s why I am pic̴k͠ed, hm?"

Finally looking away from his leg, deeming the tool safe to be used without acting as a rotary sander, Carbine's gaze locked back down into hers, a sort of fierce energy behind it. Paired with this was a low noise, a sort of growl that formed deep within his chest. It was softer, not overt, not TRYING to be heard, yet it was there. Animalistic, a sputtered snarl that an average individual likely would not be able to produce on such levels. Carbine would continue to speak, the noise continuing uninhibited.

"Th-thug prison mech, uǹs̴t͞a͞ble, good for n-no͘t̨h͢-̧ing but acting out and b-being antagonistic."

White fingertips tightened their grasp even further on the buffer's handle, to a point his forearm trembled a moment to try to exert as much power as he could. Thankfully, the device's outer shell didn't relent.

"Want me to go ál͏l An̛ti-̨Aut̨o̵bot b-because I sock a fake one and͢ an͢d -̷anch͜hthc͘ make one flippant comment to Avalanche th-that I am sure gơt ́báck to Prowl."

As if suddenly realizing what his hand was doing, pain starting to form along his knuckles that he hadn’t given opportunity to heal, Carbine loosened his grasp abruptly, yellow optics flicking over to look and see if he damaged the tool any further than he already had by dropping it. It appeared fine, but his actions left a mark on his mind instead, a sort of tingle running along the hinges and tension cables that ran under the paneling.

This seemed to ground him instantly, a reminder that went beyond just verbally spitting things out. Feeling ghost memories... the way the faceplate caved in before sheering off its underlying brackets... He made a promise to himself that night, one that he desperately wanted to honor. There were moments of forgetting, letting his wrath boil up uncontrollably so, but he had caught himself. He had stopped before devolving into hostile actions that were redirected at her rather than himself.

After this glance, he looked back at Sunstreaker.

"And w-what if I don't play àlo͢ng? I bet the entire pl-an would change b͢ecause ̢o̶t́her̀s wouldn't have the 'passion' to p-pull the role off right."

Leveled words, the growl dissipating completely from his core, ignoring her last comments and approach completely.

He was no longer in the mood.

[Sunstreaker]

"Hey." Sunstreaker firmly vocalized, narrowing her gaze in measured concern. Carbine was starting to spiral, what with the rambling and ruminating. Not to mention he was crushing her buffer. Though it took some effort, Sunny pieced together all the meaningful words and sounds from his speech. The mention of Avalanche of all femmes briefly threw her, having perked her brow in confusion as her old CO's name was mentioned. Old Ava as all discipline, no-nonsense. Sunny could think of a few ways Carbine might've irked her, without a doubt.

Speaking of Avalanche, and with Carbine's brief spiral still fresh in mind, it all served to draw Sunstreaker back to their first meeting. She remembered how she yelled, screamed, raged, and cried when Ava had asked her what'd she'd done, and why. Carbine's finish was by no means as reflective of hers, but she could still manage to see a small part of herself in his rage.

Without thinking too much about it, Sunstreaker reached out to place a hand on the mech's chest, though she withdrew it after a moment or two. Never in her life had she been sensitive enough to offer kind words when they were needed; they tended to stay bolted deep down. A small, reassuring touch was her way of trying to assuage Carbine's irritation. 

"Look," she began, putting in an effort to ensure she wasn't coming off harshly. "You have the experience to make the part work, Carbine. That's all I could pull from your file. Far as I know, that's all there is to it."

Sunny's mind briefly flickered to the alternate timeline where she was the one playing deserter. A disgraced squad leader, thrown in the detention block for getting her team killed. Even if it was just for the bit, she would've hated having to do it, too.

Carbine had her sympathy, if nothing else.

"But I said what I said. You can stay here, and we'll go our separate ways for now. We wouldn't be picking up a different third though, I can tell you that much right now."

With a weary resignation Sunny let her shoulders drop, folding her arms together. "Nobody else fits the profile. We checked."

[Carbine]

Carbine stood in place as Sunstreaker's hand placed against his chest, ghost burns creeping across the touch where the crackled paneling had been fused back together. Even if he didn't have a hard shell of posturing drilled into his psyche, to not show weakness of any kind or else it could be exploited, he still would not have shied away from the memory. The injury had hurt, it nearly cost him his life, but he did not find terror in the recollection. The incident was simply another that tried to kill him in his OH so noble service to a stained cause that destroyed their home.

At least Praxus was gone.

Whatever the case, the subtle growl returned then when it was pointed out that nobody else fit the profile. OF COURSE they didn't. They were all the goodie goodie Autobots that played morally superior cowards, any hostilities or true vile impulses to lash out or kill muddled under some veil of being superior than such depravity. Hiding it. Pretending it wasn't a thing. Just so they were not seen as the very savages that they painted the Decepticons. Just because he was open with the fact this was war, and the fact he didn't take crap off others and was willing to get physical when verbally assaulted, meant he was a perfect monster to pick up and exploit so their own hands didn't get dirty.

"You have the experience to make the part work"

"Garrus is a͟n ͢u͟n̸f̵or͟giving t-teacher."

That was a hot painful brand, a mark that would never heal.

Carbine didn't typically drop the name of the prison so readily. He liked to shuffle it aside so it didn't become some central focus to the discussion or smear someone’s perspective on him into a specific direction. He wanted to be in control. To use it to make a point. Or... to try to pull sympathy if able to spin it as such. Yet, Sunstreaker had already accessed his file, and given the fact Prowl was involved, that stain of a detail was likely highlighted rather than muddled and possibly obscured so that the standard soldier wouldn’t see his dirty past front and center.

Raising his helm, Carbine looked down upon the notably shorter Cybertronian that barely reached the underside of his rib assembly, a towering clash of mass that would have skewed events in his favor back in that vile prison. It brought on its heel aggressive confidence. Whether it was true or not, he did not know... but, he felt as though he could simply grab her and slam her across the room head first into the wall should she push him too far and make him feel like even more or a tool. A THING rather than a person to try to manipulate.

No.

Keep calm.

Don't think that way.

"Fuck it. L-let͠'s g͟et this Primus da̵m̛ņ-͏d̸a-̴e͟d͘ r̵o̕d͏eo over with."

Walking at an angle away from Sunstreaker, taking notable care to NOT let his back face her, Carbine reached his door and slammed it open violently in a way that mirrored his introduction to this little get-together. His opposite arm, that was then clutching onto the buffer, would swoop down in front of himself and then over, gesturing to the open doorway to let her leave first in a mutated abomination of a gentleman's kind intentions.

"Unless b͜-̨b-uf̕f̸-b̕uf̛f͘-̀i̡ng truly is OH so important to this-"

Carbine tried to throttle his words back, trying to be good. Why was this so hard for him once he was angry? It made him feel like some sort of animal that was only stopped by a muzzle, teeth still bared, and intent to hurt simmering behind its metal cage. Now that he knew it was this fact that they wanted to exploit, it pissed him off and made him want to subdue it more to prove them wrong, while also wanting to release it to teach a lesson. As such, his dipped forward posture was held for only a moment, his frame jittering from tensed systems as he returned to his full height with a crackle of his encaged spine.

"-p-part of the plo͜y̡."

Why? That detail he didn't know. It was apparent he didn’t put much stock in his finish, only caring about the overall colors and the chevrons that created his 'uniform'.

"I can't im͡a̴g͢i͢ne P̷ŗowl would help you."

A sarcastic bite. There was no joy in his words, no fun to be found in offering to finish out her door wings and back. A utilitarian approach since he was indeed just something to be used.

He should be used to it.

Since the day he and Thunder were paroled, it was always to be used.

[Sunstreaker]

In no universe did Sunstreaker envision Prowl bothering to help put a brand spanking new coat of polish on her. In that regard, Carbine was completely correct. He'd aimed it like a jab, only to have it land like a gentle, reassuring pat on the back.

The shift from confused amusement, to stark apprehension, to begrudging resignation was one hell of a roller coaster for Sunny to sit through. She imagined it felt even more hectic to the mech himself. Hell, it must've seemed wild from Avalanche's point of view, back in the day when she'd been more prone to spiraling.

Though her host had so graciously shown her the door in much the same way he'd invited her, Sunstreaker didn't budge. Defiantly dripping with water, half-polished, the ex-cop crossed her arms back over her chest, a small gust of air shifting through her vents. Nonverbal, but it effectively conveyed her stance on his request.

An optic rolled toward the corner of her vision. Her HUD chronometer was still ticking down on the time that Prowl had provided to get their new recruit on board. This hadn't taken quite as long as she'd thought; the parts of it that weren't buffing, that is.

"I'm in no rush." Sunny replied, producing the verbal component of her initial response. "We have about... twenty, before we need to be anywhere important."

Leisurely, she strolled over toward the closest wall she could find, digits curling around the edge of one of the many forlorn storage crates that sporadically dotted the room. Dragging it back to the center of the room where she'd been standing, Sunny went about laying the groundwork for her proposition.

"That Decepticon, is about the prettiest Decepticon I've ever laid optics on." It wasn't as though admitting that fact aloud were difficult. Decepticons tended to be awful ugly. "Garnet coat, full polish. Purple flames, golden rims... and all of it immaculate."

"Not a scrape." She continued, waving a hand dismissively to the side. The next moment was taken to hop herself up on the side of the crate she'd just procured, folding one leg over the other. As the Autobot eased herself up onto her perch, she leaned backward on her hands, her left pede idly kicking back and forth.

"I'm dolling myself up because..."

"A) Frag 'em."

"And B), I've been stuck on a void-cursed salvage barge, alone, ever since I left Cybertron. That, and I haven't had access to the same facilities pretty boy evidently does."

There was a noticeable competitive glint to her optics, one not seen relatively recently. Sunstreaker had told herself, over the course of one of her many, many breakdowns onboard that damn barge, that Autobots were off-limits to being styled on. Decepticons however, were still fair game. But, that latent surge of pride was quickly snuffed out as Sunny forced herself back into the moment, along with Carbine.

"Twenty minutes; no job, no Prowl." She reiterated.

Her left door-wing was wiggled, then her right. Carbine's "optics" weren't much more than two static points of light, but something about that just made them easier to stare at, which Sunstreaker would've presently been doing.

"And hey, you've already got my buffer..."