[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]Bridge [Closed]

[Knock Out]

While the cherry-red mech’s attention was mostly on the femme in front of him, he couldn’t help but watch Carbine from the corner of his optics as an attempt was made in easing himself up into a stand. The cough sounded a little concerning - from here, at least - however not to the point it drew his gaze in that direction.

He didn’t particularly care what damage the other mech had done to himself in the fall, however given his own profession, he did wonder if there was anything he could do to help - if only to score some points with the other faction. At the end of the day, they were both prisoners, and he was certain their captors likely did not give a slag about either one of them. The other mech had damaged himself due to his own stupidity, meaning there would probably be little sympathy.

Though, should Carbine have hurt himself to the point he’d significantly damaged something, surely they would want him to remain somewhat functional - which of course would require the attention of a medic.

Then again, the Autobots probably had a medic of their own. Ratchet was well known, and should Carbine’s injuries warrant it, that was probably who would be dealing with things.

Ah well, there was no point in dwelling - and he’d watch as the femme’s gaze seemed to linger on his arms, notably the flame decals. Should she have brought them up, he would’ve argued that under this horrific artificial lighting they no doubt looked particularly gaudy, and the multiple scratches to his frame were certainly doing them no favors. However, there were no words spoken, and he could only assume that she was impressed.

Or at the very least, knew better than to start an argument.

The indifference of the ‘Mm’ from Sunstreaker was not lost on him, though, and he’d quietly suck in air between his denta before venting out a gentle sigh at her question, turning his helm to look at the cell itself.

“Well, as far as prisons go it’s adequate I suppose. Can’t say I’m an expert on such things, however.” turning back to look at her, he’d shrug.

He was sure having a cute little table and chair wasn’t exactly standard protocol - either one of them could be used as weapons against anyone foolish enough to open the door.

“I’d love access to a buffer, though. You think you can put in a good word with Optimus or something for me, since I am being on my best behavior?”

[Carbine]

Carbine was standing, the optical projections across his damaged and half-broken visor were crooked into a scowl, and he was squared off in a way as though he was ready to throw down and fling into a fight should the electronic shielding not be in place. It was a look of a mech that didn't know when to quit and would go to the grave before giving up on his goals in life... in this case escaping the base to go out on his own. Ready to kill, ready to run, and prepared to do whatever was needed for his own ambitions.

It was a ruse.

Holy shit was he tired and beaten up. His helm throbbed, his wrists were uncomfortable, and he wanted to just sit and relax to try to make it all go away. Carbine was trying to present himself though, tapping into that part of his mind that knew weakness in prison could be death. If someone couldn't defend themselves in Garrus and show they were willing to bite when pushed, then they were not going to do well and would be a little bitch whose meager rations would be stolen until they starved out, or they were forced to be a gopher for a more powerful individual. Even if it was fake, it needed to be done, which was partly what inspired the black and white mech's continued aggression.

Despite this... it could only go so far, and he knew that he couldn’t participate or make any snide statements at the other two anyway. As such, a couple of loose strides were taken to the side, Carbine pressing the arch of his shoulder plating against the wall as a brace so he could lean his weight into it, mostly removing balance from the equation. Once settling, yellow eyes would close half way, still mindful if Sunstreaker would approach, yet not really keeping track of anything else that was occurring between the other two.

[Sunstreaker]

To be honest, it no longer felt like the game was beginning. Or, that Sunstreaker would have to act all that hard, at all. He was just... a mech, who very much valued his appearance. Granted, a creature of vanity that likely possessed critical intelligence, but a creature of vanity all the same. Oh, he was also a doctor too. But really, who was keeping score of all the doctors these days? Sunny wasn't. It had dawned on her by now that this was less a game of acting, and more of a matter of tact. She could do tact, for sure.

Tactful and tactical.

But of course he wanted a buffer. Knock Out didn't know it yet, but what he really wanted was her buffer. Or... perhaps he did. Sunny had to have gotten so sparkly some way, of course. At least she was leading his demands, somehow. Something about the nature of his request did tickle a funny deep down inside of her, though.

A smirk, razor sharp and quite cutting, etched itself upon her lips. "Really," she began, amused. "Just met and you're already trying to bum the beauty supplies off a femme?" Sunny felt so fancy in that moment, for whatever reason. Some primordial force compelled her to even press the tips of her digits up against her chest, feigning some sort of regal, aristocratic shock.

Someone cares about their appearance, for sure, was the message.

"But really, this is your best behavior?" She cocked her head to the side, the smirk perseverating. "Weren't you just cheering for our mutual friend to "Kick her aft" a second ago?"

[Knock Out]

“Aw, can you blame me?”

He chuckled at this, making a point of eyeing Sunstreaker up and down. He did not care for her type, though could appreciate the work put into her frame - even if at a glance he couldn’t quite tell what altmode she had picked for herself - only that it was something flashy and no doubt high maintenance.

Probably fun to race, should he ever meet her out on the road - and for a moment he found himself lamenting the fact that she hadn’t been the one to find him last night.

“Compared to the few Autobots I’ve seen,” which admittedly wasn’t very many “-you’re clearly the only one who gives half a slag about their appearance, and after that scuffle with Prowl I’m feeling rather filthy to the point it’s all I can think about.”

He added in a slight pout, for good measure.

Honestly, he’d been through a lot worse. Traipsed through mud, crawled through filth on the upside-down Nemesis, been in more brawls than he cared to count where his frame had been scraped to the pits and back - not to mention the run-ins with his own faction. So this fight with Prowl was pretty low down on the list of grievances, especially as the other mech had walked away with far worse.

Though that wasn’t to say the scrapes to his frame weren’t annoying - because they were.

Casting a quick glance to Carbine - who had also walked away from his own little altercation far worse, he wondered what his story was and what he was actually doing here. These thoughts were short-lived, however, as Sunstreaker spoke - that smirk still on her faceplate.

“Well, I am a Decepticon. The bar is pretty low in terms of behavior so I don’t have much to go on.” he smiled, looking back at her. “I can safely say I am fully on your side, however, and was far too quick to place my bet on that little fight. Nice work, by the way.”

It probably helped that Carbine had about as much grace as a reversing dump truck and had done most of the damage to himself by himself, but eh… details.

[Carbine]

Nonsense. Crackled popping words that were blending together into the constant noise of a broken radio transmission. It prickled in his processor not unlike a series of needles, prodding and digging down into the left side in a way that compelled him to crook his helm aside as though he could escape its push within his skull. He hated the feeling so very much, every statement that fell out of them making the discomfort raise, an added jab added at the highest pitch of each word. If he had his say on the matter the black and white mech would have walked out of the room at this point, sliding his hand along the wall for balance while retreating to his bed to just relax and let self-repair do its thing.

No. He was captive to their talking.

Lifting his helm slightly, Carbine watched as Sunstreaker seemed to be puffing up with fingertips on her chest, possibly boasting about her skills in knocking him down and achieving a quick victory. Ohhh... someone who could win a fight fast and come out on top, an officer beating another, and was now giving some sort of warning to the medic. He didn't realize that his assumption was wrong and that they were talking about appearances instead, which wouldn't have been his top pick for discussions.

Yellow optics would further close ever so slightly as Carbine leaned against the wall, leaving his vision effectively a blur of colors. The only reason he didn’t off them entirely was so that he would be aware of when a blob of gold may approach, or when said blob would leave the room. This relaxing nature was displayed physically with his rotors slumping.