[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]Snapping Point [Open]

[Cintra]

Episode 3.5 | Week 1 | Day 3



Their medic was missing! HE WAS MISSING and nothing was going on! Why was there nothing going on!? The Autobots had to have him! And people weren't doing anything!

Well... no...

For all Cintra knew they already had a plan going and individuals that were far stealthier than her were involved, yet she didn't hear about it. Nobody told her anything. Would that really be so bad? It wasn’t as though she could burst in to participate and ruin everything since they likely bridged where they needed to go. That and well... the fact she shouldn't have even been there to begin with, but the actual physical barrier did well to keep her from giving in to a want to help. For what she lacked in capability, she made up ten-fold in spirit, which was as much a curse as it was a boon.

Cintra was like a coiled spring of energy on the best of days, always trying to find ways to keep herself busy and out of trouble if at all possible. Eager to please, fast to jump to call, and willing to do much if it was within her power. Her normal tactics to stall and waste some time in the depressing lulls within war were borderline impossible however when there seemed to be a rather large and rather major issue of a damn medic being gone. Some drawing or rummaging around for anything of value to fix up her sleeping area was simply no match to distract, and it didn't help that Flux wasn't even around for her to rant at. He was able to curb her chaos and take her down many levels on just these sorts of occasions, though he was taken out on some mission with Megatron.

MEGATRON.

Megatron's voice practically ran in her processor since the meeting, one particular statement set as a broken record that chained again and again until it was almost a series of noises rather than a coherent set of words to convey a thought.

"Those of you who have proven their strength and loyalty shall be called upon to bring my vision to reality."

She was loyal! Why wasn't she called upon to help! She could paint some vision! She just needed to be told where to go!

It was a burning poker in her side, further spurring her anxiety forward as she clutched onto one of her paint pens she used to write on Flux so fiercely that it was as though she were attempting to crush it with brute force of will alone. Her arm trembled as she channeled said energy, sharp footfalls clicking while she paced up and down the hall that held everyone's bunks, paying no mind to who may or may not be in their own little sad doorless hovel as she passed. Her focus was the ground immediately in front of her so she didn't run into anything or anyone, a vague recognition when she would reach the end of the hall in either direction, and the rest was a whirling tornado of a spiral.

Why was she not valuable? Should she not care? Everyone else seemed so much laxer about their jobs with an almost careless approach in her opinion. Was that what this station was and she had to adapt? Only give a slag when specifically called and otherwise give a rude gesture to others and go off to play or something?

This thought caused the bottom edge of Cintra's eye to flick slightly as she pivoted and started back down the hall for what may have been the twentieth time if not more.

Maybe that was the fix. She needed to ask to be bridged out, who knows where to just drive and look for things to scrabble into a pile and hoard. She hadn’t been out and about much, but what little she saw at the used car lot showed her some of the possibilities that this world could offer. Find some things that appealed to her, maybe dig up some plant to football spike into a corner for Flux as a "Gratz on your totally awesome one-on-one mission with Megatron. ASS."

This thought was the added little punch needed, Cintra finally crushing the paint pen that popped with a splatter of blue, droplets flinging up her arm and on half of her face while the rest dripped onto the stone floor. This shocking smack of liquid and crackled noise ripped her out of her looping thoughts, a stunned and confused look on the femme's features as her fingers slowly peeled open to peer at the mangled remains.

This turn of events created a wash of sad that plastered across rage to temporarily quell the fire, her hand slightly tilting as plastic pieces clicked down to the ground as they were dropped.

"Awwwh!"

[Onomatopoeia]

Stomp, stomp, stomp. The echoing footfalls of metallic feet on bare rock finally broke through delightful dreams of vast elegant alien cities, all glass and mirror and light. Onomatopoeia awoke with a groan at the interruption of her sleep. Aggravation however quickly dissipated as Ono continued to listen to those footfalls. She sensed someone was in a disagreeable mood, and to a freshly awoken bike former, that meant opportunity.

Onomatopoeia opened her optics and shifted on her pilfered faux fur blanket just enough to see who was decking the halls with lows of jolly. It was Cintra? Ono was honestly surprised. She only knew of the energetic femme through observation and Onomatopoeia had thought that she was dementedly positive through and through.

Curiosity and a taste for opportunity were absolutely sufficient to drag Onomatopoeia completely from her nap. If she could get in with the Cintra, then she might have a window with her conjunx Flux. That triple changing behemoth would absolutely be a worthwhile ally in a fight.

A friend in need was a friend indeed. Ono smiled to herself as she rose from her berth. Walking to the doorway, she leaned against the doorless frame in a nonchalant manner.

"You look ready to crush a few 'eads, no?" Onomatopoeia raised a hand and clenched her fist to emphasize her point before resting that same hand back on her hip. "Can I offer you some 'elp?"

[Cintra]

Cintra's ire had been instantly disarmed after the splatter, orange optics trailing across the broken pieces of plastic from the pen she had crushed somehow. She didn't know where she could get a new one, which made her rather sad, as it wasn't a super important thing that she could request like it was some ammunition or who knows what. She certainly had other colors, though having options was fun for working with Flux and their notes, and blue was one of those ones that did look good on him. If left to her own devices, this turn of events may have kept her busy for a fair while, derailing her on something to focus on to look for an alternative or a solution.

Only for an unfamiliar voice to cut in and drag her right back.

When Onomatopoeia spoke, Cintra snapped from her own distressed confusion, her helm whipping over to look at the other femme who was leaning against the doorway in an oh-so-calm manner that was almost irritating given how uptight she was. This caused her features to sour, her upper lip flicking slightly, there being no attempt made to wipe off the splatters of blue that peppered her faceplate and the surrounding guards.

"Can I offer you some 'elp?"

"I want to be the one helping!"

This was hissed back without a fraction of a second to even process.

"Others all have missions and things to do, and Flux is off with Megatron right now!"

What did Megatron want with Flux that she wasn't called out as well!? They worked great as a team! And she could help the larger mech remember things! Whether it was relying on her own memory, or writing them down literally on his forearm so that it wouldn't get away from them. His ailment wasn't exactly a secret, and she thought that such a problem would be known by their Medic, and in turn known by their leader when trying to plan out tasks for his soldiers. She had no doubt Flux would come back from whatever he was doing to then tell her he didn't remember what had happened on the totally awesome one-on-one mission with the leader of the damn WAR they were serving under!

If he forgot it all she would lose her damn mind.

"Why can't I be out there with them!?"

This was almost a yell at Onomatopoeia, though it wasn't really a yell at HER, it simply the state Cintra was currently in. The other Decepticon had effectively stepped in front of a freight train, where she had an opportunity to get rolled over as collateral damage, or could ease aside to watch where it was going. For all of her anger though, the pink femme wasn't necessarily coming off as truly threatening, not moving forward into her personal bubble, nor trying to loom over in a commanding gesture that could imply a want to injure or intimidate. She was making motions with her hands however, the blue paint-splattered servo curling into a fierce fist around what plastic remained, fingertips pressing into the rubber disks of the suction cups on her palm, while the other was gesturing wildly into the air to accent what she was saying the entire time.

"I have value!"

Barely giving pause, she continued, pointing down at Ono quickly with the same level of heightened energy. She didn't intend to come off as she was, though she certainly sounded angry despite it being a legitimate question since she had never seen the other Cybertronian before.

"Who are you!?"

[Onomatopoeia]

Cintra’s cause for aggravation became a little clearer to Onomatopoeia. The larger femme felt left out. There was no obvious easy fix, and so it seemed that today had presented its first challenge. Ono withheld her judgment as she observed the other’s manic energy on display as a small tantrum. If anything, she was more impressed than scared as Cintra raged. Ono had assumed that she was the brains of a brain-brawn duo, but right now she could believe the opposite.

That was why Cintra’s demanding attitude did not raise the ire of Onomatopoeia's vindictive streak. Instead, it seemed tactful diplomacy was called for in handling Cintra’s fire. Kid gloves and oven mitts were mentally equipped.

“I am Onomatopoeia.” Who then gestured towards hearself with a little flourish. “And yes, you absolutely do ‘ave value, you ‘ave survived the war thus far, and few Decepticons can claim the same, no? We fight, we live!” Finally Ono stood up straighter and put away her laissez-faire air for now and gave the other femme an iota more of her full and bold attention.

“You are envious of the attention, per’aps appreciation even, your partner is receiving, yes? You want to feel important, you want respect!” The word “Respect” was almost growled out for heavy emphasis. Onomatopoeia couldn’t believe she was actually purging a pep talk, but Cintra had energy, and if said energy could be directed just right…

“Then seize it! Find an opportunity. Make an opportunity. You are among the Decepticon elite, respect is not freely given from those ‘ere. I ‘ave fought my ‘ole life for respect, I know the struggle. Now. Can I offer some ‘elp?”

[Cintra]

Cintra seemed to pause a moment when Onomatopoeia introduced herself, staring with a blank look of confusion that didn't seem to waver or deviate at all. It was almost as though a difficult task had just been dropped onto an out-of-date computer, it churning and struggling to contend with something that made it lag out. She frankly did not understand the sound that had been spat out at her. For many of their kind, their names were rather simple declarations of objects, sometimes paired up with matching terms that often meant something else themselves. Knock Out, Coldwind, Pyrotech, Soundwave... They were words that the pink femme knew outside of a designation, or were simple enough that they were one or two syllables that she could cobble together despite it. Such as Flux. She didn’t actually know what that even was other than a name. So, when some abstract whoever-knows-what was vomited at her, she didn't know what she even had heard as it sounded clear enough to have been a legit thing and not just nonsense meant to mock her.

Orange eyes flicked across the smaller Cybertronian as she continued to speak, Cintra only really grasping onto a few of the chunks as she still grappled with the name clumsily, asking herself if it was another language altogether. For as much as she missed, she understood, sinking her teeth into the concept that she indeed had survived to this point in the war, which meant she was strong and valuable. Things she knew well. Things that OTHERS needed to see of her! What good were those beneficial traits if they were squandered by sitting her on the bench out of the game?

"Respect! YES!"

While Onomatopoeia had growled out the word to propel the state Cintra was already in, meeting her aggression which worked well with her personality type, the reply that had been offered in turn was an almost savage snarl, a fire kicked up inside of her with profound ease. This shift made her raise up more, her back straightening as though empowered, fists clenching even harder which caused more of the blue paint to dapple down onto the stone floor below. The other remnants were not even noticed at all, Cintra completely blind to the fact that she still had the specks peppered on her faceplate.

She WAS part of the Decepticon elite! She WAS working in the same outpost as Megatron! So very few of their kind would even have an opportunity to see the mech in person, let alone be stationed under the same stone and earth roof as him. It was an honor, and it launched the current irritation she had to a new level as if she was so worthwhile to be here, then why was she not worth enough to have her own mission? Or, not be sent out with Flux!?

WHAT WAS HE DOING THAT SHE COULDN’T BE THERE!?

"I'll make an opportunity yes! Fight! Take what is mine!"

The pause from before returned then with a slam, Cintra's energetic surge screeching to a halt as she didn't actually know what the next step forward would even be. If she had a clue on something she could do, then she already would be off doing that instead of having a rage temper tantrum in the sleeping quarters of the base. This secondary lull lasted a couple of beats, her gaze dancing on the far wall without actually looking upon it before she quickly focused down on the other femme again when she asked how she could help her achieve such ambitions.

Crooking to be more on Onomatopoeia’s level as a means to speak to her and only her, rather than as a belittling notion to mock her height, Cintra did a loud stage whisper frantically.

"Tell me what to do, Otopah!"

[Onomatopoeia]

Otopah…

For a moment, Onomatopoeia was stunned by the sheer abuse to accurate spoken communication. Surprise shifted lightning quick to righteous indignation, which in turn vaporised under adamantine self control. She knew the slight to be accidental, ignorance rather than malice. It would be corrected this time, not punished.

With luck, Cintra wouldn’t even notice the fleeting moment of vindictive rage.

Onomatopoeia raised a singular digit. “Firstly, my name is Ono-mato-poeia.” The smaller femme enunciated every sound of her polysyllabic name as clearly as physically possible. “But today, I will allow you to refer to me as Ono.” Normally she would only ever allow close acquaintances to refer to her as such but they currently numbered zero.

A second raised digit now joined the first. “Secondly, I will not tell you what to do. Yet. Not until I know more about you and your skill set.” Ono had no intention to mentor Cintra but she needed to know what this possible tool was capable of.

A third digit joined the previous two in their uprising. “Thirdly…come, we get you cleaned up so you at least look respectable.” Ono motioned to follow her to the wash racks. The ink on Cintra’s face and arm looked far from war paint and not enough like the splattered energon of a vanquished enemy. “You are quick and lithe, yes? Scout? Thief? Assassin per’aps?”

Cintra didn’t look like a scout or assassin to Ono, but that was exactly what a scout or assassin might want. Ono could certainly make use of a scout on her patrols.

[Cintra]

"Onoh... mata... peoah..."

She was trying. She was failing, but she was trying, and that had to count in some form or another? Not that it made it any less irritating no doubt. Luckily, Onomatopoeia offered a workaround that she was far more able to grasp hold of, the easier name being something that Cintra could happily sink her teeth into. Perhaps over time, it could be built up. Start with Ono, move to Onomato, then Onomatopo, and then finally get to where she needed to go like an actually competent individual. That was a problem for future-her however, orange optics dancing across the other Cybertronian's features as she spoke and listed out some things that needed to be addressed before she could help her.

Letting out a somewhat confused 'kayyy...' at being told she needed to clean up, Cintra would turn and follow with an almost lost aura about her. She didn't really get the point of being all shiny and nice or who knows what. She did like having brilliant and pretty paint, being bright and colorful an expression of herself to have some fun, yet she wasn't an arrogant soul that needed her finish pristine and scratch-free. As a fighter, it was pretty much expected she would be a mess, so it was somewhat out of her normal train of thought to desire cleaning up when her finish was dirty. Then again, she didn't actually know the extent of the ink on her, maybe it looked really dumb.

While walking, she then got a topic she could actually speak on, growing more energetic again.

"I am a combat assist!"

She boasted this out proudly, not seeming to find fault that it was declaring that she was second fiddle alongside someone more powerful than her. It was a special skill in her opinion, to take someone great and make them BETTER than they could have been previously. Not everyone could do that, most seeming to want to be independent solo forces of some form or another from what she had experienced.

"I don't do sneaky too well..."

Even if she were painted in muted colors of varied tones to break up her outline from a distance, she frankly didn't have much patience in her soul and would be too trigger-happy to play covert assassin or scout. She recognized this fault, hence her tapered words, only for her to perk back up instantly.

"Oh!"

Wrenching her hand back that wasn't holding the crushed ink pen, Cintra looped her arm around the base of the tendril that hung from the back of her helm and shoulders, pulling it forward under her arm so that it was almost presented to her new friend. Its thicker shape was coiled once around the limb, the intermittent lights above catching onto the flat side and honed edge of the blade as they walked beneath them. She was displaying the extra appendage as though it was a newly formed weapon that she had just unfolded from her forearm like others may a sword or gun, despite the fact that it was a more than obvious element that would have been easily seen from the very second someone would lay eyes upon her. Never hidden, not able to be tucked into her frame somewhere.

"I got this! Can climb with them and cut people apart!"

To emphasize the usefulness and show just HOW she could climb, the blade at the end would peel, an almost zippering effect in play as the single tendril spiraled apart into four up to the point it started to curl around her arm. Each of the then smaller pieces would be held steady, showing they indeed were articulated and weren’t simply whips of some kind.

[Onomatopoeia]

“…Combat assist? We ‘ave our work cut out for us, no?” The question was rhetorical, Onomatopoeia thinking aloud. Since she liked the sound of her own voice, this in itself was hardly unusual for the diminutive femme.

“If you want to step out from Flux’s shadow, you’ll ‘ave to cast your own. But…being sneaky is not a prerequisite of scouting on this planet as long as your altmode disguise is maintained.” After a moment, Ono added “Like me!” That had been part of her tactics in scouting for ‘bots thus far – a loud and proud human on a loud and proud motorcycle.

Onomatopoeia paused her casual strut towards the wash racks to stare at Cintra’s tendrils. And appreciate them. “Well now, there’s an en’ancement I’ve not be'eld before. I for one would not want to tangle with that.” Cintra was greeted with a friendly grin. In the back of Ono’s processor, she was already considering tactics should she ever need to go up against the colourful femme and her unique appendage.

Not to be outshined by Cintra though, Onomatopoeia switched to rolling on her energon construct treads instead of walking as they moved on. Ono did not however endeavour to draw extra attention to her own ability. She was confident enough that her own graceful glide down the halls spoke enough. If ever anyone blended elegance and arrogance, it was Ono.

“One extra little piece of advice, don’t bother trying to earn Megatron’s respect. We’re all tools to be used and abused by the warlord. Just avoid his bad side.” Ono fully expected to be eavesdropped by Soundwave and didn’t really care. Ono herself viewed most people as tools too, just not ones to be abused at the drop of a cube. Happy tools were more useful she’d found.

[Cintra]

When Onomatopoeia spoke on, her very first words to an already disoriented Cintra only tossed her that much more off balance than she already was. She didn't understand what work would be needed with her being a combat assist, as she was good at her job, and this femme would have no idea how much she did, or didn't, help. Maybe. As far as she was aware, they hadn’t met one another before. If given enough time, Cintra likely would have found great offense at this, though her lost state of being was maintained as a new curveball was thrown at her.

It would become instantly apparent that the pink femme wasn't top-shelf intelligent.

"Cast a shadow to... step out of a shadow...? But being in shadow means light can't hit to make the shadow... which means you can't step out of it... to cast it..."

Cintra seemed to loop these thoughts, looking down at her hands as she spoke, her fingertips slightly curled up and inward as though trying to consider just how something like what was being said would be possible. On a level, she knew it was physically possible, overlapping shadows atop a building opening still meant the inside of the building would be darker due to bounce light, yada yada... though she was simply not putting the pieces together in a coherent way that lined up at this moment. If she realized it was metaphorical, she would have likely gotten it, and it may have been another point that could offend her as she was NOT second fiddle! Though her continued confusion was sparing Onomatopoeia from any form of backlash.

Looking up, Cintra watched as the smaller femme complimented her choice weapon before transitioning from walking to coasting on some kind of tread rig, expecting her to then articulate on it in her own sort of boast to compare weaponry to one another. It truly was as though she were showing off the trait, yet nothing of the sort came? Which made Cintra think it must simply just be a choice act of locomotion. Far from her to judge someone else for their varied biology, knowing they all could call such drastically different things 'normal', so she moved on, which wasn't hard given how unsteady she was.

Though the insulting final comment was an instant breaking point.

"That's not true!"

Cintra squawked this out defiantly, her hands which had been held in front of her previously as though they could gift knowledge, then planting over the pink hooks of her hip armor. Her helm would raise along with her posture, the long tendril snaking off of her arm to drape down behind her in an idle state without touching the ground plane. It was a quick shift into her true more forceful self. She was still confused, she still didn't know what was really going on, and she was oblivious to how bad the ink was to warrant a wash rack, though she knew one thing, and that was the blind loyalty she had.

"He does what's needed to keep morons in line. He doesn't abuse senselessly. If you have gotten backlash then you are doing it wrong."

She sounded so confident in this, a level of assertion shown that was absolute.

[Onomatopoeia]

Onomatopoeia has seen mechs get backlash from Megatron for the sole reason of being within reach.

The brightly colored femme wasn’t entirely wrong in her assertions as Ono saw it. It was true, Megatron was brutal in keeping the troops inline as was needed but the gliding biker saw abuse far and wide and definitely misplaced.

Truthfully though, if every unit had such vehement loyalty as Cintra seemingly possessed, then maybe the Decepticon army would be far more efficient and victory would already be snared.

“Do you want the ‘ard truth? Reality that will frag you in the face, and yet ‘old you secure with its embrace? Or would you prefer the gentle lie? To whisper ‘appy pleasantries in your audials, and then laugh while you fumble in the dark?” Onomatopoeia thought she already knew the answer, but she wanted Cintra to ask herself, to think for herself.

While Ono could work with blind loyalty, she preferred that chain be broken.

Her own physical chains continued to carry her with languid grace. Seeing the other femme so revved up was somewhat amusing - and informative. There was absolute truth in those raw emotions, not a single ounce of deception to behold. Ono like that.

[Cintra]

Cintra was expecting some sort of argument back from the smaller femme at being challenged as she did. Perhaps this Ono was one of those fools that were needlessly defiant and believed their ideals were better than their leaders, and as such were punished for getting in the way... or... that they 'did nothing wrong' when in reality they had messed up catastrophically due to their ignorance or stubbornness. Arrogance could lead to problems in this war, and too many people scrabbling to be top dog to make all the calls was a recipe for disaster. It just blurred real orders beneath incessant barking in a sickly echo chamber that would lead to death in bad situations.

Instead, Cintra didn't get an argument framing out any of those ideas from Ono, NOR did she get an agreeing statement of some kind to go along with her commentary. She honestly didn't really know what she had gotten in reply. It was thrown out as a jumble of words that she understood individually, though was flowery and exaggerated for some thematic effect when put together. This style with Onomatopoeia's accent was frustrating to her, as she barely understood what was going on to begin with.

"Stop talking all fancy, I don't know what you are saying."

To pair with this annoyed declaration, Cintra flicked her hand out dismissively at the femme, not near enough to come anywhere close to hitting, though still an energetic motion with how far it was flung. It was paired with a sort of eye roll, as though Ono had belted out a discussion in a different language altogether and it should have been obvious that she didn't know it. Really, it was likely mostly a lesson of levels, betraying just how low down on that scale the pink femme sat... though that didn't make her truly stupid.

Cintra was smart in ways, everyone had to be in order to be survivors in this war. She had her strengths and places where she truly shined! This just was not one of them.

"If you fragged around and found out, you can't be looking at me for sympathy."

Talk shit? Get hit.

After this declaration, Cintra reached her hand up to rub at the splatter of ink absentmindedly while walking, smushing the blue from a splatter into a long smudge that smeared over a chunk of her faceplate and jaw frame. This made her blink hard a couple of times, almost worried she had gotten it in her eye, though it seemed okay and she peered back at the other Decepticon searchingly.

[Onomatopoeia]

For a moment, fleeting and yet stretching, Cintra’s flick of hand riled Ono’s instincts. Half a dozen attacks and counters flashed through synapses. Watch out for those tendrils. Grab that hand, twist, strike with a chain kick to wrist, elbow, or shoulder. Grab hand, shoot with other arm to face. Straight kick to the hand. Duck, twist, kick to side of leg. Scenarios played out in a nano before offensive defenses faded again into the background of active thought. Even among her fellow cons, Ono’s laissez faire attitude was little more than facade, clothing she wore easily for comfort and style. But underneath was the feisty glitch who learned to thrive in combat.

Ono’s wasn't totally prepared for Cintra to openly admit that she simply could not understand Ono. The honesty only made the smaller femme like the taller one more. And then Cintra spoke further, a comment that could have been taken any which way, but the audacity…

Onomatopoeia didn't care for the lack of respect, but the fight in this one? Ono guffawed. She was surprised and amused. “The pizazz! Oh I like you! I do!” She waved her arms wide, far outside of Cintra’s probable personal space. “Allow me to apologize then.” Even as she glided along, she bowed apologetically. Sometimes to earn respect, one had to give a little first. “My manner of speech can be difficult, yes, and I am from Luna One, not Cybertron.” Hence the accent was left implied. “Also I like my own voice.” The right balance of self deprecating humor often went far she’d found.

“Now as to fragging and finding..” Onomatopoeia waved a hand dismissively. “Guilty on all counts, multiple times, yes.” This was said with amusement. “Just never around our leader. One swipe of his hand and SPLAT! Little pieces of me all over the floor. No, we found out ‘ow to survive, and ‘ow to thrive!”

By now they were probably close to the wash racks. Ono was interested to see Cintra’s reaction to her own reflection.

“So Cintra, just ‘ow good are you at killing Autobots? Because tomorrow I will continue my ‘unt for them.” And really, that’s why the Decepticons were here. Subdue or eliminate the opposition.

[Cintra]

Cintra's focus had lingered on the newly smudged blue on her palm that had rubbed off from her face, thinking over just how bad the marks must be for it to show as it did. It was a thought that didn't particularly disturb her as it may others who could be worried about their finish, more likely than not because it was a simple pen she used on Flux often enough, knowing how well it could clean up with ease to wipe a drawing slate clean. Perhaps the mailable face metals would make it more difficult than solid armor, yet that just meant it may require a little more work rather than there being any real threat of staining as far as she was concerned. These thoughts were thrown aside sharply, however, helm crooking upright and focus snapping over as the other femme shot out a guffaw that caught her off guard.

Orange optics watched intently as Onomatopoeia declared that she liked her, before giving out some more detail that could explain away the reason her manner of speech was as odd to her as it was.

"Never been there before."

Luna One was a place she thought she had heard at one point or another, though she wasn't familiar with it enough to try to talk about it in any real way. Perhaps Flux would know more than her, some information or trivia about the moon world that he had absorbed before things went upside down in his processor. In the end, it wasn't able to be addressed, as the topic started to continue past her accent and home world to speak about how much she had pushed her luck more than a couple of times. The idea of someone going through that door, let alone MULTIPLE times, seemed so alien to Cintra, especially as it was implied that Ono KNEW it was wrong enough so as to hide it from their direct leader. It reminded her of some kind of scavenger, picking at the outer edges to slowly work its way in, the small femme playing with fire for... what... rank? Pride? Arrogance?

A mental note was made to try to be aware of this, to not let her guide her in a way that would get her in trouble by proxy of being near her when she took another blind swing for a win that wasn't there to be found.

When the final question was asked, Cintra let out a tsk, her helm raising and posture straightening with a sense of pride to it, a broad grin twisting across her features.

"If I wasn't any good, I wouldn't be here!"

Boldly declared, Cintra's right hand rose, the point of her fingertips splayed across her chest that had puffed out during her stance shift.

"Pair me with Flux and little can stop us!"

Arrogant? Yeah. But she was proud of what she and the triple changer could accomplish. After this statement, Cintra would turn the final corner through the rough rock doorway into what was labeled the wash racks, its unfortunate state a perpetual example of just how piss poor the base was in its simplicity. Dirt was frankly just a byproduct of their underground home, and as such truly getting clean was a laughable effort at best, the area seemingly put together just to deal with overt issues such as someone being dropped into a lake of sludge.

Water dripped from some shoddily thrown-together pipes, tapping to the ground that was 'tiled' in gravel to offer some form of surface to step on that wasn't the raw dirt floor, leaving a murky layer of moisture beneath that was barely angled to a simple drain that led out wherever. There were some buckets, basic wash rags and cloths, as well as salvaged brushes and hooks given the nature of Cybertronian's frames meaning that scraping dirt out could be difficult to impossible without one. A couple of mirrors were carelessly mounted on a wall, each at a slightly different angle given the surface they were affixed to were not perfectly flat and perpendicular to the floor. It was all illuminated by simple bulbs, the fixtures more likely than not doomed for eventual failure given the environment they were exposed to.

Cintra would walk forward then, not seeming to be phased or remotely concerned with the rat-hole of a wash rack, her stride carrying her in front of one of the mirrors so that she could look at her features while she spoke further.

"You got any leads for the hunt? I want in!"

[Onomatopoeia]

Cintra’s point held some merit but not as much as Ono was willing to give. Yes every Decepticon…and Autobot was still alive because they were the elite, and every single one, even herself, even Megatron, were statistical anomalies. The war should have been over three million years ago, with either victory, or total self-inflicted genocide. Elite yes, but the data mostly just said absurdly lucky. That was Onomatopoeia’s interpretation of history.

Cintra’s following quip was just inane or so Ono thought. Pairing Cintra with Flux would be diametrically opposed to getting the results they both desired. Flux loomed large over Cintra when they were together, if she wanted respect, she’d have to earn it away from the behemoth. It was good for the Decepticons that they were an effective team, just not good for Cintra’s current morale when Flux was needed and she was not. It isn't fair but the universe was utterly indifferent.

Onomatopoeia looked away as Cintra examined herself. Privacy was a luxury, but it was a luxury that Ono would give even her most hated enemy if she wasn't actively spying. They were more than quantum foam needing observation to exist.

It was the question that Cintra posed that made Ono glance in her direction. “I ‘ave multiple leads, yes, but all trivial. Together ‘owever…well…I ‘old on to ‘ope.” The smaller femme raised the point of an index finger upwards. At its tip slowly spun a projection of Bumblebee’s altmode - a yellow with black striping muscle car. The projection then morphed into various other earth vehicles, specifically those known to be altmodes of other Autobots. Some of the data was old, some was new, and none of it guaranteed beyond a random autobot just scanning a new vehicle on a whim.

“Our quarry is smart and elusive, I would appreciate any ‘elp I can get, no? Yes! Consider yourself in.” Ono paused in thought for a moment. “I ‘ave a question for you, maybe two per’aps. Firstly, can you use those fantastique tendrils of yours in vehicle mode? Or maybe you surprise with other altmode combat skills?”

[Cintra]

Looking back, Cintra eyed the projection of the car, the finials on each side of her helm, as well as eyebrows, crooking up with a level of surprise at the display. That was a neat trick! And she hadn't really seen an individual do such a thing themselves outside of a terminal station. It had to be really convenient, insanely so, as she could just articulate things not only through words, but through visuals as well! It left her momentarily captivated while the vehicle changed to a couple of others, the tendril behind her flicking slightly in interest, as well as from being mentioned.

"I can't use them in alt, but I can stab people with my wheel?"

Reaching to the side of her leg, Cintra hooked her finger against the skewer, scraping it down firmly enough that there was the shearing sound of metal against metal. The dull noise that accompanied the motion revealed instantly that they were constructed solid, and were not hollow cones that would have reverberated. Despite this, they would no doubt buckle when hitting something truly hard like reinforced Cybertronian armor, but they wouldn't crumple like tissue paper with a solid enough thwack. Then again, the forces involved if she actually tried to jab them into the hubcaps of another moving vehicle would likely twist them off anyway, or just rip her entire hubcap off. That wasn't the end of the world however, the dead metal simply décor, though it would still be a bummer.

At this, Cintra turned back to the mirror, her helm crooking this way and that, trying to see just how much of her face the paint had gotten onto, which... wasn't as much as she had expected. While there was still a sizable amount given the fact that she had crushed the pen under notable force, and had gone and rubbed it around like a fool just after, it wasn’t a complete paint pour of the clashing color that drenched the entire side of her helm. She could see it along the seams between her faceplate and the bands along her cheeks, as well as the dapples on the hard frame of her jaw, but this didn't bother her, at least not as much as the bits that got around her eye.

Not one to get uppity about getting dirty, Cintra wasn't too phased by a lot of things. When working in the trenches it simply was a way of life, and any concern over it was truly frivolous. That said, she did like the painting on her face, and it wasn’t as though she could re-do her 'makeup' with any ease if she had to rub a cleaner across with too much force. Should Knock Out return, she would certainly need a touch-up, if not simply to just feel pretty and help express herself better. Maybe the bands would look good in teal? Or yellow? No wait... yellow or orange would look like her eyes were smeared down her face... Ah well, that was a problem for future her.

Reaching over, Cintra grabbed one of the wash rags from the clean container, while her other hand took hold of a simple bottle of cleanser that should be able to eat through the paint pen easily enough without hurting general paint finishes. Hopefully. Would her makeup survive given it wasn’t 'car' paint and was an overlay? Who knows! Onomatopoeia would sure as fuck find out fast as Cintra held the two objects out to her.

"Here, you got tiny hands, can you get my face?"

She didn't call her small, and instead simply pointed out that their hands were severely different from one another due to Cintra's being oversized, as the pink femme wasn't one to call another a micro Cybertronian when she was calm enough to be self-aware. To be looked down upon due to a size clash? Well, it wasn't good, and she would get offended fast herself. Whatever the case, she would crook forward some, placing her hands down above her knees to both keep steady, and lower appropriately so Onomatopoeia could better see and work should she opt to help.

"So, we driving around blindly looking to fuck up that yellow car?"

That one seemed easy to find.

Mercy to the human who bought the same car model...