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

[Sparkplug]

Tensed, large green optics slightly narrowed, Sparkplug's posture held an unmistakable edge of wariness as she watched him examine the blade as though he'd never seen it before. Still, the flash of manic threat had gone as quickly as it had come. Still didn't prove whether it was a pose or genuine; some volatile mecha flipped one way then the other just as quick. Nevertheless, her hackles settled a little as he replied in a conversational tone, and offered the knife hilt-first.

Her consuming interests, as ever, shouldered aside her other reactions as she turned the knife over and over in her nimble hands. "Stabbing does reduce a lot of the off-axis loading," she agreed, sighting down the weapon to check the alignment of the handle with the blade itself. "You'll still get some torsion on it, though, especially if they're moving around while you're sticking it in them. Lemme see here. Flat surface would help."

Looking around herself, she took a few steps down the hallway back the way she'd come, laying the knife on top of a disused-looking cabinet of silent mechanical innards. "A pipe, though?" she murmured mostly to herself, with a shake of her helm. "If I just had some raw materials..." Curtailing thoughts of taking a little piece of a wall panel to reshape, no matter how tempting the notion was, she steadied the weapon with her right hand.

Watching Sparkplug work was an experience best savoured in slow-motion. Her strangely configured left arm blurred through a rapid-fire sequence of transformations: a circular saw tore through the shoddy weld, snapping into an angle grinder to shave off the lumps of stray weld and give a clean surface to work with in a spray of sparks. A moment's pause for her to shave the top of the pipe perfectly level, then she braced the back of the pipe against the wall, held the blade in place with her right hand, and reconfigured the grinder into a welding torch.

The thought that the weapon might be used on her, or on someone from her faction... well, there were plenty of weapons around, and one more or less wouldn't make the damnedest bit of difference. This was about professional pride. All the same, she began to frown as she welded, and remarked without looking up, "What is this stuff? Looks like standard body alloy, but it isn't. Hardness isn't right, and it's not heating the way I'd expect it to off the weld."

[Carbine]

This was fascinating. Sure, weapons were a dime a dozen, and adding or removing one from the mix of the war wouldn't change anything, but there was a certain... oddness that came into play when a Decepticon was making one for an Autobot. As put off as Sparkplug may have been before by Carbine's little 180 mood swing to try to intimidate, now Carbine was the one to be shifted out of his terrain and off guard. He watched curiously as she observed the blade, part wondering if she would lob it down the hallway and skedaddle off or really... he had no idea. Hard to really estimate someone's actions when you have never met them before this moment.

As Sparkplug moved to find a flat surface, Carbine eased into motion to keep along with her. He watched his stride, making certain he didn't get too close or push into any sort of bubble she may like to have around her. While he was all about messing with the little Decepticon and being overly intimidating, he didn't feel it was appropriate at the moment. He was trying to be mindful of not hovering above her, both to not crowd, and to not block her light source. Despite this, he did eek just enough to be able to watch, the top edge of his optic projections crooked up some in interest.

A flick of components, a blur of mechanics... In just a brief moment Carbine had a lot more explanation on just WHY her arm was an odd hermit crab disproportional configuration. It appeared to be a toolbox of components, a circular saw formed and vanished in just a blur of cutting sparks and squealing roar, a formed grinder that spun out of existence just as fast... It was interesting, the ex-cop watching intently as Bolo took a few strides to stay at his side.

Bolo didn’t seem quite as keen as Master however at what was happening. His ears flicked back a bit at the screeching roar of machining tools, finding them a bit loud in the echo chamber of the hallway, but it didn’t spook or scare him away. He remained positioned at Master's side, watching at the small light show as Sparkplug started to weld the metal, or more... tried to.

"Straight up I wa̕s̵ a͏ ̵c̸op, I don't know blacksmithing st-uff really."

An honest answer for a simple question.

Carbine knew there were an abundance of metals out there, and that each reacted to things differently with different strengths and weaknesses, but he was lost really on how to identify unless it was something fairly obvious. If Bolo was designed the right way, he could have used the dog to recognize since his snout was accurate enough, but he wasn’t programmed to differentiate and wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to classify what he was huffing.

"Don't know her n͡-̕ame, but she was lanky and t-tall, skittish and passive. Kinda scrungy dull black and͞ ͜g͟ráy̴? Had some head finial. Grounder."

While he explained the unknown Cybertronian's physical characteristics, Carbine leaned back and lifted a hand to try to angle behind his head to mimic her pony tail like fin. Maybe Sparkplug knew the femme in question and would be able to garner some insight then on what the metal was.

"Was mounted in her arm, so I assuḿȩd it́ ͟was our metals."

A light shrug, his voice popping some with a static churn. He had no clue, but it would explain why it seemed weird when he welded it the first time. While the ex-cop was a shoddy craftsman, he somehow had an inkling something was off, but just blamed it on his own ineptitude.

The alloy was a bit more brittle than would be expected of a weapon. Lacking in Cybertronian strengtheners and other traits common to their kind. The older paint wear that remained displayed its age, or the fact it was used regularly to cut despite this perceived fragility. It would weld, but it would just require some care.

[Sparkplug]

"So you're pre-war vintage too, huh? Not so many of us left around," Sparkplug murmured, only half-paying attention as she focused on her welding. Small sparks flew from her torch as she adjusted the temperature of the gas mixture, then tried again. There it was, that was better. With meticulous care, she stroked a rainbow-hued weld down the join between blade and pipe haft, then rolled it over to begin work on the other side.

"On the other hand, there aren't that many of any subtype still around. Skittish, lanky? Black and grey? Can't say as I've run into her. That said, maybe I'd have walked right past her if I had. Those colours don't stand out, and the Nemesis is basically allergic to proper strip lights. Got to keep that moody atmosphere at all costs." Shaking her helm in a pre-occupied way, Sparkplug added, "Well, wherever she got fitted with this, it wasn't Cybertron. Alloy's all wrong. Old paint, too. If I ever happen across her, guess I'll ask."

Bending down, Sparkplug huffed a quick vent of air over the fresh weld, then picked up the blade. With a calculating glance at Carbine's right hand, she added to herself, "Okay, so your dominant hand is that side, and your finger spacing is about…"

The welding torch at the end of her arm blurred and shifted, the flame snuffed out, reforming into a pressure-clamp vice. Dragging the edge of the clamp against the pipe three times to make evenly-spaced scratches, she carefully positioned the clamp over the first scratch and began to squeeze, indenting the pipe slightly. "Don't think you've mentioned what brings you here. What exactly do you do when you're not ripping war trophies off of mecha you happen across?"

Careful, even pressure warped the pipe, forming a trio of ridged indents sized for his grip. Letting the clamp collapse and reconfigure back into a hand, she tested the balance across two fingers, then flexed the weapon slightly. Nodding to herself, she took it by the blade and offered it hilt-first. "Give that a try, see if it's comfortable. Don't try stabbing any mecha for half a breem or so to let the weld settle, then you're all good."

[Carbine]

"Yup, so many p-proba͢b̕l̀y do͏n't even know what we are fig͝h̕ti͞n' for no more."

Warborns, Last Sparked, whatever fancy title they liked to apply to themselves as if it was a boast they were slapped in the middle of this war... They had no concept of what Cybertron was. Brilliant buildings that once stood proud and gleaming under the suns rays, now brittle shattered husks with white stone caked in ash and death. Complex cultures and pleasant acts of frivolity and entertainment almost abstract in its own way when compared to desperate grabs at any semblance of a distraction from pain and loss. Where someone's worry for the week may be not being able to afford that new gadget the saw on the television they really had hoped for, rather than if they would even survive to the end of the day while hiding from bombs and artillery.

There was a sort of somberness that came with this. Those who know better not knowing what they missed out on, while those who missed the old world had an added fire in their veins and a want to possibly see something like that again, even if it was a fragile husk of a dream. The most ragged shadow of old Cybertron would likely be eagerly clutched by most if given the option over this war.

OH WELL.

"Hey if you̸ ̀do, let me know he͡r name yeah? We d-didn't really get muc̷h ơf̢ a c̶han͠ce to talk."

Which... was for a very good reason given his previous conversation. There was a disconnect due to that simple fact, his story a few moments prior painting a scene of barbaric brutality, while now he sounded more conversational as if he and the femme were having a pleasant chat. Happening to not get her name, an interaction cut short by some outward event rather than a natural break where they parted ways with a wave and smile... but alas, Carbine moved on readily then, continuing to watch Sparkplug work.

As she mentioned finger spacing, Carbine lifted his hand up, fingers loosely spread so that she could see if she really wanted. It took him only a brief moment to realize what she was doing, considering how nice it would be to get a stronger grip since there was no cross guard to keep his hand from slipping into the blade with a hard enough plunge should it be slicked with Energon. However, he had a bit of concern if it would compromise the stability of the pipe by squishing it, but it wasn't as if his life would depend on the blade. He worked for ages without such a tool at his side, at most having tiny shivs and stabbies that were akin to prison tools.

His 'brow' crooked at her next question at what he was doing in Haven.

"I cóu̸l̀d ̕ask͢ y̷ou the same thing, lest yah' want to just pre͠ţe͜nd were both t-totally innocent and igno̵r͠ant on what's going on here."

Carbine lazily wiggled his pointer finger in the direction of the box the femme had been carrying. He had no idea what was inside it, maybe it was completely innocent and was in no way troublesome, but... he was taking a bit of a gamble here and acting as if he a hundred percent knew that this little Decepticon was being a... Decepticon.

Carefully Carbine took the blade that had been offered hilt first then, white fingertips curling around it as he turned it so that one of the edges were angled the 'right' way to use in combat. His grip flexed slightly, fingers lifting and rolling across its surface as he tested how it felt. He then spoke with an amused edge to his words.

"Seems good to me, aw̕f͟ull͝y͘ nice of you to fix it up f-for an Autobot!"

[Sparkplug]

Most of the mecha created during the war didn't really get a choice in their affiliation. Built to serve, built to fight, and built not to ask questions. Having reasons was a luxury reserved for those who remembered any other option. Sparkplug's reasons were as simple as they were venomously personal, but she wasn't blind to the fundamental shallowness of her choices. It just didn't matter. And as for most of the rest, the choice wasn't something they examined too deeply, either.

Whatever motives each mecha had once had, the mental machinery required to assess and reassess, to truly decide if they were on the right side, was long seized up and broken down. Beneath all the yelling about loyalty and identity, most of it rendered down to habit, and sunk costs. To change sides, or give up - didn't that make everything they'd done before a waste? Everything that old comrades had died for, reduced to nothing?

It was a terrible thing to be peer-pressured by the dead.

As for the femme who'd been caught out and mutilated by this visor-faced oil-slick glitch-born, she had already given him enough. With a cock of her head, and a sidelong glance, Sparkplug's field conveyed 'Really?' without needing to bother putting the redundant question into words. Whether the former enforcement mech really was as randomly unhinged as he acted or merely pretending, the outcome for someone on the receiving end was the same.

Was it really going to be any fun to talk to this mech? She was curious, always was, and friendly to a fault. But the mind games he was trying to play, that wasn't really her speed.

And as if to underline the point, he made a stab in the dark at her intentions and missed cleanly, before thanking her with a cynically amused note in his voice for the dagger work.

Sparkplug snorted a little laugh, shaking her helm. "Like I said, we've both got way better weapons than that cute little thing. Doesn't matter who's holding it. What does matter is the thing was an insult to my professional pride as a purveyor of everything that goes 'kaboom' in a cloud of pretty sparks and light. Not that knives do that, but you know what I mean. Tell you what, if you'd stuck me with that thing, I'd have died of embarrassment. When I go, it better be something with a blast radius."

In fact, given the energy density crammed into her cells, if they shorted out when she finally took the daytrip to Primus-town, she'd provide the blast radius all by herself. It was a mildly comforting thought. There was such a thing as style.

"Did consider spray painting the grip," she added thoughtfully. "If I peeled some wall plates, could have added a proper handle, and a guard. But dismantling some mecha's house when you're their guest is just plain rude. As for what I'm doing here-"

She tilted her helm slightly. There was something really annoying in the way he assumed her motivations, and it made her a little more candid than perhaps she'd planned to be. "-I'm here to do some trading. Not exactly super senior in the ranks, not with the likes of the Warlord and Shockwave around, so if I want some bits and pieces, it's easier to sort it out myself. Maybe you can show me where to go."

Mostly true, seasoned with not exactly a lie. She had no idea where Megatron was, and it wasn't like she could go ask for parts that were in the storerooms of the poor sunken, knocked-about Nemesis, but she was there to trade for parts, and it sure was easier to trade a little of their vast energon surplus than to make every damn thing from scratch.

[Carbine]

"Heynow, stab som̨eone in ̶th̕e right spo͡t̀ ͢an͜d̕ ͠a͜ny poke can be explosive! ...Maybe."

Carbine wouldn't know the mechanics of many laser artillery and if they COULD even combust like that if jabbed... but he wanted to bet any pressurized fuel-centered unique weaponry like a flame thrower would be able to give a nice momentarily flashy show. Or things with munitions that had a lot of exploding powders? Granted, it'd hurt both involved more likely than not, but he liked to hope he made his point well and clear.

At this, Carbine would reach around his frame again, slipping the knife in place so that he would not get caught holding a weapon within Haven. While it wasn't much of one, he was willing to bet that he could get in a load of SHIT for not leaving it at home. There was a boon however, Carbine could probably point at the fancy ladies' freaky arm was a weapon should she opt to snitch on him. A welder or saw may not be an intentional weapon but it'd still cause nasty marks.

"Going out with a b-bang does though nice zk̶k̕k͏t̴t seem. As long as it is a c-clean pop and not a half fini̵sh̕e͝d slag-show of a job."

This comment made his chest itch badly, but he refrained from touching it. Having gotten slap slammed atop a grenade in the past right here on earth, Carbine got good firsthand experience with the idea of combustion only doing half a job and not bothering to cross the finish line. His Riot-Armor had been cracked open like a tin can, and some rather important bits and bobs were a bit more exposed than would be preferred. He got to ride that pain train of shock and gradual bleed out until Thunder could slam dunk his aft into the Medical Bay.

Don’t itch at chest and draw attention to welds...

The subject changed then, Carbine nodding his helm once as she announced that defacing someone else's home was a bad idea, before things changed then to the topic of WHY they were hear.

"Oh, I think t̢he͞r̛e ͡is a storeroom kinda' closer to the S-space Bridge area. Least it looked like one as I passed. Wa͜sn̵'t r͏eall̵y̕ ̛p͘aying attention."

Unsure. He didn't want to tip his hands that he couldn't even READ, so he acted more ignorant than he was. While the room LOOKED like what she was likely seeking, there being shelves and things with objects scattered about, and had a sign next to it that likely said as much... he couldn't even try to sound confident in the statement. He rose his hand up at this, cupping at the back of his neck as limb went idle, thinking a bit more and playing up the uncertainty to back up his ignorance should it be completely wrong.

Bolo meanwhile relaxed now that all the power tools were out of the picture. No more angry grinding, no pops of light or anything else that insulted his senses, he would look back at Sparkplug. There was no command to truly stay put, nor statement to be wary, so the Canine would take things into his own hands and maneuvered to approach her once again while they chatted. Once in range, his snout would push forward again and now huff sniff at her longer arm, getting acquainted with the internal scents that were 'released' from the earlier transformation.

Should she not pull away quick enough, Bolo would dare to take a curious lick at a joint.

Because dogs were gross.

[Sparkplug]

"Energy density of pretty much any kind can be explosive," agreed Sparkplug. "Short-out a big bank of power accumulators and you'll get enough energy expressed to blow your helm clean off. Not a terrible way to cause a big, controlled bang, actually. Wasteful of materials, but you work with what you have."

Certainly, in the past, Sparkplug had experimented with electrical grenades - one-use batteries ramped up to over-charge, then shorted out violently at the throw of a switch to produce a neat little explosion. Unfortunately, it was just much too wasteful of components and the detonation to weight ratio was lousy; there were far better ways to blow something up.

"Storeroom, huh? Might have some potential. D'you see any neuts standing around back there?" A locked storeroom wouldn't be much help, and an unlocked, unguarded storeroom near a spacebridge receiving area was an invitation to come back and find it empty. Still, if there was a quartermaster or stock taker anywhere in the vicinity, they might be empowered to do a little trading. They'd definitely want energon, and she could probably work out a good exchange for the satchel she had with her.

Though that did involve letting this big, potentially unstable mech - who was probably starving - see what she had with her. Might not be the best idea.

Her train of thought was interrupted as the big quadruped shoved back up against her, and before she could fully parse what its intentions were, a segmented tongue rasped over the lower of her two left elbows. "Oh, gross! Keep your oral fluids to yourself!" she yelped, jerking her arms into the air. Stepping backwards, she rubbed her elbow with her other hand. This was one of the reasons she just didn't like throttled intellect builds. There was no anticipating what they'd do!

New plan: get this trading done, and go home. Blackridge might be a hideously over-crowded hole in the ground, but at least vehicons weren't in the habit of licking her elbows. Looking up at the broad, dark shape of Carbine, she added wryly, "Is this another protip way of telling that Bolo likes me? Which step of beast taming involves dodging saliva? Either way, if you can show me back towards this storage unit or whatever it is, it'll be a start, and I'd appreciate it. Can't wander around back here clueless forever."

[Carbine]

Oh score, he was right.

Hearing that his little joke comment about knives being quite explosive as well given whatever the target was felt good. It made him feel slightly valid among a conversation that was outside his knowledge base. He knew if you shot something or someone in the right spot there could be a nice dangerous burst, given his experience as a cop and seeing plenty of injuries... but on this level with war ready machinery and weapons? There frankly wasn't that type of crap real prevalent back in the day.

The weapons being toted around now as normal were unheard of in civilian life in Carbine's experience save for a few particularly nasty cases where things got real out of control, some Cybertronian getting their mitts on something that was highly highly illegal. Those enacted a team effort to contend with, and more often than not ended with death on either side of the line. That was an entirely other ballpark of discussion however, and Carbine reeled his thoughts back into the here and now.

"To be hones̢t?̶ I̕ didn't really l-look round. More a fleetin͝g ̢gl͜a͟nce. Room looked big though so some͠one may have been out of my vision of kz͜zk̀k̶tt ͟field."

Earnest, ACTUALLY trying to be useful for a change. There was no hint of manipulation in his voice, nor subtle tease as if he was trying to send her on a wild chase that would lead her in lost circles with her box. As far as Carbine was concerned this wasn't a conversation he could try to paint some dangerous picture of himself, and being helpful didn’t hinder or betray anyone in any way as any Neutral she came across would probably point her in the right direction anyway more likely than not.

Then Bolo licked her.

Seeing Sparkplug lurching and her appalled reaction to the action caught Carbine partly off guard. Oh, being grossed out was typical for those not acquainted with animals, but the way she spoke to the Cassette like he had any concept of her words caused a bark of a laugh to belt out from the larger mech. Bolo meanwhile quirked his head up and looked confused, his tongue part hanging out as he had been mid lick when she reeled away.

A flick of the tongue, a little click of jaws, Bolo ran his tongue over his snout to clear at his nose before pulling back inside, peering at Sparkplug in confusion.

"Licking can be a sig͠n of͜ th͞at! B-but not now. You smel̡l̨ of ̵ań e̡n̨t̀ire͝ly͠ dįff-erent world and he's exploring that."

100% accurate.

Bolo was really into Sparkplug's scent. While a lot of the individual bits and pieces he had huffed up before into his snout, this particular concoction was a nice and interesting mix that he wanted to explore. Pick through the bits and bobs, try to pull out some new pieces muddled beneath the familiar... he wanted to keep sniffing but instead he simply eyed Sparkplug curiously, his haunches wiggling the faintest of amounts.

"Just say 'no' if he tries͝ ͜a̕ga͟in."

Carbine COULD tell Bolo to stay at bay himself, he could easily command the Cassette to 'heel' and it would solve her issues right then or there. Or he could even just dock the canine, which would negate any kind of future issues of Bolo being too curious. However, what fun was that? She couldn’t rightfully HURT Bolo without some issues likely, and it wasn’t like he was chewing on her arm or doing anything dangerous.

"Aw, you mean you don'͟t w̢ant̷ ͜t͡o ́spend all d-day with me?"

Mock words, a lighthearted tease with an obviously sarcastic and over inflated sadness in his voice.

"I thought we were real͢ly̷ h͠it̶t͜i̡ng it off!"

[Sparkplug]

Just say 'no'?

Sparkplug blinked, spiral shutters clicking, then looked down at Bolo again. Keeping the giant, brutish canid at bay was that simple? Obviously that wouldn't work if Carbine indicated to Bolo to do something hostile, but if it got to that, she was in big trouble anyway.

It was within her knowledge to reconnect the little breaks in her systems that were currently neutering her energy weapons - a procedure she had not carried out with any degree of enthusiasm - but that would require time. Not much, and she carried the necessary tools within her, but still... time. It had been a nagging little temptation the entire time she'd been in Haven, and she slightly wished she'd given in to it. All the same, Carbine's words made her feel slightly more in control of the situation; some of the wary edge bled out of her field.

And he did seem to be trying to be helpful now, whatever all that had been before. Maybe there was a chance here to reset to a less confrontational baseline. A flash of amusement touched her faceplate at his sudden, elaborate playacting.

"Why, good sir," she replied, striking a playful pose like a Towerling femme and playing up the accent, "I was under the impression that we were getting along just swimmingly. Formal introductions, including to your fine beast, helpful guidance, and indulging me when I offered my skills in so casual a manner. Goodness, sir, but you didn't even mutilate me with your bare hands! I hear you only extend such consideration for femmes you really like." She cocked her helm, blinking winsomely at him.

Reaching down carefully with her elongated arm, Sparkplug rotated it in front of Bolo's snout. If he really was after her unique scents, they were most tightly clustered there, and letting him sample them might be the quickest way to get the canid to lose interest. The collection of tools within her long arm gave off quite the smorgasboard of aromas; the smell of hot metal dust from her angle grinder, the seared scent of a freshly used welding torch, wafts of light lubricating oil, the sharper scent of paint, and lingering traces of plating wax, all layered atop the basic scent of Blackridge; steel, stone dust and many, many other mecha.

"There you are, noble beast," she told Bolo regally, without the slightest expectation that he'd understand her; the playacting was for his owner. "Snuff up that, then, if that is the nature of your interest."

[Carbine]

As Sparkplug seemed to bite into the game, Carbine perked up a bit in interest. Rotors crooking higher on their post mountings, the long slats of metal rattling ever so faintly as a jitter rocked through them.. He appeared to truly tune into the conversation then, the awkward boredness and attempt to be helpful from before punted away to make way for this new game.

He had expected her to stay factual, to be done with him and throw him aside as nothing now that she got some vague directions. Maybe she would give him a sarcastic quip, possibly rattling off some other turn of phrase... end with giving him a nice view as she were to walk away, allowing him to watch the roll of her hips and gait... but nope! She kindled up a bit of a game that he was more than willing to sink his metaphorical fangs into and shake around happily like a dog given a new toy to pull apart.

"Oh very mu̶ch so my beautiful ma͡iden! I would never dream of making you witne͞ss any level of aghast brutality that may be fo̡rcęd out of me by ones hol̀ding f-far less decorum. Such a delicate piece of crystal ne̛e͞d͏s to be treated with the res͜pect it is more than deserving of.

Carbine tried to regulate his glitch as best he could, speaking with purpose and care. While it negated some of the speed and casual flow of his speech, it was in turn far more decipherable and concise. This also had the nice effect of reinforcing the more 'noble' persona he tried to grab onto. A breathier voice pitched in mockery of those individuals who believed themselves upon a top level in society, a place that others could only look up to from the rancid gutters they found themselves wallowing within.

"Act with up̢m͞ost respect Bolo, such a t-treasure should not be tar̢n̶is̡hed."

Yellow eyes shifted then over to Bolo, the Canine having been about to wrench forward and sniff aggressively at the offered hand. Sparkplug had held out the limb correct? It had to be for him to get all up in! the Cassette had been planning to REALLY ram his snout into the joints, smear the mesh all across the metal to readily pull in every little particle he could possibly huff... only... Master had cut in?

Bolo could often pick up on a few words in individuals sentences. Simple phrases, terms slapped around sandwiched between other things... however his Carrier was speaking in such a way that was beyond him. Terminology that was on another tier that his tiny toddler like brain couldn't wrap around. He only grasped hold of his name, but in the end it wasn't a problem. An unspoken command snaked through their link, a low hum of feeling and directives that slithered out from the depths of his processor. As such, it almost appeared as if the dog had understood, his lurch towards Sparkplug aborting instantly.

Delicate, careful... Bolo took a small half step forward, his nose holding out as he sniffed from a short distance. His sensory array was tuned enough he didn't need to TOUCH to really get a good whiff, even if he wanted to... but he remained a good boy and huffed from a distance, licking at his snout occasionally to clear the particles so he could get a fresh whiff.

"I do inqu͢i̸r̀e if there is anything I can acc͜o̷m̸plish to incur your unc̵hąlle̴nged goodwill among so many that must seek your fa͟vo͢r."

The holier-than-though tone was still in play, Carbine continuing to regulate his voice to the best of his ability. To pair with these words he gently swung his arm down before himself and crooked it underneath, paired with a sharp angle of his hips to fold into another bow of sorts. To keep himself balanced the rotors on his back lifted, each post holding two plates that arched with a gradual bend into the air behind himself to counter his mass.

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug's free-radiating field kindled with a flash of amused delight when the black-painted mech leant into the tone she'd offered, her flexible lips curving into a smile. Maybe this could be fun! He sure was more willing to play along than that other mech in the bar, the one who'd had a scraplet crawl up his aft and die there. And after the hideous stress of trying to diagnose a cure for a nanite disease from scratch just the previous day, she really, really could use a break.

She couldn't help but giggle aloud when he described her as a delicate piece of crystal, though. Well, it was kinda true in some ways, her armour was made up of tinfoil and wishes. On the other hand, most delicate crystals weren't quite as heavily armed as she was.

For a second, she'd almost forgotten the presence of the canid - an inattention that she was suddenly reminded of when it lunged at her hand, all-too eager to sniff out every chemical trace on her chassis. But miracle of miracles, the big mech casually ordered the creature to go easy on her, and it stopped cold, resorting to sampling her aroma from a safe distance. Her little flicker of relief was impossible to hide.

Her optic ridges rose as he bowed low once more, playfully entreating her to tell him what he could do for her. The corner of her lips hooked into a grin.

"Oh, sir knight, your gallantry sets my fuel pump all aflutter," she replied teasingly. "I most assuredly am beautiful, even if the maiden part is a little debatable." Naturally, tastes varied, and any mecha looking at her would have to get past the oddness of her asymmetrical arms, but as far as Sparkplug's own opinion was concerned, she was pretty hot. Small, certainly, but with round, smooth curves, wide hips, and a well-sculpted faceplate with large, vivid optics.

Extending her right hand to be taken, she offered with faux demureness, "Whilst my suitors are many and varied, striving most mightily to seek a token of my good will - a most valuable coin, as I'm certain you will agree - you find yourself in the fortunate position of finding me momentarily without my coterie of admirers. Perhaps before you escort me to the stores, you might find it within yourself to escort me to some low-brow drinking establishment first. A little additive-spiced energon is the lubricant of the gears of conversation, even for a quasi-maiden like myself."

[Carbine]

Carbine chuckled idly at Sparkplug's words, remaining bowed down in the humble position while Bolo seemed confused. The canine settled into a sit nearby once he was done sniffing, luminous yellow eyes flicking between the two Cybertronian.

"It is but the most va̛l͢ua̷ble coin this side of the gal̸axy could b-bestow upon a lucky mech. To hear I am at liberty to pursue wi͠t́ho̢ut direct contest from a more b-brash suitor is quite beneficial."

He was really stretching his vocabulary and language center well with this game. Carbine normally did not talk anywhere even CLOSE to this level of... fancy... but he was really trying to play along with the best of his mental capability. He felt like he was floundering a bit however, a couple awkward pauses folded in as he tried to scrabble for the right words, but it seemed to be working quite well with no overt 'uhh's or other audible flounders that would abolish the flow entirely.

Before he lost the ability to do so, Carbine did enjoy reading on some level. He didn't make a big hobby out of it, it wasn't as if he sat down at the end of the work day every night and enjoy a book... but he didn't shun away from them when something interesting crossed his path. This landed him the understanding of many words on some level, yet actually cognitively using them correctly himself was an entire other ball park.

"Alas, I did not an̡t̶ici̶p̛ate the blessed presence of your beauty, for I am ill prep̷a̷ŗe͠d and lacking proper accommoda͜tio͜ns to fulfill the request you so desire."

He was broke as shit.

Cybertronian currency held as much value as dirt, and things that were ACTUALLY valuable to a neutral colony were pretty much out of his grasp. He had a chunk of raw Energon that was meant to set Bolo on a track and find, but this wasn't something he could use up for this. If he had to go back to some of the higher ups and request a new one? There would be quite a few questions on what happened to the previous piece. Carbine had some other things that MAY be valuable... but he wasn’t really able to offer that either at this time.

"I would not dream tu̕rnin͡g such a task upon you, that an unc̛ơuth ac͏t͠ of a ḑ-deran̢g͘ed d̡egen͟èŗąt̢e!"

Carbine stood upright as he announced this, almost spitting the words out with a flourished aghast noise. A lot of the static popped with this to accent it, the appalled tone pushing it out of his damaged systems with a jittered crackle. While he did so, he looked off into the distance, making it as clear as he could that he was projecting such ire upon an imaginary other 'suitor' who would dare expect the lady to pay for the outing.

In the end there were other issues beyond monetary with this proposition however...

The whole... lack of mouth problem...

"Should there be any alterna͡tìve desire that can be soúgh̴t out?"

Looking away from the wall he had been peering at a moment prior, Carbine glanced back down at Sparkplug, eager to see what direction she spun it next.

[Sparkplug]

Unicron's rusty smile, he really was a lot taller than her.

Sparkplug learned that fact all over again as Carbine straightened up from his deep bow, rising to tower over her. Where that fact had bothered her before, however, it was now defanged a little by the playful game that had sprung up between the two of them.

"Think naught of your current circumstances, good sir," Sparkplug replied, affecting the haughty tones of the most obnoxiously traditionalist brightplates. "Even the most mannered and considerate of mechs may find themselves a hostage to the vulgarities of fortune."

Perhaps she should have anticipated that he'd be bereft of trade goods; the Autobots were literally running on fumes, according to the shifting morass of rumour that passed for official news amongst the vehicons, and if they'd had anything useful to trade for energon here, they'd have traded for it already. Which raised the question: what was Carbine doing here? Trying to find someone? Any mecha trying to hide amongst the neutrals could be sniffed out by the canid, so that was plausible, but plausible didn't mean true...

Her right hand came to rest on the satchel that she carried looped over one shoulder. The high-concentrate energon within ought to be good for the odds and ends she'd hoped to pick up, even if she diverted a little to trade for a couple of regular cubes of sipping energon; she always left a margin of error. More to the point, though, was that she'd be directly giving fuel to the enemy. Treaty or not, she had a strong suspicion that was a transgression with more than a stern telling-off attached. If she could spin it as trying to cooperate with Autobot forces, pump them for information about MECH... not impossible, but it still didn't seem like a good idea.

Perhaps that would have been enough to stop her, had it not been for her deep, inviolate certainty that in the end, nothing really mattered anymore, and hadn't for a long, long time.

"Eh. I can spare enough to scoop up a couple of cubes," she said with a shrug, discarding the elaborate intonation as well as the needling uncertainty. "Enough to sit around and bitch about the mechs in charge a bit. I don't know where the bar is, no more than the quartermaster, but you, in a feat of shocking convenience, have your canid there. Sure he can sniff out the small of stale energon and greasy tables. If you're down for that sort of thing."

[Carbine]

"Tis but a sha̷c̶k̷le that.. binds many from t-treating one.. as fair as yo̴u̧rs̢elf to the extra̛v̸aga͏n̨ce they deserve."

More scrabbling. Carbine was attempting to keep in mind things he already said, tried to not use the same words or comparisons multiple times to sound so very eloquent and learned, but oof... he could only do so much and a few more pauses and static stalls were starting to interject into his commentary. It was growing more and more apparent he was starting to struggle, but he still trudged ahead with zeal to try to impress and amuse the little lady, even if there was that glaring fact she was a Decepticon.

Ahh... what a way to tarnish her.

Carbine eyed the small femme, trying to see how she would react to his words, ready to make a valiant attempt to keep the game going, however what followed took that ambition and bashed through it like a wrecking ball, kicking their game to the ground and grinding it beneath ped and heel alike. Perhaps if it were any other game Carbine would sulk, however he was fine with this turn of events, even though it caught him off guard momentarily. The transition had been so abrupt it went so far that his 'eyebrows' would crook up with a rise to the top edge of his optic projections. This stunned look was fleeting for only the faintest of glimmers however, before he relaxed, allowing his weight to rock over to his right leg.

"Oh, really now? Wou͞ld͞ yo̧ur̛ l̸i̴ttle leaders sanction s-such things? Or are y͘ou̴ a̢ reb̶el?"

Carbine's train of thought seemed to have gone in a similar direction as to Sparkplug's, questioning just how the Decepticon High Command would react to knowing one of their minions was off boozing out an Autobot for whatever reason or another. Perhaps it was shooting himself in the foot, attempting to avoid something he would otherwise have no chance to get ((and for sure wanted)), however her flippant comment about complaining about the individuals in charge made him feel a bit safer about being so direct. He was thinking she must have some fearlessness burning in those lines to veer off task so far, while Carbine's motivation was more along the lines of 'greedy little shithead'.

"And in a feat̛ ̕of ͘sh̡ocking convenience, the Bar is up the h-h-̴h͢a̸ll from the assumed Qua͜rt͘e̶rm̡a͝ster!"

Chirped words, amused and excited. At this, Carbine stepped to the side of the hallway, letting his back face more towards the wall while his arms dipped down and swooped to the side to gesture for her to pass. At this movement, Bolo seemed to catch on to what was going on, or perhaps he was told through some intangible means what to do. No matter what it actually was, the Cassette would stand up, do a quick little wiggle of a partial shake, before walking over to move beside Carbine so that he wouldn't be in Sparkplug's path.

"Ladies fírs̴t."

[Sparkplug]

There really was a touch of struggle to the big mech's speech. Now where was the root of that? The static seemed like it was rooted in the vocoder, but the lengthening pauses between responses, that had to be more grounded in the language processing circuitry of his core processor. Unless there was something else going on, something that could explain both... It was at times like these that the difference between 'frame designer' and 'doctor' became apparent: she could assemble a mech as neat as you please, but when it came to a processing glitch like this, she couldn't do much without starting to dismantle things and monitoring data flow directly, or just start replacing components until things seemed to improve. Better to just throw up her hands and turn it over to some mecha more qualified.

Anyway, enough of that game. There was definitely a flash of surprise - maybe suspicion? - expressed in Carbine's chassis language, but she couldn't really figure if anything she was getting from him was sincere or part of a bigger game. She didn't hold a grudge over that little flash of ghoulish mania from earlier, but that didn't mean she'd forgotten it either.

She grimaced slightly, her own expressive field easily betraying the fact that she wasn't sanctioned to do anything as insane as feed a starving Autobot a cube. Still, as he stood aside and the canid moved with him, she shrugged again, her shoulder guards rising and falling easily.

"Sanction? Yeah, no, there's no message pinned up in the mess saying 'Oh, by the way, if you come across a strange Autobot, do feed them a companionly cube, toodle pip, the management'. The truce only goes so far. Still, so long as I don't make a big deal of it, I probably won't end up nailed to a bulkhead. Or given to Shockwave. Think I'd have to really screw up for things to go that badly."

Not to mention, the high command had other things on their minds right now...

She strolled past, putting a bit of playful sway into her walk as she did so. What with all of the flowery compliments, as insincere as they no doubt were, she was feeling pretty good about her chassis and not disinclined to show off. Now that she was given a mild directional steer, she had a better idea of where she was relative to the bridge, and it didn't take her long to navigate back towards where she'd entered the neutral settlement.

A low rumble of unfamiliar voices guided her from here. The bar wasn't busy by any means, but there were a few mecha here and there, and an array of chairs and stools for various morphologies and frame sizes. She sighed, a little exhale of familiarity, a touch of wistfulness in her field. "Been a while since I walked into an honest-to-Primus bar. Did go touring a couple of human bars, but you can't drink anything and it's not the same. That's where I met your grumpy friend, come to that."