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

[Carbine]

Carbine spoke in a low amused mutter after Sparkplug mentioned higher ups.

"Y̵eáh, don'̧t͜ get nailed t-to Bulkhead. He'd fall̢ ͜a͞nd c̵rưsh you."

A passing comment, not really meant to start a conversation, more a laughing small inner chuckle at the overlap of name. This Decepticon may not even know who Bulkhead was, but the set-up was fine enough Carbine took a swing before moving on readily.

When Sparkplug strolled past, Carbine's implied brows hiked up sharply in response, watching the way that she swayed her hip as if continuing their earlier game in a less 'dainty damsel' approach. Carbine simply wouldn't be Carbine if he didn't appreciate this and bite down onto the offering like a starved dog. An opportunity to let eyes wander, a borderline invitation to objectify on a few different levels... With Sparkplug not watching him, and no others there to scowl and give grief about it, he let his eyes stray without restraint and little care about what others may think about it.

The arm thing was still weird to him, wondering if the original got blown off in some way and this was just what happened to be available. Yet, there were no obvious scars or ripples, no streaks of splice joints where one style of mechanism was cobbled onto another. Carbine was no doctor though. He knew what BAD cobbled attempts to mash parts back together looked like, and he didn’t really know what good ones did. Whatever the case, he wasn't too occupied with that part, yellow optics drifting with more crass goals as he eased into movement to follow.

Carbine's footfalls were clicking and lighter versus his frame height. A more muffled tap of the heel wheel touching down, before a lighter click followed from weight being put onto the triangular ped in front. It created a double impact noise with a crackle against the gritty ground below. This sound was accompanied by softer taps in a rhythmic gait, Bolo moving to walk at his Carrier's side casually.

"Cyb̨ert̢ron͡ián bars are s-sh͘i̴t c͢ompąred to N̵eu̧tral colonies."

Carbine paused briefly, realizing where they were.

"Not 'I am un̵ali̕-a͏i͏-gn͢e͠d Cyb̕ertronian bar', but like... other sp̧e͢cies... things..."

Neutral was too broad a term.

"If you w-wan͟t͝ to s̷eȩ s̶o͡me real messes and d-de͠bau̴chery, go to one of those, ge-et a drink, and sit in a corner."

That was within the top five of the best times he ever had on other worlds. It was better than a movie, better than any drama series on television, and was completely unpredictable in what way it would go. Sometimes there would be repeat characters, little cameos from 'beloved' individuals that always gave a good show on that location. Swindlers or the manipulative sorts that try to zero in on the vulnerable or unaccustomed to the dark alley clusters... Spend enough time there and one can grow real adapt at trying to pick them out of a crowd. Watch how they scan the room before locking down onto an alien type whose expressions they could actually read unlike the more amorphic types with less... structure.

"Clashing cult-ures. Some doing t-tabo͘o̧ c̕r̢ąp ́as̛ ̨if̕ normal, more reserved types causing a scene or running... weird critters s-cut-t-tl-k͝z̷z̕t̀t-running around... Is it a sentient species? Or a f-fragging rat that just ran over you̴r fóo̴t́ ̕leavi͘ng a smear in its wake!?"

A bark of a snorted laugh popped at this.

What dumpster fires of places. Carbine was certain there were nicer ones on the worlds he went to. Managed well, more level minded with some form of structure and drinks for all types... but that wasn't really where he ended up when he got to some newer world. Best to go to the parts that are not as picky with 'papers' and needing to go through a bunch of checkpoints to look for some contraband or weird odd and end that may happen to be illegal for that world for one reason or another. Besides, those were the 'fun' areas and he would have it no other way.

"Oh man. G-good times... g̕oo͞d ̀tim̵e̴s..."

If only Thunder didn't cling onto Optimus' call like it was some grandiose order from Primus. They could still be colony hopping and go true free range... But NOOooo...

Carbine wasn't bitter about that. No. Not at all. Things were great here. Totally.

[Sparkplug]

It took Sparkplug half a second to place the reference - while she didn't expect to run into many Autobots with her work being primarily lab research, she did at least put the minimal effort in of reading some brief reports, and Bulkhead was one of the more prominent ones mentioned as having been around on Earth longer than most.

"Oh, the big green guy! Whoever designed his frame, they drew a bunch of big circles then called it a day."

Sparkplug was, as had been pointed out before, not very adept at picking up social cues unless she worked at it. Her processor tended to drift off into speculation, both practical and impractical, and only maintain a tenuous link to what was actually happening around her. There was something about Carbine's gaze, though, that she could feel even with her back turned as she sashayed past. She was under no illusions that the big mech wouldn't do his level best to scrap her if it weren't for the doubled leashes of the truce and the neutral base, but even so, compliments were compliments, and she didn't mind feeling attractive.

The double elbows of her left arm folded in a slightly odd way, scissoring upwards to let her hand rest lightly on her hip. Carbine's footsteps were relatively quiet; not the weird, hushed sounds of Soundwave's pedes, but still softer than his apparent mass would have implied. He could be lighter than she'd expected... less dense, honeycomb struts... he did seem to have an aerial altmode. But it was more likely just dampeners.

Her helm turned as he began to describe neutral bars, the clarification about other species neutral coming just in time to pre-empt her making the point that they were in a neutral base already. Still, the description was fascinating, and it conjured all kinds of vivid images that she, alas, had never had access to in reality. Other worlds, other species! Free and unhindered access to the outside! That hadn't generally been her experience of life since the war, not on either side.

"Find yourself a chair, and I'll grab something." He had to have some way of ingesting energon, right? She gestured loosely with her long left arm at a booth whose seating was smaller and closer to the table on one side and larger, lower and further back on the other, built for mecha of different builds to find themselves a comfortable spot on the arc.

Strolling over to the bar, she leant forward and planted a hand on it - perhaps indulging in just a bit of unnecessary framing of her aft by the motion - then slipped her travel case off her shoulder. Cracking it open, and keeping the bulk of her chassis between the box and where Carbine waited, she removed a vial of high purity distilled energon concentrate, then began a quick, conversational bartering for a couple of cubes of drinking-grade energon in return. In deference to Carbine's probable anatomy, one of them was procured with a straw.

Sealing up her case, she settled it on its strap once more, then turned around with the two cubes. She couldn't help a twinge of deeper unease as the thought occurred to her that this might be her last chance not to do something that would get her in trouble later. Surely one cube was only a little treasonous? If she was trying to get information? And helping reinforce the treaty!

None of those explanations felt like they wouldn't wilt in the face of Soundwave's lack of face. She put the cube and straw down in front of Carbine anyway, slipping onto the smaller end of the booth's seating opposite him.

"Never been to a place like that myself," she said conversationally, idly pushing her cube of energon back and forth across the table in front of her by one corner. "Off-world bars, exciting species, free-roaming? I'd be so lucky. Nah, I'm the kind that gets thrown into a lab and looked in on every century or so to see what I've come up with. I've been a few places, but wherever I was, I didn't get a lot of opportunities to wriggle out from under whoever was riding my aft and go do fun things outside. Not that research isn't fun. It is. Especially when it comes to those big booms and sparkling lights we mentioned earlier."

Lifting her cube, she poured a little between her lips, nodding to herself. "Sounds like you didn't really want to leave."

[Carbine]

Carbine followed idly to the bar, where he paused just a faint flicker upon arriving.

Oh wow. Look at this dump. And not the fun kind of dump.

Ok so, perhaps Haven's bar was the best it could be given it was a rag-tag stopping point for who knows who passing through this flickered dead end of the galaxy... but it more felt... sad... to him. Carbine wondered if he was too spoiled by past events however, too corrupted by his concept of what 'good' was and what was entertaining. Once you get to go on a wild ride through absolute chaos, the slow lane felt lacking in flavor. That had to be it... the room didn't appear overtly 'dumpy', the bar seemed stocked well and there was good seating.

It was odd however seeing other Cybertronian on Earth though.

Unfamiliar faces that didn't wear a badge for either side...

There was a certain unnerving feeling this brought, an on-guard mindset as yellow eyes cast in a slow scan to try to evaluate both the individuals present who were minding their own business, and the room itself. Where an exit was, what chairs were not bolted down, if the tables seemed like they could be flipped up for a shield... Just the standard 'lets get ready for a prison riot' checklist that had to be done for every similar situation. He performed this cursory visual scan while resuming walking, Bolo moving from his side to behind him once they fully entered the room.

The canine's helm rose, no longer sniffing at the ground interested in what scents may be there, instead being profoundly more alert. Sharp ears were straight up, pivoting some on ball hinges to every new sound, while unblinking plate style eyes watched everything around them on high focus. He maneuvered directly behind his Master, stride keeping pace with his to stay close without stepping on his heel or being clipped by it as it pulled up to swing forward. He was playing guardian for however long it took to get to their destination.

Carbine didn't like people behind him, that was a given, yet he didn't always have a choice in more populated areas. Thankfully this wasn't a POPULATED area, individuals peppered loosely if you could even call it that... yet he still strode with a focused gait in a straight line towards the table he deemed needed. It was much like the one Sparkplug had gestured too, though it was one tucked against a wall, so you had to slip in sideways. It may be seen as less than desirable to some, but it fit both his preferences, and played with his earlier commentary of 'sit in a corner and watch'.

Once reaching the table, Carbine sharp spun about face to turn his back to the bench styled seating, before he kicked off and flung himself into it roughly, trying to be mindful not to ram his mass into his rotors. This was followed quickly by a single kick-push so he was tucked with his back between backrest and rock, while he let one leg out straight and the other propped up some to get comfortable. His arm closest the table would plunk up onto it at rest. Bolo meanwhile tucked down beneath the slab in the void where Carbine's legs should have gone, before turning around and lying down, watching the room.

The black and white mech's gaze was locked solidly onto Sparkplug then. Watching her every movement, every action... while previously it had been to admire in less than tactful means, the second she got to the bartop the game changed entirely to a far more focused mindset. While Carbine highly doubted this was a drug up and interrogate sort of situation, trying to get him blasted out on some kind of alcohol-poison mix to try to weasel information out of him, he wouldn't put it past a Decepticon. She didn't know what he may or may not know about Omega, she didn't know how deep his metaphorical claws plunged into the inner workings of the Autobots... This may be seen as a great opportunity!

Only it wasn't.

Carbine was useless.

But that didn't mean he wanted to get completely fucked up, fall to the floor, and go ragdoll for a few hours because he lost what was up and what was down, laughing about it the entire time and being an embarrassment. He wanted to be an embarrassment on HIS terms! Not because some runty femme tried to seize a nonexistent opportunity. Because of this he watched with pointed focus, the rest of the room almost blurring out into a dulled muffled haze, until she made it back and sat down his drink. Once it was dropped off, he lifted his arm off the table, reaching over so fingertips clipped over the topmost edge, before he scraped it closer to him to keep a better eye on it.

"Tha͠n̸k ya'!"

Yellow eyes glanced down to flick over the mixture from the corner of his vision, looking for any wisps or curls of color or who knows what... Paranoid? Yes. But that was that wonderful game called survival based around not trusting anyone that offered a wink and a friendly face.

"I would t-tell you to go out and tr͜y įt so̵m͠e͏time, b-but you know... probably not get-ti͝ng off this world, dying in a blaze of f-fire as your tea̶m i̛s ͟scorc̸hed off the planet... f͡u̵n ̡fun!"

Laughed words, knowing many Decepticons probably held the same views about them. Earth would be many of their graves, it was just a matter of time. Whatever the case, Carbine didn't sound malicious as he spoke this time around, more... flippant and amused in a friendly way, making fun of a very hard truth some didn't seem to want to look at too closely. What else could be done? One could cower in the face of it all, or they could embrace it and try to take as many as possible down to the pit with them kicking and screaming.

"I c-can't say I don't miss it though. Lots of oppórt͠unitįes in the right areas our kind ain't b-͢b͠an͝ished ͜from if you know how to play t̵he̡ ga͜m͘e͠."

Abiding laws? Those change so much from world to world. The nitpicky details of new speed limits, cultural norms, and even how to speak to one another or make general gestures without offending someone. It was a line, constantly learning, trying actively to adapt and mimic what was there enough to span the gap that was already made by simply being from another civilization. Yet, the dark alleys tended to not have as many limitations. Wherever you tended to go in more 'civilized' worlds, murder was still murder, thieving was looked down upon, and gambling and drugs were at least a little bit frowned upon. Get a feel for how the rings around them work and you got a good foundation to springboard off.

Did it always work? Hell no. But it mostly kinda sorta a little bit worked for Carbine. He was here alive, right?

"Not sure how w-well such a sh̶-she̕lter̀e̢d littĺe ̀pie͘c̴e of̀ ͏cry͘stal̛ would fare in the real world h-͠ķçhh-o͡wèver."

The bottom edges of Carbine's eyes rose, an implied grin forming as he harkened back to the previous game. A sort of smirk or smile or something heard in his words.

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug noticed the way Carbine had wedged himself into the corner, naturally, but she didn't think anything of it. Like he'd said, grab a corner seat and watch the world go by; it was probably a habit. He certainly looked comfortable, splayed across the seat with Bolo resting beneath him. His fast-spinning thoughts, the way he stared at his energon as if he could see any chemical contaminants just by eyeing it - these were as opaque to her as sheet metal, and went entirely unnoticed.

Inasmuch as there was any wariness from Sparkplug's side of the table, it was directed towards the more distant and hopefully unlikely prospect of getting raked over the coals for aiding and abetting the enemy. She was already pushing it as it was with the very concept of trading energon to the neutrals for spare parts, something she hadn't asked permission for either. Still. So long as she didn't let the entire satchel get taken off her by this Autobot, nor mention the whole 'Nemesis down, Warlord missing' thing, she was probably okay.

Probably.

The Decepticons had bigger things to worry about than her, anyway.

All in all, her innocently open expression and friendly, cheerful field emissions painted the portrait of a mecha that was either truly as amiable as she appeared, or else the most consummate liar. It was almost possible to forget, for a moment, who she was and what she represented. At least, it would be, were it not for that betraying mark of vivid purple, dead centre at the top of her chest plate.

A flash of brighter amusement touched her expression as Carbine spoke, bleeding over into her field. She took another sip from her energon, casual with it in a way that only a mecha who hadn't been at any risk of starving in a long time could be, then shook her helm, grinning.

"A delicate, sheltered little crystal, huh? Is that it? My, sir, you do make it sound as though I'd be quite helpless out there in the wide, wide galaxy. My stature diminutive, my nature trusting - why, I'd be surely easy prey for the first ill-mannered thug that happened along..."

She trailed off, striking a dramatic pose, then relaxed again and leant back against the cushions. It was nice to have some comfortable furniture built to her own scale around. She'd done what she could to make herself something nice to sit on while she worked, but without blocks of padding foam, there was only so much you could do with sheet metal.

"I'd say 'how fortunate I am, that there are gentlemechs like your good self out there to protect such a tragically unwary traveller', but that whole bit with the knife, I'm thinking you're the kind that'd be the peril rather'n the saviour. Oh, Carbine. It's such a damn shame all my systems are locked down. Cute I might be, but I am gunned up like you wouldn't believe, I'd show you the whole thing if I could."

From any other Decepticon, this would have been a jab, a coded 'if I had the chance, I'd destroy you'. From Sparkplug, with a touch of pouting disappointment in her field, she evidently just wanted the opportunity to show off her systems to a new audience.

Probably not getting off this world, huh. Well, that's true enough.

"There'll be the chance sometime. You're right, obviously. We're all going to die down here, you, me, the factions, the neutrals, we'll all burn soon enough. Ground each other down so far that the numbers left, they're just pathetic. Whoever wins, that's when the rest of the galaxy will sweep in and finish them off, they're all sick of us. It doesn't matter anymore. Might as well have some fun as we pour into the smelter."

There was something gently unsettling, something off about the way she talked. Her cheery, carefree demeanour didn't waver, the look of amiable good-natured humour on her faceplate didn't seem forced or false, and yet, there was a ring of utter, absolute conviction to her words.

[Carbine]

Bolo soon caught on to what was going on here... the booth, the general setting, the smell of alcohol in the air... he knew 'where' they were, even if he didn’t know WHERE they were. Because of this, his head rose after a couple of moments sitting on guard, squeezing up between Carbine's thigh and the table's bottom edge. His white jaw clipped over black armor to look over at the Cybertronian with a pleading look. Or more... simply just look over. Bolo didn't have mailable features of any kind, yet his ears were drooped and relaxed, while the plates of his eyes were crooked sideways some as if peering out the corner of his gaze.

It was easy to see he was trying to beg for whatever scraps he could get, the general starvation among the Autobots meaning he was also low on fuel. For a dog that would constantly eat if given the opportunity, it was the equivalent of being out on the streets for months without even a speck of dirt-crusted Energon to lick off the pavement. A soft whuff of air puffed at this, trying to get Master's attention, though he didn’t vocally whine yet... trying to be somewhat good.

Carbine didn't bite down onto this, completely ignoring the Cassette's actions in full. He did not offer a pat to the helm, nor even a glance down at him, for he wasn't going to reinforce such behavior and make the canine believe it was working. If Bolo got really bad he could set him in line, but for now, he simply focused down at his drink, his grip on its ledge tilting it ever so slightly. The liquid within moved like any other fuel, not overly runny nor thick, it seemed. A drink that on any other day he would happily work on, yet he still stalled some, watching Sparkplug as she spoke.

Generally speaking, most if not all of their kind had some sort of combat capabilities to be able to have survived this long in Carbine's opinion. That, or they were sheltered and locked behind the front-line cannon fodder to keep them safe and alive. Scientists, medics... engineers. Valuable things that filled roles that the ordinary brute could not. Hearing she was 'gunned up', played into this, and her blind friendly nature further reinforced his thoughts that she likely was one of those ones that were pulled aside for their skills.

"Firep͏o͜w̨er c̛-̀c̛a̴n b̛e ͡niće, but in a one on one scuffle...? It c-can̡ b͢e oh̕ so v́er͜y lacking."

Guns, so long as they were not specialized types, were easy for anyone to figure out eventually as far as Carbine was concerned. He was evidence of that when he went through training with that crappy pistol oh so many years ago... those skills since rotted... yet hand to hand? That was an entirely different ballpark. He couldn't imagine this individual doing a launched jump of a cartwheel out from an attack from a larger foe, especially with her weirdo arm. As such, she was slammed into a mold, profiled in a way as every bit of information was plunked down into a line. Yet, while he did this, he couldn't help but absolutely bite onto offered bait sharply, ignoring the other more 'real' things and other topics for what HE wanted to focus on.

"Oh? Show me t͟h͟e w̨ho͏le thing?"

His words pitched up some at this.

What Carbine wouldn't give to be able to make a smug grin right then and there. A full cheek to cheek smirk, pulled back with a sort of wicked edge. Throw in a hiked brow for good measure and a little head tilt? Sadly, he had to just rely on the last two, the top edge of one optical projection seeming to crook up along with the bottom into a 'grin', while his helm tilted to the side slightly. It wasn't the same... it never was the same. The curse of what he was could rob many fun tidbits others didn't really appreciate as they should.

"I w-wouldn't m-min͡d a wea̡pons d͟emonst̵ration."

A mused less than tactful purr. It may be flirting with the enemy, but that didn't make it any less fun in the moment. Carbine couldn't help but lowly chuckle because of this, thinking about how others would react.

"You s͠h̨o̡w m̛-m͏e yours; I show you mine..."

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug had wondered about whether Bolo was going to share in the energon she'd provided directly from the source, or if the canid was built to only take energon from the carrier dock. She'd seen both designs in the past; some towerlings had taken an amount of satisfaction in being the only one that could 'feed' their subordinate partner that she found downright creepy. Here, the cassette seemed quite capable of taking in energon for itself, something that made sense for a functional enforcement pair.

What was interesting was that the carrier, Carbine, seemed to have little intention in indulging the animalistic display of begging. Was he annoyed by it? Was this undesirable behaviour? She shook her helm slightly. Throttled intellect builds. Never fully predictable, never as efficient as a full sentience.

She took a sip from her cube, leaning back comfortably and breaking into a grin as Carbine spoke again. He seemed to have the idea that a close-range scuffle would render her firepower moot. Not a bad assumption, considering most mecha's ranged firepower was located in their arms and tended to elongate them when deployed, making them too awkward to use in close quarters. Thinking that was a universal trait, though, now that'd be a mistake.

And then, to her surprise and amusement, he really started to hit on her. Playful humour swirled through her field, mingled with a certain satisfaction. She cocked her head, raising an optic ridge as a sly grin curved her lips.

"My, my. Should I be flattered? Scandalised? Seems like you've got an interest in my chassis that's totally unfitting for an officer of the law," she murmured intimately. It wasn't like she had any real interest in him, physically speaking, quite aside from him being an Autobot, and even if she had been that type, the little smiling psycho bit with the knife would have put her off. With that said, harmless flirting was fun, and she hadn't had much chance to for quite a while.

Drawing aimless patterns across the surface of the table with one forefinger, she sighed winsomely, and said with a pout, "If only those spoilsports hadn't made me lock down my systems, I could have indulged all that curiosity of yours. And here I am, wondering what secrets and surprises you have locked away, and you can't show me either. What's a femme to do?"

Lifting the cube to her lips, she looked over the top of it at him, her pout melting into that sly smile again. "Well. If we can't show each other, we can at least talk about it, can't we? What do you think, hm? I'll tell you what I've got hiding under my plating if you tell me yours?"

As much as she was flirting back at him, her bright green optics hooded, her field radiated the feeling of a femme that was on the verge of breaking into giggles, with an undercurrent of genuine interest about his configuration.

[Carbine]

"My colors may be͘ ̵t́here, but law a-and order have loņg s̵i͟nce rotted."

Carbine's elbow remained propped up onto the tabletop as he leaned forward towards Sparkplug, his voice lowering into a rumbled purr as if his words were meant for her and her alone.

For now, he would play along. Precautions in place. Remembering she was a Decepticon... yet if given an opportunity Carbine would bite, simply because that was who he was, and one's core nature was hard to contest with any level of power. The choices of femmes at Omega were minimal, and while he was somewhat interested in one of them, actually looking forward to interacting with her more to learn and adapt to 'win', that didn't make him dead to anything else in this world. If Sparkplug wanted to play? Carbine would play, whether it was laughter and humor alone, or if she was as wicked as he could be. A balanced scale that would tip and dip in whatever side Sparkplug placed the weights.

It seemed it was more joking by the vibes she was giving off, which was fine, even if it wasn't quite as fun.

"I'll s-͘s̨t-art thȩn. Outside in... St̶ri͜ppin̨g off layers..."

The black and white mech lifted his free hand at this, placing his fingers down against the roughly diamond-shaped sternum plating, right between where the white bands of 'ribs' pointed inward. His words would continue to rumble lowly, trying to add to it with his internal generator for his taser whirring softly. While he couldn't activate the tool's prongs, it didn't mean it was dead weight inside of him filling a void.

"Even bef̵ore t͞h́-t̴h-͏z̕hk̵-th̡e war, I was built sturdy... arm͜or̷ed and strong..."

White fingertips drummed slightly against his chest, a dull sound ringing out at every tap of the digit. While Carbine’s torso had a fair bit of hollow spacing beneath it, his plating didn't sound like an empty tin can, and as such, it reverberated at a lower pitch. This betrayed that it was quite thick with some heft to it, able to endure some damage and potentially then some. The average caliber of guns available on the streets back then didn't really do much damage of any real note.

War changed that rule however, weaponry being different now while ‘average’ was bumped up... but it didn't remove its value entirely. One detriment to boasting about this however, was the fact it somewhat highlighted the warbled shapes across its surface. Painted over welds and scaring that branched and webbed like fractured cracks. With Sparkplug’s experience, it would scream of concussive damage from a broad beam weapon of some kind, a hard impact from being slammed by a blunt force, or a heavy pulse along the lines of a grenade that ruptured out.

Carbine's helm rose at this, crooking to the side, continuing with physical attributes.

"I c-could lift ̨y͢ou up with so mu̴c͘h ease..."

Back in the day maybe.

Carbine's shoulders were wearing, his joints made to be replaced from the cookie-cutter batch builds. They were put through so much strain as a cop that it was easier to swap out than repair, and he had lost count on how many he’d burned through tackling criminals and slamming open doors, gates, or other obstacles. In war, he still struck others with them out of ingrained habit, yet they were no longer traded in for new, and they didn't hold the strength they should have. She was small though, so it would likely be fine, so he played it off as if it was true without a shadow of a doubt.

"Yet fear naught, a m͏-̢m͝a-͘i͠d͡en such as yourself could c-control it all ẃi͟th a̢ word."

A smug 'smile' crooked up the underside of his half-lidded eyes as he pulled from their earlier discussion, though this time with a much more lewd motive behind it. His voice remained low to not draw unwanted attention so he could remain focused on the game at hand.

[Sparkplug]

He had a point.

For one thing, the concept of an officer of the law was just laughable. The only law was 'live long enough to get killed by the enemy and not your own side' and anything that served that cause was fair game. But more pointedly, he was saying, loud and clear, that whatever he was before the war was nothing to do with what he was now. She got that. Sure, she remembered the way things used to be, the way she used to be, but it was so far removed from who she was now that that femme might as well have been a different person.

Better to focus on where she was, what she was doing. Which was with a big mech about to tell her in detail about his chassis and weapon configuration! She leaned forward across the table as he spoke of stripping off layers, leaning on her right elbow and cradling her chin, her fingers framing her lips.

"Oh, do tell me all about it," she purred playfully, her bright green optics intense.

A flash of interest flickered in her field as he thumped his chest plating, cocking her head slightly as she listened with an expert audial to the reverberating sound. Decently thick plating, with interior volume underneath. Her gaze slid over the painted over welds and cracking, picking out the signs of some serious rupturing force that had done significant damage before being patched back together. Grenade? Beam weapon? Blunt force? The paint and welds masked the fine detail, made it hard to properly work out what she was looking at...

The humour to her field faded for a moment with a flare of genuine fascinated interest. She'd been focusing on cutting beams for a long time, but it could be fun to get back into working on concussive beam weapons...

Her gaze darted to his shoulder mounts and hands as he told her about how easily he could lift her. Big, bulky chassis, built for restraining other mecha, and she wasn't big, even if she was a bit heavier than she looked with the sheer density of her internal mechanism packing.

Sparkplug grinned at his sudden flourish of antiquated phrasing again, then gave him a coy look as she murmured, "Is a big, strong mech like you threatening to sweep me off my pedes? What's a poor, sheltered maiden to do?"

She lifted her chin, her smile widening, becoming something more seductively knowing. "I suppose I should at least share a little of what's under my plating, don't you think?" Leaning back in her chair, she pushed herself up a little bit to make her midriff visible above the table's surface. Her slim right hand ran down her chest plating to caress her abdomen, fingertips circling two irising ports mounted there.

"Twin gatling blasters," she breathed intimately. "Hex-barrelled. Extreme rate of fire, continuous stream. High-torque motors for instant spin up. Beautiful, honed things. And that's just the appetiser."

Leaning forward, she gave a slow, easy roll of her shoulders, turning her helm to the left as she held his gaze. Her hand slid up to her left shoulderguard, trailing lightly along the headlight and spotlight mounted below it.

"Dual micromissile racks," purred the femme. "Perfect for making a big, beautiful cloud of fire and destruction. All those lovely concussive detonations... it's like music. Spinning, dancing, like a flower leasing its seeds on the wind, every one about to blossom into a lovely fireball. And I'm not even finished..."

Sparkplug drew back a little, placing a finger on her lower lip with a moue of playful regret. "But you'll have to tell me more about that big strong frame of yours and the lovely weapons within it before a lady reveals any more of her secrets."

[Carbine]

Oh, she was good at this game, obviously having more ammunition to pull from... both from the number of weapons, to the fact they were weapons of real value and not something more primitive and simplistic. Carbine wondered what it was like for those who had a ton of ranged armaments. He only had his taser with limited range, and once upon a time he had a standard issue pistol. That was really it. Anything else was opportunistic finds. Shanks, daggers, someone else's weapon dropped on the battlefield to bludgeon another... even if it wasn't a bludgeoning type...

"-What's a poor, sheltered maiden to do?"

"Said shelte̢red m-̷mai̢d͏en could let herself get sw̕e͏pt o͘ff͜ her feet."

Carbine chuckled this out, his hand flexing some in idle thought as she decided she would take her turn. To mirror the layers game, he had expected her to play off whatever external attributes she wanted to show off, instead, she seemed to be going straight to detail about weaponry. While it jumped forward a bit, Carbine was not complaining, especially as she took the time to stretch her frame up to show off her midsection.

This was more alluring to him than any set of blasters, her descriptions of the weapons themselves not really even paid attention to. He logged the concept in the back of his mind though in case she were to use them against him in combat, however beyond that his gaze was simply trailing her structure, something he wasn't masking over in the slightest like he had before. She was showing it off, it was rude not to enjoy it, was it not? His helm crooked to the side some as his eyes narrowed even more into amused slivers.

This show of frame was fleeting, over quickly... which was sad... his own helm then crooking back upright a bit further as her little descriptions went over some kind of shoulder weaponry. Once more, he didn't really pay as much mind to the missiles as she likely thought he may, though he played along, logging that nugget of information as well. What was notable however, was the implication that those two were not everything.

"I do not th-i͠nk a true lady would reveal so much with so little prompting I am begin-̢i͢n̡-͏iǹ-̶ning to think your t-title of maiden is as̀ kz̡z̡t͘t ̴įs a̧s̨ c̸h̶ch fi̕tt̡įng̡ as g̕en̕t̸lęmec͡ i̧s t͝o m-yself́, ͠th̀ò-t-t̛c̡h̢-͝u̸gh I̕ am not c̛om͟p͜l͝a͘įn̢įn̴ģ z̵z̶z͡kt̡"

A click crackled then, followed by a sort of buzzing sound. It was about time his issues caught up to him, which was irritating to say the least given the scenario. Carbine's eyes would narrow in a less than pleased sort of look in response, a couple pops ringing out with a snorted clear of throat before he managed to reset enough and continue, pretending nothing happened. Bolo however turned his head around from his guarding position, peering back up.

"My ch͘-͢ch-ce͠st h̛o̢lds a caged genèrątor, w-waiting at any giv͘en mòm͜en̢t to serve."

Carbine's right arm held up with the back of his hand facing Sparkplug, his elbow planted against the table. Tapered white fingertips would unfurl once he settled, spreading out, before curling into a firm fist that creaked the joint under the strength put behind it. While he couldn't activate the taser, when he crooked his wrist towards himself hard enough, the start of the prongs and the panels that would pull aside during transformation would be slightly visible.

"I may n-̴not know the ampage, but I do kno͡w a͢rmor ̀is s̀eldom relevant when elec-c-c̴t̨r͞ic͞ity comes into play.

Even though the incident had borderline traumatized him, the electrical attack had fried out the eye of a bigass tank here on Earth, so that was a win-win and showed that size didn't always matter there.

With the smile still pulled at the bottom of his eyes, Carbine pushed the generator a bit further, the noise more prominent rather than being used as a bit of added flavor to his speech. The internal system growled and snarled with a low rumble, the tool lurching instantly to try to heave up enough charge to do some damage as soon as possible. Never knowing when the taser may be needed, he was built to have it ready NOW rather than fiddle around hoping for a charge when his life, or a civilian's, depended on it. It made it uncomfortable though when the electricity couldn’t crackle between the two prongs of the weapon, but he would live, her response to it hopefully making it worth it.

"From zero t͞-to ͡full tįl̀t in a flicker... I am always eager to jump ͠t̴o ͞call..."

He let his hand straighten back up so he wasn’t torquing the joint down too long.

"It seems as if you were a w-wr̡it̡e̵r b͞ef̢oŗe ́our world got t-turned inside out howev̡er... How is some gutter cop m-meant to compete with your eloquence?"

Mock insult and duress. Carbine certainly couldn’t keep up on the technical and fancy painted word level as she seemed to be leaning, and to try to do so would be a mistake. He would make a fool of himself, and while he would take it in stride, he chose to instead lean back on the 'poor me, I can't keep up with your skill' approach.

"Th-th̨-ere is̵ o̷nly so much I can say t-to try to make a taser sound en͝tici͟ng... p-perhaps your exper-t-tise can gather more details?"

He would then drape his arm forward towards Sparkplug across the table, leaving his palm up so that the guard on the upper side didn't obscure anything.

Carbine's wrist apparatus seemed to be a double-jointed system. There was the primary hinge where his hand pivoted and could move with standard dexterity, then there seemed to be an additional one mounted beneath it that was locked stationary, partly obscured by a band of metal that acted as a guard. The etched shape of the prongs were barely visible between hand and armor when his wrist was lax, where some odd additional layers were folded over one another snugly. These added layers were thick, sturdy, and looked as though they were not connected to the one above one another, nor related to his weapon.

When activated, his entire wrist and hand would drop down to expose the taser aperture without disabling his ability to grip. He wouldn't have any intricate levels of dexterity, but he could engage his weapon while holding onto something without dropping it entirely. Any cabling or conduits that would feed it seemed to be completely enclosed inside his forearm to protect from damage or tearing.

The taser seemed well hidden.

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug sighed, delighted at the chance to show off the fruits of her work. He certainly seemed interested in the way she’d integrated the gatlings into her slim torso, and her field swirled with playful enjoyment.

“If I let you sweep me off my feet, I’m not sure I’d ever touch the ground again,” she murmured. Still playfully flirtatious, with an undercurrent of truth. She was having fun, she really was, but the whole knife routine still lingered at the back of her mind. Unlike some of the other Autobots she’d met under the truce, who seemed amenable enough that she’d casually chat to them in the middle of nowhere with no witnesses, this guy was fickle and dangerous. Even someone as generally oblivious to social nuance as her couldn’t miss that.

Then the malfunctioning vocoder really reared its head. Nasty glitch. It wasn’t her area of interest though, more medical than frame design, and if he’d had the option to simply swap the vocoder out, presumably he’d have done so ages ago. She chose to ignore it, expecting he’d hardly welcome comments on the glitch, and listened to the words instead. She grinned.

“Not a true lady? Why, sir gentlemech, I do believe you are as perceptive as you are bold,” she replied archly, laying on the towerling accent for a moment. The act was instantly forgotten, however, as he put some pressure on his hand, pulling open a little gap to hint at a built in taser. The whine of the generator spooling up within his chest cavity drew her closer, leaning on the table as she leant forward.

“Ooooh,” she murmured, cocking her helm. “Internal electrical generator, mounted under that thick plating, spooling nice and high... that’s some good amperage, just feel the EM bleed from that! That sure is wreck somebody’s day levels of voltage, I can smell the atmospheric breakdown... nothing like a bit of ozone in an oxy atmosphere.”

A pulse of definite excited interest radiated through her field as he laid his hand on the table, and she took it in both of her slim hands without a second thought, caution and flirting alike tossed aside in the face of her all-consuming curiosity. Leaning down, she inspected the joint, and the band that was preventing it from doing its job.

“So it hinges down, exposes the wrist port, taser slides out- but the hand remains fully functional, it doesn’t restructure out of sight. You grab, then hinge, and shock, without letting go... probably can’t bear as much weight when its hinged down and disengaged from the primary wrist, but still... cable routing goes here... I do like that.”

She looked up at him, leant over the table and resting on her mismatched elbows, still gripping his hand with both of hers. There was an impish light in her large green optics. “Frame designer, before the war. Might have made a good writer, though!”