We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
Following Jazz's lead to stow the personal dialogue for now, Cleaver slid a warm smile to the mech. Aloud, she replied to Steve's backplates. "Sure something can be sorted out. It's a bonus, not a necessity, and it can wait." And then, because his poorly masked irritation was starting to irritate her, Cleaver pinged a query glyph. "Has Lord Megatron ordered you to return by a specific time?"
::Got a stable atmospheric water generator running above my ship at the moment. This altitude, the absolute humidity is about the same, if not higher, so getting water for Cat in won't be an issue. And like you say, already bringing in food for her.:: Cleaver quite enjoyed those trips with her holo, in fact. It was quietly satisfying to fetch things to make the young woman's life comfortable, and she'd found interactions with the humans in the shops more pleasant for having a 'granddaughter' to buy for.
As for legalties of human travelling, it honestly hadn't occured to the medic. Centuries of nomadic lifestyle had just made travelling about seem normal, and there didn't seem to be much sense in fretting over Cat's movements to and from a secured and hidded location, on the same planet no less. It wasn't as if immigration control were going to hike up and check on her, and her internet was bounced along the same routes as Cleaver's own datastreams.
Ultimately, and with some uncertainty, Cleaver replied, ::Cat hasn't mentioned it being an issue, and no human organizations on this planet know we're here...::
He was mildly pleased that he was ruining the Neutral's perfectly hospitable mood. Just because all was well in the world of the Neutrals did not mean that he had to accommodate their continued happiness and happy go lucky atmosphere of house-hunters deciding if the liked the flat layout of a habitat suite. He would have been perfectly vile but he didn't have the energy or taste for being a crankshaft so instead he added.
::S'not a huge thing,:: Jazz replied. ::I'm just a paranoid glitch. Your bridge goes down or she gets separated from you here, she wouldn't be able to speak the language and might run into trouble, s'all. Likely not gonna happen, I admit, but just a thought.:: Jazz flipped through a couple thousand links on the Internet. ::At the very least, I'd make sure she's got a passport. If she doesn't want to get one legally, let me know, and I can get her a good fake.::
Jazz, unlike Cleaver, was amused at ER0-404's irritation. It was a sign of something new and interesting in the Eradicons. Not, perhaps, good news for the Autobots, as the complete lack of imagination among the drones had saved many an Autobot's tailpipe, but interesting nonetheless. He couldn't resist poking at it. "He's right," he said to Cleaver. "Desperate Housewives is on in 10 minutes. Or are you more a Family Guy type of mech, 404? Oops...never mind, they're both repeats this week."
<Jazz is talking out his aft, he's got no idea that Steve even has any idea what he's saying. >
Steve gave the switcher a look that, to a human was perfectly unreadable due to the face, but to a Cybertronian was perfectly paint-strippingly lethal in EMF. While it was true that Desperate Housewives was on in ten minutes and true that the reruns were nothing he’d be missing, he would have missed them anyway just because no one had been in the mood to watch much TV lately. Even on their downshifts the Vehicons had been gathering in clutches together or sticking to their drone brothers in fours and fives, trying to mask their non-sentience in their own lest Megatron target them.
He didn’t say anything, just turned away after he’d made his displeasure clear and glowered at the wall.
Cleaver flickered her optics at the baiting, suppressing her exasperation against a growing note of pity for Steve. He seemed genuinely unhappy and keen to get away beneath the barely-concealed disdain for being here, and she wondered just what life was like for the Eradicons on the Nemesis now. Certainly dealing regularly with Megatron as he'd appeared to her (unstable, malicious and downright unsettling) on a daily basis couldn't make for a comfortable life.
::I'm happy with the look of things, and you seem more than capable of helping with anything else we could run into. Security was my main concern, and structurally the place is sound. I'd like to let him off the hook if you're quite done batting at him?::
Well. That was paintblistering. Bit more than I expected, really. Someone's in a bad mood. More'n just bein' made to play tourguide to us, s'my guess. Interesting. Not all rainbows and kittens on the Nemesis. Go figure.
Jazz settled peaceably back, knowing enough to add some slightly abashed glyphs to his ::Yes, ma'am. Done poking the 'Con now. Sorry.::
::No worries. I guess it must be tempting as Pit to at least prod when you can't fight outright,:: Cleaver remarked, her features unreadable.
"Thank you, ER0-404 - you've been of great help, but I think we can take it from here." She sent the Eradicon a scattering of glyphs of gratitude, apology and welcome in future. The old femme came to a halt when their guide did, the tips of her blades skimming the raised edges of the uneven ground. "I wouldn't want to keep you from your own affairs unnecessarily."
Steve only pinged the briefest glyph of affirmative/understood and departed from the premises. He sent Airachnid a location glyph and general data pack for what he was doing - she always did her own thing, even as an officer - and called a ground bridge once he'd exited the mine. The air sparked hot in front of him, then spun open in a tunnel to the Nemesis and already he could feel the hum of anxiety, the muted turn of the nightmare engines of the massive ship, his cohort still afraid.
Damn the Autobots and the Neutrals, for affording themselves mercy, for being soft-plates and weak-sparks. He hated them. He was jealous of them. He went back to the Nemesis to face his duty and deal with it all. Because Eradicons had always been sparked to a bad function and doomed trajectory... but they'd been built to overcome, through trial, their limitations.
I don't need mercy, he thought and the groundbridge closed behind him.
Jazz whistled lowly once the Eradicon had left. "You'd think he didn't like us! And after we'd done nothin' but be friendly!" He cocked his head at Cleaver, smiling. "Too much? ...too much. Right."
He bowed passably in apology. "Sorry for misbehavin'. I was just...curious. I've seen that 'Con before. He's not the usual garden-variety drone. Just wanted to see how he'd react. Curiousity and cats, like the humans around here say."
"I'll take your word for it. I definitely wouldn't have put him as a drone, though. Creche-built, definitely, but there's a lot of spark in there," Cleaver thought aloud, optics still fixed on where the Eradicon's retreating back had been.
She nudged Jazz's arm with a blade, offering a reassuring half-smile. "Not gonna gripe for you needling him, anyhow. Would truly be glitched if I thought Bots and Cons wouldn't take verbal pot shots at each other, even in a DMZ."
Jazz chuckled. "Oh, trash talking the other side and not getting killed for it's half the FUN of DMZ's." He looked back the direction "Steve" had disappeared. "I just kinda got the feeling I was kickin' a youngling, s'all."
Which is less far from the truth than it might be, he thought.
Jazz shrugged, spreading his hands as they started moving again. "When I was a 'Con, I noticed that oddness starting to creep into some of the Eradicons. Like 404 there: getting personality, likes, dislikes...awareness. Different from the drones that look just like 'em. I was kinda glad to see 404 still functional. Wasn't ever sure how the high command'd take their drones gaining sentience. Megs likes his rank and file obedient and without that pesky sense of self-preservation, after all."
"Megatron was always an advocate of mecha thinking for themselves, though. Having some say over their own lives," Cleaver replied quietly, processor turned back to those painfully distant years when a gladiator rallied thousands in a fight against injustice, tyranny and outright slavery of the lower caste. She's supported him then. A lot of Cybertronians had before he'd turned everyone who wasn't a supporter into an enemy in his mind and set out to obliterate their homeworld.
She gave the smaller mech a sidelong look, her tone that of a gentle inquiry that held an invitation to be turned down as part of it. "Former Con, hn? Bet you've got some stories."
Yeah, MEGATRONUS was big on personal freedom. Wonder what happened to that guy.... Jazz didn't say it, though. It was an old sore spot with him and poking at faction issues in Cleaver's Neutral-with-a-big-N space was not the way to make a good impression, especially when he knew nothing about her own background.
He did, though, think it was interesting that the femme was defending (however tactfully and truthfully) Megatron. He couldn't tell if it was the Neutral tendency to be...well...NEUTRAL, or if there was something more personal involved. He filed it away for possible poking at later. Open friendly communications with 'Hide's girlfriend first, Jazz. Ask awkward questions later.
Jazz smiled. "Oh, femme, I have ALL the stories, no doubt about that." He bumped Cleaver's shoulder gently, field awash with friendliness-openness-reassurance, still getting the feeling that Cleaver was unsure. He couldn't tell if it was unsure of her welcome or just unsure of how to deal with him. He was the first of their cohort she'd met. Perhaps the first Autobot she'd had to deal with in this particular way in a long while. Besides Ironhide, of course, but that was different. Just a bit.
"And yeah, former 'Con. Don't usually go spreading it around, just because with the Autobots that can open a can of needless suspicion depending on the mecha, but it's no secret. Was with the 'Cons from the beginning, practically, then...realized one day they weren't going where I wanted to go. Switching was...uh...an ADVENTURE." He grinned at Cleaver. "Met Ironhide real early in my defection. Universe's most intimidating slagger to have scowling at you across a table."
There was more than one joke there about cohort and bondage fun, but Jazz wisely kept them all to himself.
<<Jazz is thinking that discussion of his own introduction and joining of the cohort might reinforce to Cleaver that no, she is NOT the strangest thing that a cohort member has dragged home and asked to keep (that would be him!), so he's being a bit more open here than he might otherwise be. Feel free to have Cleaver poke at him more about it. >>
"I'll have to take your word for it," Cleaver replied, matching Jazz's grin with about half the wattage. She gladly took the thread of reassurance and acceptance that he was holding out to her, not realizing that she'd been anxious for it until it was there, offered with relaxed charm and easy friendliness. The medic couldn't remember that last time she'd needed anyone for anything, or how enjoyable easy and mutual longwave was.
If she started turning codependent, it would be Ironhide's fault. And she would slag him royally for it.
"Biased experience, I know, but I don't get 'intimidating' from Ironhide. Protective and willfull, yes, but I had him digging a hole for me within thirty klicks of meeting him. Either a femme's touch or manufacturing date-stamp." She gave the infiltrator a sidelong smile, guiding their pedes back towards the main atrium to begin tracking down the others. Not too quickly, though. She was enjoying having Jazz to herself.
"Digging a...pffffft...." Jazz doubled over a bit with quiet laughter. Jazz could see it perfectly. It wasn't as if Ironhide was PREDICTABLE or anything. "Y...yeah, Chromia had Ironhide trained long before I got there, and I've never gotten the impression that there was a whole lot of training needed, y'know?"
He grinned as they sauntered down the passage. "Femme's touch, manufacturing date, and pure Ironhide spark-trait're my guesses for what happened there. But see, you had the added bonus of being an unknown that, I imagine, quickly proved itself harmless." He turned to walk backwards, spreading his arms. "I didn't quite have that luxury. Wasn't unknown, and sure as Pit wasn't harmless."
Jazz's smile turned wry. "Walked through a dozen layers of security easy as you please and all but knocked on Iacon's front door to turn myself in. That went over about as well as you'd expect. They knew who I was, and I had a record longer'n Prime's arms already. Not a nice mech by any means. Ended up in a teeny tiny little room, locked to the chair, waitin' for someone to talk to me, and then in comes this big red mech, growling and weapons charged and reaaaal unhappy with me 'n the 'Cons 'n life in general."
Jazz smiled, fondly. He'd several times joked to Autobots in all honesty that one of the first things Hide'd done was slam a table into his face and threaten to kill him, but...Neutral. And one of the few mecha in the universe who DIDN'T see 'Hide as just the walking cannon. Jazz kept that joke to himself. "The room was barely bigger'n he was, same with me'n his cannons. So yeah, just a TOUCH intimidating...."