Magnus has to understand, I'm just not cut out for desk work! Just let me on the front lines, I'll prove I can handle it!
RP/Mun Information Headcanons
Not like I got anything else to do at the desk...
Heyheyhey! Don't make more work for me than you have to!
((Independent TFA RP blog for Cliffjumper. Set after Shockwave attacks Magnus. I'm always up for any RP requests. SFW; don't like, don't follow. M!A: accepting. Status: backlogged due to a flier registration initiative.))
It is with incredible distaste that Cliffjumper answered, “That’s how Magnus stood on the brink of the Well. The mech who, ah, formerly held this position was responsible. A Shockwave, although not the scientist you may be familiar with.” The red Autobot is recording this slagging conversation. One solar cycle, the Magnus is going to find a stack of documented statements from mechs of all models and factions, explaining just why Cliffjumper deserves, nay, needs an upgrade.
And Skywarp had better not be planning anything of the sort. They’re wise to Decepticon ways.
He sputtered, catching himself after a klik. Keep it to himself, when letting another mech know of the unauthorized munitions would mean losing them? Nodding his helm just a fraction deeper than is warranted by their respective ranks, “If there is something I can do for you in return, just let me know.” Shattered Decepticons were quite fascinating to work with. Such a pity that he didn’t know more of them. He’d have to check with an Autobot scientist once they’re installed, just for confirmation. Maybe Wheeljack, or Perceptor. It would need to be somemech he trusts not to go running off to Magnus. “Then you should stay as far away from the Decepticons of my universe as you can; Megatron is as much of a tyrant as your Optimus, although perhaps less insane.”
Skywarp wasn’t even going to try to defuse the trigger that was Shockwave. He knew when leave things well enough alone, and that seemed to be one of those things. So onward he would go. Actually, now that he thought about it, he probably should have asked something, offered some reassurance, but he’d been quiet for a bit too long now and it would be awkward. That was the last thing he wanted.
So, he’d just offer the closest thing to a smile that he could. “You owe me nothing. It would be an honor to offer assistance to someone who desperately needs it. Just use what I give you for protection, not violence,” he replied quietly, shifting in his spot. “I don’t ask for much, but I am offering you this chance so that you are well protected. With a war, or even the aftermath, it is simply too dangerous.”
He frowned slightly, thinking for a moment. “Is there something that you would like? As in an acidic blaster? Or possibly something along the line of a blade?”
Any form of reassurance would have still felt awkward, but this way Cliffjumper knew there was a possibility Skywarp didn’t feel the need to offer sympathy for something he couldn’t fully understand.
“All the same, if you ever do need something, I am willing to help.” How was protection different from violence? Honest self-defense could be violent, unless the Seeker meant the type of violence just out of spite.
Acid? Sounded messy. He needed a weapon he could use in his office without ruining absolutely everything. “A blade would be best,” the Prime replied, “and some modification such as an energy current would really help.” A simple blade would just be a matter of strength and determination, something Cliffjumper had in droves. He only lacked a weapon strong enough.
jazzthemeister started following you‘Grunt’. Even if from completely different streams, two Jazzes would be a processor-ache to any commanding officer. “What’re you doing here, Jazz? Nostalgic for an intact Cybertron?”
He gives a lazy grin, but it’s hiding the pain of that jab. Of course he missed it, who didn’t? “Nah, m’mech, just wanted to see your fine faceplates and drop off a few pads for ya.” At least that was where the pads were supposed to go, supposedly. He’d never bothered volunteering to deliver this stack personally before. He shrugged, doors rolling with the motion before finally admitting he wasn’t entirely sure - but had a good guess about who the mech was.
Just like a Jazz to smile everything off. He could be as hard to figure out as a Decepticon at times. Cliffjumper chuckled, “Spare your flattery for some mech who needs it, Jazz.” Grinning wryly, he shook his helm. “You weren’t even sure who I was and already with the compliments. Cliffjumper Prime, actually. Head of Fortress Maximus Intelligence Department.”
iamamedicnotawarrior entered your office
“First Aid!” Cliffjumper smiled warmly. “I’m familiar with your counterpart. How has your work been going lately?”
First Aid instantly went from awkwardly peering through the door to speeding over to Cliffjumper’s desk, skidding to a stop when he was close to colliding with it. He swayed slightly but managed to keep his balance.
“I apologize for intruding like this, but I am just curious of this world and the things it could offer. My work has…” he paused and glanced down, frowning slightly behind his mask. Could he tell? No, of course not! “has been excellent, if not a bit slow as of late. Hence why I’m here.”
He glanced at the seat across from the desk, behind his crimson and white frame. “Uhm, do you mind if I stay? Just for a little while. I’ll-I’ll help around the office and won’t make a mess.”
Cliffjumper blinked, surprised by First Aid’s dash. He set down his datapad and nodded welcomingly at the mech. “You’re hardly intruding.” Excellent but slow? The Intel Head felt a flicker of suspicion, but filed it away, just in case it was merely a universal difference. “I…don’t mind. A little help would be appreciated.” And maybe then he could figure out why the medic seemed to jumpy.
swoopflyhigh entered your office
He’d mentioned the flier because Powerglide seemed to be a little lonely. While outgoing, he wasn’t quite as…exuberant as the Twins. Cliffjumper hoped the two would get along, for both of their sakes. ‘Glide had become rather moody of late, sending the scientists into a panic; they were better with data, rather than mech-to-mech interactions.
Wincing, he glanced a bit sheepishly at Skyfire. “It’s not…quite over yet.” Should he mention Megatron’s escape? No. Only the Intel Department and the Guard was cleared to know that. “Far too many Decepticons are willing to accept that they lost, that Megatron had been defeated. Until the fighting is over, the war is not.” Cliffjumper frowned, “This is classified information, mind you, but in light of the multiverse discovery, the Council has been considering some sort of application to fliers. It’s still up for debate whether Decepticons will be eligible, but it’s a work in progress.”
Well, if that was the case, Skyfire would be more than willing to hang out with the other mech. While his own Powerglide had been nothing short of insufferable sometimes, airframes needed to stick together. And maybe he could help the other mech out. If he had been rebuilt as an aerial from scratch, there were probably a lot of things both mental and physical hampering his ability to do any real flying.
“So I see.” He sighed, looking into his energon ration. That explained some of the hostility, anyway. “Aerial applications?” He couldn’t help the wrinkling of his nose at that. It sounded utterly distasteful, to be permitted to fly only by the whims of a group of ground-bound mechs. “What harm would come in permitting aerials to simply… fly? It isn’t as if the majority of Cybertron is armed, and those that are are likely to to attack any air frames, regardless if they are carrying a permit or not.”
Powerglide would very likely enjoy that. Not only was he a reformatted flier, but he wasn’t the largest of mechs. Coupled with a rather erratic nature even before the upgrade, most found him a bit strange. The poor red Autobot was lonely, not feeling comfortable around the twins. Being with a confident -and much taller- flier should help stabilize his mental state.
Cliffjumper nodded back. “It sounds worse than it is. The only fliers that originate in this timeline are Decepticons or hostile rogues and very few of them can’t fly. One of Cybertron’s defenses are anti-aircraft turrets. The only objects in the airspace that won’t be shot at have to have their data programmed into their tracking system.” Glancing up at Skyfire, he rolled one shoulderplate in a shrug. “It’s still too dangerous to completely shut off the turrets -the safety of the many outweighs the minor comfort of the few- but it is unfair to punish peaceful fliers from other timelines.” He grimaced, an absolutely ugly expression. “Since suggesting the idea, I’ve learned of other timelines where such things were used to track down and discriminate against certain types of mechs.” How could the Council ever do such a thing? Not even the Decepticons of his universe would stoop to such a thing. They weren’t cruel just for the sake of cruelty, but had no scruples when it came to their own interests.
Perceptor looked up from the small stack of datapads held between his hands, stepping further into the office before speaking.
“Wheeljack is presently indisposed. No information of proper procedure for delivery of reports was given, Is this incorrect?”
Somewhat over the strangeness of Perceptor’s speech and mannerisms as a result of being on the Council with him, Cliffjumper nodded. “There is no formal process. If you have an intern or some such, it is perfectly acceptable to send him or her over with the data.” Slaggit, he always wound up mimicking the mech’s formal phrasing. “Provided you send them promptly,” he allowed a small frown on his faceplate, “I have no objections.” That…is a disappointingly small stack.
“As I stated, Wheeljack was unable to make the trip so I was required to do so.”
Perceptor placed the data pads on the edge of the desk, taking in the frown on Cliffjumper’s face and following it, looking down at his measly offering. “Then they are late? I was unaware they came with a date.” or had been bothered to search for such a thing, much less any additional reports to be turned in. His current project was not going as planned and he had simply grabbed the nearest semi-completed reports to bring down.
“Unable?” Cliffjumper looked concerned. “Did he blow himself up again?” He hoped the blast hadn’t harmed Skyfire; what a way to welcome a mech to a different time-stream.
“Not really. None of the reports I know about had an actual date, I’ve just been waiting quite awhile for them to arrive.” Whether the inventory had caused an explosion or not, it sounded like they could use another worker. “Was the rest of your department quite busy?” The Prime should be able to reassign a mech or two. “I’m sure you have far more important projects to be wasted running simple errands.”
Wheeljack shook his head. “Cliff, if a crew of Wreckers can make it without blowing it up, I think you’ll be fine. I’ll let you know if you’re still alive in the morning.” He grins and chuckles.
He raised an optic ridge at the mech before downing the cube now in his servo. “Yeah, cube for cube, if you think you can take it.” He sets the empty cube aside with a dull click, giving out a harsh rev with a small smile. Yes, someone missed having a companion for the occasional drinking bout, and tonight was going to be more than he normally went for.
The red mech scowled; he hadn’t blown anything up since he was a youngling. “Just because it’s stable doesn’t mean it’s anything approaching quality ‘grade.” His own attempts could almost be used as glitch-mice poison; he’d considered it several times.
Knowing he would likely regret this the next few solar cycles, Cliffjumper reached for the cube anyways. “You might want to call your Wrecker buddies to come haul you home when I’m done,” he taunted, chugging the cube and setting it next to Wheeljack’s. “There’s no way you’d make it out under your own power.”
“Come on, you’ve got to be better at it than that,” he teases, shrugging. Still, he’d tell the mech how to pull it off and probably try out he fist batch with him to make sure it turned out alright.
“You think you’re gonna out-drink me?” He snorts in amusement before downing another cube. He wasn’t gonna comm Bulk to pick him up unless he got really bad, and he doubted he was going to get fall-down overcharged. Maybe a little wobbly, but nothing that extreme. He sets the empty cube on top of his first, leaning back in his chair and studying Cliffjumper.
“Just because you’re a Wrecker, does that make you a circuit-su level master of poisons?” Cliffjumper was tired of having mechs tell him that it was ‘easy’, or that he wasn’t trying hard enough. ‘Grade was slagging difficult to make and a mech had to be careful about the strength of it.
The Prime shrugged back with a grin. “Maybe not, but I can at least get you drunk off your pedes.” Smaller mechs tended to have lower tolerances, but the fuel efficient models, such as the frame Cliffjumper shared with Carrera, could handle their Energon pretty well. He slowly reached for the next cube, moving slowly and deliberately to counteract the slight fuzziness in his vision. Knocking over the cube would give away his current level of intoxication.