Misfiring Up The Wrong Tree

[Sentinel Prime]

There was something up in the air, gears nabbit! And flying things just aren't any good. Present company included. Yeah, that's right, Omega Supreme. That's what you get for blowing up.

Carrying his shield with his good arm, his busted arm just lolling listlessly, Sentinel Prime stalks off, to go hunt down... whatever that thing was. His battlemask slips down over his face.

Sentinel Prime is going to need so many showers. There are not enough showers on all of Cybertron to suit his needs.

[Misfire]

There is something in the air! Actually someone!

Yes, Sentinel, it's one of those horrible flying Decepticons. You get an energon goody for noticing.

Misfire banks, intending to make another turn over the group, when his radar picks up the mech splitting off. "Hrm. Looks like the boss might get what he wants," he muses to himself.

The jet jerks between two buildings and then flips to head back the way he came. He drops a bit lower as he passes over Sentinel's head. Maybe Big Blue down there will note that nice Decepticon sigil on Misfire's nose.

[Sentinel Prime]

Agah, that thing just buzzed right over his head!

Sentinel Prime nearly gets whiplash, just trying to follow its path. Sentinel Prime has a deep streak of paranoia in his spark, and he sees traitors in every shadow.

So yeah, he sees that Decepticon sigil. He would have seen it even if it wasn't there.

Sentinel Prime exclaims, "Holy heterodynes!" He would kill for a pair of stasis cuffs right now.

Actually, just having two working arms would be nice.

He transforms to snowplow mode and chases after Misfire, ignoring any traffic rules.

[Misfire]

//Gotta a live one here. Big and blue, Terran alt mode. Has some odd variation of the 'Bot symbol, though.// Misfire comments on the radio, also sending a picture of said odd symbol for reference.

Misfire isn't running, really. He's just jetting along, seemingly ignoring the snowplow running after him. Some pedestrians shout and curse as the snow plow almost runs them down. Well, that's not typical Autobot behavior.

He makes a hard left above a narrow street. There is a large sign with an arrow pointing back the way he came.

It says One Way.

[Sentinel Prime]

If Sentinel Prime sat down to think, he'd realise that a snowplow is never going to chase down a jet.

Override would have trouble chasing down a jet.

A snowplow in a city fill of obstacles is especially never going to chase down a jet who can just fly over all the obstacles.

So if Sentinel Prime thought, he would realise that the only reason he can even mildly keep pace is that the jet wishes him to keep pace.

That's probably a bad thing.

But he's not thinking.

Sentinel Prime thoughtlessly mows down a stoplight - who put that in the way? - and veers down the One Way alley, because Sentinel Prime can't read the local text, and if he could, he still wouldn't.

[Misfire]

Great. Just great. Leave it to him to get a slagging Elite of some sort on his tail. Misfire isn't putting much stock in Oil Slick's nonchalance; you just don't get that kinda title if you don't have some sort of skill.

Look at it on the bright side- if you keep attracting heavy hitters, then they must think you're a threat.

Not helping, Aimless!

Misfire continues to amble ( as best a jet can amble) along above the streets, often making hard and sudden turns, and often into more one way streets. The streets get more and more congested with vehicles and pedestrians as they move toward the brighter lit casino district. Misfire still seems oblivious to the snowplow intent in hot cold pursuit.

A window on one of the upper stories opens and a large figure watches the non-chase with interest. At first, one might think he is chewing on his mustache in nervousness. Except the mustache is really a heavy fringe of tentacles writhing independently, and his cluster of eyes are entirely too focused for him to be actually nervous.

"New players. Wonder if they can afford the ante, or if they'll bust out first hand," he warbles before slamming the window shut. He has interests he needs to protect.

[Sentinel Prime]

Sentinel Prime shouts up at Misfire, "Hey baby! Don't you know who I am? Because we can make this easy on you, or we can make it kinky," wait, he doesn't have the stasis cuffs. Blast! "-or we can make it real, real hard."

By now, there is a police car after him, more because he doesn't have the right tags than his abysmal driving abilities.

Sentinel Prime ignores Springer's advice over the radio, because that's all he considers it to be: advice.

[Misfire]

Did...that Autobot just call him "baby?" Misfire didn't think snarky flirting with the enemy was acceptable in the Autobot ranks.

Yes....y-yessss he...he did. "Hahahahaahahahaha!"

Good thing Aimless was riding in the cockpit instead of up top, because he certainly would have transformed and rolled right off Misfire, he's laughing so hard.

Misfire's engine stutter in an approximation of a shudder before he flips sideways to glide through a narrow alley. The alley opens into a busy courtyard at the head of the main casino strip. There's a large fountain in the center with jets colored and coordinated to the blaring music which almost drowns out the din of the crowd.

He circles, then tumbles into a transform, landing lightly on the fountain's edge. He might make a rather pretty picture perched there, with the water spray and lights playing over him. If someone were mistaking him for the wrong gender- maybe even if they weren't.

Misfire clasps his hands behind his back and watches the dancing waters.

He'll know when Sentinel catches up. That's what 360^o radar is for.

[Sentinel Prime]

If Sentinel Prime is doing something acceptable, it is probably because he isn't awake.

The snowplow speeds after Misfire and hit the curb, hard, flipping over. As he flips, Sentinel Prime transforms, gyrating out of control. He is flung through the air and lands at Misfire's feet, the fight knocked out of him for a moment.

He raises one twitching finger and groans, "Just one moment to get myself together, baby, and we can go at this properly."

When the world stops moving.

[Misfire]

Misfire turns and watches Sentinel's stunning display of grace with an almost neutral expression. His lips quirk up a bit in amusement as the supposed elite lands in a pile at his feet. The smile drops, however, when Sentinel again calls him "baby."

A few people are lingering at the courtyard's edges, curious to see what these new guys are about to do.

Primus, but can things really be this easy?

He places one hand on his hip (right over Aimless, it must be mentioned) and shifts his weight slightly off center, trying his best to impersonate that relaxed pose that shows off the body so well, the one Needlenose uses on Spinister so much. As he studies the tips of his fingers, Misfire decides that, while he's not really sure what this guy is thinking, he'll play along.

"Now, firstly, I do not have any idea who you are, other than someone who apparently has a fetish for fliers. Secondly, baby, you're not my type. You fly the wrong flag."

Misfire's voice is rather soft, with a barely-there drawl, a quiet, unassuming voice. Not really a voice to disavow one of the notion that Misfire is female.

[Sentinel Prime]

Sentinel Prime is still on the ground, a bit dazed, but he wags a finger and protests, "An' you'd look better with those symbols off."

Yes, even that symbol down there.

He pushes himself up to his knees with his good arm, and he slaps his chest, proclaiming, "I'm Sentinel Prime of the Elite Guard! And... you're a bit short for a Decepticon." One of his optics narrows even as the other one widens.

[Misfire]

Misfire actually mirrors Sentinel's o.O face for a moment.

"I am of perfectly normal height for most flying Transfomers, letting alone the carriers and combiners. Really, that is not the way to flatter a person, you know, making such a comment."

He waves his hand, "At any rate, I think I look just fine, symbols and all. You certainly weren't complaining when you were staring up at my underside."

"What, can't find an Autobot to give you a good time? Or do you just have a thing for blacklisted goods?"

The police car that was following Sentinel has pulled up, but its occupants aren't getting out just yet.

[Skystrike/Skylar Stringers]

//The Autobot is chatting with you?// Skystrike sounds amused. The seeker was little more than a speck in the sky, flying on her side to keep the city lights from reflecting on her wings.

[Sentinel Prime]

Sentinel Prime was a snowplow. Now he is a robot. He is, unwittingly, a robot in disguise. Will have to see if that flies with the cops!

As it is, he hauls himself up to sit down heavily on the rim of the fountain, next to Misfire. Sentinel Prime looks up at Misfire thoughtfully, and he finally comments, "You Decepticons got here awful fast."

Fast as gossip.

If he only had some stasis cuffs, this would be easy as energon pie. The Decepticon's right there! But Sentinel Prime doesn't have stasis cuffs.

He hired Lockdown, though, didn't he? Maybe he can just keep this Decepticon talking until someone who can contain the Decepticon shows up.

[Misfire]

//Apparently.// Misfire replies dryly. //Care to come down and see if he's picky, or if it's just any old flier he likes?//

Because Misfire still doesn't get that Sentinel Prime thinks he's a female. He didn't even know females existed until recently!

When Sentinel moves to sit down, Misfire activates his anti-gravs and moves out of reach. The jet floats over to hover in front of Sentinel, again, just out of easy reach.

Misfire crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs, "I'm a jet. I only have one speed and that's zoom. Besides, I was already here." He snorts, "They say you Elite Guard guys are something special in your reality, but you don't look like much. But then, what should I expect outta a reality that treats Prime as a rank and file title?"

One of the cops, a female, fairly humanoid looking individual in typical uniform has gotten out of the car and is taking a statement from a very irate alien who is literally foaming at the mouth as he (she, it?) points with tentacles toward a awning which has obviously been knocked down by a lampost and then at Sentinel Prime. The other burly cop, clad in trenchcoat and fedora, is just standing behind his door, one arm propped on the car window frame. He's chewing on a toothpick.