Chase

Barricade is doing what he usually does - assessing new recruits and putting the fear of the pit into them. Towering over most of the new fighters, he paces back and forth like a drill sergeant, hands clasped behind his back, his imposing black frame casting a shadow over the miners, empties, cops, soldiers - even the big mechs are a little unnerved due to 'Cade's reputation.
"You sorry bunch of rust-suckin' slaggers," he grumbles, sounding disappointed. His voice is deep, sharp and stern, carrying a menace all its own. A blue bird-type minicon is perched on one of his shoulders, while a short distance away, a blue panthress is grooming herself.
"You -sorry- bunch, of -rust-sucking-, SLAGGERS," Barricade snarls as he whirls on them, magenta-red optics intense, sharp dental plates showing. "What makes you think you're gonna last ONE MOMENT in the pits?!"
It's hard to come down out of the skies most days, yet Slipstream finds her reasons to do so. One of those reasons, as of late, is the loud cop-bot that is currently dressing down several obviously weaker minded drones. When the Seekers first were able to come to The Forge, Slips was loathe to do so, to be muddled up with the riffraff she saw them. There was no one that really demonstrated potential and, still, she hsn't had the pleasure of running into the one mech she keeps hoping to find - Megatron. Yet, over time in her visits there is somebot that has caught her attention, one that is devote in beliefs (at least from what she can see) and uses words of addictive conviction. So... Cade's private fanfemme is back. Slipstream lounges against a railing of an overlooking balcony, watching and listening to how he handles those he must feel some urge to waste effort on. Slips isn't sure she could, but it's interesting to see Barricade to do so.
So far she's never approached him or really made herself known. However, she has a purpose to now - a plan that could benefit from his guidance. For the moment she'll wait for Cade to finish with the day's 'lesson' before she visits with him. For the moment she's making no effort to hide herself or the fact that she is so blantantly staring at him.
He continues dressing them down for several minutes, pointing out flaws, mocking them, pitilessly berating their every weakness. Some are obviously afraid and end up running; some regard him with arrogance - they're too good for this; they slip away, never to return. The ones that remain have a steel about them, a perserverance, a dedication to the ideals of the cause birthed here. Those few stay.
Getting their assignments and match information, those strong enough to remain mingle out through the hall, while the stern officer goes away from the rest, to his own table, going over the records and day to day business of the Forge. He all but runs the place now, freeing Megatron's hands to turn towards more important things.
... which is exactly why Slipstream has come to see you. She's known to be Starscream's messenger so it would be no surprise to see her here, or to be seen approaching Barricade. When there's no need to hide, Slipstream is all for flaunting herself. She flies down from the balcony to make a noticeable landing that she extends to an optic-catching stretch as she gets to her feet and spreads her wings. Very dramatically she turns to Barricade's direction and saunters every single step of the way over to his table.
"You must be in a good mood," she smiles as she welcomes herself to Cade's table and calls for attention away from his work. "It sounded like you went a little easy on them back there," she grins playfully. "I especially when you noted how the giant one with small head resembled an oil can. It made me chuckle." Slips looks away from Cade to another chair at the table. May she? She nods her chin towards the datapad he's so intently attending to. "You might want to consider finding an assistant to handle that thing for you, before it consumes you," she advises. "I'd hate to think of you getting less time on the mean streets of Cybertron to keep us - me - safe." Oh yes, she smiles.
Garboil regards Slipstream with great caution and suspicion, none of which actually shows on his fixed avian face. Howlback pads over from the corner and hops up to a seat next to Barricade, watching Slipstream too. Cade himself looks up from his datapad to Slipstream and eeeevery so slightly smiles. Just a little, out of the corner of his mouth.
"My days in the Iacon PD are over, ma'am," he says calmly. "I do this job because it's -my- way of protectin' and servin' those that come here t' do the right thing an' fight for equality. You think I'd trust someone like Swindle t' handle the books? Or Motormaster t' put together the matches? Clench'd have us all bound, gagged and tossed into a smelter before we could change forms."
He sits up a bit, observing the flying female flier. A few unmentionable thoughts cross his mind, but when it comes to Slipstream that's probably the normal reaction in a mech. "So what can I do for ya?"
"I was not aware that your sense of duty was bound to an oath to an institution. I took you as more of a personal touch kind of mech." Slipstream takes the question as an invitation and slides into a seat - careful of the wings, and thus leans forward to accommodate them. She turns her attention to Howlback as she reaches out in an effort to pet the kitty. Because, why not? Plus, if she remains calm and lets Cade's guardians get a sense of her, they're more apt to let her stay.
"Many things, oh, a great many things," she winks playfully at Cade as she turns her gaze back to him. "Several of which I wouldn't dare to bring up publicly." Slips quirks a smile her, one that is not as subtle as Barricade's and far more openly wickedly minded. "No, I would not trust someone like Swindle, most definitely not. Motormaster? Please. I do trust you though, Barricade." She leans forward ever so slightly more, closer still. "I was hoping that you could provide me with a name. Or two. You see more mechs than anyone and have such a keen eye for their ... aptitude," she smiles. "I am hoping to find a big, strong bot capable of some... heavy lifting... that I fear I am far, far too delicate for. You could point me in the proper direction."
Howlback swipes at Slipstream's hand with small but sharp claws. "You arrogant high caste!" the fembot growls. "How -dare- you treat me as if I am some - some /pet/!" Oh she's far more than just a kitty; she is a highly intelligent woman who is probably every bit as manipulative and cunning as Slipstream.
"Easy," Barricade soothes, putting his hand on Howlback's shoulder. "She's probably never been around a minicon that wasn't a data slug." He looks back to Slip. "Everyone here is equal. Might not be that way in Vos, but around here, nobody's anybody's servant or pet." He smirks. "Unless they work that sorta scrap out among themselves."
Slipstream allows her hand to be hit as it's important to show Howlback that - well, she did hit her mark. Sh was on target. Slips withdraws her wounded hand in a clutch to her chest and yet looks... apologetic for it. "I'm sorry," she admits openly as she looks at Howlback. "I didn't mean any offense though... I didn't think," she fumbles. "I merely meant to make a greeting not... well, what I did." Perhaps if she shows Howlback how she won then Slips might be more able to win the catbot over.
Slipstream then nods to Barricade. "Minicons are not common in Vos." They'd have to be able to keep up with jets afterall. "Perhaps, since we are all equal," she looks backt o Howlback, "I can show you my experience. I could sho wyou Vos and you could show me where and what is done wrong. Open my optics. I am not Commander Starscream, but I can have his audios." She offers a small, hopeful smile.
"I haff been to Vos. /Underneath/," Howlback retorts. "As a police officer I haff been many places on Cybertron, and haff met frames of all types. Exposure helps equality." There is a little smile on the cat's face. Not a Cheshire one. "Dat is why I reacted as I did; see? You haff already learned a lesson; beastframe minicons are not beink sub-mechanoid. When you make dat mistake, you get claws." She flicks her tail.
Garboil chuckles from his perch. "Between Barricade, Howlback and myself, we're a bit of a school of hard knocks, aren't we? My feline companion is very fond of administering the repercussions for one's actions. She believes that the best way to learn is to let a newcomer run into a few walls while they learn to fly. Pain engages the learning mechanisms." He bobs his head. "I apologize if you were harmed, my dear; if you desire repairs I can see to it you have them. It wouldn't do well to send one of Lord Starscream's delegates home in worse condition than she arrived."
Barricade takes the middle road. "So what's a pretty flier like you doin' in a place like this? You plan on fightin' in the matches? Shame t' see that frame get banged up, but if that's what you want, I'll get you started."
"Scars are earned. They serve as reminders." Slipstream holds up her clawed hand to show off her marks. "I can see that they are tended to, when I have properly reflected on my errors." She herself looks down to it as if in reflection. "My offer extends to you both. I could bring you to Vos, see things from ... the other side. Vos above the surface is an entirely different city. Those that fly far above it could also do with having their eyes opened. If you'd both allow me, there is an educational opportunity for those of my caste. Perhaps if more optics were opened there would be an even greater support, a public one, from Vos."
Slipstream looks up from her hand to Barricade. "I am honored that you think I could hold my own in there. No, I am far too delicate for such... roughhousing. My pursuits are elsewhere, and my interests typically are beyond the pits. Cybertron is vast and there is much that might seek to plague it, from within," she nods her chin towards Garboil and Howlback, "And from beyond." Once more she leans forward. "We have blinded opened our gates once again to ... foreign interests. I would wish to know if their words can be trusted."
"If you're talking about colonists, I'd say judge 'em by their character," Barricade states. He comes across very salt-of-the-planet; he says what he means and means what he says when he's not dealing with someone on a professional or ideological level. It probably helps that Slipstream is good looking in his optics. He has manners. "As for other threats? We gotta clean up our messes down here before we worry too much about the Council's slag."
"Fighting a battle on two fronts is usually tactical suicide," Garboil agrees. "When we've freed ourselves from the chains of caste and corruption, we can then more effectively deal with exterior threats."
Howlback is content to just observe Slipstream for the time being, judging her silently against the feline's own set of standards.
Slipstream is quiet for a moment as she considers her response. There's not a way for her to really reveal the source for her ... doubts ... without revealing too muhc about herself. "We were deceived as a planet once - and look where that has lead us. I am not certain they have revealed enough of their character to yet know how they should be judged. I am... suspicious, to say the least." She sits back a little, still very mindful of those wings. "Perhaps you can do me a kindness and alert me to others that might share my suspicions, of those that you weed out," she looks over her shoulder to where the berating was done. "You are our first line of defense, our greatest. Being the gatekeeper," she smiles thankfully. "There is no need you should have to exert effort on every potential threat."
Here she looks to Garboil and looks saddened. "Our enemies would aim to strike when we are weakest, as that is when we are most vulnerable. Should we cast off one oppressive boot only to be squashed under another?" She thinks not. 
"My suspicious could well be unfounded, my fears naive. My optics have already begun to be opened to a great many injustices that those of us on Cybertron have been forced to live with, unfairly. I am aware that my caste has afforded me ignorance, but now that is a luxury I no longer wish to maintain. Or hide behind. History is often a pattern that repeats itself and now, for the first time, we have a change - the power - t o break that cycle bcause we are just in our convictions, righteous in our needs. I... I would hate to have an outsider prey upon that."
"It's a reasonable worry, ma'am," Barricade says. "But we're in protoform here. If we had a full scale assault from some exoplanetary force, we'd have t' join in with the military to do somethin' about it." At least he would. "Right now? We're just focusin' on what we -can- do. We can't sit around bein' paralyzed worryin' about what may or may not happen in the future. We gotta get a grip on what we can right here, right now."
Slipstream does hate to be told 'no' ... yet, she has held audience this long, so that's promising. She nods politely as she answered. "Please, then if it's not too much, do keep a watch for sympathic ear? For me?" She lays a hand on the table and slides it forward a little as if reaching out for that last grasp of hope. It's really not much, to do that little, right? "The here, the now; you're right. Like in Vos?" She looks to Howlback and Garboil to see if they will take her up on her offer? "Aside from stepping into a pit, is there something *I* can do?" She looks directly to Barricade here, holding that as she smiles slightly. "Something you might have use of me?"
There are so many things that go through Barricade's head right there at that last statement and none of them that he'd feel comfortable verbalizing aloud. He converts it to a zip file and stores it. Business before pleasure, 'Cade. "I'll keep my optics open for any exterior threats, but as for what you can do here - well, what is it you -do-? You got any skills?"
Garboil is studying Slipstream as well, amused half as much by her wheedling as by the discomfort he knows it's bringing his carrier. "Slipstream, was it?" he asks. "What is it exactly you're getting on about? You play the damsel in distress card very well, but I think I need a bit more solid information before I can fully surrender myself to your considerable charms."
Howlback rolls her optics and hops to the floor, padding away to let the boys play with their new toy.
Slipstream watches Howlback scamper off, sure to reclutch her hand to her chestplate as she does. It also buys her a moment to think about what she should say next. She wants to answer Cade wth 'survival' but she doubts that is the kind of skill he wants to hear about. How she has hid among them for centuries, adapting... maybe even coming to believe in this world and the cause that is developing on it. "I believe," she answers without looking away from Howlback's retreat. She's pretty sure he'll know to what she means by that.
Slipstream looks to Garboil and smiles faintly. "Yes, it is Slipstream," or at least it has been for a long enough time. This is a smart bird, enough to cause her to play her hand earlier than she expected. "Every hero needs a damsel to rescue, right?" She applies a smooth, slight smirk at that. Is it all an act? There's bound to be some truth in her act, as she hardly looks to be built for power. Yet, she clearly hs the wits to not reveal all of her weaponry. "What exactly am I doing here?" Another pause. She settles her crimson optics on Cade. "I truly am fearful of the Camiens, both in what they represent and the threat they could pose. They are here for a reason and their source is we should be suspect of. I... I would wish to know who my allies are, or could be. I wish to find security, sanctuary even. Starscream's ambition is about to know no bounds and the mech I feel the most loyality to I have never met, having been only ever stirred by his words. Troubling times are ahead for us and too much is uncertain."
Barricade looks intrigued - well, so much as it can show on his face. His face always looks stern and dour at its baseline, so intrigued gives him almost a 'confused bull' look. "Camiens?" he asks. He didn't think of them as all that dangerous, but he wants to hear what this fembot has to say. "I thought they were all pacifists."
"You have heard of the titans?" Slips gives a moment, yet doesn't allow too much before she goes into the story she wants to tell. "Lore, lore that lingers especially, does so for a reason. They are beings of immense power, correct? Why have so many of them shown up on Cybertron? Just to visit?" Slipstream scoffs at the gross naivety of that thought. "Stranded? Perhaps but... they are more attuned to their titan than we on Cybertron are. I hear they even arrived with a cityspeaker... and they are mostly aligned with those authoritative autobots. If they were to have the might of titans on their side..." She leans forward and... this could be a ploy, sure, but there is true fear on her face as she shares this. "What Megatron says is too important to be smashed, too valuable to be stuffed out or stepped upon. He's *right* and.... many of us, much of Cybertron, might never get the chance to hear what he has to say. What we should all hear." Her hands come together. Where she had reached out across the tabletop to Cade, her hand retreats so that she might hold it herself and she looks to them, joined as they are. She should stop there, close it off, not reveal too much but then in Cade... this might be the one other bot she's aware of that believes, openly, as much as she does.
"Cybertron has to be reshaped but not by those that would force it to remain unchanged, to keep it weak, to keep us on our knees. I know my class affords me more luxury than most, that I move uninterrupted, and I am thankful for that. But I know that those that dream of reaching for those heights should be allowed to do so, so that we don't stagnate as a people, that we don't lose as a society for the sake of comfort. We have to be greater, to be better than what we've been." Megatron's message *speaks* to her because it means she doesn't have to be weak, doesn't have to hide, and that others shouldn't have to either. "There are a greater number of enemies in positions of power and authority that would seek to stop such a message before it could come to be known so the efforts to protect it have to be fierce, secret, and swift. They have to be as absolute as the ideals they would protect."
She looks up once more, eyes set on Cade. "Even supporters will seek to overpower that message, seeking to seize on the opportunity to make their own heard. Already, the commander works with the Insecticons towards his own means and Shockwave has gone silent... more enter the pits every day," she looks back to where Barricade had addressed many of them earlier. "More voices crying out to be heard that threaten to overshadow, unless they can be reigned in. Tempered. Forged," she smirks as she looks upward to the structure of this place. "Perhaps I am a damsel after all, one in some measure of distress, too aware for my own good. You asked what I am capable of. I know I am armed with my wits and my spark. I wish to know what I am truly capable of," she finally answers.
Barricade could really care less about titans, metaphysics, religion, old lore or the origin of the colony worlds; a quick assessment of their potential tactical value tells him everything he could want to know, and he leaves it at that. It isn't his job to worry about long-term alliances, power plays among the movers and shakers of the world, or even the grand strategy of the Decepticon's more militant cause. He is a beat cop and a four-wheeler; his nose has always been to the ground and his headlights out in front of him. The vast blue bowl of the sky and all the intricacies of swimming through it might lend a 'big picture' thought process to flying types such as the fembot in front of him, but Barricade's focus is more on the immediate situation around him. In this he is hypervigilant and circumspect as any jet.R
All of that talk and she never really gave him a useful, concrete answer: He can see the weapons on her frame, he knows if she's one of Starscream's coven she'll have skills, but she's dancing around that, pretending to be weak. He fixes his optics on her, Garboil doing likewise, and allows her words to flow and settle, observing her movements, body language and nuance of vocal tone. She sings a pretty song, this little bird, and there is a quick, silent exchange of radio communication between carrier and deployer as they mull over her speech, and the subtext that rests under its verbal skin.
Barricade has little patience anything that appears to be manipulation, and his strut instincts have served him well. He reaches over with one claw-tipped hand to close it ever so gently around both of her own, the size difference allowing him to enfold both of the lady seeker's servos within one set of his talons alone.
His grip becomes uncomfortably tight.
Suddenly he curls over the tabletop like a great black craggy mountain, thrusting his face towards the left side of Slipstream's, his optics burning, his face inscrutable. Garboil flaps off his shoulders and launches himself up to a higher perch on one of the rafters, watching everything playing out below. Barricade's mouth is so close to Slipstream's audioceptor that the heat of his internal systems could warm the metal of her face.
His voice is a low, raspy whisper that reverberates with undercurrents of danger. "I didn't ask for you to recite propaganda," he breathes against her, the growl of his engines powerful under the thick armor of his torso audible at close range. "Why are you here, and what do you /really/ want?"
There is fear. It's far too abundant to contain it all. There is a struggle on Slipstream's face as she seeks to reign it in. She's not accustomed to showing it, perhaps as a function of her duties, in Starscream's court. Maybe it's a function of her caste, to not belittle herself with signs of emotions displayed to those beneath her. Or maybe it's because her life has forced her to self-harden, to create carriers and layers within to hide herself. Slipstream has already weakened several fo them in admitting what she has to Barricade, opening up to a mech unlike she's done in *centuries*. It's not much but still, for her, it's more than she's given anyone since she was abandoned to this world so long ago. Her optics flare, waver and finally narrow as she dares not look from that face.
She should flee. One arm missile and she could disengage... but running would mean she could never come back. The loss would be greater than the gain. Slipstream is tired of losing everything she's fought for, everything she's wanted. She should go and yet, she cannot. She swallows.
"I'm scared."
It's honest, more honest than she has ever been. She doesn't try to hide it right now. For a moment she's quiet, honestly ashamed she met to that. She finally does have to look away though she's not trying to worm out from under Cade's grasp.
Her wings stiffen though as she tries to get a hold on herself. He's dressing her down, testing her, just like he did to those recruits. Slipstream knows she's being judged, but then, she put herself in this position. Without looking up, she broadcasts her specs to Garboil, sharing with him every function about her, every system and component... save for her memory. "I thought you'd be someone who understood," she says then, bitterly, upset that she feels the urge to share that aloud. "It's *not* propaganda. It's *not*." Starscreamer, her commander, the one she has hid in the protection of, gives little more than lipservice. For so long she's been able to hide in relative safety and now... everything feels so dangerous. Maybe she *is* that damsel and in realizing it, she *hates* herself for it.
Manipulation is Starscream's game. Slipstream might have learned something but she's not a player, certainly not on his level. "I want assurance. I came here because I didn't know how else to find it. I didn't know where else to go."
Real information. /That/ is what Barricade wants. He's a lover of truth, but he has a very -particular- way of getting it. No frills, no fluff, no pretty speeches - all he is concerned with, all he deals with, is the base, hard, uncompromising facts. He gives them (hence being given to short statements) and he expect them in return.
Slipstream is indeed being weighed, sifted, judged. Garboil sends the information that Barricade wanted in the first place. He was quite willing to simply help her and place her were she could do the most to further the cause, but he takes her indirect speech and approach as suspicious behavior. He's by nature a suspicious mech.
Her lack of struggle is taken as acquiescence, deference, and it works to soothe the interrogator's raised hackles. He moves his face to meet hers directly, and she can weigh the success of her carefully orchestrated actions in his optics: there's a little change there, a flicker of something that goes from growling beast to mechly interest.
Maybe she's in even -more- danger now.
"I had to be certain," he murmurs, the shadow of a smile curling the corners of his mouth. "There are plenty of bots that come in here, quoting Megatron, sayin' they're with us, an' then you find out a week later they're some Enforcer plant tryin' to feed information back t' headquarters. You're right: Megatron needs t' have his message spread, an' I intend to make sure nobody gets a chance t' silence him."
His gazes uncompromisingly into her eyes, as if trying to catch her and hold her in a trance, straps of fear and menace to tie her down and keep her right in front of him. He can't hide his interest in Slipstream, but he's keeping it tightly under control until he can be certain she's nothing like Starscream. He doesn't like to make himself vulnerable for nothing.
"I know you're scared," he soothes, changing his tone. "I can hear it in your engines. I know it's real. I can -smell- it on you." His grasp on her hands lessens as he brings up one claw tip to rest under her chin. "I like straight forward answers, Slipstream. I'll do you the courtesy of the same. You want someone to look out for you, train you, make you better? I'll take you under my wing, but I'll warn you that it comes with a cost."
Slipstream has dared raise her head above polite social interest until now, seeking to remain hidden in plain sight, well under the protective (and powerful) wing of the Vosian ruler Starscream. She's had cycles upon cycles to lock her vulnerability away but recently, so much as been done to expose that to her that it's troubled her to her spark. Starscream is compelling and that makes him powerful but it also makes him dangerous as Slipstream is aware of how much of a pawn she's allowed herself to become. She dares not look at Barricade even when he softens in his hold and his approach. It's only when he draws her attention up with the touch under her chin that she summons the courage to meet that gaze again.
Panic. Fear. Hatred - at directed at herself. She hates that this is how you must see her. It's how she sees herself right now. Once she was Slipstrike, Strika's most trusted, a ruthless killer and now... she's not become less, but something more, she feels. And she's in danger of losing it all. 
"I had to be careful. Your reputation speaks for you Barricade but, among the Seekers, I have learned to keep an eye on my allies. They are like brothers and sisters, united yet still. I ... I can handle myself." Among the stuff she broadcast to Garboil is her fighting prowess, her more sinister and brutal edge to her abilities. Stealth, skill. Even her cloaking ability. There is just none of the history to detail how she's used it. "I *am* better. I don't want a teacher," at least not from him. Not from Barricade. Now, Megatron on the other hand... "I want someone I can trust. Someone I hope can trust me. Trust me to know I can't share *everything* and yet would know I would never betray that trust." An equal? At least one of sorts. Someone to offer her the sense of security she needs to survive the coming days, a security she offers in equal exchange. "I have my own wings," she tries to muster a bit of a sly smile. She even gives her pretty wings a little flutter for effect. She's taken care of herself for what feels like eons now... though she knows that's not enough. "I'm not a bot to want to be kept." Yet... she softens herself as she maintains her gaze on Barricade. "I would pay any cost for trust. *True* trust."
Barricade releases Slipstream from his hold, standing up fully, smirking. Good enough, he wagers. She's good enough.
"Trust is earned," he says simply, looking up to Garboil as the deployer flies down to light on his right forearm, like a falcon broken to his fist. Turning his attention back to the jet, he continues. "But you'll find it here, if you look for it. If you can't trust your teammates, you don't survive. You pay the same wages as any of us to earn it: You keep secrets when asked, you follow the orders given to you, and you make sure you count the cost before you pledge yourself to this badge."
His intensity towards her cools back to a muted normal. Was it all a test? or was there something more that was missed?
To Slipstrike, that sounds much like the code that her eldest commander once laid out. To Slipstream, that sounds like the most affordable, sensible deal she could possibly hope for. Does she trust her already-teammates, the Seekers? To a point, to a means. Slips craves something more, something more... permanent. She's settled down here on Cybertron, made a life for herself here. That is something worth fighting for. "Maybe the open access to Vos is a way to begin with that earning. Access to what Starscream has built and is building is another," she offers slyly. Barricade said he appreciates directness yet even in private, there are some things that are better left to suggestion. She moves to stand as well, collecting herself in more ways than one. "Surviving is what I do best," she promises. She always finds a way.
One step closer to Megatron.
And... she wasn't prepared for what she found in Barricade. She was hopeful yet still skeptical, yet now... not so much. She dares to think that this meaning was almost... hopeful.
"When I make a pledge, I follow it through to the end. I would expect nothing less."
"All right. You tell me what you want Megatron t' know, I'll take it to the boss," Barricade nods, relaxed. "You got impressive specs. I'm sure he'll wanna meet you in person, too."
He has to admit, she's not a recruit she'd need to teach. Maybe someone to test his mettle against, and certainly someone he would want to take to the mat to find out where her boundaries and limits lie. Yes, he could trust her too, in time; he goes poignantly silent for a few precious moments as he considers that the gathering storm will strike her down. He offered to take her under his wing for a reason.
Slipstream is one to seek shelter, sure. She's hid under Starscream's wings for so very wrong, but that was her choice. Before Cybertron she fended for herself, utterly alone, until she chose to fall in with Strika. When she's ready for shelter, she'll let Barricade know. Until then, she has far too much pride left to accept, at least openly.
This offer gives Slipstream pause and there's a very visible flutter in her presence. Even the mere suggestion that something *she* says could reach Megatron... and he would want to meet *her*? She seizes up for a second. That's not something she thought would be on the table any time soon. "Just... that he is being heard. *Really* heard." That is enough for a difference to someone like Slipstream. She's never been touched by someone else's speeches before, felt such a call to act on her own convictions. 
To take a chance.
With that out of the way, Slips takes another moment to calm herself, and this allows her to slip back into her more comfortable, public persona. "Impressive? Wheels," she teases him, "You only have an idea." She adds a wink, "And I can imagine what ideas you have rattling around in there." She's too curious to admit aloud just how curious she might be about such thoughts. Barricade is... far, far more than she expected. It's causing her re-evaluate so very much about herself. "I can't blame you for wanting to check me out."
Barricade does his level best to maintain a perfect poker face when Slipstream calls him 'wheel's and states openly that he was checking her out. Well, he -was- but still--! His engine revs up a few cycles like a thoroughbred waiting in the stalls for the starter gun to go off.
Garboil gives Barricade a look and bobs his head as if to say 'go on!'. Nothing like having a -literal- wingman.
Well, if she's going to be bold and call him out on it, he'll play the game. I see your flirt and raise you a few chips. "Sweetspark you got -no idea- what's goin' on in my processors, an' it's probably better that you don't." He casts her a sidelong glance, keeping his smirk.
Slipstream makes her way over to Barricade with a sassy sway to her hips as she does so. Now it's her turn to reach out to him, a fingertip to his chin. She's smaller, shorter, but she'll manage. Just a little touch to let him know that she knows she has his attention. "If you don't blow your siren before you get there," Slips smiles sweetly as she whispers, low enough that only Garboil should be the other to hear, "Maybe when you're done chasing me to Vos, we can see how loud that engine of yours can *really* get." With a wink she withdraws, fingertip and all, to slip back a step. "That is, of course, if you dare chase me."
She should stay. Yet, she has no wingman. Already she's tipped her own wings too deeply, she knos it. Yet she finds herself unable to not enjoy it, yet maybe she can stop herself - by putting some distance, literally, in there to stall her own turbines. With a graceful flip she alt forms, becoming a jet that races away from here and all the way back to Vos. 'Sweetspark,' she could get dangerously use to that, the wording of it alone.
"Y'know, I can manage for a little while," Garboil suggests helpfully. "We'll let Blackout know you're ah, 'on patrol'."
Barricade roils internally and releases frustration on -multiple- levels now with a guttural growl. "Slaggit," he curses under his breath. "Of all the times t'-- *hrrrgn*." His shoulderplates lift a few inches, cocked in alertness.
"Go," Garboil chuckles. "You'd do the same for me. Now. /Go get her/."
"You givin' me orders?" Barricade asks, eyeing his deployer.
"Yes. For your own good." Garboil launches himself up and out of his carrier's reach smugly, satisfied with egging the big guy on.
"... ffffiiiiiine," the officer relents, irritation turning into excitement at the prospect of the chase. Oh yes, he'll throw caution to the wind for a little while. When's the last time he had any fun anyways? He leaps over the table easily, landing with a heavy thud before transforming into wheels on black and white, charging out after the jet.
Well, that is unexpected. Whatever hope that Slipstream had that she wouldn't have to give in to, well, hope, is lost with what happens next.
He came after her.
Slipstream hadn't gotten far, not yet at least. After leaving the Forge she realized she hadn't left any sort of contact location for Barricade, or Garboil or Howlback. So, she left the sky to land, shift to robot form and think of how best to go back and give it. Perhaps a private message to Garboil, to update him. Yet then it strikes her that via all of Cade's resources, he's likely very skilled at looking up her very public address for her residence in Vos. Just as she's ready to take to the sky once more.... out races that black-n-white, who she is pretty sure is who she thinks it is.
She could let him go and still beat him there. If he's willing to chase after her, it'd be best to lead him on further, keep the chase going, run him to the edges of frustration before giving even a glimpse of any kind of reward for his efforts. Yet, despite herself, she calls out, "Wheels!"
So, there she is, waiting for him (seemingly) on the streets outside of the Forge. "I have to say," she smiles, "I am impressed with how... eager... you must be to catch me." She holds out her hands, together, presenting her wrists to him. "Now I suppose I find out what happens when you catch who you're after," her eyes widen as that smile becomes a pleased smirk.
Barricade rolls right out of his altmode with practiced ease, striding up to Slipstream as she greets him. Okay, he had to admit: Garboil was right, this was a much needed break from everything weighing on his CPU, and he's pleased to see that she isn't playing games with him by being long gone into the sky.
No, she's playing a whole -other- set of games, one that he hasn't played in a very long time. His optics go down to her upturned wrists, oh is she -really- flirting like this? He's unnerved and a little excited, after all, she could just be waiting to flit out of his grasp and leave him as frustrated. Lucy pulling that football away from Charlie Brown at the last second, just to watch him fall flat on his back and laugh at him.
He presses ahead, tete-a-tete with a saucy comment of his own. "Are you really -sure- you wanna know?" he asks smoothly. "Seein' as how we're out here in public and everything..."
In her experience, those that have chased her have only ever been those that sought to hunt her down - lethally. Even that's been a long way away. Slipstream has been careful, cautious and hidden - even if in plain sight - for so long that she's nearly forgotten the excitement of the hunt. To be pursued. There's dangerous flicker to her optics only because she becomes very aware of how much this excites her. She considers how much she's willing to be caught. It's been.... forever.
Slipstream backpeddles, literally. Cold thrusters? She backs away, yet she keeps her wrists presented and her gaze fixed on the mech that chased her. She really shouldn't still be here.
Slipstream backs herself to and then slightly down an alley behind the Forge, juuuuuuuuuuuust out of direct sight. She shouldn't *want* to know.
"Please officer," she says meekly as she turns to face the wall of the Forge. Her wings fan, only to then bunch as she slips her arms behind her, crossing her wrists at the small of her back. "There's no need to be so forceful," she continues. "I'll cooperate," she promised demurely, fluttering a wounded look back over her shoulder between nervous wings.
Barricade stalks after Slipstream into that alley. His transformation plates are raised and cocked up high and his vent covers are sliding open to deal with rising internal heat, as he intentionally ROARS his engine, the deep throaty rumble of a high performance vehicle, as he closes in on his 'prey'.
Truth be told, he knew what he wanted when he saw her; she wasn't like the others, and her intellect enflamed him as much as her beauty. When Garboil shared her physical capabilities with him, well... the deal was sealed. He'd wanted to pull her onto that table and scare her - not to fear, but just to thrill her, tease her with a display of raw power and prowess and hear her engines hitch under her chassis. He'd wanted to worship every inch of her until she was a writhing hot mess begging for overload. Maybe she'd sensed it then, and he'd tried to reign in that part of himself, but now?
With that pretty little display in front of him? She'd be getting just that, and it would be very, very hard for him to stop himself.
"I dunno," he murmurs lowly, purring behind a lusty smile, "I think I'd better search you first.... I might have to -expose- anything -concealed-."
This is a dangerous game mostly because, in this moment, Slipstream is certain of where she wants it to end, and that is for it not to. All of that power craves her and that is a sensation she hasn't been exposed to in... ever. Anything in the past has been more... functional. This is about a feeling she's denied herself or from being exposed to since, it feels like, her creation and yet one she has always craved. It's intoxicating. That ROAR has her shaking because she knows she's not going anywhere.
Before was a tease, a hint, but this is too much to deny. Slipstream doesn't shy away from it. There's an excited waver to her voice when she speaks, right after she spreads her wings ever so slightly. "Do your worst."
Still she looks back, optics wide. She admitted to him in the Forge she was scared and she trembles, perhaps frightened in this moment. But she's not scared. Maybe she's bold because, as a high caste, whose side would the public be on if anything was said? Maybe she's being so careless because after eons it's addictive to think someone would be willing to (almost) very much show such feeling towards her?
Slipstream looks down as she leans forward a little to brace against the wall before her. Something tells her she'll need the support. "You caught me," she whispers. She means it too, because for as long as she's been online no one has ever managed to do just that. It *surprises* her, so much so that she knows if she doesn't seize on this moment she'll realize that fact and then flee from it. "Now to see how loud that siren is," she urges back to him as she closes her eyes.
He almost can't stand it, she's hitting every weak point he has, fanning the flames very effectively. His desire has hit full bore, and he won't be denied action. They're past point the no return.
"Worst? No." He looms over her, closer, closer, brushing up against her, trapping her against the wall. "-Best-."
Barricade leans down, taking hold of her hands, moving them up gently, holding them apart and against the wall, not too high, not too low, keeping his claws from damaging mesh and paint. He breathes warmly against her neck once more, this time bridging the gap, kissing her there, under the edge of the chin, coming up to search for her lips, to catch her there and taste her, try her. Pressing his torso against her, he lets her feel the power of his engine beneath, rumbling against her.
... and it's all over.
The surrendering that is. Whatever sound Slipstream might of made is lost to those rough lips. Barricade is a hard bot from a hard life, one that despite all of that hardship still knows what desire is, and has focused it on her. She gives in to the power of that, and to the engine that revs for her. Pinned to the wall of the Forge. Somewhere among all that comes next she delights in the little thrill of knowing that he won't be able to set foot in this structure, *his* building, without remembering what is happening right now. She'll forever remember how in this moment he surrendered to just as much as she did.
What began as a tease, maybe a bit of a plot, and then burst into something far more intense will be quiet, at least for her. No roaring engines, but she won't be quiet for all of it. Frustration, pain, doubt, worry, all of it is forgotten, screamed away as Barricade is granted full access to assert all of those feelings. After that she'll still plead for more, far too swept up to stop now. There's millions of years of patience that give way to raw emotion and, once started, Slipstream can't begin to stop.
Yet, finally, when her energon is all but drained (and yet she's still yearning for more), she clutches herself to him. "So Wheels," she pats lightly, strangely weak in ways she wasn't aware were possible, "Should we recharge at your place or mine?"
"Depends on if you like roughin' it," Barricade asks, a grand warmth and affection in his eyes, a lazy smile on his face. "Can't say I have anything as nice as you might have in Vos, but whatever I have, I'll share with you." Having let his defenses down, he reveals himself for what he is; a dutiful, honorable protector with a hidden depth of warmth and tenderness he shows to no one but those who have gotten this close.
"I think I could get used to roughing it," she teases. Slips keeps her hand pressed to Barricade's chest. Something about beiing able to feel that engine underneath is comforting. It's strange to her but she welcomes it. She unleans from enough to look into his optics. He means it, doesn't he? "What would Garboil and Howlback think?" Carriers are not something she has a lot of experience with but she kind of assumes they live with him. 
Slipstream thinks about it for a moment. Then, she shares it before she explains it or why she's doing it. It's the access code to her dwelling in Vos. "The same," she smiles. That's perhaps more risky than, well, what they just did. A lot riskier. Still, she's going with it, taking this chance here. "You... you should come to Vos," she then decides. "It will be easier for you to explain," she thinks. Besides, she has spend weeks lurking around the Forge,w atching him. Now, she kind of wants to show off a little, to show what she's built for herself, in Vos.
"Garboil was expecting it. Slag, he all but shoved me out the door," Barricade laughs. "As for Howlback? She'll be fine with you if I am. Maybe a little jealous, she doesn't like sharin', but she was more worried you were gonna stab me in the back at first. Plus, eh, you know felines, they got their pride."
"You want me t' come to Vos, I can. Blackout's keepin' an eye on things an' if he can get Lugnut t' stop kissin' Megatron's feet, I think he can handle the rookies."
His affection, if you can call it that, for this place is... endearing. Slipstream fancies herself a believer - a *true* believer - but to see someone who *lives* it. Well, it makes everything that's happened on this rather eventual day be all the more 'right'. Slips moves her hand down from Cade's chest to try to catch one of those claws, and she shivers to think, to remember, where all it had been. "My treat," she suggests. Plus, it will give Howlback a little more time to ... adjust. "They can come fetch you from me," she slyly grins, "When it's time, and that way I can then show them around." Now with added meaning of properly getting to know them. "Besides, a night away might do you wonders. Think," she raises her brows dramatically, "What this moment has done for you." She smiles but then has to note, "After some recharging. I *definitely* need to recharge first."
Barricade laughs, pleased that she's so, well, -exhausted-. "Should I carry m'lady to her abode?" This is said playfully; he's not poking fun at her caste or luxury living. Plus it helps that he still has plenty of stamina; she might be tired but he still has some gas left in the tank.