Looking for Trouble

NYON, BEAUTIFUL NYON. Even now, long after the city's decline and decay, there are still signs here and there of the beauty it once possessed. The grand buildings have not entirely fallen into ruin, and the murals and temples and public works have not lost quite all their color nor their grandness. It's the old heart of the city where this is most evident. Activity has moved elsewhere, outward toward areas of industry, leaving this a quiet, forgotten corner: the Acroplex.

The temples and libraries make for an unexpected place to find a bunch of young hot shots, but there is where Hot Rod is rumored to be most easily found. The streets are narrow and crowded and dirty to get there, giving those who head in a nice, long look at how far Nyon has fallen. Though not as rough as Kaon, it seems far, far more tired, rusting away in the breeze.

Chromedome has spent some hours pounding the streets, this point, troubling likely looking mechs for rumor and direction. Plain 'bot that he is, he borders on the pristine and shiny as he wanders through alleyways with the worn out once-weres. Still, as he wanders among those temples and libraries, all sacredity and texts, even if the rumors weren't leading him there, he'd still feel confident of finding our young hero. "This feels right. Don't you think?" he queries of Scorn.

Despite protests from them, Scorn would leave her guards behind for this little venture, preferring to go alone with Chromedome and not attract as much attention. But a self-aware in public garners enough attention as is, so the mantis simply keeps her mouth shut while accompanying him and occasionally splitting to search a different route. But she eventually returns now and again, including now as they traverse ruins if holy worship and ancient writings, turning a corner to join him at his side. "Agreed.." She mutters softly, bright optics flicking about and carefully scanning the area as antennas twitch, listening. "This area smells well used, which isn't a surprise. It's almost comical how rebels hide out in churches and the like."

Hope this feels right, too: something explodes in the near distance.

A puff of smoke rises from behind broken walls where a plaza is open to the sky. There's a tangled shout of unruly, riotous laughter -- both femme and mech alike -- as some likely important bit of metal comes flinging, flaming out from cover to clatter to Chromedome's feet. Tearing after it, our young /hero/: painted red and orange and yellow, flames plastered across his chest, spoiler /ambitious/, Hot Rod is not hard to identify. "Wups," he says as his headlong dash turns into sudden stillness. He faces Chromedome and Scorn with open curiosity. He marks Chromedome with recognition and Scorn without fear. He's better socialized where Insecticons are concerned than many on the planet, anyway. "Hey," he says, nonchalant as he saunters up to scoop up a ... timer? Definitely a timer.

Chromedome is stunningly cool in reaction to explosions and laughter. He tilts his head toward the lit timer, then tilts his chin a bit higher when Hot Rod appears. Convenient. He tap-taps his finger against the back of his hand opposite. "Hey. Hot Rod. Fancy meeting you here. Have a moment?"

Insecticons tend to stay alive longer by avoiding explosions, so Scorn has a little more reaction than Chromedome in the form of perking antennas as head cranes a tad before the flaming piece of scrap comes flying into the alley and rests at the mech's feet. "Is this what neutrals do all day? Cause explosions?" Scorn scoffs under her vocals, but quiets when footsteps are heard and Hot Rod himself comes stepping out into view. "So this is Hot Rod.. Not entirely what I expected." She raises a brow at him and casts a brief glance to Chromedome before continuing to the rebel. "Anyway, yes, we'd very much like to have a word with you, if you'd be so kind. It's rather important, you see."

Is one of those voices familiar--? Before Scorn can even really note the tease of familiarity, the laughter is silent and the voices gone. Hot Rod warms his expression from the brief distraction of one silently comming someone (or someones) else to the easy smile of the perpetually guilty. "Hey, sure -- Chromedome, right? What was it, detective?" He settles back on his heels with an attention-grabbing gesture all 'ta dah, here I am' like he's somehow hard to miss. "Yep! Hot Rod, you found me. Nice work. You are?" he asks Scorn with friendly curiosity. "What'd you need?" He flips the timer over and over in his hands and notably fails to invite them back to secret explosion land.

"Oh, nothing much." Chromedome folds his arms across himself, all easy-casual. He glances the way Hot Rod came, little light curiosity, no more, no less. "My friend here," he points his chin toward Scorn, "is looking for someone very important to her. And I thought, you know who's well-connected, and generous of spirit toward the lost and all. Hot Rod. For certain. I'll let her tell you the details."

Scorn quirks a brow ever so slightly at Chromedome's little explanation, but doesn't say anything of it. Instead she straightens already stalwart posture and steps forward with hands folded neatly at her back. "A very well connected mech indeed. Now, it's my understanding that you might know the whereabouts of a mech named Cheetor, an Animatronian who has been stuck here since the Clampdown. Searching for him has been difficult, so I would very much appreciate it if you could point us in the right direction. ..And if you're concerned about something in return, then you will be handsomely rewarded for your help."

Hot Rod fairly gleams at Chromedome's labeling, expressive and delighted. Yes. Generous of spirit toward the lost. That is going in his official biography. His grin ... sticks ... as Scorn sets out her request, with a sticky, awkward congealing that he fails to fully control. Expressive, as previously stated: alas, his features are not fully controlled. He settles in a wide, blank smile. "Cheetor who?"

Chromedome says nothing. He interjects nothing. He watches Hot Rod with his eternally unreadable expression. Occasionally, it's a horribly unfair advantage.

So he's going to play it this way, is he? So be it. Any hint of warmth in her expression fades into a more somber tone as she takes a step into Hot Rod's personal bubble, meeting his forced smile with a blank slate with the only form of emotion coming from the heated glow of gold optics staring level at him past lowered shutters.

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"Do not mistake this for a game. Chromedome says you know of him, and I do not believe that he has lied to me. Understand that I wish for no harm to come to Cheetor as it is simply my mission to bring him back home to Animatron. Your impending war and political struggles here mean nothing to me, so do not fear my intervening. I simply wish to retrieve the Prince, even just talk to him, if possible."

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Hot Rod takes the invasion of space about as one might expect. That is, he takes it poorly. He meets the heat of her gaze with a settling of his smile. He loses the stiffness and gains ... obnoxiousness.

Sorry not sorry.

"Yeah? Okay, but if it were a game, how would we be scoring it?" Hot Rod asks. That way he knows when he's winning, see? "Seems to me that if this Cheetor guy /wanted/ to go back to Animatron he would, right? So why are you out hunting him?"

There's a moment of silence, since Chromedome says nothing just yet. And in that moment of quiet, some shouts can be heard coming from nearby. If anyone looks over in that direction, they'd find what appears to be a couple of beat cops glowering at one of the locals.

"Officer, please--!"

"Can it, you -don't- need two recharge slabs. Why the slag would you need two? You're not -hiding- anyone in there, are you?"

"N-no!"

"Well we'll just have to see if you're right."

They move to enter a run-down looking residence, but the one who had been begging before suddenly seems to take on a more determined air, and stands firmly in front of them, barring the entrance. "-No-! I'm -not- gonna let the state strip me of what little I have yet -again-!" he shouts. "I won't let you take him away..."

"Out of the way. Now." The officers pull their weapons. "This is your -only- warning."

"Now, now," Chromedome milds. "I didn't say Hot Rod knew for sure. Although I think he's just confirmed that he does." The yellow-orange mech examines the back of his right hand. "And now he's showing us brave solidarity with Prince Cheetor, looks like. I don't suppose it's possible Cheetor's just avoiding his responsibilities, Scorn?" He might have been about to add somethingelse, but a couple of cops are ruckusing over there. He keeps his distraction light, a little twitch of his head. But he's clearly getting distracted.

Scorn is two seconds from biting Hot Rod's head of, dear Primus. A Queen's patience isn't something to be toyed with, and it takes considerable effort for her to not just snatch him up and begin some extreme interrogation. But alas, this isn't her realm, so she can only narrow her gaze at him and reply to Chromedome without looking his way. "It's very much possible. Ruling a planet is a daunting task to some, but if that is his reason then I must hear it from him myself."

Attention back fully on Hot Rod, Scorn continues. "And this isn't a hunt. I am merely searching for him as my mission dictates. If he doesn't wish to return to Animatron, then.. we will decide on that when it comes to pass. As for leaving, I believe your Clampdown would prevent him. It was difficult enough for even I to come here." While waiting for his answer, the femme glances sidelong at the police bust in progress and turns her head just slightly before optics flick curiously to Hot Rod. "You're not going to step in..?"

"Nope! Never heard of him," Hot Rod says in denial of Chromedome's words. (Although avoiding responsibilities sounds pretty great dot dot dot.) "What's a Cheetor?"

His sense of play fails remarkably quickly as the /gentle distraction/ draws his attention -- first a glance, then all the rest of him, whipping around in a scowl. "--hey! Hey!" That's about all the warning the officers get before Hot Rod throws himself forward. He shoves between the officers and the door right alongside the local. He takes all possible answers to Scorn's questions with him, other than the one obvious answer that he leaves with her: Step in? Nah. HE'S GONNA RUN IN. While he's not carrying a weapon, he holds his arms like he thinks they are dangerous. "What's your problem, pushy?"

The beat cops look exasperated. Oh -great-. "Citizen, stand down. This is none of your business." One of them says, though the other one adds, "That is, unless you'd like to get arrested, -too-." he scoffs. He know that guy, or what?

Chromedome makes a noise that sounds awfully like a sigh as Hot Rod peels off. "Scorn," he asides. "I suggest we access this mech in fighting the machine, standing against the oppressive order. Etc. Get on his good side, for persuasive purposes." Yeah, uh, never mind Chromedome is/was kind of a cop. He trails Hot Rod.

Aaand off he goes. Restraining a soft grol under her vocals, Scorn watches Hot Rod spring off and just pinches the bridge between her optics until Chromedome speaks up. "If we /must/, then fine. If this mech doesn't offer any information then I will either leave or eat him. And I'm heavily favoring the latter right now." And so, putting on her best airs, Scorn approaches the growing disturbance with long strides and addresses the two officers with a smooth little smile.

"Greetings, officers. Forgive my intrusion, but I couldn't help but overhear. Surely this citizen," Sharp digits wave casually to the mech Hot Rod tries to protect, "Couldn't be doing anything wrong in owning a spare recharge slab."

"Arrested for what, exactly?" Hot Rod challenges. He stands poised and supportive next to the mystery local with the extra slab. "Looks an awful lot to me like you're harassing someone without cause. What're your badge numbers, huh? I radio them in, someone going to tell me you're here for good reason?" That's right: he's one of /those/ agitators. POLICE ACCOUNTABILITY. He flicks a glance toward Chromedome and Scorn, and while he can hardly smile here, he does seem warmed by their whole-sparked support.

"Ugh." The officers look -really- annoyed, now. "And who are you, captain? We're not accountable to -you-." One of them scoffs at both Hot Rod and Scorn, while the other just sighs and grumbles something into his comm.

And before long, who should drive up but Prowl himself, chief of planetary security. This must have been some kind of training exercise for those cadets, or something. He doesn't look happy. Does he -ever- look happy? "Alright, alright what seems to be the problem, here?" He glances at Scorn, then glares at Hot Rod. He's seen this guy before. He's a troublemaker. Oh, good. Chromedome is here, at least -he's- reasonable.

Chromedome slides his hands behind his back, glancing from Prowl to the officers. His voice is now /excessively/ mild. "I'm sorry you were troubled with this minor situation, sir. Couple of cadets have overreached protocol and are causing a disturbance. Hot Rod's response may be over-enthusiastic, but not unwarranted. This is especially poor timing for needless conflict on the part of the police, if I may provide my opinion freely."

Great, just great, now Prowl is here. Scorn's agitation is steadily rising at this point and it's hard not to scowl, but she muscles through it and nods after Chromedome speaks. Unfortunately she doesn't have much room to comment on the situation, as she isn't even from this planet, so for the moment she just remains quiet and lets the other speak, curious to see how this situation turns out.

"Not accountable to us, huh? Slag, who are you accountable to them, if not the people you're supposed to serve!" says Hot Rod like a baby idealist who thinks that law enforcement ought to help the citizenry and not the government. Silly little mech. "You think you're not accountable to anyone or anything." He folds his arms in an aggressive bristle in Prowl's direction. "Yeah, you could /call/ it /overreach/," he agrees hot on Chromedome's heels. Poor Scorn. Just think how far away Cheetor could have theoretically gotten by now if he hypothetically had been in the area when they had began talking.

"Him." One of the cadets says simply, jabbing a thumb in Prowl's direction in response to the question of who they are accountable to.

Prowl sighs, shaking his head at Chromedome. "Look, I'm sorry if this appeared to overreach protocol, but it's not. -I- give these cadets permission to search this worker's hab suite for supplies stolen from Deltaran. Now," he gives Hot Rod an -especially- pointed expression. "Stand down, if you please, so that we will not be required to resort to the use of physical force."

Chromedome is quiet for a long moment. Stuck between a Prowl and a Hot Rod with a goal not quite congruent to flatly siding with either. What a dilemma. So again, he strides the middle. "Sir, I apologize for the misunderstanding, but you must understand that to a citizen, the cadets' methods look abusive and troubling. Since Hot Rod is now aware of the full situation, we can get out of your way. Scorn and I require his help."

"Indeed we do. And he's agreed to be /most/ helpful. Haven't you, Hot Rod?" Scorn nearly bores holes into the neutral with how hard she stares at him. "So hopefully we can resolve this little issue and be on our way without further incident." Optics slide to Prowl and his officers, though it's more expectant than anything else, hoping to see that this little sidetracking can be finished quickly.

Hot Rod does not move aside. Ever so slightly, his gaze narrows. "What supplies," he asks in a remarkably flat tone. He does not look helpful at all.

"I'm aware of that, Chromedome." Prowl replies. "But I am doing my best to explain the situation."

He turns to Hot Rod. "If you would just let us through, I could show you. If they are indeed here. If not, then there should be no trouble." Prowl says in an equally flat manner. "Now I'm not going to ask you again. Stand -down-." he demands.

"Will you let him show you, Hot Rod?" Chromedome idles over his shoulder. "Should clear this up."

An awful suspicion flattening his voice, Hot Rod glances to Chromedome and Scorn with a tense, thoughtful gaze: "And what'll you do if that something is someone?" Turning to say as much gives Prowl and friends room to shove him past him and head inside.

Prowl ignores Hot Rod's question and pushes past him and into the hab suite. Certainly very modest accommodations, but as suspected, the officers find supplies appropriated from Deltaran, including the 'spare' recharge slab. "Outback, you have been found in possession of medical supplies illegally obtained from Deltarna Medical Facility. You will be arrested and detained at Kolkular until the state has deliberated over the case." he almost seems to recite it, examining the lot numbers on the supplies. Looking back up at the offender, he arches an optic ridge at him. "But an extra recharge slab...that seems odd, that is...unless you're -hiding- someone in here?"

Chromedome treads in after Prowl, his whole mien reserved and cautious. Feeling out the atmosphere, obliquely watching Hot Rod for reaction. So many inconveniences could be about to explode, here.

"Only talk." Scorn replies coolly, though there's a slight edge to her tone that suggests weariness from this run-around Hot Rod is putting them through. And while there was room to enter the building, Scorn doesn't dare move an inch until Prowl steps in first.

Crossing the threshold, she eyes Outback in passing. It's tempting to ask if Cheetor was the one here, but she holds her tongue for the moment, since he's under Prowl's custody now. Rather, she focuses more on 'sniffing' her surroundings out with a wave of antennas and an intake of her vents, especially around the recharge slabs.

Hot Rod does not look all that reassured by the examination of lot numbers and so on and so forth. "Hey, wow, way to go. People getting hurt every day and here you are hunting down people who /try to help/. He has /medical supplies/, you fraggers. Who cares if he has an extra slab. You came for the supplies, you got them." He looks slightly distracted. This will end well.

Prowl glares at Hot Rod even harder than before, a fist clenching. Outback stares at him. Oh, Hot Rod, what a hero. "Listen, would you stop talking as if -you- somehow know better than I do? Your scope of perception is very limited, therefore it is not your place to decide what should or shouldn't be done. What do you want, do you want to be Prime yourself? Why don't -you- try holding the weight of this world on your shoulders!" He calms down somewhat. "Now -get- out of my way, so I can do my job, and so that you can get back to doing something actually -useful-, such as assisting Scorn in her search for Cheetor, since she's been so patiently waiting for you to give her the information she needs."

He nods toward the two cadets. "Cuff him." he commands, and they move to obey, smirking at Outback. "C'mere you stubborn little slagger..."

Chromedome should say something. He doesn't. His silence is a tense one. When he does speak, slow, careful, he suggests, "Perhaps we'll occupy Hot Rod another time. We don't mind coming out here, do we, Scorn?" All step-back and suggestion, pure reasonableness. Defuse. Somehow. Magically.

Even Prowl wants Hot Rod to just get on with it and help, but it seems like they might be pushing their limits today with the rebel considering what's just happened. "I suppose not." Scorn muses to Chromedome. "Though if you don't mind, I'd like to tour the city on my own for a while. Hopefully you'll be more willing to speak with us next time, Hot Rod."

As the cadets move to cuff poor helpless Outback, there's a growl from Hot Rod. He doesn't answer Prowl. He doesn't answer Chromedome. He doesn't answer Scorn. He's terrible! He exits only to turn back and watch, making it clear that he's /watching/ for any further signs of abuse. "Enjoy your tour," is he all he finds to say to Scorn.

"-Thank you-." Prowl says, not sounding actually appreciative at all. "And I would suggest that you stay out of business that is not your own in the future." Yeah, right. This is Hot Rod we're talking about, he -never- listens.