A Tragic Message Pt. 1

October 05, 2011

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Slipstream Swivel

(Cubicron)

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Slipstream had spent the better part of her on duty time pondering what she had to do... needed to do even. Splitting her focus between her patrols or assigned duties and what she was thinking about had put a strain on her. But now she had made up her mind, she had a few ways to get it done, she strides toward the city of Cubicron, her scanners at full just to keep tabs on anyone that may be following her.

Meanwhile, Slipstream is not the only femme on the block whose thoughts are heavy but sensors are high. Swivel had been seated among the scattered shanties and trash that tended to accumulate around the outskirts of Cubicron. Around the time she would be visible on Slipstream's scanners, although not necessarily as anything threatening or suspicious given the area, Swivel is aware of someone approaching. Someone who does not drag their feet or scurry like a turborat. Someone who moves with more grace and dignity than the rabble hereabouts, and that gets her attention. Swivel pops her head up, looking around for the source, but does not yet get to her feet.

Slipstream's wings are swept slightly back, her magenta optics suspiciously looking from shanty to hovel to tent dwelling. Fully expecting to be lurched at or perhaps even begged towards. Her gait is undeterred, though if one looks close enough there is sadness mixed with resolute determination. Any empties or other ilk out here are reported back via her scanners. Swivel wouldn't be ilk nor empty, but her scanners notice her too and dismiss her as a neutral that won't cause her issue.

Catching sight of the Decepticon, she tilts her head to the side. She vaguely recognizes Slipstream from a few interactions in the past, but it had been a while since she'd seen the seeker femme here. She stoops behind a pile of junk for a moment, hiding as she ponders something. She then peers back over the heap gauging the femme's body language. After some hesitation, she walks out from her cover, easily falling into a casual pace and demeanor, taking a roundabout route over to catch up with Slipstream. "Dun s'pose ye kin spare a credit er two? I'll work fer it."

Slipstream let's out a exvent.. yeah she knew that was coming.. but still it was a hint annoying. She turned her head toward the voice and pauses, her stride stuttering into a full stop. Her wings sweep back and forth slightly. Oh it was too perfect really... scary perfect. A look around at the camp of destitute nuetrals, then a gesture for Swivel to follow her as she turned and headed out of the area to where it was more private.

Swivel straightens up seeing that gesture. With wide-opticked curiousity and a face reminiscent of a naive kidlet she follows behind Slipstream, asking no questions other than, "So... ya got work fer me?" in a cautiously excited tone. Swivel is aware she is likely taking a dangerous gambit, and it wasn't so much Slipstream she had hoped would be the next Decepticon to cross her path. However, she carefully keeps her thoughts and feelings underneath a veneer of gullibility and trust.

Slipstream gets very far from the camp, turning to look around and scan the area quite throughly. Wings quite still now, but her posture relaxed.. "I do." she replies softly, finally looking down at the smalle femme as she reaches into her subspace for some coins. Finding then, she fingers them in her palm as she crouches down slightly, "You know how to get into Iacon?" she asks in a near whisper.

Swivel bobs her head with enthusiasm. "Yessum. They dun turn neutrals 'way much, 'sepcially if they're seekin asylum 'n all that sorter thing... 'cept fer doin' lock down's course. Been a lotter 'em lately though, but I'm sure I kin get in there, 'sepcially fer some creds. Work's been real lousy lately 'n all! Seems everyon's gettin poorer an' poorer 'round 'ere... so.... um... whaddya wanner me ter get into Iacon fer?"

Slipstream looks down at her hand, fingering the coins still. Optics shifting into a dimmer hue of magenta, "I need a message taken to someone who may be there.. " she considers, grinding her denta together, ".. if there is a medic there that doesn't belong. One that is nearly all unpainted grounder mech, then this message is for him." then she pauses to look Swivel in the optics. "Tell him that his love is dead. Executed. He'll understand who and whom."

Swivel raises her optic ridges, suddenly coming to understand the gravity of the job she's been given. She contorts her face into one of determined reverence and nods her head slowly. "It's good as done," Swivel responds, and then places her hand out with her palm up, slightly cupped. "Should I keep me source anon?"

Slipstream puts the coins into the upraised palm and gives a nod, "If he asks for a description, that is enough for me. He'll know who I am and will keep this between us." is said softly as she rises back to her full height, wings fully parallel to each other behind her so you cannot see them straight on. "Best I be anon to you."

Swivel smirks a little and nods her head. "I unnerstand. Affer all, many me jobs need me ter be discrete. Lips er welded shut 'bout who or what or where or when, but yer message'll get where it needs ter get," Swivel assures warmly, clenching her prized fare in her hand.

Slipstream inclines her head, a small smile gracing her lilps. "Thank you." then the turns and strides away, trusting the message will get to where it needs to go.

Swivel shifts her weight side to side as a swirl of emotions rush through her. Sorrow for someone losing a lover, relief this wasn't a messy encounter, disappointment of hoping to see someone else, and excitement over getting a job after a crawl in business. After only a brief account of how feelings, she right away scurries to a main road, whereupon she transforms and zips on towards Iacon.