November 24, 2011, 3:12 PM
(Names in italics are aliases used for a portion of the log.)
(Downtown, Crystal City)
Mechs and femmes come and go, lining the street with steady foot and vehicular traffic. Outside of a few shops here or there are clusters of more static people, and outside of a small cafe (known for selling energon in unique presentations) in particular are a small group of mechs, discussing Crystal City politics quite heatedly. Among them is a form whose lithe form is almost completely covered by an irridescent cape draped over his shoulders. Although he gets his comments in every once in a while, he is the most quiet for the quartet in the heated debate, seeming mostly interested in listening. his body is turned just so slightly as though he looked as though he had started to go, but was drawn back in and held up by some part of the conversation. The occasioanly twist of his torso suggests that a few times he means to tear himself away and attend to other business, but something keeps him in place.
Mirage appears from seemingly nowhere, though his cloak had nothing to do with it...natural dexterity and a tendency to stay out of sight is a trademark of Mirage's, one he exploits well. The tall sky and cream mech's golden optics flash in curiosity...information is to be had, here, and there is one key piece he's missing. A few contacts suggested he wait outside the cafe for awhile, and so Mirage does, seating himself disinterestedly.
With a burst of laughter, Bankshot pulls herself away from the group of mechs that have been her companions for the cycle, giving them a quick wave before making her way to the cafe. Stopping by the window, she places an order, too quiet to be heard over the general commotion of downtown, and slides a cred chip over to the cashier. Once her order is filled, she takes both the cube and the chip, sipping on the energon as she passes Mirage's table with only a cursory glance at the mech. The table of political bickering earns more interest, however... "I agree!" She says cheerfully and pats the mech speaking on his shoulder, not caring how ridiculous his statement was. The renewed arguing as she moves on to her own table brings a grin to her face, and she takes a seat to watch the chaos unfold.
The caped mech remains standing in that half-turned position. His optics glancing over as a femme agrees, and, like the other mechs, there is silence from him. Peridot optics gleam as Weaversplice tilts his head while another mech stutters, and a third breaks out in laughter. "'Parently, someone agrees that we shouldn't have to pay refugees for work, they should be grateful just to be sheltered from the war." one mech says with a cruel smile. One of the mech screws his face up in an ugly scowl. "Knock off you glitch! We aren't in a crisis at all! The econmy is fine, and councilmech of commerce and traide is doing a great job!" refutes another. The third mech, who had been laughing at the break, just shakes his head, muttering something about nuts and bolts. Weaversplice, however, glances over to the other femme, waiting to see if she looks back to catch her optic.
Mirage slides his gaze over the ones having the political discussion, and he carefully schools his expression to be as neutral as possible. His audials almost zero in on the group, running voiceprint records and finding nothing of note. Mirage notes the cloaked mech, of course- such a thing is not common, and he scans his memory files for anyone matching that description. He finds precisely nothing...and that is odd. An almost imperceptible frown touches Mirage's thin lipplates. His golden optics seek out the emerald gaze of the cloaked one.
Bankshot glances back at the table with a feigned expression of boredom, catching the cloaked mech's stare and offering him a sweet smile. The argument at the table is amusing her to no end, even more so now that she knows what, exactly, she just agreed with. Shifting back in her seat, she crosses her legs, taking another sip of the fine energon as she continues to eavesdrop.
"Well, Weaversplice, what do you have to say? Aren't you a refugee?" comes a voice that interrupts Weaversplice's intent stare. He had been just retruning a sweet smile to the femme that had came and stirred the proverbial pot with such ease and offhandedness. His attention reverts back to the group, and he straightens up, a slight look of indignant resentment. "I most certainly am /not/ a refugee. I'm a citizen who had just been absent for a long time," Weaversplice responds, his optics catching those of Mirage's partway through his response. ALthough he continues to speak to the group, his optics stay on the one watching him as he studies and appraises the cream and blue mech. "As far as I am concerned, turning refugees into indentured slaves, essentially, is punishing the inudstrious for the sins of the idle. Those willing to work should be rewarded for it. Those who aren't... well... best if we can just contain them where they won't be seen by good society and visitors. At any rate, my fellow gentlemechs, I do believe at least ONE of you..." turning his attention meaningfully to the one who was for unpaid labour, "...has a job to get to." The disgruntled mech looks momentarily irritated, but then he rises to his feet. "Yeah, yeah, I get the hint." The others also get to their feet, realizing that they had loitered long enough, having long finished their meals. They say goodbye to each other and turn to leave, but Weaversplice stays where he is standing, watching them leave, telling them he'll be staying back to wait for an associate. No questions asked, they others leave.
Mirage simply raises an eyeridge at the cloaked mech, jerking his head as if in invitation to join him.
Weaversplice glances about himself as if almost lost, and then looks back at Mirage, raising his optic ridges, seeming to search for confirmation that he, indeed, being invited.
Another cycle, another credit. Torque was starting to like the little bits of profit she was making here when she rolled around with the mobile detail shop. Word had been getting around and slowly she'd been seeing more business with each visit to Crystal City.
But for now she's glad to take a long break from the busy day, the femme now walking towards the cafe after parking her trailer on the other side of the block. While waiting in line she gives a tired upward stretch of her limbs, the strain of flexing metal sounding out like popping joints.
Once at the head of the line she orders one of their energon blends, something to wake her up a bit. She pays and steps aside, not taking her surroundings in at the moment while sipping the energon. Drooping antennas immediatly start to perk up after the first few sips. Strong stuff.
Mirage nods once, firmly, while catching the attention of a staff member and ordering a carafe of something light and sparkling.
Bankshot resists the urge to pout as her entertainment disperses, leaving her without anything particularly interesting to watch. But then the cloaked mech who'd been watching her appeared to have some sort of silent conversation with the blue and cream mech she'd passed by earlier, and oooh, this could be interesting. She makes a mental note of the new arrival, but isn't quite willing to take her attention off the other two.
So many things to direct his attention to, so little time. The cloaked mech moves to sit with Mirage, his cloak sliding away from his shoulders somewhat, giving Mirage a better look at his lithe, silver and cobalt frame. Just as he was about to sit, his optics did a sweep of the room, taking note of Torque. His glance quickly shifts to Mirage, then to Torque, then back to Mirage. He sits down, readjusting his cloak, and places his hands on the table, fingers interlocked together. He'll wait a moment before sending Torque his greetings, if she doesn't spot him first. He is also well aware of the other femme watching him.
Mirage waits for the arrival of the drink before pouring and greeting the mech in a somewhat formal fashion. "I noticed you...you are different." Mirage's tones are odd, pure Towers, and pleasing to the audials. "I am Skywind."
Torque eventually glances over, spotting Weaversplice sitting with Mirage, and Bankshot staring at them. A quirk of the brow is given, though she eventually smirks at Weaver.
Quickly she chugs the rest of her drink... which isn't the best idea as the sudden rush of energy makes her antennas flick and twitch rather erraticly, her optics and any other glowing parts brightening significantly. With a wide grin Torque walks up behind Weaver, hands suddenly placed upon his shoulders as she leans over, "Heeey, you." Blame the caffiene, or at least the Cybertronian equivalent.
A Towers accent? Oooh. Bankshot's optic ridges raise slightly at that- that was unexpected. She checks her memory banks for anyone by the name of Skywind and comes up empty, though it doesn't really bother her. But then... Oh Primus. The orange and pink femme muffles a laugh as Torque approaches the two, hiding the sound by taking another sip of her energon. This was better than any vids she'd seen in orns.
A smile curls across the cloaked's mech's lips. The accent is familiar, bringing on some nostalgia, but Weaversplice is far from about to mention as much. "Different? Well, I like to think, even if our frames are manufacutred, we are all somehow unique and special individuals." He glances at the mech's drink, considering ordering himself more of something, but then decides against it. He'd already had his fill earlier. "Just what do you..." he stops abruptly as hands come down upon his shoulders. He casually tilts his head back, looking up at Torque's face, smiling. "Hello, you," he responds, before tilting his chin back down to level a gaze at 'Skywind' a somewhat sheepish expression, as if apologizing for the intrusion on the femme's behalf. "Ahem, as I was saying, what exactly do you mean by 'different'? A mech COULD take offense to such a statement."
Mirage says mildly. "One could, I suppose...but I doubt you have. You seem too..hmm...used to the term." The femme's arrival causes Mirage's optics to widen only slightly at the display. He resolves not to speak of anything consequential with so many witnesses.
Torque soon leans down to peer over Weaver's shoulder, cheek pressing against his own, the femme still smiling. Seems she was very affectionate when hyper. "I've got good news! But uhh.. I'll tell yah later. Who's your friend?" Optics fix on Mirage, antennas still wiggling every now and then, the glow of her optics only coming down a little as the energon blend works through her systems.
"Naturally, I value beauty and individualism..." Weaversplice says, his gaze shifting over towards Torque meaningfully for a moment. "So..." once again he looks into those golden optics, "...I take no offense as I do set myself apart." There is a pause, and then his optics widen a moment. "Ah!" he says in slight dismay. "How very rude, you introduced yourself, and I did not return the courtesy! My name is Weaversplice. And this lovely femme is Torque," he introduces. He reaches up a hand, stroking Torque's cheek, the one not pressed against his own. He then very quietly says to Torque, "....I am sure I should love to hear your good news... perhaps in a more private location?" the mech suggests, trying very hard to not have any reproach in his tone.
Mirage stifles a sigh at the displays of affection. Ugh. In /public/. His tone becomes even more formal. "Weaversplice, Torque, may the wisdom of the Prime and the strength of the Protector walk with you." A very old, very *formal* blessing/greeting, meant well.
Bankshot cocks an optic ridge at how touchy-feely this femme is, but she's still muffling her chuckles and this hasn't failed to be amusing yet. Making her decision, she motions over one of the waitresses, sliding a cred chip to the femme. "Put everything those three order on this, and take them three cubes of your finest high-grade. Keep the rest for yourself, darling." She says, leaning back again as the waitress scuttles off to do just that.
The same waitress approaches the three's table a breem or so later, balancing a tray filled with the three cubes of high-grade. "Three cubes of high-grade and no charges, compliments of that femme over there." She explains, setting the aforementioned cubes down before hurrying off again.
Torque gets the slightest hint of a blush at the stroke to her cheek, though she simply smirks at the mech before straightening up some and looking back to Mirage. "Nice to meet you. And uhh... thank you." She looks a bit surprised at the formal speech, not used to it from others except Weaver.
A nod to Weaversplice is given at his suggestion, "Of course. I'll be at my trailer if you need me. But first I gotta pick up for parts for the shop." The femme sighs softly, obviously burdened by this fact.
She makes a move to leave, but then the high-grade arrives, blue optics scanning it heavily in intrigue before looking to Bankshot with a grin. She immediatly snags a cube, pats Weaver on the shoulder, and sidles over to the other femme. "Hey there. Wow, that was nice of yah. And I didn't even get your name."
Mirage gazes toward the purchaser of their newest refreshments, golden optics searching. He waits for her to meet his gaze, certain that she would. Weaversplice (/that/ was a false designation if he'd ever heard one)'s companion darted away like a happy little bumblepuppy, leaving the two alone for a brief moment. Without taking his eyes off of Bankshot, Mirage says quietly, "She is...exuberant. Different, like yourself. What do you do here, may I ask?"
Weaversplice gently clears his vents, straightening his posture somewhat once Torque's head no longer rests by his own. He offers a solmen bow of his head as he places a hand to his chestplate. "You are most gracious, Skywind, and may your way be illuminated by Prime's shining light as well," says the mech, trying to grasp at restoring an air if dignity despite having a femme draped over him recently. Granted, it was not just any femme, but still one might get the wrong impression of where his virtues lay by such a spectacle. He pauses as a drink is set before him, and then shifts in his chair to turn and see Bankshot, the pot-stirring femme. "Ah...." He pauses. "You are very generous; I thank you, stranger."
Bankshot smiles at Torque, uncrossing and recrossing her legs the opposite way. "Not a problem, darling." She answers the other femme, her own gold optics sliding over to meet Mirage's when she feels him watching her. Then Weaversplice speaks and she shifts her attention to him instead, smile widening. "Consider it an apology for breaking up your little meeting earlier."
Torque arches a brow slightly at the 'darling' remark, but doesn't seem to take any mind, instead enjoying her high-grade by giving a few long sips. Eventually she thrusts a hand out to Bankshot, smirking as the hyper demeanor starts to calm some more. "Name's Torque. You?"
An amiable chuckle errupts from the silver and blue mech in response to Bankshot as he takes the cube into his hand. "An apology? If anything I should be buying *you* a drink in thanks for that," Weaversplice responds warmly. He then turns his attention more seriously over to Mirage, whom is taking too much of an interest in him for his liking, his processor likewise doing scans for this 'Skywind' from his own databanks. "She is certainly is. As for what I do, I own a shop, the Golden Memories: Antiques and Art."
Bankshot eyes the hand Torque is offering to her for a moment, almost hesitating before quickly shaking it. She pulls her hand back almost as quickly, letting it drop down and twitching her fingers slightly. "Thermalflare." She introduces herself politely, turning her attention back to Weaversplice. "Glad to be of service, then." She takes another sip of her energon, hiding her still-twitching fingers.
Mirage nods to all around him, slowly considering on the outside but furiously making calculations on the outside. "Greetinhs, Thermalflare." He sniffs the energon, hoping the femme didn't intend to poison him, and sips it.
Bankshot offers a small wave-and-smile combination to the blue and cream mech. "Good to meet you and greetings as well... Skywind, was it?" The last bit is posed as a question, though she's entirely sure that was the name she heard.
Mirage nods once, slowly. "Skywind is my designation." he says in his tonal voice.
Although grateful, Weaversplice does sip the drink rather tentatively as well. He nods to Thermalflare, saying a more proper greeting, before loking back to Skywind. Hopefully, Torque and her can keep each other somewhat entertained. "So, is there business you wish to do with me, Skywind?" The information he searches for come back.... Art trader? How did he miss this before?
Mirage blinks, turning his gaze toward Weaversplice. "There is a possibility of such, yes...but dealing business in such an open area.is hazardous. One never knows who might be observing and use your dealings to...undercut you."
Torque looks somewhat perplexed at the rather quick shake, guessing this femme didn't like close contact. But either way she nods, smirking a little. "PLeasure to meet you, Thermalflare." An odd name, like Weaver's. Guess it was a Crystal City thing? She doesn't dwell on it though, trying to strike up friendly conversation while the mechs talked. "So you live in Crystal City at all? Pretty nice place, if you ask me."
Weaversplice smiles pleasantly at Skywind's response, raising his optic ridges. If nothing had tipped him off, by now he's quite certain he's speaking with either a criminal, or an eccentric mech with paranoia. He leans more towards the criminal. "Oh of course, this is hardly a place to discuss business in depth, but as fine a place as ever to breach the subject lightly. Besides, I'm sure the discussion of economics and the mundane ins and outs of trade would bore most people." Weaversplice then goes to take another sip. He glances over at the femme, Thermalflare, again, and begins running her face through his databanks.
Sepphoris comes walking lightly and cheerily through the area, a half-full market bag slung over one arm. She steps into the cafe, waving hello to the mech behind the counter but not trying to jockey for a better place in line. Chatting amiably with other citizens around her, her almost frivolous appearance is so typically Crystal City one would think she's completely unaware of the war going on outside the city.
"Just visiting, actually." Bankshot responds to Torque, looking back at the femme with a pleasant smile. "Business trip, technically, but my associates went and left little ol' me all by myself, so here I am!" The discussion between the two mechs piques her interest, as it sounds like some of her own dealings, but she makes sure to keep her eavesdropping as discreet as possible.
Mirage nods once more at this 'Weaversplice'. "There are those everywhere who will try to steal into your dealings, regardless of how mundane or exotic one's commissions might be."
Torque nods lightly, still sipping at her cube. "Heh, business, eh? Then we have something in common. I drop by the city now and again with my trailer to do paint jobs and detailing. The money's been a little slow, but it's picking up and I'm happy." She shrugs lightly, chugging down the rest of her high-grade. "What do you do?"
Weaversplice leans against the back of his chair, looking over Skywind with a speculative glance, while his processor works on placing Thermalflare, which come back with intersting results. Results in which his face do no betray. "Fair enough, but Crystal City isn't as ruthless in that department as some other cities." He pauses a moment, listening to the femmes speak, but doesn't turn to look at them. His optics then dart to a particularily flashy femme that enters, that would put him to shame... well, Weaversplice to shame. Hookshot on the other hand is getting ideas, which can be a very dangerous thing.
Mirage says, "Perhaps not, but it never hurts to be too careful." Mirage is quickly running comparisons and checks on his tablemates, and frowns inwardly at whay he finds. He can't disprove it, though, so he will accept it.
Bankshot cycles her optics as Torque downs the high-grade, chuckling again and taking the last sip of her cube. Handing the empty container off to a passing waitress, she focuses on one of the new arrivals for a moment, a femme with a rather pretty paintjob she recognized a bit from the marketplace. She tilts her helm slightly, but then Torque asks what she does and pulls her attention away. "Oh, I just do odd jobs. Delivered a few parts to the medical center here earlier, ran a few errands, that sort of thing."
Sepphoris reaches the counter and chats with the mech there briefly before accepting a few sealed energon containers which go into her market bag and an open container that is carried to a vacant table within easy earshot of all of the non-Crystal City natives. It's not intentional, though. Honest. Settling into a chair, she sips at her energon before pulling items from her bag to set on the table in some random semblance of order.
"Well, that is a matter of debate for another time, for I see being too careful is itself the biggest risk." Weaversplice retrieves a disk with his name and the name of his shop written on it in a stylized font. "Well, if you ever so have the urge to check me out, here's my card." Weaversplice glances towards the Cafe's exit briefly before looking back to Skywind, still listening to the other femmes.
Torque nods again at Thermalflare's job description. "I know how that is, though usually I'm on the recieving end of that." She smiles, glancing down at her empty cube. She didn't want to pass it off to a waitress and seem rude, so instead the femme eyes a nearby receptical, gaining a bit of a stance before lobbing the empty cube like a basketball.
For a moment it actually bounces off the rim, looking like it was going to fall out, but it makes it in and Torque grins bright in triumph. "Awesome." She chuckles softly and looks back at the femme. "Speaking of parts, I'd best get my shopping done before the stores close. Thanks again for the cube. Remind me to do the same if I ever see you again." Torque bows her head slightly in thanks, moving back over to Weaversplice.
"I should be back at my trailer soon, if you still wanna hear that news. Just gotta do some errands." She smiles to the mech, leaning over to plant a little smooch on his helmet. Was she trying to embarrass him in public? Maybe. Either way she beams with a smile. "I'll catch you later, kay?" Torque then nods a farewell to Mirage before sauntering off to go shopping.
Mirage accepts the card with a small smile for courtesy's sake. Perhaps this mech could be...useful in his own way. "I may be by to discuss some matters with you." he says noncomittally.
Weaversplice inclines his head with a grin. He's about to get to his feet and tell Torque he was on his way out when she comes over and does so first. He doesn't respond with much embarassment at the kiss, nor does he really return the gesture. If anything, he seems nonchalant about the display. He leans forward, extending a hand towards Skywind. "Truly was a pleasure making an acquaintence of your calibur, Skywind, but I must be off about my own business."
Mirage merely stares at the proffered hand and inclines his head in a gesture of respect instead. "The pleasure is mine, as well, Weaversplice."
Sepphoris starts seemingly idly mixing tiny amounts of the containers on her table into her cup of energon, causing the resulting concoction to turn green, bubble as if boiling, then puff out a small green cloud. Nodding to herself at the result, she then takes a sip of the now-green energon. With a startle and a disgusted expression, she adds a few more grains of something else, causing the color to start shifting again.
Weaversplice retracts his hand after it had hung there for a moment. He then just inclines his head as well with a sure grin, not seeming to waver at rejection. He then turns to Thermalflare, narrowing his optics just momentarily before he nods to her too. "Truly, a pleasure and thanks again for the drink, Thermalflare. I hope to see you around on your business." With a cheerful wave, the mech strides out.
Mirage turns to his last companion. "Thermalflare. How...appropriate. Dodged any burning buildings lately?"
Bankshot laughs at Torque's shot, offering a wave to the femme as she leaves. "Like I said, not a problem, darling! I just might hold you to that!" She calls after Torque, waiting for the femme to be out of sight before turning her full attention back to the two mechs. Unfortunately for her, it looks like one of the two is leaving, and she pouts a little in a disappointment. When Weaversplice says goodbye, she smiles back at him, not missing the way his optics narrow. "The pleasure was mine." She responds, her own optics narrowing slightly in return. As he leaves, she looks around for another distraction, and the mysterious color-changing energon is an interesting one indeed. She gets to her feet, planning to approach the other femme, but then 'Skywind' speaks. Her attention snaps to him, optics narrowing sharply for a moment before her expression returns to the warm smile. Taking Weaversplice's abandoned seat, she steeples her fingers together and rests her chin on them. "Judging by that accent, /you/ certainly have." Despite her friendly expression, the orange and pink femme's tone has taken on a much harsher tone. "I thought everyone in the Towers was slaughtered like little turborats."
Sepphoris pauses in tinkering with her energon to look over at the mech who mentions a burning building. A recent fire? Where? She's only briefly curious, though, as her cup of now-purple energon starts fizzing and spitting sparks. She utters a faint curse and hastily drops a few grains of something into it to make the fizzing stop. Near disaster averted.
Mirage narrows his golden optics. "Not...everyone." His tone is rather harsh.
Bankshot smiles at that, though there's a cruel edge to the expression visible to anyone looking hard enough. "Well, isn't that just /wonderful./" She coos, not at all fazed by the mech's demeanour. "It must be so hard for you, darling, having to survive on scrap after a life like that."
Mirage feels the fleeting urge to rip the femme's optics out. "I survive quite well, Lady. I have my resources." He sniffs. "As I am certain a femme of your classification and...talents does as well. Mechs often talk, after."
Sepphoris can't help but glance over at the two again. Passersby may not notice, but she can almost FEEL the hostility between them from here. Glancing between them then around the cafe quickly, she then pulls two of the sealed energon containers she just purchased and opens them to quickly add bits of this, that, and the other. The energon in them again changes color, though to more of a cool blue with purple undertones. As soon as both containers are starting to mist out faintly blues smoke, she turns and offers them to 'Skywind' and the hostile femme. "Here, compliments of the house." Just... please don't fight.
Mirage stares at the energon. Primus alone knows what that femme just put into it, it could very well deactivate him six times over...or worse, disable his firewalls abd force him to tell all that he knew. Propriety dictated that he react a certain way, though... "Thank you, Lady, yet my tanks are full, I could not possibly have another taste. Perhaps you might enjoy it yourself?"
Bankshot pauses at that before chuckling, leaning back in her seat with a sultry smile. "Oooh, am I /that/ famous, darling? Maybe I should start charging." She manages to keep her expression in place until the end, where she snorts in amusement. Then Sepphoris arrives with those interesting energon cubes and she shifts her demeanour to something much more friendly, smiling brightly at the other femme. "Oh, aren't you a sweetspark! Thank you!" She gushes, accepting the energon cube and setting it down in front of her. When Skywind declines, she narrows her optics slightly. "Aw, Skywind, it's a gift! You should accept! Come on, drink with me- to meeting new people." She picks up the energon as she says this, holding it up for a toast.
Mirage sets his lips in a thin line and finally nods. "I will...try this." He recognizes the other femme from the candy stall, and that had been just fine. As long as that...big one was not near...
Sepphoris looks from Mirage to Bankshot and back, inwardly very glad that the latter seemed to drop the hostility when accepting the beverage. She starts to draw back when Mirage accepts. She smiles in a hopefully winning way to the pair then retreats back to her own table and her cup of energon that has turned a rather unappetizing shade of grey.
Mirage sips cautiously, savoring the flavor...odd, but good. "All right, Thermalflare, some things are evident. You are more than you seem."
Bankshot smirks slightly, sipping the colorful cube and automatically turning on the chemical sensors in her mouth to ensure it wasn't poisoned before accepting it into her fuel tanks. Her attention shifts from the readouts to her companion as he speaks, and she sets the cube down for a moment. "I'm not the only one, darling. What sort of ground mech is named 'Skywind', hm?"
Mirage smirks. "One colored like the skies of an alien world, where my guardians created me."
Sepphoris starts putting the various items on her table back into her market bag, then quickly quaffs the rest of her cup of flat grey energon (ewwww) before standing and waving at Skywind and Thermalflare before departing the cafe.
"Paintjobs can change." Bankshot says dismissively, crossing her legs once more. "Towers mechs would have ensured a name would be more enduring. Or have I overestimated your fellows?" She smirks slightly, waving to the femme as she leaves. "Come now, darling, why don't you stop playing games with me?"
Mirage narrows his optics once more, considering. His true designation would at least shut her up about his heritage, which bothered him quite a bit. "Mirage. And yourself?"
Bankshot stays silent for a few moments, swinging her leg back and forth idly. "Bankshot." She finally offers, smiling again. "See, now was that so hard, sweetspark?" She asks rhetorically, placing one hand under her chin to watch his reaction.
Mirage snorts. "I am not your sweetspark, Bankshot." He begins running *that* name through the compiled data he posesses, cross-referencing and collating even as they spoke.
Bankshot chuckles, taking another sip of the colorful energon as she does the same, though with far less interest. "Say my name so loudly again and I'll carve all of your fingers off one by one." She says quietly, her tone light even though the threat was anything but. "Okay, sweetspark?"
Mirage just watches her, unimpressed in the least by her threat, though his information told him that not only was she capable of it, she'd likely kerp that same smile on her pretty face while she did it. "Propriety and confidences must indeed be kept, Thermalflare, wouldn't you agree?" He steeples those fingers before him.
"But of course, Skywind." Bankshot answers smoothly, giving Mirage another of her falsely sweet smiles. "I wouldn't have it any other way, darling." The information that comes back from her search is intriguing, to say the least, but not particularly relevant to her at the moment. "Now... What's someone like you doing in a place like this?"
Mirage speaks quietly. "Information, what else? More valuable than credits, and more useful than most who mill about the streets of this place." He is not fooled by her sweetness, nor her deceptively calm questions. Still, she likely knew what he needed to know.
Bankshot humms lowly to herself, optics narrowing slightly as she focuses on her companion. "Information is indeed valuable, especially for people such as yourself. Luckily for you, however..." Her smile widens. "I have made a point to deal in /all/ markets."
Mirage nods. "I had hoped so. I seek entry into protected areas...I suppose it goes without saying that I require this entry to be as unobtrusive as possible. Nothing in life is free, though...and I prefer to know the cost before I decide."
Bankshot leans back in her chair, scanning the area around them to ensure they don't have any unwanted listeners before speaking further. "How much it costs depends on how protected the area you want to get in to is." She responds, already mentally calculating how much to charge the mech.
Mirage mentally calculates what this is likely to cost and figures that his prior payment is far more than enough. "Unguarded unmonitored routes into both Iacon and Polyhex for a single mech." he says almost silently, just loudly enough for her to hear.
Bankshot raises both optic ridges at that, swinging her leg again as her mental price immediately raises. "Somebody's doing something special!" She says, chuckling at her own little comment before uncrossing her legs and leaning forward. "That, my dear mech, is pricey information. Since if either side finds out who gave it to you, little ol' me isn't going to be in business much longer!"
Mirage only smiles at her 'special' comment, refusing to give any more than he has. "Oh, I'm sure that you have your ways...and I expected pricey. The question is, /sweetspark/, what that price is going to be."
Bankshot chuckles at Mirage's use of her own term of affection, watching him through dimmed optics as she calculates a 'fair' price. "Mmmm, for you, darling? How about... Nine thousand credits for both? That's a thousand off their individual prices, a nice little package deal for a friend."
Mirage cocks an eyeridge. "Expensive. For that price, I should expect an escort from Prime himself. Alas, quality information is worth its weight in creds, and your reputation is far too dear to you to risk it over something so...minor." Mirage removes a credchip from a small compartment on his wrist, next to his blade port. "I have your price."
Bankshot holds out her hand for the cred chip, smile still firmly in place. "An escort would be extra." She remarks cheerfully, not caring for Mirage's opinion of her price. "My reputation is good; my information is better. I'm risking my own aft to sell you this, sweetspark, and this is far too fine an aft to risk on the cheap."
Mirage hands the chip over, quite prepared to unleash hell should she attempt to bolt with such an exorbitant sum. Mirage briefly considers making a show of looking at said aft to judge the truth of her words, but knows that this is uncouth and totally not his style. "Yes, it would be dangerous to have it known that you can evade faction security." he remarks softly.
Bankshot slides back a small panel in her arm, plugging the chip in and reading its balance. Satisfied that the agreed upon amount is on the chip, she pulls out a small datapad, beginning to type the requested information out. "Both these routes will take you underground."
Mirage nods. He's no flyer, to fear the underbelly of Cybertron. "That is acceptable." he says, waiting for her to finish typing.
For a few breems, the only sound is the general buzz of the area around them and Bankshot's quiet typing, the femme concentrating on the information she's selling. Once she finishes, she reads everything over, then deactivates the datapad, holding it up for Mirage to examine. "Everything you need is on this. It will only get you in the cities; avoiding the security systems is your problem. And just so you know, darling?" Keeping her sugary sweet tone and smile, she drops her voice even further, leaning in closer to Mirage. "If you /ever/ tell anyone who you got this from, I won't just deactivate you. I will turn your entire existence into a constant assault of agony, until you scream and /beg/ me to show you the mercy of ending it all. Understand, sweetspark?"
Mirage smirks. "Completely. Just as I will give you some advice free of charge...should it be whispered into the wrong audials exactly what our business was this cycle, know that those who wrong me have a disturbing habit of disappearing, never to be found again. It's like their existences were nothing more than a..." Mirage puts a single fingertip to his lips. "Pleasure doing business with you, Thermalflare. We should do it again sometime." Golden optics, cold as the metal they resemble, watch her face intently.
Bankshot doesn't even falter at the threat, smile still easily in place. Instead, she chuckles, tapping the datapad lightly against Mirage's cheek before setting it down in front of him. "Aren't you just full of surprises." She murmurs, more to herself than him, then pushes herself to her feet. "The pleasure was mine, and I absolutely agree, darling. I already left my personal comm number in there for whenever you want to meet. See you around, sweetspark." With another smile and a finger-wiggling wave, she heads into the crowds, getting lost in them easily in spite of her distinctive paintjob.