Child, I Will Hurt You (Closed RP)
Mark each of the slavers as confused at this peculiar encounter - Pariah included. The lot of them, save for Frost, had expected a small row to erupt… not relaxation. He listened very closely to their conversation while staying just out of view from around the corner.
"N-no optics?" Tank-Treads remarked with surprise. They exchanged glances, and one of the other slavers - Pariah dubbed her Copter-Blades - leaned in to whisper to the apparent leader. The assassin attuned his hearing to pick up their conversation.
Copter-Blades: “Look at her wings, how intricate her designs are. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Tank-Treads: “No optics, chilly frame, pretty marks on a pretty and clueless femme? Yeah, I am.”
Copter-Blades: “It sounds like this ‘Poppa’ was her hustler. Put her optics out to keep her from running, I heard some of them do that.”
Tank-Treads: “That doesn’t make any sense and that is why you’re not in charge of this outfit! There’s a market for her, though… no labor, not that kind at least, ha!”
Pariah’s tanks churned.
Tank-Treads snickered at Frost. “Aww, ain’t that a shame! Yeah, bar staff around here can be damn surly. And don’t worry about being dirty, we’re all dirty!”
At this, his small crew stifled their giggling.
"So, Frost,” he continued as he produced a small cube for her, “We know some people who may be very interested in meeting you. You running low? Have a sip of this… tell us all about Poppa and you’re great plan to do whatever it is you’re trying to do!”
One of Pariah’s drones scanned the cube and fed him its chemical analysis.
[ CONTENTS: Low-grade energon. CONTAMINANTS DETECTED: transformation suppressant, sedatives (non-recommended percentages) ]
So they intended to knock her out and carry her off towards a destiny he had fought to escape from. Disgust flooded his entire being, mixed with his drug-induced happiness, and resulted in a strange and noxious joy-hate mixture.
Pariah looked over his loadout: concussion rifle, a handgun, his chakrams and his collapsible bardiche. If I use the concussion rifle, it might blow them all apart, he thought. Handgun’s too weak. Maybe chakrams to handle them effectively. But… He drew the small, metal capsule at his hip. This thing is always fun to use.
“They don't work, unfortunately.” She answers back, the smile still in her voice, “Poppa tried to have some put in, but they just sort of lit up to a pale red, they said, but I still couldn't see a visual feed.”
Unable to hear the whispering, she shrugs lightly, a slight smile on her lips as she giggles, “Still, I would like to look my best when I get to Cybertron. Thats where I was trying to go. Poppa and Uncle Bolo told me stories about it, he said I should visit a few places, and to be careful around the Rust Sea. He told me of the beautiful things that were there. I wanted to check if anything was left, maybe just to touch, he explained that I could maybe find a guide, and they would be able to describe some of it to me.”
The slender femme startles slightly at the feel of a cube being nudged into her digits, though she smiles brightly, a brilliantly pleased expression full of innocent appreciation as he tells her to drink, “Thank you so very much, I really needed this.”
Without a scan or even hesitation, she uses both small servos to cup the cube, sipping deeply from the delicious brew within. Her tank pings happily, a contented hum escaping from her engine as she listens to the words spoken to her, her voice sweet and cheerful, “Oh...really? Are they nice? I'm always ready and willing to meet new friends.”
She leans trustingly against the big warm frame against her side, finishing the small cube with a soft sleepy hiccup. The contents of the cube work quickly, and the snowy white seeker starts to droop, her wings fluttering softly before going limp, “I....oooh, I'm sorry...I'm...just...r-really....s...sle...py.”
Another soft hiccup escapes her tank as the empty cube falls from her servers, and the femme slowly starts to tip over, completely out.
