Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss

Thankfully, it seemed word of what had happened had reached Medbay already. Because while medics and staff were going about their business, they also made sure to give Longarm and Weaselwing what space could be afforded.

Even as one of them went up to Longarm and led the way to where Weaselwing could be sat down to be scanned and treated. Shockwave just glad that the Autobots actually had access to advanced devices for this sort of thing.

If they'd had to go to a Decepticon medic the only option would've been physcial examination, which meant touch. And as funny as it would be to watch the little flight bot blast some Con into the wall, it would also not be a good time. And the same applied to now. Which left the taller mech keeping a close watch as he stood by, the Prime's involvement in the whole affair obviously concerning the Pitt out of everyone.

Oh, he sat down when a chair was offered, but from how he's practically perched on its very edge ready to propel himself out if he feels it is some sort of trap, and he is watching everything. Every twitch of kibble, every flare and slick of armour, every flex or flare of digits, and always what they are holding. His first point of call is to distance himself to create distance. If that is breached? He will intentionally make contact of his apparent 'not static'

But, seems Longarm's order of Do Not Touch Him was being honoured from how medics chose to instead wave scanners over him, directing him to hold his arm out or lift his helm up, to get diagnosis on his vitals and the damage. Fractured wrist; Would need a cast or brace. Cracked cockpit glass; Would heal on its own. Busted flight visor; Could replace it himself. But at least all the dents from the blows would pop out on their own.

All in all? The suggestion was low activity, plenty of rest and a proper meal. His tanks were basically running on empty, which checked out.

Oh hey! Even a little bottle of painkillers since he was very adament of 'nope' when offered something else for the pain. "I can put the brace on"

"We can handle that when we go back up."

Longarm nods to his assistant before turning to the nearest nervous medic.

"I'll be taking a brace with the painkillers, thank you. And if that's all, we'll be on our way."

Even with everyone going out of their way to be sure not to touch Weaselwing, it was obvious the flight frame was still on edge. And, frankly, Shockwave was just as eager to leave as well. The sooner the pair of them were out of public optic anywhere, the sooner things would begin to die down.

And he also wanted to investigate what the frag was going on with the flight frame further. And that would have to be done in private.

With brace, painkillers, and a diagnosis of thankfully mild injuries, they could leave. And soon enough were back in the elevator, headed right back up to the relative "safety" of Longarm's department.

"I'll put the brace on you when we get back to my office. It's best if someone else does it, instead of you trying to one handed....."

A handy enough excuse to make physical contact again....

"And I'll order delivery for lunch. Can't have you keeling over on me, either."

Having not refueled since before leaving to investigate that now false lead, Shockwave found himself feeling rather hungry. But business first. Then a well deserved meal...

Honestly, he didn't expect for Seacrest to actually propose staying with Longarm for the assignment. Most Cons would've been delighted to be on their own and not hesitate to snatch up the chance. Personal comforts a priority even while on a mission like this.

And it was obvious that the idea really did appeal to the seacon, even as he made argument against it almost immediately. Shockwave had to respect that focus towards the goal.

".........I can't find fault in your logic. There have been no attempts on my life while on Cybertron, yet. But I've also never had backup before. So now that you are to be with me, there is strength in numbers....."

He muses, calculations already running triple fold within Shockwave's processor.

"I have unused rooms in my accommodation, so you'll have space to call for yourself. I will still arrange for you to have an official address of your own for our use, but you can stay with me."

He agrees with a nod.

As Longarm will come to learn, Seacon's were usually deployed in 'schools' of five to twelve to help them patrol, scout, mine, or perform recon. While, yes, a seeker or a grounder might relish the sudden offering of space, for an aquatic? Being alone was usually a death sentence. With no one to watch you, you tended to drift off into the current or depths silently.

"Thank you, sir" Well, that gets a pleased little smile that even the great Shockwave finds that his suggestion is logical. "And, of course, by having the second apartment if at any point you need space for ... Guests, or meetings, I can shuffle across the hallway to give you some privacy" Not that this guy really looked like the type for 'guests', but who knows.

But this was good. Shockwave had yet to have an attempt on his life by his little botty peers, even a half assed one, which means if and when it comes about, it will get this little fish one step closer to a handshake with Big M.

"... So, do you have some sort of routine? Just so I don't get underpede"

Why would he need privacy for any Guests-?

Oh. Oh.

"....I do not have guests, ever. So no need to worry about....that..."

"As for routine, that can vary....."

And that was how the rest of the trip back to Cybertron went. Longarm filling Seacrest in on particular details the seacon would need to know. Answering questions his new mission partner had. By the time they arrived, it was late evening. Which worked out best for the Prime, enabling for a disembarking with little staff to witness. Or care.

They head to his - their? - apartments, feeling tired but deciding he'd at least start working on forging documentation for the seacon before retiring for the evening. When they arrive, it would prove that Longarm's choice in decor was....understated. But not bad.

Comfortable but standard furniture and floor plan, only the occasional bit of seemingly random abstract art on the otherwise blank walls. And everything colored in tasteful cool greys, blacks and ocean teals/blues.

Just the type of place for a mech that was both too busy and very mild in personality, which Longarm was supposed to be.

"Here we are." He'd mutter, giving a light stretch as he does.

#seacrestseacon #longarm

blennie

I mean he’s kinda ugly and freaky looking I’ll admit it but he’s special to me so it’s fine

#about shockwave

rpmemes-galore

send me ‘ kisses ‘ and i’ll generate a number for how / where my muse kisses yours

add ‘reverse’ to the ask for the positions to be reversed

1. a kiss to the palm

2. a peck on the lips

3. a sad kiss goodbye

4. a peck on the cheek

5. a kiss on an old scar

6. a kiss to the knuckles

7. a kiss to the forehead

8. a kiss on a healing bruise

9. an excited kiss as a reunion

10. a kiss to the top of the head

11. a kiss on a bandaged wound

12. a stolen kiss somewhere public

13. a sleepy kiss in the early morning

14. a deep, passionate kiss on the lips

15. a kiss goodnight after a date gone well

16. a desperate kiss to your wounded muse

17. and awkward kiss after a date gone wrong

18. a lot of laughing, little kisses across the face

19. a kiss on the shoulder while hugging from behind

20. a gentle kiss while slow-dancing together in the dark

Well. It's gratifying to see that the mention of Megatron, at least, could get the seacon to visibly lock in a bit more. As did the living situation.

Honestly, Longarm couldn't blame him. Truly, despite everything, where he lived on Cybertron was definitely the nicest accommodations he'd ever had in his millennia of life. As infuriating as it was sad.

"You'll have your own apartment near my own. That way your comings and goings won't be up to much scrutiny. You'll also have access to where I live, for easy collaboration."

Oh, he's locked the F in now. At least you know the Seacon equivelent of 'Walkies?' to get him on track.

"My own? Like, no roomies?" He says, looking over at Longarm in surprise. He gets his own digs? Like, a whole apartment to himself? Not, shared with anyone like a squadmate, a coworker, a recruit?

".... Seems risky. You are a Prime here, of intelligence, and while I have no doubt you can handle yourself, you also have to stay in that frame without drawing attention to yourself or without having the strength of a decepticon. If anyone wants your job, they are going to get you when you are most vunerable, which is before, during, or after recharge. If we shared, it would be easier collaboration."

"And, if I attack someone for breaking in, I make headlines, not you"

Honestly, he didn't expect for Seacrest to actually propose staying with Longarm for the assignment. Most Cons would've been delighted to be on their own and not hesitate to snatch up the chance. Personal comforts a priority even while on a mission like this.

And it was obvious that the idea really did appeal to the seacon, even as he made argument against it almost immediately. Shockwave had to respect that focus towards the goal.

".........I can't find fault in your logic. There have been no attempts on my life while on Cybertron, yet. But I've also never had backup before. So now that you are to be with me, there is strength in numbers....."

He muses, calculations already running triple fold within Shockwave's processor.

"I have unused rooms in my accommodation, so you'll have space to call for yourself. I will still arrange for you to have an official address of your own for our use, but you can stay with me."

He agrees with a nod.

#seacrestseacon #longarm

For all the advantages and knowledge the Autobots had, their ignorance and complacency was their weakness. The way that Weaselwing had been allowed to slip through the cracks, was a prime example of that.

"I'll take care of it. We just need you to get scanned and get some support for your arm to heal properly.'

Longarm says, looking (mostly) composed once more as the doors open and he leads the way down the hall to the medbay.

"Yessir"

On Velocitron, it hadn't been so bad. Whether that was just everything moving at a speed he couldn't compute, or his means of flying from A to B to avoid the chaos of sidewalks and highways, he hadn't really had any of these 'accidents' like Cybertron. Was there something different about the two planets? Something in the air, the fuel, the chemical compounds? He can't remember these issues back home.

Arm tucked close to his chassis as he slinks along after Longarm, optics landing on any source of motion to ensure the medical staff keep to themselves, and Longarm will find himself as a buffer with any staff passing by a little too close, optics trained on their servos until they are deemed out of range. For all the Primes' curiosity, this might be the one place contact is truly avoided. He looked ready to throw hands down in the holding block, but here? He looks ready to smash his way out a window.

Best to get this scan done and back in the lift as soon as possible...

Thankfully, it seemed word of what had happened had reached Medbay already. Because while medics and staff were going about their business, they also made sure to give Longarm and Weaselwing what space could be afforded.

Even as one of them went up to Longarm and led the way to where Weaselwing could be sat down to be scanned and treated. Shockwave just glad that the Autobots actually had access to advanced devices for this sort of thing.

If they'd had to go to a Decepticon medic the only option would've been physcial examination, which meant touch. And as funny as it would be to watch the little flight bot blast some Con into the wall, it would also not be a good time. And the same applied to now. Which left the taller mech keeping a close watch as he stood by, the Prime's involvement in the whole affair obviously concerning the Pitt out of everyone.

"......this is not static build up...."

Longarm replies lowly, Shockwave trying to acclimate to the barrage of emotional data his processor was getting even as Weaselwing began to settle down. The experience was almost like if they had their EM fields fully enmeshed, instead of just brushing like they were.

Finally he can't take the contact and lets go slowly, letting out a soft vent as he does. His optics studying the smaller flight frame with a new clarity.

"...not a surprise the medics still planet side have failed you so. Anyone who'd know what they were looking at is either offline or on the front lines out in space...."

He can't help but mutter. As he speaks they finally get to their floor and the lift settles. He rubs a hand over his faceplates, wiping away the tears that still lingered there.

"....I have an idea but....let's have medbay see you first...."

"It's ... Not?" He frowns, wondering what else it could be aside static. It was a built charge that upon conductive touch with another cybertronian's alloy, caused them to flinch back with a shock. That was static.

Still, the fact that there were people who knew about his condition out there, alive, made him a little hopeful at the possibility of a cure or treatement. Yes, they were on the front lines, but surely the Decepticon's would yield at being barred at every turn by their wonderful Magnus and relentless barrage against occupied planets. They had fuel, infrastructure, economy, medicine, civilisation. They decepticons were just wallowing in the mud in the boonies.

A little nod at going to the medbay first, and Weaselwing is using his good arm to pull himself up off the floor, joining Longarm in a quick rub of his faceplates to clean himself up and tucking his rotors in tight against his back. "... As long as they don't inject me with anything, I'll be fine. I'm ... I'm not good around med bays" He's had some ... not so great experiences at boot camp.

For all the advantages and knowledge the Autobots had, their ignorance and complacency was their weakness. The way that Weaselwing had been allowed to slip through the cracks, was a prime example of that.

"I'll take care of it. We just need you to get scanned and get some support for your arm to heal properly.'

Longarm says, looking (mostly) composed once more as the doors open and he leads the way down the hall to the medbay.

Solus Prime....a name that meant nothing to Herbie. Sure, the younger Velocitronian knew the myths of such a figure. Impossible not to after spending so much time with native born Cybertronians.....

"Figures someone as rusty as you would know more about imaginary figures than current bots." The bug sighs tiredly

But he hadn't grown up with that lore. There was barely teachings about Primus himself on Velocitron. Religion a low priority for the mainstream audiences. Herbie merely staring blankly at the comment, not giving whatever emotion reaction Haybail might've wanted to get for Shockwave to see- because he wasn't sure what to give.

"It was perimeter patrol, old mech. Surveillance."

And the energon of earth didn't belong to Decepticons, but Herbie holds off from saying that.

---

"-and I have former Interrogator Haybail working the prisoner as we speak. In exchange for remaining known as 'Missing in Action'. All goes well, I will have the information you seek by end of cycle, my Liege."

Shockwave continues with his report to Megatron. Just because he agreed to keep the farmer from being known as active, didn't mean Megatron wouldn't know about the deal.....

digitaloptiics

'Shame you don't know her,' Haybail chuckled a laugh through his cigar. 'Mighty fine, femme.' He made a motion with his servo, like he was trying to outline her figure. And this wasn't an act. Haybail did have a love for Solus, even if she was long gone by the time he was brought online. And Herbie just had to witness that. Guess everyone, even the older mechs, had a personal favourite Prime.

Moving himself, the former Decepticon got to his pedals and took one final intake of his smoke.

'So, that's it? You promise you won't come back here?' Even when he was knee-deep in the Decepticon cause, not every interrogation ended with him breaking someone down. Sometimes, it was just this. Sometimes, he really did have nothing to work with. He moved behind Herbie and raised a servo. 'Thank you.'

And swung. It will hurt the poor speedster when he wakes up, but he'll be thanking him later.

#digitaloptiics #shockwave #guest appearance : herbie

Herbie can't help the lightly entertained expression he makes when Haybail does that figure charade about Solus Prime - seriously?!

His entertainment dies down when the elder mech gets up and starts moving around again, moving to be behind him. And the racer resists the urge to look over her shoulder, simply sits there. Bracing for what he thinks is going to be the next stage of whatever questioning Haybail was going to play act....

"I don't even know where here is...." He starts, suddenly growing antsy from the other's tone.

"What-?!"

But he doesn't get to finish the question. The impact to the back of the racer's helm hitting with enough force in just the right place to render him unconscious near instantly. He'd definitely feel pain once his processor rebooted later, but otherwise he wouldn't be worse for war.

Herbie's limp frame would slump onto the table due to the momentum, leaving him fully at the mercy of whatever came next.

At the same time as this, Shockwave was finishing up his conversation with Megatron and closing the connection. Then he would turn and start making his way back, checking the video feed as he did.

........

His hand curls around that shoulder, making contact, and-

Small. Feeling so small and helpless! Horrified relief! Panicked realization of a danger narrowly avoided-!

He gasps and lets go - for a klik. And then he's grabbing onto Weaselwing once more, hold firm on the shorter mech's shoulders. Now using both hands to get full contact.

THIS! THIS WAS IT!

The effect was the same! Sudden emotions that were not his own!

Was this why the heli avoided touch at all costs-?!

Liquid begins to leak from Longarm's own optics, making him look as if he were crying with his assistant. But it was just run over from the emotions steamrolling through the larger mech's processor. He grit his denta, determined to investigate what was going on here. And get Weasel to calm down before they got to the medbay.

"I saw the security footage. They antagonized you and threw pointed accusations around.....you hit a breaking point due to their treatment of you."

He reasons, thumb rubbing slightly in a mechanical effort to soothe.

"You're alright. I have your back."

Startling at the press of servos to his shoulder, both of them, and Weaselwing is looking down at the two palms splayed over his pauldron.

For the first time in what had been decacyles here on Cybertron, there was a form of contact long enough for him to actually feel frame heat on his sensors of another being. An em field resting against his. And .. Longarm hadn't pulled away. Usually people recoil at a mere brush. They shout or they yelp like they've been struck, they flinch away like they have been shocked. He's had a medic scream at one point when he'd crash landed and had tried to see if he'd broken anything. Official Diagnosis: Standard Unexplained Flight Frame Static, nothing to worry about. Official Treatment Plan: Avoid physical contact until further notice.

And yet, here was Longarm, two palms pressed to his shoulder, telling him everything would be alright, despite the little rivulet of tears trickling down their own cheeks.

I have your back

Well, consider him calmed down. If not, dumbfounded.

".The medics said the built up 'static' from my flights could hurt someone" He murmurs, not quite sure whether to slink out from under the touch or just ... Enjoy it while it lasts. "So I've been trying to avoid touch where I can. I crashed once on the agility course, and she started screaming when she bent my rotor back into place. After that, I just started treating everything myself where I could. Any time I walked into the medbay, they were always too busy or too inexperienced with my frame type..."

"......this is not static build up...."

Longarm replies lowly, Shockwave trying to acclimate to the barrage of emotional data his processor was getting even as Weaselwing began to settle down. The experience was almost like if they had their EM fields fully enmeshed, instead of just brushing like they were.

Finally he can't take the contact and lets go slowly, letting out a soft vent as he does. His optics studying the smaller flight frame with a new clarity.

"...not a surprise the medics still planet side have failed you so. Anyone who'd know what they were looking at is either offline or on the front lines out in space...."

He can't help but mutter. As he speaks they finally get to their floor and the lift settles. He rubs a hand over his faceplates, wiping away the tears that still lingered there.

"....I have an idea but....let's have medbay see you first...."

#altocumulusautobot

"Job perks are you only need to pretend to be performing an office job while I have you do much more interesting tasks. And you will be getting direct recognition from Lord Megatron when this mission reaches success. If you wanted to make a name for yourself in the cause, this is it."

He explains, and gives a light shrug.

"You also get to enjoy the cushy lifestyles the Autobots on Cyberstron have made for themselves. If that matters to you...?"

Direct Recognition from Lord Megatron. Sweet Primus on a jetski! Does Big M do autographs?! Or a photo!?

Well now he's just star eyed and little wings waggling in excitement at the idea of personally being praised by their glorious leader.

"Got it. Fake it till you make it" He can totally pull off the look of being a productive little bean counter until he's needed for other stuff. Oo! Espionage! He could spill some requested drinks all over someone's console if they've got incriminating content on it. Yess, plotting and scheming.

"Wait, don't these guys have, like, plush pillows and little blankets on their berths to keep them cosy?" Sign him the frag up! He's making a nest.

"Soooo... Am I like, bunkin' with department staff like it's bootcamp or...?" Oh, right. Autobots are weird and like this thing call personal space.

#okay but that photo link is SENDING ME #yesssssss #seacrestseacon #longarm

Well. It's gratifying to see that the mention of Megatron, at least, could get the seacon to visibly lock in a bit more. As did the living situation.

Honestly, Longarm couldn't blame him. Truly, despite everything, where he lived on Cybertron was definitely the nicest accommodations he'd ever had in his millennia of life. As infuriating as it was sad.

"You'll have your own apartment near my own. That way your comings and goings won't be up to much scrutiny. You'll also have access to where I live, for easy collaboration."

Considering the antlered mech had decided to pragmatically not go out of his way to antagonize his new.....team member? Subordinate...? He'd be fine with being categorized as simply "curious" up to this point.

"You will just need some training in the filing system and the terminal platform, then. Acceptable."

He notes, before letting out a soft vent. The corner of Longarm's mouth lifting just a bit in the ghost of humor.

"And no, you won't be writing any code. "

Good. Because you'd find a subtle line of varnish around the inner rim of yor glassware so every cup of fuel tasted wrong.

Acceptable.

He's not sure if its a promotion, or a demotion. You go from mining energon on water worlds, or smushing the locals in preperation of the next advancement, straight into a desk jockey.

"Good. Never done it, not programmed for it, would frag it up somewhere ............................... Job perks?"

"Job perks are you only need to pretend to be performing an office job while I have you do much more interesting tasks. And you will be getting direct recognition from Lord Megatron when this mission reaches success. If you wanted to make a name for yourself in the cause, this is it."

He explains, and gives a light shrug.

"You also get to enjoy the cushy lifestyles the Autobots on Cyberstron have made for themselves. If that matters to you...?"

#seacrestseacon #longarm

Longarm is satisfied to see Weaselwing relax down and come along as directed when prompted, the heli still trusting of him at least. He avoids touching the smaller mech, for now, not wanting to risk jostling Weasel's injuries with his blunt Autobot hands. Or risk the touch adverse bot reacting to contact in a way that would be misconstrued.

So the pair walk back out of the cell block and into the are beyond, Longarm holding out a limb to give his assistant space from the crowd but making no body contact himself either. His demeanor the same as when he arrived, at least until he spots Brakecheck within the crowd once more.

"Be advised that I will be filing a long and detailed report about all of this to Ultra Magnus."

His tone is even, as if stating a simple fact. But the cutting look in the Prime's usually soft optics would make it clear that the statement was not just a promise, it was a threat. Helms were going to roll, specifically that of Gearshift and Crankshaft. And Brakecheck himself, if Longarm could swing it.

Get the trio of antagonistic - and far too perceptive - bots demoted down to janitorial detail. Or boot camp staff. Processor numbing backbreaking labor that'll keep them too busy to make accusations. Shockwave was already mentally writing up report drafts as they made it to the lift and got in. It's only when the doors close and they're finally alone do his shoulders slump a bit with a vent. He rubs a hand over his face, ruminating, when he hears the absolutely smallest 'thank you' being said to him.

He turns to look at Weasel and Longarm can't help his optic ridges from raising slightly when he sees the smaller mech is leaking from his optics...

Crying. That was the word for this. He was crying from....relief? Perhaps....?

The Prime stares, expression openly lost for a klik as Shockwave flounders and releases active control of his face plates. Then his expression shifts to concern and he moves forward, the spy going for broke and reaching to take Weasel's shoulder. In an attempt to ground the understandably distraught flight frame.

"Hey, it's going to be alright...."

Spark hammering in his chassis, kicking and clawing what feels like its way up his throat, and it is dawning on him just how narrowly he had avoided ending up in the stockade for an execution or screaming on a table for science, all because, despite it all, Longarm didn't believe him a Decepticon.

I'ts going to be alright.

Well, that gets a whole new bubble of tears and sobs pulled from the little aerial, not even noticing the hand curl over his shoulder supportively in his fight in trying to push all these tears away.

He felt so small ... Why did he always feel so small.

"I-I didn't mean to hurt them! I know they were just angry at me, but then they started bringing you up when I didn't take the bait and then ... Then Brakecheck was separating us. I don't even remember anything"

His hand curls around that shoulder, making contact, and-

Small. Feeling so small and helpless! Horrified relief! Panicked realization of a danger narrowly avoided-!

He gasps and lets go - for a klik. And then he's grabbing onto Weaselwing once more, hold firm on the shorter mech's shoulders. Now using both hands to get full contact.

THIS! THIS WAS IT!

The effect was the same! Sudden emotions that were not his own!

Was this why the heli avoided touch at all costs-?!

Liquid begins to leak from Longarm's own optics, making him look as if he were crying with his assistant. But it was just run over from the emotions steamrolling through the larger mech's processor. He grit his denta, determined to investigate what was going on here. And get Weasel to calm down before they got to the medbay.

"I saw the security footage. They antagonized you and threw pointed accusations around.....you hit a breaking point due to their treatment of you."

He reasons, thumb rubbing slightly in a mechanical effort to soothe.

"You're alright. I have your back."

boccher

‭

fix the past

build the future

Voting ended onApr 17

unyieldingsilence

‎ ‎

@shockingdeception "Relaxation is a luxury I've never been able to afford."

Datashrike gave their fellow Decepticon and loyalist a long, suffering look. "Since when have either of us ever needed relaxation, chief strategist?"

Quite the generous portion to hand over, and Shockwave wasn't going to say no. He takes it with an appreciative nod and moves to sit besides her. Once seated, he shifts his features around so that the bottom half of his face had an actual mouth to drink with.

He'd have a generous sip with relish then.

"Ah, much thanks. This was certainly needed...."

"Indeed." Datashrike agreed, taking a rather LARGE gulp themself. The tired look in the drone's optics lessened somewhat. "I'm hoping when Lord Megatron reigns supreme, we can have access to a little more. And better coworkers."

"Better energon. Better coworkers. And no mindless datapads to read."

He agrees with a noise suspiciously close to a snort. He has another, less greedy, sip from the cube.

"All in good time."

He sighs, relaxing just a little now.

"In good time..."

Several sips and another cube between them later.

"...what if that good time was now? What all could be stopping us, exactly?" Datashrike muttered.

"Ultra Magnus.....and his favorite little prime...."

Comes the tired reply, Shockwave leaning towards Data slightly as he worked hard to not slur his words. Despite definitely having consumed enough high grade that no one would blink twice at him for doing so.

"The rest are....dominoes. Ready to fa-fall...."

They leaned in as well, helping to support the much larger mech even as they themself was starting to sway a little. "Why not just kill Starscream then? I am sure our Emperor would not mind. We can blame it on the Autobots."

That one single red optic watches Data begin to sway from side to side. Following their movements.

"You are hardly the first to think of such a plan.....Starsscream is hard to offline."

Not that Shockwave had ever tried to off the troublesome scheming seeker.....nor had he ever done anything to stop any schemes he caught wind of either...

"He's expecting such efforts now." He dismisses with a held back hiccup.

"Has he ever had his life threatened by US though?" Datashrike pointed out, optics lowered, voice confident, fangs exposed in a grin. The high grade was certainly giving them a boost, it seemed. "We're NOT like the others. No one is like us. Not like YOU, certainly. I have influence. We can...make it look like an accident. A coup. Anything."