Elita forced her wrists to pull her hood down, allowing her to blend in with the crowd of commoners trudging inside. Political officials and their affiliates didn't have to worry about giving up their hoarded credits to attend matches, but any of the lower castes wishing to spend their off-breems splattered with energon had to pay for the privilege.
And of course, she'd left her paycheck from last night at her berthside. Scrap.
Under normal circumstances she might be able to pass herself off as a political escort, armour perfectly polished and decked in diamante, but she'd made an effort to look ordinary today. Her plating was plain rose and silver, a little better than what a common caste femme might be able to afford but still not extravagant enough to let her breeze through security with no questions asked.
Her best chance would be to wait until a large group was admitted and try to hide herself in them without being noticed- just as well she choose to cover up, else her armour would have stuck out like a sprained servo amidst the sea of regal blues and greens, as well as the more common sludge and gunmetal paintjobs of the low-castes.
She had her optics on a mixture of Praxian-looking bots, not so drunk that they'd be denied entry but enough that they wouldn't notice an addition to their group, when she collided with a mass of purple armour and orange velvet. Elita had been trained to stay firm on her peds no matter what, but a rush of shock almost made her fall flat on her aft.
"We really must stop meeting like this, Elita, lest some bots get ideas." Ratbat smiled down at her, yet she struggled to find any kindness in his amused expression.
"I...I didn't mean, I'm sorry-"
"Oh, don't be, dear." The Senator waved a servo and put another gently on her shoulder. Now the kindness flooded his features, and Elita couldn't help but ease just a little in the glow of it. "Just some dry humour at your expense. A lot of my kind is cursed by it, unfortunately. If anything I should be apologising."
"So, what brings you here again? I won't assume it's because of the lovely decor."
Despite the sparkle in his optics, Elita knew better than to let her guard down just yet. "I'm... meeting someone." It wasn't uncommon for escort femmes to meet their clients or friends at city landmarks if neither could afford their own private transport. "Inside the arena, but-"
"You forgot your credits," Ratbat finished for her, his smile turning sympathetic. "I can't tell you how many times I've shown up at a party not even able to buy a drink. For a few stellar cycles I had to weld my purse to my hip plating before I managed to get a subspace upgrade." Now Elita couldn't help but laugh at the mental image of the mech with a pack bulging with credits astride one of his hip joints.
"Not to worry, though," he went on, leading the femme to the steel-faced guard at the arena's entrance. "Everyone here knows me, and most know better than to not let me through."
Elita raised an eyeridge at him. "'Most' know?"
"Those that don't do well to learn quickly."
Before she could ask him to elaborate further, an orange mech suddenly stepped into their path, towering and bristling before them.
"So, the purple prince has climbed out of his aft and down from his golden throne?" He spat a wad of chewed energon just shy of Ratbat's peds. "What's the occasion- someone's wife wants you to kiss their sparkling's helm or did you just feel like flaunting everything you stole?"
"Nice to see you too, Cannonball," the Senator said cheerily, as if he didn't have a metal bull looking just about to charge him. "I didn't catch you last night."
The speed at which Cannonball dropped his fury was jarring, scowl replaced with gruff laughter. "Yeah, it was Lugnut's shift so I was with the Stars and the missus. Yellow paint's getting expensive and her chestplate pattern's starting to fade. She ain't happy."
"The Pit hath no fury like a femme without a can of 'Lemonburst'." The two shared a chuckle that left Elita more confused than ever.
"I know you didn't come down to look at my handsome mug, so what you here for?"
Ratbat shrugged. "I was feeling nostalgic for the old days, when this whole arena was in the palm of my servo and you were a little more careful with your glossa." He seemed to look fondly up at the bleak spires stabbing the sky for a moment. "Being a Senator pays better, though there is considerably more disgruntled employees who try to decapitate you in your own office."
Cannonball laughed again, a sound so deep that Elita feared she might fall into it. She hoped that thought wasn't what brought the mech's attention on her. "Who's the girl, then? Thought your lot wasn't allowed any femmes from Praxus?"
Elita had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, but her mouth went into a pout whether she willed it or not. 'How the Pit does everyone know I'm from there?!' It wasn't like the city had its own brand for everyone in its walls (other than a few mechs surfacing from night on the town with some unsavoury things blatantly carved into their armour by their peers).
"She's a friend of mine, meeting up with someone inside," Ratbat explained pointedly. Cannonball didn't look away at once, lingering almost suspiciously on her before stepping aside.
"In that case, I won't keep you waiting."
Ratbat tugged on Elita's servo, and she was grateful else she might have been glued to the floor all evening. "Say hello to Flamewar for me, I might see a supply route gets disrupted near her safehouse."
The mech released one last rumbling laugh. "You damn well better, you slippery slagger."
This time Elita didn't try taking in the brighter surroundings of the arena. She had to run to keep up with Ratbat's brisk stride, staring at him with wide optics. It took him a few klicks to notice, and he smiled mostly at himself.
"Not all heavyweight bots do construction work," he explained. "A lot are used for guard jobs, usually hired by club managers or paranoid store owners. Cannonball's had enough past jobs to fill the Hall of Records, but he hasn't budged from here just yet. I hired him myself, you know."
Elita had a lot more she wanted to know, but she decided to settle for the basics. An escort who knew everything about potential clients was usually a wealthy one. "And he's been here all this time?"
"I think he enjoys getting to throw out Seekers when they can't afford any bets they lose," Ratbat mused. "Something about watching them struggling on the ground."
'Speaking of Seekers...' Something that had been bothering Elita since she saw the crimson armour just might be something the Senator would be interested in as well (after all, politics was dangerous if you didn't know what others were doing).
"I saw Starscream... just on the city outskirts when I arrived," she revealed, with a trained casualness in her tone.
"Is that so?" Ratbat scratched lightly at his chin. "I didn't hear of his sire giving him any Kaon-centered duties today." The fact of Starscream's father being the current Winglord was something only brought up in the depths of a drunken night out, considering when the Seeker was made a senator any accusations of family bias were swiftly squashed at their sources (they never did find the body of that Tyrest Times journalist...).
"Well, I'm sure he has good enough reasons, else we'd be hearing him shrieking from here." Ratbat laughed lightly at his own joke, stopping before the arena's main entrance hall branched off into three separate lanes. At the centre stood an elaborate but decrepit and rusting iron statue, showing a minuscule gladiator facing off against an immense Driller leaping from the ground.
"Anyway, I've taken enough of your time," Ratbat said with an apologetic air. "Let's hope your friend doesn't keep you waiting."
Elita felt something in her spark stab every time she was reminded of her lie. "Where are you going?"
"Oh, I'll be around. Seeing what's changed and what hasn't." He gave a small wave and turned on his heel, making his way down the hall straight ahead. Elita waited a while after he'd disappeared from view before making her own way onwards.