[ Arcee doesn't really want to stay hidden forever, as much as Prowl would prefer she did. She's been off the radar so long it was sort of second nature; it was what she knew and was familiar to her. It was a free world for her though. Prowl isn't her keeper.
The video is on and Arcee is out perched on one of the balconies on Leige's mountain, frost clinging to the thick cloth cloak she'd donned since her arrival. There's some tears, neat little slices in the looser parts of the fabric, the holster of her swords decorated in a dozen sharp blades-- remnants of her experience in the Badlands.
She pushes down her hood, pulling off her mask, and shakes her head as if clearing cobwebs out of her thoughts. Her helm has a few bits of scratched paint, a little bit of wear here and there. ]I want to hire myself out to the police force.
[ Very peculiar choice of wording. ]I'm experienced with handling the punishment of individuals who won't stay dead. Looks like you may be in need of that.
[ Spoken like someone who genuinely believes that this is a good experience. Her expression is almost uncharacteristically soft and sincere. To be fair, she really cares about the well being of Cybertron. ]The Haven must be safe within the borders; what's outside is dangerous enough.
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