A New Direction: Part 10
A brand mission, a brand new world where many things are not as they same and thier true objective is not even known to them.
PART TEN
Rubmur walked into his room and surveyed the place. Not a lot of room to dance, but in time, oh yes. He dragged in his case and set it over on a piece of furniture. Weede strolled in, tripped over a crate, got back up, slipped on a magazine, got back up, walked into a wall, got back up, and finally sat down on a box. Not at all perplexed by his weird friend's behavior, Rubmur bent down and picked up the magazine. He flipped through a couple of pages until he said out loud.
"So that's what the femmedian pleasure stick is for," and then paused for a second, "THAT is what the stick is for?"
"Dude, lemme see." Weede said, grabbing the magazine. "...DUDE!! We gotta take advanta- advant- ad-"
"Advantage?" Rubmur finished.
"Yeah, advantage of that!"
"How so?" Rubmur asked, as Weede just stared at the magazine, "Oh! I understand. These guys are all about no guns or no swords or no really big bombs. To fight them, you have to be sneaky. Ah hah, good one Weede, we'll save it for later."
Rubmur went back to his suitcase and opened it. He took out the stick and placed on the furniture, giving a thumbs up to Weede, who was continuing to gaze at the same thing. Then Rubmur took out a black headband and placed it on his head.
"Tonight, will be good my friend." Rubmur said, smiling
"Shyeah, good. We gonna hit that party, we gonna meet some chicks, it's gonna rule!" Weede said, as he reached into a box and secured a pair of sunglasses to his head. "Chicks, hide your, um, chicks, or something, for we are the stud-pimp-lover-dudes! Naga nootch!"
“Shiggidy Shiggidy, Shwah.” Rubmur replied.
The two high fived and danced out into the corridor, ready to be inundated by a torrent of willing, loving, awe-struck femmebots.
Wraith looked at Caska like she had lobsters crawling out of her ears. "Are you nuts? I don't call any Pred a 'friend', even if they've saved my life!"
Caska remembered Wraith now. He was the guy who kept yelling out the exact wrong things at the wrong time out of anger at the trial of the Resistance. Definite liability.
"Have you been listening at all?! We're now members of, or at least under the care of the Conformists, who don't believe in factions, and have a lot of Preds among them. If you start attacking random Preds, you'll end up getting gang raped, and then getting us all thrown off the planet or killed."
Dusty chuckled slightly and leant against the doorframe, arms folded loosely across her torso. "Relax, Cas'. We ain't plannin' anything like that, heh. It'll be nothin' more than a nice, friendly, non-lethal li'l bar fight, nothin' personal involved. Stars, those watchin' us would prolly be more suspicious if we didn't kick up some kinda ruckus. It's t'be expected that whenver a new group rocks on in, there's gonna be a few scuffles t'settle the pecking order."
"That's still no reason to go around picking fights," Caska muttered. Dusty shrugged, then grinned evilly at Wraith as a thought struck her.
"Oorrrr... we could always go raise hell by buzzing a few places with our starfighters..."
Wraith's optics lit up, and Caska sighed. "I think I preffered the bar fight idea..."
[Dirtside]
The bar was big. Big in every way, shape, and form. The main room was perhaps half of the Penance, and just about as wide. A long, deeply scarred bar ran the length of the east wall. A combination of high ‘spool’ tables and dimly lit booths did for what remained of the perimeter. The central area, save a mid sized aisle leading down the bar, was filled with a heterogeneous assortment of battered tables and rickety chairs. The medium sized dance floor was more a concession to bi-nightly bar fighting than it was to dancing.
Outside, flanking the bar’s bright blue doorway, was an outdated metal sign proclaiming the name of the place to be “ Satyr-9’s”. Below it, burned into the metal with a welding torch, was the explanation “ BAR”.
Tonight the Satyr-9 was filled almost to capacity. Maximals and Predacons abounded. One could even spot the odd Autobot or Decepticon, looming high above the other patrons. All were Conformists of one breed or another. Empty and half empty glasses occupied every flat surface, and the air was filled with the smell of a hundred alcohols.
A Maximal approached the bar, empty tankard in hand. On his right shoulder, the square-in-circle emblem of the Conformist Military was clearly visible. A burly bartender ‘bot, also Maximal, turned to take his order. “Need two drafts of energon,” the military ‘bot yelled over the background noise.
“Comin’ up,” the barkeep replied. As he turned his back, the taunting started.
“Hey spit-lick,” growled a voice seated near by at the bar. “Whatsa’ matter? Why don’t you get some real stuff. Drink like a man?” By man of course, he meant human. It was not a compliment.
“Mind you own damn business,” the Maximal shot back. He looked directly at his antagonist, a burly lizard Pred. For the briefest of moments the sound level dropped as a good portion of the bar turned to listen in. Those in the tables bore same square-in-circle. Those around the bar had the Lightning Corp’s black lightning bolt. The two Transformers stared at each other for a moment, before the LC broke off in a gruff laugh. His companions at the bar joined him.
The Maximal got his drinks and walked away. Nothing happened…this time.
Nobody seemed concerned. Sooner or later they’d get their fight. That at least was a given. The only question was how…
Solarflare sat on his bunk for a few minutes staring off into space watching the others come and go, some heading to the party, others going to the training room to work out some kinks from the ship. It had been a few days since they left Cybertron and he missed his team already. Solarflare sighed grabbing his lap top out from his bags he opened it and began to type. Once he was finished it was sent to Phoenix's message account.
The finch sighed and closed his lap top and putting it away. He knew what he missed the most was Switchblade. he hadn't seen or heard from her in weeks. Some much he lost count. Some would fear the worst but he knew that she could take care of herself but why would she just ignore his message like that. SF punched his bed in frustration and headed to the bar. The best way to settle this was to get bagged.
---------------------
Mimi had spent the last hour in front of the mirror and now she was ready for the party at last. Buckshot stood and and shook his head sighing. He had been waiting 55 minutes beucase of the amoutn of time it took him to get ready. "Come on! Were missin it!" Buckshot whinned.
Mimi sprayed some perfume on and turned and nodded. "Ready!" She happly.
"Thank primus." Buckshot said snatching up her hand. "let's go."
Timber jived to the music. Her hair was jumping to a decidedly hyperactive tempo, the silver ponytail taking on a life of its own. The she-wolf raised both hands above her head, her feet moving in a blur, moving in a rhythm of her spark's device. The technicolour lights bounced off her, catching themselves in the glint of her skin.
She carried on dancing, oblivious to the blaring music in the background, ignoring the heavy mix of punk and rock the DJ was spinning. Timber moved with unbridled vigour, all the pensiveness drawn out of her in this rejuvenating ritual. She loved the dance floor, for on it, it seemed like she could let go. The dirty littered streets of the cities always confined her spirits; if there were no wilderness to escape to, there was always the disco.
Timber never understood why Querion never like dancing.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Querion never understood why Timber liked dancing.
He could not see how she was able to let go, to lose herself entirely in the throbbing beats of the drum and the movement of the feet. The wolf-bot could never let himself loose like that. Maybe that was why he never quite learned to dance.
Querion aimed, then struck the ball with his cue. The white cue ball spun neatly in an arc, and clipped the green striped at the side, knocking it into the whole. Trance tapped the butt of his cue stick on the ground in mock impatience, as he awaited his turn.
"You haven't said much about yourself," said Querion, in between gulps of his ale, looking at Trance. "Bounty hunter right? How does suddenly becoming head of security feel?"
Buckshot strolled into the bar, as at home as he could ever want to be. Whether they were massive taverns or itty-bitty pubs, spotless or filthy, empty or crowded, loud music or utter silence, laughing and talking or puking and fighting...Buckshot loooooved bars.
"Yeah, this is what I'm talking about." he said approvingly, slinging a muscular arm over Mimi's shoulders. "Full o' Preds too...man, it's been f'n EONS since I got to throw down with someone."
"Not counting me?" Mimi asked.
"Yup! C'mon, I'll order ya a boilermaker."
--------------
Weede and Rubmur walked in a while later, surveying the scene. Music, beer, women, dancing...all Weede would need is some of the magic mushrooms and something weird-looking to stare at, and he'd be in heaven.
"Shyeah!" he said. "We gonna party like it's...uh...some year, dude!"
--------------
"Absolutely NOT."
Filch folded his arms and shook his head, while Rita tried to smile and act charming.
"What do we want in a place like that?" Filch asked. "Fighting, getting drunk, damaging ourselves? I happen to have an acute sense of when pain will be involved in a given situation, and that sense is screaming bloody murder. Forget it."
"Ohhh, it'll be fun! Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I left it in my other body."
Rita tried to give him big puppy-dog optics. Luckily, Filch knew that act, and how to counteract it: Don't make eye contact. He did so easily, focusing on an old matchbook, and Rita frowned.
"I didn't want to do this, Filch, but you forced me."
"What, even larger sad puppy-dog optics?"
"No...you see, I don't allow Catfish in bars. Bad environment, plus her nose starts elongating whenever she eats pretzels."
"Fascinating. What's your point?"
"You know very well I'll go whether you come or not, but I want you to come with because you always make things a little more exciting. BUT, if you don't want to, I'll have to leave you to babysit Catfish, and..."
"On second thought, it sounds like fun!"
Vinoc chuckled as he walked into the bar, it looked like a fight just waiting to happen. When you lead a gang for sixty stellar cycles, you know this sort of thing.
He walked over to the bar, and looked the bartender strait in the eye. "Tender, give me the strongest energon you got."
The burly bar-tender looked him strait in the eye, and, seeing he could take it, says,"Commin right up." Vinoc stands there, ignoring the comments comming at him from the other occupants of the bar.
He takes the flask, and raising it to the bar-tender, says "Well, lets see what you got here."
He drinks from the flask, and promptly makes a face...
"Whatsa matter, Maxi? Taste to strong for ya?"
Vinoc chuckled, "No, this is probably some of the weakest energon I have ever tasted in my life."
******************
Rudau had managed to get away from Solarflare for a bit, and had found her way to the Satyr-9. She had sat down at a table in the corner, alown as usual. She looked around, and saw several members of the crew there. And then, she saw Vinoc at the bar. She chuckled, soon she would get him... soon.
“Good, then I don’t have to resort to physical force. Move your skid horsy, we’re going to have fun.”
“I can hardly contain my anticipation.” Filch in a way that negated the statement, but let himself be led inside the bar.
“Don’t be so gloomy.” Rita instructed, poking him. “This place is packed with Preds so we’ve got a shoe in for a bar fight.”
“Lovely.”
“Not quite the word, but something like that. What do you want to drink?”
Wraith came through the door, Dusty and Caska on his flanks. "Well, this has got to be the dullest party I've ever seen." He said loudly.
He glanced back at the dingo and grinned. "What say we liven things up a bit? Let's find someone to rough up."
Dusty paused just inside the door to the bar and grinned back at Wraith. "Oh, I don't think we need to actively find anyone t'rough up just yet..." She glanced around the room, subconsciously noting alternate exits and potential cover, then casually strode over towards the bar, ignoring those she just happened to bump along the way.
Caska sighed and looked around.
"Mephetis?"
"Yes, Master?"
"I dislike this DJ. Get him replaced."
"When she said...should've said...a stick also very effective firewood... when used correctly... Yess, is what Mephitis should've saids," Mephitis pouted under his breath.
"What are you muttering about, supplicant?" Caska glared at him in her unsettling way. She didn't actually turn in his direction; instead, she seemed to be focusing on a bottle of Circuitty Sark across the room. But that hardly mattered. When the Master was glaring at you, you just knew.
Mephitis started. "Uhhhhh... Is nothings, Master!" He looked up at her ingratiatingly.
Caska quirked an eyebrow at a bottle of blue liquor, normally reserved for cleaning combs. "Really? I might have thought you were considering talking back to me, but fortunately you are not." Her gaze floated a foot to the right and six inches above the head of the club DJ. "I dislike this song. Remove that one," she uttered.
"Yes, O Master," Mephitis said submissively. " Right-aways, Master," he whispered sarcastically. " Your wishing's my command, Master. Would Master likes for Mephitis to kiss her feet later or now?" He mimicked Caska's voice with near perfection, " 'Clean Sword of Flaming Death, Mephitis! Be throwing the switch, you little supplicant, you! Dust trophies of battle, Mephitis! Mephitis, press Big Red Button and see what happen, please! Bad Mephitis, I tell you to clean Sword of Flaming Death two hours ago! Mephitis, I not like this song. Run along and smite DJ, would you? ' Hmmmmph! Perhaps Master would like chanting instead? Some nice Gurgleian- Gorgonian- Smithsonian- Gorgonzolan-"
Did you say something, supplicant? Caska's voice boomed in his head.
"-Gregorian!" he blurted.
Caska paused. ...Gesundheit, she intoned in an offhanded manner. Run along, then.
Mephitis bowed and scraped until he was out of her sight, then jabbed his middle finger in the air. "Bitch," he said decisively, before flitting off over the dance floor.
"What's up with him all the sudden?" Caska wondered as she followed Wraith and Dusty to the bar.
"What's you drink?" Wraith asked her. Apparently he was ordering the first round.
"Uh, well I don't really.."
"Come on, don't tell me you don't drink!"
"Well I do sometimes, just not.."
"Just get her what we're getting!" Dusty suggested. Wraith nodded and a cycle later came back with three tall shots of some strong looking energon, which he set down on a table.
"You sure you can handle this?" he asked Caska with a smile.
She rolled her optics, "Oh for the love of.." picked up the glass, gulped it down, and set it gently back on the table. "I'm telling you, I don't drink."
A rather… dingy looking Jungle made his way up to the bar. He was covered in dirt - as if he's been rolling around on the ground for the past few mega cycles. His exploration, had taken him to quite a few… 'places'…
His face was sterner then usual as well. Obviously, the dark warrior wasn't in the best of moods. As he walked; he bumped into several figures and past several members of his task force. He didn't acknowledge any body. JJ was moving as if, he was the only soul in the area.
Once at the bar, one of his hand swords extend.
The next thing we know; Jungle has that blade pressed against the bar tender's neck. The bar tender is unable to move, for Jungle has a tight grip around his shoulder. Leaning close to the bar tender, the panther states the following; "I would like a drink please." It’s a voice tone which would send many cowering for cover…
"How do I feel? Well, not much different." Trance replied as he took his shot, barely missing their corner pocket. "As a bounty hunter, you always have to keep an eye on your back and your ship, especially if you had a partner like I did. Your shot." Trance backed off the table and picked up his drink, taking a swig before returning his attention to Querion and the game. "How'd you come into this little group we got going here?"
"Having fun, Jungle?" Dusty asked casually, one browridge raised as she leant against the bar and watched the pantherbot. She quickly glanced around to see if anyone was going to come to the bartender's aid, then went back to watching Jungle with amusement, awaiting his reply.
Upon receiving his drink, the dark warrior relinquishes his hold. After receiving Jungle's patting on the shoulder, the bar keep scampers off. Jungle's actions would only lead to trouble. Maybe that's what he wanted, trouble. There was a certain method to JJ's madness, however. Jungle was a new arrival. Anyone who would commandeer a Maximal vessel, then head straight for the roughest section of known space, had to either be crazy, full of it or egotistical. Jungle upped for the 'egotistical' option.
He was sending the message that he was the badest 'bot in the galaxy. People would surely inquire about that. Jungle would either get their respect or get his ass kicked. Didn't really matter though. It was all a game. That's all black operations was to the ex-slug; a game.
Slicing the top of the bottle off with his still extended hand sword, J turns to face Dusty - giving the dingo a smile and a nod. Swallowing the round in one gulp, Jungle discards it, over the bar. "What have you been up to, Spacedust?" Jungle asks; a friendly tone - as far as Jungle's tones go.
Graphics Provided by Riboflavin
