A New Direction: Part 11
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 ELEVEN
[Satyr-9 Bar – Inside]
Nine impossibly large drinking flagons. Nine large round dents in the table-top. The Satyr-9’s metal bar shook as the tenth flagon was added with a ferocious bang. It too was empty. A cheer went up from a number of the drinkers, all wearing the Lightning Corp’s black lightning bolt. There was a round of hearty applause.
Rhommer smiled and surveyed his handiwork.
“Beat that ya’ ugly sons of a scrap heap!!” He bellowed in a rough powerful voice. A chorus of laughter followed. Rhommer joined in. He was having a good night as nights went. Since his arrival he’d consumed nearly a hundred liters of the most potent Transformer alcohol. That had been two hours ago, and he was still going strong. The Transmetal bull ‘bot pounded a massive fist on the bar. Ten huge tankards jumped at once. “Next round’s on me boys…drink up!!” There was another bout of cheering. Rhommer signaled to one of the burly Maximal bartenders. After wading through a sea of metal flagons, an identical eleventh drink was set before him. The barkeep didn’t ask for payment. Rhommer didn’t offer any. His drinks, the next rounds…they were all put on his “tab”. Rhommer got what Rhommer wanted, and in payment, the bar survived another profitable night. That's the way things worked in the Conformist sections of the city.
The thirteen foot tall Pred leaned as far back as his barstool would allow, cradling the newest drink. Things were good on the Rim. Lots of drinking, lots of fighting, and lots of doing whatever the slag he felt like. Nobody was going to stop him or tell him no – not while he had the LC backing him up. Wasn’t a ‘bot born that couldn’t see crossing him meant getting beaten within an inch of their life. For the millionth time, Rhommer silently complimented himself for having thought of it in the first place. He liked it on Andronicus. It was more agreeable than Cybertron and a damn sight better than the musty old military. Too many rules and regulations.
He’d take a beer and a bar over that life any day.
Rhommer cracked his heavy lantern like jaw and took a deep draft of energon. His cherry red optics seemed to brighten as he watched a smaller figure detatch himself from a nearby table and approach the bar. It was a young ‘bot – Maximal, wolf Beast Mode – with a look on his face that almost announced that he was looking for trouble.
Rhommer sniggered under his breath. Tearing into Plutocron’s tin soldiers had become one of the Lightning Corps’ favorite pastimes. This one didn’t have the typical ‘square in circle’ tattoo, but it hardly mattered. Either you were Lightning Corps, or you weren’t. The wolf ‘bot most definitely wasn’t.
This was gonna’ be fun.
Wraith leaned up against the bar and flagged down the bartender. After a moment he noticed Rhommer towering above him, leering. The Maximal didn’t see the Lightning Corps. Leader so much as he did the Predacon symbol on his chest. If Wraith recognized Rhommer’s picture from Gaul’s picture file, it didn’t click immediately. A number of recent thoughts about Preds in general got there first.
“Something wrong?” Wraith asked in a cold level voice.
Rhommer shrugged, and the bar grew perceptibly quieter. In the space of a few seconds, the encounter had developed an audience. “You might say that,” the bull ‘bot grunted, his speech partly slurred by great drinking. “Why don’ you get yer drink from somewhere else. This part a the bar’s occupied,” Wraith looked around. ‘This part of the bar’ in truth meant the entire thing. “Beat it ya’ little puke,” Rhommer finished. The Predacon turned back toward the bar, shouldering Wraith roughly aside. When the Maximal failed to walk off, the LC founder twisted in his seat.
“Oh, tough guy huh? Or maybe you don’t hear real good. Beat it, or I’m gonna’ beat you,” For a drunk ‘bot, it was a clever play on words. The Lightning Corps roared with laughter, all directed at Wraith. By this time the rest of the bar had noticed. The two battle lines were beginning to form again. Lightning Corps near the bar, the Conformist military everywhere else.
“What's it going to be squirt?” Rhommer barked. Hawking loudly he spit a wad of mech fluid at Wraith’s feet. It splattered on impact, sending thing trails of transluscent liquid streaking across the edge of his boot. Across the bar, hands slid slowly toward weapons. The regulars had seen this type of thing before. It never led to anything good.
"You think he knows who he's talking to?" Caska whispered to Dusty.
"huh?"
"I think that's one of the bigshot leaders."
"Cool."
Caska gave Dusty a look, and then drew her sword with a flair, extending it in training mode (Less lethal, but still a really big stick). "I think this is going to be fun after all"
Where there was a bar scene, without a doubt Burnout and Retro would be there. Not surprisingly, they were!
Burnout sat across from Retro at one of the tables, with his arm around a particularly uncomfortable looking bat femme. Waving his bottle around, he prattled on about something, his voice unintelligible through the noisy funfair of the bar.
Retro had his own bottle, and sipped on it regularly as he listened to his best friend relate. The femme attempted a polite smile, or perhaps winced, as Burnout tightened his grip around her hip. He then leaned toward her and spoke.
Immediately, beer shot out of Retro's nose as he burst into laughter, pounding his free fist against the table. The femme immediately gasped and stood up, before slapping Burn across the face and leaving in a huff.
The Fuzor made a feeble attempt to beckon her back, before breaking down into laughter himself.
The two continued laughing and making comments to each other, all until Retro suddenly stopped laughing. Burnout didn't get the clue though, and as he joked, made cups with his hands and illustrated breast size on his chest plate. His Possum buddy gritted his teeth and pointed behind Burnout.
He stopped laughing himself, paused for a moment, put on a warm smile and turned around. He boisterously mouthed: "Hi Rita!"
“Cute little number.” Rita said pleasantly, leaning on the back of the seat. Somehow every one of her words carried clearly over the hubbub of the bar. “I’d give her at least a seven. Not really your type though.”
“You know that wasn’t serious at all Rits.”
“Of course not.”
“Just fooling around.”
“Naturally.”
“You’re not mad?” Retro asked incredulously.
“Mad? Of course not! In fact, I’m so pleased with the fact Burnout is off flirting with other women that I’m going to let him sleep in quarters all his own tonight.” She glanced up and spotted a familiar figure in the corner. “I’m going to go make sure Filch isn’t victimizing the other patrons.”
Burnout was violently wrenched upward by his right shoulder and fell into a standing position.
“Right after I watch Burnout walk over and apologize for harassing bat girl.”
A figure sat huddled over his drink just behind Rhommer, his face mostly obscured as he looked down at his mug. As the larger bot had started to harass the young assassin, the figure looked up, revealing Relic’s softly glowing optics and angular face.
The assassin glanced briefly at Rhommer’s back, then his eyes settled on Wraith. Relic made no move to help the younger assassin but didn’t shift away from the confrontation either. He just looked at Wraith’s face, his eyes calm, expressionless, waiting for something.
Relic remembered that in his last encounter with Wraith, he had been less then… flattering. Now his thoughts turned again to the young assassin, and Relic silently asked himself; “Well Pup? What are you going to do?”
Dusty just grinned at Caska and her sword, then turned back to Jungle. "Me? Oh, n'much really. Lookin' forward to a nice li'l brawl sometime soon..." She nodded towards the confrontation between Wraith and Rhommer, a cheerfully wicked expression on her face. "And I'm thinkin' one's juuuust about t'start... 'scuse me a moment..."
Jungle raised a browridge slightly and watched as Dusty quickly made her way towards Wraith, slipping through the surrounding bots and popping up next to the wolfbot. She leant casually against the bar, ignoring Rhommer completely for the moment. "Heya Wraith. These boys givin' ya any trouble?"
"I'm here, simply because I was at Endport when the invasion occurred. A lot of us happen to have a knack of appearing in the right place at the wrong time," smiled Querion. The wolf-bot looked around, at the familiar faces in the bar. He raised an eyebrow as he caught a glimpse of Relic in some shadowy corner of the establishment, but decided that his friend might need some time alone.
Querion surveyed the little congregation growing around Wraith. He motioned at Trance to look, putting his cue stick by the table for a moment.
"I hope he doesn't get into a fight. Rhapsody will kill us all if he comes back in little pieces. You going to do anything about this, Head of Security? 'Cos that bull's Rhommer; he's on our 'dangerous' list."
Solarflare had had several drinks himself and stepped directly in front of wraith waving a hand back at the assassin. "Well they jsut keep getting smaller and SMALLER!" RHommer cackled beer and spit falling from that huge melon he called a head. Solarflare smirked at him for a second.
"YOu got a problem with my friend here?" Solarflare said pointing a finger at him.
"YOU want a beating too?" Rhommer said now seeming irratted. Buckshot had now postioned himself behind the Finch with Mimi to his right. Rhapsody still no where to be seen. Rhommer went to poke Solarflare with his massive finger but it was quickly snatched up. His finger seemed to be increasingly hot until a point of burning, he looked up Solarflare to see him glowing.
"YOu should know better then to EVER touch a TM2." Solarflare jawed Rhommer with a firey punch and the fight was on.
Wraith grinned at Solarflare. "Dang it, you ruined my dramatic pause."
Solarflare grinned back. " You weren't doing anything about him."
"I was getting there. It's more dramatic if you wait and let the moron shoot off his drunk-ass mouth." The wolf said with a chuckle.
Rhommer had now recovered from Solarflare's blow. "You sunuvabitch!" He bellowed as he lunged towards the Maximal, who merely stepped aside. Wraith was still standing there behind him and threw his foot out, thrusting it deep into the Predacon's gut, knocking the wind out of him. Unfortunately, Rhommer was really big, so the recoil knocked Wraith back a few feet.
"Good thing Rhapsody's not here, I'd have to worry more about her than these goons." The canine assassin taunted loudly. "C'mon boys and girls...llllllllllllllllllllet's get rrrrrrrrrrrrready to kick some aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasss!!!!!!"
Trance looked over at the fight that had just begun, and turned back to the pool table, which drew a surprised reaction from Querion.
"Well, aren't you going to do something?" Querion asked between glances of Trance and the fight. Trance merely took his shot, sinking the 9-ball in the side pocket.
"Me? Nah. I'm Head of Security on the ship, not on the field." he said as he aimed up his next shot. "They are all mature bots. They can work it out. If things do get hairy, I'll just throw one of my disruptors onto him. That should take care of him for a bit."
Querion smiled.
"I like your attitude. Let's see how many games we can play till they fight their way here. I must admit, I'm really hoping they do, 'cos my knuckles really want to meet some face right now. Is it my turn already?"
-----------------------------------------------------------
"Hey watch it! What's the matter with you men? Can't spend a day in a bar without brawling? Sheesh."
Timber stormed off to the counter, where she grabbed a beer and gulped it down. All that dancing left her throat parched. She arched her back, stretching herself, when suddenly a Predacon grunt knocked into her back. The drink landed all over her.
"AARRGHHH!! That does it!!"
Timber picked up the Pred by the scruff of his collar, and slammed her forehead into the middle of his eyes. The Predacon's head reeled backwards, and saw stars as the Maximal slammed a tankard into his face with a smooth fluid motion.
"Who wants more?!"
[Mid-Bar]
If the scripted predictability of professional wrestling teaches you anything, it is that prematurely boasting to your audience is a good way to get clocked in the back of the head. Wraith experienced this first hand as his back erupted in pain, force of the unseen blow propelling him out into the aisle. Rhommer towered over the assassin’s former position, a stream of mech fluid smeared across his lower jaw. He held a mammoth bull horn club in one hand. “HAAAH!!!” Rhommer yelled with a feral delight. “That’s how we deal with obnoxious little pricks in the Lightning Co…” Rhommer halted to bludgeon a passing Military ‘bot. The square-in-circle’s had rushed the huge knot of Corpsmen seconds after the fight began. There was little love lost between the two groups. By now they were evenly distributed throughout the melee, giving as good as they were getting. Rhommer ripped his second horn from its collar bone resting place, and waded out into the crowd swinging.
Wraith picked himself up quickly and phased. Off to the right he could hear the roar of Solarflare’s flame aura and the clang of Dusty’s bo staff. He scanned for Rhommer. By then the titanic Pred was about a dozen ‘bots away.
[Meanwhile – The Far Corner of the Bar]
One never expects to get lucky on a search and destroy mission, finding and eliminating the prey within an hour or two of landing. That would be too easy. Yet it happened as the door to the Satyr-9’s questionable Head swung open with a creak. Grapple stepped out of the opening and immediately mental warning bells started to sound. Grapple had been on Andronicus long enough to know what the bi-nightly bar fight looked like. This was something else entirely.
Like Wraith he scanned the crowd. Then he saw it. It was a flash of silver on a bo staff. It was the barest glimpse of a she-wolf bashing an unlucky LC with a metal tankard. It was an eerily familiar TM2 ‘bot as his flame aura lit up the nearby bar.
Maybe twenty feet in front of him it was the back of the Taladar swordsman who’d almost beaten Croak to death. Him and his friend were watching the fight with moderate interest.
Sonofa… Grapple pulled himself back behind the marginal shelter of the wooden door. A string of silent curses rolled off his lips. So the lick-spits had found him at last. Grapple swore again. He thought he'd been close to escaping from that. He should have known it would be too much to ask with Croak and him accidentally in the same place. Should have known better considering who was involved. The tortoise ‘bot rubbed a knobby hand over the patch of scarred metal at his wrist. It had become a habit since he left Cybertron.
Fraggit to the Pitt. He couldn’t get to the front door now. Querscion or whatever his name was would see him for sure. He might be able to take the wolf by surprise…but no, that might alert the others. Then he would have a mob to fight. He’d never get out like that.
No, it was the backdoor tonight. Then he was going to figure out what the slag was going on. He thought he had a fairly good idea why they had showed up en mass. It wasn't something he liked to think about.
Moments later a clattering sound from the back hallway caused Querion to turn. He saw nothing except a gently swinging bathroom door. A few hackles raised. He took a step back to peer down the hall. The door at the far end was closed. Boxes piled next to it had been shoved roughly aside. Apparently it was the source of the noise. He took a step toward the door…
“Your shot,” Trance called, snapping Querion’s focus and returning it to the game. The wolf ‘bot shook his head and walked back to the pool table.
“Right,” he said uncertainly.
“Something wrong?” the other ‘bot inquired.
Querion stared at the table, lining up his shot. He paused perhaps a moment longer than was really necessary – thinking. “No,” he said at last. “Everything’s fine. I think,” He pocketed one of the solid colored balls and began lining up his next shot. He glanced at the raging bar fight. “How long ‘till they get here do you think?”
Less than two hours since landing, and their cover was already blown.
"Aww Rita!" Burnout pleaded. "I'm just having a good time! I just bought her a drink, nothing meant by it. And I said sorry when she was walking away! Please forgive me Rita!"
He fell to his knees, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pressed his head into her stomach. "Oh please don't punish me! I've learned my lesson! PLEASE!!!!"
He was half drunk, and in a crowded bar full of other drunk patrons. Who would care if he made a total boob of himself…
shoosh BA-DUMDUMDUMDUM WHAM WHAM
Caska now remembered why she hated bar fights.
BUNH "Aooooww.."
No skill.
PUNH PUNH PUNHPUNHPUNH
No challenge.
SLICKz PA-BAM
Especially when you're one of the most sober bots in the room.
ping bon SMASH
And even if you win,
CRACK "rgrrooowl!"
there is no finality, no death.
swish BAM swish BAMBLAM
The losers will wake up with a headache and a hangover, and be back to fight you tomorrow.
shickashickashicka PLooSH"augh"BAMWhOMP
Sigh. Probably shouldn't have killed that last one.
“Shut up and get off.” Rita said irritably, supported the argument by forcibly removing Burnout from around her waist. “You look like an idiot and I’m not going to be seen in a relationship with someone who grovels.”
“But Rits…”
“And DON’T call me Rits when I’m mad at you!”
“I thought you said you weren’t mad at him.” Retro pointed out.
“I lied. Go.” Rita said, pushing him away. “Apologize CORRECTLY and offer to pay for the psychological damage you’ve no doubt inflicted.”
It was about then when someone broke a chair over Rita’s head. She took a moment to beat the fellow’s face in then turned back to Burnout.
What’s Jungle doing during all this?
That’s a good question. Surveying the battle zone, we manage to locate the panther-bot. He’s nearly where he was, when we last saw him. Nearly. JJ’s position is now on the other side of the bar.
In-between chugging down bottles of toxins, the cat is emptying the cash register, while glancing at the various frays around him - making sure everyone in his contingent was still holding their own. Guess you could say the dark warrior is multi-tasking.
Jungle wasn’t after the money for its monetary value. He intended to examine it later for prints. Might provide some better information as to who exactly was on this rock – as to who exactly came to this establishment regularly… if nothing else, J would have some pocket cash… he might even buy Gaul a present… or not…
Currency now secured in a sub space compartment, Jungle finishes off the last of the bottle’s contents he was holding. A nice assortment of broken liquor bottles had formed at the dark warrior’s feet, btw.
Hopping over the bar, Jungle begins his escape. Nothing more could be gained here, in Jungle’s humble opinion. For some reason, a ‘bot decides to charge at Jungle from behind. Without turning around, Jungle executes a simple backhand maneuver, succeeding in cold cocking his would be foe.
Rhommer only left a cycle or two ago. He couldn't of gone too far. Granted Jungle was assigned to deal with Plutocron and his Established Military sub group, not Rhommer and his Ligthening Corps sub group - still Rhommer was a top dog in these parts... so worth following for a bit...
The Lightening Corps and the Established Military hated each other according to Gaul, but they were still all Conformists, who reported to Jonus. So the trio had to get together now and then right?
Using the com system to alert his charges, would blow their cover. Meaning; Jungle was in this alone unless someone upped to follow him...
Wraith, after pummeling a couple drunken Preds into the ground, saw Jungle taking off after Rhommer. "Damn, Preds. Get outta my way!"
He kicked another Pred from his path and took off to join Jungle. He'd be damned if he'd let that big-mouthed Predacon just up and walk away after he'd been so nice.
Buckshot let out a cry of anger/joy as he vaulted over a table and slammed his fists into the nearest Predacon's face. He smashed a stool over the back of the Pred's head and, taking a cue from a CWF match, grabbed the Pred and suplexed him through the table- just for the hell of it.
He looked over to see Mimi fighting a Predacon femme, raking her optics and roundhousing her in the face. The femme stumbled backwards and Mimi shattered a glass pitcher over her head. The femme fell to the floor and Buckshot slapped Mimi on the shoulder, grinning.
"That was one of the hottest things I've ever seen ya do." he told her. "Let's kick some ass!!!"
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Filch yelped and ducked as a Pred hurtled through the air to crash into the nearest wall. He stood back up, looking at the femmes seated at the table in front of him.
"Where was I? Oh yes! This brand-new never-before-seen 100% useful self-buffer does all the work of a garage-style buff job, but with none of the work! Simply place the handy-dandy Buff-O-Tron 5000 upon the area you wish to be imbued with a gleaming shine, press the switch, and watch it go! For such lovely ladies as yourselves, I'm willing to offer a trial demonstration..."
"Penji try!" said as he jumped on the table in front of Filch.
"Aww, he's so cute!" one of the femmes cooed.
"Tee-hee."
Graphics Provided by Riboflavin
