2016-12-05 Deceptifriends I

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Deceptifriends I
Date 2016/12/05
Location Lost Light: Recreation -- Swerve's
Participants Lockon, Rodimus, Roughshod
Summary RODIMUS'S ADVENTURES IN FRIENDS: Lockon and Roughshod edition.

Often referred to as the heart of the ship (by Swerve), the bar is rarely empty, rarely quiet. Central to the whole is the bar itself: just tall enough for a minibot to serve over the edge and lined with stools capable of accommodating bots of any height. Large, clear vessels stand behind the bar, containing the brews of the day. Behind the bar, an engex distillery assures there's always something new.

Round tables are scattered across the floor. Seats fold up from the floor beneath. Large booths along the sides of the room have room for a half-dozen or more, if they don't mind getting cozy, while monitors here and there find occasional use showing old vids.

A sign outside the door says:

                        No Guns, No Swords, No Bombs                         

Underneath is written: I MEAN IT!! LOCK YOUR WEAPON SYSTEMS DOWN AND DUMP EVERYTHING ELSE IN THE BIN BY THE DOOR. It is signed with a little frowning Swerve face.

On the other side of the door is a SHAME LIST. No, really, that's what it says. It has the number of days that various people are banned from Swerve's and counts down at the start of the morning shift.

It's really rowdy at Swerve's tonight. Maybe because everyone was kinda' mean to eachother in the past week and now they want to be exceedingly nice. So that little light show at the entrance is nigh constant as mechs pile in to crunch over spilled glasses of high grade. Chairs that have been bent off their hinges. A little. Bluestreak seems mildly nervous from all the drinking contests going on. You probably can't get away with this in Visages.

Roughshod has roped in the first mech he'd encountered in the halls, which happens to be Lockon, who he's still got in some kind of friendly chokehold as he drags him in. The music is audial-splitting, so everyone has to shout.

Lockon, thankfully, has some fairly intense armor toward his neck, so the chokehold isn't as bad as it could be. He is still, however, being dragged. No news on when this will let up, but he's optimistic the answer will be 'soon'. "Er- N-not that I'm 'complaining' about the whole ambush-and-kidnap thing, per se, but who are you?" The shape of his helm isn't exactly condusive to looking up, and a mech's chest plating can only tell you so much.

The little light show gets a whole lot bigger for a moment, and even more obnoxious, as Rodimus's face projects into the room, larger and even brighter than life. I bet you didn't know it could get brighter, did you. Entering behind Roughshod and Lockon, Rodimus drifts past them toward the bar, looks back, locks on to their badges, does a double-take, and then pivots to fall in next to them. Hi. "Hey," he shouts. "Just checking, but this is friendly kidnapping, right?"

"You looked so tragic cleaning up in the halls there, I'm sure yer boss won't mind if you take a break, right?" Roughshod finally releases Lockon with a happy pat to his head, and makes for the bar, only to have the captain himself show up. He stops short, going rigid. "Yes, friendly! Just playing around, sir!" Lockon gets a small nudge.

Rubbing at his neck, Lockon mutters something in response, but the music drowns it out. He, too, jolts halfway to attention at their Captain's SUDDEN APPEARANCE(tm). "I wouldn't say 'kidnapping', sir!" He adds a bright smile to round off the whole freezing-in-place thing. "Just me and--" optics track to the side, is that a horse head? "H... Horse bro, going to unwind, sir."

"That's not really your name, is it?" Rodimus gives Roughshod a skeptical look and then reaches to grab him by the shoulder and push him onward toward the bar. "Look, as long as it's friendly, I'll buy your first round." See also: Drift will add it to the list. "How's the, uh, unwinding ... going?" He is super awkward about small talk with Decepticons. Who could see that coming.

"Roughshod," Roughshod finally grunts. /Horse bro/. "Well it's- whoa!" As he's nudged along by Rodimus, he casts a mildly worried glance back at Lockon. "Haven't started yet!" he chirps, then grins. "Oh hey, thanks! Uh- So are um." He drums his fingers against the counter. "Are we in trouble for something? If it's about the lack of brigged mechs, we had to let a few things slide - mechs were out of their minds, y'know! Pipes brigged himself, for some damn reason!"

Lockon startles backwards, meeting Roughshod's backwards-glance with a look of abject horror. He follows the other Decepticon and their Captain to the bar, though. When in Swerve's and all that. "Er... Or, 'Roughshod', Horse bro, maybe our i-- Illustrious?" That's not a confused pause, nope. "Captain just... wants to um. Mingle?"

While Rodimus is oblivious to Roughshod's worried glance it's hard to miss that confused pause. Or the word. That word. "Ill...ustrious?" asks Rodimus with nearly as confused a pause of his own. "What?! No, you're not in trouble!" He looks distressed -- DISTRESSED -- that this would be their first assumption. "That'd be an awful thing to do: offer someone a drink and then tell the they are in trouble." He's clearly just mad they think he'd party foul that hard. "Look, things were pretty crazy, I get that, I'm not going to get on your case about letting a few people slip. No one died, so by our measures, we did pretty okay. Anyway, what's so weird about me mingling, huh? I can mingle. I'm the best at mingling!"

<FS3> Rodimus rolls Mingling: Failure. (6 4)

Roughshod very nearly laughs Rodimus' reaction. He instead bites his lip in a stiff smile. But far be it from him to turn away the company of the captain. Even if he is a painfully patriotic Autobot. "Okay, well. Good. Cheers! Nothing's weird, per se. Usually Drift's around, is all! I'm sure you're the best at mingling..." Another unreadable look is exchanged with the canary-yellow janitor. "Indulge us Captain, how'd your day treat you?"

<FS3> Lockon rolls Honesty: Failure. (4 2 4 3 4 4 5 5 5)

Lockon does one better and pastes on an appropriately sunny and friendly grin, moving to prop an arm up on Roughshod's shoulder. Roughshod's look gets a shrug, it's a very big shrug, lots of pauldron action. "Free drinks from the Captain usually means you did something really cool or useful, y'know? Er- Sir?"

"Uhm, I got back and found out about all of this clusterfrag, so why don't you tell /me/ how the past week has been treating /you/? I mean -- not in detail or anything. Like you said, people were out of their minds. I totally respect that if you don't want to talk about it." He puts on his best mingling face, which is honestly a little awkward. He's a failure of a mingler. But he tries, damnit, earnest as can be, and no matter the awkwardness of the captain coming down to Swerve's to hang out like he's just one of the dudes -- well, at least he's not in disguise, fishing for compliments about how great he is. His concern for the crew is evident, despite it all. "So let's hear what the latest cool thing you did is, then." He waves at Bluestreak. Pour.

Roughshod smirks in Lockon's direction. And it's easy to tell Rodimus is /trying/. It's endearing. "Me? Slag, nothing really noteworthy. Haul a few drunks back to their habs. Show up for Tailgate's briefings. /Vortex/ of all mechs got into Security. Wouldn't cha' know, he's already on probation. I must've skirted under that spell of ticks, I don't remember doin' anything TOO weird." Beat. "So Captain, we're purple, you're red. I know you ain't keen on purple. Someone put you up to this?" he asks, honestly.

Lockon quirks an optical ridge, mouthing 'you were gone?' in quiet puzzlement. Must have missed that announcement. "Tee-Bee-Haych, I didn't think the memo was 'real' until we started having to clean up after everyone." He follows Roughshod's lead there, nodding along with the question, solemnly adding, "Did you lose a bet?"

"Ha ha, what?" There's a long pause, then Rodimus says, "No, not yet, but I'm trying to show Soundwave up, so yeah, maybe a little bit of -- that." He has the grace to look a little sheepish, scuffing his palm over his helm. "Sorry. Whatever, he's way more hung up on the faction thing than I am." It's easy for Rodimus to claim not to care when they won.

"Hey we don't mind, right?" Roughshod looks back to Lockon with an easy grin. "Besides, you're supposed to /enjoy/ mingling. I guess Soundwave just wants to improve relations. Pfft. But maybe we can tell him that you hit it off with like, ten 'cons here, yeah? Maybe for a price...?" Yes, he's not above these dealings with the Chosen One.

"Free drinks do a lot to sway opinions." Lockon nods solemnly, breaking back into a grin. "Soundwave's like, a precious 'cinnamon roll', He's gotta be working so hard to get us to intermingle and make friends across the line." He sounds like a fanboy, totally not cool. "You should be trying harder to reach from your side, if you're showing him up!"

<FS3> Rodimus rolls Honesty: Failure. (3 6 3 1 1)

"A what." Cinnamon roll does not compute. Rodimus is many things, but an organic lover -- an Earth lover -- is not one of those things. He is a bad Autobot in that respect. The reference sails over his head. He gives Roughshod a long, calculating look, then asks, "What price?" He's totally trying super hard to reach across the aisle. He's speaking their language and everything.

"Hmmmmmmmm." Roughshod leans back a little, drumming his lips. What to demand of the Captain. Could be a hefty sum. Money seems too easy, though. "What're you willing to give, for ten accounts of friendliness? We can easily round up some names here. Make it so Soundwave's off your tail for good."

Lockon perks up, leaning forward and shoving down on Roughshod's shoulder as he does so. "We know a 'lot' of people." He doesn't know anyone. "Rougshod knows like, half the ship's Decepticon pop." There is no evidence to corroborate this but most Autobots assume he's lying 'anyway', so.

"Why don't you tell me what you're charging, and I'll tell you what I can afford," Rodimus says with a wry and easy grin. He might not be smart, but he's not /totally stupid/.

Roughshod straightens up and beams. Thatta' Lockon. "Hnfff. Eh, I don't have the spark to make you do anything stupid. You're over here tryin', after all. Maybe give us one of the storage bays, yeah? Just to do whatever we want with."

"Mmhm!" Lockon nods along admantly. "We're not using all of them at 100% capacity anyway. You can totally spare one." He tips his head, grinning. "Hell, if you help clean it out you could even claim that we all did it together 'cause we're /such good friends/."

Rodimus weighs the offer -- gives Lockon a /look/ -- and then, reluctantly, says, "Now's not really the time to start dividing the ship up into 'your' space and 'ours'. It's us. All of us." He turns the offer down, but he still gestures at Bluestreak to follow this round up with another, also on him "Guess it's the old-fashioned way, then. I'll leave you two to your drinks, and to finishing them in peace, and maybe catch you the next time I'm in."

Well if that rejection doesn't make Roughshod feel slimey as all get out. /Old-fashioned/! "...H-hang on, we ain't meanin' to divide anyone," he almost mumbles. "Fine, fine. No deal. I got Autobot pals. Rung, Skydive..." If Rodimus is going to take off, he'll at least offer some friendly advice. "It's not hard. Just don't bring up the war. We're kinda' sore losers, hah. The minibots are more aggressive. I don't know why. Stay away from Quicksight. Try Starstruck maybe. I'll... pass along that you turned down the easy way out, /I suppose/."

Rude! "Sir, we're 'not' the ones presently trying to 'prove a point' by rounding up the first Decepticons we see and trying to buy friendship." Ignoring that it was the Decepticons that offered to buy their Captain /more/ friendship. Lockon goes straight in for the tactless option. Sorry, Roughshod.

Rodimus prickles, all the points of his armor -- and there are many -- rising. Before he can really forth into a good indignation though, he stops and deflates. His spoiler angles down. It's a little droopy. "Yeah. You're right. That was pretty terrible actually. Sorry about that. And thanks for the advice." He taps the bar's surface and pushes himself away. "Enjoy the rest of your evening," he says, then heads off to find cheaper friends. Er. Wait, not that. REAL FRIENDS. TRUE FRIENDS.

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