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2017-07-14 Life is Funny

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Life is Funny
Date 2017/07/14
Location Rigard - Southern District
Participants Blast Off, Whirl
Plot Topsy Turvy
Summary Meaning that sometimes it's not. Blast Off and Whirl meet again but do not know it, thanks to being inside Sunstreaker's and Trailbreaker's bodies.

If you are looking for entertainment and relaxation on Rigard, the southern district of the city is the place to go. On the western side by the Great Lake is a high-end restaurant -- a rare treat for the colonists -- and a club that might not live up to Cybertronian standards of luxury, but is more than comfortable with a dazzling overlook of the surroundings. On the eastern side are a handful of working class eateries and pubs, boasting local flavors and a unique, Rigardian spin on old Cybertronian favorites.

The character of the housing mirrors the refinement, or lack thereof, of the nearby establishments, but the class divisions are gently than those seen on many other colonies. A nearly palpable pulse of the city and its residents can be felt through the distrcit as an ambient hum of activity never ceases.


While everyone is still on the ship having a hard time adjusting to their new bodies, Whirl is out on the town having the time of his life. So much so infact that he hasn't been back to the ship since he left. Right now he's in Rigard's souther district, in one of the many bars he's been such a frequent visitor to lately.

"Aw yeah, this is my jam!" Whirl exclaims as he dances on top of the bar. Normally this would be unacceptable but Whirl is learning that when you're as pretty as Sunstreaker then you can get away with almost anything you want. A jetformer makes grabby hands at him but he slaps her away and waggles a finger. "Ah, ah, ah! You have to buy me a drink first!"

"Aw, come on!" she whines. "You said that three drinks ago!"

Whirlstreaker just laughs and continues dancing, relishing in the attention he's getting.

Someone else would like for all attention to him to just *go away* right now. Blast Off, now in Trailbreaker's body, has been hit with a nearly unquenchable thirst ever since he woke up like this. Unknown to him, Trailbreaker's frame has voracious fuel requirements because of his outlier abilities: the ability to produce forcefields. Also magnawheels, but Blast Off hasn't discovered those yet. The shuttle-turned-truck has drunken pretty much everything he could find on the ship, for one to try quenching that deep thirst, and two, to try and cover up the intense hangover that is a consequence.

It's still not enough. He's still thirsty, and so he has made his way to the bars of Rigard. Head still spinning, everything still seeming rather unreal to him, the now big and boxy groundpounder makes his way into the same spot Whirlstreaker happens to be in right now. Big, broad hand clutching at his stomach, he hardly notices anyone, even the golden 'bot, in his determined quest for more drinks. As it is, his steps are already a bit unsteady as he makes a beeline for the bar counter and grumbles in a low, easy twang, "Give me the biggest, most filling, satisfying drink you've got."

Whirl finishes his dance with a little twirl and gets a few whistles and hoots for his effort. He hops down from the bar to take a break and catch his 'breath' as it were, just as Trailbreaker makes his appearance. As far as Whirl knows, Trailbreaker is still Trailbreaker. Why wouldn't he be? This body swap thing was just between him and Sunstreaker right? Maybe if he checked his messages more than once a month he would realize that it's a ship wide problem, but he didn't so he doesn't!

Whirl scoops up what is just one of many free drinks he's gotten this evening and walks over to the big guy. "Hey, bubble boy. You look like shit." He grins and takes a seat next to him. "I'm definitely Sunstreaker by the way in case you couldn't tell by my great looks."

A mech like Trailbreaker might normally enjoy the company and be far more welcoming than the grumpy former-shuttleformer. As it is, Blast Off does *not* enjoy company right now (or mostly ever), but his head is pounding already so his reaction is muted and distinctly *non*huffy. Besides, he can't really /huff/ that well in this frame anyway, it's more of a squeaky gurgling engine noise that is more embarrassing than anything, so he catches himself before it goes on more than a click or two. The big mech wears a frown as he looks blearily over at this Autobot. "Well, aren't *you* lucky," He mumbles just as the bartender hands him something big, strong, and black with little violet swirls that sizzle and pop.

"Ahhhh, now we're talking!," TrailOff eagerly grabs the mug and pulls it straight to his lips for a large gulp, then two, then three, already knocking back half the mug. The bartender's eyes go wide before he slips off to perform other duties. Wiping his mouth, the Combaticon-now-outlier vents out a sigh, then seems to blink and stare at his hand. Slowly, it comes up to cup against his mouth, then wipe the lip plates, almost as if something (or everything) still feels very odd to him. Placing the mug down, he addresses the rest of Whirl's commentary with a bitter irony. "Yes, thank you for that insight, Sunstreaker. I imagine I *do* look terrible, but then again...." He snorts and glances at his hands and oversized arms in annoyance, "I'm having a bit of a bad day."

Whirl watches with wide optics as Trailbreaker downs that massive mug in just a few gulps. Wow. He's heard about Trailbreaker's amazing skill but he's never seen it in person. Usually he gets to the bar when Trailbreaker is already drunk and rowdy. "Having a bad day, eh? That's too bad." Whirl sighs and shakes his head. "If only there was someone around who could cheer you up.." He then flashes him a devious grin and reaches out to put a hand on his leg. "Oh, I just realized. I'm a someone! And I'm in particularly good mood, maybe I can be generous and share some of it with you." He leans in, still grinning. "Buy me a drink, big guy."

Blast Off stiffens as soon as that hand plops down on his leg. The truck's broad, strong-jawed face goes a little crooked as one side of his mouth pulls into what is almost a grimace. The not-Autobot's sizable fingers curl tightly around the mug he holds. Blast Off would normally huff loudly and protest and pull away, but somehow with a pounding head and this bulky, awkward body, moving or yelling much at all right now isn't something he's keen on doing. "...If I do, will you stop *touching my leg*?", he grumbles.

Is Trailbreaker rejecting him? Him?? That beautiful, glorious Sunstreaker!? "Tch, fine." Whirl pulls his hand away and brings it to his mouth to drag a finger along his own lips. He still can't believe he has a mouth again. "You're not nearly as fun as I was hoping you'd be," he pouts.

Blast Off huffs despite himself, resulting in that silly squeaky engine noise, bringing an embarrassed look to the mech's face. He compensates by immediately bringing the mug up to hide his face -and takes another large swig of the drink while it's there. Not having a faceplate still makes him feel so *exposed*. It's not his face, but still... he isn't sure he likes being this easily readable. And sorry Whirlstreaker, cars aren't usually Boff's type.

Then the truck mumbles through the glass, huddling over the mug, "I beg your pardon? *Fun* is not really a word I hear describing myself very often. I just..." He's drunk and his head hurts and... "Like I said, it's been a bad day. Bad cycle. Bad *several* lunar cycles. And just when I thought nothing *else* could possibly get all topsy-turvy, then it does anyway."

Trailbreaker is starting to remind Whirl of a certain someone he'd rather not think about right now. "So you're in a rut. So what? You going to let it control the rest of your life?" Says the guy who has sitting in his room drinking over a breakup for months. "You need to loosen up, enjoy yourself."

Whirl snatches the mug out of Trailbreaker's hand and takes a hearty sip, some of the enegex missing his mouth and dribbling down his chin and chest. He's still getting the hang of that. "Ahhh, shit! That's strong!" He licks his lips and sets the mug back down. "You wanna dance?"

Loosen up. Right. Blast Off scowls into his mug before it's suddenly yanked away. "Hey!" The now big, burly mech reaches for the glass but it's already pressed against Whirlstreaker's lips. The not-truck groans softly as he watches the liquid dribble down the other mech's face. It *is* a handsome face, actually, but Blast Off has spent so long feeling fond of people with either a faceplate, or no face at /all/, that maybe he's a little rusty in that department.

Not-Trailbreaker shifts in his seat, slumping an arm on the table heavily before thinking better of it, straightening himself into a more proper manner as he contemplates this golden 'bot. This guy is kinda direct, kinda crude, the type to draw him out of his shell, too... Whirl isn't the only one being reminded of someone he knows here...but Blast Off doesn't know Sunstreaker that well. Maybe Sunny is like this all the time. Then he blinks. "What? *Dance*? Why? I...what?" His hands spreads out from the mug in alarm, sliding wide across the table, and he looks flustered. "I- dance here? Why would I dance? I don't even know if I *could* in this.. these feet..." he looks down at the unfamiliar appendages, lifting one up. "Can a mech like this really even *dance*?"

Whirl thinks it's weird that Trailbreaker refers to himself as 'a mech like this' but whatever, Trailbreaker is kind of a weird guy already so he shrugs it off. "Are you kiddin' me? You've been alive how long and you've never tried dancing before? Geez!" He slides off his chair and grabs Trailbreaker's hand, intent on pulling him onto the improvised dancefloor with him. "Come one! Stop being such a loser!"

"I have danced before!", Blast Off protests, "...Just... not in awhile, and not like... like *this*..." He balks, since dancing with strangers is hardly a normal behavior for him, but everything else has been so crazy lately, he feels so... disassociated from this frame here anyway, so is a little more craziness all that bad? What *really* stings, though, is that Sunstreaker's tone of voice, his words, though said in an unfamailiar voice, are /really/ beginning to remind him of Whirl now. That sends a sharp pang through his spark. One of intense sorrow, loneliness, and regret. What he would give for one last dance with the empurata. Even with Onslaught in the picture now, the rotary still holds a special place in his spark. It just... all went wrong somehow.

Gritting his dentae, that pang sends Blast Off surging to his unsteady feet. He can't have that dance with Whirl anymore, but maybe he can have this. "/Fine/. If it will stop your pestering, then let's DO it." He stands just a little wobbly, snaps out a broad arm, palm outstretched towards the golden mech nearby.

Whirl grins when Trailbreaker finally gives in. Took him long enough! He takes Tailbreaker's outstretched hand and steps in close, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. "It's been a while since I had a dance partner so I'm gonna be a bit rusty at this." He looks up at Trailbreaker, that grin softening to something more warm and genuine.

Blast Off 's frame tenses as the other mech presses in close, but the standoffish not-shuttle reminds himself that all is well, this doesn't really mean anything anyway. It's just another crazy day among many crazy days, and reminds him of just enough of the things that *did* matter to push forward and go through with it. It also feels a bit odd to look down on Sunstreaker... he's used to an average sized frmae, not inhabiting the body of a bigger, bulkier, strong mech like Trailbreaker. "It's fine," he demures, "That'll make both of us..."

He finds himself reacting to that genuine smile with a soft, crooked hint of one of his own... the type those who get to know him well tend to see, but few others do, since he's usually wearing that faceplate. The truck's broad hand grasps Sunstreaker's, fingers brushing across the other's as he concentrates on remembering the appropriate steps. His body lurches forward a bit roughly, since he's still trying to get used to the larger frame- and he's kind of drunk. "...Sorry. Still getting my feet under me...."

Whirl laughs and twines his fingers together with Trailbreaker's. "It's alright. If it makes you feel any better, I'm super drunk right now so.." He wobbles a bit on his feet as they take their first steps, having to lean against Trailbreaker's chest to keep upright. The longer they dance, the more Whirl remembers and in time he's dancing like a true pro. "Hahaha, I knew I'd get it eventually!"

Entwined fingers. Now there's something Blast Off hasn't really done in a very long time. He likes the feel of it, somehow, and curls his fingers in to lock with Sunstreaker's. The room spins as they do, but right now he doesn't really care. Instead, he chuckles. "So am I. You wouldn't *believe* how thirsty I still am." Because by now it's completely slipped his mind that he never did introduce himself, or make sure that Sunstreaker knew he wasn't who he appeared to be. His pounding head is making it hard to think- and this whole situation adds an element of unreality to all this, anyway. There's a small part of him that's enjoying not having to be himself for one moment, too. Let all that baggage go. Just for a moment.

Their frames press together and this time Blast Off doesn't care about that, either, just letting himself get lost in the rythym and tempo. He lets go. His smile broadens, and he steps and weaves and whirls the other mech with him, letting him dip and then pulling him back- just a little too forcefully this time. Sunstreaker is yanked up with a thud, metal clanging against metal as not-Trailbreaker breaks any forward momentum. The not-truck's expression falls as he staggers, trying to steady both Sunny and himself with his powerful arms. "Frag! I apologize! I really don't know my own strength anymore!"

Whirl is having way too much fun with Trailbreaker of all people. Who'd have thought?? The rest of the bar and everyone around them seems to disappear, only he and his unlikely dance partner here right now. It's like all the fears and worries and anxieties he's been suffering from the last month are gone and he finally, FINALLY, enjoy himself again. He's lost in the excitement of it all, coming back to reality only when he's ungracefully pulled against Trailbreaker's chest with a loud clang.

"Arghh.." Whirl rubs at his face and then stares at his hand to see energon. Looks like the impact cut his lip, surely Sunstreaker will be pleased about that. "Haha, it's fine. I've taken nastier hits in my life." He looks up at Trailbreaker and smiles.

Then he does something he may regret. He stands as tall as he can and presses a kiss to Trailbreaker's lips.

Blast Off certainly never would have imagined he'd find himself dancing with a complete stranger this way, swaying and swinging away all the wear and tear, the worries and despair in his life. He never knew he'd seem to click so well with *Sunstreaker*, who knew? But the other mech has an oddly familiar feel to him and it's so easy to just get lost in a lockstep with him, somehow. Sunny even adjusts quickly to not-Trailbreaker's clumsiness with an unfamiliar body and /smiles/ up at him. Blast Off holds the other mech awkwardly and feels the tinge of a blush on his cheeks- when the other mech reaches up and *kisses him*.

Blast Off freezes, optics widening under Trailbreaker's reddish visor, but he doesn't pull away. For one glorious, drunken, whirlwind moment, he returns the kiss, still swept up in thoughts of the love he once had, how nice it would have been to have kissed Whirl, if he had only had a mouth. All the times he wondered what a kiss would have been like, never wanting to admit to Whirl he even posessed such thoughts for fear of making the empurata feel inadequate. Now here he can do this, kiss this mech who reminds him of that love, and he puts all the yearning he had for that into this moment, pressing in passionately.

And then, just as suddenly, it is over. He remembers the one who kissed him so recently. The thought of Onslaught's kiss draws him back, away from the fantasy, away from the sorrow, and back towards reality. Reality being that he IS Blast Off, not Trailbreaker, he lost a great deal, parted with a mech he planned to become conjunx with. But just recently he gained an admission from his Commander of a longstanding interest only hinted at before. In a flux of conflicting emotions, the Combaticon pulls his head back, breaking the kiss, though he remains holding Sunstreaker. "I...uh..." There's still a faint blush to his cheeks.

It's been something like four million years since Whirl shared a kiss with someone and.. wow, it feels pretty fucking amazing. So amazing that he doesn't want it to ever stop. He stands tall on his toes, leaning up into the kiss and letting his arms wrap tightly around Trailbreaker's shoulders. Then just as suddenly as it started, it stops. It's probably for the best that Trailbreaker broke it off when he did otherwise they'd be like that for hours.

"Heh.." Whirl leans back and runs his tongue over his own lips, tasting the faintest traces of the engex Trailbreaker was drinking earlier. "I know what you're thinking. 'Oh my god, I just kissed Sunstreaker, the biggest traitor in Autobot history!'" He laughs. "Don't worry, I'm not actually Sunstreaker. You won't believe it, but he and I actually switched bodies! Crazy, right??"

Part of Blast Off didn't want it to stop, either. As it is, he stands there in this new and awkward body, holding one of the most handsome of Cybertronians and thinking of someone else entirely. Then *two* someone elses. Life is really complicated right now, okay? When 'Sunstreaker' makes his confession, the look of shock that grows on the big not-Autobot's face has nothing to do with Sunstreaker's possible disloyalties. A cold chill suddenly wafts up his struts, tickling his circuits with an uneasy squirm. "You.... aren't? But you said... " He stands there, optics flickering. "So we all DID switch bodies, then? Who...?" Not-Trailbreaker's bulk starts slowly seeping backwards, sliding open and away from his embrace with the other mech. One big foot slides back. Wut. He swings one large hand to cup the side of his temple. That head pounding is suddenly getting worse.

Whirl is grinning like a maniac at Trailbreaker's confession up until the 'so we all DID switch bodies' part. That has his optics widening and his jaw gaping. "W-wait.. you mean this didn't happen to just Sunshine and me?" Trailbreaker takes a step back and so does Whirl, touching his lips with his fingers. Who did he just kiss?? "If you're not Trailbreaker, then.. who are you?"

"N-no," Trail Off stutters, taking another step back, that cold seep spreading across all of his new frame. Even the ruddy warmth of a drunken buzz can't keep this particular freeze away. The hangover sways towards nausea, and one broad hand clutches at his fuel tank again. His face is contracted with apprehension. "Of course not, haven't you read the ship's notices?" Oh Primus he knows who *wouldn't* have. Another step back, then he just stands and sways there, both hands on his midsection. He glances down at them. "I'm... I'm not Trailbreaker. I am not a groundpounder. I should be flying... *in space*." Somehow he's afraid to say his name.

Oh no. Oh no, no no. It's all starting to click together now. The huffing, the grumpiness, the usage of the word 'groundpounder.' By the time Trailbreaker gets to the part about flying in space, there's no doubt. "B-Blast Off!?"

Oh no is right. Oh no to the strength of a thousand supernovas. The not-Autobot stops still, frame feeling weirdly weak now. His fingers grip his midsection tightly and his lips feel ridiculously dry. "...Whirl?"

Whirl feels like he's going to be sick. He bends over, hands on his knees, fuel tank churning like he's about to purge. "Y-yeah," he responds quietly. "That's me.."

Not-Trailbreaker just stands there, staring, completely dumbfounded. And yet some part of him isn't as surprised as he'd expect. No wonder it was all so easy to slip into... His hand reaches up, even as the room starts spinning around them again, and it brushes up against his own lips. The expression on his face is almost inscrutable, as a flood of conflicting emotions washes over him. "/Whirl/..." It's a mix of horror and longing and pain and affection and anger and even a sad, ironic joy in finally getting to kiss Whirl, to at /long last/ have that moment with the empurata Blast Off had wanted for so long.

"....I'm sorry."

Whirl is experiencing his own whirlwind of emotions. It's taken so long for him to start to get over the loss of his relationship and every day of that journey was a struggle unlike anything he's experienced before. Some of those days were dark. REAL dark. Like, contemplating whether life was worth living or not dark. He thought he was finally getting to the finish line, finally getting to the point where he could get through the day without thinking about what he lost.

Then this happens.

"I.." He dares to glance up at Trailbreaker and is hit with a wave of anxiety induced nausea that makes him gag. "I can't do this!" he shouts, turning on his heels and running out the door as fast as he can. No doubt he's heading back to the ship so he can lay in his berth and wonder what the hell did he just get himself into.

Life is funny. Which is to say, sometimes it's not funny at all. The shuttleformer had shared those same dark days, albeit alone. Had immersed himself in his work and his new job as Head of Navigation to forget what he'd lost... or at least try to when a part of HIMSELF seemed missing. He never could forget. But he grit his dentae and he moved on. Or so he thought. As Whirl turns and starts running, not-Trailbreaker's hand swings up as a single word, *Wait!* forms on his lips... only to die unspoken as the other mech flees out of sight.

So that is it, then. The harsh ironies of life.... to finally experience the kiss he'd dreamed so long of, only to watch it go up in smoke again anyway like an evaporating dream. His hand curls in on itself before dropping back down to hang heavily at his side, and Blast Off vents out a heavy sigh. Bringing his other hand to rub at his now throbbing temples, he glances sadly to the bar. One more drink for the road, then he should find Trailbreaker. The real one. Or Onslaught. But first... he'll have another drink- he could use it more than ever now. And maybe, just maybe, make a quiet toast to the dreams that were woken up too soon.

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