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2016-02-19 Factually Innocent

From Transformers: Lost and Found

Factually Innocent
Date 2016/02/19
Location OOC
Participants Air Raid, Rodimus, Grimlock, Quicksight, Mercy, Punch, Breakdown
Summary A few Lost Lighters visit a shoddy dive bar on an errand for paper, comma, plates. A fight breaks out, naturally.

As the Lost Light continues its grand road trip across the stars, one thing becomes clear after leaving Prion and before arriving at the next colony: they need paper plates.

What does a space ship need with paper plates, you might ask? That's a very reasonable question, and the confusion is because of a typo: it's actually paper, plates. The paper is misc. paper products suitable for cleaning up messes in the labs and in the medibay; the plates are armoring plates to replace those shot off by the Decepticon Justice Division on Prion.

It is their fate that the first place to stop for supplies is a rinky dinky little shamble of bolted-together derelicts that's formed a rather, uh, architecturally distinct station orbiting a gas giant where many ships refuel. Technological and organic organisms mingle in the neon-lit halls as the Lost Light crew spills out on shore-leave. Local laws are unclear. Magnus probably already has a headache. BUT FIRST THINGS FIRST: time to hit the bar.

Rodimus pushes his way in to a bar near the docks and draws a deep breath of stale, poorly circulating air that smells like burnt rubber and ozone. "Ahhh. Smells like home. Pay for your own drinks. Drift was making noises that his unending line of credit is as unending as I thought."


Grimlock ducks under the low (for him, anyway) doorway, following behind Rodimus. His blank visor scans the crowded, cramped corridors of the station, searching- perhaps even hoping -for threats. Just as a matter of principle, Grimlock gives a rumbling growl in the direction of some strange alien spider-creatures, and then tromps over towards the bar proper. "If anyone can find the worst place to drink in the sector, it's you, Rodimus."


Air Raid has been on this TRUST NO ONE kick since Getaway convinced him that cons sucked even more than they already do, thus he has not seen a medic from that gross con-run medibay, and /still/ has one optic smashed out from Whirl. But that's okay, because he gets to pretend he's as cool as Breakdown, with a metal patch over it. And he's pretty pumped to be hanging out with the big guys in this shoddy station. "What a piece of shit," he declares, toeing a very loose floor panel.


Before anything else Punch is busy talking on his comm-unit. Neither side of the conversation can be heard. As he disconnects the call he was on Punch has a look around, slights a cig and lets it light itself. Moving quickly to the bar Punch throws out a vague "Anyone want anything?" as he orders himself. He seems really keen to get his drink as he doesn't otherwise turn or look anywhere except behind the bar itself.


Breakdown slants his cyclopean gaze throughout this particular shithole with a kind of clanky shift of weight, but since time immemorial, he has been drinking in dives. Dives are where he is at home. He is happier in a festering mudpit of a bar in the ass end of nowhere with things crawling around under the floorboards than he is in Swerve's, particularly since he's not allowed to break Swerve's anymore. (Breakdown, you weren't allowed -- never mind.) "Cool neon," he says. "Izzat supposed to be as obscene as it looks or d'ya think they're missin' some tubes? Just askin'."


"You say 'worst', I say 'best'. Look at that!" Rodimus exclaims with all evidence of delight. He points to the side where a blob of gelatinous something or another rolls over a meal -- or a fallen opponent? -- to begin digesting it. "Disgusting," he says with the glee of the young at spark. He claims a table for the crew after hauling the passed out occupant off of it to sleep it off in the corner. "Just engex," he calls at Punch. "You get this one, I'll get the next."


Grimlock grunts. "Engex. Don't bother with the unleaded." Against his better judgement, Grimlock settles in beside Rodimus, and drums his fingers against the scarred tabletop. Grimlock scans the bar again, and hmms. "At least nobody's singing." he says. Optimism!


Air Raid absently waves off the offer of a drink. "Hey are you sure that guy isn't dead? He looks kinda' dead," he comments, gesturing to the person Rodimus is peeling from the table. There's gross sticky things under the table itself, so that's where Raid is peeking. "Hey a shanix!"


"Whatever's--" Breakdown begins, and then reconsiders. He was going to ask for whatever's on tap, but who even knows. "Yeah, whatever's cheap. Engex," he says. He looks around the bar thoughtfully again, and kicks one of the chairs -- covered with a distinctly glistening kind of goo -- away from the table; he takes one from a table away, earning a noise of protest that he doesn't dignify with so much as a glance. Instead, he turns his new chair backwards and sits on it.


The noise of protest from the table over might die down, but the chair's ex-owners are exchange glances, measuring up the Cybertronians, and muttering to themselves. That probably won't come back to bite anyone later.

"I'm pretty sure he's not dead," Rodimus says, then reaches over to roll the unconscious(?) figure over with the poke of his toe. All the movement draws a weak noise of impending sick from him that Rodimus is not wise enough to identify. "There, see? He's totally fine!"


Drinks arrive at the bar. Punch doesn't do anything with them immediately. Then something else arrives which is slighted away hastily and happily by the ex-doublespy. Attention returned to the drinks Punch lifts them and deposits himself on a chair at the claimed table. Beaming brightly Punch says, "Okay. There's a choice of one of these, those, that one or the other." All the drinks are the same. Punch makes no effort to point this out as he pushes them towards anyone there. A creak of protest comes from his chair as he leans back on it and vents out happily.


"Oh, okay, good." Air Raid regards the very cool sitting-backwards-on-chair pose that Breakdown's in, and considers mimicking. But then thinks better of it. It's then he realizes the rest of his colleagues have ordered. "You guys are really going to drink energon from this place?"


Grimlock scowls extra scowly at Breakdown- just as a matter of principle. Decepticons, and all. He reaches over and takes up one of those glasses of engex- the glass comically tiny between his massive black fingers. He glances over as Air Raid speaks up- and just as a matter of principle, he downs his glass in a single *GULP!* "Scared?"


"Why not?" Rodimus collects his glass from Punch's collection with a grin and a quick tip of his head in thanks. He lifts his glass in a salute, but then Grimlock is beating him to chugging and he has to prove that he can keep up. Be...cause. Anything else Rodimus might say is delayed as he first throws back the drink (it takes a few swallows, rather than a single gulp), and then coughs to clear his intakes.


"I'm sure I've drunk worse than this," Breakdown says with complete confidence. He waggles his glass at Air Raid with a grin that looks a little piratically leerish. Of note, the slant of his return glance toward Grimlock bears some signs of more general respect than he affords Autobots typically. Probably because. Stuff. You know. "Nice," he snickers at Rodimus, and then pounds back his whole drink at once because that's apparently the thing that's happening right now.


"I'm not scared," Air Raid insists. "I don't get scared. But I don't want to end up with parasites or something." He watches as everyone just gulps down everything. Then he slumps a little. "Punch, can you see if you can get them to mix in some avgas?"


Grimlock turns his glass upside-down on the table, and grunts at Air Raid, dismissively. "That's the point." He rumbles. "Distilled engex is supposed to kill the nano-parasites." He glances over as Rodimus coughs, and then reaches over to *WHACK* the flame-red one on the back. He's helping! Or maybe just looking for an excuse to hit somebody. "It can also kill lightweights."


After returning the nod Punch finishes the rest of his drink. He'd get up for another round but that involves moving. Instead he takes another draw from his cig. After venting out and unphased by his drink Punch replies to Air Raid, "What? Need me to drink it for you too?" He chuckles, "Besides my round's done. Anything else isn't classified or anything. I just don't want to get up again yet."


That helpful thump causes Rodimus to lurch in his chair, spoiler twitching, but his ventilations settle. He sneers companionably at Breakdown and husks a rough, "Thanks," at Grimlock. He glances at the bar and then back at Air Raid. He might've promised to get the next, but he's not leaping out of his seat just yet. "Yeah, totally, it skills the parasites. It's practically healthy."


"I'll get you one, mini-me," Breakdown says. He unslings himself from his straddle of the chair, claps Air Raid on the back with a heavy thump of highly jovial humor, and says, "Anybody else changin' it up? Want a double, boss?" You can tell he's almost laughing. Almost.


Grimlock , sadly, can only hit Rodimus the one time to be 'helpful.' Pity. "So. 'Captain.'" Grimlock manages to pronounce the quote marks, though he doesn't go so far as using his fingers, "Once we get these ... paper plates, what's next? I'm trying to plan ahead for the next time I have to save your aft." A pause, as Grimlock scans the other robots at the table. "Afts."


Punch tosses a sizable wrap of shanix Breakdown's way, "If I don't have to get up for it make 'em trebles. Quad's even. Keep whatever's not spent. Finders fee." Blowing out a plume of smoke Punch notices there's too much in the air to form shapes with this formulation of cig. Still there's air enough left over after all the character of the place to keep it lit. All that matters.


Air Raid gets to embarrass himself AND not get a drink. Not that he couldn't go get it himself. But it looks like naught but a lone rivet is holding the entire dive together, and he doesn't want to risk breaking anything. Not yet anyway. But lo! Breakdown is a champ. "Thanks! UFF!" He thunks against the table when slapped, as just remains there, ailerons twitching.


"Yeah!" Rodimus straightens in his chair, because there's no way he'll say no in this company. "Get me a double!" He's going to die. He settles back, arm slung across the back of his chair and posture angled in a 'look at me, I'm so macho and impressive' claim of space. He might be posturing a little. Maybe. "Next up is whatever the next colony is. They don't really have names -- or if they do, we can't read them. Too old. Weird translations. Not too far now. Nother couple of weeks of hopping and we should be there. I hope it's another art colony, just so you feel really stupid about all that big talk about how you're gonna save us."


Well, hell, if Punch is going to give him money, Breakdown is going to spend the slag out of it. He catches the wrap out of the air one-handed -- with pretty good visual guesswork for somebody who is down to one eye -- and lumbers off to the bar chuckling audibly to himself all eheheheh.


Grimlock 's body language is a stark contrast to Rodimus'- where the smaller 'bot is all about swagger, taking up the most space- Grimlock's massive frame is ... condensed. It's honestly a bit impractical, uncomfortable- but it's still reminicent of a coiled, tension filled spring. "It's not 'big talk,' it's fact. Half your crew's too weak to fight, and the other half is insane."


Air Raid sits upright, brightening. "God I'll take any atmosphere to burn, even if I can only fly like, twenty feet." Rodimus' jesting earns a laugh, then Grimlock's response gets a bigger one. "Wait, you're not lumping me in with the weak half, right?"


Rodimus tips his empty glass in Grimlock's direction and wiggles it in a vague gesture. "Are you really one to be throwing stones about people being crazy? Really? I thought that just meant 'better in a fight' to you."

While Breakdown is gone, the table next door comes to reclaim his chair. They do it by sneakery: a slithery tail curls around the leg, and the chair starts dragging off.


Grimlock grunts at Air Raid. "What do you think?" This said, he turns his attention (and his ire- which is basically the same thing) back to Rodimus. "It helps." he notes, and then grunts again- he straightens up to get a better look over the bar, and hms. "Why isn't the second round here yet? I'm starting to get bored."


Breakdown buys a lot of drinks, most of which are doubles (at least). He takes his time. He spells avgas. He spells it out on the bar in a spilled puddle of something else, and then very nearly starts a completely different fight from the one brewing behind him by wiping his hand off on something else nearby, because he is here in this bar to make friends and influence people. Then he lumbers back, puts the tray full of drinks he has acquired down on the table, and says to his tablemates, "All right, real funny, where's my fraggin' seat," like one of them is responsible for this.


Air Raid has /no/ idea what to think. But for the sake of remaining on decent terms with Grimlock, he'll assume not-weak. "Cheers!" He swigs his really diluted and probably frilly drink, while shrugging at Breakdown. It slid away idk.


Punch looks and sees the space where the seat used to be. He doesn't need to do the math. There are less chairs than before. This only can end well. To stand the best possible chance at defusing events Punch stands and says to Breakdown, "Look, take my seat. I'll grab another." Punch notes only if there's another unoccupied and unbroken chair around. Otherwise he's standing. Before searching he grabs a drink at random and downs it. This sets off several warnings on his HUD that he may have been poisoned. Or shot. Or glassed. His self-diagnostics have never worked.


"I didn't do it," Rodimus says before quite processing Breakdown's question. "Oh -- I actually didn't. No idea." He shrugs. Chairs, w/e. He turns to Grimlock again: "That means crazy is good! As for the weak thing -- eh. Well. Make them better, or something! Arcee had some bright idea about that."

There's a rush of chittering laughter as Breakdown's ex-chair rejoins the others at the table next to them. One of the group -- an insectile sort among a mixed and motley lot -- rises to offer Breakdown the chair he'd tried to foist off on them. "Here you go," it -- he? -- she? -- says with a gesture that translates as ironic courtesy across species lines.


Grimlock takes up a drink, downs it- and then, with a thoughtful look, he picks up another glass, holding it up to the light to verify that he's indeed drinking engex, instead of whatever organic slop that may be the order of the day. He pauses, however, as Rodimus prattles on. "Arcee's nuts." Though there ... might be a hint of admiration in that statement. The movement of the insectoid creature offering a chair to Breakdown gets Grim's attention, however, and Grimlock's enormous torso leans forward just a few degrees. Oh, this should be good.


"Oh, thanks," Breakdown says with a smile that goes a little too wide. He takes the chair that has been offered him in his off hand, but he takes it by curling his fingers around, not the gross part of the chair or the top of the chair, but one of its legs. Then he picks it up like he's going to turn back to his table with it in what is, probably, an obvious fakeout before he turns back to use both hands to turn it into the blunt instrument it was clearly designed to be, smashing it against the carapace of the chittering bug person that gave it to him with force enough to break -- something. Hopefully, the crappy chair.


Air Raid can't hold his engex worth shit, diluted or not, and promptly becomes sloshed. And really happy about it. His cheer is ramped up tenfold when Breakdown shatters a chair over the bug person. "Frag yeah! Run and tell THAT!" He'd hoped for command-related Rodimus gossip coming here, but is all too glad to witness a brawl instead.


Too little... too late it seems. Punch decides one of the best courses of action is to grab another drink or two and dispatch at least one before this escalates. As in all the drinks are destroyed and, even if they weren't, there'd be no bar left to drink them in.


"Yeah, she's great." Rodimus response to that buried note in Grimlock's voice rather than -- or maybe just in addition to -- his words. "She brought a rocket launcher to open a door yesterday. It was amazing." He's midway through downing his double when Breakdown starts making friends. He bolts to his feet, tosses back the last of his drink, and frees his hands for the inevitable brawl.

The chair shatters across his opponents carapace, catching it by surprise and sending the bug smashing to the floor. But it had friends, and Breakdown's met an instant later by the charge of a massive, antlered beast that throws him back onto the Lost Lighter's table -- and spills whatever is left of the drinks.


Ever since Scira, Quicksight's been a bit weary about wandering around alien ports. That doesn't mean he ever inteded to remain cooped up on the ship, or cling to his shipmates like a Canoviran leech, but he has been somewhat more careful, prefering to keep either to the familiar saftey of the skies, or near other Cybertronians.

Which is why, after a bit of exploration on his own, he decided to head for the bar. Well, that, and because a drink never hurts. Or a fight, apparently. Stepping in to the bar, the scout pauses at the doorway, studying the scene that unfolds before him. He's not sure what's foing on here, but he's already rooting for Breakdown.


"Really?" Grimlock says, "That's a good-" and then Breakdown is picking a fight. That was expected. What -WASN'T- expected was the antlered-creature smashing into the table ... and spilling all the drinks. Bad form, that. "Hn." Grimlock says-

Cramped as he is, Grimlock remains seated- though he soon plants a massive hand on Breakdown's forehead, and he *SHOVES* the Decepticon, his assailant, and probably a good amount of furniture and/or bystanders away in a din of breaking glass and metal scraping on metal.

"Rodimus, this is your fault." He notes just as a matter of principle.


How Mercy seems to know when a brawl is breaking out is unknown but the medics timing at drinking holes seems to be impeccable. As the antlered creature charges Breakdown, the Lost Light's medic steps through the door, just after Quicksight. The shattering of cups and splattering of drinks from the LL's table has her peering around the 'Con in front of her. Her eyes widen and she looks from the charging creature to Breakdown and to the rest of the crew. -WHAT- happened!


"Whoa!" Air Raid scrambles to try and evade Breakdown crashing into the table. His drink bounces up to splash him in the face just before he wiggles out of the way of Grimlock's destructive response to splay against the back wall. "Holy scrap! Heads down, Mercy!"


"Factually innocent!" Rodimus calls to Grimlock, even as he stands on his chair and leaps over the table (and Breakdown) to smash his fist into the antlered creature's nose. His claim of innocence goes up in smoke. Antlers is already staggering back from Grimlock's shove; Rodimus is just insult to injury.

A menagerie worth of organic critters spill out to back up their friend: one is vaguely plantlike, tall and wooden; another looks to be 90% teeth and large eyes and really belongs at the bottom of a deep ocean. They get uglier from there.


Punch wheels around to see new arrivals. Right place... wrong time. Punch makes a move over to Mercy and says, "Hi, there may be a minor disagreement going on." He puts some fabic from a towel into the neck of the bottled drink he saved and then continues "Might be best to let them get it out of their systems before dealing with any injuries." He then lights the fabric with his lighter and throws it at the wooden fighter. A rush job but it might work.


Breakdown hits the floor tire first when Grimlock shoves him off the table, rolls through a puddle of something grotesque, and bellows in the kind of roar that makes it vaguely suspect that he shouldn't ought to have been forged a dinosaur his own self. He shoves himself back up to his feet, and kicks out with one heavy boot to crack into the one that looks like a tree, going, "Watch it, ya big scrag brain! Every damn fleshy pinhead in this place--"


A scrappy gleam flickers through Quicksight's optics as he watches the other organics begin to gang up on the Cybertronians. Okay, now this just isn't fair. So many of them, so few Lost Lighters. It would only be fair if he evened the odds, right? That's totally why he's ducking past the tables, one of his twin blades snapping out in to the open. It's totally not because he wants to show off how well he can fight. Totall-- okay, no, that's exactly why he's doing it. Also because fights are always fun. It being justified is just a bonus.


"I see that!" Mercy is half-ducking after Air Raid's shouted warning only to have Punch moving towards her to offer his own advice. She stays near the door, trying to not join the fight - Punch was right in that advice, best to wait until people are done with the fight before she tries to do any good...at least, that's how she thinks until someone gets badly hurt...


The explosives definitely do the job: the drink shatters and then goes up in a WHOMPF of igniting fumes, wreathing the dendritic fighter in fire just as it leaps trunk-first into Breakdown's foot. That was a mistake. There's a crack deep in the wooden form, barely heard over the sudden rush of flame chasing along the tree's limbs. The fighter retires from the field without dignity, screeching toward the door in the hopes of finding a puddle. Instead, it finds another table, tripping over it. The brawling ... expands. Exponentially.


Grimlock is not the fastest of robots. Then again, he doesn't have to be.

There's breaking glass, and screaming, and FIRE all around him- but Grimlock's faceplate remains impassive- such is the advantage of not having an actual mouth. And so, as the battle rages, Grimlock *stands*- tall enough that his 'wings' threaten to dig little furrows through the cheap tiling of the ceiling. With the massive inevitability of a glacier, Grimlock turns towards the roiling mass of organics and cybertonians at which point Grimlock palms a metal table, and crumples it in his massive fist as easily as one would dispose of newspaper.

"WHAT."


The generalized chaos freezes for about 0.8 seconds, waiting for Grimlock to finish that thought.


"Who the frag lit the bar on fire!" Breakdown yells in a mix of consternation and delight. And then he goes, "RODIMUS, what the hell!" which is totally unfair to Punch, but somebody here has flames on his chest.


Here's the thing about antlers: they can be VERY inconvenient when the tackling figure also has a spoiler. Rodimus and his opponent aren't really engaging the knock-down, drag-out theatrics that at least one of them would dearly love to be. They are both trying to get free of the other without losing part of their antlers, or bending his spoiler. This is apparently more difficult than it sounds. "Why's everyone blaming me?" He sounds so offended, glaring between Breakdown and Grimlock.


The fire does not bother Quicksight much. If anything, it only encourages him to jump in to the fray faster, pausing only briefly to glance at Grimlock before lunging at the nearest fighting organic, trying to locate a joint, or some other weak spot to stab at.


Air Raid is so dazzled by the eruption of flames and everyone roaring, and still incredibly inebriated, that everything seems to slow down. He slowly lifts his put-em-up fists to prepare for a blow that never comes, and Breakdown's yelling snaps him back to focus. "This is awesome! But we should uh... we should get out of here, I think!" he shouts at no one in particular.


"This way!" Mercy calls to Air Raid, lifting her hand to wave him over to her and the door. If he wants to leave, this is the way! Her waving seems to have the added 'benefit' of making her a target, and the medic quickly sidesteps with a soft yelp as a half-empty glass of some organic beverage hurtles past her.


Grimlock just glares at the bar for the fraction of a second he has their attention- at which point he notes. "This isn't my fault." And he drops the crumpled table to the floor with a *Clatter!*

Of course, that noise is soon lost to the general chaos of the bar. Grimlock strides through it all like an icebreaker through the arctic- the occasional glass or thrown opponent bounces off his armor, but doesn't slow him down at the least. He pauses, however, as he catches the flash of a blade-

And then Grimlock is moving slightly faster than one would imagine he could- as he bears down on Quicksight, attempting to grab hold of the smaller 'bot and *SLAM!* him against a wall.

"NO KNIVES." Grimlock scolds, and glances over at the brawl. "Drawing steel only escalates things, and I don't want to kill anyone on Breakdown's behalf."


Breakdown seems pretty disinclined to leave. He's found something to fight with extra legs and compound eyes, and it reminds him of spiders, which he hates. He's managed to get the upper hand (ha, ha) and has hoisted the unfortunate smaller alien over his head, its legs flailing as he prepares to throw, and then hurls it down on top of one of the other tables, which -- does it the minor service of getting it out of the way of some of the flickering flames. "Blame you, hell, they should fraggin' thank you for showin' em how shitty their fire controls are in this dump," he says. "WHERE'S YOUR EMERGENCY PROTOCOL, YOU STUPID FLESHBRAINED TWERPS?" (Maybe he did read the manual after all.)


Punch realises he can't break and start firing. Well, he could, but as all he has in his mortar are high explosive rounds he might kill everybody. Which... is bad? In any case he rises just enough to reach the sprinkler system. If it's operational and if it picks up the heat from his lighters flame then, there's still coolant or water or whatever in the system then it may put out some of the flames. He still keeps his eye on the fight in case anyone tries to come towards Mercy.


Air Raid staggers across the dive towards Mercy, sure to sidle /around/ the altercation involving Quickside and Grimlock. "Hahaha, oh my /god/!" He's just having a jolly time, mostly because no one has attacked him yet. "WOOO-awwww." His pumping fists fall to his sides when the sprinkler system kicks on.


There's a price to being so engaged in a fight that you forget to look around. Quicksight spots the incoming dinobot, but too late. For all his speed, even he can't get away when Grimlock is right on top of him. That doesn't mean he can't protest "Leggo, Autobot!" he snaps, strugling to get away from the bigger mech "I wasn't trying to kill him! I just hit him in the leg! Not like it's any worse than setting the place on fire!"


Fire is actually a very serious matter on a space station. Villains and ruffians who agree on nothing else can agree on the importance of stopping the spread of fire. Thus it is that -- Once Grimlock makes his point and drops the table; just as Breakdown makes his dramatic call. -- a fire-extinguishing foam sprays from the ceiling to ruin every last open drink and extinguish the smoking plant form before it can quite crumple to ash. The tree is very much still alive, but it probably isn't very happy right now. IT'S FINE. IT'LL GROW BACK.

The foam makes it even harder to tell who is who, but Air Raid can still tell that it's Rodimus throwing Antlers at him with a, "Catch!"


Grimlock GLARES at Quicksight. It's always the little scrappy guy who pulls a knife. Honestly, does nobody know how to run a proper bar fight anymore? Grimlock tightens his fingers around the tiny 'con as Quicksight drops 'Autobot' as an epithet. "Not Autobot." Grimlock rumbles. "Dinobot. There's a difference."

And, to prove his point, Grimlock turns around, rears back, and *FLINGS* Quicksight across the room, aiming in the general direction of Breakdown! Or maybe Rodimus. Or really just about anyone who might happen to be in the way. They deserve it.


Quicksight just about begins to respond with something about if it quaks like an Autobot and walks like an Autobot, but before he can get anything out, he finds himself airborne, and not in the usual way. Usually, he'd be in complete control of his speed and trajectory. He'd also probably be in a better mood. Now he finds himself hurtling across the room, right in to someone, hitting with a groan that turns in to a frustrated, indignant hisss. "Fraging Autobot"


Fire is bad, swords are bad, pissed off Dinobots are bad. Mercy isn't sure what in this bar is good anymore! The answer comes promptly when the foam fire suppression system comes on: Nothing. Not even the drinks anymore! And then the sound of 'Catch' comes from the side and her head snaps around. "Air Raid, look out!" And the femme moves, arms outstretched to catch the flying organic. Well...catch is a loose term. She gets her arms around the creature, sure...and she slows its flight, yeah, but...Mercy herself ends up stumbling backwards into Air Raid before she too tumbles backwards under the organic, and quite possibly on the mech she was trying to help. Sorry Air Raid!


Air Raid sure as hell ain't prepared for the big ol' antlered alien to come careening towards him, courtesy of dear captain. But much to his surprise, Mercy dives in front and slows the beast a great deal. Just the same, they both end up tackled, Air Raid sliding painfully on his jet kibble, his fins ripping up the floor. "Ow-OW! Ugh, c'mon doc," he groans, prying himself out of the pile, then reaching to hoist her out. "Let's split before anyone else gets pissed off."


Rodimus throws his head back to crow with laughter, which means that he barely gets his hands up to start to think about fending off Quicksight when the flying Decepticon whacks into him. Rodimus topples flat on his aft, which does nothing to quiet his laughter. "What're you swearing at me for?" he says with a too-sharp grin at Quicksight. "You're the one throwing yourself at me." He elbows him off and climbs back to his feet, looking around. He wipes a drip of foam from his helmet and asks, "Where's the guy who started this, anyway?"


"The little bug buggered off," Breakdown says, because clearly he wasn't the one who started this, what are you talking about, stop looking at him like that. He wrenches the clawed leg of the spider creature trying to climb up his side, and headbutts it right in its eye.


Grimlock hmms. On the one hand, he got to hit Rodimus (again). On the other hand, the 'red bot is still laughing. Shoot. Grimlock growl-grumbles to himself, and glances up at the still-spraying fire retardant foam. Finally, he just opts to be the better 'bot- mostly because he's convinced eating anyone here would give him indigestion. Grimlock turns around on one massive heel and lumbers out of the bar- he takes a moment to cold-cock a serpentine lizard-creature that looks like he's going for a gun, and then he passes by Air Raid and Mercy like a train slowed down for a crossing. "I'm leaving." he grunts- and as soon as he's out of the bar, Grimlock shakes himself in a somewhat canine manner, displacing a great deal of the foam that's beaded up on his shoulders.


Mercy pushes the antlered creature off of her as her and Air Raid's skidding progress comes to a hault. Rolling off the other mech, she takes his helping hand up. "I can't leave - what...what if someone gets -hurt-!" She is quick to b eout of Grimlock's way before she looks back to Air Raid. "But maybe...uh..." The chaos of the bar is almost enough to make the medic leave, even with theat of injury to crewmates lingering.


"Not you" Quicksight grumbles, and it takes him all his willpower to avoid snapping like he wants to. Whatever he may think about Autobots, and whatever this whole mess has done to his pride, he still has some understanding of, and respect for, the chain of command. There's even that usual, trailing note that appears any time he adresses Rodimus. Picking himself off the ground, he flashes Grimlock a hateful glare as the dinobot turns to leave. He doesn't follow yet, though he's probably not going to get a drink here. Instead, he takes his anger out on yet another organic, getting too close to his fellow Decepticon. He doesn't bring his blades in to play this time, though not because someone might disaprove, but rather, for the sake of speed, lunging at the fellow's knees with his shoulder before dipping past to shift modes. He can totally make it through the doorway in this mode, just watch!


"That's no fun," Rodimus says, glancing around the mess of foam and scrabbling organics. He makes a face. "I'm still thirsty. You want to try another bar?" he asks -- Breakdown. Breakdown is all that is left. Great. The Decepticon. He looks around. Surely there is someone else?? How many bars can they get thrown out of before the ship takes off again?


Still airborne Punch spins the foam off himself. Opting to stay off of the floor now he's back in black Punch says, "I'm game Rodimus. I'll get the first round in."


"Sure, boss." Breakdown throws the spider over his shoulder.


"I still haven't gotten a drink!" Mercy calls from near the door with Air Raid. Besides, if she joins them, maybe there won't be a fight at the next bar...? Hahaha. Yeah right.


Rodimus lead the way in, and he leads the way out. No, wait, that's a lie. Grimlock and Quicksight already left. Shut up, facts!! RODIMUS LEADS THE WAY OUT, saying, "Let's hit the next bar, then!" In a lower voice, he says, "Before they make us pay for property damage or something." They make their escape while it's still a mess, dodging responsibility under their captain's command.

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