2016-07-10 A Stormy Encounter

From Transformers: Lost and Found

A Stormy Encounter
Date 2016/07/10
Location Lost Light: Recreation -- Swerve's
Participants Blackstorm, Brainstorm, Cliffjumper
Summary Two Storms talk. Cliffjumper storms out.

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.

One of the disadvantages of walking on the ceiling? When he enters Swerve's, it does not trigger the usual lights show. The minibot glances down with a disappointed frown, but quickly shrugs it off. If he cannot make a spectacular enterance that way, he will find others. The pilot strides across the ceiling until he is over an empty space on the bar. Then, in his loudest voice, he calls out. "The regular, yeah? Put it on my tab."

His extremely lengthy tab. That done, the minibot leaps from the ceiling and tucks into a roll. He lands on the counter in perfect form and stretches out on his back strut. Likely he will sit here the whole time, as he has to stand on the seats anyways.

What do you mean 'disadvantages of walking on the celing'? Walking on the celling is awesome! The lightshow is having detection problems because your feet aren't on the ground? Call Brainstorm and get him to fix it. People who walk on celings totally deserve lightshows!

Actually, don't bother calling him, he's already here. Contrary to rummors, he doesn't live in his workshop. Sure, he might lock himself in there and forget to come out to recharge or refuel, but he does poke his head out every now and then to relax and catch up with the rummor mill. Swereve's is, of course, the best place to get that done. So far, the engineer has been casaully listening in from his own spot by the bar to the conversation of a Bot and a Con at a nearby table. It's not a particualrly interesting conversation, so he's not particularly disapointed when a voice draws his attention upwards. No, definitely not disapointed "Hey, that was pretty sweet!" he calls to the small Con when he drops down on to the counter "Magnawheels?"

To say Cliff is having a bad week is an understatement. Ever since getting out of lockup he made a bee-line back to Swerve's. It's surprising he's still allowed in there. But he needs to think. He made sure just to drink more oil. He didn't want to seem out of place by not drinking anything but he needed a clear head to think. And think he does. That is, until a small Con decides to be in the center of attention. He sneers. Stupid Cons, they shouldn't be allowed on the ship. That wasn't his call to make though. He wishes it was. He watches Blackstorm carefully, if one more mech tries to start a fight with him, he's going to make sure to finish it once and for all.

The pilot shades his optics with a hand, glancing over to see who spoke with him. He can't say he recognize the Autobot, but hey, new face? He has to hold back an excited squeak. He loves meeting new people. More apt, he loves when his showing off is noticed by new people. Without sitting up, Blackstorm gives him a thumbs up with his free hand. "Are you a sniper? Because you're right on the mark," he says.

"Useful upgrade." However, the pilot does sense something other than friendly optics on him. Twisting around, he tries to figure out where it is coming from. While he doesn't pick out Cliffjumper from the crowd right away, he does throw the room a bewildered look. Did he do something? Other than be awesome, of course.

Brainstorm's optics flash cheerfuly at the confirmation "Nah, that Perceptor. I'm the guy who makes the guns" the fact that the little guy is still lying on the bar counter doesn't seem to disturb him in the slightest. There's probably some sort of heath code violation there, but it's not his problem. He brings his own drink anyways "One of the best abilites. Brainstorm, weapons engineer, and ship's genius" he begins to introduce himself, though he does notice the other mech's distraction, turning to try and see whatever it is that's got his attention. Soemthing going on there?

Cliff locks optics with the tiny Con and sneers more. "Get off the fragging counter. No one wants you there." He huffs and drinks more.

<FS3> Blackstorm rolls Spending: Failure. (5 3 2 1)

While some mecha might get upset at the venom in Cliffjumper's tone, Blackstorm just tilts his helm. It hurts a little bit, but it is not like Decepticons are all well behaved. He'll live. "'Course, mecha," he replies. Slipping into a seat, he has to stand on it to see over the bar. It looks somewhat ridiculous, but he attempts to make it look natural. The tiny 'con rests his elbows on the tabletop and leans towards the more friendly Brainstorm.

"A mecha with confidence. I like that," he says. "Nice to meet you, Brainstorm. My designations Blackstorm, pilot."

He is just about to call for a drink for his new friend when the bartender wanders back over. "Blackstorm, right?" he asks, frowning. "No more room left on your tab."

A rare frown dances across Blackstorm's faceplates, but he quickly shrugs it off. It's a shame. He would like to buy a drink for Brainstorm, and the grumpy mecha for that case as he looks like he could use it, but it is no surprise he has hit his limit.

Brainstorm only quirks a brow ridge at the complainer. What crawled up his tailpipe? Not that he cares one way or another. None of his buisness really. Just because he's friendly with some Cons doesn't mean that he's going to jump to the defense of every Con he meets. Instead, he turns back to Blaxkstorm "Never heard of you. Sounds like you come here a lot though." his tone is as cheerful as ever. Who woulda though a few years ago that he'd be so relaxed chatting with a Decepticon?

No harm done with the full tab. It only saves Brainstrom the trouble of having to refuse a free drink.

Cliff sneers as the two chat it up. All he could think of is Gearshift and that huge Con that attacked him. It just fuels his feeling of betrayal. It annoys him the longer he watches. He wishes he could just leave but everywhere else didn't feel safe, not even his own room. How could Brainstorm just 'talk' to this annoying little pile of scrap? He growls a little to himself and finishes his oil in one angry gulp.

<FS3> Blackstorm rolls Climbing: Success. (4 2 5 5 7) For unknown reasons, Blackstorm bursts out in laughter at Brainstorm's remark. "That doesn't surprise me," he says. It means he did his job as a smuggler well, that no one knows his name. But now he is at a place in his life where he can afford to make a name for himself. The minibot gives Brainstorm a cocky grin. "But now that you have, you won't soon forget. Ace pilot, I promise."

"Also, I like to socialize. Can't help liking to buy drinks for me and other mecha. Sometimes I lose track," he admits.

His attention is drawn back to the stranger when he hears him grumble, though. Maybe he just needs space? Blackstorm smiles apologetically. "I didn't mean to interrupt your down time, mecha. I can move to another table if you prefer, yeah?" He's already beginning to shimmy down one of the barstool's legs.

"No worries, I always bring my own" Brainstorm raises his flask as proof. See, he's good. When the Decepticon looks back at short, red and grouchy, Brainstorm follows his gaze again, catching the look "What's his deal anyways?" he makes no move to defend Blackstorm, or get up himself. Not like factional animosities are anything new.

The small red bot rolls his optics as Blackstorm's 'fake' apology. "Give me a fragging break." He turns his whole body to face the others, wrath oozing out from him. "Nowhere you go would be far enough. Not unless it's into the middle of a star." He snickers at his cruel joke. Just imagining it improved his mood.

<FS3> Blackstorm rolls Escaping: Good Success. (8 5 4 1 4 7 8 1 5)

Blackstorm does not know what he has done to deserve such ire, but he is not about to test it. Reacting on instinct, uncertain what Cliffjumper is going to do next, the minibot speeds up his escape. Instead of shimmying down the barstool, he lets go and drops into another roll. Clunk. A moment later he twists into the wall. The minibot tries to manuever to get his magnawheels into position to climb, preferring the safety of high places, but he cannot get a good grip.

Instead of lingering, though, he throws himself to his pedes and dashes to a corner across the room. Now feeling more secure, he shrugs and gestures Brainstorm over if he wants to continue talking. He's learned not to address Cliffjumper now.

"He'd melt before he got there" Brainsorm observes as he listens to the interaction between the two smaller mechs "And here I was having a nice chat instead of having to listen to the geologists over there discussing which planet's sand is yellower" he mutters, glancing back to the duo he'd been listening to before Blackstorm came in. He doesn't look, or sound particularly pleased with being liberated of the company of the Decepticon, especially not when his place is taken by a particularly drunk NAIL, apperantly dead set on convincing him to repent for all his sins and welcome Primus in to his spark. Drift would love this fellow, Brainstorm will pass, thanks. Moral standards are for people with no imagination. Excusing himslef, Brainstorm rises from his own seat to look around for a new one. Looks like Blackstorm didn't mind his company. All this hangning out with Decepticons probably looks pretty bad for him, but if someone complains, he really can say that A) the war is over, and B) they're legitimately good coustomers. Or test subjects. Or both. It's not like he's swapped his badge out for a purple one, right?

Cliff watches the two talk out of audio shot. He frowns. What were they talking about? Nothing good he bet. All he did was watch them feeling more and more ill at ease. They were planning something. He just knew it. Suddenly it struck him. He finally figured out why Gearshift would be friends of a loudmouth Con. Scrap, what was he going to do about this? He needed proof if he was going to bring it up to Tailgate. He hurries out of the bar, off to get said proof he needed.

Out of the other mecha's way, Blackstorm lays out on the table again. Much better. He smiles brilliantly when Brainstorm actually meanders over, too, as he would have been disappointed to be relieved of his fascinating company. "Not sure what that was about," he remarks. No reason to let it get him down, though.

"Poor guy must be having a terrible day. I feel for him, but thankfully I've got enough smiles to make up for all the scowls in this room."

Again, Brainstorm couldn't care less where Blackstorm sits, so long as there's enough room on the table for him to set the arm with the intake port in it down. Cliff's departure barely gets any attention. Other people's problems are not his problems, unless they need something from him to fix them "This ship's full of people like that. I just preffer to ignore them."

Blackstorm nods his agreement with Brainstorm. "Not just here. World's full of 'em. I don't understand it myself," he idly remarks, gaze going distant. "The world's too full of amazing stuff to spend your time bitter and unhappy."

The pilot claps his hands together and suddenly shoots straight up in his seat. "But you probably didn't come here for philosophy! We were in the middle of a conversation, right?"

Blackstorm nods when Brainstorm gestures to his temple. "I'm more an action mecha than an idea mecha," he admits. "Reflexes to die for, though."

The pilot fingerfuns at Brainstorm, making a click-click sound with his glossa as if that somehow proves it. Even though it doesn't. Not in the least. "But I do know enough about ideas to say engex-fueled ones are the best."

Brainstorm flashes Blaxkstorm a cheerful look. He'd be smiling if it wasn't for the faceplate "It's a good boost, but I don't really need it for good ideas. Like I said, ship's genius." he tilts his chin up a bit. Humbleness? What's that? "For example, my latest project is an emotion bomb! Throw at someone to make them feel an emotion of your choice!"

"Emotion... bomb?" he repeats. Just how much has this mecha had to drink? It's a harmless rambling, though, and he'll indulge it. This looks like it could lead to some interesting conversation. "Think you could make one that makes everyone happy? I think the little red guy could use it. You'd be doing the world a favor."

"Though, maybe that already exists. That's what..." he trails off. He almost said the name of a highly illegal drug, but autobots tended to be prissy about that. Optics dancing towards the other's badge, he decides better. "That's what engex is for."

"Or drugs" Brainstorm finishes for him "But then the high wears off, and everyone is worse off than ever" don't worry, Black, Brainstorm isn't one of those high-strung dullards, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know what stuff like that can do to a mech. Not from personal experience mind you, just an understanding of Cybertronian anatomy and chemistry. He preffers to find happyness in other things, like his work. "And I could, but it wouldn't be good for you either. You wouldn't understand the specifics, but basically, you'd still end up feeling like scrap once it wore off."

Blackstorm is pleasantly surprised by Brainstorm's addition. He hit it right on the mark. "Or drugs," he echos, optics crinkling around the edges as his smile broadens. Damn, he could use some of those now. Or Engex. Dang that tab of his. The pilot rolls over on his side to glance longingly at the bar.

"That crash sounds like a shame, but as long as both drugs and the emotion bomb do it I'd say just stick to the drugs. Time honored and tested, after all. And I kind of stopped worrying about what's good and bad after a while. Doesn't get much worse for anyone than several million years of war, so can't do anything thats much worse. At least this way has more fun."

Sorry, Black, but unlike you Brainstorm isn't one to go around buying people he just met drinks. He needs his money for other things "Except it's a lot easier to throw a bomb at your enemies than convince them to do drugs. Cheaper too, since it's just electrical impulses instead of hard to find chemicals." he tips his flask over his arm port again "I'm not Ratchet or whatever, so I'm not gonna tell you how to live your life, but I'm personally fine with plain engex."

"Touche," he agrees, with a quiet chuckle. "I usually don't admit my drug habits to strangers, anyways. We'll just pretend the conversation didn't happen, yeah? Then there's no reason to tell me how to live my life, anyways."

Blackstorm doesn't seem all that concerned about what he just admitted, though, as his posture is just as relaxed as if he hadn't discussed something highly illegal. Considering Brainstorm brought it up first, he thinks he's pretty safe. "Where'd you get the idea for an emotion bomb, though? And what are you going to use it for, if not to make mecha happy?"

Brainstorm simply gives a small nod. Don't worry, he knows how to stay quiet about such things. It's not like it's any of his business anyways. Plus, talking about his inventions is much more interseting!

"Well, I've always had an interest in suggestion weapons and, hmmm, how long have you been here? Were you here for the personality ticks? If not, they were basically these subspace parasites that fed on emotions, and used them as telepathic weapons to defend themselves. That kinda gave me the begining of an idea, but I haven't had the chance to develop it properly until recently."

"Oh," Blackstorm said, his smile faltering for a moment. "That's... That's creative, isn't it?"

Actually, it is strange and morbid. Perhaps this guy's drunken ramblings aren't as fun as he thought they would be. Who even comes up with a weapon like that? Well, actually, a lot of mecha. But still. "A little late in the game, though, don't you think? Considering the war's over and all. Hopefully we won't need stuff like that anymore, right?" he presses. "Did you have any non-lethal ideas for what you can do with it?"

Brainstorm comes up with weapons like this, and this is pretty mild for him. It's a goof thing that he's not a telepath though, as he would be insulted by the idea that this is all just drunken rambling. "You really haven't been here long, have you? We've had no shortage of people trying to kill us, alien or Cybertronian. Plus, there's always going to be someone who wants to kill someone else. I do do other things - post-war diversification is important too, but I doubt there's ever going to be a time when no one will need my talents." he holds up his flask, this time to give it a light shake to gauge the level of the remaining contents "And technically, the emotion bomb is non-lethal. Just bad for you and makes you more vulnurable to actually lethal things. If you mean can it be used in non-combat situation, then yeah, but it will still be bad for you."

"I'm not one of the recruits from one of the colonies, if that's what you're asking," Blackstorm says, quirking an optic ridge. "I don't know. It just seems..."

He is not going to finish that. No reason to linger on negativity, and this is all hypothetical anyways. Or at least he assumes it is. Trying to wrap his brain module around a weapon as weird as an emotion bomb is a bit much. (No offense to Brainstorm or anything.) "I guess I just don't pay much attention to what is trying to kill us because I'm always busy running. Pretty dang good at that, too, almost as good as piloting. I've lived this long, haven't I? And a lot of years ahead of me if I have anything to say about it."

"I preffer to avoid danger too" Brainstorm nods, setting his flask down on to the table "But my job is to make sure that the others are well equiped to handle it. I mean, have you seen those standard issue guns? They break and warp so easily that half the time it's not even worth my time fixing them. Plus, it's always good to have a little variety and be prepared for different situations."

<FS3> Blackstorm rolls Stealth: Great Success. (8 2 8 8 3 2 7 4 3 5 7)

Blackstorm rolls over on the table, pretending to stretch out, but he has another goal in mind entirely. For a fleeting moment, his nasal sensors flash by the flask that Brainstorm set on the table (and yet he manages to make the movement look natural and unforced). He would very much like to know what this odd guy is drinking...

"Whelp, someone's got to do it," he admits. "I'm glad it isn't me, mecha. I don't envy you your choice of career. I'll stick to the pilot seat and let someone else be my gunner."

Poor, naivie Blackstorm. He hasn't heard of Brainstorm's reputation, has he? Who knows what's in that flask.

The scientist himself still doesn't really seem to mind the Decepticon lounging around on the table "Oh, I let the other guys do the shooting. It would be selfish of me to put myself in danger by getting in to a fight." yeah, that's totally the reason.

While Blackstorm is usually a pro at telling one substance from another, his nasal sensors really don't give him the clues that he is hoping for. The pilot comes away unfulfilled, and he will just have to live with his curiousity. It must be something else if it is giving this guy these sorts of ideas. "Selfish, huh?" he teases. He knows where this is heading almost immediately. "It would be a shame to lose the ship's genius," he ribs.

While Blackstorm is always ready to talk, all this pondering of what Brainstorm is downing has reminded him of why he came all this way. If he couldn't buy a drink from Swerve's, it is time to start looking other places. The minibot shimmies to the edge of the table and moves to hop dowwn. "It's been a long time since I met someone so creative, but speaking of creative... I think I gotta borrow some of your spirit and find a new way to get my drink tonight. Not that I want to rush off or anything, but a mecha's got to do what he's got to do."

Wise, Blackstorm, wise. Actually, that's just plain old engex, but it's still not a good idea to go around drinking random things in Brainstorm's posession, even if he assures you that it's perfectly safe.

The Decepticon's ribbing earns him a smug look "Obviously! This lot would be lost without me!" he looks quite proud of himself too. The Decepticon's departure doesn't seem to ruin his mood much "See you around then. If you ever need something made, my workshop's on the science and med deck."

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