2016-10-03 Mob Minis
From Transformers: Lost and Found
|Location||Lost Light - Recreation -- Observation Deck|
|Summary||Who knew the mob was bite-sized.|
A hexagonal room that mimics the shape of the bridge two decks above, the Observation Deck likewise has two rows of windows that look out into the vast dark of space. Seating arranged casually throughout the room can be retracted into the deck or rearranged into rows for solemn ceremonies. If there's a big event, it's going to be held here.
After the emotional ride of speaking with Starstruck and his drinking spree, Blackstorm needed a place to crash. And crash he does, spectacularly at that. The minibot awakens to a string of increasingly irritated comm messages, and he groans quietly when he realizes that he completely missed his last shift on the bridge. That is going to smart. He knows the moment he clambers down from his perch in the observation deck's rafters he is going to get the hounding of a lifetime.
The minibot slumps against the support beam and shrugs, laughing quietly to himself. "Maybe I should just sleep for another day," he mutters to no one in particular.
Ratbat came across the strange sight of a minibot, who he has since identified as Blackstorm, sleeping in a nook high up towards the ceiling of the observation deck. Usually he would just pass it off for most of the ship's insanity but something very particular caught his optics: obviously illegal items cleverly hidden in the nook. Well. Isn't that interesting. Settling in the shadows, Ratbat sits to wait as he mentally calculates the value of this particular stash based on what he can see. It's a smart hiding spot, too... unless one happens to have wings.
Just as he nears the end of his evaluation Blackstorm stirs. Watching, Ratbat follows Blackstorm's descent before suddenly speaking loudly, "A clever hiding spot, though you forgot to take into account some are capable of flight." He doesn't move from the shadows just yet, might as well get some fun potentially freaking the mech out.
Blackstorm's reaction: he screams. Loudly, painfully. The last thing the minibot is expecting is to find someone on the ceiling with him. For all the shock of the moment, though, curiosity soon rears its ugly head. The minibot leans towards the darkness and tilts his helm to the side. He is already compiling a list of mecha in his helm who know about this hiding spot, and he only has one guess. "Skystalker, that you?" he asks. But no, the niche is too small to fit the both of them. He already knows that.
"Could start out by saying hi, y'know?"
Ratbat could let out a chuckle from the dramatic reaction, but of course that would be undignified. Instead he merely brightens his optics, creating two points of piercing red in the darkness. A small lean has half his face intimidatingly in the light, clearly displaying his identity. In response to the Skystalker comment, he states, "I am afraid you don't have such luck." A hello isn't bothered with.
Blackstorm's bravado deflates just a tiny bit, the minibot scooting away from the pair of optics leering at him in the darkness. His frame tenses in preparation to flee. Still, he cannot avoid being a little cheeky. It just comes to him naturally. The minibot offers up a nervous smile as he nods to Ratbat in greeting. "Well, who'd have thunk. What brings you to my neck of the woods? Was I so alluring you couldn't help coming out of the box?" he asks.
That's the real issue here. Ratbat he could not care less about, but what Ratbat represents? The box, as he is so aptly called, is another story. "Don't answer that. A mecha can dream. Let me have my dreams."
<FS3> Ratbat rolls Efficient: Good Success. (4 4 7 4 6 7 4 8 2 3 1)
Ratbat doesn't change expression as his optics continue to practically bore holes into Blackstorm. "I can't help but notice you have a fair deal of narcotics in this little.. 'hidey hole' of yours. Was there not an effort by security to wipe out such dealings not too long ago?" Ratbat doesn't have a reason to really care about Blackstorm's stash, the mech can do ruin himself in whatever way he wants for all the bat cares. Something has to be said for him to obtain them, however. Smugglers are always a useful commodity. "I would assume that is several weeks wages worth, as well. You either plan to use all of that yourself, or plan to sell it. I would also assume that is not the only stash of illegal substances you might have, it would be... inefficient to keep but one. It would be a shame for security, or 'the box' as you so elegantly say, to find out." There is no doubt now where Ratbat is going with this.
Blackstorm is not awake enough for this. Or drunk. Or high. Or all of these things. Reaching into subspace with shaking digits he pulls out one of his cigs. The minibot takes his sweet time lighting it, blowing out a puff of smoke into the air before even bothering to answer. "Yeah, so what? You and I both know half the Decepticon army is drunk. Or wasted. Or both. Why the sudden need to stamp it out now?" he asks.
Sighing, the minibot glances sidelong at the glowering Ratbat. He was a part of the mob once, and he knows this whole song and dance. While he may be a little shit in his free time when faced with this situation he knows how to follow the script. "Let's drop the vague threats and get right down to it. What do you want? Something tells me I'm not going to be fixing this with a kiss."
<FS3> Ratbat rolls Persuasive: Good Success. (7 7 5 6 2 2 3 4 6 5 4 8)
Time for Ratbat to do what he does best, lie through his sharp little teeth. Suddenly the bat relaxes, tilting so he is at a significantly less intimidating stance (yet is still blatantly looking down at Blackstorm). He now should look far less scary and more like a mech asking a favor... like he hadn't just been vaguely threatening the mech. "Apologies, I merely wanted to make sure I had your full attention. I don't wish to get you in trouble."
Blackstorm takes another drag of his cig, considering Ratbat out of the corner of his optic. Slowly, a slight smile eases across his faceplates. He just cannot resist, even though a part of him knows better, as he much prefers this easygoing attitude to anything else. It's natural, friendly, easy. "There are better ways of getting my attention, y'now," he jokes, throwing his guest a quick wink. "Apology accepted."
A pause. "You didn't answer the question. What do you want?"
<FS3> Ratbat rolls Persuasive: Good Success. (4 8 1 7 4 3 6 2 3 6 4 7)
Ratbat watches in satisfaction as Blackstorm smile, easing down from his antsy manner. It's not much, but even this slight lowering of his guard Ratbat can work with. "I suppose that is true." He lets a small smile slip into his features, entirely empty of true meaning but being sure to convey as much false- believable- sincerity as he can generate, "Smugglers, to be frank, are a rare commodity these days. You have skills most could only wish for, you can obtain items no one else can. I would like your services at my disposal should I ever need them." And if denied.. Well there is always the location of the little stash and its owner Ratbat could let slip to 'the box'.
Blackstorm barks a laugh. "Damn right. A lot of people say they can't bear to let me go," he jokes. That's not what Ratbat is getting at and he knows it, but it's easy to bluster. Still, it awakens a niggling doubt somewhere in the back of the minibot's brain module. Sometimes he wonders why his mob boss did let him off the hook, and why he hasn't been neutralized yet. It's a mystery to him. He just hopes this won't end with him under someone else's heel.
Because if word gets around he's flipped allegiances and working for a new boss? He might as well sign his own death warrant. "I don't see why I couldn't run a few discrete jobs," he answers, wriggling his cig in his digits. "After all, I earn an honest living these days. Piloting. Pays decently enough, not what I'm used to but what else do you expect from retirement?"
Ratbat keeps that painfully sincere smile on his face as Blackstorm gives his response. "I assure you Blackstorm, any requests I have of you will be nothing but discreet." He may not have much of a reputation left but frag is he going to ruin what is left by overstepping his boundaries more than usual. "As long as retirement has not caused you to grow sloppy neither of us should have any problems." Ratbat lets out a small chuckle to break any growing tension, but there is still very distinctly a threat there if Blackstorm can see past the honeyed words.
Blackstorm lifts the cig to his lip components, taking another drag and blowing the smoke in Ratbat's direction. "I'm a lotta things. Charming, disgusting, positive. Not sloppy, though. I can give you credentials with a full list of references," he jokes, laughing quietly. "Wait, that is sloppy in this business, isn't it?"
He gives a thoughtful chirp. "Just don't get too used to it," he adds, gesturing towards the stash. He'll need to find a new place for it, and soon. Shame. He liked this perch. "You bought yourself a week's worth of my time, nothing more. I'm sure you can appreciate the fact I'm a solo agent."
<FS3> Ratbat rolls Deception: Good Success. (1 6 3 2 1 6 1 8 6 5 7 4 3 2)
Ratbat's smile suddenly becomes a lot more sinister as Blackstorm watches the former Senator's body language shift. He looks amused at Blackstorm's claim that he has limited use of his time as a near predatory glint comes back to the bat's optics. "A week? Oh I believe that I will have your services for far longer. Else Soundwave might learn of whatever other illegal wares you might have. Not to mention you may somehow find yourself on security's list of mechs to watch. Every potential package or move you make will be monitored and I can guarantee your little smuggling business will not last much longer, however skilled you may be." The combination of stance and just plain confidence in his voice makes it pretty convincing he might know where every other one of the mech's stashes may be... of course Ratbat has no idea but can't let the little mechs know that much. He has convinced others to do far worse with far less. He really can get Blackstorm's activity to be intensely monitored, though, so that part of his claim is very much real.
Blackstorm nearly chokes on his cig at the wheezing laughter threatening to claw out of him. "HAH, it's just a gig, mecha," he reminds him. "If this falls through there are options. Three hundred mecha ain't the whole universe. A week. 'Sides, I like the mecha in the brig. They're good at scrabble."
How much of that is bluster is anyone's guess. There's a fair bit of truth to it, though. He's not committing to anything for too long. He loves life too much to flush it down a dumpster this way, and no matter how many times the box's name is invoked (as terrifying as it is) can compare with the threat of Avarice.
Ask around in the right circles. Even in retirement he belongs to Avarice. He has no right to promise his services elsewhere, at least not without being sneaky about it.
Ratbat says only one line before making a dramatic low swooping exit, "I did not say I would have you committed to the brig. I do still have connections outside this ship." Leaving a terrifying implication behind.