2017-10-06 Drinks and Doubts
From Transformers: Lost and Found
|Drinks and Doubts|
|Location||Rigard - Southern District - Hopper's|
|Summary||Strika and Arrow have a drink.|
Arrow's sipping his Quintessie through a straw with his new-old datapad cradled in one arm. Both of his arms still hurt. They're not up to being better yet, and after launching three rocket punches off Arrow's not really surprised. His fingers are stiff, but healing, and he'd rather be drinking than sleeping so here he is. He's not really paying much attention to his surroundings, and the little mech looks tired as he sips.
Strika got off her shift and really felt the need to get a drink. Preferably something strong that could knock a dinobot off its pedes. Usually Hopper's is pretty hopping (a moment of silence as she attempts to not snigger at her own pun), but today it seems strangely quiet. Maybe its just not late enough in the day, but one mech stands out to the femme as her mass takes up the doorway.
Strika knows that little flier, he was the one who joined in their game of 'king of the mountain', she thinks his name was... dart? .. No, Arrow! Well, whatever his name, he seems dour today. Hm...
Walking over with heavy steps, the femme drops into the seat- which creaks from her sudden weight- beside him, "Rough day?" A wave to the empurata'd bartender has him walking off to get her the usual.
Arrow nearly bounces out of his seat from the heavy steps coming his way. It's not unusual, hell, he'd call it comforting when he looks up and sees Strika settling herself down next to him. He offers a grin, but it looks a mite bit wrong on his face. Too big for the rest of his mood, ill-sized for the night. "Ah, hey Strika," he greets, scooching his chair a little bit more over to give her some extra room. "Just a long couple days I guess?" He gives a shrug. "Nothing, really. How've you been?"
Strika gives a soft noise of acknowledgement but otherwise doesn't comment at the moment, just knocking back a carefully balanced swig of her drink through her intake when it comes. "The usual." She sits there in silence for awhile, contemplating what to do while she swirls her drink around in its large mug. Buying the exhausted guy a drink seems like a good first move. "ClodHopper, another one of those for my friend here... what is that even supposed to be?" The Rigardian doesn't get most of the references in this place.
"A Quintessie!" Arrow shouts over to Clodhopper to answer both Strika's question and to make sure he gets the right drink. He likes how silly the glasses here are, they look like things out of some of the stories he used to read when he was younger. "It's some kind of cryptid, I think." He has yet to listen to Clodhopper's stories, but he'll get around to it hopefully before the end of the universe.
He bites back the urge to strike 'friend' from the record. It can't hurt, even if they've only met once. "By usual do you mean lifting more bystanders?" It's not mean-sounding, but it's all he knows her to do.
Arrow doesn't really need to strike friend from the record, as she was mostly just using it as more of a turn of phrase than anything. Neither bring it up, though, so it passes by ignored by all. "Hm. Well, he has some entertaining glasses. Have to give him that." Even if she still doesn't quite get it.
She doesn't take his lifting bystander's comment badly, letting out an impressive snort of amusement, "More like busywork and drills. I wish my usual was lifting bystander, lot more fun than filing reports... What about you? What exactly qualifies as a 'long couple of days'?"
Well, now Arrow has to strike half his assumptions of Strika's day-to-day off his list of presumed knowledge. He should really stop presuming things. He won't, but he should. He sticks his tongue out at the mention of the actual work. "That sounds gross and awful, you should definitely keep lifting people, that was fun." Even if he lost. His pride still smarts a little and he still doesn't like Swoop, but all in all it was fun, sometimes there's not enough of that.
The little jet pokes at his new drink as it's brought over as Strika asks. "Just stuff. Found my artifact, Sideswipe got gnawed on, I think..." What's his name again? "Ringo is okay, but it wasn't a great mission." Arrow's plating pulls a little tighter, like he's trying to subtly hug himself.
Strika listens to Arrow as she takes another pseudo swig of her near corrosive drink, humming in thought as he finishes speaking, "... I see. Well, at least you succeeded at your goal in the end, and you didn't lose anyone- even if they got injured." Strika knows she should probably say something more comforting, more personal, but... slag, she's awful at this stuff. Its not like she can just give him a slap on the back and tell him he did fine, with her luck that would kill him.
"He nearly died though!?" It comes out more like a question. Arrow's not sure if he's asking for reassurance or stating a fact. "He nearly died, and I couldn't get out of my head long enough to do- to do anything helpful?" He holds his arms tight around the elbows, pulling both arms in closer to him. He bites down hard on his lower lip and stares resolutely at the glass in front of him. He watches a bead of condensation gather and drip down one of the bases of the tentacles. It's easier than looking at Strika.
Strika stares down at her own glass, leaning forward to rest elbows heavily on the bar counter. Great, looks like she's going to have to stumble her way through being comforting. "Hmm... And what would you have been able to actually do if you had been able to get our of your own head?"
"I coulda punched a monster! Or- or been a distraction to it!" There must have been a way out of that closet that he wasn't seeing, if he'd just not punched then he could have found it and gotten out and- and- Arrow lets out a shaking breath, wings flattening against his back. "Fraggit, you didn't come here to hear me be an idiot over a drink."
"No, I didn't." Is Strika's blunt response as she drinks, only looking back down when she's finished her mug and smacks it against the tabletop, "But I'm here now and you're bumming out the entire bar. So we talk, and maybe you will feel less gloomy so everyone can get back to enjoying themselves." Just magic with words, she is, "If you punched it more mechs would have just gotten hurt and then you wouldn't have found the artifact. Meaning you all would have gotten hurt and come back with nothing."
Arrow flinches like he's been hit as the mug comes down and the truth comes out. Well. At least he doesn't have to guess with Strika. Maybe she has a point but that doesn't change the seeping pit of guilt in his gut. "Or I could have helped kill it and we could have come home better," Arrow shoots back. "Every time there's a fight I'm just in the way or I can't help or I'm stuck! I can't just expect people to keep covering for me!"
Strika twists in her seat to face him, stone faced, "Then don't wallow in guilt. Learn from your mistakes and correct them next time. It does no one any good for you to be pitying yourself when you could be making sure those mistakes don't happen again." Clodhopper is quick to supply her with a new drink, which she gladly takes, "Frag, if you're that concerned about fighting I'm sure someone would be willing to train you. I'd even be willing to train you, if you ask nicely." and if it will make him less sad.
The words curl up and die in Arrow's throat and his wings stay flat against his back. She's right. Strika's very right. Training with Starstruck every now and again isn't really making him less of a burden on missions, and dragging his heels about it won't make it better. "I know," he mumbles instead of spitting something back. There's still venom in his voice, but it drips down instead of outwards.
Wings flick up at the offer, optics blinking brighter. Arrow's not sure he heard right. "...Seriously?"
One optical ridge rising, Strika pauses bringing her mug up to her intake, "What? Do I have to repeat myself?" Seems like it, "I would train you if you want me to." Why not? Not like she CAN'T.
He opens his mouth to say something, to protest, then shuts it again. Then opens. It's a very good impression of a fish for a moment or two while Arrow sorts out some thoughts. "...When could we start?"
If Strika was capable of smirking, one would be plastered on her face right now. Didn't take much to convince him. "I'll message you my schedule, we can figure it out from there."
Arrow doesn't look happier, per say, but there's a sort of stubbornness to him now as he sets his brow and curls his still-too-stiff fingers into fists. "Good. Okay." Wings aren't waggling, but they do stay higher now. He nibbles at his bottom lip again for a second. "And uh, thanks, Strika."
"No problem." Strika considers for a second then does actually reach over to thump him on the shoulder companionably... very, very gently, "Just don't go soft on me."
The thump only kind of jolts his arm, and Arrow's wings give another flick. "I'll try," he says, a smile starting to work its way back onto his face. It's a start.