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Who: Pitchfork, Galvatron, Blueshift, Wildrider, Sinnertwin, Fleet |
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SOME TIME AGO -- THE GAY VERNIER, WESTLAKE VII
"So, I got all of these upgrades... I don't know how into it I am yet," Pitchfork tells a transvestite Android who just happens to be the Mayor of Westlake VII's capital city, Eastlake. "But I don't know I was just sort of thinking that if it doesn't pan out or anyone says anything I can just play it off as a Kremzeek binge or something. People give out so much pity when they think you've been on the 'zeek, it's like a free meal ticket. And I mean /metric/ not standard, you read me homes?"
Pitchfork puts a wad of cash into the ironic gay stripperbot's rusty g-string.
"Lets go to a GAY BAR GAY BAR!" shouts a pink-looking Blueshift who staggers into the strange bar Pitchfork is in. He then stops and stares as he sees Pitchfork. "Um, I mean help where am I, I think aliens must have kidnapped me and dragged me here"
NOW -- THE GAY VERNIER, WESTLAKE VII
It is a common and ruthlessly enforced policy that when a thrall of Galvatron dies in glorious service to the Decepticon cause, all of their things are left to Galvatron, because all of their things were Galvatron's all along anyway.
Sometimes, Galvatron inherits cool stuff, like shuttles and guns.
Sometimes, he inherits robot LGBT cowboy bars. Such was the case with the Gay Vernier. Months ago, Galvatron sent Pitchfork to appraise the property; that was the last he heard of the supercool Seeker.
Now, he has led a ragtag team of Decepticons to hunt the possible defector down. "PITCHFORK!" Galvatron cries, kicking open the doors. "I KNOW YOU'RE IN HERE!" Space Cher's thumping beat nearly drowns out the tyrant.
Blueshift cleverly throws his tiara away and points at Galvatron. "Uh yeah, I came here with him"
Sinnertwin unfolds into his robot mode. Egads!
Sinnertwin is tagging along behind Galvatron, trying his best to look like he doesn't want to be here. But honestly, who /doesn't/ want to be at a gay bar?
Ferrari 308 GTB <Wildrider> is named Wildrider, and he has handle-like horns on his head. He is now driving around outside a LGBT cowboy bar. This can only end in tears. He transforms, looking around, and promptly announces, "Needs more explosions."
Ferrari 308 GTB turns into the stunt-driving madman, Wildrider.
Blueshift runs over to the bar. "Quick! Get Lord Galvatron the most brutal, most devastating drink in the galaxy!" The bartender quickly mixes the drink and passes it to Blueshift, who bows before Galvatron. "My Lord, a humble...
...Pink Flamingo"
Galvatron snorts. "Blueshift, this is your natural environment, is it not?" he asks tauntingly as he rebuffs and offer to dance by shooting a leatherdaddy robot named Creditmaverick in the knees, obliterating all matter in his body below said joints. He takes the Pink Flamingo and downs it in one fell swoop, before crushing the glass and shooting the shards left on the floor. "PITCHFORK!" he bellows again. "DO NOT MAKE ME SHOUT THRICE!"
Sitting atop a throne made entirely of crusted-over glitter, Pitchfork looks /down/ at Galvatron as he enters. "Gay Laserbeak-- go greet our visitor, find out /who/ he is." A pink and white bird takes off from Pitchfork's arm which is adorned with a giant glowstick that is a cannon. It quavers to the space remix of 'I'm Every (Space) Woman' and Pitchfork's sunglasses reflect it in a detached sort of way, you know?
Gay Laserbeak squawks at Galvatron.
Blueshift nods sagely. "Yes my Lord, I have recently recieved a Dive upgrade"
Blueshift folds his arms. "Sire Pitchfork has gone all native on us. See the leather codpiece he wears. And that gigantic moustache is not regulation issue!"!
"YOU DARE VIOLATE THE MUSTACHE RESTRICTIONS SET FORTH IN THE SWEEP PROTOCOLS OF 2014?!" Galvatron roars, punching Gay Laserbeak in the torso but also kind of the neck as he marches toward Pitchfork. "YOU HAVE GONE /MAD WITH POWER/, PITCHFORK -- POWER THAT IS /MINE/ TO WIELD, NOT YOURS! WHAT HAVE YOU TO SAY FOR YOURSELF, TRAITOROUS DISCO DOG?!"
Oh, good. Someone's accusing someone else of going native, and Fleet isn't involved at all. Just as Fleet would prefer it.
The pale yellow and blue Seeker catches up with the others and watches the area calmly. For a moment he considers employing the stealth method known as Multi-Seeker Invisibility, but seeing as the only other Seeker here is the center of attention, he decides against it.
"Ugh, who is this guy and what is he talking about," Pitchfork asks his favorite Trannie Waitress. His favorite Trannie Waitress is named The Matrix of Leadership after a band Pitchfork once saw and didbn't toally hate.
He steps down from his glitter throne, mustache gleaming with might. "WHO DARES CHALLENGE THE MUSTACHE OF GAYVATRON IN HIS OWN REALM?!" Pitchfork bellows.
Sinnertwin gasps in awe at Pitchfork. He's...fabulous. Maybe even more fabulous than Galvatron! "I...I don't know who to believe anymore.."
As he stares at Pitchfork, Blueshift starts to twitch and cover himself with sequins. "Aaaargh" Wildrider snaps his fingers together and opines, "Well, this is noisy now, but it's just... lacking something, y'know?" Glitter is not really a Stunticon thing. Motormaster beats them when they say they want to be pretty. He looks over at Fleet, squints, and he shouts, "Hey, you! Sissy Seeker! Did you ever figure out how to /drive/ right? It ain't hard!"
"Oh, sure, I can dive just fine," Fleet replies to Wildrider, mishearing the Stunticon (perhaps intentionally). Gayvatron's faaaaaaaaaabulous appearance appears to have little effect on Fleet, but that could be because, as a male Seeker who wears pastel yellow on a day to day basis, he's built up a tolerance to these sorts of things.
Galvatron turns in shock and rage toward Sinnertwin and Blueshift, slapping both of them across the mouth with one motion. It's remarkable, it's just like 'slap slap,' without even pausing or losing momentum. One smooth motion, slapping both faces.
Then, he turns toward Pitchfork. "I DARE -- /GALVATRON DARES/!" the Decepticon leader roars, expressing his displeasure further by grabbing one of the cage dancers, Megaring, and crushing the cage around him until both are just a terrible little ball. "AND YOU WILL BE NEXT, PITCHFORK, UNLESS YOU CEASE THIS WITLESS CHARADE!"
Blueshift leaps onto a podium to get a better view of the coming fight. He grips tightly to the pole, and then someone starts to throw money at him.
Suddenly, all of the fabulous lighting in the Gay Vernier is sucked into Gayvatron's cannon, powering it with the gay fusion power of a thousand homo suns. "You know not who you /challenge/, hetero /dog/!" Gayvatron howls, aiming his glowstickrod at Galvatron.
Gay Laserbeak is dead, but Gay Lazorbeak lands on Pitchfork/Gayvatron's left arm. "Ah, Gay Lazorbeak, unlike some of my other soldiers you never sell out and go all /straight/ on me!"
With a twitch, Pitchfork says "HERE'S A HINT!"
Blueshift peers at Pitchfork. "I don't get it!" he whispers to Sinnertwin, sipping on a blue drink with an umbrella. "What's the hint?"
A cascade of fusion glitter launches from Gayvatron's cannon, smashing into the purple-crowned leader of the Decepticons, ripping his armor to shreds and sending him sailing and skidding across the dance floor. Galvatron lays in a heap, his wounds glowing with all the colors of the rainbow, including ultraviolet, because there are some blacklights around. "Hhhhghh," he groans, struggling to make it to his feet.
When the blast hits Galvatron, Fleet takes several steps out of the line of fire, absently picking up a drink from a nearby table containing a good deal of fruit in it. He frowns and studies Galvatron, then studies Gayvatron, feeling a bit torn. The problem is, Fleet is ever most obediant to the one who frightens him the most and Gayvatron just... doesn't... frighten him. But if Galvatron can be beaten by the likes of Gayvatron, who then does Fleet follow?
Blueshift leaps to the side as Galvatron goes down. "He's finished!" he shouts. "What do we do now, who will lead us?" He starts to hyperventalate. "Sinnertwin, fix Galvatron quickly!"
"YOU SEE, GALVATRON," Gayvatron begins, and then asides to Gay Lazorbeak, "He's Galvatron right? I just don't really remember him."
"MY ENDURANCE AND FIREPOWER HAVE BEEN /SUBSTANTIALLY/ UPGRADED. SOME MIGHT SAY UPGAYDED."
He steps forward, his sunglasses flash with a god damn kaleidocope of colors and gay jokes. He adjusts his Rob Halford hat and snaps his fingers. Gay Lazorbeak transforms into an appletini and Gayvatron drinks the bird alive. "Do you not see that I am king here."
"Wildrider..." Galvatron gasps, pointing first at a random car-robot named Quarkcube, then at Wildrider himself when he realizes his mistake. "Emergency... radio... fetch... the transmitter... now..."
"I think the moustache and chest wig is corrupting Pitchfork!" Blueshift gasps. "We must get them off him!" And so Blueshift leaps at Pitchfork, grasping at his hairy, manly chest Blueshift misses Pitchfork with his grasp attack.
"Truly you do not know the meaning of living after midnight, Blue Redshift," Gayvatron notes.
Blueshift shakes a fist. "I'm stay-stay-staying alive, Gayvatron!"
Galvatron wiggles around on the ground in protracted agony, glitter eating away at his armor because the glitter is really just laminated scraplets. "NNNYYYARRR--"
Wildrider grouses and runs off to fetch the radio, because he apparently looks like Soudnwave today. Gee thanks, boss.
Wildrider slams down into his Ferrari 308 GTB form.
With a sigh, Pitchfork sheds his mustache, chest wig, glittercannon and Gay Lazorbeak. He leans down and produces the cure for glitter, which is a hatchet and some wood to chop. Galvatron is cured.
"Yeah, Galvatron. I scoped this place out. It's so cool that it's not cool and then it's cool again-- that's something you need on your /team/."
Pitchfork adjusts his glasses, "Plus I can get us some drink tickets, I know some people. Those people have both dude parts and ladyparts, can you believe that?"
Shrugging, Pitchfork drinks a Primus Blue Ribbon, "Anyway I decided I'd quit being a gay tyrant before it wasn't cool anymore... no offense, Galvatron."
Blueshift leaps off his podium and places his hands on his hips. "I should hope so too Pitchfork! I hope you have learnt your lesson now. A /sexy/ lesson!"
As Galvatron is cured, he staggers to his feet. He waits for his precious deep-space radio transmitter, which he thoughtlessly left on top of a pile of datapads in the shuttle, and glares at Pitchfork. "Oh -- this is not over /yet/, Seeker. I just need my /radio/ and we shall see who is offending /who/."
"You got a library card, baby? 'Cause I'm CHECKIN' YOU OUT!" Sinnertwin hollars at a very androgynous robot at the bar next to him.
Pitchfork shrugs, "Sorry you got all mad or whatever. But look, you weren't here, you didn't crash on my couch during those months. Who are you to say I was just playing Gaylo 2 all the time?"
Arabomatic rolls his / her / its eyes at Sinnertwin and walks off to go sit at a booth.
Ferrari 308 GTB <Wildrider> ransacks through the shuttle, throwing stuff everywhere and generally making a huge mess. He manages to find a game of Twister, a menorah, and some vodka0flavoure energon. He does /not/ find the radio. Shrugging, Wildrider chugs some of the vodka-flavoured energon, and as his vision goes, he finally espies the radio!
Ferrari 308 GTB turns into the stunt-driving madman, Wildrider.
"Pfft, whatever. I'm too good for you anyway," Sinnertwin huffs, turning to the robot next to him. "I'm too good, too good. Hey! Is your father a baker? 'Cause you got some HOT BUNS!"
Cliquewing throws a drink in Sinnertwin's face.
Galvatron crosses his half-dissolved arms, staring at Pitchfork in a none-too-pleased fashion. "Hh. I will admit that it is true that your power seems... greater than when you departed. /Prove it/, Pitchfork -- /kill Blueshift/."
"Prude," Sinnertwin hisses, wiping the drink off his face with the back of his hand. "Yeah, alright. He broke up the Mayhem Attack Squad just as we were getting published in Decepticon Jet Underground Juxtapoze and I'll never forgive him for that." Pitchfork pulls out his vintage neon green Soundwave tapedeck with Onyx Primal stapled to it and throws it at Blueshift. "why my shoulders hurt," the tapedeck memes.
Wildrider gets the radio and collapses into a car, but now, he is driving /blind/. This is not much different from how he normally drives. If anything, he actually runs over less pedestrians this way. He pulls back into the bar, the radio on his roof.
Wildrider slams down into his Ferrari 308 GTB form.
Blueshift screams as the tapedeck memes at him. "Make it stop, make it stop!" he cries.
Pitchfork says, "He is dying, Galvatron"
Galvatron smiles, rubbing his hands together. "Yesss," he murmurs, taking a delight -- some would say an unnatural delight -- at the sight of Blueshift in agony. Before he can indulge himself further, Wildrider drives in with the radio, at the cost of only three or four lives. "Perfect. Truly you have earned your status as my /favorite/ Stunticon," Galvatron crows.
Picking up the radio, Galvatron beep-blorp-boops it to broadcast out into the stars. "Interior Decoration Attack Squad -- this is your commander, Galvatron! Report to the prearranged coordinates -- this building must become something more /befitting/ of my mighty image!" Galvatron lets out a sharp, nasty cackle. "Soon, my chain of Decepticon-style franchised watering holes will drain the credits of every waster, scoundrel, and scally in the galaxy! Nyaaarrr ha ha ha!"
Pitchfork frowns, "You sold us out, Galvatron. Look at all of this gay stuff, just look at how gay it is. I wouldn't change it, not for all of the Concordes in Triplechangia."
Sinnertwin stalks around the bar, grabbing peoples fruity cocktails and downing them as he goes. He pulls a little umbrella out an empty glass and points it at what /might/ be a woman. "Hey baby, I can bench 30,000 lbs. That impress you?"
It would have been more like 9 lives, but Wildrider's not seeing straight right now. He says, sounding dizzy, "Uh, thanks, boss... wait... no! No! Say you love Motormaster better, or he'll kill me!"
Pitchfork says, "I've got something to put in you."
Galvatron snorts at Wildrider. "Don't presume to command me to do /anything/," he says, his jubilation shifting gears into an incredibly annoyed shortness with the more speed than meets the eye. "And don't forget, Pitchfork -- this is all /mine/. /You/ are /mine/! Even /that/ idiot--" Galvatron points at Blueshift "--belongs to /ME/! As does the /GALAXY/! Now, come, all of you -- back to our ship, that we may lay waste to all in our path -- UNITED!"
Pitchfork shrugs, "Yeah, okay. Look, Galvatron, what are you doing Saturday night? There's this space drag show and I need someone with money to buy me drinks and basically take me out because I gambled all of the money you gave me betting on the My Little Pony Fights. So yeah I'm asking you out but don't get any ideas, Mighty Lord Galvatron, I'm not that kind of girl."
A phantom mustache flickers across Pitchfork's upper lip for a sweet, fleeting second.
o O (I... Was king of the gays...)]
Blueshift rises from reading secret forbidden files on the spaceship Hellbender. "Uh, Galvatron say no, he doesn't really have a box of puppies!"
Galvatron spins on his heel, pointing his cannon at Blueshift while yelling at Pitchfork. "/Flattery/ accomplishes /nothing/, silver-tongued robo-devil! I have /plans/!" It's true -- Galvatron's itinerary has Saturday marked as 'berate Cyclonus.'
"Ugh..." says Pitchfork.
Fin