Summary: (February 2026) The Autobot and Decepticon leaders bring some of their upper ranking staff up to speed on the plans to bolster the Cybertronians against the pending threat of Neocron.
<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Officers, report."
<Decepticon> Fusillade says, "Currently inbound to Autobot City after a brief break, My Liege."
<Decepticon> Catechism says, "Investigating our stores of caltrops, sir."
<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Interesting.� Would you prefer be involved with the finalization of Operation BIG BANG?"
<Decepticon> Fusillade says, "If this involves nearly flying shuttles into the Command Center, I believe that our troops may be well ahead of the game."
You transmit a message to Galvatron: But please, yes. The soldiers are not stupid, many are aware that what we are doing thus far would be ineffectual against a planet destroyer.
<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Not that place. The other.� Where we kept that big thing that one time."
The main room is very large indeed, looking like it could seat upwards of thirty to forty Cybertronians if necessary. A quarter of the room is taken up by a stage and music booth, while an area has been cleared as a dance floor. The main area is filled with large, round tables, made of indigo metal flecked with shining titanium, each surrounded by five chairs, while most of the walls are taken up by booths for more private conversations. The bar extends along most of the north wall, behind which is a holographic display of shifting colors, surrounded on either side by row upon row of containers. Slammer, the bartender, stands behind it, idly polishing an already spotless glass.
The smooth gait of Fusillade soon brings her shadow to linger at the doorway at the Crystal City bar. It's likely that she joined up with Catechism, and had been lingering on procedural minutiae to hide the anxiousness along her frame. However, it's with shoulders squared that she paces further inward, grey camo and white paneling stark against the bronzish sheen of her joint accents. For now, the bar proper is shunned.
Airwolf is once again arranging for security, and so the bar has been cleared of its patrons and most of the staff dismissed for the night. Only Slammer and Mawri remain, and Mawri stays in the back to clean up. A different table is being used this time, one that also has a good view of the exits. After all, a favorite table is easier to bug than all of them. Airwolf stands by the table, patiently awaiting her guests. Outside the city, Omega Supreme has been alerted to be on his guard against Quintessons, Sharkticons, and of course, Constructicons.
Galvatron approaches the usual corner table, this time it is scooted further away from the wall to accommodate more members. He sits down and nods to the waiter, "You know the drill. Keep others away, come for orders only when asked, and you will be well tipped." With that, he sits down the sound dampening field generator and turns it on. One can never be too careful in this day and age. It makes him nervous...the idea of having more than just he, Rodimus, and the neutral governor Airwolf...not one he enjoys. His trust goes to very few. But he has to live with it.
Catechism shadows Fusillade in, a trio of four rail-road-like spikes joined into one tetrahedral maiming device held in her hands. It's a caltrop writ large. She plays with it as if it were a jumping jack. Upon sighting the Decepticon lord, she stows the wicked big caltrop in her cockpit and bows formally before taking a spot in the back.
Rumble just showed up out of boredom. Might as well get some more insight into situations after all. Couldn't let Laser beak and Ratbat have all the info-gathering fun. He scowled upon seeing Fusillade again, but took a seat where he could hear well.
The sheen of Fusillade's optics lingers on the brutish, functional lines of the weapon in Catechism�s hands, "And then there was the time that Cyclonus made me drop more mines than I care to recall over those roads when..." And at that point, she nods to Airwolf, and slides her gaze expectantly toward Galvatron even as she prepares to slide into a seat. "What manner of operation do you have in mind?"
Airwolf politely inclines her head to Galvatron and the other arrivals, noticing that the Autobots are slow in getting here. But then they have to drive rather than fly. She's a bit uneasy at having so many people here at once, partly because of security issues and partly because there's rarely so many people here in her city. Fidgeting, she glances down at her crimson claws, crosses her arms, and absently taptaptaps a claw against her upper arm.
Galvatron shakes his head at those that speak to him within the sound dampening field, which at present, is pressing it's limits for the size of the group. "Draw closer, this field is limited. And I will not speak yet. We have other guests arriving. Autobot guests."
Wedging herself into the most corner-like position at the table, Fusillade nods, and says, "Well, I'll try not to chatter too much, then." A thunk sounds out as she sets the entirety of one wingblade on the table's surface, beginning to smooth down the surfaces with an oiling cloth fetched out of some paneling or another. "Morning air in the desert is still prime flying," she insists to no one in particular, making idle talk since she can't preoccupy herself with intoxication.
Catechism draws closer as bidden, the spikes of the jumbo caltrop dull behind her frosty grey cockpit glass. This is all very curious to her, and she must be cautious. her optics brighten at the mention of desert air. Personally, she prefers Cybertron to anywhere, but to be able to go any fly just for the sake of flying... she misses that. Duty preoccupies her time now.
Rumble crosses his arms and leans back against the seat, shoulders barely high enough to be over the top of table. "Too much sand in the desert.." he mutters, still bitter about previous events, then falls silent.
Galvatron waves his hands around, not commenting on the analogies. "Please, the facilities are open to drinks as we wait for our Autobot allies. Order a drink. Treat the waiter well, and excuse him after you are served. He knows the drill. I am buying, even for the..." he shudders, "Autobots. And if the waiter obeys our edicts, he knows he will be well tipped."
Airwolf occupies herself with worrying. About the Quintessons, about Trokius, and most of all about Neocron. While she believes that they have a fair chance against the monster planetformer, that doesn't mean that it will be easy. Defensive strategy, she can deal with, but this is pure offensive. A glance in Galvatron's direction reminds her that there *are* people who embody pure offense, and they're the ones making the decisions.
Rumble glances at Galvatron, then shakes his head. He wasn't thirsty, nor interested in becoming inebriated. Sober mind is better for listening, after all.
Catechism shakes her head. Unless there's a direct order she's not buying anything. Standard rations sustain her, and they're all that she'll take. She remembers what happened last time, and oh, look... Fusillade's even there. Catechism's defiantly not risking it. She'd be liable to get herself shot. Repeatedly.
Galvatron says, "Give me a Unicron's Breath."
Mawri says, "Heya, Galvatron, sure, no problem, right away!" as she hops up and runs over to the bar.
Mawri fumbles through the bottles behind the bar. Strangely enough, Slammer seems to be used to her doing this.
Mawri says, "Just another second...I'm having trouble with this lid...oomph!"
Mawri finishes off the final touches of Galvatron's order.
Mawri runs back over, saying, "Here you go, Galvatron! One Unicron's Breath, just the way you like it." She grins widely as she hands Galvatron the drink.
Gaze slides over to the ramrod posture of Catechism. Back over toward the laconic expression of Rumble. The Emperor's feelings were in danger of getting hurt! And lo, Fusillade does the noble duty of taking one, a rather large one, for the team. "Aw, c'mon guys." After another moment, she wistfully sighs, and then says, "High grade. An entire pitcher. With a shot of jet fuel through." Nevermind that this was the exact same thing that got her trying to go toe to toe with a more solidly built blacksmith.
The main entrance auto-door to the Rusty Angel whirs open, retracting into the ceiling as its motion sensor detects the arrival of a new party. Outside, a sheet of acid rain splashes across the street of the city, with three Cybertronian silhouettes darkening the entrance. Stepping forward into the dim light of the Angel, Rodimus Prime's eye-catching color scheme becomes apparent; his chrome arm pipes catching the neon lights as he moves forward. He surveys the bar with slightly narrowed blue optics, but the Decepticons' table isn't hard to spot at all. He nods, pointing towards the table to indicate it to his companions, before he approaches. Stopping on the opposite side of the table from Galvatron, Rodimus hitches his thumbs on his waistband, giving the gathered Decepticons' a looking over. "My intelligence agents hadn't told me Rumble was one of the Decepticons' commanding officers, Galvatron," Rodimus starts off with a dry observation in lieu of a greeting.
The waiter quickly leaves the dampening field and returns with a tray. The tray contains several glasses and exactly what was ordered. Even the waiter knows you don't refuse a drink from a superior officer, he worries about those that did. He leaves it on the table and then returns to an area outside of the field, knowing a huge tip will come to him from Galvatron because he did.
Smokescreen tromps on in behind Rodimus- to tell the truth, the tactician is hardly a formidable sight, as compared to some of the other heavy-hitters in the room; but then again, he's not supposed to be. He strolls by the bar, ordering a simple: "Unleaded. Straight up." and with this said, he goes back to surveying the Decepticon delegation; somewhere at the back of his CPU, he runs through a few possible scenarios, should things go...sour.
Following behind Rodimus, forming an unconscious Wedge Formation with Smokescreen, Silverbolt enters the bar. He's walking as naturally as if he were walking through a meadow on Earth. He comes to a stop next to the table, and waits for his leader to take a seat before he follows suit. "Energon, straight up." He looks over to Fusillade and, for some reason unknown to him, gives her a quick smile.
Galvatron chuckles and nods to the Autobots, "The drinks are taken care of, don't bother paying." he then turns back to Rodimus and gives a leer, "He isn't, Rodimus. He is here in place of Soundwave. To observe and record...and then report to his master. Nothing more. I doubt he will have much to say. Do you have a problem with this?"
Rumble smirks a little. Galvatron hit the nail right on the head, and then smiles at Rodimus. "Don't blow a fuse, I'll be a good little boy for this little party."
Catechism sees it this way: a) she gets cannoned for refusing a drink or b) she gets cannoned because she inevitably gets over-charged like a capacitor struck by lightning and attempts to repaint Rodimus's porch. In scenario a), at least she's sober. It's a slim edge, but she'll take it. The Seeker edges away from Silverbolt's general direction. Also c) she gets drunk and flaunts Air Raid's severed wing in front of Silverbolt. Not a good idea. In fact, she edges off to sit down quietly in the bubble.
"Who said there was a problem?" Rodimus Prime responds, looking over each shoulder, as if someone else who might have suggested that there was a problem is hiding nearby. With that display, he pulls out the chair directly opposite Galvatron's, sitting down at the table. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in a cool, relaxed posture. It's the only way to parley. "Another round of banter, or should we get down to business?"
Oh, things could end badly indeed. Fusillade glances up from the metal spans that she was lavishing attention upon, gaze slipping past Galvatron's back to the splash of red, silver, and blue of the Autobot entourage. A brief, inscrutable incline of her head towards them. "Rumble's already satisfied his quota of 'not nice' for the day," she says dryly, even as one glossy black hand wraps around the handle of the large pitcher of her chosen drink that had been plunked down beside her. She pours the liquid into a single-serve cup, and begins nursing it moodily. A brief glance of challenge is sent Silverbolt's way, but she settles back down into silent anticipation as the Autobot leader speaks. Coordination was key, and as of late, she's been feeling the sting of the lack thereof.
Smokescreen plunks down in a chair beside Rodimus, taking up his drink and sipping at it with the precision of an experienced drinker. He says nothing...for now, at least, instead opting to watch with an amused grin; how many impromptu alliances have brought the warring sides together? How many war conferences have been held like this? Seems like quite a bit, really.
Maybe the Quintessons are good for something after all.
Galvatron smirks wildly and just shakes his head, "I thought my previous transmission to you would answer that, Rodimus. You look a bit tired. Perhaps a drink?" he chuckles again, switching on the holo display he brought with him. "As you can see from our mutual intel sweeps, Neocron is seemingly invincible. However...that is not the case." he clicks a button and 4 points appear on the screen. "He is vulnerable. Here, here, here, and here. These are the points of the most powerful influence. They possess the strongest anti-grav and slipstream drive generators on this crate. If we knock these out...we at best...send the monster out of control somewhere towards Betelgeuse, at worse...we immobilize him. Either method is preferable. From what I have gathered, if we can achieve this...using whatever we have at our disposal, and we have much. My officers have come up with some interesting devices we can use, as have yours no doubt...we can then proceed with trying to launch a commando team into the heart of the planet. You or I can have a ship equipped with a drill bit within minutes. They can try to find the command center which has to be at the core. That failing...we can use Trypticon and Metroplex, launching them into space, to establish bases on the surface to prevent strikes against the Earth."
Airwolf's opinion is similar to Smokescreen's. She still marvels that they can work together so well, and is very appreciative of the restraint being shown by both sides. Of course, Neocron darkening the sky outside of the solar system is the cause of that amazing cooperation. Offensive strategy now. It's really a shame they can't establish a spacebridge terminus on Neocron and transport him into a nice blue star.
Blinking, Rumble quickly took a scan of the hologram and stored it away for later use. His optics also gleaned the participants of this meeting. With that, he relaxed again to just take in the audio.
Rodimus Prime lifts one hand off of his elbow, waving away Galvatron's offer of a drink. "Someone has to be the designated driver," he responds, perhaps referring to his officers who have already begun to indulge in the Rusty Angel's temptations. He lifts his chin, watching Galvatron's powerpoint--err, holographic-- presentation, nodding minutely to himself. It's mostly ideas that have been presented before, but it's nice to see it rendered in such an eye-catching way. "Smokescreen will lead the Autobot commando team to breach their command center," Rodimus begins, looking out of the corner of his optics at Smokescreen and raising one optical ridge slightly. Maybe it's the first time Smokescreen has heard it. "If there are any Decepticons who have some... Expertise that might be useful for such a mission, I'm requesting that you let Smokescreen borrow them for this mission. It'll require some preparation, so it'll be best if we negotiate this out now."
Smokescreen nods to Rodimus, nodding in agreement- though he doesn't bat an eye at the command. Not in front of the cons, anyway.
"If I may." he says. "I've a few...suggestions." Smokescreen proceeds to lay out a plan of his own. "Step one." says the tactician, listing points off on his finger. "We load a ship- largest, fastest we can manage, up with explosives, set it on autopilot, and ram the thing into Neocron with its FTL drive going full speed. It won't disable him, but if we're lucky, it'll hurt him. A lot."
"Step two- we proceed to land every single transformer we can on Neocron's surface, and blaze away, doing as much as we can to keep the damn thing BUSY. Metroplex and Trypticon rolling along as mobile fire platforms should do nicely. The more resources we tie up on the outside, the better time we'll have on the inside."
"Step three- we insert commando teams into Unicron's core; I haven't analyzed the schematics to their fullest, but if we're lucky, we may be able to ride a transit tube or a fuel line fairly deep into the beast. Instead of blowing the engines- or at least instead of blowing -ALL- the engines, I'd say the best bet would be to change its course manually; the Quints would never give something that powerful free will. Once we secure the command core, we could then steer Neocron into the nearest sun or black hole. Problem solved."
Galvatron nods his head, if his officers have something to interject, they will. "We have several, actually. Counterpunch...but he is unavailable in the offplanet regions. Soundwave, any of our cassettes, and any of our high impact ground infantry like Motormaster. They would be a great asset when assaulting the core...provided they can reach it. Realize that volunteers for such a mission are volunteering for a possible one way trip. If we're wrong about the command center...or the interior is more heavily fortified than we think? They could die. But even if they do....we have plan B...." he pauses for Smokescreen
Another not so subtle glance around at those present reveals to Fusillade that so far, it's Galvatron, herself, and Smokescreen currently imbibing. The numbers weren't looking so good, and volunteers, "Who to choose for internal mission won't be an issue on our side of the fence. We've been refreshing on different ambush scenarios and control techniques, you may choose your assault team at leisure, my Liege." She puzzles over how to address Rodimus and Smokescreen, and failing to come to a solution, lapses into silence. And another draught of the phosphorescent white fluid.
<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "This makes you uneasy...Air Commander?"
You transmit a message to Galvatron: I am only unhappy that success hinges so heavily upon the contributions of highly technical machinery or weapons, or upon highly specialized strike forces. Military Operations been treading water, and little else.
Transmission from Galvatron: Not from what I hear. I understand you have found some rather inventive weapons to use
Airwolf has nothing to say. Once again, her talents lie in defense, not offense. About all she can contribute is a sanity check, and there are plenty of others present who can offer the same. FTL into a planetformer? She recalls her insane threat to do the same to Trokius once, and she meant it. However, Trokius assured her that she would do an insignificant amount of damage, even at FTL, so without something like Galvatron's Star Destroyer, the shuttle would likely fail to do much more than provide a distraction. Which may be a good enough reason to use it... Other than that, she sees nothing wrong with Smokescreen's suggestions.
Smokescreen mulls over who to choose. "Ideally-" he says, "I'd prefer to take some of the heavier Decepticon Infantry in with me; ground based artillery- can't be too sure how much room there'll be inside for aerial maneuvering."
He runs through a few dozen dossiers in his CPU, and lists off: "Off the top of my head, I'd ideally like the support of Soundwave, Swindle, Onslaught, Rumble, Ravage, and either Tantrum or Octane for logistical support; don't know how long we'd be down there."
"We're all well aware of the risks," Rodimus Prime replies to Galvatron in a curt tone of voice, his optics narrowed slightly. "And equally aware that the harm caused by doing nothing at all greatly outweighs those risks." Rodimus then looks to Fusillade as the junior Decepticon speaks up, listening to her with his face set in a thoughtfully impassive mask, even though she address Galvatron. He nods his minute approval -- at least the Decepticons are taking things as seriously as the Autobots are. "As I've mentioned before, our chances for success will increase if both plans are enacted simultaneously -- Metroplex, Trypticon, and supporting ground forces assaulting the anti-gravity generators and slipstream engines on Neocron's surface while Smokescreen's combined forces commando team penetrate the command core. General Briar of the Earth Defense Command has likewise pledged several ships and squadrons that will be providing a space superiority role for our ground forces. Now," Rodimus shifts his stance, "Galvatron, do you suggest the Autobot and Decepticon forces on Neocron's surface operate independently -- each attacking objectives on opposite poles -- or that we combine our forces to maximize firepower?"
Galvatron hmmms and considers that for a moment, "I have an answer, Rodimus, but first...a question. I am no mathematician, and I am not technician, Smokescreen, but I am no slouch either. At that speed, and given the mass of a common shuttle...that would do little more than piss them off. Load it with explosives? It might really piss them off. But it won't cause any lasting damage. We just don't have the mass necessary to sustain the velocity once we enter the gravity field to cause anything significant. You also have to factor in the antigrav fields, they will also cause problems with your scenario...my young Autobot friend. It is well though, but how do you propose to use it other than wasting resources?" with that, he turns back to Rodimus, "I intend for us to concentrate our attack. Splitting up is foolish. We both have great might, but we are also facing great might, stupid might...yes...but great, nevertheless. It is better if we make a fortified line. I would prefer to hold the cities until we knock out the generators...but launching the commando team at the same time works. I want to hold the cities because if we fail, they are our only hope. Tell me, Rodimus, what of Cineplex, can she move?"
"That's the point, Galvatron- it's a distraction. It's like kicking over a very large anthill...with a bazooka." Smokescreen grins. "It won't disable any of Neocron's systems, but if we chart it right, we may be able to use it as a feint, to draw their resources away from our actual landing point."
An arched optic ridge is sent Galvatron's way by Fusillade, expression incredulous. There's an indication of clear disbelief -- in what, exactly, upon her features, but she maintains her silence. For now, she clasps fingers together, the considerable remaining volume of the spiked liquid remaining untouched.
<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "What seems to be the issue, Commander?"
<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Few dare to look at me that way and not explain it."
Rodimus Prime nods in response to Galvatron's question, "Cineplex has agreed to join the assault on Neocron. She hates him just as much as any of us -- We're having Junkion technicians check her out to make sure she can make the trip." The flaming Autobot leader listens to the exchange between Smokescreen and Galvatron, and despite the dire circumstances, he can't conceal a slight grin on his face. "Smokescreen, I'm afraid I'm going to have to agree with Galvatron on this point," Rodimus concedes, but not without a slight cringe when he hears the words come out of his worth. That really -is- a sign of the Apocalypse. "I'd prefer to distract Neocron with, say, good old fashioned missiles, rather than throwing away one of our shuttles. We really don't have any spacecraft to spare, especially considering that we're going to have to completely evacuate Earth if we fail to incapacitate Neocron."
<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Dire times, Fusillade.� Speak, without fear of reprisal"
Grimlock trudges into the bar. His optic band gazes passively around at the architecture while he makes his way towards the tavern. "Hrr. This not so special." At the bar, he orders a drink. He hasn't really noticed anyone at this point, but he's big and loud. Surely someone will spot him. His energon is placed in front of him and he casually drinks it.
<Decepticon> Fusillade concedes, "You have stronger faith in my inane schemes than I, Liege. My ideas are typically ill-conceived due to a lack of understanding of technical aspects. A chase in the dark, and a waste of time, they are."
<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "If you say something like that again, Fusillade, I will terminate you. You are where you are for a reason. SPEAK THE UNICRON UP!"
Galvatron nods at Rodimus, "He is right, Smokescreen. You specialize in diversions...no? Well, you're good at your job, clearly. But the point is...the only shuttles that could do that are Despoiler class. I'm not willing to give one of those up for a simple diversion...are you?" he asks, being serious too, not sarcastic. "They pose us much greater combat value being used to transport. They can take a beating and deal one out. So let us move on. Fusillade...I understand that beyond the training, which I am sure Rod appreciates as much as I, that your group has uncovered some interesting guerrilla weapons like Caltrops. Elaborate for us."
Fusillade's hands slap down on the edge of the table, and she gives Galvatron a suitably cowed look, likely due to the accompanying undertone of radio threat, err, conversation. "OKAY!" She takes a steadying draught of air, and looking wholly mortified, attempts to gather her suggestions into something approaching a presentable, concrete possibility.
Smokescreen nods at that. "Fair enough- I just thought it'd add a little bit of...flair to it all." he smiles, and then sips at his octane, having said his piece. He turns to Fusillade, curious at what new toys she may bring to the table.
Rodimus Prime quirks one optical ridge when Galvatron refers to him as 'Rod'. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand, glancing away for a moment to hold back a grimace or a snicker or some combination thereof. Once he's regained his composure, Fusillade's blurted 'OKAY' draws the Autobot leader's attention. Soft blue optics rest on her, now, and he gives her an expectant, even slightly impatient, look.
"At the moment, time is our limiting factor," Fusillade restates. "I'd be happy to share any number of ideas to deal with the planet destroyer itself, but for now, the more concrete things. What we can train and equip the invading team with. The caltrops will not be viable against the Sharkticons in mixed group operations, since they would disable ground units as well. They would work best in scenarios where a group of incoming flyers wished to hem in a group of Sharkticons. We looked over the armory, and there are physical shields, and personal force field generated shields, that could be used to knock back troops. I would recommend magnetic add-ons to feet to avoid any unpleasantness with the antigravity shield generators. There are some cryo... gen gas cylinders that would be used to temporarily disable Sharkticons, and even sonics..." She glances down toward Rumble briefly, "Were suggested. They would be safer than explosives in enclosed areas."
Smokescreen hmms, and grins, noting these weapons; ones that'd be used on Sharkticons, rather than Autobots. How delicious. "Sonics are a great idea for interior operations." he pauses. "Have you done any research into the backwards compatibility of Sharkticon weaponry? No better place to get a reload than off of a smouldering drone's hull. 'cause Primus knows we're going to be seeing a lot of them."
Airwolf sighs and reminds herself that this isn't really Unicron. The Quintessons have never been in communication with him or learned of his designs, so this is just an attempt to reverse-engineer him. It can't remake Transformers into new beings, it's not all powerful or all knowing, it's just a remote-controlled space station of great size and power, and it *can* be defeated. Plus there's the Sharkticons. Way too many Sharkticons. How to neutralize them... Their optics are an obvious weak point that could be exploited. Acidic spray? Bright light? Concussion grenades? Do they have any Sharkticon bodies that could be studied for other weak points?
Galvatron nods at Fusillade, "All good ideas, Fusillade. I suggest you continue researching them. While we won't meet like this again...we will all meet again, just on non-neutral territory. And I leave it to you to train the Autobots in the toys we find out. We need every advantage we can get, I suggest we use it. I have taken all the ideas both Autobot and Decepticon have brought forth into consideration. I believe the best course is to combine ideas...launch everything save the cityformers at first, overwhelm the defenses. Knock out the four key points and launch the commandos at the same time. Succeed or fail, launch the cities a few moments afterwards to either try to salvage a failure of either op...or to establish bases on the planet. Are we all agreed?"
Fusillade allows the rest of the meeting to remain blissfully ignorant of the crackpot ideas like striking Neocron when it was diverting its resources to consume a moon or asteroid. Or the one about intentionally screwing up a spacebridge transport so that explosive, or just intrusively large, items in question were teleported directly into Neocron's internals. She uncomfortably slides the wingblade back down off the table, and reholsters it, scooping the carafe up and pouring out another round of shimmering liquid courage. A bit more conversationally, she replies to Smokescreen, "There's little in the way of weapons that can be gleaned from a fallen standard Sharkticon. You have their jaws, claws, and mace tail. Good for melee, swinging around pieces of metal to bang against other pieces of metal..." Her optics glaze over as the name of an ideal candidate rolls over into her consciousness after she mentions that. "Some of the more advanced units do have staff weapons, which appear to be usable by anyone. The Neosharkticon units are the big reason Catechism wants to neutralize, and not destroy them. They have this nasty little habit of blowing up." Once she's done with her dialog with Smokescreen, she nods sharply to Galvatron, "Aye. I recommend that the mixed teams be made of Autobot and Decepticon groups that have already trained together."
Satisfied that he's slightly buzzed enough to deal with Galvatron and his cronies, Grimlock takes his vessel and trudges over to the table. He finds a spot (next to Smokescreen, if at all possible,) and he takes a particularly strong chair from nearby before pushing it up to the table and joining the crowd. "Fine. So Autobots and Decepticons all best friends. Again. What on agenda?"
Rumble nods to Galvatron, then gets an idea. "...if we are able to neutralize the Neo Sharkticons, why can't we use their explosive bits against others..? Maybe some kinna reprogram virus to make 'em go whacko and crash into their comrades?" When it came to demolition, Rumble did manage an idea or two at times.
Rodimus Prime listens to Fusillade's report on the various gadgets the Decepticons have been working on, nodding slightly. He seems rather skeptical, but he looks to Smokescreen and his enthusiastic response, and that appears to quiet whatever doubts the Autobot leader may have been tempted to voice. "I hope the Autobots get to share some of these toys..." He mutters, managing to edge in a little cynicism just the same. Rodimus looks up as Grimlock belatedly joins the table, face crinkling slightly to betray a hint of annoyance that Grimlock managed to miss most of the conference. "We were just wrapping up, Grimlock," Rodimus replies with a hint of gravel in his voice, then looking to Galvatron and placing both hands on the table. "I think our plans are as good as we're going to get. All that remains now is to prepare our forces to meet in Earth orbit and then proceed on an intercept course for Neocron."
Galvatron nods at Rodimus. Waving a hand for another drink to be brought to Grimlock. He has to reasons for this. 1) He likes the Dinobot. Yes, they are enemies, but the things the mech says.... 2) It would be highly amusing to see Omega catch a Constructicon or Dinobot in the city, and more enerhol seems to make that more likely. "The bill is taken care of Rodimus." he leaves a GIGANTIC tip on the table. And they say Decepticon domination would be bad. This tip says otherwise. "I hope that our forces can continue to train together to prepare for this. Fusillade has a couple more training ops in mind, where I am sure she will share these toys. But for now...we've done all we can."
At THAT, Smokescreen proceeds to finish his drink in a single, fortifying gulp. "Eat, drink, and be merry-" Smokescreen quotes the old terrain saying. "...For tomorrow we die. Or at least run ourselves ragged in yet -ANOTHER- fight of our lives. The usual." he smirks at that, and proceeds to exit with the rest of the Autobots at the proper time, not doing anything of note in the meanwhile.
Finally just giving up and settling on using the full name as a sign of respect, Fusillade directly addresses the Matrix bearer. "The items were from our preexisting caches. We will distribute as needed to both sides to ensure the success of this operation and its training simulations, Rodimus Prime." She ever so carefully peeks over the edge of the pitcher, relieved to see that it hasn't quite been emptied to 'embarrassing' levels just quite yet. "I'm a bit worried about the time it would take to reprogram those things, provided that it can even be done. Probably more effective to just rip out the detonator and accelerant, and use it as another munition, Rumble. It would depend on who was on the Commando team. If there were a skilled computer tech, I'd heartily encourage them to add that to their offensive repertoire." A faintly disappointed air hangs over her as she sees the leadership beginning to wrap up.
Grimlock clenches his fist. "Me got good Sharkticon demolition device right here." He says to Rumble. "Maybe missing meeting bad for people who know their way round here." He downs the remains of his handle as a fresh one is brought over to him, eagerly taking it. Hey, free energon, can't complain. He listens to Fusillade as he downs his drink, waiting to find out exactly what is going on before saying his piece.
Rumble grins his aft off at Grimlock's comment. He WAS an entertaining fellow. "Yeah, and I've got two of 'em myself. But there's always something satisfying about watching one explode from afar..." he says, trailing off with a somewhat dreamy look about him as he contemplates..
Rodimus Prime pushes against the table with both hands, his chair pushing back and the Autobot leader standing up. "I just wanted to say one thing before we finish here, Galvatron." He pauses, giving the handful of Decepticons at the table a look. "I know you," meaning the Decepticons, "Don't like me. Or the Autobots. And we're only working together now because 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'." He smirks faintly, before continuing, "But our cooperation over the last couple of weeks has given me a little hope. That there might be a Golden Age one day down the road." Rodimus looks to Grimlock and the other Autobots, "Feel free to have fun tonight, guys. I'm going back to base to refine our plans and issue orders."
And as Rodimus mentions a Golden age... a loud *SNORT* can be heard from Grimlock as he holds his mug up to his face.
Galvatron nods his head, "As has it given me the same, Rodimus. We can cooperate, when we need to. Perhaps someday we can come to a happy medium in our differences, but that day is not now. The day now...is that we fight for the survival of our race. That is all that matter." he pushes away too, leaving the table, "Please, continue your conversations, share them with us." he shudders internally at the thought. "They will help. This is a neutral city. Nothing bad can happen here. And Grimlock? I suggest you use Fusillade�s bay to sneak out...let him, Fusillade." he smirks, "because Omega won't be happy to see you. For now, I adjourn to study schematics. Someday, perhaps we will all be friends, but that day isn't today. Today...we are allies against a cause meant to eliminate us. Don't forget that." he walks away, leaving a credit chip with the bartender to pay. He hates doing this, but he knows how to play politics. It's the right thing, for now...only for now.
"Galvatron." Grimlock says, very matter-of-factly, before the Decepticon Commander can leave. "Me, Grimlock, interested in how we going to become friends one day. Maybe you explain what happy medium is for you."
Galvatron looks over his shoulder and just winks at Grimlock, "Only time will tell, Grimlock. Only time will tell." with that, he walks out. Not mentioning that happy medium to him is them all dead.
You know that look on people's faces that they get when they're trying their damnedest to hold back utter revulsion? Say someone farted in the middle of a board meeting. It's wholly unspeakable, and by the attempt to treat it as if it didn't happen, it only makes it even more plain to see that it HAD happen. "I... yes sir," Fusillade finally says to Galvatron's back. At that point, she rather hastily makes a point to drain the rest of that pitcher.
Rumble has gathered all he needs for this little rendezvous. Shutting off his recording function, he hops out of his seat and makes his way out.
Grimlock offers a contemplative "Hnn." before taking another gulp from his beverage. He already assumed the exact same thing that Galvatron. "Me sure that going to be great." And how surprising, all the Decepticons have places to be. Except for his ride. "Me hope you not got anything to do for while. Me, Grimlock, decided me like this bar." He's only half-finished his second drink when he waves for a third one. He's going to get the most mileage out of Galvatron's tab.
"Just make sure your hands and feet stay within the designated areas," Fusillade murmurs, still looking a bit mortified as she pulls out the wingblades again to polish. She lapses into silence to fend off the buzz at the edge of her hearing and vision that the last set of drinks have imparted upon her. This cannot end well.