Hooray, We're Still Alive!

Who: Catechism, Dredclaw, Earthscorch, Fusillade, Sunder
IC Year: 2028
Location: Steel Balloon, Cybertron
TP: Vindicator


Summary: (March 2028) Catechism and Fusillade try to figure out what to do with unhappy Magma while they drink and entertain Sweeps.

Steel Balloon

The sights and sounds of the Steel Balloon are louder, more garish than normal, the business in full swing to entertain revellers. Not all seem too interested in playing, though. Fusillade, in a pose quite similar to the day after the first physical merging, is sitting at the main bar, forehead propped up on one palm as she gives the gleaming goblet before her a look of trepidation. "Well well well, lookit this morose motherboard," one of her normal carousing partners states. Glancing askance, Fusillade nnnghs, and waves them off.

Catechism peeks into the bar. Maybe she'll find someone here, and... yes, she does. One objective achieved. Now, to recklessly blow some credits. She sidles over to Fusillade's side and reminds, "I owe you a drink. Care to collect?" She does note Fusillade's apparently dour temper. Maybe Fulcrum's contagious.

The matter on Fusillade's mind is transparent -- at least, it would be to Catechism, who has shared so much of the same experiences lately. "What are we going to do with him?" she asks, distractedly fidding fingers with the base of the cup. "Merge in the brig?" She manages to pull lips tight, and then glances over to Catechism. "Oh, it's been an eternity. What was the wager over, again? I at least remember it was a wager, at least."

Catechism replies, "I... don't know. I want to talk to Galvatron, to get this fixed, but for a large purple tyrant, he's rather hard to find. I'm half-tempted just to take him out, repaint him, and introduce everyone to my new buddy, Lava. The wager? Ah, I bought your help in punking Blitzwing with the promise of drink. I figure I owe you two in interest, at least."

Fusillade snorts a bit. "What'd that accomplish? He'd just run off again. Nnn. I'm stumped. I've done everything I can think of to show him that he is not just a piece of hardware -- at least not to everyone. We're the ones he'd have to see the most of anyway, and we're not THAT bad." Well, aside from the whole wholesale slaughter thing. At the reminder about Blitzwing, she slaps one hand on the counter and erupts into a much-needed laugh. "YES, yes of course. The current matters have just been so consuming; I didn't mean any slight. And smelt, I could use them."

Fusillade adds, "Can't believe he didn't want noseart. I even offered a shrikebat!"

Catechism is bad to the strut, but she's sociable enough to her own kind. She says slowly, "It is the lack of choice that bothers him. He would have rather that I died than him having been forced into the gestalt. I know that he would run. That why when I beg to Lord Galvatron, I'll suggest a tracer-collar with a bomb in it. Sort of defeats the purpose, but... he did? For shame! We should all get matching group insignias." Catechism's optics sparkle mischievously.

A Sweep enters, heading for the nearest open slot at the bar.

The concaphony of the bar is a bit overwhelming for the tracker, so he turns his senses down to cybertronian standard and orders his drink. "One Taraxian sunset, with an ultra refined chaser." he says to the bartender. Looking around, he takes in the other patrons for the first time.

Fusillade mms, and inclines her head as she and Catechism continue to discuss the less-than-glorious situation of their gestalt mate. "Yeah, Catechism. I know. And at this rate, he'd rather us all get in deep instead of...." She frowns a bit, but doesn't continue the line of thought. She finally drains the last of the drink, trying her best to purge some of the more distasteful memories from her consciousness. The mention of insignia captures her interest. "Oh? Yeah? We should ask the others. That'd be pretty fun. The fist of Straxus clenching Cybertron, yeaaaaaaaaaah." She snaps out of her reverie at the presence of arched gargoyle wings, and promptly starts trying to identify any distinguishing characteristics -- perhaps still a bit on edge from her earlier encounter with Geist.

Catechism glances over at the Sweep. Nope, she can't tell them apart. Could even be Scourge, for all that she knows! Catechism pauses and thinks. Wait... Geist doesn't order those. So it's not Geist. Really narrows the playing field, eh? She replies, "Magma's very... odd Fusillade." She pauses, glances around, and asks, "Did he tell you he was in the Order of Excelsius? Hmm... fist of Straxus? That's pretty good. Y'know, you're the arty one. Maybe you can whomp something up."

Dredclaw's roving optics meet Fusillade's and the smallest hint of a smile creeps onto the hunter's faceplate. At that moment the bartender delivers the glowing layered drink and the shotglass chaser to the Sweep. Lifting his drink he nods to Catechism and Fusillade. "Congratulations on your successful gestalt rebuild." he rumbles. "Having trouble working the kinks out are we?"

Fusillade tries to puzzle out the identity of the Sweep, but eventually gives up on the venture. INstead, she listens. "Yeah. I was trying my damnedest to try to talk to him about it. It seemed like it represented a good chance for Cybertronian unification -- and yet he abandoned it so quickly. I wonder if such quick desertion was a defense mechanism... and eh. Just a few abstract shapes and such with the leftover scalpel..." She trails off, catching the expression from the Sweep, a faint challenge in her own features before she finishes with Catechism, "From Scrapper. I haven't ever done anything with like... paint."

Sunder is ready to relax and unwind after that rather invigorating hunt yesterday. He sidles up to the bar, pawing forth a few credits, and murmuring to the bartender, "Bloody Seeker, please." In mere moments his drink is dispensed, and when he has it he nods to his wingsib.

Catechism just stares at Fusillade After a moment, she bursts out guffawing. Incredulously, Catechism demands, "Never done anything with paint? Oh, you've done something with paint. Maybe you were too smashed to remember it, but... I recall it quite clearly." She winces. "Besides, just cut out the design and fill in with paint. How hard can it be?" Catechism grins lop-sidedly.

There's another Sweep in the bar. Or did the other guy just change seats while she wasn't looking? Fusillade ohs quietly to herself once Sunder identifies himself with his drink of choice, and then mmmms at Catechism, breaking into a genuine smile and ducking her head. "Oh come on, that wasn't really painting. That was just... making a mess. And there was an ever bigger mess afterward." She hmms, and considers. "Well, yeah, I can see that. Stencils, then. That's easier, I do that on my bombs all the time."

Catechism is standing near Fusillade. She points out, "If you're going to do the design on five different people, anyway, a stencil might be a good idea on its own." She pulls out a datapad. "Also, what do you think of these?" There are a few catalogue shots of different sets of crystal.

Sunder eyes the two fem-cons over the rim of his drink. He's not quite sure what they're on about, given that he pretty much just walked in a few minutes ago, but he sits there silently, waiting for further remarks to put it all together.

Earthscorch ducks a little to get inside the Steel Balloon. He hasn't actually been in here before so he looks around a bit, perhaps distastefully. Then again, is there another way he looks at things? He spots Catechism and Fusillade and non-chalantly walks over to see what they're doing. He ignores Sunder on the other hand, entirely.

Fusillade herself is seated at the main bar, looking a bit more conversational than earlier. She nods. "Very good point that. Hmm. Should probably be no more than three colors. And... eh?" She leans over, even as the tender slides by to replace her drink. "Oh oh wait, this one'll be..." She thinks long and hard, and says, "Some Hex Brandy, please." As the images are presented, she perks up. "Well now, that's nice! You don't want the Maloof, that's just entirely too brittle. Klo makes some good sets, like this green and blue one." She nods sagely, before squinting at the clomp of Earthscorch's feet on the dancefloor, the cel-colored ;'spotlights spinning crazily on his bulky form.

Catechism is pleased that Fusillade is less wilted than previously and smiles slightly. She listens along to the advice on buying glassware and tosses the bartender pay for Fusillade's order. She looks back at Earthsorch, and sighs. She comments, "Y'know, they don't make dancers anymore. It's not that they don't make 'em like they used to. They just don't make 'em."

Earthscorch just stops close to Fusillade and Catechism and stands there, watching them. He ask what they're doing or wave or look for a drink. He just stands there and stares.

Fusillade rolls the amber fluid around her mouth as she knocks part of it back, smacking lips a bit. "So yeah, gonna go down to Crystal City to pick some up? And... why? Although, truth be told, I've been having an urge to start up a fight club." The presence of Earthscorch eventually registers, and she mmms at Catechism? "Oh, we could dance! You had that cool slide thing going on where you knocked people over, and..." she flicks optics, turns toward Earthscorch, and decides to be an ig-yak's aft. "Oh hey there. Finally decided to report in for Beta Wing's standing orders?"

Catechism nods eagerly and says, "Yeah, I am! I need to tidy up my quarters, too, and do some decoration. I think a set will look nice in a glass cabinet, next to my various trophies. A fight club?" Catechism looks a little puzzled. At the mention of dancing, she turns shy and murmurs, "Oh, I'm not sure, I never was any good." She looks to Earthscorch. Well, neither of them amounted to anything in the end, did they?

Earthscorch meets each's gaze evenly, quietly (though impolitely) listening to their conversation first. At Fusillade's question he replies, "Uh, standing orders?" looking puzzled.

"Yeah. It'd be a good way for folks to work off steam with each other. I don't think the holo arena has seen much in the way of workouts. Pretty quiet, actually." The dark grey and white bomber considers. At Earthscorch's query, she knits brows together. "Never mind. The subtleties are lost upon you. I think I'm gonna go, though. Don't worry about the other drink..." Such wild mood swings! At least they weren't wild fist swings.

Catechism considers the idea. "It'd be good training." She waves to Fusillade and replies on the other count, "Safe journey, comrade. Don't let the nogoodniks get you down." To Earthscorch, she comments, "I think you just got served, and you haven't even ordered yet."

Sunder drains his glass and orders up another one. This was turning out to be quite entertaining.

Earthscorch listens to Fusillade and gets all the more puzzled, as she begins to leave. "Ah, well, good day to you, then..." Then Cate just goes ahead and manages to puzzle him even more. That's a third level of puzzlement if you're keeping

"Dos vadanya," Fusillade rolls out easily to Catechism as she pirouettes briefly on the surging floor, before disappearing through the main entry with a wave.


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