Who: William, Nate Briar, Rodimus Prime, Powerglide, Conrad Reyes, James Bailey, Compton Xabat, Compile, Kup, Wreck-Gar, Michael Briar, Twitch, Andi Lassiter, Marissa Faireborn, and Selena Llwyll.
[continued from In_Spike_We_Trust_(part_I)]
Spike Witwicky rolls this question around for a few minutes, "Well, if you remember Madam Panelist, I was leading the debate in /favor/ of the spacebridge and the trade agreement with Monacus. However, I did not campaign aggressively enough amongst the general assembly in order for the motion to gain favor. If I could handle that again, and if confirmed here today I intend to, I would champion harder in favor of setting up a trade agreement with the Monacans that with the help of our Autobot friends, would incorporate spacebridge technology."
"I don't see the rocks spelling out 'GOODBYE' anytime soon," Wreck-Gar grunts to the bird. When Spike is finished answering his question, though, he launches to his feet, his modulated voice bellowing as he cuts off the moderator. "/MIS/TER WITWICKY, OVER HERE! Wreck-Gar, Better Home and Gardens Magazine, free trial subscription with any purchase. What do you say to allegations that you claim to see quote giant robots unquote? Rumor has it that these 'giant robots' you claim to interact with are indicative of a penchant for quote gobbling LSD like delicious Nestle Bunch-a-Crunch end quote. When you answer, Mister Witwicky, please note that if you strike me down... I will become more powerful than you could ever imagine."
Nate Briar whispers to William, "The second you tried to touch me, 'Beetle' will have his weapony trained on you so that if you moved ever so slightly, your atoms would be in pain." He smiles slightly at that, "Now, William... let's say screw the past and work together on taking down the Decepticons. After we dance on Galvatron's scraps, then we can go Mortal Kombat on each other."
Michael Briar frowns at that idea, once again this topic is rearing its ugly head. He'll never like a public space bridge on earth, not in a million years. Though, there's always the space option. He gives a shrug about the idea and files it away in his head for later. Right next to the nuclear powered toaster and hypnochip for exo-suit pilot monkeys.
The older female inquisitor nods her head slightly giving a slight smile. It seemed to please her. She says, "I see, thank you."
One of the panelists, a Spanish male--a Spanish Inuisitor, one might say--glances into the crowd... and his eyes meet Xabat's. Xabat nods his head ever so slightly, and the Spanish Inquisitor nods every so slightly back at him.Speaking with a rich accent, the Spanish Inquisitor growls, "So, Mr. Witwicky, you have returned to again disgrace the United Nations with your mistakes. One of those mistakes, as I might remind you, was your failure to provide the nations of the world with the means to protect themselves from Decepticon attack. My homeland, Spain, for instance. Our flagship, the Principe de Asturias, still uses technology from 1988! Not a single energy weapon or railgun to be found on it, or its craft. Even today!!!" He slams a fist on his desk. "When will we receive the fabled EDC technology we were supposed to receive during the Protectorate war? For that matter, when will the Autobots--" He takes a moment to sneer at Rodimus Prime. "--DEIGN to provide us with THEIR technology? Hm, Mr. Witwicky? I thought you were "friends" with the robots!"
Compton Xabat allows himself a slight smirk at the Inquisitor's merciless tirade.
"You see, sir, the great nation of Spain agrees with me! If the EDC is so /great/, then why, in other news, is Francisco Franco /still/ dead?!" Wreck-Gar says, raising a fist.
It's too much for Twitch to handle. First he's getting indignant at the way that mean man is talking about the Autobots and Spike, then Wreck-gar is speaking, and Junkion logic assaults the poor bird's senses once more. He falls off of Rodimus' arm, landing on the floor with a faint *CLANK*, his feet up in the air and his optics turned into little X's.
Spanish Inquisitor's angry stance is somewhat rattled by Wreck-Gar's babbling. "What? What are you saying, robot? I do not understand! Let him answer the question, if he can!"
Michael Briar sucks in a breath and holds it for a few counts, then releases it. Don't kill him, don't kill him, don't kill him echos in Michael's head. Of course he won't, but the urge rises up in him like a bad ham sandwich. He gives a slight smile though, at least Michael isn't the one on the chopping block this time. He looks over at Spike and nods slightly, at least Michael 'hopes' Spike knows what to say about that 'policy'.
William continues to look at Nate. "Will you have 'Beetle' with you at all times, Nathan Briar? Emily didn't have her Zero, Michal didn't have his Zoe." He gives a shrug, "Besides, you haven't gone off the deep end, yet." He moves in a bit closer, his voice a threatening whisper, "But when you do, Nathan Briar, I /will/ be there to put you in your place. Beetle or not." He's about to add another little quip about Machines and not caring which ones win as long as they all just leave, but loud voices pull him out of it. He snaps his attention to the Junkion and the Spaniard, hand dropping to his weapon as he pushes off the wall and takes a step further into the chambers.
"I'm asking the questions here," Wreck-Gar says, pointing at the Spanish national. "Were you with the victim on the night she disappeared?"
Spanish Inquisitor huffs, face turning red, and decides the best thing to do at this point is to ignore the Junkion.
Kup chokes. He starts to punch himself on the back.
Rodimus Prime grunts and covers his face with one hand as Wreck-Gar seems to be getting really into the confirmation hearing. He reaches over, tapping Wreck-Gar on the arm. "Wreck-Gar, calm down. You're not helping our case here, pal," he whispers, leaning back and scooping up Twitch. He pops open the mechafalcon's chest panel and scans him over with a portable medical device that softly beeps.
Nate Briar smirks as he moves away from Willliam, "Well, who pissed in your cereal today?" He doesn't feel threatened or fearful of William. Infact, he finds it as a challenge. He keeps an eye on where James is; just to make sure he has a back up plan.
Wreck-Gar leans to Rodimus. "I thought it was a bit funny that no one had gone for the pin yet, Rodimus my son," he whispers.
Twitch is of course, fine. He's just had a mixture of one too many emotions for a high strung bird to handle in a moment. His optics light up again as Rodimus is scanning him, and he pipes up pathetically. "I'm so confused!"
Andi Lassiter watches this exchange with a momentary expression of confusion, then she puts one hand over her mouth as Wreck-Gar manages to silence the Spaniard with sheer illogic. That's about the time she notices that Twitch has gone into the mechabird equivalent of ferret shock and moves to stand. "Be right back, Marissa."
Marissa Faireborn's attention seems to be split between watching Andi getting ready to implement her plan ("I'll be waiting here to fill the cops in on what happened," she quips back to Andi) and the actual question and answer session for Spike himself. His return as SecGen is all but a foregone conclusion, but Marissa figured she had still better be here to show her support for a friend.
Rodimus Prime closes Twitch's panel, putting his scanner away. "Yeah, you're not the only one," he says dryly. "Maybe you should turn off your audial sensors and just listen to the radio for a bit? I'll fill you in on what happens after."
Spike Witwicky nods to the female inquisitor and takes a sip of water when Wreck-Gar's question gets bellowed and it's all he can do to not snerk the water through his nose. He doesn't laugh, though he does smile, as he wants to take the question seriously. The moderator is banging the gavel for order, in the wave of chuckles and laughter in the rest of the gallery. "Mister Witwicky, you /don't/ have to answer THAT question." H.R. Royce FitzRoyce says, motioning towards Wreck-Gar. Spike holds up a hand. "No, Mister Moderator." at that point the exchange between the Spanish Inquisitor and Wreck-Gar ensues. Spike is silent, hand still held up. When it finally calms down to a dull roar, "No, Mister Moderator," Spike begins anew, "Let me answer BOTH questions. Frankly, I welcome questions like this." he pauses, looking to the Spanish Inquisitor, as it is the most dire and serious of the two questions: "Mister Panelist, I understand that there is great animosity in Spain for the way they feel that they have been short-changed by the United Nations and the EDC. However, sir, I submit that the Spanish government is responsible for placing their national defense in that position." he pauses, "I am not sure if you are aware, but each member nation is provided a stipend for national defense that they are responsible for appropriating where they see fit. This is done to bolster the Earth Defense Command's forces in times of war as well as assist the defense of the country in question in the event of attack. This was not brought to my attention until /after/ I had stepped down, and upon research, have discovered that the Spanish Defense Appropriations Committee has done nothing but /squandered/ their stipend since 1988. The reason that the Principe de Asturias still sports technology from that era is because those responsible for its upkeep have used the funds to pay for everything from mortgages to call girls and /falsified/ the pertinent records so as not to call attention." another pause "How they manage to pass inspection after inspection is beyond me - however - let me say here and now that one of the first items on my agenda after being sworn in is a full audit of the National Stipend Defense Fund and formal charges filed against those in your government who are responsible. After that, we will be focusing on bringing Spain's National Defenses up to par with the rest of the nations." he says that in matter of fact tone, letting that being that before turning to Wreck-Gar, "Wreck-Gar, what are you?" he asks simply.
"A Junkion, of course," Wreck-Gar answers with a flip of his incredulously long robot goatee ('roatee' for those 'in the know'). "Anything less would be... uncivilized."
William realizes that the shouts were just the normal shouts of the Machines doing their human mockery. Hand slowly moving away from his pistol, he takes a step back and returns to leaning against the door frame. He doesn't bother with Nate any more. Just another Briar that he'll have to deal with.
Spanish Inquisitor pales in horror at the mention of the word "Audit" and is at a total loss for words. Eventually he just grumbles, "Very good, Mr. Witwicky," and settles for trying to crush his pen between his fingers.
Compton Xabat frowns in the audience. Oh, he'll pay for that, too, if he's inaugerated...
"I can handle it!" Twitch offers defiantly towards Rodimus' suggestion, propping himself up again and settling on the armrest of the Autobot Leader's chair as his new perch. He even puffs himself up, like the crab in a Loony Toons episode getting ready for a scrap.
Spike Witwicky nods, "And would you classify yourself as a mechanical being, Wreck-Gar?"
"I am a man barely alive," Wreck-Gar responds. "We can rebuild me. We have the technology. We can make me better than what I am. Harder, better, faster, stronger. I know I got to be right now -- 'cause I can't get much wronger. Man, I've been waitin' all night now -- that's how long I've been on ya. Understand?"
Spanish Inquisitor impatiently rifles through some papers, sending some flying off of his desk. "I... I do not care what he calls himself! He is just a stupid broken robot! Someone ask the next question!"
Spike Witwicky looks to the Spanish Inquisitor, then back to Wreck-Gar before saying, "Domo Arigato, Mister Roboto. The Defense rests, Judge Wapner." he looks back to the Moderator, "I'm ready to continue, Mister Moderator." before taking a sip of water. Mister Moderator is more than a bit red in the face and flummoxed, but as things seem ready to continue, he nods.
"We'll..we'll take this opportunity, as it seems a good point to, to field some questions from the Gallery." he motions to the microphones that stand in the aisles for people who are here to queue up to ask questions. Each one is manned by both an aide and security personnel.
Wreck-Gar points a finger gun at Spike and makes a clucking noise, with a wink on top of it. Satisfied, he sits down.
Conrad Reyes has arrived.
Andi Lassiter arrives next to Rodimus and Kup (and Twitch, by default). She looks up at the Autobot commander concernedly. "I saw Twitch fall down from across the way. Is he all right?"
"The bird's fine," Wreck-Gar responds, since Rodimus is evidently busy texting Blurr or something. "He learned that if you believe in yourself, you can do anything -- the true meaning of Christmas."
"I'm okay I'm..." Twitch trails off as Wreck-Gar offers another explanation, blinking his optics a few times. Well at least he's not going offline from some logic loopor the like. "...I think, I think I see what Springer meant when he was telling me about Junkions before."
Compton Xabat raises a hand, and speaks in a voice without any hint of a Spanish accent. "Mark Dreymond, NetNews. Mr. Witwicky, what will you do with the former Protectorate nations? Will you let bygones be bygones, or will you punish them for deciding to join that rogue organization?"
Andi Lassiter looks back at the center of the room, then opens the cylindrical container. "May I ask a favor of you, gentlemen?" The question is directed at Rodimus, Kup, Wreck-Gar, and anyone else right here. She pulls a rolled up banner tarp out of the cylinder. "Would you be so kind as to hold this up for me in just a moment?
Spike Witwicky clears his throat, "The former Protectorate Nations will be given the option of rejoining the United Nations with all due amnesty, or remaining self-sovereign. If they choose the latter, they will be responsible for providing for themselves in all fashions and the U.N. will treat them as a non-member nation. The decision will be up to the nations individually."
"I'd help but..I'm kinda small." Twitch offers. "...and I don't have hands."
After Spike answers Mr. Dreymond's question, there is the banging of the gavel. Clearing his throat the moderator says, "That seems like a good place to begin intermission. We will take a one hour recess and reconvene with more questions from our esteemed panels and those wishing to testify on your behalf, Mister Witwicky." and again the gavel: *bang bang bang bang*
Compton Xabat lowers his hand, a bit disappointed that Spike gave such a reasonable response. He was hoping to get a really extreme response from him. Ah well.
Wreck-Gar helpfully takes the banner. "Anything for a little lady," he says in his best (not good) John Wayne impersonation.
Powerglide looks around a bit, before leaning over to the closest person to him and whispering, "So, uh, what's goin' on?"
Kup nods to Andi. "He's doing fine, lass. Just had a bit of a Junkion Overload."
Andi Lassiter smiles up at Wreck-Gar. "Thank you so much. When I wave at you, open it up, okay?" And with that, she hurries over to one of the microphones, hoping it's still turned on. "Hey, Spike?" Boy, that sounds really odd projected all over the assembly room.
Wreck-Gar winks down at Andi, and stands at the ready.
Spike Witwicky is taking the opportunity not to have lunch or anything at this point, just taking a moment to collect his thoughts before seeing who all he knows is here. He looks up at the voice calling across the mic across the room, canting his head at Andi in a "whaaaa?" gesture.
Marissa Faireborn is still paying attention. Indeed, she's paying /more/ attention now that Andi looks like she's about to spring her surprise. While Faireborn doesn't /approve/ of Andi's plan, doesn't... /disapprove/ of it. She will, in the end, never admit to anyone how great it's going to be.
Twitch wants to get a better look at what's going to happen. So he flits off from the chair and soars down to where Andi is by the mike, landing on the railing with the soft tink of metal talons taking hold, curiously looking back to the banner that is about to be unveiled.
Meanwhile, the news machines springs back to life, highlighting the portions of the confirmation hearing that are particularly juicy and special guest critics cut-scened on news shows debate back and forth.
Andi Lassiter says, "Just one question for you, though I know it's recess time. How can we be assured that you will do your best for the countries of the United Nations when Mr. Reyerson is still waiting for you to make good on your promise to clean his storefront window." She waves at Wreck-Gar finally.
Wreck-Gar, assisted by one of his faithful Junkion interns (one of the stoner LotR nerd femmes who hangs out with Pipes), unfurls the banner!
Spike Witwicky walks towards Andi and the her co-conspirators, hands in his pockets and blinks, "Mister Reyerson? Reyerson.." he says to himself, he can be seen mouthing the words trying to think. "Wait..Ryerson..I haven't heard that name in..what..forty years?" he says confusedly. "What are you talking about, Andi?"
The banner is ten feet wide, and fifteen feet tall when completely unfurled, and on it is the super-sized image of a 10-year old Spike Witwicky, very much the image of a gawky boy, all freckles and cowlick and ears sticking out and a tooth missing and wearing some classicly bad early 1970s outfit. Emblazoned across the banner are the words, "Witwicky for UN Sec. General!"
Twitch coos, "Oooh I didn't know there was writing on it. Great! That should help his campaign! Right?"
Marissa Faireborn tsks, "I am so, so sorry, Spike," Marissa says far too softly for Spike to hear her way over where she is, leaning back in her chair. A golden halo appears over Marissa's head, for she is innocent.
Spike Witwicky just. blinks. "Oh my god." he says, still gobsmacked by a huge ten year old version of him. He looks around, but it's too late - ALL the cameras are catching it. He just spends a good ten, fifteen seconds blinking at that. He doesn't look mad. He just..just doesn't look like he knows quite where to put this.
Compton Xabat can't resist sneering at the "cute" banner. Inwardly, he muses that Spike hasn't changed so much since then.
Kup remains expressionless. On the inside, he is literally dying from laughter.
The Junkions /laugh/ and /laugh/ and /laugh/ and /point at Spike/ and /laugh/...
Twitch notices some people in the crowd haven't spotted what the excitement is about, and of course helpfully hops up and down where he's perched on the railing. "Hey! Hey! Over here! This way! The big banner!" Yep, even shouting to help the cameras point this way. He's SO helpful.
Spike Witwicky just shakes his head, looking at the banner and a few people give him a ribbing over it. He takes it good naturedly, but the red spreading across his face can't be hid. Neither can the "aw geeze" look in his eyes. He's not really mad because really if something like THIS is going to keep him from the job, maybe he doesn't want it so much then. He walks over towards Andi, "You." he says, a smirk spreading on his face.
Andi Lassiter is grinning from ear to ear. "Yup. Me."
Spike Witwicky shakes his head. "What am I gonna do with you, hmm?" he asks, looking back up at the banner, "Sheesh. I'm glad Daniel never looked like that, he'd never forgive me."
Twitch pauses from his hopping up and down as Spike comes up closer to take a real good look at him, then to the picture. Then back to Spike again. "Wow. I knew humans changed when they got older, but didn't realize the difference." The little Laserbeak clone hops down from his perch then and proceeds to hop back up towards the Autobot section of the seating.
The Junkions helpfully roll the banner back up and horse around, whapping each other with it like a toy sword.
Andi Lassiter grins at Spike. "Forget that I brought it here and think about where I would have found the photo." She offers the wallet-sized print to Spike.
Spike Witwicky chuckles and accept the wallet sized. He smirks, "Carly, I assume. Remind me to try and find pictures of her when she had braces and have it made into a billboard." he was going to say something else when the Moderator calls things back to order. "Coming back to order, this will be a last call for any questions from our Gallery and Confirmation panel before we move on."
The next panelist leans forward, an early middle-aged woman, WASP, mildly attractive in a politician's way...she could have been Carly's college roomate. She shoots a dirty look at some of the panelists who asked hard-nosed questions, then gives a practiced smile for the cameras before leaning close to the microphone.
"Mr Witwicky, can you share your thoughts on the cultural influence of these visitors from Cybertron? I'd like you to elaborate especially on the Autobots as role models, when they must regularly engage in destructive warfare. And also in the dangers of children watching programming such as Decepticonz." The panelist then smiles ingratiatingly. "And also, do you think you could get some Auto-graphs for my niece's fanbook. She's only missing Whiz and Chromia."
A few panelists roll their eyes, but some of the brown-nosers in the audience laugh politely and applaud in fake appreciation.
Andi Lassiter chuckles and nods, then turns to head back to her seat, pausing by Wreck-Gar and the others to get the banner back....or at least to get them to stop sword-fighting with it.
Wreck-Gar sighs, dejectedly, and hands it back to Andi.
Andi Lassiter manages to get the banner tucked back into its cylinder then returns to her seat, grinning at Marissa.
Compton Xabat mutters something unpleasant about the woman.
Spike Witwicky chuckles, "I'll see what I can do. It's been a little while since I've been to Autobot city." his tone warm and friendly. He clears his throat, "Now, to answer your questions - firstly, as far as the Autobots serving as rolemodels to our youth. I see them standing in that role, despite their the need to engage in warfare, no differently than a child looking up to one of our fine EDC troopers as a role model." he pauses and sips his water, "Now, I cannot possibly stress enough - and I hope I am quoted on this - Decepticonz is one of the most dangerous shows our youth can watch. It is nothing more than a pack of lies in every aspect, and I hope that anyone be they 6 or 60 would realize just how wrong that show is." one more beat pause, "Further more, the animation and voice acting is atrocious. I saw better animation and voice acting on Gobotron Wing Seedgelion Z when I was about as old as the young man in that rather large banner was."
The moderator waits for further questions and there not being any announces, "At this time, we'd like to accept statements from any who would like to testify on the nominees behalf." he looks around, looking amongst the assembled masses.
Rodimus Prime stands up at the moderator's prompting. "I have something to say," he states, his voice clear and resounding but not too forceful as it rebounds off the walls of the assembly. Rodimus chooses to remain where he stands, his voice projecting well enough that he needs no artificial amplification. "Spike was one of the Autobots' first friends upon our arrival to planet Earth in 1984. He was only a young man, then, but his knowledge of your culture, people and ways were invaluable in our early years here. His friendship is the foundation of all cooperation between my species and your own. You will be lucky to have him as your Secretary General once more, and I look forward to a new era of cooperation and friendship between the Autobots and all people who call this planet their home." He nods. "Thank you."
Wreck-Gar stands up behind Rodimus, and appends Rodimus' statement with "He's GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREAT!"
Rodimus Prime smirks and jerks his thumb at Wreck-Gar. "Yeah, and what he said."
Spike Witwicky blushes at Rodimus' words. He smiles, though. "Thank you, Rodimus Prime." says the Moderator. "Does anyone else want to speak before the Confirmation Panel adjourns to make their decision?"
Many of the EDC troops scattered around the assembly hall bark out cheers. "Spike!" "Hoo-ah!" "WITWICKY!"
There's a bit of laughter that goes through the crowd as some of the EDC spouts off. The moderator can't help but smile at that, "If there's nothing else, the Confirmation Panel will now adjourn and make their deceision."
The Confirmation Panel adjourns and stays that way for the better part of the day leaving coming and going and alot of socializing to do for those who stick around. And because Durango gave me the code for it and I haven't used it yet..
- LATER THAT DAY ***
The Moderator announces that the panel has reached a decision. The hearing reconvened, the panel hands a paper to the Moderator who clears his throat and leans into the microphone. "This is your final decision, so say you all?" is asked of panel, and they reply in the affirmative. H.R. Royce FitzRoyce once again clears his throat, "We, the selected Confirmation Panel, do find in the Nominee - Spike Witwicky - that he does contain the leadership, the diplomacy, and the wisdom required to assume the role of Secretary General of the United Nations. Further more, the loyalty invested in him by members of the Earth Defense Command, and the friendship and mutual respect accorded him by our esteemed Autobot friends do indeed make him an unsurpassable nominee and done on this day we do confirm Spike Witwicky as Secretary General. Congratulations."
Rodimus Prime applauds loudly, before putting his fingers in his mouth. Despite not having any lungs, somehow this allows him to whistle. "Yeah, go Spike!"
Spike Witwicky, to his merit, takes the proclomation with a look of relief and weariness but a broad smile none the less. The panel is dismissed and almost immediately, he is swarmed by press, newly inherited advisors, and various and sundry others. Spike waves them off as he heads to where his friends and family are. Giving hugs to Carly and Daniel wether they like them or not he gives a grin and hugs Andi, and shakes hands with Michael Briar and the EDC boys but he finally gets to Rodimus to whom he smiles and looks up at. "Thank you for that." he says simply, hoping the unspoken emotions are conveyed. Those of warmth, respect, and friendship.