Elaborate Lies

Speedy Jack's Palace o' Fun

This place looks almost like someone took a garbage dump and made it flashy, but with that same polished look as the rest of Monacus. The majority of the patrons certainly belong in a dump, anyways. Maybe it's just to add a sense of authenticity.

A bar stretches from one end of the far wall to the other, with shiny brass railings and little bowls of snacks. Large clear refrigerator doors line the wall behind the bar, displaying various drinks, some the likes of which one could never even imagine, and it's mindboggling to think what species would drink *that*. The floorspace is filled with tables and booths, most of which are along the walls. To the left, a kiosk with gaudy flashing lights advertises itself as the 'official Speedy Jack's souvernir booth'.

But to the right, is something most out of place. While the building looked fairly big from the outside, the right side of this room opens up into a massive room, filled with gaming machines and tables. Exotic plants streak to the ceiling above, fighting for room with neon-colored tubes of light.Blurr walks into Speedy Jack's, somewhat of a trashy place compared to most, and definitely a very trashy place compared to most of the recreational facilities Blurr is used to frequenting. But...it was the one place that he figured Contrail might check out first. After all, the message did bear his signature. A reply from her might have been too easily tracked.

He makes his way to the bar and sits down heavily. He was really starting to feel the damage he'd taken at the Istoral the other cycle--probably should've gone to the repair bay before coming here...he's actually quite battered. Cracks and energon stains can be seen all along his outer armor, and he looks rather drained. A few patrons glance nervously his way, but no one asks him what happened or makes any comments about his condition, which doesn't come as a surprise. Most of the other denizens of this galaxy knew better than to associate with Cybertronians, regardless of faction or lack thereof.

Anyway...yeah, he'd be in trouble if this Decepticon is simply planning on assassinating him. Though this probably wouldn't be a very good place for it. Not that he thought the Decepticons cared about that but...well, who knew? Maybe some of them did...

To be honest he doesn't know a whole lot about Contrail. He's seen her, and read Intel's files on her, but beyond that he doesn't know very much. What exactly is her game plan? Was she really sincere? Would she actually start trusting him if he pretended to agree with her ideology? Only one way to find out, he supposes.

Groaning slightly he reaches for one of the snack bowls, picking a few energon sticks out of it. He's actually surprised they have those here...

Lamborghini Gallardo  has a number of paranoid thoughts. One is that Blurr could have arranged an ambush. He could be aiming to blackmail her. He could slap a tracer on her. He could /brainwash/ her, if she has another Autobot who does that knd of thing stowed away in here somewhere. He could frame her for a crime. The possibilities are endless.

However, if Blurr does show, it gives Contrail one benefit: Blurr's /not/ on Cybertron, Charr, or Earth, ruining the righteous Decepticon war effort. Fast and unique as he is, wasting his time is very valuable indeed.

"I figured you would be found in a placed called 'Speedy'," the Triple-Changer declares when she sights Blurr. "So good of you to meet me, Blurr." She holds her hand out to shake. "I would have suggested a drive-in, but I'm afraid they're a dying establishment these days. Very sad."

In a transformation that is harder than it looks, Contrail rises up into robot mode.

Blurr looks up immediately from the bar as Contrail makes her presence known. He does his best to hide the slight relief he feels because it at least looks like she isn't planning on murdering him. At least not right away. Which is a good thing, because that would give him time to plan an escape if it were necessary.

Smiling weakly, he takes her handshake, nodding. "Heh, yeah. I figured you'd catch on--you're brighter than most of 'em, I could tell that right away." he says, before letting go and gesturing toward an adjacent empty barstool for her to sit down on. "So about what you were saying earlier. You know, down in that new city." That now belonged to the Autobots. "About Velocitron. You're probably right. If it all came down to that, that's likely to be the first place I'd go."

<Autobot> Spindrift says, "Keep yer optics open sir, if there's one of those hooligans here the others may not be far behind."

<p class="MsoNormal"><Autobot> Impactor says, "If they've got half a processor, they'll keep hidin' in the sewage they're treadin' in."

<p class="MsoNormal">Maybe Contrail feels that Blurr better serves her purposes alive. Maybe he should be worried!

<p class="MsoNormal">Maybe not.

<p class="MsoNormal">Her handshake is firm but not crushing. She isn't playing mean, at least not immediately. She echoes. "Velocitron." Her expression quirks, optics darkening. "Would that satisfy you?"

<p class="MsoNormal">Contrail sits down, fussing a moment with her downwings, making sure they don't bump the other patrons or furniture.

<p class="MsoNormal">"..." Blurr doesn't answer for a moment, then vents a sigh as air passes over his rear boosters. "To be honest with you Contrail--I don't know. I mean, it's the closest thing to what my life was like before the war that I can think of." He shakes his head, averting his optics for a moment.

<p class="MsoNormal">"But what about you, huh? What would you do? What if, let's say, the war ended, and you're still alive. Regardless of who won or who didn't, you're free to do whatever it is you want. Where would you go?" he asks, before falling silent, waiting for an answer.

<p class="MsoNormal">"I hardly think that what I would do would be interesting," Contrails demurs. "I was not created unique, as you were. But you... would wish your own kind to be there, yes? To see you win. To cheer you on. To be /beaten/ by you. To establish, again and again, that you are /better/ than them. Yes?"

<p class="MsoNormal">She drums her fingers on the bar, and then, a bit more cheerily, she asks, "How do you you take your fuel?"

<p class="MsoNormal">"And why not?" Blurr asks, chuckling slightly. "'Interesting' is a subjective term, you know." he smirks a little, fiddling absently with the energon sticks, then pauses, thinking about her questions. "Heh." A pause and a shrug.

<p class="MsoNormal">Then, "Well, you know me...I mean, you don't really know me personally, but you've seen enough of me. It'd be just like the good old days. But you won't tell them that, right? I mean, they already think I'm some kind of self-obsessed egomaniac." It isn't entirely true, but why not let her think it? "My fuel...well--it depends on the situation. But more often than not, I prefer it injected directly into my lines if that's at all possible. Straight into my systems, you know? No pre-procressing...the faster the better." He sucks up another stick. "Why did you join the Decepticons, anyway? Like, did Megatron just tell you all the things you wanted to hear and you were sold, or what?"

<p class="MsoNormal">Biff hands Contrail a menu.

<p class="MsoNormal">Biff patiently waits for an order to be placed.

<p class="MsoNormal">Contrail can read a dossier! She steeples her fingers and points out softly, "None of your... friends will believe a word I say about you, you know that, right? You could say the very worst slander about them, you could even tell me that Whirl desecrates corpses in his spare time and you just find it so obnoxious, and no Autobot or EDC member would listen to me, were I to repeat it."

<p class="MsoNormal">"Mmmm, so I can't buy you a drink, then? Pity." She looks away and over at the waiter and orders herself something.

<p class="MsoNormal">Biff the Waiter saunters off, presumably toward the kitchen.

<p class="MsoNormal">Contrail then adds, "I was built a Decepticon. It is literally my purpose in life to serve the Empire. I would not exist, otherwise."

<p class="MsoNormal">Biff the Waiter returns from the kitchen or whereever he went, bearing a humungous glass of enerJolt!. He sets it down in front of Contrail and says, "Here ya go. One glass o' enerJolt!." He then walks off in the direction of another cry of "Oh, waiter!"

<p class="MsoNormal">"Oh, you'd be surprised." Blurr counters. "I can think of a few who might." He ignores her comment about buying him a drink. He's already pretty vulnerable as it is, he doesn't need to make himself even more vulnerable by getting overcharged. And he gets overcharged easily. Gotta be built light in order to move so fast.

<p class="MsoNormal">"And for the record, Whirl probably does desecrate corpses. If he doesn't actually do it I'd put shanix on him at least dreaming of doing so..." he pauses, pondering her response to his question. "So you basically didn't have a choice, huh. But are you sure about that? That you'd cease to exist if you defected, simply because you stopped serving the Decepticons? Even if you were able to evade the DJD?"

<p class="MsoNormal">Contrail takes a sip of her enerJolt! Ugh, not really her thing, but they don't sell her beverage of choice here.

<p class="MsoNormal">She drums her fingers on the bar some more when Blurr mentions that Whirl probably does desecrate corpses. Huh. Well. Good to have that confirmed!?

<p class="MsoNormal">Contrail looks over Blurr seriously and says, "We all have choices, but we cannot deny what we are and what we were made to do. Tell me, if you were rendered /forever/ unable to unable to run and race, what would you be, Blurr?"

<p class="MsoNormal">Blurr props his head on a hand, and an elbow on the bar, peering sideways at her. He smirks a little. "Heh. What would I be? Well...what would you be, without the Decepticons?" he asks, turning the question around.

<p class="MsoNormal">"I've answered almost all of your questions, Contrail. But you--you've only made vague statements in response to mine. What if for some reason, Galvatron died and the Decepticons were placed under new management. Management that discharged you without sending anyone after you."

<p class="MsoNormal">Contrail throws her head back and looks at Blurr down her nose. She replies firmly, "To be a Decepticon is to conquer every mountain shown. It is more than a badge or a name. Were I cast out, the correct response would be to go forth into the universe, raise my own force, and send my agents back to undermine the leadership that cast me out, and then to return and CRUSH," she squeezes her can of enerJolt! and it creaks and dents inward, "my enemies, which is what they would deserve for placing themselves between me and my goals. You could take my head and take my hands. You could take every part of me, but if all I could do was PLOT as a disembodied mind, and I would still be a Decepticon in spirit."

<p class="MsoNormal">She takes a swig of her drink.

<p class="MsoNormal">"Does that answer satisfy you?"

<p class="MsoNormal">Blurr listens to her answer, smirking inwardly. Heh. It didn't surprise him--he figured she'd say something like that. It made sense. That was why they needed a group like the DJD. That was why they needed a leader who could coerce and terrify into submission. It worked, all right. But...it certainly had its downfalls.

<p class="MsoNormal">He sits up, straightening a little, lifting his head off of his hand. "Sounds a lot like me back in my race days. Maybe you were right about the wrong side of the battlefield...I guess I thought, you know, back when Zeta was around, that Optimus and Ironhide and all them had something so much more worthy to fight for. Always more glorious to be viewed as a hero, right? One that goes and saves government officials and stuff. Since the races were gone, I knew I'd eventually be forgotten as an athlete, but maybe I could be recognized for something far more important, before I faded into complete obscurity..."

<p class="MsoNormal">"...Like saving the Prime...heh."

<p class="MsoNormal">The courier shakes his head, trailing off.

<p class="MsoNormal">"Not that any of it matters any more. It's just like you said. Not many of my allies would believe anything you said about me or any of them. If we were to turn that around--even if I were to waltz up to a checkpoint at Polyhex, renouncing my loyalty to Rodimus Prime and swearing my allegiance to Galvatron--they'd probably just laugh at me and then start shooting."

<p class="MsoNormal">An elaborate lie, probably one that he'd thought about before coming here. Blurr might not have been an actor by trade, but as a celebrity he'd certainly been pulled into more than a few commercials and other show business gigs.

<p class="MsoNormal">Contrail takes joy in her cause. She does not need a DJD hanging over her head to keep her in line.

<p class="MsoNormal">The fact is, were the DJD to step out of line, she'd be going for /their/ heads.

<p class="MsoNormal">She leans back and says, "There /is/ a more intelligent way to handle such a matter, and I think you know it. If you were really sincere, it helps to have someone on the inside." She doesn't think he is, though, but hey, she's wasting his time. She grins, widely, viciously. "Someone to tell the guards not to shoot. It'd be up to you to force them to stop laughing."

<p class="MsoNormal">"Yeah?" Blurr's optics brighten slightly at this. "You could do that, eh? Without Galvatron or Shockwave coming down on you for ordering a ceasefire on an Autobot? Heh.

<p class="MsoNormal">"But you're right, there is a much more intelligent way to go about it. A much more...subtle way. You know what I'm talking about. You're Intel director, yeah?" The courier smirks, then slides out of his seat. "Thanks for your time, Contrail. I'll be seeing you around, 'kay?" He turns to go, but looks back over his shoulder to add, "That is, if you're still interested."

<p class="MsoNormal">And he leaves it at that. As battered as he is, he's still fast as ever. Before one could even finish saying his name, Blurr is gone from Speedy's!