Fashion Show

Fashion Planet

The Fashion Planet is a massively populated world, with cities stretching across the entire surface of the planet. It is also spectacularly beautiful on its night side due to a carefully arranged array of lavender, pink, and white lights. Traffic getting to the planet is heavy, especially on what looks like a massive landing strip hundreds of miles wide. On closer examination, however, you will realize that it is no landing strip at all, but a massive, gaping hole leading straight to the core of the planet.

Should you follow the tunnel down, you will see that the core has been hollowed out to create what is perhaps one of the most massive auditoriums in the galaxy, with room for literally billions of spectators. And all that for an array of free-floating lights, including an illuminated strip to indicate a sort of catwalk. As there is virtually no gravity here at the core, it is possible to float about, and contestants in events are usually given some means of getting about on their own in the low-g conditions.

The Fashion Planet. A massive, extremely advanced world dedicated to one pursuit--looking *fabulous.* And today, it is having its centennial fashion event, a massive production drawing crowds from all over the galaxy. There are many contestants, garbed in a variety of amazing, bewildering, and sometimes *wrong* garments. Before now, a multitude of strange creatures drifted out into the strange catwalk set up here in the core of the planet, though it is really more of a cat*float* given the low gravity. The staff provide free antigravity pods sufficient to help the contestants move around at walking speed.

In a floating dressing room near the cat"walk," the Autobot Repugnus is giving his comrades the low down on what's going on. "So, big fashion show, every one hundred years, blah blah blah, important thing is the prize. You idiots would waste it, but me? I have plans for this miracle substance that--supposedly--can be transformed into just about anything you want, and those plans involve Decepticons dying in the thousands. So. Let me win." He glares about the room. Then, he puts his audial to the door as some noise starts up. "Ooh, looks like we're coming up."

"And now," an orange-skinned humanoid in a pink tux announces as he floats gracefully about the stage, followed by a throng of female aliens in wispy dresses, like they were ghosts. "I have a special surprise for you people! For the first time EVER in our world's history, we have ACTUAL CYBERTRONIANS taking part in the Great Fashion Show! Yes, we've had robots before, but you've never seen anything like this!" The crowds begin a deafening chear, a chorus of billions.

Barkida crosses her arms and scowls at Repugnus, slave girls making finishing touches to her wig and zipping up her filmy, bejeweled dress. She would prefer to have her bare feet planted firmly on the ground around something as dangerous as Repugnus, but the null-gravity is causing problems with that. Also the high heeled sandals one of her dressers is strapping onto her. So the scowl has to be extra effective. "I can't allow that, man-machine. I have been given a quest to bring back this material, from the lips of my Queen, the First and Most High. Your couture cannot hope to defeat the greatest designers of Femax. Your kind does not even wear clothes!"

"I can't believe I'm doing this. Have we really sunk this low? We have a freaking -war- to cover back home and I gotta freelance for this kinda crap. I mean seriously?" Microphone in hand...er...clamp, Backtalk stands backstage just off to the side of where the crowd can see. The boxy robot has a magnetic clip-on bowtie that, for some reason, a stagehand is still fussing with, like it could be fluffed up or something when it's actually made of metal.

"War reporting gets the ratings but it doesn't get us the scratch for a new broadcast studio." The cameramech pipes up, before raising one hand, "And you're on in five...four...three...two..."

"This freaking racket better have a good paycheck for me to suffer through this face of a..." The light clicks on, signalling on-the-air. "...HEL-LO! Faithful viewers! This is Backtalk for Cybertron Datanet News bringing you a special intergalactic broadcast of the centennial Intergalactic Fashion Show! We're going to show you fashions from every corner of the galaxy of every conceivable, color, material and shape. Heck, in fact, some of the species attending tonight -are- the latest fashions everyone's talking about!" As Backtalk speaks, he 'drives' back and forth, special magnetic receptors in his single tire keeping him solidly on the 'ground' for the moment while he pans it up for the camera as the crowd begins to cheer outside. "Just listen to that audience! They've been waiting for this for ages! Or rather, a century at the least. Can ya believe some of these organic species only get to see -one- of these before their short lifespans are over? Yeeeah, crazy I know!"

Sit-Com raspberries at Barkida. "We can if we want!" he says. Currently he is all gussied up in something that looks like it was stolen from Dame Edna. Complete garish satin dress with pink feather boa draped around his shoulders. He even has an oversize pair of black hornrim glasses.

"I just wish they came in some other color aside from rare earth metal grey," Tracks exhales in disappointment as he picks at the maglocks at the bottom of his raised foot. The other is locked onto the lower railing of his Guest Judge's director's chair located halfway down the runway. With a faintly bored air, he glances down his nose at the readout of the participating planets. "Oh, Brandax," he chortles in amusement. "Always trying too hard. I'm sure the model will look like a Barefoot Appalachain Lil' Abner Barbie."

Foxfire isn't quite sure how he was talked into this. Fashion was never his think, after all--he's not a narcissist like Tracks or Sunstreaker. At this time he is decked out in a white scarf and an Australian-style brimmed hat, the latter having holes for his ears to fit through. "Yeah, sure," he mutters as he sits on his haunches, claws idly into the floor. "If you can win, Repugnus, then by all means..." He idly flicks an ear at Barkida, but doesn't acknowledge her words other than that.

The shuttle was unmarked, flagged as a civilian craft, it was used by DCI occasionally when they really needed to go unnoticed... Ravage had come alone, putting the shuttle in an innocuous place before slipping off into the shadows with his EME shield activated. The crowds filtering in for the show made it easy for Ravage to get this far, and his Anti-gravity units should allow him to operate even in this environment - but the layout will be a challenge. For the moment the cat is at the edge, crouched low and using maglocks to stay put for the moment while he sweeps the entire area, formulating a plan.

Lord Galvatron would have many uses for the material they are awarding, and thus it was his - all Ravage had to do was remind the current owners of that fact. Ideally without them actually knowing he was there.

Tracks scowls, and scribbles on his pad and paper. A lot.

Instead of stealing the material like Ravage was, Scorn actually decided to perform. Sure she had plenty of previous opportunites to participate, but the prize was too great to pass up. At the moment the insecticon was in a seperate dressing room from the Bots, having the final touches put on her outfit, even going so far to temporarily change her colors.

With helpers working on the extra peices to be put on soon Scorn would peek out of the room, yellow optics framed by now white with violet dusted face peering around to check out any competition idling for their turn.

Repugnus gives Barkida a look that should remind her of the occasional Man-Beast that is a little smarter and much, much more dangerous than the rest. The kind that gets her fellow Femaxians pulling out all the stops to get it killed no matter the cost. "Heh. And what will you do with it, make something *gold* out of it? Do you even realize how useless gold is to a highly advanced civilization, you backwater b..." Then he smiles. "Sorry, *where* are my manners? I'm sure you'll make good use of it... or you would, if you were going to win. And you're wrong about one thing--we CAN wear clothes. It just usually doesn't make any sense. Lemme show you..."

AUTOBOT SPINNY! Dun dun dundun, dun! AUTOBOT SPINNY!

Repugnus is now in his insect mode, and is wearing a frilly pink skirt, high heels, and a blonde wig. "Ta da! Look upon my works, ye mighty, and DESPAIR!"

Eventually, a stage hand pokes his head in, points at Repugnus, then points his thumb over his shoulder. "Ooh, looks like I'm up! Wish me luck!" And so Repugnus drifts out of the room in his absurd getup, smiling happily as he spreads his talons. A significant portion of the audience falls into stunned silence as he drifts out onto the "catwalk," which is really just two illuminated bars floating in space, indicating a route for the contestants. He gracefully twirls forward between the two bars, flicking his talons out now and then, then he drifts back.

"Ahhh, um..." the announcer says. "We have the Autobot Repugnus, our first Cybertronian contestant. He... uh... wow. He's different! I'll give him that."

Then, a shrill noise erupts. Yes, it appears that the insectoid portion of the audience is going berserk at this display, like a horde of millions of cicadas all singing at once, entreating the beguiling insect robot to allow them to fertilize Repugnus's eggs... and other things too horrible to imagine.

Repugnus giggles, curtsies, and drifts back into his dressing room. The announcer is just left there to rub his forehead, blinking at what he just witnessed.

"That was awesome!" Repugnus declares triumphantly to the other Autobots on his return.

Repugnus twists and flips around into his horrific creature mode!

Tracks writes down 'vuvuzelas' in response to the cicada cacophony.

Barkida peeks out from behind the curtain at Repugnus' bizarre display. "It doesn't make any sense, that much was truth," she asides to her dressers. "Well! I must get into character. How is my hair?"

"Perfection, Fourth to Die!" replies one of the slave girls. "Like unto Ma'hii, the goddess of fire and doom herself!"

Barkida nods, satisfied with this.

Foxfire is busy watching Repugnus. Or more accurately, he's staring. He seems to be in shock and disbelief. As a groan escapes his vocalizer, Foxfire slowly raises a front paw to cover his eyes. "Why am I so surprised?" he says quietly. "This isn't even the weirdest thing he's ever done..." His ears twitch as he hears something nearby, and he looks up as a stage hand beckons him. "My turn already?"

He gets up from his spot, still sporting his scarf and hat, and heads out, anti-gravs activated. It's awesome being an Autobot who can fly.

The mecha-panther's scans are giving him a fairly detailed look at his surroundings, though he sincerely wishes he had a proper radar system. Ravage launches from the wall, drifting carefully, using internal currents for the moment while he makes his way towards one of the floating rooms. The first and most important thing that the cat must do is find where the material is held - the second is avoid those pesky Autobots, one of them might have the ability to detect him!

As he drifts a bit too close to a group his anti-gravs give the softest of pushes and the kitty is flying, angling for a room that he detects to be little used - it will make a good vantage point for his next move!

"If it doesn't make sense, IT'S NOT TRUE!" Sit-Com exclaims in a Judge Judy voice mock-up. He twirls one end of the feather boa idly. The satin dress has a few sequins on it that reflect the light like little diamonds. Or rather, like little cubic zirconia or paste jewels. "I'm too sexy for this shirt, too sexy for this shirt so sexy it huuuurts."

He's not wearing a shirt.

Backtalk turns, as the camera pans out to show the 'catwalk' and the contestants starting to do their thing, "Looks like the show is getting underway, so let's waste no more time in getting a good look at the proceedings! We have some returning champions from the -last- fashion show, but they won't be showing up till tonight's finale. Starting out, we have the first ever Cybertronian contestants too! Isn't it great to know that the Autobots and Decepticons can STILL spare time out for frivolous things even when they're busy blowing each other to smithereens?"

Backtalk briefly fills the camera screen with his face. "HUH!? ISN'T IT!?"

He retreats from the camera image, just as he spots, "And first we have...oh dear -Primus- it's Repugnus. How did -he- get here? And what in the name of the creator is he wearing!? He's...I...I don't know. Is it dancing, is it a threat display? Is it a miming of some organic mating dance? I don't know but it certainly seems to be driving the insectoid portions of the audience -crazy-. I guess there's just no accounting for taste is there? There isn't enough energon in the universe for me to drink -that- memory away!"

After Repugnus shatters the psyches of the fashion world, Tracks ahems, and begins to line up the 'ins' to the right side of the staging area, and the 'outs' to the left. "Let's see here, Sit-Com is it? I have to say, this look is a bit... matronly. I feel like you were designing Joan Crawford. There's nothing therapeutic at all about it unless you're a control freak. I know /I'm/ putting my hangars away for this one. Despite that, I feel like the design still has some potential. One more chance, and you'd better wow us."

"Boring," he dismisses a gazelle-like creature with haunted eyes.

Sit-Com POINTS at Backtalk. "Papparazzi!"

Sit-Com rolls his optics at Tracks. "This isn't Mommy Dearest, this is Mother. She's looking for her axe and shower cap."

The announcer recovers, gesturing with a hand to the Autobot dressing room. "Next up, we have the Autobot Foxfire! Haha, let's hope that this one is a little more... mainstream!" He grins at his own joke, and he gets maybe a few thousand chuckles... which isn't much considering the mind-boggling size of the audience here.

Meanwhile, Repugnus's ugly mouth forms a thin line as he listens to Barkida's slaves praising their owner. Repugnus has few principles, but the ones he has, he takes very seriously. And foremost among them is freedom. "Swwwiiiing loooowwww, sweeeet chariootttttt. Comin for to carry me hooooome!" he sings to the slaves.

Scorn has to catch herself from bursting out laughing when she spots Repugnus, of all mechs, do his little thing on the catwalk, which someone grabs the attention of one section of the audience immensley.

But she simply shakes her head and watches some more contestants, including Foxfire's rather adorable getup, before ducking back in the dressing room to finish getting ready for her turn.

Tracks shuffles cards and replies cryptically, "I understand that you don't want the bloom to fade, Sit-Com."

He's still trying to process what Repugnus laid out. "It certainly got a -REACTION-, but was it the right one? I can appreciate a designer that takes risks, but this is just a mess. I know I made a lot of bad decisions at 3 AM, but this takes the proverbial ca--" One of the other judges muffles his mike and leans in, indicating the excited insectoid contigent. "...I -disagree- abjectly," Tracks frowns. "The other judges are quite -HAPPY- that you have come up with a clear voice for your market, Repugnus," he calls to the Monsterbot's back.

Foxfire shoots a quick, subtle glance at the announcer that seems to say, 'Be glad I'm not crossdressing.' He steadily flies over to the bars marking the contestants' route, where he does his best to pose and show off his accessories, then turns and heads back. He's surprised to hear some cheers--those are mostly coming from the foxlike aliens in the audience. Huh.

Foxfire also wonders what Tracks thinks of his get-up. Considering he's only wearing two items, he imagines that he probably fails. Oh well.

Backtalk's single camera optic whirrs a few times as if to still get the horrible, horrible images of Repugnus out of his vision. A white cloth is produced in his free hand and he quickly wipes the lens clear before straightening up again, "Aaaaand moving right along, it looks like we've got one of Blaster's tapes coming out. I didn't know this was an animal show!"

"D'aaaaww!" Someone can be heard cooing like an idiot off the camera.

Backtalk gestures idly with his free hand, "Yeah yeah it's...cute. I get it. Turbofox in a hat and scarf?"

"You're such a jerk, Backtalk!"

"Hey, you know what I had for my last refueling? NADA! Zilch! I had my last energon ration stolen...BY A TURBOFOX that wrestled it outta my hand! After this gig I get to refuel for the first time in -three- weeks. Oh by the way, THANKS GALVATRON!"

He falls silent and sulks as someone keeps chattering in his audial radio. "I'm -totally- being professional. Hrmph. OKay okay..." his attention swings back towards the catwalk, "what's next?"

"Five minutes, Faxmachines!" says a squid-like runway staffer as it squirts past on a jet of air.

Barkida peeks out of the curtain again and gulps. There are so many people... and things... and things which are also people, watching! If it was a battle she would have more confidence, but this is fashion. Fashion is scarier. "Wish me good fortune!" Barkida orders her slaves.

"The spirits walk with you!" "May you scatter your enemies before you and taste hot blood!" "Break someone's leg!" they reply.

The champion screws up her courage and straightens her back, and kicks off to drift out onto the runway, spotlights fixing on her and splintering their light into glittering sparkles as it strikes the many-jeweled diaphanous drapery of her grecian-like dress.

"Ah, the Femaxians," the announcer says, sounding relieved after that business with Repugnus. The humanoid members of the audience are also appreciative, showing it with cheering and applause. "These isolationist techno-barbarians have been called the uncut diamonds of galactic civilization, but that might not be entirely correct! Barky-Da is wearing an Elie Saab-inspired design, a surprisingly light and modern look. No animal furs or gold plate to be seen! Let's give her a hand, folks. I reproduce by budding, but even I'm ready for a bit of the old snu-snu! Ha ha, ha. But I kid the Space Amazons. Let's bring out the next contestant."

The Femaxian slaves stare at Repugnus, uneasy with his presence while the warrior is out on the catwalk. They clearly don't get the reference.

The announcer also looked a bit perplexed as Foxfire drifted out wearing a scarf and hat, but he clapped politely. After the horrors he witnessed earlier, it's a vast improvement.

"$29.99 prom WOULD be hot seller," Tracks sniffs to the overruling judge, before standing up to stride over to intercept Foxfire on his way back from the catwalk. "Quadruped fashion does have its challenges," he smiles thinly. "The Red Baron and Paul Hogan have had a love child! I think that you've tapped into a Victorian time-travel paradox. Make it punchier, and you could have a winner, kid. And get some CLOTHES on, what, were you raised in a barn?" He tears off a sheet from his critique pad, flicks his cyan optics a bit nervously back to the main dressing room, and presents the sheet to Foxfire.

Bug Creature < Repugnus > shakes his bulbous head at Foxfire as he returns. "Oh, little foxy. Poor you, not going to win. Oh, and Tracks? Thing about appealing to insects is... there's a *lot* of them. Hell, some of the queenies out there are probably hatching more babies right now to get in some last-minute votes. 'Course, the judges have the final say, but the people can sway their decisions sometimes... one way or another..." He looks off to the side.

Noticing the slaves' perplexed look, he says, "Oh, that's just a Civil War thing, I'll tell you about it sometime."

"Beef Chop suey, Egg fu Yung. Fortune Cookie always wrong," Sit-Com replies, equally cryptically, to Tracks. A few gumby Junkion assistants hustle Sit-Com towards the curtain. He rides the antigrav device like a surfboard, the dress weaving back and forth as he maneuvers. It's sheer satin in a very light shade of pink, almost white, and the sequins are evenly spaced at about 3 feet from each other. The feather boa ruffles in the breeze caused by Sit-Com's motion. He does his little turn on the catwalk, on the catwalk, yeah. Several Junkion audience members Arsenio-hoot and whistle.

Backtalk watches as Barkida moves out to show off for the crowd, letting the camera get a good look at the Amazonian giant before he finally pipes up his commentary, "So as you can hear from the announcer, this is one of those Femaxians and she looks...nice, I guess." He briefly looks off camera, then shrugs. "What!? You want more? Ugh..."

Letting out a sigh, the blocky robot gestures out, "Look folks I'm not much into organic stuff...and all the frills and laceys and such. I'm sure she looks -real- pretty to a lot of the flesh and blood types out there, but c'mon look at me. I'm a genderless robot for cryin out loud. I suppose you could give those Amazonian women credit for something alright. I mean take a good look out there!" He gestures with his free clamp to the portions of the audience that love it, "She's getting a good reaction. And hey, the jduges have gotta give her some bonus points for the fact she hasn't gruesomely -killed- anyone and eaten their innards yet!"

A pause, he listens off camera, "...Femaxians don't eat the innards? Well geeze, do I look like an expert!?"

Ravage stares down at the contestants, taking a moment to record his disgust for the entire display in his personal log. The cat launches then, cutting across the space again, trying to get to the heart of the massive core - he still hasn't worked out precisely where the material is, but he knows where the bots are, so he's keeping his distance.

The announcer gives Sit-Com another baffled look, and inwardly resolves to tell the show's producers to leave a note for their descendants that the Cybertronians are not to be reinvited for the next Intergalactic Fashion Show. "Ahem... that was... Sit-Com! Of the Junkions! As... an old lady?... I... yeah!"

Meanwhile, Ravage should be able to find a metal sphere near the actual fashion show. There are no sapient guards there, and the numerous signs floating around warning sapient life-forms not to approach ought to give a clue as to why. There are, however, plenty of drones surrounding it with amber camera-eyes, somewhat ovoid in shape. They have no obvious weapons, but the panels on their bodies suggests that they may secretly be packing heat. At the moment, they are scanning their environs optically and with infrared beams sweeping up and down periodically.

Foxfire just looks at Tracks while the biped gives his critique. At the end, he raises an optic ridge. "Get some clothes on? You DO realize I'm a *fox*, right?" He mutters something as he takes the sheet in his jaws and then proceeds back into the dressing room. "Raised in a barn...*please*."

And then, despite all odds, and all the thousands of different scents in drifting around, Foxfire detects a very familiar one. Frowning, he slips over to one of the dressing room's back exits, peering through the hanging sheets as he tries to find the source of the scent, distant as the other mech is. He's onto you, Ravage!

Combat: Foxfire searches for Ravage.

Combat: Ravage has been found!

Barkida wipes flop sweat from the back of her neck as she comes back into the dressing room area, clearly relieved to be out of the spotlight. "Are you harassing my slaves?" she demands of Repugnus, noticing their nervous looks and his talking to them. "Anything you can say to them you can say to me."

"Aaaand now we've got a Junkion parading around." Backtalk quips, before getting a really confused look. Which is a small miracle in itself due to the fact that he doesn't even really have a face. Just that one telescopic optic of his. "You know what? I can live with this. As horrifying as a giant mechanical bug in a skirt is to imagine, the Junkions watch all kinds of that stuff on TV, right? Maybe he's emulating a favorite character, that I don't know about. What? No I am -not- gonna 'badmouth them like I usually do'! And it totally has nothing to do with Junkions making up 40% of my viewing audience either!"

Once the helpers place the final touches on Scorn she's ready to go on stage. With the contestant ahead of her finishing their turn she then steps out to face the massive crowd. Once in the light of the floating lamps above she casts off her dark shawl, letting it fall past the catwalk indicators and into the darkness below.

Past colors were painted over now to a delicate white, flecked and spray brushed with soft violet to give the feel of natural markings. Connected to her ring finger and hips would hang a silver veil-like material that flows with her movements as she walks in mid-air, more silver material with little sparkles sewn into the stitches flowing out from the back of her hips.

Two pairs of silver metal filigree horns fit over her helmet, one pair big and the inner pair small, both at an upward slant while pointing back with a slight wave along their length. More little gems were set into the sickets, the light above making them shine like stars.

the final adornments were her arms, legs, and shoulders which held molded spikes to match her colors, though she still holds that elegent grace while reaching the end of the catwalk.

With a smirk to the judges she turns, suddenly flaring out her see-through wings, the swirl design in the center of all four letting light shine through the colors, projecting the image on whatever surfaces it could reach before she walks back with a swagger in her step. Hopefully the judges would approve of her appearance and performance.

Tracks gets stopped by some of Backtalk's crew on the way back to his seat, "Chiffon is a challenging material to work with. The Femaxian has the benefit of wearing something with the correct -proportions- on it. Add a jacket and some jewelry she'd be able to go from day to night in a heartbeat." He waves off the camera crews, and returns to his chair, gaze intent on the next collection of looks.

Sit-Com moves to elbow Repugnus. "Why do bikers wear leather?" he says, "Because chiffon WRINKLES! HA HA HA HA HA!" The nasal laugh sounds an awful lot like the late Paul Lynde.

Bug Creature < Repugnus > turns towards Barkida, giving her that predatory look again. He transforms, his silly getup ripping away. "Yeah. I got something to say to you. You... *Amazons* think you're better than the other species out there, but me? I look at how you enslave people. These ladies here, the "man-beasts..." frankly? You're slavers masquerading as noble warriors, and I don't care for that kind of hypocrisy. If your whole planet got nuked by the 'cons tomorrow I'd call it a good thing. Backwards civilizations like yours have no place--" He overhears the announcer calling out Scorn's name, and stops mid-rant. "Scuse me."

He pokes his head out of the curtain, and suddenly his venomous look is replaced by one of sheer bliss. "Ahhhh.... yes. She's truly ripped out and stolen my heart." Sit-Com elbows him, and Repugnus growls, "Quiet you, I'm trying to admire the enemy."

The creature spins and twists about into Repugnus's robot mode!

The insectoid audience also approves. Moreso, in fact. Many of the other species in attendance are forced to cover their ears in order to save their hearing!

Ravage's EME field isn't doing quite enough it seems, as he's busy sailing towards the globe situated near the center of the massive chamber, someone else seems to pick up on his presence. The cat doesn't fluster however, and even as the detection occurs he abruptly changes course and - using a trick he'd learned years earlier - he fired both of his missile boosters, not having released them or primed them so that they act very much as thrusters, throwing him as far across the core away from Foxfire as they can in a very short time.

Barkida gives Repugnus a piece of her mind! Complete with gesticulations towards the shyly nodding slaves, and jabbing her finger into her palm and pointing accusingly. Unfortunately none of it can be heard over the deafening cicada/vuvuzela noise.

Tracks tilts his head to the side thoughtfully as Scorn cruises runway, expression intent. "Hnn, Decepticon." He shoots a sharp glance at the other judges, before admitting, "Silhouette, proportion, and fit are hard to mess up when there's nothing there! It's all accessories, but they WERE used thoughtfully!"

His anti-gravs activated, Foxfire launches himself from the dressing room, not caring if anyone sees him do this. Yes, he has seen Ravage, confirming his suspicions. He follows the Deceptitape as quickly as he can, the signs near the glove catching his attention. He narrows his optics as he tries to catch up to Ravage. "C'mere, you," he grumbles.

The announcer is, momentarily, stunned by what he sees as Scorn floats out between the bars. Sure, the spikes lent her outfit a rather fearsome aspect, but it all seemed appropriate for this particular robot somehow. Eventually he realizes that, if she rendered him speechless, at least it wasn't because her outfit wasn't completely ridiculous or horrifying. "...wow, a very strong showing by the Decepticon Scorn! Haha, I would have thought they would have taken this event the LEAST seriously, but I guess I was wrong! Now, let's wait a moment while our judges confer and decide a winner!"

Then, the dozens of judges sort of float and cluster together, with the head judge saying assuredly, "Well, I'd say that Repugnus put forth the strongest showing. After all, the insectoid votes for him are through the roof!" The other judges nod at him, muttering agreement. "Alright then, we'll declare Repugnus the winner." He glances at Tracks. "You... agree, of course, Tracks?" The head judge says that in such a way that it almost seems like this is what's expected of him!

"Of course I am going score the Cybertronians more highly! And what do you mean Foxfire left and is disqualified?" He frowns. "All you're thinking about is saleability of the product!! What about the artistic integrity of the event? What you're -saying- without saying is that I have to pick YOUR choice that I HATE the least." With a huff, he throws the cards at the chests of the rest of the judges and announces, "The -OTHER- insect then, Scorn. Pitt, have the two of them fight it out, a gladiator match has about as much to do with -real- fashion as what you've decided!"

Ravage has never understood the injustices of the world - Slugfest, Overkill and -FOXFIRE- have vocoders, none of them have anything of value to say. He is the greatest of the Decepticon cassettes, he's reduced to growling like an animal... his jets are running full burn as he jets across the bay - he has no intention of letting Foxfire get near him, and he accepts that the material will not be his this day.

He debates dropping a charge for li'l ol' Foxy, looking over his shoulder the black cat see's him behind, but the Fox isn't used to flight, and that gives Ravage an edge. Slowing down perceptibly he lets Foxfire think he's catching up, only to open a port in his hip above his missiles and let a small charge go, using a small burst of his grav unit to send it sailing back towards his tormentor before he himself speeds up again.

< Autobot > Tracks says, "Not that it matters at this point, but the Fashion planet's contest has received threats. Everyone wants this photo-reactive material. We received threats. I'll investigate more throughly now that I'm done with this farce of a judging gig."

The Head Judge adjusts his holo-tie, looking awkward as cards bounce off his chest. "Ahem, er, no, we... REALLY want to hand Repugnus the win... He put on a good show, after all." He says that without sincerity. Another, lower ranking judge, some sort of bird creature, grabs Tracks' arm and snaps, "Dammit, didn't you get the message? We could make a lot of money if that guy wins!" The Head Judge sighs at his subordinate's lack of discretion.

Meanwhile, Repugnus pulls himself away from the curtain to notice Barkida is tearing him a new one. He glares at her, and though he's still having trouble hearing her, he's getting the gist of what she's saying.

Combat: Ravage strikes Foxfire with Proton Bombs's Huge Explosion #10610 attack! [Pulled -3]

Combat: Ravage's Proton Bombs is destroyed!

< Autobot > Sit-Com says, "the cake is a lie!"

< Autobot > Repugnus says, "Huh, probably the 'con."

< Autobot > Tracks says, "...yes."

< Autobot > Sit-Com says, "Where are the Fashion Police when you need them?"

Tracks's red face squinches up and becomes even more scarlet, if at all possible, as he finally puts two and two together. "Oh. OH. I think I know who wrote the threats. Well, the producers -do- reserve the right to decide on the winning look!" And then, explosions!

Scorn stands outside her dressing room, still all dressed up as she awaits the final judgement on the winner. However the explosion high above makes her glance up, optics narrowing as she barely spots out the black cassette being chased by Foxfire. "..Ravage? What the slag is he doing here.." Despite some panicing in the audience the femme stays on her guard, optics now trained on the Bot dressing room and any that were hanging outside it.

Barkida's gist is something about her planet's traditions and how dangerous and horrible the man-beasts are, but the details are hard to get over the noise, and of course she stops immediately when there's a giant explosion somewhere backstage. The slaves hit the deck and Barkida stands over them, guarding them with her bare hands from... she doesn't know what. "What was that? What happened?" she demands, when the ringing in her ears stops.

< Autobot > Saboteur Foxfire says, "We've got--ow--another problem, Tracks. Ravage seems to be after the prize."

A loud, barking yelp escapes Foxfire, though it's probably not loud *enough* to be heard. The charge *hurt*, that much is clear. Foxfire snarls and tries to catch up to Ravage nonetheless, despite the pain. When he thinks he's close enough, he snaps his jaws at the other tape's hind leg.

Combat: Foxfire strikes Ravage with his Bite (Kick) attack!

< Autobot > Tracks says, "Explosions don't seem like Repugnus's -style-, that's for sure."

"Hark I hear the cannons roar. What the hell was that?" Sit-Com exclaims, once the explosion goes off and his audios start ringing as if someone had barely nailed him with a grenade in Call of Duty. "Don't let a black cat cross your path!" he cautions Foxfire.

The announcer notices a bright flash somewhere off in the distance, followed by a booming sound about two seconds later. "Oh... holy!---" He's not quite sure what to do for a moment, but then, as he hears the crowd panicking and crying out in fear, he realizes he has to act quick to stop a deadly stampede! "Um, it's alright everyone! Just a little fireworks show, nothing to be worried about!" He gestures sternly at a floating barge off in the distance, and it begins firing off a few rockets, which spiral out and blossom into pretty little bursts of light soon after. This seems to mollify the crowd somewhat, though not everyone is entirely convinced.

Repugnus certainly isn't convinced, and he peeks out, glaring at the smoke cloud that remains of Ravage's explosive device. "Hrnnh. That was trouble, lady. Still, don't see the 'cons in force... Wonder if that was a diversion?"

< Autobot > Repugnus says, "Whaaaa? You thought it was me? Ah, come on. But you're right about explosives. They're too quick. Victim doesn't have time to realize he's going to die!"

Ravage was still slow enough for the Fox to catch and latch onto, but that wouldn't last long. The cat doesn't even pay attention to the fact that Fox is latched on, his missiles/boosters open up again, the flame possibly doing the fox no good as he makes for the exit at full speed.

He'd failed to get the prize, but that hardly mattered, it was an unexpected winfall and one which would have been considered a bonus in his mind in the first place. No-one in high command had sent him after all, it was purely a personal mission - and that meant Foxfire would pay for ruining his attempt... eventually.

Combat: Ravage begins retreating, leaving himself vulnerable to parting shots from Repugnus, Scorn, Backtalk, Barkida, Tracks, Foxfire, and Sit-Com

< Autobot > Saboteur Foxfire says, "Do I need to mention *Ravage* again?--oh, hey. Looks like I scared 'im off."

< Autobot > Tracks says, "And got yourself blown up for your trouble!"

< Autobot > Saboteur Foxfire says, "Actually, I'm still in one piece. But the charge *did* hurt.  Ow..."

Tracks's back wings rise and fall in a long-suffering shrug as several models swoon and begin floating about. He draws his black beam gun, and resolutely plods toward the detonation. "Oh, Foxfire, looks like you caught the worst of it." He kneels down by the tape, raising the barrel of his gun as he drops to one knee. The muzzle glints in the strong runway lights.

Combat: Tracks sets his defense level to Aggressive.

Combat: Tracks strikes Ravage with his Black Beam Gun attack!

Combat: That attack has temporarily affected Ravage's Accuracy. (Blinded)

"Stay here!" Barkida orders her entourage, rips her dress' seam up to the hip so she can run, and sprints in the direction of the explosion, kicking off of door frames and pulling herself along walls to accelerate through the low gravity. Rolling into a ball, she rebounds off the ceiling one-handed and tries to tackle Ravage into the floor, heedless of the Autobot crossfire!

Combat: Barkida sets her defense level to Fearless.

Combat: Barkida strikes Ravage with her Deep Impact attack!

Combat: Barkida's attack has strange and mysterious effects on Ravage.

Combat: That attack has temporarily impaired Ravage's Agility. (Crippled)

Foxfire releases his hold on Ravage, allowing him to make his escape. He watches Ravage momentarily before turning his gaze to Tracks. "I'm fine. And on the plus side, I stopped Ravage." He flicks his ears, a thoughtful frown crossing his muzzle. "So the fashion contest was receiving *threats*? Did I hear you correctly?"

As the black cat retreats, Sit-Com grabs his ball and chain, swinging it around above his head before letting fly. The spiky ball careens out towards Ravage, the seemingly endless length of chain allowing it to go as far as it can.

Combat: Sit-Com strikes Ravage with his Ye Olde Ball and Chain Wedding bands not included ! (Disruptor) attack!

Tracks replies, "Well I'd HOPE so, considering I WROTE it down. Oh, you. Did you even read my note?

Foxfire's frown turns into a slight snarl. "Considering I was dealing with Ravage? No." He licks a damaged front paw.

Scorn holds her ground as she watches the others catch up to Ravage and start to attack him. Despite her being here not having had anything to do with a mission she still had no clue the cassette would be here too, so she seems hesitant to defend him. But if she didn't she might catch flak from Galvatron or Soundwave. Either way she stay put, not wanting to get in Ravage's own mistakes.

Soon after the Autobots and Barkida dogpile Ravage, a lavender hovercar with flashing lights and a blaring siren comes to a stop nearby! "Hold it, hold it!" says a burly alien policeman in a pink and white uniform. Literally, the Fashion Police. "We're the law around here, and there's no fighting allowed at the event! Now what's going on here?" the officer demands.

Meanwhile the judges, shocked by this little incident, mill about nervously. "That... that might have been a warning!" one of them says.

Tracks clenches jaw at Foxfire's remark, before turning in relief to the Fashion Police. "Thank goodness, someone was mixing paisley and houndstooth!"

Barkida straightens up, looking proud of herself. "We caught this interloper backstage! I'm sure it was involved in some kind of sabotage... there was an explosion just now and that dog-robot-" She points at Foxfire here. "-was pursuing it away from the blast when I caught up to it.

Foxfire glares at Tracks. "I *was*!" he protests. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll read it now." But he doesn't yet. Instead, he turns his glare toward Barkida. "I'm a FOX, not a dog!" That said, he pulls the sheet of paper out of a hip compartment and looks it over, then raises an optic ridge. "You really wanted me to do that? Honestly, Tracks...couldn't you have done that yourself?"

The Fashion Policeman rubs his manly, bearded chin thoughtfully. "Hm. Paisely AND Houndstooth? A serious offense, indeed. Life imprisonment for that one. Oh? A bomb? Well, that's a lesser offense, here. Few years in prison, community service, Defensive Fashion Courses, so on." He appraises Ravage. "I... don't see any Paisely and Houndstooth on this one, but if the bomb charge is true then we'll have to bring him in." He reaches for the scruff of Ravage's neck, like he was an unruly house cat. "Come along, lad. Or cat. Whatever you are."

The announcer watches the ongoing scene with a raised brow, shrugs, then declares, "Well, anyway, our judges still have not decided on a winner! And, I have received word that a producer is on his way now to confer with them!

Tracks says, "I don't have encryption capabilities. And I didn't want to blow my cover - yet. I eventually DID though, if you'll look at the Autobot channel logs."

Foxfire snorts. "Tracks," he points out, "I don't have encryption abilities either. Well, whatever--this whole fashion show was a damned waste of time, anyway."

Barkida looks baffled at the Fashion Police, but she can't think of anything to say about that. Maybe that's just how justice works on this planet. She returns to her entourage uncertain of whether she just won or lost a fight. "I think it was arrested. Or put outside."

The judges look nervous at the mention of a producer. Soon enough, another hovercar, this one without any FP markings on it, rolls up and an alien in a business suit drifts out. "Have you decided on a winner?" the producer asks gruffly, and the Head Judge replies, "Yes, we have. The Autobot Repugnus." The other judges nod in agreement. "The other judges and I felt that--"

"ARE YOU INSANE!?" the producer roars. "His performance was terrible, a joke, he was deliberately mocking us! I have never felt so insulted by a model in my life! You're all fired! You! Guest Judge!" He beckons to Tracks. "You're the only Judge left. Who do you think should win?"

Tracks says, "I'm not the one in intel!"

Foxfire points a forepaw at Tracks. "Me being in intel doesn't automatically mean I can encrypt. I'm a saboteur, not a communications specialist!" He takes the Cybertronian equivalent of a deep breath. "Now then, Mr. Guest Judge," he says calmly, "tell us who *you* think should win. Now that it really matters, but I'm morbidly curious."

Combat: Ravage activates his cloaking field and vanishes from sight!

"Yes, let's see who's behind door number three," Sit-Com remarks.

With the fuss with Ravage near its end Scorn rolls her optics, saying mildly under her breath as posture appears less defensive, "Can we hurry up with the decision already..?"

Tracks considers. "Well that depends on if you're playing it straight. If you want TRUE couture, then the slave-owner or the... female Decepticon would be your winners. Repugnus provoked the strongest reaction and prompted many in the industry to reflect upon their choices -- for good or ill -- about whether or not they SHOULD have pushed the envelope in the way they did. Sit-Com was, well, 'safe'. Foxfire got DQ'd when apprehending Ravage, and my." He looks genuinely stumped. "I... think I have been swayed to join Repugnus's camp."

Barkida smooths her torn dress down. She's lost her wig, of course. That may place her in the bottom three! "...him?"

Foxfire gives a slight roll of his optics. "Of *course* the crossdressing Monsterbot would win..."

"You have been rickrolled," Sit-Com says evenly.

Tracks flicks a card at Foxfire. "It's not crossdressing! There was no attempt to impersonate a female. Pretty is pretty!"

Foxfire jerks his head back slightly at the flicked card. "You're probably right," he mutters. "But whatever. At least Ravage didn't get the prize."

The Femaxian slaves kick up a fuss, one of them cooing soothingly at Barkida while the other two start chattering at Tracks disagreeably in their own language, but Barkida waves them down, seeming somehow relieved. Maybe because it means she won't have to go back in front of the audience to receive an award. "No, no. We have been defeated! The battle was not ours today. We can only say that we strove to our utmost. No more can be asked for."

The producer is floored by that response. His jaw is literally hanging a foot down from his head, which is as far as his species can extend its lower jaw. Several seconds later, he snaps his mouth shut and stares at Tracks. "...really? Him? But..." He closes his eyes. Sighs. "Fine." He pulls out a communicator and whispers into it. The announcer press two fingers to his right ear, listening to something, then he declares, "Folks, we have a winner! It is... it... it's the Autobot Repugnus?"

Repugnus drifts up to the announcer, shaking his hand against his will and seizing his microphone. "Ah, yes, I knew I was going to win! I'd like to thank my family and Primus, but I don't have a family and I don't worship false gods, so I guess I'll just thank myself. Now roll out that prize!"

He grins as the great big metal sphere is towed towards him by a small fleet of drone bots, and the sphere splits into a series of plates which fold up into themselves, revealing a metallic, amorphous blob of *something.*

"Now, be careful," the producer tries to warn Repugnus. "The sphere will turn into whatever you desire, so concentrate on what you really want and don't let your thoughts drift."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Repugnus snorts before drifting towards the sphere, arms extended for it.

Somewhere in the back behind the curtain a cry that sounds an awful lot like a Troll Batrider exclaims, "THE ENDS JUSTIFIES THE MEANS!"

"Whatever you do, don't think about cheesewheels!" Tracks calls out helpfully.

"WHAT?! Are you kidding me?!" Scorn's optics widen as she yells out at the announcement, tearing her horn filigree off and tossing it to the floor in anger. "How could you choose /that/?!" She points a sharp finger at Repugnus, clearly fuming as she casts off the rest of her adornments, only wearing the paint now. "He's a mockery to any sort of fashion!!"

Foxfire suddenly remembers something. "There were signs around that thing," he speaks up. "Something about sapient beings needing to stay away." His ears abruptly perk as he stiffens and calls out, "Wait a sec, Repugnus! Don't touch it yet!" If Repugnus doesn't listen to him, well...Foxfire just hopes his bad feeling is wrong!

The signs were there to prevent a clumsy stage hand from accidentally triggering the material and making it into a giant donut or something stupid like that, but Repugnus doesn't bother explaining that to Foxfire. Instead he just says, "Shut up, I know what I'm doing." He grins for a moment, thinking of what he wants--a massive plasma warhead, large and powerful enough to instantly level Crystal City. Sure, he'd warn the Autobots to evacuate first, but not all the civvies would get out, and the Decepticons would probably be too busy celebrating their "victory" to notice their impending doom. So much the better. They can all fry together.

But then, something distracts him. No, it's not the cheesewheels crack, though he does chuckle at that. Rather, he happens to notice Scorn throwing a fit, and just as he plunges his hands into the polymorphic material he thinks about how cute she looks when she looks like she wants to kill someone. There's a wondrous gasp from the audience, then, and Repugnus wonders if that should really be the reaction one would get from a warhead... then he turns and finally notices the massive, 90-foot statue of Scorn looming in front of him. It's a perfect replica of her in her garments before she tore them off, and it's composed completely of transluscent crystals of the same colors. And not only that, she appears to be gently holding a fuel pump in her hands. It's beautiful. Repugnus stares at it, slackjawed. Then he rears back his head and laughs.

"Signs, signs, everywhere there's signs, ****ing up the scenery, breakin' my mind, do this, don't do that, can you read the siiiiiiiiiiign," Sit-Com sings.

From the back comes an echoing and yet subdued, "Mmmmmmm. doh-nuts...

Foxfire makes a low sound in his vocalizer. He should have known. And actually, it's what part of him suspected--that the signs were there to keep the object away from others until it was given as a prize. Well, whatever. The contest was still a waste of time. And then Foxfire proceeds to stare at what Repugnus has made. "Oh. That's...kinda scary."

"I suppose the other robot wins after all," Barkida remarks. "Judging by the size of that trophy."

Scorn is just... silent as she stares on at the statue, hand releasing the bit of veil garment still in her hands. "What the..." She blinks, still at a loss for words, though she can still muster up a glare of death at the monsterbot.

Sit-Com hoots from the back, "Repugnus and Scorn, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes some Eldritch Abomination in a baby carriage!"

Repugnus recovers from his laughter after a while, and says, somewhat sheepishly, "Wellll, heh, *naturally* this is my desire, because I've *always* wanted to kill Scorn, right? So, naturally this is the first thing that pops into my head, Scorn holding her own fuel pump in her hands moments before she dies." Nevermind that Scorn's statue shows no signs of injury, or that the fuel pump is a perfect replica of the model currently residing in Repugnus's chest. "Sorry, kiddo!" he tells the Decepticon. "Though you *do* look cute as a button right now."

Tracks has left.

Scorn simply snorts, thankfully not looking like she was going to jump the mech and kill him right there. Instead she'd crack a poisonous smirk, "Enjoy your reward while it lasts, Repugnus. Someday soon I'll be just like that statue, with your fuel pump, and I'll make you watch as I eat it before you die." The insecticon sends him a light wink before kicking on her antigravs and flying out.

< Autobot > Saboteur Foxfire says, "Repugnus, I *still* don't know how you won. I mean, you were technically *crossdressing*."

< Autobot > Repugnus says, "Well. I was hardly the *only* contestant doing that."

< Autobot > Torque says, "That's a terrible image I can never get rid of. Thanks, Foxfire."

< Autobot > Repugnus giggles!

< Autobot > Saboteur Foxfire says cheerfully, "No problem, Torque!"

< Autobot > Saboteur Foxfire says, "One more thing, Repugnus. Don't giggle like that again.  It's disturbingly creepy."

< Autobot > Sit-Com says, "But he's given us the greatest gift of all! The gift of a child's laughter!"

< Autobot > Repugnus says, "What, that's the LEAST disturbing thing I've done?"

< Autobot > Saboteur Foxfire says, "Well, no, but it's just a *reminder* of how creepy you are."

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===================== Autobot =================================== Message: 3/121                    Posted        Author Welp                              Tue Aug 23    Repugnus --       Repugnus appears on-screen inside of a shuttle, wearing a wry smirk on his face. "Welp. Went to this fashion show. Happens on the Fashion Planet every 100 years. It was me, Foxfire, Tracks, Sit-Com, and Barkida, and, eh, we were all competing except for Tracks. I guess they decided to make him a guest judge because he knows how to paint himself dark blue. Oh, and the Decepticons Scorn and Ravage were there, too. Scorn was competing, but Ravage, I think, was trying to nab the prize for himself. More on that in a bit.

"Anyway, I was, of course, winning handily because everyone else looked like crap. Ravage set off a bomb in Foxfire's face and got arrested by the Fashion Police--no, really--for it. Despite the Decepticons trying to influence the judges with these egregious acts of violence, it didn't matter because all the judges were fired except for Tracks, who declared me the winner and thus forever admitted that I look *way* better than he does.

"Now, I bet you're wondering what I got for a prize, huh? Well... it was this blob of polymorphic material that can turn into virtually anything you desire, or so they claimed. Naturally I wanted a plasma bomb to drop on the Decepticons, win the war and all that, but then that damn banshee, Scorn, distracted me, and I thought about her having her fuel pump ripped out, and her holding it before she dies, and, well, that's what I got. A big ol, ninety-foot statue of Scorn in that exact pose I thought up. Frickin' A." He shakes his head ruefully, but laughs. "Ah, well, that stuff probably couldn't turn into a real bomb anyway." He points his thumb over his shoulder. "Well, I got it in the cargo hold, back there, I'll try to think of a place to put it. Maybe a playground. Kids like giant robots, right?" Repugnus grins before the video comes to an end.

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==================== Decepticon ================================= Message: 2/54                     Posted        Author Fashion Planet                    Tue Aug 23    Scorn --
 * Decepticon Spinny before Scorn's face is seen, a bit of white paint still waiting to be wiped off*

"Scorn here, reporting on the competition on Fashion Planet. The prize was some sort of strange material that could change into anything you could think of." Her expression turns a little grim though as lips pull into a thin line, "However the Autobot Repugnus somehow managed to win, and I have no clue how. Unfortunately we can't steal the material from him since he used it to..." She pauses, taking a moment to get the words out, "Make a giant crystal statue... of me..." She looks mildly disturbed by this, "Primus I can only imagine what he's gonna do with it." She grimaces before reaching for the cam and quickly shutting it off.

*Decepticon Spinny*

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