Bad Math

Summary: Unfortunately for Ruse, Catechism has a weird idea of what constitutes mentoring.

================================= Decepticon ================================= Message: 2/163                    Posted        Author Orders                            Thu Nov 05    Scorponok -- Text Only Message: From: Warlord Scorponok

Subject: Orders

- - MESSAGE BEGINS - -

Item #1: Ayotzinco:

Those humans who are still present in Ayotzinco are considered the property of the Decepticon Empire and Lord Galvatron. As such, you will treat them reasonably well and avoid damaging them. Zarak is currently coming up with the best methods to put them to use. Constructicons, you are to begin to bulldoze and raze large areas of the city to make way for habitation more suitable to Cybertronians. Humans present are to be relegated to a purpose-built 'ghetto' in the center of the city, the farthest away from any exits. All other technically orientated Decepticons are to begin the erection of defenses. The Hellbender will soon be moved there to provide additional defense and support. Further orders in regards to the humans will come shortly.

Item #2: Staff Issues

Due to the incompetance and relative sloth of many of those in the 'middle ranks' as well as a recent influx of 'new' ranks, or at least very rusty ones I have chosen to implement a mentorship program. Under this program, mentors are expected to pass on critical knowledge of how our glorious faction functions as well as skills relating to their own function. Do not fail at this or I will be. . displeased. I expect the 'recruits' to be treated fairly, so long as they perform.

The pairings are:

Backfire --> Redshift Breakout --> Blueshift Harrow --> Boomslang Fragment --> Astrotrain Ruse --> Catechism Hinder --> Warsong Blight --> Thrust Windshear --> Fusillade Artifice --> Fleet

I will be conducting testing, and expect to see results!"

- - Message Ends - -

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Absolution - The Power Station

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=================[ The Absolution ]==============================

A rowdy round-up of raconteurs, roustabouts, and ragamuffins, the Power Station is the Absolution's watering hole -- and as such, no matter what the hour is, it's bound to be at least half full. Decepticons sit at small tables, alone or in little clots, or at the bar, where a Sharkticon wearing a top hat takes care of people's orders. The atmosphere is always very loud, and usually moving around unhindered takes a bit of careful effort, as everyone's walking around, swinging their arms about, missing the dartboard entirely, you know. Loud space rock music personally selected from Pitchfork's MP19 collection plays, giving the place a festive atmosphere even when a lot of floorspace is devoted to drinking in sullen solitude. There's no real dance floor, but occasionally tables get pushed out of the way for a fight. Behind the bar, on the wall, is a painting the size of Hound, showing Cyclonus giving life to the planet of Charr. A door off to one side bears a sign reading 'COMBAT ARENA,' for those who really need to settle a dispute.

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External ship broadcasts for this room are OFF        Type +shiphelp for help

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Contents:

Gilded Portrait

Sharkticon Bartender

Obvious exits: &lt;CA&gt; leads to Absolution - Combat Arena. &lt;O&gt; leads to Absolution - Deck Ten.

Ruse emerges from the Shark's Rib.

Ruse has arrived.

Windshear enters from the main corridor of Deck 10.

Windshear has arrived.

Harrow has arrived.

Artifice has arrived.

To be perfectly honest, Catechism hasn't had the formal training of some Decepticons. She never attended the War Academy. Her only education has been the school of hard knocks, but it has served her well enough. She's still a little perplexed why she would be assigned a student. Scorponok's orders were clear enough, however, even if Catechism's actual commander is Soundwave, not Scorponok at all. Sitting at the bar on a spinny bar stool, she looks over a datapad where she has jotted down some notes and ideas, but in the end, she has written down 'Beta Wing introduction procedure' and underlined it several times.

Windshear walks in firmly and looks around. Hes obviously looking for something or someone and he sees the one hes looking for and heads her way, "Ruse." he rasps as he comes up to her. "Whats going on?" he looks her up and down to make sure shes not damaged and glances around the room figuring out who is where as he waits for her to answer.

Ruse entered not long before Windshear, and stands a short distance away from where Catechism is sitting on her spinny stool. She eyes the other femme, though Windshear's entrance and question has her looking towards him. "nothing, yet...it's what's about to happen that has me concerned."

Harrow has followed Windshear after overhearing certain frequencies, nosily curious to learn more about this Ruse and perhaps jeer from the sidelines. "Hello Windy! And Ruse. And Lady Catechism!" She salutes and moves against the wall.

Catechism jots down on the datapad that merely attempting to summon Ruse has also garnered her Windshear and Harrow. How quaint. It reminds Catechism of the older days, when Seekers were often found in the company of yet more Seekers. She salutes Harrow back, so that Harrow will know she's allowed to drop the salute. Catechism smiles at Ruse but gives her a searching look, and she says, "I'm sure you have nothing to worry about, and if you /do/ have something worry about, you shouldn't admit it in mixed company, hmm? But yes. I am Catechism. Scorponok has assigned me as your mentor. I am curious as to what expectations you might have."

Artifice is at a corner table with his feet up. He sips something light and fruity with an little umbrella in it. He has been staring at Catechism, trying to decide whether or not to make a move on her, when Windshear enter, followed close behind by Harrow. This is too rich! And it also presents him with a bit of a problem. Despite his best efforts, he feels badly about using Windshear as a patsy before and wants to apologize. But Harrow still owes him a drink, and he can't think of a better time to remind her of it! He is torn... but eventually he decides to approach Windshear first and deliver his apology.

"Concern and worry," Ruse informs Catechism mildly, "Are two different things. One denotes a lack of control." She steps forward, away from Windshear and towards her mentor. "Are things really so different fighting the Autobots here that I need a mentor?"

Windshear watches her step toward Catechism and salutes Catechism then, but still keeps an optic on whats going on, or about to.

Catechism shrugs, an oddly fluid motion, despite her design. She hooks the barstool nearest to her with her foot and yanks it closer, patting it with a hand then releasing it, as if to indicate she'd like Ruse to sit down next to her. Catechism explains, "As I understand it, Scorponok seems to think that you need to be shown the ropes of the modern Empire, such as they are, and that the other mentors and I might perhaps know something worth passing on to others." She snorts. Oh, Catechism knows plenty of interesting things, mostly classified. She glances around the room and notes down Artifice on her datapad. More Seekers! Looks like Artifice is approaching Windshear, whereas Harrow is trying to become one with the wall She salutes Windshear back, again to let him know he doesn't need to hold the salute.

Artifice picks up snippets of conversation. Who is this femme? It seems as if Seekers are coming out of the woodwork these days! Ruse mentions mentoring. . . Artifice then remembers then that he is to mentored by Fleet, and he understands better what is to go on here. Sparing a nod and a smile for Harrow, he steps to Windshear's side. "Hey buddy," he whispers, not wanting to interrupt Catechism.

Ruse slips up onto the barstool that's clearly meant for her, heel hooking over the bracing on the bottom of the stool. "Uh huh. And that had to be done in a bar?" she inquires mildly, her elbow finding the edge of the bar and her chin settling into the palm of her hand.

Harrow listens to mentor and student talk, and notes that she ought to meet up were her own mentor soon. She finally notices Artifice and visibly slumps, returning a perplexed look after he offers a smile. &lt;&lt;Beware, Windshear, he's up to something,&gt;&gt; she privately comms.

Windshear lowers his salute and as he watches Ruse have a seat and hears talk of mentor he realizes he too was assigned a mentor; Fusillade, but their meeting isnt for a couple of days yet. Then he sees something out of the corner of his optics and turns just as Artifice walks up and said 'hey buddy.' and simultaniously he gets the comm from Harrow. He glances at her than back at Arty neutrally, "Recovered I see, Artifice." he rasps.

Catechism smiles, but it's the cold, glassy smile of someone who knows what is about to happen. She answers, quite seriously, "Well. It was do it in a bar or have someone haul all the energon elsewhere. The bar was more convenient. You see, not so long ago," and yet it seems longer, "I was in a wing called Beta Wing. It was mostly bombers and attack planes, and there I was, a fighter, the new one to the group. So, naturally, they needed to both settle me in and make me prove myself." Where is she going with this story?

Artifice nods. "Healed up well enough on his own," he says, "with some help from Mindwipe." He doesn't look at Harrow. His optics are fixed on Catechism. "As creepy as he is, I prefer even his touch to Psychofemme's." He listens to Catechism's story. "Sorry about setting you up before. She's a looker idn't she?"

Ruse uhs softly, optics narrowing as Catechism starts in on her story and offers that smile. She really doesn't like the sound of this nor the comment about hauling energon, but she doesn't interrupt - yet. Her fingers drum lightly against her chin as she listens.

Harrow huffs and folds her arms. She's not about to go all psychofemme on Artifice, not in front of Catechism. As much as she'd like to. So she continues to melt into the wall, optics a dull red from the shadows. She did, in fact, want to hear the rest of Catechism's story.

Windshear smirks and shifts his gaze to Harrow on that comment of 'psychofemme' then his smirk fades at the apology on the 'set up'. He gives another glance at Harrow then looks at Catechism an Ruse sitting at the bar, "They both are, whats your point, Artifice..."

Catechism leisurely leans back and lays an arm casually across the bar. She continues her story, "So the bomber," someone that they might know, "took me to a bar, sat me down, and told me to drink the number of 500 lb bombs I can carry in energon shots. Now," she puts her hands up to ward off protestations, "this seems like simple and stupid hazing, doesn't it? And I am sure it was, to some extent. But it was also about respect. If I wanted to be on the team, I had to do what the team did. I couldn't just strike off on my own. I had to earn their respect my showing that I respected their ways. I had to show them I wasn't afraid of a challenge. It was also about limits - how much someone can or cannot drink may seem like a trivial limit, but the effects of intoxication are similar to some truth serums. Knowing how you react to intoxication is important. What if an Autobot spy tries to get you overcharged to steal information from you? You have you know your limits, and before you can know them, you have to press those limits."

"I'm just sayin," Artifice whispers, "The new one is O.K. But the mentor, Inquisitor, is like... wow." He orders three drinks. The first he leaves on the bar. The others he hands to Windshear. He then nods toward Harrow. This is how he will make amends.

"So you intend to get me drunk. And you're absolutely right," Ruse agrees dryly, hand dropping away from her chin to drop to the bar instead. "It does seem like stupid hazing. Are you telling me all the Decepticons assigned to this place have drank themselves stupid?"

Windshear gives Artifice a look. Then he looks at Ruse, then he looks back at Artifice, "OK? Wha?" he takes his drink roughly, the look on his face unreadible but he catches Catechisms comment just then and can't help but smirk. "I wonder what Beta wing would have done with me... I have no bombs or miss --" Ruse speaks then and his gaze shifts to Ruse, "And how do you handle yourself over energized, Ruse?"

Harrow can't stifle a smirk at Ruse. She was pretty daring, Harrow would give her that. She catches the nod from Artifice and vents a sigh. "Alright alright. You're drink," she murmurs, ordering something strong for the other F-16. "You happy?"

Catechism remains oblivious to the men checking her out. She shakes her head and grins, looking more mischievous now. "Not all of them. But it was certainly a valuable learning experience for /me/." She ended up in trouble with Shockwave before the night was over! Very informative, if not terribly pleasant. She sizes up Ruse in a look. "Anyway, You're a tetrajet, hmm? Counting fuselage, centerline, and wing hardpoints... you could be loaded up with about 16,000 lb, if the weaponmaster really wanted you loaded. That's... 32 shots. My. Well, it's on my tab, anyway. What do you fancy, for starters?"

Artifice is a bit surprised. He glances at Windy and then back down at the drink he's already paid for. It appears as if his kindness has been... misinterpreted? Oh well! He smiles at Harrow. "You're paid up," he says. "And I'm doing much better. Thanks for asking." He takes the strong drink Harrow has bought him and takes a swig. He makes a face. It's powerful stuff!

"Take it like a mech!" Harrow slaps Artifice's shoulder, "Build up a tolerance, like Lady Catechism says. You wouldn't want to get embarrassingly overcharged in front of Autobots, would you? Tch."

Ruse rolls her shoulders in a slow shrug at the question. "You really can't be serious. I've been assigned a mentor who's great skill is drinking games. Somehow, I don't think drinking the Autobots under the table is going to win this war..." Her fingers have begun their drumming against the bar top again.

Artifice nearly spills his ill-gotten drink as Harrow slaps him. He looks at her, his expression a difficult mixture of admiration, frustration, and shame. He tries to finish the drink in one gulp and fails pretty miserably. "You tryin to poison me? This is degreaser isn't it?"

Catechism asks sharply, "And if an Autobot spy DOES slip something in your drink, how do you expect to know the difference if you don't know how drink effects you normally? I wouldn't call getting drunk to be my greatest strength, but it is clearly a matter you haven't considered." A pause. "That, and sometimes we do get into drinking contests with the Autobots at the Olympics. It is shameful to let the Empire down." She nods approvingly to Harrow.

Windshear walks over to the bar to sit down on the other side of Ruse. He sips the drink he was given and smiles. "Its not a question of drinking an autobot under a table, can you handle the energon though?"

Contagion has arrived.

"No..." Harrow mutters to Artifice, cursing herself for not having thought of that! "Hrnn. I assure you I'm not out to kill you." She emphasizes this with a forced smile. "Windy is correct, Ruse, you ought to listen up and do as Lady Catechism says!"

Artifice takes another drink. The stuff is absolutely terrible! He's certain that, if he finishes it, he'll pass out. He starts pretending to sip. Anyone looking close enough will probably notice that his glass isn't getting any less full. "Far be it from me to interrupt," he says, "But Inquisitor's got say so here, right?"

Ruse manages, somehow, not to roll her optics at the various encouragements and explainations around the merits of playing along with the little game. "Alright, alright. Order whatever you want, Catechism...this game is running according to your rules anyways." she agrees with a dismissive little wave of her hand.

Catechism sitting at the bar on a spinny bar stool. She is leaning back, one arm on the bar. Ruse is near her, and Catechism is trying to convince Ruse that getting plastered is important training. She is also considering the other Seeker milling about the Power Station. Catechism is getting a bit of a vibe that some of the Seekers here are worried by Harrow. Granted, Catechism remembers the medic Arachnae, and Arachnae could be fragging terrifying when she wanted. It is a medic thing. Catechism's general policy on that has been: don't make the medic angry. It usually works pretty well. As Ruse finally gives in, Catechism orders a sampler tray, small shots of different energon blends. Some are favoured by Seekers, some are more preferred by spacers, some by cars, and so on. Some are lighter or darker. Some are stronger or weaker. Some sweeter or more bitter. Surely, out of all of them, there must be something Ruse will enjoy, and they can go from there.

Harrow, thankfully, doesn't notice Artifice's glass, and leans back on the bar, looking over the high grade selection. "So. Art," her voice is low as to not interrupt the 'test' going on, "I've noticed you're handy with a mop..."

Windshear almost splutters his drink all over the place. Some energon goes down wrong and he starts coughing but waves a hand like 'dont mind me'...

Artifice shrugs. "I won't claim to be an expert," he jokes, "But they're not too difficult to get working once you find your groove. Right." He rubs his neck and shoulder as he watches the tray of drinks go by. This proves to be interesting indeed. "I noticed your pretty handy with a scalpel."

"Here. I'll match you shot for shot," Catechism offers, trying to encourage Ruse. She does have the advantage in that she knew this was coming, so she's let her tank run down, and in that she isn't a Seeker at all, under the hood. She's a spacer, and traversing the stars takes an awful lot of energy. However, they're Decepticons, and Catechism can hardly be expected to do anything the fair way. Fairness. Feh. What kind of message would that send? For her shots, however, she goes for liquid fluorine, rather than energon - fluorine, extremely poisonous to organic creatures. Her rocket engine demands it, however. As she grabs a shot of fluorine, she pauses and watches Windshear. In a quiet voice, she asks Harrow, the medic, "Is he quite all right?"

Ruse studies the 'sampler', considering her options before she reaches a hand out to select her first shot, lighter on top and gradually darkening towards the bottom of the glass. Windshear gets a smirk, and a sharp elbow from Ruse before the femme downs the drink.

"Why thank you!" Harrow beams at Artifice, then glances to Catechism. "Huh? Oh Windy c'mon, don't tell me you've already had enough! Your tolerance is suppose to be through the roof! Suck it up." Her attention falls back to Artifice, "So your function is Janitor?"

Catechism remarks, of Ruse's selection, "Ah, an old Vilnacron blend." Harrow doesn't seem to be too perturbed by Windshear's distress. If the doctor isn't worried, Catechism sees no reason to stress, either. "You can determine some of the most fascinating things about import chains if you look at which blends end up where..."

Windshear gets the elbow in the side from Ruse and then the verbal elbow in the side from Harrow. He clears his voice synth. "Im ok." He looks at Artifice, "Janator.." he tries not to laugh again but doesnt take a hit on his drink in the meantime.

Artifice chortles disdainfully. "Try analyst," he says. This time he takes a real drink. This stuff is starting to grow on him after all. "COMBAT analyst." As he speaks, he watches Ruse and Catechism carefully. He's liking the Decepticon he knows as Inquisitor more and more... Maybe it's the booze. He watches her down a shot of liquid flourine without even flinching. He asks Harrow, "You really gotta thing for a groundwalker?"

"That offer, I doubt, is as generous as it sounds," Ruse manages after grimacing, the light coloured ener-drink apparently having been one of those more bitter, and clearly not sitting well with the Seeker. She pushes the empty container away, before she huffs, considering her other options.

Harrow scowls softly at that damn accusation that keeps popping up. "What I have 'things' for is none of your business. Ahem. Combat analyst? So, what, you sit on the sidelines and let everyone do the work?" Harrow attempts to switch topics.

Catechism just goes for another shot of fluorine as Ruse considers her options. She says firmly, "Everyone fights in the Empire." The Empire doesn't tolerate people who just sit on the sidelines. The Decepticons are a warrior people by nature. Even medics and builders like Hook fight!

Windshear watches Ruse sample the tray and looks back at Harrow and Artifice again. Thing for the groundpounder indeed..but he doesnt say anything aboutu that. He ponders the term 'combat anaylist' in the same sentence wtih Artifices name in it...he frowns, "And how do you combat analyize, Artifice?"

Contagion enters with his hands clasped behind the small of his back; bits of light reflecting off of the fields of rusty that cling to his frame. Absent-mindedly he brushes at his shoulder and sends a few flakes of the stuff to the floor while he takes up the seat next to Catechism. "Everyone fights; no one quits." He echoes from behind his face-mask. " . . so the saying goes, at least. Fortunatly these days, skill is merely optional and the spirit to fight is what makes one a Decepticon."

Artifice nods. Neither a confirmation nor a denial... he imagines that Harrow must be involved with both Backfire and this other mech. He shan't push though. He doesn't want to get knocked on his aft in front of Catechism. "That's pretty much it," he admits, "I have a tactical mind, see? And I use it to my advantage in battle. I don't like to get my hands dirty if I don't have to."

With a shrug, Ruse takes another from the sample tray with little care for what it might be or how it might taste, throwing it back before she once again turns her head to fix her gaze on Catechism before Artifice's comment draws her attention, and she grins at him. "Here here!'

Artifice raises his glass to Ruse and drinks with her, polishing off his glass of disgusting fluid. He feels a bit woozy.

Catechism does not think she has seen Contagion before, but hmm... looks like a Flogger. Fulcrum will be... okay, not thrilled, but only if because Catechism doesn't think Fulcrum is ever thrilled. Looks like this one might have a Cosmic Rust issue. Catechism frowns ever so slightly. She inquires, politely enough, "You are? I am Catechism, DCI Inquisitor." Undetered by the rust, she holds out her hand, evidently intent on shaking his. Then, she looks to the Seeker seated on the other side of her, seeing that Ruse is continuing to whittle down the tray of shots.

Harrow studies Contagion quietly for a moment, watching flakes fall to the floor before gracing him with a disapproving sneer. Well, after Catechism addresses him. "You are filthy," she bluntly puts it, and steps back a bit. "Is that cosmic rust!"

Windshear looks at the new seeker that just walked in and the trail he seems to be leaving. He looks at Harrow and shes already on it from the sounds of it. He nods to the new Seeker and orders something stout from the bar as he he slides his now empty glass away from him.

Contagion clasps hands briefly with Catechism. Not only are the palms and tips of the fingers graced with brownish deposits of corrosion, but the backs of his hands are charred black by what appears to be engine exhaust. Probably from the extra engine nacelles found on his forearms. "Contagion." He states to Catechism. "Chemical Engineer." A pause, then he offers his true function: "Rainmaker." Harrow's exclamation completely fails to get a rise out of him as he reaches to his face to unlock the gas-mask like construct there and lower it to the bar. Face exposed, he affixes jaundice-yellow optics on Harrow and says very casually: "Byproduct of chemical weapons development and use. Hardly contagious." As if to underscore the point, a flake of rust is flicked towards her.

Ruse is, indeed, wittling away at the tray of shots albeit slowly. After all, no one ever gave her a time limit for having to comoplete all 32 required shots. The Seeker isn't stupid!

Artifice looks askance at Contagion. "Buddy," he says, "Do you absolutely have to flake all over us?" He looks to Harrow, suddenly realizing that she's sitting quite close.

Regardless of Contagion's explanation, Harrow still springs away from the flakes as if they were acid. No telling if it was /truly/ simple rust or not. "Hnn. Keep at it Ruse! Nearly there..." She reluctantly sits again, albeit further away from Contagion, on Art's other side.

Catechism gives Contagion a very odd look as he confesses to being a Rainmaker and manages, "A pleasure to meet you." The look is almost envious, despite the fact that the Seeker looks like a shambles. Shaking off the expression, Catechism looks over at Ruse and sees that Ruse it at least plugging away at the shots. No, Catechism didn't assign a time limit, and it is clever of Ruse to take them slowly. She asks Ruses, conversationally, "Found any that you like? I noticed that bitter didn't seem to sit well with you. Tried any of the sweeter or more savoury ones?" She points.

Contagion shows no applicable reaction to Harrow's springing away. Not even a sign of amusement or a sign of disproval. Really no reaction at all. Just a delivered comment to Artifice as he rubs his forefinger and thumb togeather in an absent-minded fashion. "Perhaps." Then he looks at Catechism. "I understand that you are an appreciator of fine chemistry, then." Then, he exits his seat and steps behind the bar. Ignoring any protests from the bartender he begins fixing something. "So far as my knowledge, I am the first of my kind to reach Earth. It pleases me, the oppertunities for one of my profession that exist here."

Ruse lifts the third glass...seems she's intent on sipping this one, as opposed to shooting it. "This one's sweeter. Nicer, yes, than the bitter ones." she agrees conversationally before Contagion's comments draw her focus, and she turns on her stool to study him.

Windshear remains seated next to Ruse and has the impression hes probably going to have to help her out of the bar before its over. He just looks at her then shifts his gaze over at Contagion and watches him curiously.

A rainmaker, eh? Artifice frowns. He never liked their kind. He was a white-collar factory jock on Cybertron, unfit for such a position and function. Sour grapes, basically. "Well, we'd prefer it if you didn't. O.K.?" He brushes rust from his helm, and quite unintentionally ends up putting his arm behind Harrow. "You know your stuff," he says to Catechism, "I'm impressed. But I hope Fleet doesn't make me drink like that!" He has waited so long to speak to her, and THIS is what comes out! He instantly regrets it.

Catechism arches an optical ridge as Contagion just helps himself to the chemicals. She mutters lowly, "Appreciator is perhaps not the word." Perhaps 'container' better describes her relationship to dangerous chemicals. She perks up as Ruse admits to liking one of the blends. Catechism squints at it and recollects, "Ah. A Nightsiege brew. Newer. Light chain hydrocarbons." If Ruse if going for a third, it's time for more fluorine for Catechism! She tilts her head to Artifice, and she admits, "Honestly? Fleet could put you through hell." She means that literally. "Better hope he's in a good mood."

At the rate Ruse was knocking back those drinks, it could take a while to see the end of this test. Harrow glances at a small notification on her HUD and slides from the stool. Feeling just a tad unwelcome, she doesn't bother with parting words, and gives Catechism a sharp salute before heading out the bar exit.

Contagion is very intent on what he is making. For one thing, he has chosen a special drink container. He came in early enough to over-hear the fulorine discussion, or at least identify it as Catechism's drink of choice for the moment. It contains half this, then he begins a slew of various additions. He takes his time with it, though it cannot really be called a labour of love because he shows no enjoyment of it. "That is your preference." He responds to Artifice. Then, finally, after several minutes of work he sets the glass down in front of Catechism. It is remarkably small. "And now, the final touch." Extending his right arm, he permits a single drop of glowing verdant goo to drip from the shoulder cannon there. It instantly strikes the liquid inside the container with a. ..

Fssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. .

It begins to broil and bubble, and the color changes from dull green to a brightly glowing reddish purple. Contagion seems satisfied. "Before the reaction is finished, if you are brave enough." He also watches Harrow leave.

Ruse sips from the shot, nursing it carefully as she watches Contagion at work. His concoction has her lifting both brow ridges, and grinning. "Now that looks...interesting..."

Fusillade has arrived.

Artifice watches Harrow leave. He takes up the glass that once contained the drink she bought for him and rolls it in his hand. "Me, too, Inquisitor. Though... I promise I can handle it." He stands, and it becomes immediately obvious that the strong concotion has not agreed with him. "I gotta scram," he says, standing on spaghetti legs, "Can I radio you some time, Inquisitor?"

Catechism is sitting at the bar, on a spinny barstool, next to Ruse. She considers that she has just met Contagion, that he is covered in rust, and has admitted to being a chemical engineer. 'Thou shalt not suffer a poisoner to live' isn't a Decepticon commandment, however. Even if there's at least one drop of poison in there. Contagion has laid down a challenge before her. Catechism has a student watching, a student that she has told need to rise to meet any and every challenge. A student she has told to show no fear. Catechism reaches out a hand, clenches it around the drink, and knocks it back in one gulp. She starts to say, "That's actually quite smooth. Shockingly palatable, but sort of cloying, you know, sweet like arseni-" Her optics flare brighter, and there is a sound like an engine backfiring as she falls off her stool.

Windshear looks at the drink in front of Catechism and glances at her to see her reaction. Will she drink it? Of course she will. She has to. He is surprised to hear Ruse seems interested in it though. He leans toward her to say something when Cate drinks the concoction and then falls off her stool. "Woah." he says and chuckles a bit. He looks at Contagion, "What was that?"

Artifice laughs. "Maybe I'll, uh, ask later." He kneels to help Catechism, taking her hand. "Come on. Get back on the horse."

Contagion pivots his head towards Windshear. "Recreational Chemical Mix Number 441-A. With embellishments tailored towards the specific moment. Also referred to in limited venues on Cybertron as 'Rainmaker's Typhoon'." Then he begins concocting something else; though he does not seem to be taking quite as much time. The reason is soon revealed as this one is for himself. He likewise manages not to leave flakes of rust on the bartop, seemingly perfectly capable of not shedding them when he is being careful. Looking down at Catechism, his voice offers one more thing: "It pleases me it meets your approval."

Catechism groans and waves a hand above her head, insisting, "Not dead!" She allows Artifice to grab the waving hand and help her up, if only because he seems intent on doing so and says quickly but sincerely, "Thanks." Catechism braces her other hand on the bar and leans over to stare at Contagion, licking her lips lightly, trying to figure out what was in that Recreational Chemical Mix Number 441-A. She muses aloud, "What was that? Hydrochloric? Nitric? Hnn, aqua regia?"

Artifice helps Catechism up. "You bet," he says to her. He continues to hover near her ... in case she should need his help again.

Sidling through a knot of helicopters, Fusillade pauses briefly at Catechism's patch of floor, and murmurs, "The rafters look a bit bare." She cants her head to the side, and satisfied that other Seekers are doting on the space F-35, she proceeds to wedge herself into position at the bar. Slapping down wingblades on the counter, she glowers wickedly at the Sharkticon as it bobbles up to her with a doff of its chewed on top hat. "Are you kidding me? You're still here?" The bartender stares blankly at her, awaiting a drink order.

Ruse looks from the drink down to Catechism where she was knocked to the ground, biting back a laugh. Karma, it seems, is a right ol' bit...well, you know. "That part of the hazing?" she wonders sweetly down at her mentor.

"Sure is, so is getting shot," Fusillade levels her saffron optics at Ruse.

Windshear works on his drink keeping one optic on Ruse and watching Arty pick up Catechism with the other. He hears a noise then and looks over to see Fusillade taking a seat at the bar. There is his mentor for the training/orientation ahead. He nods at her but doesnt say anything. He has no idea what status her visit here is in and doesnt want to assume. He looks back at Ruse and chuckles but decides hes not going to say anything. Instead he works on his drink some more.

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "Nrrghhhh."

Contagion glances at Catechism sidelong as he nurses his own drink. He appears to be lost in thought, a flake or two of rust drifting away from his left shoulder pauldron to float upon the air for some meters. "I realized that you enjoyed a flouride base. However, to reveal the contents of the end product would be dilvulging a secret known only to a few of the most trusted Rainmakers. However, I will reveal that trifluoromethanesulfonic acid is a considerable ingredient." Optics flash up towards Fusillade. "Did you want another?" He inquires of Catechism while watching the new arrival.

Catechism has acquired Party Member: Artifice? How did that happen? She must have selected the correct dialogue option! Expression wild, she enthuses to Ruse, "Hazing? No, that was just /awesome/." She coaxes Contagion, "C'mon, make me another! Gotta try everything twice, in case the first shot was a fluke." Catechism's limits, she presses them. As Fusillade enters, Catechism waves to her cheerily, and she greets, "Fusillade! This is Contagion," she points. "He makes drinks." That is clearly the most important thing about him. Points over at Ruse. "This is Ruse. I have her trying to do 32, haaah!" Over at Artifice, "Artifice. And you know Windshear, right?"

"Evenin," Artifice says to Fusillade. Yet another! Artifice feels lucky. "Hey, careful with that, Inquisitor. You remember what happened last time. You fall again, you're gonna fall on ME."

Canting her gilded brow askance, Fusillade frowns, "Is that the maximum number of 500 pound bombs that Ruse can carry?" This technicality seems to be the most objectionable part of the proceedings so far to the Lancer. She raises fingertalons to her chinstrap. "Pretty enthusiastic. She's on her fifth? Sixth? Depending on how these are formulated... And yes, Windshear and I were introduced. He has in fact already successfully carried out mission objectives before he was assigned to this program. And keep your paws to yourself," she snarls out territorially toward Artifice. The Sharkticon petulantly waves its weenie clawed arms in the air to try to get her attention, and with a visible shudder, Fusillade levels her gaze on Contagion. "Weapons grade forumlations aside, do you have anything with boron and rubidium?"

Contagion inclines his head in something like a nod to Fusillade. "She twists the truth, somewhat. I am a chemical engineer; one of the few rainmakers by function. Knowing how to mix something pleasing is merely an accessory skill." A pause. "I will see what is available." Rising from his seat he vaults over the bar, ignoring the sharkticon as he produces two containers. One, he spends less time on and slides it towards Fusillade. The second is a multiple minute affair that once more ends with a dull green liquid. The container is placed before Catechism, and once more a tiny drop is added to it from his shoulder cannon. Again, the violent reaction and the change in color.

"I believe a 'weapons grade' version of your choice . . Fusillade, was it . . may be platable as well."

Artifice gives Fusillade a quizzical look as she snarls at him. "Pff. Hostile much?"

Contagion also looks at Ruse. "Will you care for a beverage 'upgrade' also?"

Fusillade says, "Well DUH, I'm a -DECEPTICON-"

Catechism admits to Fusillade, "Not volumetrically. I was just going on a rough estimate based off poundage." Ruse is a tetrajet. Skywarp, Starscream, and Thundercracker were tetrajets. They became F-15s. F-15s have hardpoint capacity of about 16,000 lb. 16,000/500=32. That is more or less Catechism's chain of logic, right there. Faulty logic? Shhh! She before she grabs for the Typhoon, she blusters to Artifice, "Yeah? You got a problem with me falling on you?" Then, she grabs the drink and knocks it back, as before. Now that she has a better idea of what to expect, there is same muffled bang from her innards, like a backfire, and she shakes and wobbles like she might, but she doesn't fall, optics ablaze. Holding onto the bar with one hand helps.

"Third," Ruse pipes up in Fusillade's direction with a faint smile. "Catechism failed to give me a time limit by which I had to have the 32 drank." And she finishes off the third then, perhaps to make a point before she rolls her shoulder back. She watches, amused, as Catechism takes her own drink, far ahead of the 'new recruit' now, and clearly amusing Ruse.

Windshear laughs, a nice honest tickled reponse to Catechisms systems reaction to that drink. His chuckle dies down after a minute though and he gets serious suddenly, "If I may ask -- anyone that may know -- being what I think is the same tetrajet design, why, do I not carry a payload? I can't, for some reason Im not built for missles or bombs... why?"

Catechism deadpans to Windshear, "Because your assembly line hated you." She might actually be serious! Then, she adds, clearly quite delighted, and points at Ruse, "See? A stickler for loopholes and technicalities! Oughta put her in a room with Swindle. Wanna see what happens." Swindle will win, of course, because he's Swindle, but it would still be interesting.

Arti's buzz has officially been harshed by the arrival of a growling territorial airhound! He'll have to make sure Fusillade is nowhere near if he ever makes a move on Catechism again. . . and, as embarrassed as he is, there's no guarantee that THAT will happen any time soon. "Catch you mechs later," he says with a wave as he heads out.

"Aerodynamic stability. Design contstraints." A hesitation. "Because your assembly line hated you." He is still standing behind the bar, and before long passes, there is another Rainmaker's Typhoon before Catechism. And then a second emerges. "You should convince Fusillade to try one, also."

That, of course, was Contagion.

"Huh. Ohhhh-kay." Fusillade remarks regarding Catechism's reckoning. She stretches out one hand, and then snaps up the beverage. She holds it up to the light briefly, examining it for any clarity or special effects at the ingredients' interfaces, and then swirls a few times. Swilling immediately, she swallows after briefly holding the beverage in her mouth, "Well don't that suck to be you, then. Slam 'em, now. She's not all THAT, Catechism, otherwise she wouldn't have SAID anything."

Fusillade huhs to herself in response to the beverage. "Rolls rather light, thankfully not overwhelmingly sweet." She raps her knuckles in approval on the counter, and then finally SITS, and spins back toward Windshear. "Default for most Cybertronian Seeker molds is laser weapons only. You can get that changed pretty easy though."

Ruse twists in her seat, eyeing Fusillade for a moment before she shaes her head, just a bit. "I didn't realize I got -two- mentors. Lucky me." she muses, not reaching for another drink, instead busy focusing on the conversation, and the various figure sshe doesn't know.

Harrow goes home.

Harrow has left.

Artifice vanishes out of reality.

Artifice has left.

Windshear looks at Arti and nods to him then catches Cates comment the assembly line hated him, then cantagions same remark and huffs, "Right..." He doesnt beleive that, he cant believe that. He looks at Fusillade as she downs her drink and says what she does, "Perhaps. Though as long as Ive gone by 'default' design i migth as well stay that way, doesnt really bother me, was just curious why I was...."

Catechism mmms, "Got a point there, Fusillade. But what I was thinking..." She looks over at Ruse. "I want a report on where each of the 32 was manufactured, the processing involved, and what it cost the Empire to either acquire or manufacture. Consider it an exercise in information gathering and logistics. Energon doesn't grow on trees! Well. Except for that one tree." Her face scrunches up. "That was a weird tree." She waves to Artifice vaugely as he goes. Then, she toys with the third Typhoon, actually sipping it.

Contagion responds mainly to Windshear in a largely deadpan voice. "There will come a time, I imagine, when you will wish to modify and expand beyond the limits of your initial design. Any Ace seeker does, eventually. There will be some limitation, some issue that you will wish to correct. But there is no shame in being unable to carry external stores." He pivots his face to Catechism though adds nothing to her, instead focusing on Fusillade. "Perhaps for your second, you will take an upgrade?" As he asks, a few flakes of rust fall from his left elbow.

Propping an elbow up on the counter, Fusillade responds. "As long as the ORDERS do not interfere with the mentorship, or are not countermanded, -Pilot-, then it's not really a question of how many mentors you have. Try again, and good luck getting the informational details about 'em all, too. Most mixologists are pretty secretive about their ingredients, case in point." She laughs a bit, raising one pinkie at Contagion. "Like this joker here. So eager! I am glad to see that you're excited about your signature drink, but no need to ignore the first one you made, though."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "Does anybody have any Windex!?"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Nightbeat says, "...maybe. What's it to ya?"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "Fork it over."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Nightbeat says, "What is this, a stick-up?"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "I guess so!"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Nightbeat says, "C'mon, tell me /why/, and it's yours. I'm nosy like that."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "Because Bitbucket says I can't use acid to get this stain on the floor up!"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Nightbeat says, "...and what is 'this stain'?"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "Ummm. Hmm. Good question."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "I didn't make it, if that's what you're implying!"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Nightbeat says, "I am implying precisely nothing, which is as much information as you've given me."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "....... Are you gonna' give me Windex or not!"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Nightbeat says, "What. Is. The. Stain?"

Ruse presses her lips together but doesn't bother responding to either Catechism nor Fusillade. She merely hooks an elbow on the bar, relaxing against it as she continues to simply watch, and absorb, the interplay of personalities. Watching, and learning.

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "Uhh."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "Bitbucket says it's some of Sunstreaker's polish."

Catechism remembers that Ruse is a stickler about time limits, and she adds, "You have three days to complete the report, in addition to your normal duties. You might want to listen to Fusillade a bit more, however, so long as she is willing to speak. She is rather knowledgeable in the task I just assigned you." Contagion's talk about Seekers eventually modifying their initial designs draws a chagrinned grimace from Catechism. She continues to sip at the Typhoon, and when she finishes it, she straightens and pays off her actual bar tab and sets aside credit to pay for Ruse's, tilting her head as she ponders what to do about Contagion.

&lt;Autobot&gt; Nightbeat says, "There. Wasn't that easy? Here's the Windex."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "Bahh."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "Thanks, SIR."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Nightbeat says, "Hey, don't call me sir! I work for a living!"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "...Er... you're the head of intel, you're a 'sir'."

Windshear acknowledges the comment Cantagion said with a nod and then just listens to the conversation as he nurses his drink.

Contagion responds dead-pan to Fusillade. "Naturally I wish to spread my signature drink as far as I am able. That is where I put the mind-control substances." He touches his palm to his temple. "WeOooOOooOooOoo." Then he resumes his mixology work; putting something togeather for himself. He has no idea Catechism is pondering his fate!

&lt;Autobot&gt; Nightbeat says, "Blast. He's got me."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "Your infernal Windex doesn't work! Is this the best Intelligence can come up with!"

Catechism is pondering how to pay Contagion off, not whether or not to execute him! Though perhaps they are one and the same. She says cheerily, "Luckily for me, I don't have a mind!" Self-deprecating humour or statement of fact? Possibly the later, based of what she's been drinking. She decides to be blunt, "So. Do you accept pay in boomex?"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Nightbeat says, "Probably not. Windex is, cunningly enough, for windows."

"It's not so much about listening at this point, Catechism," Fusillade says tersely, fingers clutching the edge of her glass as she continues to drain the boron and rubidium mixture. "She's flat out ignoring orders at this point, you realize, Catechism." Fusillade drums her fingers on the counter, before allowing herself to be amused by Contagion. "Sounds absolutely delightful. What are your own favorite additions?" she asks, propping her chin up on her palm as she unholsters her nickel-plated disruptor and places it in her lap.

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "...What!"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Nightbeat says, "I know! Isn't it weird?"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "Well slag."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Nightbeat says, "Try ammonia. Smells like the dickens, but it should do the trick."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid sighs, "Bitbucket's not going to allow me access to the chemicals."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "No matter!"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Nightbeat says, "Well if /Bitbucket/ won't let you do your job, tell him to clean up the mess!"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "He's busy doing drone stuff."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Decibel says, "I vote for a good sandblasting."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "Gonna' come in here and help with that, iTunes?"

&lt;Autobot&gt; Decibel says, "I'll pass, not big on dust in my joints."

Contagion makes his response to Fusillade first: "Lithium diisopropylamide, organomagnesium, trifluoromethanesulfonic acid, antimony, others." A pause. Then he looks at Ruse. Then looks back at Fusillade. "There is much to be gained via observation. And via disruptors." Then to Catechism. "I think it would be more appropriate if you were to owe me a favor instead. Payment is unessential. My supplies come from elsewhere."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "I WILL TAKE CARE OF THIS SPLOTCH... later."

Windshear has nothing to add to this conversation so just listens and wathes Ruse working on the dample shots from time to time.

&lt;Autobot&gt; Ultra Magnus says, "If you're going to postpone your duties Air Raid, please section off the spill with orange cones and that warning tape."

&lt;Autobot&gt; Air Raid says, "...Okay!"

Catechism sighs heavily and notes mournfully, "A favour is perhaps the most dangerous thing to owe anyone, ever." Is Contagion really sure he wants Catechism owing him? Last man she owed anything, she left to rot on a radiation-soaked world of lava and ice for years as payment. Catechism stretches a bit and heads for the exit. She pauses at the door a moment, and she waves vaguely, commenting, "Enjoy yourselves." Then she's gone.