Who: Blueshift, Redshift, Blitzwing, Fusillade, Octane, Laserbeak, Scavenger, Apeface, Pitchfork
IC Year: 2029
Location: France
TP: Non-TP


NCC Medical Ward

Like its previous incarnation, this medical ward was designed with the medic in mind, with all the modern advances to make the dirty work of repairs a world easier. It is well lit, the blue and violet metal of the walls and decor is a shade paler here, and the ubiquitous filigree is missing, all to assist in ease of cleaning. Still, the place veritably sparkles. In the furniture, there is a subtle motif of blades and sharp edges, as if to evoke the scalpel of a surgeon, although it is all quite safe. Around two dozen beds, more comfortable than their sharp looks would suggest, fill the medical ward, laid out in a tidy grid, and more can be flipped out of the walls should emergency demand it. A set of tracks on the ceiling mirror the grid of beds, allowing advanced scanning equipment and tolls to be swiveled around to the various beds. Computer terminals and cabinets are molded right into the walls at intervals, and while there are the normal medical security cameras, it appears as if someone has set some of the cameras specifically to watch the cabinets.

<Decepticon> Mother Goose Fusillade says, "If it was so secret it would not have been done out in public like this, now would it?"

Blueshift enters the medical ward to see what is going on, curious at the message. But he has NO ARMS. What is going on?

<Decepticon> Octane says, "There was a closed door involved: that is -not- pub...Blueshift, who gave you permission to do without your limbs!"

<Decepticon> Blueshift says, "What are you talking about, fool?"

<Decepticon> Octane says, "Fool? Fool? I'm not the one who hasn't realized his arms are gone!"

<Decepticon> Mother Goose Fusillade says, "Ha ha. How fuel-ish. Hear what I did there/"

Fusillade cackles wickedly as she examines the joints in the same way that one inspecting a firearm before use. "Not any more," she says gleefully as the radio bursts into activity. "The seals look good, at least. So... we've got a chamber... and nozzle. Doesn't seem too different than what you had to begin with. I mean, what I saw of it when you were running away. What's different about it?" She finally spins it in palms, and presents it back to Octane, stock first.

Octane's look of panic as Fusillade cackles and starts to study the weapon before relaxing slightly as he reaches out for the weapon with a shifty look. "Nothing...yet...but when it does it will change everything! Now, I must have privacy!" He moves away from the pair before walking to another medical bed across the room and laying everything down there. Octane places the removed fuel chamber on the groove in the bed before pulling a larger and different colored one from one of those little subspace pockets. He starts to carefully work it into the socket that the previous chamber rested in.

After the banter that had just occured over the radio, Redshift decides to stick his nose in where it doesn't belong. He saunters into the medical bay with his usual air of superiority.

<Decepticon> Octane says, "Oh, yes, very funny, Fusillade. I'm sure the Autobots would welcome someone of your comedy talents: maybe you should go talk to them about it."

"Go on then Octane, what is the special secret, I want to see it!" Blueshift rasps, leering over Octane to get a look, his armless body bobbing up and down. "Show me!"

<Decepticon> Mother Goose Fusillade says, "That's okay, Octane. I'm too much plane for them."

<Decepticon> Mother Goose Fusillade says, "And you know, I am in arm's reach of you right now."

"You should know better than to try to keep secrets from me," snickers Blitzwing. "I know what you've got under your bunk."

Blitzwing points at Blueshift, noticing (eventually) his armlessness. "Hey, you've got no arms."

"What?" snaps Blueshift. "What? I have a LASER GUN and several swords, that is plenty of arms! Foolish triplechanger! Three modes, a third of the brain!"

<Decepticon> Octane says, "You have more then Blueshift does: he doesn't have that even if he's standing right next to them! Ha!"

Fusillade finally tears her gaze away from Octane, and ums a bit as she stares at Blueshift. "Okay, this I've gotta hear," she drawls out.

Octane is open to open his mouth to speak to Blitzwing again but then hears the comment about his bunk and closes it suddenly. He turns back to his work, muttering something about new locks, as he takes the dacntage of the other's distraction to continue his work. One connection done...two connections done...

Redshift does a double-take at the sight of his blue brother, minus half of his limbs. Under the assumption that it's a cruel joke being played on him by the medical staff, Redshift approaches and tries to think of a few really good jokes to be made at Blueshift's expense.

Blueshift stands there like a stick with wings, staring at Octane. "Stop trying to distract me from Octane's secret weapon guys! Go on Octane, spill the turbobeans. Is it a tiny little laser for your tiny little femme hands?"

Octane turns around again at Blueshift's words, fingers slipping from the connection hose to clang against the new mixing chamber he's installing, before he turns around with a flourishing direction of his other arm that almost causes him to topple over. He recovers fast, though, as he smirks and points at Blueshift. "I think you should stop talking about -my- hands till you find yourself some!"

"Blueshift, who in the smelt DID that to you? Was it a filthy Autobot? Quintesson?" Fusillade demands of Blueshift, before ducking down to avoid getting clotheslined by Octane's long, silvery wingspans.

Blitzwing is thankfully distracted from Octane for long enough for the poor guy to work on his project. "Your OTHER arms, Blueshift, the ones with hands at the end. Did you leave them in the break room? Do we need to call a medical gumby?"

Blitzwing gets clocked by Octane's wingtip again since he's not paying attention. "Watch it!" he snaps.

Redshift peers at Octane's weapon, or whatever it is he's working on. "Oh, working on a weapon? Now you'll be armed and dangerous. Although the same can't be said of my counterpart, right Blue?" Redhift says, with a sidelong glance towards the Blue Decepticon.

"What are you talking about Fusillade, there are no Autobot Quintessons! And my arms are right... here..." He stops, looking down at his sides, pausing. "...what in the PIT? Who did this? Which of you stole my arms! NnnNNnNnNN!" It is at this point that he would make a fist, but he cannot since he has no arms

<Decepticon> Blueshift says, "WHO HAS STOLEN MY ARMS?"

<Decepticon> Mother Goose Fusillade says, "You tell us!"

<Decepticon> Redshift says, "Did you piss off the repair bay staff?"

<Decepticon> Blueshift says, "No, they love me, I am their second leader!"

<Decepticon> Blitzwing says, "That's what I'm asking!"

Octane pulls a face at Blitzwing as he turns around to go back to work. "My wings can't see where you are: maybe you should watch more carefully." He finishes attatching the third connection before starting to work on that tricky last connection...jiggle here, jiggle there...ah-hah...there! He pushes down it, shakes it from either side, to test that it's soldily in there before pressing a catch on the upper right side of the weapon and watches the fuel flow into the chamber and start to mix together as he watches the process with a discerning eye.

Blitzwing gets a mischevious look in his eye, reaches out and tries to tip Blueshift over with a finger to the forehead.

Blueshift staggers back at Blitzwing's touch, and without arms falls over with a huge crash. "From hells dark heart I stab at thee!" he cries out loudly, trying to get up but failing

Redshift is not a nice guy. If it were just him and Blueshift, Red would laugh until his arse fell off. And then probaly keep on laughing. But, with so many others here, he feels it reflects poorly on himself to have his off-colour brother flailing about on the floor like a fish. He grugingly tries helps Blueshift off the floor. "What the flak happened, Blue? Where are your stinkin' arms?"

Octane quietly replaces the cover over the refueling chamber on his flamethrower now that he has satisfied himself that it is all working properly. He picks it up and, turning around, aims up over everyone's head and sprays a large and extremely bright jet of flame over everyone's head as he cackles. The medical gumbys scramble around in uncertainty.

"I don't know!" mutters Blueshift. "I had them earlier! I was on patrol, and I had them then. It was all fine apart from the bit where I blacked out. Its a mystery, I don't know how it could have happened!"

A klaxon goes off, and the medical ward defenses come online, heavily armored cannons descending from tracks on the roof, and painting Octane with laser sights.

Octane looks put out at the lasers and the cannons pointing at him as if they were all overreacting. "It was only a bit of fun" he says peevishly as he lowers the flamethrower.

"Hey, /Astrotrain/," Pitchfork says to Blitzwing. "You're just embarrassing yourself, and the rest of those four-changers, like Skywarp over there," he points to Octane. "See? He totally thinks you're uncool, man. And if Skywarp doesn't think you're cool, you might as well be a Sky Lynx." He winces at the flamethrower and throws Blueshift the MAS sign, which this time looks curiously like the 'Cybertron Knitters Guild' sign

Octane shakes a fist at Pitchfork as the other gets his name wrong. "I'm not Skywarp, you addled brain adding machine!"

"Somebody must've dropped him out of orbit on his head," confides Blitzwing, who has forgotten all about Octane's secret device now.

"HEY! Watch the paint!" Redshift shouts as Octane spews flames over his head. He turns his attention back to Blueshift, peeing from one vacant shoulder to the other. "Ok, clearly you did something horribly stupid when you blacked out. Did you sell your arms to buy black market action figures? Empty your pockets!"

"Shut it Skywarp!" shouts Blueshift as he struggles to his feet. "Pitchfork, someone has stolen my ARMS from under my very nose! They must be found!"

"Your, eh, arms? Who would /want/ them? I mean, they match the rest of your body, and... ew," Pitchfork mutters, pushing past Astrotrain and Skywarp. "Hey, Red-Blueshift. Are you going to help us out or not?" He says to Redshift. "Obviously he needs new arms. Or you're just going to have to pick him up all the time." Whispering to Blueshift, he says, "What if we just beat up Red-Blueshift and steal his arms? They look compatible and they're the same shade of red that Zykin Zlortax wore on his last Krab Nebula tour."

Octane doesn't care that he had large guns pointed at him, or that Redshift yelled at him, or that Scrapper will probably visit him in the night and kick him all the way around the room for firing a flamethrower in the lab. It works!

Laserbeak sails into the room from the rafters. He lands on a cross beam and perches himself there. He eyes those currently recovering.

"Hey," says Blitzwing. "Nice flamethrower. Where'd you get that?"

"Perhaps" says Blueshift, suddenly eyeing his brother thoughtfully. "Also he couldn't hit me then. But no, I don't know where those hands have been, it would be disgusting! We must find my arms or I will have to have some tape follow me around as a helper! That would be horrible! Do you have any... space radiation detectors or anything Pitchfork? I hear they are in vogue at the moment"

Octane proudly taps the metal covering the mixing chamber as he explains with no small degree of smugness. "I developed a larger and more resistant mixing chamber for this weapon. It can contain more fuel and excites the substance to a faster degree causing it to burn longer. I also coated the inside of the chamber with a chemical composition of my own invention that causes the fuel mixture to burn for longer when it reaches it's target.

Basically Octane is saying he's cooler then anyone else. Yeah.

Blitzwing nods, listening attentively. "Oh, wait, is that the big secret?"

Octane nods and looks at Blitzwing triumphantly as if waiting for the other to fall to his knees and praise Octane's level of smartiness.

Laserbeak sails down from the higher peak and sails to Blitzwing's shoulder. Always the highest ranking Con gets the bird. Laserbeak does wait for approval from the large bot before coming to settle on his shoulder.

Blitzwing scoffs audibly. "Oh, I was thinking it would be something GOOD." He strolls out with his magazine, curiosity satisfied.

Octane stares after Blitzwing looking both stunned and visibly affronted.

Redshift says, "HEY, stop calling me that. I'm REDSHIFT, and I'm the original, and nobody's taking my arms because /he/ lost his. Stop whispering about me!" Redshift's arms are definatly too sexy- I mean, important- to be given to Blueshift. How would Redshift use his awesome guns if he didn't have arms? "There ahould be some rad' detectors kicking around here somewhere, if Pitch/spoon/ hasn;t got one.""

Pitchfork takes time to look back at Octwarp, "Are all of the four-changers always this boring? It's like they all have that Puma-mode to compensate for everything. Anyway," His optics narrow at Red-Blueshift. "Fine, fine, Blue-Blueshift. Let me see what I've got." He procudes what looks like a neon green metal detector. "This is more nor nebula radiation, because nebulas are in space." His voice lowers, "I went to a /killer/ Nebula party last week, anyway. Yeah, we should be able to tune it for non-nebulae... but... just don't tell anyone."

"I went to a Nebula party too!" Blueshift lies, blurting it out. "I met this really cute Nebula girl and we really hit it off, and she totally gave me her number and everything! Then I got overenergised and found myself dressed as a president making pentangles out of baking soda!"

Octane wanders away but not before carefully returning the screwdriver to it's drawer...hopefully Scrapper or Shockwave won't notice the smoke marks on the ceiling.

"Uh, right, real Blueshift," Pitchfork says, tuning the neon green metal detector. "Clone Blueshift, are you going to help us or just tell me lies? Normally ?I have a high-lie tolerance, but Real Blueshift is in trouble and this is just like that episode from the first season of Gay Hypnobears on the Moon, you know... back when it was good."

Laserbeak doesn't make it to his target in time so he lands on a table in the middle of the area where the remaining cons are located. He eyes Pitchfork for a minute, then Red and Blue shift.

"Pfft, Gay Hypnobears on the Moon was never good Pitchfork!" Blueshift retorts. "I could never understand it, too many words and things. Do you have the space radiation trail yet?"

"Look at this screen, Blueshift 1... it's trying to tell me something," Pitchfork says, pointing to the Tiger-Handheld looking screen of the nebula detector. It shows a pixellated picture of the French flag, then pixellated Golden Arches. "It always speaks in puzzles. Because if it didn't, then /anyone/ could get to the nebula party."

"Well then, we must go to this strange place that your detector speaks of, and reclaim my birthright!" cries Blueshift. "For I have an itch on my nose and I cannot scratch it, I will go insane otherwise!"

Redshift scowls at Pitchfork, and doesn't know if he's being reatrded on purpose of fun fun, but he hates it either way. He tries to get alook at the screen of the.. thingie.. withou having to get too close to Pitchfork.

Scavenger strolls into med ward, his domain, ready to start another shift of work. He pauses and points at Blueshift. "Say there, did you know your arms are missing?"

"Gah, here, Blueshift 2, take a look," he shows Redshift the screen. "I think it means... wait, let me Google this in my brain..." his eyes flash binary like the matrix and stuff, "Okay, I know exactly where it's trying to lead us. They're one of the 24 hour ones, thank God," says Pitchfork.

Paris, France

You are currently standing at the wide park surrounding the Eiffel Tower, Paris's most prominent landmark. Streets extend into the surrounding buildings, with the French driving their characteristically reckless way. Off in the distance you can even make out the towers of Notre Dame.

McDonalds Car Park

A delightful car park next to McDonalds. Or "LE McDONALDS" as the sign proclaims. The car park itself is pretty scummy, and there is a noticeboard for food, which has in big letters "LE ROYALE BURGER" as the main attraction.

Blueshift flies into the area of the French McDonalds car park. Or rather wobbly-flies, since he has no arms. "WHERE ARE MY ARMS!" he cries. And then, looking about. "LE ARMS! LE ARMS!" He sets himself down, looking at the horrific desolate terrain of France

Following behind Blueshift, Redshift arrives at the parking lot of this horrible human food fanchise. "This must be where they fatten them up for slaughter, to be processed into slop for future generations of horrible worm-babies. Any sign of your arms yet, Blueshift?"

Scavenger flies well behind Blueshift, not particularly wanting to be associated with him at all, but this is a scavenger hunt for a soldier's vitally needed limbs, and so, Scavenger felt obliged to come. His back-mounted shovel rises, sensors activating. France. McDonalds. How cheesy.

The car park is pretty normal, full of French people, apart from one car, which has its boot open with a man standing to the side. Inside the boot are a wide array of alien weaponry, including... a pair of blue arms. "Greetings newcomers!" the man speaks, stepping forward. "I am Slartibartfast, alien arms dealer extraordinaire, and I can see you are canny customers!"

Following his neon-green metal detector aka nebula-finder, Pitchfork rubs his chin. "I could get behind this place, look at them." A bunch of frenchmen are looking with disdain at the menu, just smoking and leaning against light-popsts and Geo Metros. "They obviously know how much this place sucks, anyway. This is as far as my GasMansion 4000 is going to take us. Someone check future-ebay for Blueshift's arms."

"Curses!" cries Blueshift sadly as he stands by Pitchfork. "Then the trail is dead! We will never find my arms. I will get beaten up by minibots. Oh, the humanity!" He stomps over to the menu signpost and starts to read it, feeling dejected

Landing with the unnecessarily loud CRUNCH of impact behind Blueshift, Redshift and Scavenger, the oily Apeface looks around him with visored, crimson optics, a hand lifting to scratch at the side of his helmet'd head. "What th' hell is a -McDonald's-? Sounds like a fatty's restaurant," he muses, looking back towards Blueshift as he rampages around in desperate search for his arms. "... Ya kiddin' me? You should just give it up, ya retarded blue scrapheap! Probably do better without arms ta screw up with, GAAHAAAAHAAA!" He seems not to notice the arms dealer for now, so busy is he laughing at Blueshift's misfortunate. "HAAARHAAARHAARRRR, ARMLESS FREAK!"

"Ah, Slutybarfest!" Redshift says, and hovers over torwards the mysterious alien arms dealer, and his car-boot full of weapons. "Yes, I would like to purchase a high-yield nuclear warhead. Have you got any? You do have store credit, right?"

Scavenger steps gingerly among the automobiles. They seem particularly small and plain, none of which appear to show the large flashiness of an Autobot in disguise, but you can never bee too careful. He eyes each suspiciously, stopping his searh upon Slartibartfast. "Mon dieu."

Slartibartfast rummages in his boot. "Hmm afraid I'm all out of those, young man. I do have a Value Fusion Detonator if you like..." He removes a really really cheap looking cylindrical device. "Just uh, don't drop it or anything. And don't put it in your mouth. Its really hard to get out the radioactivity stains..."

"Oh, god, it's /Rippersnapper/," says Pitchfork, looking at Apeface. He narrows his optics. "Or maybe that's Iguanus, I can't tell them apart. Anyway, you, Ripperguanus! Check future-ebay! Make yourself useful!" Pitchfork snaps his nebula-detector over his knee for emphasis.

Laserbeak flies over to Scavenger..seems the others are hyper focused on each other the bot sails toward a position on the large bot's shoulder.

Blueshift stares at the service window. "Uh, un Le Big Mac plox" he speaks, attempting french. "Non!" the man at the window says. "Ce ne pas arms!" Blueshift turns away with a scowl. "Pitchfork, they will not serve me, this is inconceivable!"

Scavenger becomes a perch of Soundwave's lil birdy buddy. He knows better than to resist. Instead he glances to Laserbeak and asks, "You see any Autobots here? Or arms for that matter?"

Redshift eyes the flimsy-looking cylinder doubtfully. "I dunno, looks kinda cheap. I have a personal philosophy of never buying cheap nuclear weapons, it always ends in tradegy. How about those arms there?" He asks, pointing into the car's trunk. "And I don't mean the guns. Like, actual arms. Like these but blue?" He says, pinting at one of his own shiny red arms.

Slartibartfast starts to feel Redshift's arms. "Ooooh good and strong they are. I can offer you a good price! Yes yes, I have these..." he points to the blue arms in the car boot. "I uh, aquired them earlier. They were a bit rubbish though, so I gave them a tuning up. I'll expect a premium price though!"

"Whu?" Apeface glances over at Pitchfork as he speaks up, optics squinting ever-so-slightly. "What the hell's a Ripperguanus? An' who the hell're you supposed ta be, Woodwork? Wood panelin' ain't good fer crap!" He leans forward, peering at Pitchfork. "An' that tunin' fork looks lame as hell, too. How 'bout you go look up flyboy's arms on future ebay, an' I'll help ya out by findin' somethin' less -terrible'n- a tunin' fork to jam on yer skull." Apeface's attention begins to shift here, gaze flitting towards Slartibartfast almost thoughtfully as he lifts a hand, foul odor wafting from his joints. "Maybe that guy'll have somethin' better for ya, eh?"

Laserbeak scans the area as Scavenger instructs. He motions with his beak and transmits a text message to the large bot, 'In the car trunk. Stats match.. could belong to Blueshift. Why don't we just blow the dealer up and take what we came for?'

Elbowing armless Blueshift, Pitchfork points to Redshift. "Look, your clone is over there talking to some gross alien. Actually, I think that guy was in an episode of 'Space Pedophiles Caught on Tape... and Rewarded Handsomely!' in season 3. The episode was called 'Caterwaul', I think. Let me check f-wikipedia," says Pitchfork. He looks up at Apeface, "Listen? Thundercracker, right? I'll level with you. You just don't understand. And you never will. So go back to trying to summon Starscream's ghost with a oiuja board."

"I saw that episode" Blueshift mutters as he walks over to Redshift. "It was the sickest thing ever. Redshift, are you talking to that bad man from the television? He'll say he has a box of turbo puppies in his car or something, you remember the last time that happened."

Redshift pulls away as the creeppy alien feels his arms. Wierd, this is how those underaged girls must feel..."I could offer you some premium real estate on Charr? You'd have to put up with lousy neighbours and energy leeches, though." Redshift replies. He turns back to look at the other Decepticons. "Hey! You guys bring any cash?" He shouts. "Maybe we should rob this pathetic fat-distributing establishment. Blue! I think this wierd guy actually has your arms. Did you seel your arms ot him for drug money?"

Scavenger thinks about Laserbeaks suggestion as he walks over to the dealer and his wares. His back-mounted shovel scanning. Sensing. "You... Earth man. I wish to burn and melt my enemies for a change... What do you have?"

"No!" Blueshift shouts back. "Should I?" He then stops and looks at his limbless shoulders. "Oh, ah crap"

Laserbeak looks down into the trunk and shakes his birdlike head.. it was times like this he would rather be in the cassette compartment.

Slartibartfast strokes his beard at Redshift. "Hmm. No, I'm trying to give up on energy leeches. I WILL take a delicious Le Royale Burger in payment though for these arms. And you young man!" he turns to Scavenger. "I have just the thing." From the car boot, he lifts a red fire extinguisher. "A fire extinguisher, yes? No! For using my arcane alien science, I have managed to switch it into reverse. Like so!" He pulls the handle and a plume of flame shoots out.

"..." Apeface squints pointedly at Pitchfork, silent for the longest time. His head twists to consider the Decepticon Jet, and then-- "GAAAHAAAHAAAHAAARRR!! I like ya, Woodwork! Ya got bad taste, an' yer dinky li'l tuning fork's a piece o' crap, but yer a sassy guy, ain'tcha? Yer alright!" Swinging forward, Apeface slaps a broad hand against Pitchfork's back, still laughing loudly. "Gaahahahaaaha, Starscream's ghost. YER BRILLIANT!"

Scavenger watches the fire lancing out and then looks back at the device itself. He grumbles, thinking about how to store it, holster it, or mount it upon himself. "Red is... do they come in black? Or purple?" He looks to Laserbeak. "I don't know, what do you think?"

Redshift approaches the Mcdonld's drive through window, and attempts to make an order. "Hey! Earthmonkies! I need a "delicious Le Royale Burger" to buy some arms from this wierd guy in the parking lot." He asks the humans inide, who are no doubt screaming thier heads off at the presence of so many havily armed Decepticons in thier parking lot.

Pitchfork is clapped on the back by the larger robot, and stumbles forward. He turns to glare, but his optics soften. "Listen, uh, Jetguy. You can be a reserve member in my entourage. I actually need a space-redneck. Welcome aboard," he says with a smile. Turning back to the Shifts, Lazorbeakkk and Scavzor, Pithfark crosses his arms over his chest. "A Royale? Ugh, I do have this /coupon book/," he says, handing it to the threat-spewing Redshift.

All the humans are... apart from one. "Non!" he says to Redshift, pointing at his wings. "Ce-ne pas wings. Ce-ne pas le coupon book"

Laserbeak continues his scan of the horizon, "Fusillade on approach." he says to Scavenger, though text transmission.

"Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever ya say, Forkwarp. Entourage, sure." Waving a hand dismissively through the air, Apeface turns around, the vibrantly purple Decepticon making his way towards the McDonald's to stand near Redshift, leaning in to stare at the human. "Whazzat? He speakin' in some kinda dead tongue, or somethin'?"

"Let me translate!" Blueshift pipes up. "I think he is saying that he doesn't like the colour red, Redshift. These Frenchlings are pretty racist. Pitchfork, these Frenchmen are worse than you!" he calls. "This is the worst carpark ever!"

"What? What is he /saying/? Who understands this horribly earth language?" Redshift asks, looking to his fellow Decepticons. "That doesn't make any sense, Blue. Red is clearly an awesome colour!" He says, and turns nack to the window. "Give me a 'royale', whatever that is, or I'll shart SHOOTING things until I get one!"

Scavenger pauses in his window shopping by the trunk at the mention of Fusillade... hesitant. Will she react poorly to him being here 'goofing off' looking for Blueshifts arms and flame-weapon shopping while he could be working on the Tanker-Airbase project?

Slartibartfast rummages in the boot and takes out a can of green spraypaint. "Yours for no extra cost!" he says to Scavenger. "I'm pretty sure this is spraypaint, and not the weaponised can I made. The price is just a packet of delicious chips. Or frittes as they call them here!"

"Someone get this space pervert a Le Cup of Petit Kola, too, or he is probably going to touch jetguy in the no-no's," Pitchfork says. He looks down at the human and frowns. "Maybe Commandress Fusillade knows how to speak Greek? If so, she can translate for us. If she doesn't carpetbomb us all the way to the center of the earth."

"Snooty li'l humans, huh? Th' armless freak's right, these guys're worse'n Tuningscream over there." Apeface jerks a thumb back towards Pitchfork despite barely knowing the Decepticon Jet. He lets out a low rumble like a belch, smacking a metal hand against his broad chest. "I say just burn 'em down. Ya can find Le Royale whatever once everythin's been burnt ta a crisp, right?"

Scavenger grumbles at Slartibartfast. "Keep the paint..." No one ever caters to Constructicon style anymore. He misses the 1980's. "I'll be right back with your fee, you weird little man." He straightens up and scans the surrounding area... food seems to be dispensed over by a sid window cars are driving up to and away from. "Laserbeak. It looks like to get these humans call food one must drive up in a vehicle. I will transform. You will pretend to be my driver. It is a foolproof plan." With that, He steps towards the drive thru lane and stops a car from pulling forward. ~honk honk honk buffon! honk honk honk imbecile!~ He transforms into Steam shovel mode, crushing some of the concrete curb lining the drive way.

Blueshift stares at Redshift. "That's genius. Quick, you transform, I'll sit on you and use the coupon book. It is a foolproof plan" He starts to get itchy, dancing about a bit. "I need my arms! How can I touch and feel and stuff. No offense Laserbeak, but this sucks!"

Laserbeak shrinks and compresses his form into the shape of a Red, White, and Black cassette tape.

Redshift scowls and backs away from the drive through window, as Scavnegerdrives up in his vehicle mode. "Yes, perhaps they only cater to humans while inside thier vehicles." Redshift also transforms, although perhaps a futuristic spaceship is less likely to go unnoticed as an earthly construction vehicle.

Laserbeak sails into the driver seat and emits a holo-image of a fat construction man.

Making absolutely no effort to hide her approach once she got past the Pyrenees Mountain ranges, Fusillade rumbles to herself as she zeroes in on Paris. She makes a few mental notes about tagging the refurbished Arc d'Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower, her sleek orca-patterned bomber form banking and assessing the situation down below. She begins identifying the Decepticons present, and with a twinge of horror, realizes that yes, most of them are in Operations.

As Redshift transforms, the armless Blueshift slowly clambers onto his brother, managing to stand on the wings, wobbling slightly. "Onwards!" he cries, unable to point in any direction. "This will fool those Frenchies!"

"Well, PlaneNose," Pitchfork says to Apeface. "It looks like, fortunately, we get to sit this one out. If the Gorbulon Paparazzi saw me here, it'd be in the Gorbuso Atroquirer faster than a Moon Cheetah from Bilkop VII," Pitchfork says.

The french man at the window picks a few spots before looking at the Construction vehicle that has just pulled up. "Ce ne pas un order?" he mutters in a drawn out accent. "Le ne burger?"

<Decepticon> Mesa says, "Unit Mesa on station."

<Decepticon> Redshift says, "... Do you speak french?"

<Decepticon> Mesa says, "Negative, however I have a vast collection of French music."

"Wait!" cries Blueshift. "I have it! I have heard that French is the universal language of love, that is how we will deal with this infernal communication barrier!"

<Decepticon> Redshift says, "That's useless!"

<Decepticon> Mesa says, "Useless to you maybe. I find it quite useful."

Red Spacecraft wobbles from side to side, asmospheric maneuvering thursters compensating for the shift in the center of balance and additional weight. "Hey, watch the paint Blue! I just had it touched up." He emits grumpily, and slowly hovers into the drive-through lane, and wobbles some more. "Make it snappy Blue, whatever you do."

Laserbeak emits the fatman moving his mouth hoping that Scavenger is able to match. He transmits a text message to Fusillade, "We are on a recovery mission. Two Arms missing. I am uncertain as to why we aren't just blowing this place to rubble."

Steam Shovel <Scavenger> rolls forward as the line creeps ahead. He lowers his shovel arm to make it under the overhang. Reaching the window, his voice responds to the window operator. "Non. J'aime la frittes, s'i vous plaite, germme humain."

"Oui!" says the frenchman happily, handing out the packet of frittes to Scavenger, waiting for the fat man in the cab to take it. "Le take un frittes?"

Laserbeak sends a message to the shovel, 'Have him toss it in the window.'

Steam Shovel <Scavenger> grumbles. "Uh... lancer la frittes au moi, mon petite maladie organique." ~roughly translated as throw the fries to me, my small organic disease~

"I see. Blueshift, I commend your initiative on recovering your materials. A very good point, Redshift? Do we know the location of the arms themselves? We could very well stop jumping through these rididulous hoops and get on with business." Fusillade responds to the Decepticons, before making final approach. Upon spotting the alien, she soars past on a low-speed pass, bay doors split to flaunt the full load of weaponry she's hauling about. Picking up on the 'lancer', she barks out, <<WHAT were you saying about me, Scavenger?!>>

The Frenchman shrugs and throws the packet of fries into the cab interior, letting them fly out of the packet also as they tumble into the air. "Bon eating!" he says

Steam Shovel <Scavenger> transmits to Laserbeak ~Good call. These human ways are messed up, but not hard for smart Decepticons like us to figure out." He rolls away from the window and makes the long way back around towards the parking lot.

Now it is Blueshift's turn as he wobbles atop Redshift. "Har de har!" he cries, speaking the international language of love, and swaying his hips. "Un royale burger, unf unf!" He is rewarded by a burger held out to him... but then he realises he cannot hold it. "Noooo!" he cries. "Nooooooo!"

<<Oh, good of you to drop by, Fusillade!>> Redshift replies to the Executrix. <<The creepy arm dealer, Sluttybarfest, or something like that, appears to actually HAVE Blueshift's arms. He wanted a food item from this horrible-smelling food dispensing location, which we are trying to aquire now.>> The little red spaceship wobbles some more, struggling to not dump his brother on the ground. "Get off me and I'll pick it up!"

Steam Shovel <Scavenger> transmits back to Fusillade, ~What?! Who!? Where?~

Blueshift disembarks by toppling off Redshift with no arms to balance him. "Hurry!" he cries. "Time is off the essence. Before it gets COLD!"

Laserbeak txts his carrier, "Is our work complete?" he thens deactivates the holo-image.

Redshift quickly transforms into his robotic mode, and snatches the burger from the concrete where it lies. He darts over to the alien arms dealer(who probaly doesn't have a very high opinion of Decepticon warriors by now) and presents him with the 'royale burger' he requested. "Behold! I have aquirred the food item. "Now, the arms. Give me the ARMS!"

<<Ah, Redshift, thank you for your prompt response. Can you tell me more about just WHERE this fellow is?>> Fusillade asks oh so helpfully...

<<He's in the parking lot selling junk out of the trunk of his car.>> Redshift replies.

Steam Shovel <Scavenger> transmits back to Laserbeak as he continues driving through the parking lot back towards the dealer ~The deception is complete. You can eject if you wish, or whatever it is you do...~ His treads are not very nice on the asphalt as he rolls along. His cab door swings open.

Slartibartfast snatches the burger and starts to chomp away, giving the universal 'thumbs up sign'. "Mmmmm, that is a good Le Royal! Thanks giant red man! The arms are in the boot, take them, they're all yours! Delicious!"

Laserbeak sails out of the cab and into the air, ~With the mission complete I am returning to base~

Fusillade roves in the skies restlessly, making a point to AVOID sucking down Laserbeak into her engine intakes. <<Oh are you KIDDING me?! Is that IT!? UGH I flew all the way out here and I don't even get to... GRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHGH!>> She begins laying down an entire third of her payload into the unfortunate restaurant. "That's what you get for building the stupid MAGINOT LINE! UGH!" THOOM! CRACKAWHOOM!

Le ow

Blueshift stands about as the transaction is completed. "So uh, can someone stick them back on me? I would, but, I have no hands..." He watches silently as Fusillade bombs the McDonalds. "Huh...."

Redshift's optics light up with malicious glee, as he reaches into the smelly boot of the car to retrieve the arms, which seem slightly different than his own. The creepy alien must've tinkered with them, like he said. "Now, Blueshift! What wi--" The red Decepticon is cut off in mid-sentence as Fusillade decides to unload a belly full of bombs on the restaurant. Redshift shields his face from bits of debris by holding Blueshift's arms in front of himself. "Blueshift! I have your arms! You owe me. Big time."

Steam Shovel <Scavenger> stops in his tracks as the fast food establishment behind him is bombarded and goes up! "Merde..." He sighs and rolls the rest of the way back to Slartibartfast. "Your frittes..." He swivels his cab about to open his door towards the dealer.

Slartibartfast starts to scoop the chips from the seat where they fell. "Oh man, delicious salty potato snacks! Sure, take the fire doodad! All yours, you earned it! Mmm salty!" The man starts to munch away at a fistful of frittes as he walks back to his car

Steam Shovel <Scavenger> grunts... feeling greasy and salty inside. He transforms back into bot mode and snags his new weapon in disguise. He looks it over thouroughly before looking to Blueshift and Redshift with the arms. "Can we get out of this infested place now?"

Blueshift glares at Redshift for waving his arms about. "Less talking Scavenger, more arm-putting on. That's what I pay you for!" This is a lie, he doesn't pay Scavenger anything. He is hoping Scavenger will not realise that"

Redshift points Blueshift's arm accusingly at Scavenger. "You're a Constructicon! Fix Blueshift's arms!"

Scavenger grumbles, subspace-stores his Mock-extinguisher, and makes one of his own hands disappear into his arm, replacing it with a soldering tool. Gimme one of those before you lose them again." He snatches one from Redshift and brings it to the correct shoulder socket for reconnection processing.

Blueshift starts to wiggle his shoulder at Scavenger. "Hurry green man, I feel the greasy air from this human establishment polluting my beautiful shine!" He turns his head as there is a rev of engines and the arms dealer drives off, pursued by serveral french police cars. "Curses, we could have got more stuff to take home!"

Redshift hands over the arm to Scavenger. Get it, hands? Ok, it sucks. "Awesome, and you even got a new toy out of it for yourself. Win-win for everybody! Blue got his arms, Sluttybarfest got his gross fatburger, Fusillade got to blow something up..." Redshift muses, counting off the items on Blueshift's finger on the remaining arm. "Hey! What do I get? Slag, I should have swiped something from his trunk."

Scavenger shakes his head. "Not with the food dispensing place blown to smitherines..." His welding tool sizzles and melts the connections back together. He then pushes it in and locks it back into functional placement. "Roll your arm while I do the other." He takes the other arm from Redshift and says, "Maybe next time he gets hungry." He begins work on the second arm.

Blueshift starts to flex his repaired arm. "Aha, it feels faster, stronger, more alive" he cries, making several lewd hand movements. "Lets see someone try to steal my arms again!" He looks about in case someone /does/ try.

Redshift gives Scavneger he other arm as well. We've gone this far, might as well get it over with so Blueshift can stop crying over his lack of limbs. "So you think that creep actually managed to improve your arm, Blueshift? Maybe we should put him on the payroll."

Scavenger finishes and steps away. He turns to look back at the burning wreckage that was McDonalds as fire fighting sirens approach. He withdraws his mock extinguisher and chuckles. "Maybe they would like my help?"

Blueshift gives everyone a thumbs up and laughs at the hilarious joke. "Ho ho ho!" he says. "Now let us NEVER speak of this again...."