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Who: Velum, Blitzwing, Chromedome, Stylor |
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Within the Steel Balloon, there is a dance floor immediately past the front door. Behind the floor is the main bar, which curves around like an elongated half-octagon. Several bartenders busily serve the customers that flow into this place at any given time.
The Steel Baloon is exploding with positive energy at the moment, avid race fans are glued to the broadcast from Velocitron and Cybertronians (regardless of affiliation) are milling about drinking heavily. Overall, it's a good night to be a neutral bar.
Chromedome is seated in a corner, going over a complex algorithm with a race bettor. "You see, if you plug Y into the equasion.. you should see the the vecor raise significantly in a boxed or breaker bet. BUT, if you plug the same into the equasion for a across the board bet, the algorithm becomes unreliant."
The unaffiliated Cybertronian stares at him blankly, "So uhh, put my money on Blurr?"
Letting out a sigh, "Yes." is all Chromedome can muster in the face of such stupidity.
"Chromedome, you'd be better off just saying 'Always bet on Blurr' instead of trying to explain your algorithm to these folk." Velum says casually from her perch atop the high table, legs dangling over the edge as she sips on a Nebulan brew. She's ventured around the bar now and then, but it generally sticking to him since he's her ride. Oh what she wouldn't trade to actually get a lift in peace without Stylor hounding her about fashion the entire way over. "It's what I did. I mean really, has the guy /ever/ lost?"
There's certainly nothing quite like a visit to the local watering hole to follow up invasive surgery.
Blitzwing passes through the entrance of the Steel Balloon, striding through the foyer and directly across the dance floor. He's headed to the bar. And he probably disjoins a dozen couples on his way to it. He is accosted on his way, but pays the complaints no mind. It's too early in the evening for putting boyfriends in trash cans.
"Well, if you calculate the races in which Blurr refused or didn't participate in alongside the races in which he did, the finishing positions of both race types, and a randomization factor of point zero seven four.." Chromedome spews out, taking a sip from the ener-brew he's been nursing for awhile. "You'd theorize that -had- Blurr entered into races he had a less advantageous chance of winning, his win-rate would be reduced by three point four percent.." he pauses, for another drink.
"Otherwise? No, I am not aware of a race he has lost.. technically speaking of course. One could argue the absence of participation is of itself, a type of loss." the Headmaster finishes his drink, setting it down.
Velum groans softly at Chromedome's ramble, pressing palm to her forehead, "Eesh, c'mon Chromedome, I don't need to lose my buzz before it even starts with the science talk." She waggles the open end of her beer bottle at him, smirking, "No more tech talk, this is a bar. A place to get drunk, not spin theories and calculations. ..And I'm surprised Stylor hasn't come out. I was hoping he'd rib on the local style. ..Do Cybertronians even have fashion?" She ponders this a moment, but gets sidetracked when big, tall, and purple stalks on into the bar, making her grimace a little. "Tch, kinda sucks this is a neutral bar. Means we gotta put up with Cons."
"Oh, where are my manners?" Chromedome hiccups, getting up from his stool and approching the bar. Finding himself right next to Blitzwing, the Headmaster merely gives a dopey drunk smile (albeit behind a facemask) and orders a small drink. Delicately taking it over towards Velum, Chromedome places it down on the perch next to her and transforms into a Cybertronian Sports Car. Stylor fashionably hops out of the seat, seizing up the drink and taking a meager sip.
"I was wondering when gold and red boring was going to let me come out for a drink." the Nebulon smiles, seating himself next to Velum. "What's the occasion tonight, Vel?"
Chromedome's head pops off, transforming into the stylin' and profilin' Nebulon Stylor!
Blitzwing plods past the dance floor, leaving in his wake a completely dejected, unfuriated, and out-of-sync spectacle. Blitzwing reaches the bar and takes a seat there with a beleaguered sigh, ordering up a flurry of drinks. All for himself. You know, to assist the self-repair subsystems along. "Add it to my tab," the triplechanger snorts as he accepts the first frosty beverage - a simple microbrew. Blitzwing takes a long initial glug, surveying the collected patrons over the rim of the mug. Chromedome - now decapitated, a mouthy human... no one else of particular note. Or no one worth Blitzwing's time, anyway. The triplechanger quirks a brow as the Headmaster approaches him, or what appears to be an approach vector - but nothing but wordless gestures of acknowledgement pass between the two Cybertronians - Blitzwing giving the Autobot a slight nod.
It's amusing to watch Chromedome walk back with such a tiny bottle in hand, but Velum knows who it's for and just remains in her seat until Stylor emerges and settles down beside her. "Aw, be nice. He's not all that bad." She smirks, stealing a swip. "and it's race day on Velocitron. I've got two hundred on Blurr." Yes, she can afford to bet that much. The salaries start to add up when you start working for a few different factions at once.
She leans out to eyes the car that is Chromedome a moment, pursing lips in though. "...Wonder how blasted we can get him if we poured booze in his tank." An entertaining thought, but she wouldn't do that unless Stylor got in on it too. It's his partner, after all. Leaning back she downs the rest of her second bottle and waves it at the barkeep across the way, cupping hand to her mouth to make herself heard over the crowd. "Hey, barkeep! another one of these!"
"You'd waste good booze on that giant calculator?" Stylor sighs, taking another sip of his Nebulon martini. Shaken, not stirred. "I mean, yeah.. he's not bad for a giant robot nerd and all. But you should see the stuff I have to put up with. Did you know he runs some sort of text game called 'Homosapiens2k5' online? He spends HOURS online acting like he's a human, doing mundane tasks." the Nebulon spouts off, another sip of his martini down.
"It's sickening."
"As for tall and ugly over there, it is a sad day when we have to play nice with 'em." Stylor adds, continuing. "Well, sucks to be you.. your payoff is gonna be nil to none. I'm putting my money on Blast Off, that's where the big payoff is at!"
Blitzwing continues to drink, lining up empty glasses in droves. It's what he came here to do, and nothing short of Backfire showing up is going to deter him from getting thoroughly inebriated. How many lines is this pose so far? Shit. Well, it's going to have to do. Drink drink drink!
Weldion approaches the bar, sitting next to Blitzwing. Ordering a drink, he merely sips on it through a straw and looks at the Triplechanger. "So uhh, sorry for what Backfire ordered me to do earlier. That was like.. uncool, man."
Velum just kind of gives Stylor an odd, sidelong look. "..Seriously? That's a little.. sad. I'm a little tempted to log in as a guest now and see what he's like on there." When a waitress arrives with her drink she gladly accepts it and pops the top off with a flick of mechanical thumb. "I'm tell you, you're gonna lose your money bettin' on a Con. If Blurr wasn't in the race then maybe I'd bet." A long pull of beer. "Anyway, you hear anything from Galen yet on this whole 'Nebulos against Cybertron' fiasco?"
Meanwhile Blitzwing is being totally antisocial in this scene.
"I vowed to not speak to Galen until he's agreed to change hairstyles from that HORRENDOUS bowl cut he's been sporting since two thousand five." Stylor abruptly replies, another delicate sip from his martini. "Besides, we've already cast our lot in with the Autobots.. what high and mighty Princess Llrya does with her opinion is of little conscequence to us."
Blitzwing snorts in his beer as a miniscule little thing takes up residence next to him at the bar. Blitzwing slowly cranes his head over to survey Weldion, deadpan facial expression. As the runt apologizes, Blitzwing slides a glass down his way. Blitzwing laughs, "Ha, Backfire. He's probably still picking up his chiclets off the medbay floor." Blitzwing takes another swing, dialoguing with Weldion without looking at him, now. "Look, first mistake. You listened to Backfire. Second mistake, you don't apologize for other people. Pro tip: don't make a third mistake. No one will miss you."
Weldion takes the drink and downs it in one big gulp. Wiping his chin of excess enerhol, he grins. "Alright, good to kno.....wwwwwwwwwwwwww." he seizes, falling to the floor in an unconcious mess.
Third mistake: Don't drink enerhol when you're allergic to it.
Velum nearly chokes on her drink at that remark about Galen, a hand slapping over her mouth to keep from spitting it out. "Agh, damnit, Stylor! Almost made me spit my drink." She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and snorts. "Eh, maybe you're right. Gonna be hard to fight our own kind, though, if it comes down to it." The woman sits in silence for a few long moments, eyes flicking between Blitzwing and the TV screen overhead now and then, just to keep an eye on him, before commenting idly with a playful smirk. "..You know, you haven't criticized me at all yet. I think that's a new record for you."
"Trust me, I've been painfully swallowing my harsh critique." Stylor smiles, taking a sip from his drink. "Anyways, you really think Nebulos will raise arms against the Cybertronians? As I see it, the Princess is just attempting to sway popular opinion. It's not like our home planet is capable of repelling an assault from them, if those atmospheric mists weren't in play of course." he adds.
Ordering another ener-martini, Stylor continues with his point. "Thing is, she's still hung up on Galen and sore about her father Zarak. Being a member of the Galactic Senate, of course she's going to try to flex some diplomatic muscle.. but if it ever came down to it? I seriously doubt we'd be fighting our own people on the frontlines."
Blitzwing finishes his drink, watching Weldion collapse with mild amusement. The triplechanger perks up, scanning the establishment. Blitzwing cups a hand over his mouth and hollars over at Velum, "EY! Bar wench! Get off your ass and do your job! Come clean this crap up!"
Velum actually looks a little surprised at that, blinking at Stylor a few times in silence. "..Good point." Well then, turns out he's not all Vogue-brain after all. "But even if she doesn't follow through, we've still got to worry about the other planets who seem to want to come down on Cybertron's head. I'll be damned if I let that happen."
Bottle lifts halfway to her lips before a voice calling her way immediately grabs her attention, Velum jerking head in the direction of Blitzwing. The Neb scowls nastily at him, jutting chin defiantly, "Clean it up yourself, yah scumsucking shitpile!"
Stylor nods along with her affirmation of his superior sylistic mind, "Well, ole calculator here has figured that even if the Galactic Senate takes action against the Cybertronian race as a whole.. they only stand like sixteen point something percent of defeating us."
<<Correction: Seventeen point zero zero zero one percent chance.>> Chromedome pipes up from the side of the bar, a bevy of ladies admiring his nice chrome finish and sexy racing stripes.
"Just so you know ladies, I'm the one who detailed him!" Stylor adds, before being taken aback by Velum's sudden display of vulgarness. And just when he thought she could be a lady.
Blitzwing returns to his collection of enerhol, glancing down at Weldion more out of curiosity than anything. Blitzwing frowns at the mech, lifting one of his glasses and pour the contents of it onto the unconcious underling. "Down the hatch." Blitzwing soon piques, though, as he seems to have mistaken the NEBULAN for bar staff. Though can you blame him? The current barkeep looks like Cthulu. The triplechanger laughs at the response he receives from Velum, shouting back at her, "So who let you out of the kitchen anyway?"
Velum isn't exactly in the mood to fight tonight. Not like she can anyway without her exo, and even then she probably wouldn't last long in it against a triplechanger. His remark gets a scornful hiss and a mutter under her breath. "Ass.." Gaze shifts to Chromedome a moment out of the corner of her eye, raising a brow at all the ladies fawning at the hot rod, before looking back to Stylor. "You think we should save him before they try to steal him?" Bottle is gestured to the sports car.
Weldion merely stirs when the enerhol is poured over him, spouting "I CAN FIX ANYONE!" before he promptly passes out again.
Stlyor sighs, rubbing his temples. It seems the prissy Nebulon Master might even be annoyed that his partner is getting more attention than him. "He'll be alright, if anything.. Chromey is secured with seventeen pass-code locks.. none of which any of those gals look worthy 'o passin'." he surmises, taking his new drink from the waitress.
"So, when you gonna ditch the butch look and start primpin' yourself up?" he asks of Velum, taking a sip of his drink.
Velum's eyes widen a hair at Stylor. "..Butch? ..The hell do you mean?" A look down to her attire, which is just a simple tanktop matched with a pair of jeans. Nothing fancy about it, and certainly not butch. Just plain. The Headmaster gets an annoyed sniff as she focuses on the bottle in her hand. "I don't look butch, damnit, I just don't really like getting all primped and proper. Besides..." Lips skew in to a frown and brows knit a little, Velum grumbling softly, "..I don't think I look very good in a dress." And god forbid she even knows how to apply makeup. It's just something she never bothered to pick up.
"Just because you think you don't look good in a dress, doesn't mean some knuckle scraper like Krunk won't." Stylor teases, giving her a gentle pinch on the cheek.
Blitzwing polishes off the last glass in his enerhol gamut with a long and hearty chug, subsequently slapping the empty vessel down on the counter of the bar with a resounding thud. The Decepticon erupts shortly thereafter with an equally resonant belch. Blitzwing wipes away some excess foam from his face, and then turns to stand from his stool at the bar. Less than gracefully, Blitzwing chooses to dismount onto the spot on the floor that Weldion is currently occupying. The mech futilely squeals in protest as the triplechanger's weight bears down on him, life coming to an end in the form of a steely pancake. Blitzwing grunts with an accomplished air, stalking back through the dance floor the way he came. As he departs, Blitzwing crushes some unfortunate mech with an overhand wallop, sending the creature into the strobbing LED panels underfoot, grabbing the mech's dancing partner by the head and throwing her over his shoulder on his way out.
Unbeknowest to Blitzwing, his stomp of Weldion didn't only NOT kill him.. but affix a stray wire to his boot heel. The unwilling unconcious medic gumby is dragged out along with the Triplechanger.
Velum flinches at the pinch, very tempted to bite his hand out of spite. "You're not comparing me to Krunk now, are you? Way to raise make me feel better." She grumps, waving a hand to shoo his away. "The only time I think I'd ever get gussied up though would be A) If you strapped me down and B) If there was some super high class gathering I had to attend. Not that I'm ever invited to those anyway." The best she's had to dress so far is her fancy military attire, and that's only been three times now.
The commotion coming from the dancefloor has her looking up to spy Blitzwing causing a ruckus on his way out, as usual, Velum sniffing derisively. "Damn Cons. Always eager to ruin a good time wherever they can."
"No, I'm saying you can attract such illustrious affection like Krunk's." Stylor smiles, drawing his hand away before it can be bitten, slapped, grabbed, twisted, or broken. "Well, you've certainly got to do something with yourself.. you're a ranking member of the EDC now, Velum."
The Nebulon Headmaster's view falls on the poor unfortunate soul that is Weldion, being dragged out of the bar by a wire. "Tell me about it, he ruined the good time when he marched in here wearing fuschia and beige. Didn't anyone tell him that it's summer, time for warm colors."
Velum wrinkles her nose, "Eugh, as if I'd want that beast tailing after me. I swear Zarak feeds that guy small children or something. And whatever he puts on to get rid of Snapdragon's stink smells just as bad." She just shakes her head. "Anyway.. I dress well enough when I have to. It's not like I go around in my casuals everywhere, you know." Velum idly swirls the half a bottle of beer remaining. Lips purse faintly and cerulean blues shift to view him out of the corner of her eye, "...Why, you wanna try and give me a makeover or something?"
"Something like that, can't have you parading around representing the Nebulon race like that." Stylor teases once again, a swift pinch of her cheek.. before he dismounts from the perch. Approaching Chromedome, he pats the roof. "I better get this guy to a recharge slab though, he's had enough to drink for the night."
<<Blasphemy, I could recount to you the cerebral programmings of Alpha Trion himself if I *hiccup* wanted to.>> Chromedome emits, his lights flashing in random fashion. <>
"Alright, I'm driving. Later Velum!" Stylor says, cautioning away the ladies as he jumps into the driver's seat and takes off.