Ep 1.5 The Frenemy of my Frenemy {OPEN}

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<<Week 2, Day 6, Evening>>

Kit nervously watched the portal behind her disappear. The idea of a Demilitarized Zone didn’t quite sit well with her spark. She hated Decepticons for reasons, they wanted to conquer slash kill everything for reasons, two opposing sides, not two plus one more. That’s how she saw it. So Kit was distrustful, but she was also extremely curious, and mostly, she was slagging bored of Autobase. The whole “Robots in disguise” lark had made the whole of Earth boring. Quite simply Kit couldn’t get out and be her self anywhere, there was no urban jungle for her lithe body to run and jump and play.

With both hands shielding her optics from a non-existent bright light, Kit scanned the large cavern she found her self in. It seemed quite pleasant on the whole to Kit, which kind of surprised her. Despite what the other Bots had said, she still expected a ghost town out of some Terran spaghetti western. With an overly exaggerated casual grace, Kit strolled into the bar and perched upon a seat. Due to both her tiny stature and general Kit-ness, she sat in a crouch resting on the balls of her feet, rather than straight on her aft. Her tail nonchalantly wrapped around the leg of the chair.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are” Kit called out. She gazed around for signs of life and noticed more than one item that could be improved upon with her maintenance skills. Kit swore under her breath as her coded OCD to fix things stated to kick in. She had zero desire to work, only guilt for not working.

[Deleted]

No one entered Haven without prior notice. The laws of the DMZ, as both faction leaders had agreed to support and internally police as required, were very strict on the matter of unannounced visitations.

In short: Don't.

Kit's glyph requesting admission had not come long before her arrival, but she'd received her pass and the automated reminder of 'no-weapons, no-fighting, trade-and-shanxs currency' before 'bridging through. It was to Layby's embarrassment, then, that he hadn't been there to greet her personally for her first visit (and necessary check for weapons).

Bertha, his primary still, had chosen the four minutes before her arrival window to begin spewing still-electrifying High Grade all over the back cupboard. Having such a flammable liquid covering the floor was, pragmatically, a Health and Safety no-no, but more importantly there was a strict loss margin and that was precious High grade soaking into the dirt.

When Kit called out, having conveniently come into the bar and taken a seat, Layby was soaked and swearing from trying to stem the leak with tightly-packed mesh until he could drain Bertha, find the crack and fix her. He reigned his frustration back after resigning to temporarily abandoning the fight, coming around to the bar proper in silence.

"Hey, sorry - was expectin' ya but had a bit of an emergency 'round back," he said, blue optics lightening in apology and a small degree of chagrin. "'m Layby, in charge of this here bar and of makin' sure yeh ain't packin' nothing t'make yeh incompatible with said bar. Yeh mind if we get yer scan done and have yeh set up with a drink? Got High Grade leaking all over the store room."

[Deleted]

"You need any help — "

The question was said (and abruptly cut off) by one certain garbage mech. Said mech was now staring at Layby, then slowly panning his vision towards Kit, then looking like he'd just met Unicron in person. How could he not forget the little catlet, with her distinctive, hood-like ornament and strange cybercat-ears? How could he not forget that long tail of hers, which unnervingly reminded him of something that would pop out of Soundwave's back?

"...Layby?"

His voice had become a baritone squeak, if such a thing could be possible. Still venting sand from his dune-jumping practise, filling the air with the sharp, dry scent of grit and Pine-Sol, B-Dump took a step back. He was in the DMZ, with an Autobrander he'd threatened and tried to ransom, and Layby was covered in Energon. Thank Primus the barkeep had mentioned the leaking high grade, because if he hadn't, B-Dump might have jumped to an entirely different conclusion. With a slow blink of his fiery optics, he carefully pulled his field against his plates, and tried to ignore the cat-shaped elephant in the room.

"I, uh...can help ya with the heavy liftin'," said B-Dump. "55,000 pounds, a lil' bit less if I use m'back-forks. Good if a skid o' somethin' crashed down, and...y'know, slag like that."

He looked to the side and rubbed the back of his helm. He was going to be civil; Layby was not the ruthless bastard one Fortress Maximus was. B-Dump had just spent too much time out back, and hadn't kept an eye out like he told himself he would. If he saw any Autobranders enter the DMZ, his plan had been to quietly leave, just to keep things polite and good and...stuff.

"But, uh, if you're good, I'll uh, just go do, um...somethin'. Dunes are good, by the by."

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“Oh hai there, Layby was it, I’m Kitandcaboodle, but I let friendlies call me Kit.” Kit replied in her friendliest manner. She paid little heed to the spillage of high grade. Back in the old days, Kit had done her share of bar hopping and was no stranger to the scene. “I’m repair and maintenance type so I assure you your precious bar will receive no issue with me, even if the scans red light a few of my systems”, Kit was thinking of her plasma torch and hand saws. “But before that…”

Kit turned on her chair to face the familiar bearer of the bolt rattling voice. Reflexively, her sensitive ears pointed down. She stared intently at Buffalo Dump, all sensors at maximum resolution – except hearing – as she took her full measure of the Decepticon bruiser. Eventually, Kit visibly relaxed, untwined her tail and casually hopped over to the hulking grounder. She pointed a long delicate finger up to his face – which was very high up relative to Kit’s. “First, you don’t have my permission to leave this place yet. Second, I quite like the name Catlet, so that’s what you may call me but only if no one other than Layby is in earshot, otherwise just call me that little frag or whatever I don’t know. And C…I can’t remember C so you get off the hook for now. So join me in a drink or something.”


With the barest of introductions out of the way, Kit danced and pounced over and onto her preselected chair. “Layby, what can you recommend? Something sweet, exotic and...” Kit looked up to Buffalo Dump and then shrugged “…non-high grade please”. She was a practising teetotaller, she had her reasons, and they were private.

[Deleted]

Layby took Kit's assurances that meant no harm as pretty much explicit permission to scan. Her frame read up as not having any specific weapons, but a whole host of potential weapons as a part of her design - primarily in her hands and in her 'tail'. There were two options with regards to such designs: a temporary locking of the transformation so that she couldn't adopt the form of the tools (unnecessarily invasive as the tools appeared to be functional and only incidentally usable as weapons, rather than,say, an outright sword); or close monitoring and Pit to pay if she brandished a buzz saw at anyone.

If anything, her 'greeting' to Buffalo Dump was more concerning than any melee weapons she may produce. Situated somewhere between flirtatious and ruthlessly domineering, Layby was stuck for a moment wondering if Kit and Buffalo already had a rapport and if this was normal for them. But she'd informed the Con of the nickname she had chosen for him to use when speaking to her, so that didn't quite mesh.

The cameras put a live feed into his optic, covering the entirety of the bar as well as the groundbridge area. Layby decided, however, that that wasn't going to cut it. Buffalo Dump alone he'd have invited back to help with Bertha, no question. Kit, however, and her attitude that he couldn't get a bead on just yet... No, he'd rag off and stay out here for the time being. The sill could wait.

If worst came to worst and High Grade began creeping out from under the door and about his feet, he could always comm. Cleaver to come take over. Her people skills outside of the Medbay were as... short as her mechanical skills, however, and he didn't rightly know which side he'd ask her to cover. Likely she'd use one oar-like arm to 'solve' either potential problem...

"Non-High Grade, I've got some sweeteners and additives might be up yer street," he offered to Kit. "Standard fuel with a little something to change the flavour. How does that sound? Worth raising now, as well, since it's yer first visit: yeh can open a tab for weekly payment or we can arrange something now. Up to you."

[Deleted]

Buffalo Dump stared down at the catlet like she was an approaching Airachnid. Now that they weren't in the heat of battle, every one of her features was noted — the strange ears, the dark hood, the blank face and the three eyes.... B-Dump couldn't help but shudder a little. He'd never been to the sprawling sea of towers that was Vos, and thus, had never bore witness to its specially-tailored repair crews; Kit was unlike anything he'd ever seen. She was louder than the Arachnicon, but both were dominating and — slinky, for lack of a better word.

He could have snapped her in half right there and then, but he was intimidated. Oh, Primus, was he intimidated, and that wasn't helped by the possibility that there were more Autobranders on base. Any violent activities had been banned from the DMZ, but when B-Dump had a bad feeling and people he liked were in the same room.... He couldn't just leave Layby with her, especially if there was high grade leaking....

"I 'spose," the Decepticon said tensely. He walked over to the bar as Layby tended to Kit, sitting four seats down from her but not moving his gaze. Layby was in stabbing distance, he was getting the impression the catlet was going to cut someone's throat open, and the presence of her field was suffocating his. B-Dump pulled his EMF back to flatten against his plates, quietly waiting for the Autobrander to be served before asking for an order.

He really, really wished he could at least loosen his forks, but Layby might take that as a threat. There was no reason in deploying them unless he had something to lift, and the claws at the end made for crude daggers in a pinch. They wouldn't be used unless there was an emergency, and the Autobrander was behaving so far.

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“Sweeteners and additives, I can’t see any problem’s there, hit me good sir”. Kit was all grin and good nature. She put her hands together, reached into subspace and pulled out a small handful of Shanix. “I prefer to pay ahead so let’s see how far this much gets me”. Kit slid the money to within Layby’s reach. “Could we do something like shot glasses, different additive in each one?” That even sounded like a good idea out loud to Kit’s ears.

Kit could be quite oblivious, but it was slowly dawning on her that she was making Buffalo Dump nervous. She didn’t know whether to chuckle at the absurdity, or cackle manically with power lust. Either way, her overly loud EMF settled into mild amusement. The big ‘Con was making it hard to hate Decepticons in general and she wondered how far from the stereotype she held in her head he actually was.

Perched on her chair, elbows resting oh so casually on the bar top, Kit turned her head a little in Buffalo Dump’s direction. She wasn’t facing him but it was obvious that she was talking to him. “You can relax if you want, I wont bite” Her voice and tone were genuinely friendly, Kit might have had her crazy moment but she wanted no trouble at all.

“Um, if you don’t mind me asking, you don’t really seem the Decepticon type, not what I imagine anyway, what’s your story?” The question was entirely innocent coming from Kit, but another might see it as intel gathering.

[Deleted]

Layby ran his hands under the cleanser tap in the recessed sink, ragging off the foam and moisture, then looked over the dark, dull-grey discs. Whilst some patrons chose to trade trinkets and their own time for parts, fuel and aid, others preferred to use more standard currency. Both armies were still, technically, paid: the Autobots in the native coinage for online goods and games, and the Decepticons in shanx, though there also seemed to be a foreign currency cashier on the Nemesis.

It made no difference to Neutrals - what came in would go out again, and be invested in running and improving Haven. Except for the really weird stuff. That just got hoarded in Cleaver's cupboard, and the less said about that the better, in Layby's opinion.

Totting up the amount, Layby took a discrete image of the femme and added an account for her to the wireless system. Then he scraped the shanx across the bartop into his hand.

"Good bit of credit, thank yeh," he remarked, turning to the safe in the back wall. He pressed his palm to the scanner and keyed in the code. The thick door swung open to reveal a small cavity carved straight into the stone. Inside there was a small stash of dollars, shanx, an entire stuffed crocodile and a box of coat hangers.

Locking the safe back up, Layby took a roughly constructed cocktail shaker out from beneath the bar. He flashed Kit a smile. "One line o'shots, coming up."

A cube of energon went in first, and then he began pouring in small brightly coloured vials. His expression was one of quiet concentration, his hands quick and familiar with the chemicals.

It would take a minute to get the concoction ready. Layby kept his audio on Kit and B-Dump - and a camera, too.

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“Um, if you don’t mind me asking, you don’t really seem the Decepticon type, not what I imagine anyway, what’s your story?” The question was entirely innocent coming from Kit, but another might see it as intel gathering.

Which Buffalo Dump saw it as. He wasn't bright, but only in the sense of numbers, equations and higher thinking; the mech had plenty of common sense to spare. What was spoken in Haven would get filtered to either side, ending up in some officer's file somewhere for later use. He didn't want a file being put together on him, and he didn't want to say something that would bite him later in battle. He was still reeling from the earlier events of the cycle, the Wrecker's smug tone still ringing around in his head.

He'd come to drink, and to vent his frustrations by smashing into dunes instead of Vehicons and Autobranders. The former were tip-toeing around him, the latter getting to him like scraplets under plating; he was surprised he was being so civil. All he had felt for the better part of the day was rage.

Now, he just felt drained again, his field heavy as he held it close.

"It's...it's the way it is."

He looked at Kit, then away again. He wasn't going to face her, wasn't going to interrupt her from her line of shots (though it was damn fascinating to watch Layby at work). He wouldn't order anything at the moment, though he did tap open his chest hatch to take out a bundled wad of metal. It looked to be a crudely-compacted square, crushed as thin as it could be in the back of a garbage truck.

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"It's...it's the way it is."

“Hmm, from where I’m sitting, the War pretty much doesn’t exist while I’m in this Neutral zone, so I’m going to enjoy life while I can.” Kit eyed the line of colourful shots hungrily. It was obvious by what she meant enjoying life.

“I mean, war is no fun, I’m in it for the vengeance, and to stop further destruction, I’m sure as frag no soldier, and I aint going to be happy until well after peace is achieved. So in the meantime, quit your moping, get a drink if that’s what you’re here for, and I will continue to pretend you and your vehicon goons weren’t a bunch of scraplets last week…oh yeah, C, I owe you for the leg…meh, can’t be bothered now”. Every single word was spoken at the first shot in the row, though intended for Buffalo Dump’s audio. It would be nice if the ‘Con was actually friendly company, but Kit wasn’t going to worry too much if he wasn’t.

Kit was very fascinated by the row of drinks destined for her consumption. Each promised a surprise of flavour, a joyful combination of chemicals to satiate her needs. When Layby had finished pouring, and a delightfully exacting job he had done, Kit picked up the first shot and examined it like some connoisseur.

She took a sip and let the flavour enshrine her gustatory sensor. After a moment’s consideration, Kit down half the shot, embracing the concoction fully. She put the half empty glass down and thought for a moment. A smooth sliding of hands, one over the other, brought a data-pad from subspace. She put it down on the bar top and mentally wrote to a new file. It was positioned such that Layby could possibly read it, though it would be upside down to the Bartender. On the data-pad, there was a column for each drink and the rows were labelled with things like flavours, hot or cold, and other stuff as Kit thought it up. Hands were gleefully rubbed together as Kit picked up the second shot. Today was a good day to not die.

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The drink Layby had poured was a simple physics party trick: each flavouring compound he'd added to the mixer was of a different density to the last, so they settled in clear layers inside. It took some practice to pour, but done right, the line of energon shots moved from yellow through the spectrum up to purple. The flavours didn't contaminate one another, and the colour inside each clear resin cube was perfect.

Not bad. Layby set the mixer back into the sink to clean, keeping an audio on the pair at the bar.

And was immediately glad that Kit hadn't asked for High Grade, because he'd be cutting her off right now.

There were the formal rules of the DMZ, and there were the unofficial ones that branched off of those formal rules and into the realm of Common Sense. It was trusted that individual mecha were capable of abiding the unspoken social rules of not antagonizing members of the opposite faction. Inside very little time, Kit had put out a controversial statement of her own personal position in the war, and thus diminished both it and the value of those who chose to fight (and die) in it; ordered a weary soldier to cheer up (could easily be inviting a punch to the vocoder, for that) and insulted them and their comrades.

The war was ever present in every Cybertronian mind. It was an inescapable component of their reality, and the backdrop to these small sanctuaries of non-violence. To say that it didn't exist was staggering, particularly for Layby, who'd spent millennia negotiating a path where the war that was bringing their species to extinction had had to be acknowledged and yielded to for even the hope of another peaceful day.

So now Layby was standing firm, Bertha and the mess out back entirely forgotten. He leveled Buffalo Dump with a steady stare, though not unkind; acknowledging the situation and Buffalo's non-participation in it, and wordlessly encouraging peace.

The bass of his engine hummed heavy, strong and quiet. Layby placed a massive hand on the countertop, ragging up a few drops of stray energon. "Might be best ta move the topic along, now," he advised, and his tone indicated that was more than a suggestion.

[Deleted]

Buffalo Dump was more than happy to oblige.

"How're things in, uh...Af-ri-ca?" asked B-Dump, the syllables awkwardly tumbling out of his vocalizer. Between the lines of Neocybex he still communicated in, the odd human word stood out like a sore thumb, sounds recognizable to organic ears heavily accented with bursts of static. "'S'really quiet, by the looks o' things. I hear this place has got some o' the most mining-type areas on this planet, s'prised there ain't more around here."

He popped open his chest hatch again, tossing the material back in with a hollow clang. He fished around for his flask, pulling it out and placing it on the counter for later use. Settling his arms on the bartop in a tired lean, the garbage mech continued with, "Not lots o' big cities 'round here like further north an' west. Sometimes y'find big piles o' scrap, though, an' interestin' things there. Lots o' old human electronics in one, though I ain't sure what y'could do wit' all those old circuit boards. They're kinda crude."

He paused, looking off to the side but not focusing on a particular point. His eyes were drifting, over the wall and the empty chairs and tables; the bar was made for more. So far, he seemed to have been the only frequent visitor during the week, and he'd only seen Layby and Cleaver as actual residents. His field wilted a bit more, falling into his plates so it wouldn't spread about as he stared.

"Any more unsided come by here, lately?"

[Deleted]

"Might be best ta move the topic along, now,"

Kit's EMF briefly, very briefly flared with annoyance, but mostly she pulled it in much closer. It was still radiating happy, but it was no longer reaching the far corners. She was only trying to explain that she wasn't here to start a fight with any one, no matter her personal feelings, but once again, words had apparently failed her. It did get her thinking about the bartender. She wasn't used to the idea of Neutrals and she was wondering about Layby's story. Everybody had lost something, someone in the war. It had consumed a whole planet after all. What had Layby lost and who's direct fault was it? That was what Kit was thinking. Kit placed a lot of blame on the Megatron and his cronies her self, like the one sitting not a few chairs from her. Then a side thought hit her, maybe Layby wasn't sensitive for his own history but maybe he was thinking to stop a barfight. Kit felt reasonably certain the Decepticon was some sort of regular and thus Layby would now him a bit better, maybe the 'Con was a Bezerker ready to snap on the wrong words, like Fortress Maximus had. Kit mentally shrugged, her musing would go nowhere, and she had much better things to care about. Still, her tialed lengthened slightly and too better grip on her chair. She had survived more than one bar fight with a surprise chair to someone's head, ahh, good memories.

The second drink was carefully tested. Kit sipped, mused, then downed half. Notes were made on the datapad and she then repeated the process, sort of. Kit sipped the third drink and then cringed. The drink was incredibly sour to her taste, but it was a delicious sort of flavor, just needed a ton of sweetener. She sculled half and noticeably shivered. Yup, a ton of sweetener definitely.

Kit picked up on Buffalo Dump's words. It seemed he knew his way around the planet, and liked to go scrap hunting. There was now a faint, but non-zero chance Kit might meet Buffalo Dump without backup. Maybe then she cold a proper measure of the 'Con who didn't seem quite so...minion-of-Evil-Warlord. It also led her to a question no one had been able to answer her satisfaction.

With a voice somewhat raspy from the third drink, "Do either of you know where a femme like me can indulge in some parkour o this planet?" With the whole Robots-in-disguise bit going on, she had to find somewhere unpopulated, and the half ton autonomous robotic organism meant, that same somewhere had to be incredibly strong.

[Deleted]

Once his patrons were set up with their fuel, Layby tended to retreat a little and give them some physical space to unwind, sink into their own internal worlds, or -ideally- get to peacefully socialising with their barstool neighbours. Kit and Buffalo Dump didn't look to be settling into a rapport he was happy to leave unsupervised, however, and both were looking to him to oblige a bit of small talk.

He regarded Buffalo Dump first, offering the Decepticon a reassuring smile. "Aye, got a few set up in quarters for the time being, and there's a steady trickle of traffic coming through."

It was against policy to name who was living in a Neutral colony. Hopefully Buffalo Dump would appreciate that.

The broad mech picked up a solvent cloth and began wiping down the counter in the time-honoured circular motions of publicans everywhere. "Still early days for visitors. Last Neutral port I was at took near enough a decade to see the place even half full. Just gonna keep on upgrading the place whilst there's the time and quiet to do it."

Kit's question was harder to answer, and Layby took a moment to look up 'parkour'. He ran a finger along the scar across his chin, the line itself stretching through the height of his face.

"Ah don't, 'm afraid. Dunes outside are safe enough but don't offer much for what you're thinking of." He shrugged. "Reckon the Autobots would have a better idea, since they're friendly with the humans. Could tell you the industrialised areas that aren't populated or held by folk in the know better than anyone, ah imagine."

[Deleted]

"Y'could use the mountains."

He took a ginger sip of the cube Layby had provided. It was standard high grade, by the taste his fuel had; the stronger stuff was probably in the broken still. B-Dump didn't mind the change of drink, especially with an Autobrander just a few seats down from him.

"I took a lil' walk around. Big cliffs, long crevices, high canyons, that sorta thing. Like a rock version o' all the smaller buildings Cybertron had, but rougher."

He gave a quick, sheepish glance at Layby. He had been meaning to let the other mech know someone had been exploring the nearby, rugged plateaus and slopes, just in case intruders were a concern. MECH had everyone on edge, and though he hadn't heard of anything in Africa, Buffalo Dump didn't want to take a chance. For all he knew, Haven had had a brush with them, and just hadn't said anything to anyone on either side.

The only reason he mentioned it was to (hopefully) get the Autobrander out of the DMZ for a while, and far from the garbage mech, who only wanted a moment of peace.

"I, uh, hope y'don't mind I've been explorin' around the outside. I, uh, kinda got lost and decided to stay that way fer a bit longer. On purpose, and...all...yeah.

"But I didn't go anywhere hush-hush, promise."