Ep1.5 - 'Establishing Order' - Closed
Jun 26, 2013 10:38:39 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jun 26, 2013 10:38:39 GMT -5
<<OOC: Takes place between 'Brawl' and 'New Digs'.>>
The Order of Solus had remained a presence at Haven after Sideswipe was discharged from the medbay, resupplying and socialising a little with its more gregarious inhabitants. It wasn't long before Cleaver approached the One for a more formal meeting, one neutral to another.
Standing in the Medbay, Cleaver had told Elita about their eclectic group of inhabitants, the recent disastrous events involving Megatron, and their unfair reliance on Sideswipe's combat prowess to keep them safe. She'd also confided being a self-gen, and anxiously explained that a sparkling was imminent and would not be safe here with things as they were.
Elita, bless her, had suggested moving their conversation to somewhere more comfortable.
Since then, they'd established themselves at a table in a booth hewn from the stone wall at the back of Sideswipe's bar and talked for another hour. Music was playing from the sound system Moonshot had helped to install: a warbling piece that sounded like a piano being thrown down a metal staircase in slow motion. Each femme had a cube of something neon in front of them that was making their gustatory sensors buzz, though neither were looking to drink to excess.
It was so relaxed it was in itself intoxicating: so peculiarly normal to be sat in a quiet bar with a drink and without fear of Decepticons or Autobots spilling a fight into the scattered tables. Sideswipe was pottering, Elita was sipping her cocktail of fuel and additives, and Cleaver was periodically casting her optics over Sunstreaker's 'Starry Night' as she did the same.
Since the Order had arrived, there had been no contact from the Decepticons about visiting the DMZ. Knock Out had been trying to schedule a visit, but otherwise it seemed that Megatron had clamped down on traffic until the Solus party made a decision as to whether or not they were moving on from Earth. Cleaver had been doing her damnedest to convince Elita that there was enough in Haven to stay for. Though they were powerful advocates and guardians, the Order's resources were limited, and if the One felt that their presence would better serve elsewhere, then they would not stay. But the mine was not completely exhausted, both faction leaders had sanctioned the localised peace (for what little it mattered), and the debacle with Megatron was evidence plenty that the Haven inhabitants needed help.
"As it shows, I've not the experience or knowledge to manage a DMZ like this. I'm a medic, not a leader," she uttered, the repetition of the earlier request unspoken. Cleaver watched the artful composition of Elita's faceplates make subtle shifts in their configuration, her strong features easily arresting. "Things will be even more chaotic and dangerous when there's a sparkling here as well."
The older femme sat back with a hand knuckled into a cricked line in her sideseam, shoving the chamber back a few centimeters. "What do you think?"
The Order of Solus had remained a presence at Haven after Sideswipe was discharged from the medbay, resupplying and socialising a little with its more gregarious inhabitants. It wasn't long before Cleaver approached the One for a more formal meeting, one neutral to another.
Standing in the Medbay, Cleaver had told Elita about their eclectic group of inhabitants, the recent disastrous events involving Megatron, and their unfair reliance on Sideswipe's combat prowess to keep them safe. She'd also confided being a self-gen, and anxiously explained that a sparkling was imminent and would not be safe here with things as they were.
Elita, bless her, had suggested moving their conversation to somewhere more comfortable.
Since then, they'd established themselves at a table in a booth hewn from the stone wall at the back of Sideswipe's bar and talked for another hour. Music was playing from the sound system Moonshot had helped to install: a warbling piece that sounded like a piano being thrown down a metal staircase in slow motion. Each femme had a cube of something neon in front of them that was making their gustatory sensors buzz, though neither were looking to drink to excess.
It was so relaxed it was in itself intoxicating: so peculiarly normal to be sat in a quiet bar with a drink and without fear of Decepticons or Autobots spilling a fight into the scattered tables. Sideswipe was pottering, Elita was sipping her cocktail of fuel and additives, and Cleaver was periodically casting her optics over Sunstreaker's 'Starry Night' as she did the same.
Since the Order had arrived, there had been no contact from the Decepticons about visiting the DMZ. Knock Out had been trying to schedule a visit, but otherwise it seemed that Megatron had clamped down on traffic until the Solus party made a decision as to whether or not they were moving on from Earth. Cleaver had been doing her damnedest to convince Elita that there was enough in Haven to stay for. Though they were powerful advocates and guardians, the Order's resources were limited, and if the One felt that their presence would better serve elsewhere, then they would not stay. But the mine was not completely exhausted, both faction leaders had sanctioned the localised peace (for what little it mattered), and the debacle with Megatron was evidence plenty that the Haven inhabitants needed help.
"As it shows, I've not the experience or knowledge to manage a DMZ like this. I'm a medic, not a leader," she uttered, the repetition of the earlier request unspoken. Cleaver watched the artful composition of Elita's faceplates make subtle shifts in their configuration, her strong features easily arresting. "Things will be even more chaotic and dangerous when there's a sparkling here as well."
The older femme sat back with a hand knuckled into a cricked line in her sideseam, shoving the chamber back a few centimeters. "What do you think?"