Ep. 1.5 Fresh and Piney [Open]

[Deleted]

(OOC: Week 1, Day 5)



"Hellooooo? Anyone home?"

Tailgate strode into the cavernous bar. It was no Maccadam's but it was an adequate bar. There was enough space for a large crowd of bots of all sizes. Even the bar stools seemed like they could support large Cybertronians on a day-to-day basis. Except that today, it would seem, the bar was empty. Tailgate had been told this was the hip-hoppin'-ist place to be in your off time.

"Did I come at a bad time?" Tailgate asked no one in particular. Perhaps the bartender was in the back or something. The bot walked up to the counter. Which, to his chagrin, was taller than it had appeared from afar. The counter was barely below his faceplate. The chairs where a struggle as well. Apparently the bar had really been built for larger mechs, in complete disregard for the smaller fellows. Tailgate jumped up with a small hup. The counter was now up to his chest at least but the bot's legs did not even graze the ground. He looked around, swinging his legs back and forth as they dangled in the air. Absentmindedly he drummed his fingers against the counter. A minute passed before Tailgate was once more struck with intense boredom.

Maybe they have some Energon stored under the counter Tailgate thought. A quick look around the bar revealed it to still be empty. In a reckless move, the bot pulled himself over the counter to get a quick peek at its contents.

[Deleted]

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

There was a hiss of hydraulics behind Tailgate as a massive figure came to a halt. In the dim, cozy lighting of the Haven Bar, a long shadow was cast over the former plumber, fire-like optics gazing down at him. His horned help tilting to the side, a large cube of high-grade held in one hand, Buffalo Dump the garbage mech regarded the little 'Bot curiously.

"Uhhh...what're ya doin', lil' bit?"

He reached forward with a massive servo, unable to see Tailgate's Autobrands with how he was curled over the counter. The waste-worker hesitated, unsure whether or not it was wise to drag the smaller bot back up. The demilitarized zone, as expected, played host to Cybertronians of all factions — Decepticon, Autobot, Neutral, those who couldn't make up their mind.... He had been worried, at first, about coming to Haven. There seemed to be no point in socializing with those you'd have to fight one day, stare down on a battlefield and consciously act to snuff their sparks while they tried to snuff his. And, with the stories of the blatant cruelty the Autobots could show to the poor Vehicons, how could he look someone in the eye that might be his comrades' next torturer?

He decided to wait for Tailgate to address him, hoping he wouldn't startle the other too much. The mech was taller than Megatron — Megatron — and could be quite unwieldy. He had already smacked his head off a few doorways in the Nemesis, and the Vehicons gave him a wide berth when he shuffled through the halls of the ship. B-Dump couldn't help his intimidating presence, but he damn sure made to apologize for giving anyone an undue fright. Haven was supposed to be a place to relax!

[Deleted]

"EEEEEP!"

Tailgate screeched at an octave higher than he wanted. Somehow a lumbering beast of a Cybertronian had snuck up behind him as he was trying to sneak a peek behind the counter. In startled panic he thrust himself away from the counter. His limbs flailed and then tensed as the surprise turned to fear.

"It's not what it looks like I swear! I just got curious is all, wanted to take little look-see behind the counter! It's my first time here, isn't there like a 'three strikes' rule or something? Please don't hurt me!"

The small bot raised his hands in self-defense, shielding his small frame should the giganto-bot decide to smash him up. Tailgate twisted his torso around to face the leviathan. And indeed, the bot was massive. And yet, there was no malice on his face. It seemed he would turn out to be a gentle giant. Hopefully.

Tailgate's optics snapped to a purple decal on the bot's chassis. It was that aggressive, pointy looking purple thingamajig everyone back at the Autobot base despised. Tailgate himself lacked such a crest. Which, for some reason, everyone raised such a stink about back at base. There was still much the young bot did not understand about the present. In an effort to divert attention from his own embarrassing forte, he sheepishly pointed a finger at the decal.

"Hey you got one of them doohickeys. You're one of those Deca-cons...Decagons...Deceptibots...purple guys..."

[Deleted]

Buffalo Dump took a step back, the sound of fear grating against his audio receptors. Servos raised and outward facing, he had a look of surprise on his face, one black eyebrow arching at Tailgate. "Whoa whoa — " he began, only to be cut off by the screechy, squeaking babble of the terrified Cybertronian before him. Buffalo Dump's eyes quickly searched for a sigil, but found nothing that identified the strange face as from either side. Neutral, maybe? he thought, just as Tailgate's attention turned to the sigils on B-Dump's shoulders.

"Hey you got one of them doohickeys. You're one of those Decacons...Decagons...Deceptibots...purple guys...."

"Decepticons," Buffalo Dump corrected, smoothing out the shock from his field. He didn't need it prickling at and aggravating the little bitlet, especially one that sounded so...sheltered. Was the bitlet being serious, or was he just pulling at B-Dump's leg and feigning such ignorance? The waste-worker couldn't blame Tailgate; most Decepticons had the ideas of breaching, pillaging and ravaging on the mind.

But not this gentle giant.

"Don't worry, little bit," said Buffalo Dump, grinning sheepishly as his field radiated apology-my-mistake-please-be-calm. "I ain't mad or anythin', just...havin' a drink."

He motioned with his cube-wielding hand, two digits and a thumb still gently grasped around the glowing glass.

"DMZ here. Neutral zone. No fightin' allowed, which is why I'm here right now. Name's Buffalo Dump, bitlet — bah-weep-graaaaagnah wheep ni ni bong."

As his processor buzzed with the universal greeting in Basic, his free digits quickly signed the accompanying hand gesture. It was a declaration of non-hostility, of good intent and peaceful meeting; surely the bitlet would know it, wouldn't he?

[Deleted]

Tailgate buzzed with excitement as the Decepticon signaled the Universal Greeting. He had only heard it once in his life before and had done his very best to perfect those complex finger gestures. And the Decepticon had not tried to pummel him into the ground! Which was a massive plus. It also proved that the Autobots had lied to him about bloodthirsty Decepticons who would rip apart a bot in seconds if they could. Unless the bot was just buying time to get Tailgate's guard down. Then again, the bot did say fighting was prohibited. Then again, was there a conceivable bot bigger than him that could kick him out if it came to that? Tailgate did not want to think about that.

"Bah-weep-graaaaagnah wheep ni ni bong! Man, you're like the only guy I've met who knows that!" Tailgate said with a certain giddiness. He swiveled around in his chair to fully face the bot, folding one leg over the other in a show of friendliness.

"A drink! That's exactly why I'm here too, buddy! 'Cept it would seem no was around, well, 'cept you, big guy." The small bot chirped quite cheerfully. Hopefully a pleasant attitude would persuade the Decepticon not to toss Tailgate through the bar. He certainly looked like he could.

"Funnily enough, I was told this place was the spot to hang out. But it looks like it's just you and me today. Which is fine with me, I needed a nice, relaxed spot to well...adjust to my current situation. What's better than a bar?" Tailgate thrust his arm out with his hand extended in a welcoming shake.

"Name's Tailgate. Nice to meet ya, big guy."

[Deleted]

Tailgate's servo was like a bead in his own, curled up and loss amongst the mass of mesh that shook lightly. In B-Dump's case, it was a flex of the wrist, barely a shake of anything — to do more would dislodge Tailgate from his seat. The garbage mech could lift fifty-thousand pounds over his head, and more than once had he dislodged a hapless new face. To make up for such a weak gesture, his field rolled and washed over the surrounding bar, wrapping Tailgate in warmth and friendliness.

"What situation do ya find yourself in, lil' bit?" asked Buffalo Dump. He gingerly sat down on a chair, thankful it didn't groan beneath his weight. Not only were things pulled from seats, but they had a habit of being broken by him, too. "Ya hear all by your lonesome? No cohort, no nothin' with ya?"

The mech looked around, wondering why things had turned quiet. The barkeep, gent that he was, hovered around his brews like a devoted lilleth around its eggs. B-Dump could have sworn he saw the mech not more than a few kliks ago — maybe he was tending to something? The garbage mech wasn't going to touch behind the bar until he got back, no sir-ee. As a newbuild, he'd made the mistake of reaching over there in the Dead End, and spent six solar cycles in a medical bay to get his digits replaced. The countertop was firmer a boundary than any divide of faction.

"If ya wanna drink, ya can have a sip o' mine," said B-Dump, putting down his cube and sliding it towards Tailgate. The thing was massive, bigger than Tailgate's head and needing two of the bitlet's servos to be held, but it was better than him having nothing. Bizarre as the offer might seem to others, Buffalo Dump had shared his energon with the Empties all the time; he hadn't drank yet, so it wasn't contaminated. Perfectly safe for Tailgate to consume, right?

"I really don't mind, lil' bit," the mech insisted. "I got things back at base to drink, and some others."

He tapped his chest-piece twice, and the lid snapped open. There was a clanking sound as he took out a (relatively) small, crude flask shaped from an industrial barrel; a cap at the top was quickly twisted off. Hastily fashioned after he'd settled on the Nemesis, B-Dump now used it to pour a strongly-scented, yellow-green substance into the cube placed before Tailgate. It smelt strongly of the tall, green-and-brown structures the bigger mech had seen after landing; the Vehicons told him it was "pine".

[Deleted]

At the same time, Layby reappeared from around the back of the bar. He held a large metal drum under one arm; empty from the echoing clang it made against his plates as he walked. He nodded with a smile to Buffalo Dump, setting the drum down next to the space leading to behind the counter.

Returning to his customary position, Layby realised that Buffalo Dump had company. The other mech didn't look to be a Decepticon, but he couldn't see an Autobot badge and the definite Decepticon wasn't making snarly noises at him. He always felt it prudent to be present when individuals from the opposing factions intermingled, just in case the rules of the DMZ were flouted in response to an acerbic remark or misplaced 'oops, that was your pede' step.

"Hey, sorry," he greeted, equally apologetic and welcoming. "Didn't like how this was frothing on tap. Figured it best ta switch out the barrel and reprocess what's left."

Layby came back around the bar to greet the newcomer properly, and finally saw how unsuitable the countertop was for his frametype. He frowned, then shot the pale mech a reassuring if somewhat crooked smile.

"Here, some'a these've got footrests," he explained, getting down on one knee next to one of the chunkier barstools. Layby took a firm hold of a second strut on the center pole and pulled it out, revealing a hinged mechanism halfway up that locked into a footrest. It would serve as a step up onto the seat, but he made a note to look into making some of the stools height-adjustable as well. "There - all set. You want anything, or just parking for a spell?"

<<OOC: Just a few tags from Layby - feel free to skip him in the tagging order. =)::

[Deleted]

"Oh, nothing serious really. Just found out I managed to miss out on six million years of history so I'm a little in the dumps right now. But I'll get over it. Eventually. Maybe after a few dozen drinks."

Tailgate chattered nonchalantly as shook Buffalo Dump's massive arm. The Decepticon's grip was unmistakably strong but he was trying his best not to crumble Tailgate's relatively tiny hand.

"Cohort? Nope. Don't got one. Came here alone. I tend to be a lone wolf type of bot. My work didn't allow for much friendly bonding." Tailgate had of course been referencing his life as a sanitation worker but no other bot could possibly know that. Tailgate had found out that many bots did notice the "BOMB DISPOSAL" decal written across his arm. Many did not second guess him, much to Tailgate's relief. He knew exactly diddly squat about diffusing bombs and was not prepared to answer nosy questions about his profession. The bot declared he must read some articles on bomb diffusing the next time he was alone.

Buffalo Dump's gesture had been completely unexpected. What happened to all those viscous, energon-thirsty beasts he had been told of? Even now Tailgate hesitated to accept the offer. He did not wish to come off as rude and refuse yet he could not possibly know if the cube was poisoned. All that time with the Autobots had left him with a sneaking suspicion of all Decepticons simply because of the brutality he had heard. Buffalo Dump's field did not betray any sort of hidden deceit. It was in fact quite friendly. Tailgate was about to respond to Buffalo Dump's offer when metallic clattering entered the room. A heavy built, welcoming bot had entered from a back room. Tailgate deduced him to be the barkeep in part to the empty energon barrels he carried. The pale bot's eyebrow plates slid upwards upon the newcomer's extreme generosity. Tailgate realized this one was a Neutral given the fact he bore no insignia. Were all Neutrals this nice? Tailgate had a fleeting thought of perhaps staying at Haven with all these kind folk, but it passed as soon as Tailgate decided there was more activity back in Nevada.

"Wow, hey thanks a bunch! That really helps Mr. Barkeep." Tailgate proclaimed excitedly. "Geez, everyone is so nice here. Not used to so many friendly folk. Oh, and yes, another cube for my friend here since he gave me his, if that's ok, Mr. Barkeep."

A curious scent had begun to eminate from Buffalo Dump. An odd thing considering Buffalo Dump was a colossal walking trash can. It was overly sweet with an underlying acidic tone. And it smelled wonderfully fresh. Tailgate's olfactory sensors pinpointed the source to the brown tinted liquid that Buffalo Dump had poured into the cube.

"Mmm, what's that smell? It smells fantastic! Is that coming from you, B-Dump? Uh, can I call you B-Dump? Is that okay?" Tailgate looked at the volatile liquid in the flask before the Decepticon before him. Gingerly, he picked up the cube and inspected it. Where before it was a neon blue, it was now stained with the same brown liquid.

"Is it safe to drink?"

[Deleted]

The giant mech's field went flat, and his expression became a stare.

Six million year — was the bitlet even that old? Was Buffalo Dump even that old? He stared ahead, giving a quiet, "Oh..." as his processor tried to sort out this tidbit of information. What did his little companion mean by that? Had he been off planet, and hadn't been in the action as much? His arm read "BOMB DISPOSAL", but he showed no Enforcers' colours...unless he'd repainted himself. A lot of Enforcers had, apparently, though some kept their divisional marks for bragging rights. The garbage mech tried to think —

Buffalo Dump's head twisted towards the sound of familiar pedes. The barkeep had re-emerged — "Layby", the mech remembered his name was — and B-Dump politely pulled his field away from the other's own. Though he was a friendly 'bot, B-Dump drew the line at rubbing EMFs with acquaintances; that was something cohort and conjunx endurae did. Doing it to anyone else felt...weird.

"Hey, sorry," he greeted, equally apologetic and welcoming. "Didn't like how this was frothing on tap. Figured it best ta switch out the barrel and reprocess what's left."

His field fluctuated warmly with hey-there-it's-no-trouble, the garbage mech giving a warm smile in Layby's direction. "Don'tcha worry a thing, sir," said B-Dump, waving off Layby's concerns like they were techgnats swarming over trash recepticles. "Slurry's slag to deal with. If ya don't take care of it quick, it'll mess the whole batch, it will; ya take good care o' your hooch."

Ah, energon slurry — a foul, tank-eating substance B-Dump didn't miss from Cybertron. If high-grade wasn't processed correctly, the impurities and unwanted deposits in a batch could solidify and thicken the drink. The bars in the Dead End were infamous for their tainted batches, and it was only in Iacon that B-Dump hadn't had some in his drink. Layby was a damn fine 'keep, and his brews could match what had been made in that city; tasting a sample had led the waste-worker to his bigger drink.

The mech watched in quiet as Tailgate was adjusted, his field giving a slight ripple of approval. It quickly turned bashful as he was offered a drink, the waste-worker saying, "Oh no, 's'all right — " before being asked what was in his drink. The strong, prickling scent beginning to fill the immediate area with a sharp freshness, B-Dump grinned and said, "It's Pine-Sol, lil' bit! Earth-side delicacy, I've been taught. Humans pour it on the ground to sit — guess they let it float into the air an' breathe it in, to consume it — and it's great for cleanin' out the fuel pipes. Goes down nice an' smooth, an' it's a real kick to the glossa. Just drink your brew slow, first; 's'bit on the strong side. Don't wanna see ya hurt yourself, lil' bit."

[Deleted]

It was obvious that Buffalo Dump was having a hard time comprehending how old Tailgate was in reality. Most bots were when he told them. Turns out no one believes that a naive little bot could be older than the greater majority of Cybertronians on this planet. Which was understandable. Even Tailgate could not believe it at times.

"Don't worry 'bout it, B-Dump, I'm just as confused as you. That's why I'm here, remember? 'Rungian psychological theory states that the final stage of grief is acceptance' and whatnot. I'm accepting some heavy drinking into my life to compensate." Tailgate joked. To be honest, the bot had not actually come to terms yet. There was just so much in this new era that he did not understand. So much context he did not know. It was like he was in an alternate reality. He had hoped that overloading on some energon would be a good way to take his mind off things for a bit. Whatever this pine stuff was sounded like it could do the trick. He lifted the cube to his mouthplate. An induction port slid open for the liquid to flow in. As the liquid poured its way down into Tailgate's systems, a warmness spread throughout him. He even began to feel a little tingly. This stuff was strong.

Tailgate vented as he finished off the cube in a mighty swig. The room was instantly showered in the invigorating fresh, piney smell. Amazingly the scent had incorporated itself into the ventilation system, making every exhale a gust of piney goodness. Tailgate's vents were cool and tingly.

"Woo! This stuff is AWESOME! You were right B-Dump, this does clean out the pipes.]I haven't had this good of a drink in, well, a really long time.[/b]" Tailgate eyed the flask before Buffalo Dump. There was still a good amount in there, plenty for the two to share. He eyed Buffalo Dump mischievously

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

[Deleted]

"No don't — !"

Now Buffalo Dump was concerned. As the designated driver of so many in the past, he hadn't often had the chance to inebriate himself; those days had been left to simpler times. He easily underestimated the tolerance of others, so used to the incredible stamina that had been built and coded into him. What Buffalo Dump had picked was the strongest thing in the bar, and there had been enough energon in that cube to fill a minibot's tank.

So when Tailgate didn't listen and chugged the entire thing, B-Dump's field gave a quick flare of alarm. His hydraulics hissed in anticipation, the garbage mech ready to catch Tailgate if the poor 'bot fell from his seat. As the smaller one spoke, B-Dump pulled back, still eyeing him warily but not about to invade his field.

"...No?" said Buffalo Dump, in reference to the question asked. "Are ya...ya 'aight there, lil' bit? That slag peels paint offa things...you're supposed to sip it slow. Ain't for chuggin'."

Part of him was really, really tempted to grab the cube and stuff it into his chest-space. An upset mech plus cubefulls of strong hooch made for dangerous, drunken shenanigans; B-Dump had seen it all. The knife contests, the audial-breaking matches, the exploding shots, the sudden glossa-washings that were impromptu drunken kisses.... Primus, he'd never miss those. Too many inebriated 'bots had tried to make out with their minder as he'd navigated Polyhexian traffic.

He'd settle for grabbing his flask and pulling it back towards him. B-Dump sincerely hoped the bitlet wasn't about to grab his Pine-Sol and drain it.

[Deleted]

"Don't worry B-Dump, I'm not trying to hurt myself here," Tailgate explained after noticing the Decepticon's rising nervousness. "I can't remember the last time I really enjoyed myself 's all. I just really need to take my mind off of things for a bit."

Tailgate did not know if Buffalo Dump would take the bait. He seemed hesitant to allow Tailgate to drink so much. The bot did not know what his qualm was with drinking. He decided that is was none of his business and he was too focused on trying to get Buffalo Dump to willingly indulge a bit more. The scout placed an hand on Buffalo Dump's shoulder.

"Tell you what, big fella, you keep that stuff for later 'cos I have a better idea than getting hammered indoors. We'll take this soiree outside! I saw some killer dunes to jump off of. You look like you could do some sweet tricks. Whaddya say, Dumpy?" Tailgate removed his hand from his shoulder and elbowed him playfully in the torso.

"Just finish that cube, and we can head out." Tailgate wanted to make sure that Buffalo Dump would take a swig. Big guy looked like he would tons of fun on a little high grade.

"I bet Mr. Barkeep here has made an excellent brew and it would be so improper not to partake before heading out," The bot hopped down from his stool, an easier task since the barkeep had provided him with an adjusted seat.

"Well?"

[Deleted]

Layby watched the exchange with open amusement tempered with warm contentment. It was a nice change to see two strangers getting along so well in Haven, leaving behind the badges (or lack of) and enjoying some common ground. Usually there was still an underlying tension that could be chewed underneath any High-Grade-enabled conversation, but Buffalo Dump and the minibot were both getting along famously.

Even if he was rather dubious about the contents of that hipflask, how much the little'un had downed and how concerned Buffalo Dump was about it. There might soon be a mess to clean up after all...

"If yeh go out, mind yeh both stay in the perimeter." He sent the map of exactly where the sanctions of the DMZ ended in a rough circle around Haven. "Haven's rules still apply outside, but comm. if anythin' happens."

Layby eyed Buffalo Dump's cube, and quirked an eyebrow in a silent request for permission before running a composition scan of the dregs. It made his mouth crinkle as much as the buzz across his olfactory sensors had, and he shook his head with a chuff of a laugh.

"Yeh have fun in the sand. I'll be back here."

[Deleted]

Dumpy?

Before Buffalo Dump could say anything, Tailgate's elbow bopped against his lower torso. He looked down, staring at the 'bot before realizing that it had been a playful gesture. It had been literal eons since he'd been met with something so...friendly, and the last time he'd experienced it, it had been with cohort.

Now Buffalo Dump was really concerned about the state of Tailgate's sobriety. He looked back to the fresh cube, frowning a little as his field wavered. The mech wanted to make sure Tailgate had a sober eye on him, but it would be rude to refuse a glass provided. And Layby had been so kind to outline the borders of the DMZ for him, giving Buffalo Dump a chance to stretch his legs on solid, actual ground....

Out of the corner of his eye, B-Dump caught the rising eyebrow and the glance towards his drink. He gently pushed the empty cube towards the 'keep so he might scan the dregs, and he sheepishly blipped a "sorry" at the smell. Built to withstand the foulest of waste jobs, Buffalo Dump found few smells disgusting — some alarming, some troublesome and some annoying, but never disgusting. Incorrectly-coded waste-workers had a habit of purging fuel if they came across something too gruesome to withstand.

He managed to contain a self-conscious twinge in his EMF, focusing his attention back on Tailgate. He briefly wondered if the sun might be too bright, but the DMZ's map had mountains, and mountains cast long shadows. If his bad optic acted up, he could just sit and let Tailgate ride the dunes instead. Which, now that B-Dump processed a bit before, made him worry about Tailgate sinking into the sand somewhere.

It wasn't as if he would mind being the minder of already-drunk 'bot. He was partially responsible for Tailgate's current state, and finally gave a simple, "Sure, why not," before grabbing his cube. Contrary to his own warning, he opened his mouth and downed the concoction, but not before pouring a liberal shot of Pine-Sol into it. His faceplates tightened as he gave a cough, the strong scent whooshing out of his mouth and into the air around him. A massive fist banged against his chest, helping the last dregs go down as B-Dump waggled his chin.

"Didn't wanna leave a drink sittin'," he said, pushing the cube back towards Layby before slowly standing up. After an astroklik of thought, he held out his hand in case Tailgate needed help getting down, waiting patiently for the bit's next move.

[Deleted]

"Yes!"

Tailgate fought the urge to pump a fist into the air. He had successfully managed to get Buffalo Dump to drink his cube. Mission accomplished. Now the real fun could begin. The bot eagerly hurried out the door.

"C'mon B-Dump, I ain't got all day!" Tailgate teased. The cave entrance of Haven soon opened to a vast, flat landscape dotted with sand dunes. The map that Layby had provided would be essential. No matter how wild this turned out, by no means did Tailgate wish to leave the DMZ. For all he knew, Buffalo Dump would turn rabid and evil upon leaving the neutral zone and rip Tailgate apart.

The dune closest to Tailgate was not the largest, but Tailgate figured it would be apt to start from the smallest and work his way up to the best as a grand finale. Tailgate dashed up the side of the dune although it took quite an effort due to the sand absorbing every step. But Tailgate was buzzed up on high grade and floor cleaner. There was little to stop him from doing what he wanted.

"B-Dump, check this out!" Tailgate whooped as he reached the top of the dune. The bot then went on to perform a perfect front flip. However, he did not think landing in the sand quite through. Upon impact, his feet sunk in, messing his landing up and causing him to tumble down the down.

Finally he slid down to a halt at the base. Unharmed, but full of sand.

"Oh my Primus that was awesome! 'S like landing on a cloud! I didn't feel a thing!" Tailgate said as he cackled with laughter. He began to sweep his arms and legs in wide sweeping arcs.

"Look! I'm making sand angels!" He giggled. "Your turn, Dumpy!"