[ti]Ep 2[/ti]A Decepticon and an Autobot walk into a bar... [Bluestreak]

[Sparkplug]

Seemed like she still wasn't going to get his name, which was exasperating. Still, she'd more than half expected another freezing rejection, or more yelling, or just an icy, flat stare. An actual encouragement to go on talking, as unenthused as it might have been, caught her unawares. It wasn't that she didn't want to chat with the bot - her words had been sincere, even if they were laden with exasperation. But still, bandying words with him after their recent shouting match felt kind of like pushing a digit into a loaded rodent trap.

She hesitated, glancing away as she thought. Still, after a moment or so, she remarked, "You ever hear of a mech called Mentallus? He was posted with me for a while. Part of a failed combiner attempt; had a third mode, which was - well, he was a giant head. When he wanted to be, anyway. You'd think that sort of thing would sour a bot, but he didn't seem to mind at all."

She seemed a little less tense as she went on, her shoulders relaxing a little. Her bright green eyes were focused on the middle distance, gazing into her memory. "We used to have performing contests around the labs sometimes, to give us a break from the research. Not that any of us were professionals, but a few of us could make a stab at a song or a dance or whatever, and that was good enough. So Mentallus, he'd transform, and he'd be this giant, booming head. Y'know, like the judge and the announcer?

"He'd always say, 'I am the Head Judge after all! Hohoho!' So if an act was lingering a bit long, he'd go all, 'The Great Head wearies of your boring tirade! Bring on the next contestant!' or if he liked it, he'd say something like, 'The Great Head approves of this entertainment! The Great Head would clap, if the Great Head had hands.' Now he and I, we were pretty good friends, so he was really rough on me when it was my turn. 'Where is the contestant? Is this a disappearing trick?' while he'd look right over the top of me, or wait to the end of a joke, and go, 'The Great Head awaits the punchline,' and such. He was not complimentary about my dancing, either."

Grinning to herself, she shook her head. "Good for advice, though. I remember when Downshift had really torn into me over something or other, so I went to see Mentallus and he saw I'd had a pile of slag heaped on me, so he said, 'You need to talk, and I know just the mech.' Walked into the next room, transformed, called back 'Approach! Tell the Great Head your troubles!' - he was a good listener. Fun guy. Not sure where he's off to, these days."

She trailed off, absently wishing she had a cube of energon to occupy her hands and make her feel less awkward. Not that she could drink it even if she did; her holomatter avatar was a beautifully complex piece of kit, supported by a remote processing node that was embedded within the hard-holo of her apparently human body, but she didn't know what would happen if she suddenly poured a few glasses of flammable, adulterated liquids over her inner machinery, and she didn't intend to find out. Her appreciation of the human drinks would be purely theoretical.

All of which made her wonder just what kind of avatar the other mecha was running. Of course, he might go all huffy and secretive with her - his lack of interest in even giving a name wasn't particularly promising - but there was no harm in asking. Nodding at the glass, she asked curiously, "You going to drink that? I mean - can you? That something your holo setup allows for?"

[Bluestreak]

The mech's avatar glanced up as she shifted her weight in the chair across from him.

He looked down at the glass, cupped between his fingers. The ice cubes bobbed within; it had always fascinated him a bit that water and ice were exactly the same, that the only difference between liquid and solid form was that the mollecular structure had stuck together.

He loved water. A lot of the other mechs didn't, and Bluestreak didn't blame them. It was dangerous territory if you didn't have an alt specifically designed for it. Systems could get flooded, corroded, even worse. However, he loved to simply sit and watch it. The ocean was absolutely astounding to him; all that distance taken up by unbroken water. 

A trickling bead of condensation ran down from the rim, and he absentmindedly thumbed it away. His touch was light and delicate; he'd learned over the last few months to dictate exactly how much tactile pressure he could use. Mostly because he'd failed miserably with disposable cups at the mall, and sprayed more than a few drinks all over the little tables when he'd been chatting with Nell. At least they took it all in stride and even laughed about it with him while he desperately tried to mop up slushy Orange Julius off of the table with a handful of cheap paper napkins.

All part of the human experience.

Like talking to someone in a bar.

When asked if he knew someone named Mentallus, he shook his head.

"No, that name isn't familiar," he admitted.

There was a slight bit of tension to his mouth and shoulders; half of him was bracing for the fact that she was probably going to start talking about the mech's prowess at killing people with the power of his mind. Probably accompanied by laser beams shot out of his nose, like all of his massively overpowered Decepticon brethren.

So as the femme spoke, Bluestreak remained silent, the glass settled gently in front of him. As much as he didn't want to hear one more story, it was a test he better pass. The fact that he had nearly broken the truce had the sharpshooter's internals still knotted into a mass of anxiety.

If he could keep her talking though, that would do. Talking meant she wasn't putting anyone in danger.

The story continued. Without lasers. No killing.

Wait, wait, did she just say the guy was a giant head?

Huh. Well, I suppose that's better than being the guy who had to be the left arm, I guess. Maybe not, I mean just being ahead all you'd do would -- yeah, I'd be pretty sour. At least with being the left arm, you could like creep along the floor with your fingers to get somewhere, can't do that so much with a head, maybe he scooted along the floor with his tongue, ew, why I am even thinking about this, right, because it's better than thinking about how bad I nearly messed up - oh, huh, okay, she said it was his third mode. So what was the second one. Really stink if your main alt-mode was a lamp post or a traffic barrier --

Bluestreak shifted his weight in his chair. He hiked a brow at her as she continued chattering away. This weirdly was the sort of talk he understood. A story. A story that didn't at all relate to the situation they were in. One that wasn't dark or terrible. He liked those kinds of stories so much better...

When she got to the part about the punchline, he settled his elbows on the table. There might have even been the smallest of chuckles that curled out of his chest.

"Sounds like he's a nice guy," he said carefully.

Blue eyes blinked at her question, and then the mech's avatar glanced down at the glass.

"Oh. No, I can't," he said. "I have a friend who has one who probably can do it and make it look natural. Not sure where he puts it."

Truly a puzzle. Probably when he dropped his avatar, whatever he'd 'eaten' or 'drank' just thunked right onto the ground. Well, he supposed seagulls would be happy. Whenever he was down on the beach, those birds ate anything that wasn't nailed down.

He lifted the glass slightly and swirled the ice within the water. "Wish sometimes that I could," he admitted. "Those holo types are pretty rare though."

Then he looked back. "Huh. He didn't compliment your dancing? You seemed to do fine."

A nod towards the dancers shifting and bobbing on the dance floor.

[Sparkplug]

Amazingly, the nameless mech was actually beginning to engage with her. While he was still pretty quiet, he was offering small observations, and even - subtly, subtly - expressed a hint of amusement at what she was describing. It was enough for her tensed plating to relax a little, and a small measure of happier impulses leaked into the muted field broadcast by her chassis - not that any mech was close enough to notice. Her avatar's face relaxed a little, her smile coming easier.

Still, it probably wasn't a good idea to debate whether Mentallus was a 'nice guy' by Autobot standards. The mech was rather good at developing explosive compounds, and she didn't want to end up talking about the war again, not when they'd just managed to find their way to a different topic.

Dancing was pretty safe by comparison.

Gesturing back at the dance floor, Sparkplug's avatar laughed, shaking her head and making her forest-green pigtails bounce. "Not so sure they'd agree. I was doing my best to pick up the moves they were making, but I was kind of all over the place. Don't know the music, or how these people dance, I'm not used to using my avatar for this sort of thing and scrap, this body doesn't even match my chassis plan! I was flailing around to the beat, but I could see the circle of 'nope' opening up around me as they got out of the way. Reminded me of way back, before things got so serious. Back then, I used to enter dance contests. Never had a hope of winning, but taking part and losing with style can be fun too, you know? I remember the one time, I got voted as 'Dance most likely to cause a major traffic accident'. I was so darn proud."

She grinned to herself, her green eyes looking into the distance for a moment, before she refocused on him. Her top was deliberately asymmetrical, with one sleeve and one bare arm. Raising her left arm, her long, gauzy grey sleeve sliding back from her slim wrist, she gestured up and down it with her other hand. "Real me, this arm is way longer than the other one. Two sets of elbows this side, too. Going back to one elbow for the projection was a bit of a shock, but you've got to match the local's looks. Worth it, mind. Been a long time since there was just a place to come out and go dancing like this. Doing it with a projection is kind of weird, but better than not doing it at all. Even feels the right sort of scale, when you're inhabiting an avatar this small."

She glanced around at all the humans, drinking and eating, with a touch of wistfulness. "That's why I asked about whether you could drink, I guess. You see all these weird coloured liquids, and obviously they're having a good time drinking them, I can smell them - smells odd - but knowing you can't drink anything just keeps reminding you that you're not rilly here, y'know? Even more than the wrong number of elbows."

[Bluestreak]

Music lifted and blared as it shifted beats. Flashes of purple and red from the overhead lighting caught the water within the glass and made it appear to glow. As if it could have been energon at any given bar back on Cybertron; two robots simply sitting at one of a thousand dive-bars across the entirety of their world.

Taking a break, before heading back to work.

Bluestreak rested his thumb on the rim of the cup. His blue eyes watched her motions as she spoke. When she mentioned her arm, he automatically glanced down as if half expecting to see some sort of long, clawed appendage resting on the wooden table.

Nothing like that, it was as human as the one he wore. Her arm was pale and slim, surprisingly elegant as she turned it this way and that. He was always sort of astounded at how delicate the humans appeared, yet he'd seen the sort of things they pushed their bodies to do. Climb mountains. Swim the ocean. Actually go bravely into orbit with their limited technology.

People. She'd refered to them as people. Bluestreak quietly appreciated that; if she'd said squishy one more time he didn't know if he could hold back- well, he'd have to. For the Prime's sake.

"Haven't danced in a long time," he admitted after a moment. "I wasn't great at it either, trust me."

Bluestreak glanced at the dance floor. She was right, it seemed like an awful lot of flailing to a beat. He was surprised that there weren't more people limping off the dance floor. Traffic accidents appeared to be the appropriate way to describe it, for sure.

He lifted his hand up and ran it through his blond hair. It ruffled pefectly under his fingers and then went back in place. Whatever hair gel the avatar used probably could have been bottled up by Old Spice and sold for millions.

"You get used to it," the mech said thoughtfully to Sparkplug, even as he re-wrapped his fingers around his glass. "About the scale of things. I find it a lot easier when I'm parked somewhere though. Still tough when I'm walking around trying to concentrate on both places at once."

"I can see why you'd want to drink. Kind of one more way to interact, I guess."

He hesitated and then eyed her again. "Huh. You can smell with it? That's interesting. I can't. I haven't met many that can. Modded, then?"

[Sparkplug]

"Yup," she confirmed cheerily. "The remote projector under this is a real piece of work. Not that I've had much chance to use it like this, y'know. More usually, it's like another set of hands. Can't project much smaller'n I am now, but you can imagine, when you're building or fixing something, it can be a lot easier if you can send in a remote that can climb around inside whatever you're working on. That's why I fit it out with olfactory sensors; you can pick up a lot of information from the scent of burning and the like. It's nice to have it as a sense right now, though. Adds colour to the place."

She sniffed audibly, concentrating on the sense. "Smells... I don't know. Weird. Kind of sharp? Smells a little bit like ethanol cleaner, but there's a whole lot else going on." She shrugged, smiling wryly, but wanting to share what little of the sense she could with the other mecha. "Might get used to the change in perspective, but I'll probably never get used to the smells. It's so weird in here. I mean, you can almost forget you're a projection, because the roof is about the right height, proportionally, the seats fit, the tables are tables, but then you realise that loads of it is made out of shaped plant matter. Natural resource on an organic-heavy planet, sure, but still just odd to get used to."

She idly doodled with the tip of her finger in a small puddle of something spilt on the table, feeling the ridges of the table's grain. "It is hard to concentrate on myself and this avatar at the same time. Totally didn't notice you arrive, for instance, I thought you were a human when you came up to me. Too busy dancing. It's been a while since I needed to concentrate on myself and an avatar at the same time, and I was never that good at it. Situational awareness, not exactly my strong suit. I mean, I reckon I'd notice if one of these humans came along and tried to steal me-" she laughed aloud, shaking her head at the notion, "-but otherwise?"

She glanced away, watching the humans dancing. There was a little itch in her to get up and join in, an awareness of the melody expressed in little nods of her head and small shifts of her shoulders in time with the rhythm, and for a moment, she actually considered inviting the mech to give dancing a try with her, her lips parting. Then her gaze fell to the table that separated them, and she visibly thought better of it. He'd gotten pretty stiff any time she'd come close to him, and just because he was being civil didn't mean that he was any less wary of her being in close proximity.

After a brief, awkward pause, while she cast around for a replacement topic, she tried, "I've only been on this world for six planetary cycles. More or less; I came down somewhere sandy, and I'm not sure how the day-night cycle there maps to the one here. All of this is pretty new to me. I've done some reading about the dominant species around here, but honestly, I've caught some of their music, some of their recent planetary events, and gotten hopelessly confused by their social interaction protocols. The rest..." she loosely gestured her incomprehension. "Haven't interacted with any of them yet, other than driving around this town today. I hear that your side is more familiar with them, though, so... what's their deal?"

[Bluestreak]

The glass in his hands was smooth and cool. Beads of water dribbled down the side. Bluestreak lifted it up and realized it had left a ring on the table. Automatically, he plucked up a paper napkin that had remained on the table and daubed gently at the water. Too many home and garden TV shows had taught him one thing. Water rings on your table tops were never appreciated.

"Color," Bluestreak echoed, glancing around at the lights, the people, the dancers on the floor. Grudgingly, he had to admit he was a bit jealous of the femme's projector. The ability to add one more sense to the environment around him would be amazing. He'd love to lift his nose and smell the things she described.

What was sharp? Maybe the drinks, or it could be the touches of human sweat, because an awful lot of of the humans out there on the floor looked a bit drenched. She was right though, that the perspective on things changed but didn't. The one time he'd realized how disconcerting it could be was when he had been sitting in the break room with Raf. A chair was a chair was a chair, but when you were sitting on one versus when there was a long drop off the end, two incredibly different things.

Bluestreak was very aware how a human among Cybertronians had odd things to overcome.

He had it easy in some respects. His avatar had been designed to work on multiple planets. A tweak here or there and he could be one of many different species; adjustments could make him into anything from a Kalkar to a Hasmata, and everything in between. He could set it so that he could be a high and dry and yet dive into a methane ocean. Technology allowed him to interact with so many cultures, and all of them he'd found something downright amazing with.

So far, though... Earth was his favorite. He could admit it.

A nod. "They do a lot of woodworking," he agreed. "Plant based, but that's what the resources are here. Organic ones, yeah."

He watched her hand on the table. The twitch of her fingers drew his attention to it; his shoulders drew up slightly. Yes, there was a truce, but that didn't mean he trusted a Decepticon to keep their word about it if they thought they didn't have to, but-

She didn't notice me when I arrived? Wait, she thought I was human?

Bluestreak looked up. The blue eyes of his avatar had gone a bit wide. Out in the street, the silver car hitched itself up from where it had been slumped over the dark tires.

A Decepticon had thought he was human. She thought I was human.

There was some undefinable emotion within him, something that set him back in the chair. Maybe all those months swinging by the mall with Nell, or just sitting there enjoying the company of the kids had helped.

Or-- yeah.

She talked to him, spoke to him like - like he wasn't this giant alien robot from another planet. She just talked to him with ease and laughter. Like it had been once, way back home, when you said, hi, how was your day, and they didn't respond with great, because I didn't get bombed, shot at, and I have some decent fuel.

Across from him, the Decepticon was in an awkward pause.

"Six cycles," he echoed. "That's not long. Sandy, huh? Lots of Earth is pretty sandy and dry. One of the things about this place. Short distances change your terrain quickly. One minute you're in sand, next, you're in water up to your wheelwells."

Bluestreak picked up the cup again and shifted it gently in his grip. The ice cubes rattled within the water. A shaft of purple light wicked across the dance floor and caught the liquid within. It shifted and turned as the equipment overhead swiveled back and forth.

"What's their deal?" he said after a moment. Bluestreak's shoulders tightened up under his grey t-shirt. He set the cup down again and fiddled with the bead on the braided leather bracelet.

Your side is more familiar with them... I am familiar, I guess, but I what I do know fills a uh, a bottle cap, and what I don't know could fill a galaxy. That's the thing about all cultures, all the nuances, the differences, the words, how they speak, what they actually mean. You can make major mistakes. I know I'm thrilled every time the kids ask me questions, I learn as much as they do. They want to know Cybertron and oh, I want - I just want to learn about Earth.

"I mean, I'm not about to presume that I know everything about humans. Heck, what I know-"

He held up his hand and offered her a gesture. (No, not that one. He did know what that meant now, though. Kind of ruined things a little bit, sigh. He'd liked it better when he thought they were being friendly during rush hour traffic.)

The mech inclined his head and indicated the small between his thumb and forefinger. The muscles in his tanned forearms were well defined.

"It's about there," he admitted. "Sure more than six cycles, though."

He glanced around the room again and lowered his hand back to the wooden table.

"Well, what exactly do you want to know?" he asked her cautiously.

[Sparkplug]

Multicoloured light pulsed behind Sparkplug, lighting her profile with flickers of pink and green as coloured disco lights swung back and forth across the dance floor. She swayed gently in her seat, pigtails bouncing with the occasional nod of her head as she listened. Her expression was alert and interested, a playful intelligence shaping her youthful features. The nameless Autobot certainly seemed delighted that she could have taken him for human, reflecting a fascination that might go as far as being a little unhealthy. Still, despite his protestations of ignorance, that meant he was probably the best mech to ask about the native species.

"Well, that little distance is way more than mine," she agreed, squeezing finger and thumb together. "I'm like, a couple of microns apart here. I know they dance, they sing, they've had some nasty wars lately, and you're supposed to flash yellow lights when you change lane. That's about all I've picked up so far. But that's not even scratched the paint, you know?"

Gesturing around herself, Sparkplug went on thoughtfully, "Something like this, it feels familiar enough to give you totally the wrong idea. It's a bar, there's music, there's dancing, there's drinking - it isn't energon, but squint and it could be. So you think their society works like ours, but obviously, it can't."

She began ticking points off on her fingers. "Do they have a caste system, like Cybertron used to before the revolt? If they don't, how are they structuring their society? It's not like they have different chassis designs to give them specialisations." She paused, then added, "Don't get me wrong, the caste system was horrifying, and I'm glad that's over with. I just don't know how these people organise themselves. Do they at all? I got the impression that there isn't one planetary civilisation, there's lots of little ones, but how they work is just a black box to me. Then there's the reproduction."

Grinning wryly, she glanced at him for signs of discomfort on the topic. "Organics make little organics, but no idea what that does to their way of living. Heard of ones that produce live young, ones that do eggs, some bond into little care-units to raise the result, some have a communal thing where some caregivers keep an optic on them and the rest of the society goes on like normal. They have to get useful information into them - unless they inherit memory? I guess that's possible - but it could be through implants and data downloads, or all sorts of ways. I can't even picture what a 'regular planetary cycle' looks like for one of these creatures.

"Global supply chains, gathering raw materials, processing their organic energon analogues - the food stuff - why they've made so many roads everywhere when they don't even have altmodes. Why is everything built around vehicles? I mean, we could live here pretty happily, in some ways, there's the transport network, all that. It doesn't make sense. Why not just build little nodes where the legs are good enough to get around? And all that's even before you start looking at their tech, what they know, what they think they know but they're wrong about, what their crazy little lifespans does to their society." She shook her head. "Not like I'm not interested in the dominant species hereabouts, but you don't even know where to start to try to get a handle on them."

[Bluestreak]

The Autobot's avatar shifted slightly in the worn wooden chair beneath him. The base line of the music rumbled so deep that he could feel it; the table and chair beneath him were vibrating in time with the heavy thud of sound. One of the men he'd seen out there dancing walked by their table, his black hair sticking to the back of his neck with his own beaded sweat. The woman holding onto his hand was caught between panting and laughing; her smile mirrored her happy exhaustion.

They were having fun. Everyone was having fun. Well, Bluestreak wasn't personally having much fun but he at least was no longer caught on that terrible razor's edge between fury and terror at the fact that the Decepticon was in a crowded space full of innocent bystanders that had nothing to do with their war.

In front of him, the femme's avatar seemed to be half-caught up in the rhythm. She moved slightly with each beat, swaying softly in her seat. It was the most natural thing he'd seen her do; well, at least the one that meshed with her avatar.

His blonde brows drew together a bit at her comment about the nasty wars. She had a focus on that that immediately made him uncomfortable again but in some ways it wasn't surprising. Totally different way of looking at the world, he supposed. No doubt it wasn't quite a healthy response for him that he carefully sidestepped those aspects about human culture and concentrated on the ones like how to put in a kitchen sink or refinish a wooden floor.

Words bubbled out of her, one question after another, bounding from one subject to the next. 

Huh. Everyone thinks I talk a lot... 

It didn't bother him though. The femme wasn't shooting. Or throwing elbows at humans on the dance floor. 

"Those particular questions, no, there's no way I'm qualified to answer. Not about how they structure their economics or societies," he admitted. He lifted his hand and scratched at his head, the short blonde hair ruffling under his fingers before settling perfectly back into place.

"Like, yeah, there's not one global civilization," he agreed. "Which means they likely don't have one planetary structure. There's absolutely organization, but I don't even begin to think I have the underpinning or knowlege to understand how it all works. I think it would be a lot of years before I even had the faintest understanding on Earth and I'd learn something new every time I talked to someone from each individual culture."

He lifted his hands off of his glass and spread his fingers. The avatar's broad shoulders shrugged under his snug grey t-shirt.

I can buy an orange drink and say thank you to the person behind the counter, Bluestreak thought. His words were chattering through his head as the man himself was silent at the table. I know that they sell t-shirts at the mall and the money they use and how to make change. I know not to drive on the wrong side of the road, I know how to use my blinker - oh, she does too, well that's good - and I know about soda and how to unscrew a light bulb. I know what the Big Dog robot is, and how to ride a wave with Angling, but... those aren't the important questions. Oh wait, the road one's pretty important, so are the blinkers... 

This stuff? It would be awfully presumptuous and rude of me to think I know anything about those questions but...  

Well,  I guess I give the ones I'm comfortable with. 

Funny how questions like this always came back to reproduction too. There seemed to be a fascination with many Cybertronians as to how other species were able to make more of their kind.

Maybe it was because how their own species was slowly dying off, who knew.

Then again, Bluestreak been asked by other alien species how more Cybertronians were produced. He'd tried to be as honest and straightforward about it as possible. (No, thank goodness they were not factory made as collectables for other planets. That had been an awfully strange question when it was posed but hey, there were a lot of non sentient machines out there. Heck, look at half the darn cars that his fellow Autobots turned into. Totally collectables.)

"Yeah, lots of different methods of organic reproduction," he nodded. "I mean every species on this planet manages to go and fill an resource-exploitable niche? As far as organic young go, at least for the intelligent species of the planet, I dunno if they inherit anything. Maybe? Again, I can't tell you that.

"My best guess is that they're like- well, us - in a round about way. Sure, we start with knowledge but can you honestly say we haven't learned things as we've aged and changed? We're constantly learning survival skills and hobbies that we don't start out with. So do they."

Bluestreak brought up his hand and tapped lightly at his temple.

He glanced over at her. "You're learning something now, right? You're seeking out information you didn't have. That's what all things do, all the time, no matter what sentient species they are."

The mech was glad for the thump and clamor within the bar. So many conversations, so many voices. Their own was quiet enough that it went no further than between them before it was swept into the rush and heavy murmur of background noise.

"As for why everything is built around vehicles? My guess would be fr reason we are, think about it. What's more practical for moving between cities? Driving or flying or walking everywhere under your own power? Always been the same on every planet I've ever been on - you have to move to a source of resources to use them productively within societies. Set up a method that allows you to efficiently trade and commerce to drive an economy.

"That's my theory anyway."

Yep, this is great coming from a guy whose job before the war was to deliver packages. Well, stick with what you know, right? 

"As for their lifespans..."

Bluestreak trailed off. Out on the street, the car shifted uneasily from tire to tire and the long silver hood sloped until it nearly brushed the concrete. Overhead, the branches of the trees rustled softly in the evening air. Out of one of the well maintained houses, a woman stepped out with a small fluffy white dog on a leash. It twirled in yapping circles before the two of them set off down a manicured brick path together. The tiny mutt seemed to be attempting to pull her off her feet but she already had her cell phone to her ear and was completely oblivious.

Like the thousands of people in this quiet town next to the ocean. Just living their lives. Who knew who she was; a doctor, a lawyer, a medical professional, or even someone who delivered pizzas. Didn't matter. 

The mech's gaze shifted to the glass of water he'd set down in front of himself. "They do an awful lot in the time they have, don't they? The leaps and bounds in human technology might not seem like much to you, but think. Two hundred years ago, a single one of them had never been on their own moon."

He brought up his hand and rubbed his chin. "How many planets have you been on before here?" he asked her quietly. His gaze was thoughtful now. The wary tension in his jaw and frame had settled slightly and his long legs were no longer tucked tight under his chair. He had stretched them out and now his ankles were crossed carefully over each other. The clean, soft shine of his cowboy boots caught the shifting overhead lights.

"A few? Any?" 

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug leant forward, idly kicking her heels against the legs of her chair as she listened. The bot, whoever he was, didn't seem to know as much as she'd expected about the native species. Or if he did, he was keeping pieces of it back. That wouldn't be that surprising. She'd half-expected him to accuse her of only asking about the planetary government and other localised control methods because she wanted to take over. Which she didn't. She had enough to deal with without herding a crowd of panicky organics around.

Though admittedly, she'd been thinking about how they'd clear an area if they had to. Say, an energon deposit was located under a city. There was always the option of destroying a few buildings to encourage the locals to relocate in a hurry, but it would be so much easier if they knew who to contact... and it wasn't like she wanted to see the locals hurt, either. Though it wouldn't be the end of her world if it happened.

"I suppose they do have to achieve a lot, in the time they have," she remarked thoughtfully. "Not that they have a lot of choice. It's not like they can go off and spend a hundred deca-cycles working on an idea that you're not even sure will pan out. Probably got a ridiculously high rate of cultural turn-over, too. Not like us, where more than half of us still remember the caste system."

Shaking her head, pigtails flicking back and forth, she dismissed the thought of the human's operating lifetimes - so small it was amazing they ever got anything done between coming online and being dismantled - and turned her thoughts to the worlds she'd been on. It wasn't as varied a list of planets as those some mecha she knew could have rolled out, but she'd moved around a moderate amount. The larger question was how much she could tell him; some of those locations were still pretty sensitive. The moonbase around Antilla, for instance.

In short, as much as it went against the grain, she was going to have to think about security for once and think it over before she spoke.

"Anyway, planets I've seen. Well, lemme see," she said thoughtfully. "Spent a lot of time on an airless rock, nowhere to stretch my wheels. Got so cramped. Can't tell you how nice it was to get out in the open, pick up a new altmode and give it a real go up and down the sand wastes. Going to have to spend more time doing that, somewhere less sandy. Before that... visited Andellor, knocked around Deneb IV for a while, away from the frontlines. Not really a high-combat type. Did have a bit of a scuffle on Combatron, mind you. The front line there turned out to be basically everywhere. Real desolate place, that one, wasn't sorry to get out of there."

Where else could she talk about, where else that she'd been was known to both sides... "Then there was Jhi. Weird place. Very organic, very green, like this place. Oh, and I spent a little time poking around some rubble that used to be Ghennix. Or at least, that's what the really old star charts say it should be. Cybertron, of course. I've met plenty of mecha that have been up and down the galaxy all over the place and a few that pretty much ended up stuck on one world in a long, grinding war of attrition for a long, long time. Guess I fall somewhere in the middle." She shrugged, her slim shoulders moving easily. "How about you? Why'd you ask?"

[Bluestreak]

Bluestreak rocked a bitin his chair, resting his broad shoulders against the sloped back. He was still fiddling with his bracelet; thumb pressed against the green bead, rolling it over and over on the thin leather strand.

"Yeah," he finally agreed. "Shorter lifespans do certainly change how everything relates, I suppose."

It was one of the many thoughts the sharpshooter kept to himself. Something he'd noticed. Sure, their long lifespans were so amazing in so many respects - and yet, they had sort of just- well, stopped evolving.

Not physically, because that was a constant with their species. When could rebuild and even completely change your body- upgrade to newer specs, toss out an old part that had worn out and replace it. Constant evolution, to fit different environments and ever changing levels of resources.

Mentally though?

So many folks had gotten into a headspace where their own longevity made them feel they were utterly above other species. An ugly, nasty excuse for terrible behavior.

No wonder half the galaxy hated them.

Well, there were many reasons for that.

"Lots of places," he said after a moment. "Been a lot of places, I guess, but but not as many as I'd want to be. Well okay, so many station hubs - got lost once on a station hub over by Delta Pavonis Four- kind of funny now that I think about it, I was totally turned around from where were were refueling and got into a place where I had no idea what the heck was going on because I didn't speak the language one bit and to make a long weird story kind of short, I ended up hauling out cargo crates for a shift and finally someone showed up who could talk to me but hey I got a free meal out of it and it was fun, actually. Actually ended up going back for a few days while the ship was getting overhauled and doing some work- learned a lot about how to balance cargo, which is a super helpful thing."

Bluestreak realized he'd begun to ramble, and caught himself. He let out a little sigh and shifted his weight in the chair. "Jhi sounds like it was nice. Never been there. Anyway..."

"I asked because-"

The mech hesitated.

"Have you ever gone anywhere along the way and sat down and learned things about another culture. Another race. Not because you had to, not because you were assigned to for... "

He caught himself, the corner of his mouth twisted up to one side before it smoothed out again. "For whatever reasons. Simply because you wanted to know about them for yourself."

[Sparkplug]

Leaning forward, resting herself on her right elbow - leaning on the left felt a little odd, since the joint wasn't where she kept expecting it to be - Sparkplug watched the other avatar fiddle with his bracelet, idly wondering whether there was a significance to the gesture, or simply a habit. He paused, often, and she was developing the impression that he thought a good deal more than he allowed himself to actually say aloud. When he finally got to his point, though, Sparkplug's green brows rose, and she gave him a questioning look, as if to check he was really serious.

"So you're asking me - what, if I have a sense of curiosity outside of my duties? I mean, come on. I'm not a war-automaton over here; everyone has interests. The way I hear it, the vehicons spend a lot of time together watching the native broadcasts, and there's no way all that is related to their jobs." Still, he hadn't just asked whether she was a monomaniac - he'd asked whether she'd taken an interest in another sentient people, specifically. She straightened up in her chair, her gaze sliding away from his and to the left as she thought back.

"Well... back when I was on Jhi, got to know some things about the inhabitants there. Weird way of looking at the world, really fatalistic." Tapping her fingers against the table without seeming to notice she was doing it, she summoned up a memory of some of the natives, the individuals long-dead now. "They're based on the bipedal body plan, like us, like these natives here. Two arms, two legs, major sense organs in the head. Usually some variation on olive-green, yellow eyes. Audial structures mostly like the people here, but a lot more pointy at the top. Didn't have the kind of fur these guys do on their heads, but they had the fur on their optic ridges, and around the mouth, some of them."

She dredged for a word she hadn't needed for a long time, and added, "Beards, that's it. They're kind of lumpy looking, not a lot of variation in size between individuals. Wore coverings, but not much in the way of coverings, they tended to have bare shoulders until they were older. Apparently it's a big deal when you begin covering your shoulders; it's kind of a transition from those that do to those that guide and teach. It's like - a celebration, but also a little solemn? Because you're wise and ready to take on guiding those that came after you, but your internal components are getting worn down, and you can't do the things you used to do."

Unspoken was the thought that crossed Sparkplug's mind; the tragedy that organics had to face, the inevitable breakdown of their non-replaceable bodies, and the very limited repairwork they could seem to carry out on them. It was the burden the non-mechanical species had to bear in exchange for the ease in which they reproduced.

"But they don't... get angry about that kind of thing," she went on thoughtfully. "When there's nothing you can do about something - oh, say your Conjunx Endura is dying and they can't be fixed - they just kind of... accept it. Because that's the way things are. They have this concept, they call it 'Ke'. It's kind of like... the pattern of the Universe. You can't oppose it, because to fight Ke is to put yourself in opposition to all things, it's to be discordant. When something happens and you've done all you can and it wasn't enough, that's Ke, that's the way things had to be, from the basic structure of the universe all the way down to you. But when something miraculous happens, that's also Ke, that's the inherent sense of structure of all things producing, almost as a by-product, a moment of grace."

Sparkplug gestured lightly with her free hand as she talked, resting her chin on her palm, her bright green eyes flicking to the nameless Autobot now and then, before drifting back to one side as she gazed into her memories.

"They liked bright colours," she murmured, almost to herself. "Maybe because their outer coating is so dull. They wore bracelets, on the wrists and ankles, that meant things. Rank, role, social hierarchy, that sort of thing. Different metals, and patterns. We had a little trouble with some of the younger ones filching small things, so they could melt them down and cast bracelets out of the metal. Hadn't seen any metal types like the ones we were using. Not that they weren't any good with tools; they had a decent technological civilisation. But you know, there's metals and alloys that you get on Cybertron that you don't find elsewhere, and having a metal no one had ever seen, that was a pretty big deal."

She drummed her fingers again, trying to tease out a concept from her memory that she hadn't ever fully understood. "They talked about something called their Skoline. That was pretty hard to figure out. In different contexts, it seemed to mean... well, part of it was their genetic inheritance, their physical makeup, but part of it was their civilisation. They hadn't suffered a catastrophic civ crash and reset, not since the planet was colonised, which was a decent amount of time ago even by our standards. But sometimes, when they were talking about Ke, it seemed more like they meant their... harmony. Their way of fitting into the universe, which was who they were, and what they were, and how they thought and acted. Like I said, they just couldn't conceive of struggling against something they knew they couldn't overcome; it was Ke, and to go against Ke would be to... I don't know. Not be one of them anymore. Not just cast-out, but not even part of their species, or song."

She wasn't bouncing her head or tapping her foot anymore, the music and light of the dance floor behind her streaming past without being registered. A look of thoughtful preoccupation dominated her small, pixie-like features. "Not sure where the species came from, originally. They know, but it's like - the location of the planet wasn't important to them. The only part of it that mattered was the culture, the genetic line - you know, the song. They built a fleet of colonisation ships, way, way back, something they called the Swarm. Every ship went off in its own direction, founded its own world. They've had contact with a few of them, now and then, but Jhi isn't up to building long-range ships, and nor are most of the rest of them. They've got records of it all, though. They say they can trace their - the Skoline thing - back before the Swarm, back to their origin world. Maybe a distinct cultural group, back then? Not sure. But they're very proud of their... their oneness with Ke."

Surfacing from her memories, her eyes focused on the male avatar opposite her, and she added, "I never really got that. Like, intellectually I understood what they were telling me, but not the way they did. If something unstoppable and terrible was coming for me, I'd go kicking and screaming to the last. But you know, I think they pitied us for that. The inability to recognise when we're beaten."

[Bluestreak]

A member of the wait-staff came by their table once more and offered to refill his water glass. Once again, they asked if they needed anything; Bluestreak shook his head, but at least this time he threw an actual glance at the Decepticon in front of him, just in case she wanted to respond.

When human had slipped back into the crowd around the bar, he settled his elbows on the table. The tight t-shirt he was wearing stretched across his broad shoulders and chest. Blue and purple strobes washed over the table; the music had shifted to another song; it riffed through the area with a keening, electronic warble.

Reminded him slightly once again of the music back home.

Surprisingly, Bluestreak wasn't a fan of elecronic music. It had earned him a bit of a raised brow among his fellow couriers whenever they'd gone out for a drink; they were the flashy sorts, all speed, all into how fast they could go. Sharp paint jobs that convinced the eye they were bolting even when they were simply hanging out at the curb waiting for someone to finish filling out acceptance paperwork in triplicate.

Not him. Simple grey-silver was more his style. Along with vocal heavy music. Honestly, he loved acapella - well, good acapella. That could be said for most music though.

Quietly, he sat and listened. He didn't interrupt the flow of the words as Sparkplug spoke, but merely sloped in the chair, hooking the un-scuffed toe of his cowboy boot comfortably around the wooden leg.

The world she was speaking of took shape. She painted it with her voice, and as much as he did not trust her, as much as he was angry and furious with her as to who she worked for and what she had likely done over the course of her life? He was honestly drawn in as her voice filled those empty spaces that usually he had to fill with his own voice, his own words. In a way, it was a strange bit of quiet relief that he didn't need to talk right now. Kept him focused on that and not that he was sitting here talking with a Decepticon.

"No," he said, once he was sure that everyone had left the vicinity of their table. "That's not what I was asking. I think everyone has a sense of curiosity. Well, most everyone."

"I was asking because... that's the things to learn about this world, right?

"That's what you need to look at about Earth, that's the stuff that's important on every single world across the universe. I could tell you a thousand things about this world that make it incredible to me, like how the people dress and interact and what not to plumb in to a kitchen because you're never going to use that spigot to fill spaghetti pots up no matter what everyone tells you. It's not the details about weapons or wars, it's not schematics, you know? It's not the awful things, it's not what they did that's wrong, because there's enough of that out in the galaxy to look at every single day."

"Jhi sounds even more amazing, the more you talk about it," he told her. 

"Like I know I would want to go there and see it for myself because of how you described it. The little things, like the bracelets on the wrists, how amazing is that, to tell rank and file through something elegant and decorative. I guess they do that here with houses and vehicles, but see, that's something I just don't understand yet. That's a piece of an incredible puzzle I don't know, but I /want/ to know and that's what I just felt listening to you talk about that place.

"Going to be honest, though, I appreciate a lot about this concept of 'Ke'," he admitted. He brought up his hand and lifted his finger to touch the damp rim of his glass. The ice cubes clinked as the cup shifted on the worn wood. "Part of the whole, no matter where you go, you have something to return to. A place inside of you where fully understand and know you fit in to the universe. It's just how things have to be, and to accept that is to know that you don't have to spend all that time trying to struggle and kick and shove against a locked door, I guess."

"Freedom," he said thoughtfully.  "Think about it that way. You don't have to fight and fight and fight, you can just accept and channel that energy into something more productive. You respect the life that left you and put your time into the lives that stayed behind - ah, at least on the Conjunx Endura bit, yeah..."

His hand came up and rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck as he looked down at the table again.

"But- then you couldn't fight for the things you do care about either," he murmured. "I guess it's a pretty mixed blessing. Incredible concept, but you'd have to evolved with that mindset, and continued to uphold it as part of your culture, day in and day out."

Then he stiffened slightly in the chair. Where he'd softened a bit as she was speaking, the wary, rigid tip to his shoulders abruptly returned.

Recognize when you're beaten.

Was that a Decepticon poke at the Autobots? Probably. He didn't know what hit him worse, the fact that she'd said something like that or was it because the general sense that sometimes drifted from those remaining on Earth. Outgunned, out-teched, out everything, right down to if they were going to have enough fuel to last them through their time here...

Can't scream, can't kick, can't flail under the weight of that bridge...

Bluestreak swallowed, and curled his index finger under the bead on his wrist.

"I can see how they would," he said finally. "Like why they might be uncomfortable with that behavior. Hey, though, remember what we were talking about? About you getting a handle on things here. If you remembered  all of that from Jhi, you can find it here." 

[Sparkplug]

It was a pity, but completely necessary, to wave off the human server and her offer of a drink. Nothing they had in the building would do much good to her main chassis, they'd freak out and panic if she actually showed herself, and the little avatar that was actually being offered the drink couldn't ingest anything without pouring it directly over the machinery maintaining the integrity of the projection.

She couldn't help but think, though, that the nameless Autobot regretted that inability to drink even more than she did. It was in the way he listened, drawn into her description of Jhi, and in the way he wistfully talked about the idea of belonging. Here was a mech that didn't fit, or at least, didn't feel like he fitted, and was looking elsewhere for it. Somewhere, some sentient species had to make him feel like he belonged, right?

His over-fondness for the humans, his willful blindness to their flaws, fit perfectly. No point in trying to identify with another warlike species, that was no good for escapism. Far better to fret about the specifics of how he'd configure his human food-preparation area, as if that was ever going to matter to one of their kind. Plugging his audials and ignoring all the bad things was a ludicrously unbalanced way of viewing the natives, but he wasn't after accuracy, he was chasing a dream.

All the same, pointing this out wasn't going to get her very far. At best, it'd provoke another argument, and she'd had enough of that for one day.

Instead, she replied, "Well, on Jhi, we weren't trying to avoid the natives. Not like here, where we're floating around in a ship and hardly ever setting tread down on the ground. Not a lot of chances to get to know what the native population's like, other than via their entertainment networks. Not that that doesn't tell you some things, but it doesn't tell you the real fundamental things. That kind of stuff is so obvious that they never write it down. Certainly haven't come across any informative guides entitled 'So You're a Giant Alien Robot'. I do think the awful stuff, as y'put it, is important, though. Sure, you can spend more of your time on the things that are nice, and peaceful, and the little details of their lives, but if you don't take in what they do the rest of the time, the times that they do the bad things, then you're not really getting to know humans. You're getting to know this, this idealised version of them that isn't really real."

She paused, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. "...it's been nice, today, though," she went on after a moment. "I've been spending cycles scrubbing and polishing and cleaning out a crappy old storeroom full of junk so I can set myself up in there, and I've got to tell you, it was getting kind of repetitive. Ugh, the rust. So when we picked up the not-really-a-signal, I jumped on it just to get down on the ground and roll the flatspots out of my wheels. Then, the time comes to go back, and you don't really want to, and there's a bright light and a doorway..."

She shrugged, glancing over her shoulder back towards the dance floor. "Like I said, it's been nice. Can't say as I understand most of what the music is going on about, but you don't really need to just to dance to it. It's not a thousand-screen treatise on what their deal is, but it's a place to start."

[Bluestreak]

The blonde man looked up at her from his side of the table. Then slowly, his head tilted, and he lifted his hand. He cupped his chin, his thumb resting on the side of his nose, pressing into his skin. He only closed his bright blue eyes for a second and then opened them again.

Once again he was sort of taken aback by her words. Oh how boring, cleaning the store room. That's what makes you not want to go back?

Not the fact that you're serving under a damn meglomaniac?

He knew. If Megatron told her to level this place where she'd been dancing an hour before, it would be done. No questions, no discussions. Probably wouldn't even blink her optic if it was in her way. This place was a fun diversion to this femme, nothing more.

"I guess I'm not good at explaining myself," he offered tiredly. "I know exactly that humans aren't ideal. No world, no culture is. My friend's brain dead thanks to humans - to MECH. I've watched that group try to kill other humans, take them hostage, hurt them. They're dangerous."

Outside by the curb, the silver car sagged down over his tires. He could say a lot of words, but no one really listened to them. Today wasn't much different.

Around them, the people danced, and maybe that was the difference he could not explain to her with words. That they could hold back all the awful, terrible things that were happening in their world, and just enjoy the night without dwelling on it. Maybe it was the lifespan, but all Cybertronians tended to dwell.

Himself absolutely included.

The man lifted his hand away and sat up in his chair, his shoulders a level line.

"But it's not most of them," he said firmly, with absolute honest conviction. Bluestreak knew words, and this time, he was careful with each and every one them he spoke. "Most of them are pretty decent folks who treat others well."

It was all he could think of to say. Short and to the point. Was she right? Yes, that they didn't mingle with the humans as much as they should have. Was it perhaps for their own protection? Well, those were his thoughts on the matter, but that would likely get him laughed out of the space. Protect Cybertronians from humans, how silly.

Ah well. Agent Fowler was a good man. He would have been a good two headed green alien, an angry eyed space cat, or- well, a Cybertronian for that matter. He was just a no-nonsense decent spark. 

"Yeah. You don't need to understand it to dance to it," Bluestreak finally replied, following her look towards the dancers. "I have to be honest, Electronica's not my favorite type of music, but I still like it."

[Sparkplug]

The unspoken words were just as loud as the spoken ones. After every sentence praising the natives, the humans, lingered the ghost of 'unlike Cybertronians'. Most of them are decent folk who treat others well. Unlike Cybertronians. Could she argue that? Probably not. Not that exact case, at least. It wasn't really worth the argument, anyway, it wasn't like she was going to get anywhere telling him the Decepticons weren't all that bad.

He switched subject, moving back to the music, and she was happy to let him. Electronica. Not a word she knew, but it shouldn't be too hard to look up. The human information net was useful enough as a glossary of native terms, at least. She twisted in her chair, looking back towards the dance floor, her arm resting along the back. It wouldn't be hard to go back over there; didn't seem like he was going to stop her. But equally, he wasn't going to join her, and his presence was impossible to ignore, now that she knew he was here.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate a friendly chat. And on the surface, that's what it was. But it wasn't.

She glanced at him, still sideways on her chair.

"You know, this is nice and all, but I wish you wouldn't keep looking at me like that. Far as I'm concerned, I'm just out, enjoying some music and a decent conversation, but then I catch your optic, and I remember all over again you're here because you think I'm some sort of murder-cannon with a serious short in my CPU that could send me off levelling the place at the slightest provocation. And that pretty much spoils the mood."

She paused. Queued up in her vocoder, the words were already prepared; the Autobots had a fair share of Grade 'A' glitchjobs that you couldn't trust in a place like this for any longer than it took for them to get bored. And they weren't restrained by the threat that the Warlord would personally put his fist right through the spark casing of any Decepticon that violated the terms of the treaty. But again, she sensed the conversational dead-end down that road, and let it alone.

She sighed instead, her avatar translating the soft vent that escaped her parked chassis outside. "Maybe I should get along back. Not that it hasn't been interesting, but it's hard to get past that sense you're just waiting for me to twitch funny before you blow my cranial case right off my shoulders. It's not like this'll be the last chance for me to talk to one of your lot without the conversation being drowned out by blaster fire. Well. Depending on how long the truce lasts, anyway. Which depends on how long these MECH humans last, I guess."

Swinging her legs around, she sat up straight in her chair and rolled her shoulders, loosening up as she prepared to rise. "You're not an easy mech to talk to, whoever you are, but it's been a time."