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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Jan 25, 2011 20:52:46 GMT -5
Wreckage was actually considering it?
Skystrike’s wings perk before she could think to do anything about them but she manages to keep her expression carefully neutral. The current situation felt a little delicate and the seeker didn’t particularly want to make things any more complicated. Her own overtures had already caused quite a bit of trouble and she didn’t exactly want to repeat her previous mistakes.
“There’s a nearby space station with a decent bar,” because Skystrike wasn’t exactly fond of the planet below either. “Not too busy. Secluded.” She’d found it a few days ago after going out to stretch her wings. Probably would have never had found it if she hadn't flown past one of the veiwports. The flier hadn't initially entertained thoughts of it being a place for an outing with Wreckage at all, but, well, the stryker didn't particularly strike her as the fancy romantic restaurant type.
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Feb 10, 2011 13:48:28 GMT -5
Never has Wreckage been the drinking sort, either; he simply blinks at her offer without comment, wondering why she decided on a bar of all places. But it is away from the ship and more obnoxious parties who will find it necessary – out of some bizarre filial obligation as fellow soldiers and Decepticons – to heckle them. Ordinarily, he would ignore them, but he finds now the thought irritates him.
"Very well," he murmurs, gesturing for her to take the lead. She knows where it is; he does not.
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Feb 12, 2011 20:20:34 GMT -5
OOC: Time skip ahoy!
The bar wasn’t secluded. A more accurate word would probably have been ‘hidden’ to aptly describe just how concealed the place was. It wasn’t terribly far from the hustle and bustle of the space station it was attached to, but it was wedged quietly behind a few corners, unnoticeable unless specifically asked for or stumbled upon. The only place it wasn’t hidden from sight was on the space station’s map. Externally, all that existed was a big black door and white hologram sign hovering to the side of the entrance, stating the bar’s name in Common and a brief statement of welcome beneath it.
Inside, the bar lacked all traces of Pz-Zazz’s infamously flashy and bombastic architecture. The metal walls were a cool blue-gray, lit by quiet white bands of light that striped the arched ceiling. The tables followed the theme, rounded rectangular slabs of the same blue-gray with a band of white light outlining the edges. The decorations and seats were black or covered in black leather-like fabric, contrasting nicely with the lighter colors of the room. Not a very high end place by any means, but well kept.
The patrons themselves seemed to reflect the place. As Skystrike stepped through the door, the first thing she heard was the calm background music before hearing the quieter wash of softly spoken conversations under it. The bar wasn’t crowded, but there were certainly people there, all speaking a range of different languages.
The seeker steps to the side, making way for Wreckage as she looks over the tables for a free one. There was a table towards the back, tucked neatly into a corner with a view port opening out to the stars and any passing ships. Perhaps there?
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Feb 16, 2011 11:12:34 GMT -5
Generally of a mind toward group morale and cooperation, Wreckage has still never been a terribly social creature, too aloof for the niceties and too different from the other ammo sponges like him to ever quite feel "normal". That air stays with him on his way into the bar; this is Pz-Zazz, so the alien-ness of him goes mostly ignored. Nearly everyone on Pz-Zazz is alien, after all. There are some patrons who look askance at his direct, unblinking stare as he takes in the room and considers what a threat any of them might pose. Not much, he decides, and then he follows Skystrike's gaze to that corner table.
He lifts one shoulder in an acquiescent shrug. It is a good position in some respects; their backs need not be exposed and he suspects they can readily fight their way to the exit if need be. The fleshy bodies of the bar's primary clientèle will pose little resistance to either of them. The quiet location and the subdued décor are not unpleasant to his sensors – a marked improvement over the raucous, gaudy places he has passed by on the few times he left Ship.
This time, he takes the lead from Skystrike on the way to her chosen table.
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Feb 21, 2011 20:59:51 GMT -5
Silently following Wreckage to their table, Skystrike finds herself relaxing slightly. Wreckage looked like he was prepared to level the place if anything should go wrong, but he didn’t seem otherwise unhappy with it. The chances of them needing to fight a horde of angry aliens to get out of a bar were marginal at the very least, but it was good to keep the thought in mind anyways.
Sliding onto her seat, the seeker gives the window a quick glance; there was a big grey cargo ship slowly crawling by, blocking out all the stars. She looks back over to Wreckage, but was interrupted by the white holographic menus flickering to life atop the table followed by a tinny ‘please select your orders’. The seeker glances down at the menu, a scroll-able list of snacks and drinks with an ‘order complete’ button at the bottom of the form.
“... What do you think?” Skystrike asks quietly, looking over the menu. There were quite a few robot friendly selections on the list. She clicks on a drink titled ‘Black Ice’, before looking up. “About this place, I mean.” That was a safe topic, right?
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Feb 24, 2011 11:16:23 GMT -5
Wreckage is seated and staring at the menu as though he finds it indecipherable before he dredges up an answer for Skystrike.
"Ambient noise levels are acceptable," he says stiffly. "Ambient light level is… within tolerable parameters." The recessed lighting cuts down on distracting shadows and harsh glare; conversations are kept at courteously muted volumes and the music is only loud enough to have a presence in a sort of undercurrent, reducing its ability to irritate him with the odd, droning notes of some unknown alien instrument. He glances around the room briefly before flicking his gaze back to the menu. "Atmosphere is mild." He frowns slightly at the selection of drinks; no one looks any more enticing than another, he finds, and not even the listed ingredients can sway him.
In some ways, it was so much easier when someone on the line simply shoved a canister at him and told him to drink up.
Muffling a disgruntled sigh for that brief moment of sentimentality, he looks at Skystrike and gestures with one open hand to the menu, inviting her recommendation since she seems to have a better grasp of the protocol.
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Feb 25, 2011 21:26:47 GMT -5
Skystrike... tries not to look too amused when Wreckage lists his opinion of the place. A tiny quirk of her lips betrays her though, even as she ducks her head in an attempt to hide it. Perhaps small talk wasn’t the best way to go here, regardless of the of the quick flutter of affection she feels at his awkwardness. It simply wouldn’t do to make her date uncomfortable.
The seeker glances up when Wreckage gestures to his menu, a briefly questioning look on her face, before she nods and glances over the list once more, trying to figure out what Wreckage might enjoy. Occupied as she was, the flier only distantly notes the nervous whisperings on the next table. It wasn’t until a family of red lizard aliens quietly move out of their seats and onto another table, a safer distance away from the two war machines, that she looks up at the muffled commotion.
Cycling her optics in a bland blink, Skystrike shakes her helm and turns back to the menu, selecting a relatively safe looking ‘Star Trail’. After that, she glances up, hand hovering over the menu as she quietly asks, “Snacks?”
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Mar 2, 2011 11:26:31 GMT -5
At the question of snacks, Wreckage gives Skystrike a one-shouldered, acquiescent shrug. She seems to know what she's doing and he would be an idiot if he did not bow to her superior knowledge – and if not experience on her part, then at least a better grasp of small niceties such as these.
"This is different," he admits after a moment. Not so much, perhaps, the nearby diners relocating, giving them both anxious looks in the process. That much he finds amusing, and when the smallest of the family peers at him curiously under the male's – he presumes by its build and comparing it to humans that it is male – arm, Wreckage gives the tiny creature a sketch of a smile. A leer more than anything, cold and predatory. The child, for it must be a child to be so small compared to the others, squeals and hides its face. Wreckage turns back to Skystrike, mollified somewhat by the exchange.
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Mar 2, 2011 20:10:30 GMT -5
Either she’s wearing a very strange looking frown or Skystrike most definitely has a smile on her face now. Clearly, she is impressed by Wreckage’s display of child friendliness.
Selecting a snack from the list, she quietly finishes up the form before looking up as the menus fade away. “Different?” the seeker asks, helm tilted slightly in askance. This wasn’t too different for her, really. Decepticons, drinking and bars went together like well greased gears in her reality, even in times of energon rationing- albeit the third tended to be optional. She’d never been to so quiet a place before though; it’s possibly attributed to the fact that there was severe lacking in raucous Decepticon patronage.
… It was kind of nice.
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Mar 4, 2011 11:40:54 GMT -5
Wreckage is about as child-friendly as a rack of knives. He rather hopes the little thing stays scared of him for the duration of their time here.
"It is not cans of half-fermented oil in a lull between shellings," he clarifies, settling his steady gaze on Skystrike. Some of the big, violent ammo sponges like him were at least clever enough to slap together disparate parts into scrap stills that produced intoxicants as pleasant as their surroundings. And generally as efficient at knocking the drinkers flat as a fist to the face. He gives the matter a loose shrug, fingers spread with palms upturned on the tabletop.
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Mar 6, 2011 13:39:18 GMT -5
It takes a moment for Skystrike to understand. They didn’t often use artillery shells in her universe, and they were still a rather unfamiliar concept for her. A bit more on the familiar side however was the oil; her previous team’s SiC was had been a notorious synthesizer of such things and often made small businesses on the side when they weren’t hauling energon around. He’d also often tested them on his sometimes-unwilling teammates.
“Ah. No it isn’t,” Skystrike agrees quietly as she puts away the memory of a particularly foul tasting experiment. The waiter, a mid-sized android with a black and blue color scheme and the restaurant’s name styled neatly on its chest, chose the time to come by with their orders. It set them on the table with a respectful ‘here you are, sirs,’ before moving away to deliver orders to the next table.
Wreckage’s drink was a smooth black liquid with swirls of silver and gold in a black cup. Skystrike’s was a cool blue with a layer of clear oil on top. The snacks meanwhile were bite-sized, glossy semi-transparent spheres in a simple ceramic bowl. Definitely not a Pz-Zazzian level of presentation, but pleasant on the eyes in their own way.
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Mar 8, 2011 20:34:05 GMT -5
The presentation, while it lacks the tawdry flash common to Pz-Zazz, holds a fascination for Wreckage and after everything is placed, he spends a few seconds as if transfixed, simply watching the metallic traces in his drink continue in their slow spin, momentum left over from the stirring. The beverage, he finds, is a piece of artwork unto itself. He can hardly banish it to the nether regions of his fuel processing system without first admiring it.
Once he can pull his gaze away from the efficient, simplistic beauty of his cup, he eyes the snacks curiously. Only belatedly does he wonder just what the chemistry of all this is, and what havoc it might wreak on his fuel filters.
"Interesting," he murmurs in a low rumble as he picks up one of the little spheres to peer at it more closely.
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Mar 12, 2011 21:22:20 GMT -5
“Transparent aluminium shells with gallium and oil,” Skystrike says after watching Wreckage pick up one of the spheres. The official description was more flowery admittedly: delicate transparent aluminium shells with a liquid core of the purest gallium blended in with synthetic oils. She’d go on a winding poetic description of the snacks and drinks but, well, that’d perhaps be a bit overkill.
Picking up her own cup up and experimentally swirling the liquid within, Skystrike peers curiously at the contents for a moment before taking a cautious sip. “... Better than anything on Ship,” she rumbles after a thoughtful moment. Less likely to kill them too considering the distinct lack of ‘Con chemists present.
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Mar 21, 2011 9:53:12 GMT -5
At the description, Wreckage shrugs his ambivalence; whatever isn't energon will not sit well with his filters in any case, but it merits finding out if the things taste as good as the writer of the menu wants their patrons to think. While wondering if his own systems will be able to handle it or if he will need to seek out a medic later, he pops the confection into his mouth and bites down. It gives the oddest little crunch of protest when the aluminium wafer gives way.
"We do not have a specialist aboard Ship," he says to Skystrike in mild reproach once his mouthful is dispatched. Expecting the medics to create consumable artworks such as these is rather like expecting Wreckage to compose epic poetry. He has little doubt this skillset is a wholly separate beast.
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Mar 26, 2011 15:31:33 GMT -5
Oh but Wreckage could write epic poetry; it’d just be in the language of bladed edges and gore and it definitely wouldn’t end up in a high school English class.
“The chemists probably can do it, but I wouldn’t eat anything they make,” she murmurs contemplatively. Snacks and candy were generally bought from neutral vendors or created by hand. Or the chemist was your very, very dear friend/teammate who you would trust to not poison you, which was altogether very rare.
The seeker takes a moment to eye the treats before picking one up herself and holding over the table lights. The thin aluminium shell flexes slightly under her fingers and the gallium’s silver shine was intriguing. Not, admittedly, as intriguing as the light reflecting off of Wreckage’s armor, but there wasn't much comparison between the two.
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