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Post by Sentinel Prime on Apr 9, 2011 19:30:30 GMT -5
OOC: Didn't notice I was up here. Sorry!- - - There are people touching him? There is only one thing for Sentinel Prime to do! Whine to someone bigger than him. He looks up at Skyfire and complains, "Skyfire, someone's tooouching me!"
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Skyfire
Major
I'm a scientist, not a....
Posts: 891
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Post by Skyfire on Apr 11, 2011 20:47:45 GMT -5
Skyfire looks down at Sentinel, mildly surprised. (He looks down at everyone, except the old Omega Supreme, and combiner teams.) His ice-blue gaze flits over the various suspicious characters nearby; he lifts one large hand and flexes each finger in turn, cycling the servos and pistons.
"I don't like being touched," he says in a cold, inflectionless voice. "It jostles the warheads. Sentinel does not like being touched, either, but he's more patient than I."
He looks down at Sentinel again. "Nice work on that punk who broke into our ship back on Pz-Zazz, by the way. I never did get a chance to compliment you on that. Wonder if they ever put him back together again? Not sure there was enough left to make good scrap."
He radios privately, // Sentinel Prime, you're standing in the middle of a pack of petro-jackals, figuratively speaking. Don't show them weakness. And yes, I heard that you committed some serious mayhem on the Cons who attacked us back at Pz-Zazz, so I know you can bluff a bunch of turborats like this. //
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Post by Swerve on Apr 13, 2011 22:33:54 GMT -5
Xaaron's grab is successful! He has caught… what appears to be a Mini-Con, one who turns into a heavy-looking little vehicle. She has a third axle to judge by the number of tires on her frame. She also isn't happy with her predicament.
"What's the big idea?" she demands. She's got more indignation than size. "I didn't grab nothin'!" After all, she'd merely run her hands over him without actually taking hold.
Skyfire will find that his efforts earn equal parts scepticism and credulity from the crowd. They're accustomed to shows of bravado and Sentinel just makes his situation worse by hiding himself, but Skyfire's size counts for quite a lot among the largely car-scaled toughs. Meanwhile, one of the bookies – a light truck in grey and yellow with smokey dark grey tires made for off-road travel. Around his neck is slung a small sheet of metal with the names of the competitors and the going odds on them. Someone named Fastlane is highly favoured; Swerve, not so much, beating out only a Wildrider and a Gunrunner.
"Place your bets!" the bookie calls, cupping his hands around his mouth like a bullhorn. "Last call! Place your bets!"
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Post by Rodimus Prime on Apr 13, 2011 23:10:06 GMT -5
Rodimus looks over at Sentinel and Skyfire's little situation. They seem to have that under control, at least for the moment.
That means he has time to go make a bet!
Rodimus wades through the crowd. Anyone who try to push against him will find him difficult to budge, and though he's not being particularly rough about it, he's able to force his way to his destination should he need to.
As he approaches the bookie, he murmurs, "Computer, 20 exchange chits." Once they appear in his hand, he walks right up to the other robot. "20 on Swerve!"
He's not particularly worried about the odds. He's going to bet on his teammate. Besides, it's not 'real' money, anyway.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Apr 13, 2011 23:22:13 GMT -5
Emirate Xaaron tries to heft the Mini-Con up in the air and dangle her before his nose. He says coldly, though with a hint of amusement, "If you want to get grabby, you can at least take me to dinner first. I'm not easy."
He then tries to walk off with her to the bookie, not particularly caring if this annoys her. If she didn't want to be toted around, she should not have been annoying. (Impactor has probably used similar logic with regards to Emirate Xaaron.) Emirate Xaaron wants to bet on Swerve! It's a stupid sim, and the idea amuses him.
Emirate Xaaron says brightly, "I want to bet on Swerve!" Er... what does he have to bet, anyway? Has the sim given him some credits to fritter away senselessly?
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Post by Sentinel Prime on Apr 14, 2011 0:16:22 GMT -5
Oh, Skyfire wants Sentinel Prime to bluff? Yeah, he can do that! Sentinel Prime seems to visibly puff up, and his expression grows sterner.
He replies idly, "Which punk? I counted at least four, but they all tend to blur into each other."
Not all at the same time, and he had help, but fake Velocitronians in the sim room don't need to know that!
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Post by Swerve on Apr 21, 2011 17:55:08 GMT -5
Everyone can access however many exchange chits they feel like requesting from the computer, but none were automatically provided. Alternately, if they beat up anyone here, they can just take whatever chits the thugs happen to be carrying. The toughs still glaring at Skyfire and Sentinel, unconvinced by the bravado after the cowering, seem nonetheless discontentedly resigned to backing off for now. There'll soon be a race to watch and it's hard to be a spectator when you're beating the bolts out of someone – or when they're beating the bolts out of you.
Xaaron's new friend looks entirely unhappy with his proposition. Some of her friends, however, are quite amused and have gathered round Xaaron like a pint-sized entourage.
"No way in the Pit I'm buyin' you anything," she snaps, "but here's a piece of free advice: don't bet on that rolling junkheap if you don't wanna end up losing your axles, too." Another of the Mini-Cons attempts to take a swing at her; this one has the vaguest resemblance to Mirage, a tiny racer with large rear tires on his broad shoulders, aerofoils for feet, and a trim waist.
"He almost beat Fastlane last time!" this little fellow says quite belligerently. The bookie takes it all in stride but with a hint of annoyance for their antics, mainly because they're delaying the last round of bets.
"Twenty on Swerve," he says in a pleasant, smooth tone as he takes Rodimus's chits and drops them into the box hanging at his side. He turns his pale blue gaze to Xaaron, still grinning, and prompts, "How many for you?"
Swerve, meanwhile, seems to have shoved and punched his way into an uneasy spot down the far left of the line, braced by a taller racer done up in dark grey and crimson with touches of silver who leers openly at him, earning a scowl in return, and on the other side, a fellow who looks like he probably turns into a motorcycle of some variety. He gives Swerve a more sympathetic look but, like the creeper, meets only with hostility.
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Post by Rodimus Prime on Apr 21, 2011 19:43:01 GMT -5
Rodimus shrugs as Xaaron's new friend advises against betting on Swerve. "I'm sure I'll deal with it somehow," he answers cheerfully as he accepts the betting ticket from the bookie. He turns and starts to push his way towards the track, taking a quick glance around to make sure all the other Autobots are doing all right.
OOC: Mention of bookie's ticket with permission.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Apr 23, 2011 23:00:03 GMT -5
Emirate Xaaron, lord of the Mini-Cons! This is revenge for what he did to the Micromasters, isn't it? He eyes the Mini-Cons surrounding him warily. The least likely can be the most dangerous. However, Emirate Xaaron shows no fear and says sweetly, "Oh, I'm quite persuasive, and I'm willing to take a temporary setback to prove a point. Now tell me, what is the absolute worst dive around?"
For their first date, of course! It can only get better after that. If Emirate Xaaron wasn't a wily bootleg and she wasn't a figment of the sim room.
"Now, let's do 40 on Swerve," Emirate Xaaron decides, and he does indeed access his infinite free money to pull out the chits, smiling blandly and enjoying his own private joke. Oh, Swerve will probably lose, but not lose badly enough to die, he's expecting. It's just an, 'I have faith in you,' gesture that Swerve will likely take the wrong way if ever he hears about it.
Elsewhere, in the pen, one of the bigger racers is looking antsy to go. He looks around, demanding, "You want to go? Because I want to go."
It's entirely possible that he means a fight, right now, in the pen, as opposed to being eager to get to the race. He looks about ready to grind someone's cranial plating into the ground for no reason other than they're there.
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Skyfire
Major
I'm a scientist, not a....
Posts: 891
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Post by Skyfire on Apr 24, 2011 10:11:27 GMT -5
Skyfire looks amused as he glances at the list of contenders. "Twenty on Swerve; I've seen the kid in a fight," he says, passing over imaginary sim credits. "I knew a Wildrider, once; if this one is as crazy as that one, this will be an interesting race."
Skyfire keeps some awareness on the thugs and rowdies around them, but they don't seem inclined to do more than posture. Sentinel is acting more confident; hopefully he really is feeling more confident and it isn't a thin facade that will fall apart at the first threat. Jackals get bold at signs of weakness. Rodimus Prime seem to be having no problems--one expects a well-regarded former planetary leader to know something about dealing with different sorts of people, and Emirate Xaaron...
Emirate Xaaron really is in his element, isn't he? Skyfire marvels at how he handles the locals, talking to them in language they understand. On Pzz-Zazz, he seemed to do just as well with the alien locals. // Xaaron, were you a diplomat originally? //
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Post by Sentinel Prime on Apr 24, 2011 13:53:06 GMT -5
Sentinel Prime looks around again. Most of these folks don't look any tougher than the average Autobot. Some look weaker. He hasn't seen any yet who look as bad as a Decepticon from his reality.
Now he feels silly for being worried.
Sentinel Prime swagger over to the bookie and demands, "Give me 10 on Fastlane." Oh hey, free magic money from the sim room! Cool.
What, was anyone expecting he'd bet on Swerve? C'mon, Sentinel Prime is interested in winning, not sucking up to some cute little red car with a chip on his shoulder.
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Post by Swerve on May 1, 2011 9:29:10 GMT -5
As long as Swerve survives, he's won the race, in a sense. It's just a matter of betting on which racer will manage to beat the pack. Some spectators on the other side of the track are running their own, more elaborate bets, taking odds on who will come in when. Another group closer to the far end of the track – the finish line, such as it is – are wagering on parts lost. And probably aiming to collect said parts.
Swerve eases his weight from one foot to the other and back, pointedly ignoring the antsy guy.
"Announcer got a glitch in his vocal processor?" he mutters, looking around.
The bookie makes no comment on Sentinel betting different from his mates; to each their own, and why not bet on a winner? Besides, he isn't paid to comment, or he'd be announcing the race, not bookmaking.
"Ten on Fastlane," he says, taking the chits and handing Sentinel his ticket. "And another twenty on Swerve," he adds, stretching to hold out Skyfire's ticket, for the bookie is a compact fellow. "Enjoy the race, fellas; it'll be a good one." And he sidles away, bellowing last call. The spectators instantly get rowdier with anticipation.
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Skid-Z
Minor
'Not obsessed; possessed! There is a difference, you know.'
Posts: 411
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Post by Skid-Z on May 1, 2011 17:27:53 GMT -5
Skid-Z waits patiently for the race to start. He does not make a booking. He does not talk to anyone. He just watches, inner radio blocking out the sounds of excitement and anticipation.
Visuals only.
-Spectating-
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Post by Rodimus Prime on May 1, 2011 21:36:47 GMT -5
Though he's not yet late to the starting line, he's cutting it close. A tall, slender, silver car-former with metallic blue trim, leaps the gate to move to the starting line, waving to the roaring audiance as he goes. Fastlane moves and beams like the crowd favorite that he is, striding confidently to his place on the line. A disdainful look is cast down his nose towards his competition, and he snorts faintly in amusement at the thought that this group could even think to challenge him.
Once he's sure that none of the 'Bots are in trouble, Rodimus returns his attention to the race itself. He gives a cheer for Swerve, not one with a good deal of force - that comes once the racing starts - but enough to show his support.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on May 1, 2011 22:19:08 GMT -5
//No,// Emirate Xaaron answers Skyfire, in good cheer, //but I'll take that compliment.//
He notes Sentinel's bet with interest. Says things about the fellow. Unpleasant things.
Emirate Xaaron pushes off into the crowd to try to secure as good a spot as he can. He doesn't have high hopes, but he'll engage in shoving and elbowing to jockey about a bit. If he gets a good spot, the Mini-Con better appreciate it! How do these little things expect to see anything, anyway? Emirate Xaaron's short, but he's not that short.
Speaking of short... Wildrider's short temper is about blown. Toadies like Gutcruncher might give a flying frak about Fastline finally showing his pretty face, but Wildrider's just torqued he had to wait.
And speaking of short? And flying fraks? Wildrider exclaims to the little motorcycle, "Hey, fun-size! Wanna fly?"
Of course he doesn't. That's why Wildrider reaches for him and tries to grab him and fling him into the back of Fastlane's shiny helm.
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