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Post by Mirage on Dec 27, 2009 22:13:53 GMT -5
Mirage likewise is not worried about getting back out of the restaurant. Of course, he can turn invisible and just walk out when he feels like it. he can even sneak Rodimus out, if the Prime can table his pride long enough to handle being carried out.
"Sounds like security," Mirage murmurs as Spy Shot describes the shooter, "I suppose, it's too much to ask that he be wearing a visible badge or insignia of some sort?" He shoots a look of apology at Rodimus before heading toward the restaurant-admittedly at a more sedate pace than Pyrite had.
//If it makes you feel better, you may boss me around under guise of 'doing it for my safety.' It would certainly fit the stereotype of the rich playboy, to have someone saving him from himself.// Does Mirage sound bitter? Perhaps just a tad.
//I'll make it up to you. Spy's honor// he says, his normal hint of a smirk back, both on his face and in his voice.
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Post by SceneMod on Dec 27, 2009 22:30:57 GMT -5
The shooter on the roof moves, and another shot rings out.
Shot clean through the chest, Pyrite falls on the threshold of Stainless, just under the roof that could have concealed him. He seems like he knows how to fall, at the very least. Pyrite coughs up something black and iridescent, and he manages, "Brulee torch. They'll have one in the back. Please?"
The gunman on the roof has a discreet logo on his shirt, marking him as an employee of one of the major security firms. He is rather vexed with himself, now. A clean kill would have been so much better, and he won't get a third shot now that the target is under the overhang. Robots are so blasted difficult to kill, always
That means dealing with the mooks, and mooks are harder to clean up. At least they're slow targets. He shifts his aim.
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Post by Spy Shot 6/Cameron Otto on Dec 28, 2009 14:12:21 GMT -5
Spy Shot nods sharply to Rodimus, acquiring a good shot of the rooftops in question - including their current occupant - and offering a transmission of the shot to his companions.
"Is it to much to ask?" he says to Mirage, shifting to keep the gunman in sight as Mirage heads for the restaurant. "He does seem to have something like that. It looks like- oh, the shooter is-" The shot rings out. "He shot again."
His optics momentarily jerk away from the gunman to watch as Pyrite falls to the ground, and he frowns. Rather unfortunate that it takes rather longer to alert someone than it does to see something.
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Post by Rodimus Prime on Dec 28, 2009 14:54:29 GMT -5
//I just want to know how long you were planning to use this as your 'cover story,'// Rodimus replies, tone annoyed. He doesn't comment on 'spy's honor.' Sure, he might have something he qualifies as honor, but on the other hand, deception is part of the job description, and this really isn't the time to be going over how a spy's honor compares with more traditional honor types.
He starts to follow the others in when Pyrite falls. The young Prime once more spins towards the area where the blast comes from, and this time, rather instinctively, he fires. It's a rather low powered shot, however, and since Rodimus doesn't see the shooter, it's just in the direction where the shot came from. He's really more hoping to warn off more shots, unaware that this is unecessary. "Thank you, Spy Shot, I noticed," Rodimus grounds out lowly.
Then he glances at the doorway just behind him, moving to block it as much as possible. "I'm guessing they're not going to let me in with my weapon drawn," he observes almost casually before opening his fingers to return the Photon Eliminator to subspace.
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Post by Mirage on Dec 28, 2009 23:02:55 GMT -5
Mirage sounds a bit exasperated as he replies to Rodimus. //So long as it is both useful and necessary to do so. Do you have no concept of how such things are handled? Misdirection is the most useful tool in our arsenal at the moment-//
He breaks of as Pyrite is shot, and Rodimus...returns fire. Mirage's palm meets his face, and he rubs his temple. He can't really berate Rodimus for doing so, but really- firing upon legal security personnel is not the way to fit in in this setting.
"No, they most certainly will not," Mirage says haughtily as he quickly moves to Pyrite's side. "We'll get you taken care of, my man. Though I imagine the establishment will not look too fondly at our bringing trouble in their door."
He frowns. He doesn't know if he should move the wounded robot or just get him what he asked. On the one hand, getting Pyrite inside takes the pursuers and the shooter out of the equation. On the other...they really aren't likely to be welcome within, in this circumstance.
Ah, well. Irking a lower-end restaurateur is better than starting a firefight in the street. He bends down to pick up Pyrite and, after another glance at Rodimus, heads into Stainless.
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Post by SceneMod on Dec 29, 2009 13:20:19 GMT -5
There is a doorman in the restaurant, though he might be more of a bouncer. It's difficult to say. He's wiry in build, a machine of whipcord and bridge-cable. He doesn't say a word to the little party, though he watches them all closely, as if mentally comparing their images to wanted posters.
There is a hostess, looking something like a 50s android, with sleek, art deco lines. Her attire is a dark grey minidress, somber compared to her gleaming surfaces. She seems unphased by the wounded robot, thought there just might be a flicker of recognition, and she asks politely, "Party of three?" She peers more closely, "Or will the child need a booster seat of his own?" A very small child, that. Perhaps he'll sit on a lap. Or just stay up on a shoulder.
There is a small stage with a microphone and something like a piano. Stainless looks to be the sort of place where youths could come to perform amateur hour rebellious poetry, but not too rebellious. Appropriately rebellious. There is also paid entertainment, now and then, but not at the moment. The restaurant is not overly busy, but this is an off hour.
Pyrite looks up at Mirage, and he murmurs gratefully, sounding a little light-headed, "Thank you. I won't be any trouble now. The trouble is when I leave." He glances back.
And the mooks are already at the restaurant door. They don't be able to make a scene inside. But they can get a table and pay for food and wait until Pyrite makes a move.
Elsewhere, on the roof, the security guard frets - his pay will be docked, he's sure. Perhaps he'll even be fired. He has rent to pay, people who depend on him.
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Post by Spy Shot 6/Cameron Otto on Dec 30, 2009 13:31:53 GMT -5
"You're welcome," Spy Shot replies to Rodimus. That is the polite and appropriate response to people thanking you, yes?
He gives up his task of watching the roof as Mirage enters the restaurant, resuming his usually curious examination of everything around him. He peers intently back at the hostess as she addresses them. Pz-Zazz has such a remarkable variety of people that puts the mix of different Transformers on the Event Horizon to shame.
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Post by Rodimus Prime on Dec 30, 2009 15:21:13 GMT -5
Rodimus Prime follows the others into the resturant, offering a faint smirk at Spy Shot's response to him. He glances at the camere-former, then back at the hostess. "I think 'the child' is content with the shoulder view," he answers, turning to glance back at the mooks' arrival.
The young Prime has never been the most patient of mechanoid, and he seems faintly annoyed at even having to wait to be seated, and so, to use the time productively, he peers over at Mirage's shoulder, trying to get a look at the robot's injuries.
"Let me get a look at that when we're seated," he says quietly, though it's unclear whether he's addressing Mirage or Pyrite.
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Post by Mirage on Dec 31, 2009 0:09:10 GMT -5
Mirage gives the hostess an easy, charming smile, seeming for all the world as if cradling a wounded person in his arms in the middle of a restaurant were perfectly normal.
"Yes, my dear, a table for three will suffice. I imagine even a booster seat would be a bit large for my little friend, after all." He tilts his head ever so slightly as he adds, voice a shade softer, "And the more private the table, the better. Unless you happen to have a party room unclaimed? If so, that would be ever so lovely. Not so lovely as you, I'd wager, but one takes what one can, when in need." Again, he gives that easy smile, the smile that has melted the sparks of men and women alike in his time.
A twist of his head turns that smile on Rodimus, though Mirage knows he's the one more likely to melt in such a standoff. "But of course. You'll not object, will you Pyrite?" he asks the wounded robot.
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Post by SceneMod on Dec 31, 2009 16:50:06 GMT -5
Cradling injured people in the middle of a restaurant is normal, on Pz-Zazz.
Pyrite says weakly, "Object? No, no. That's very clever." 'that'. Is he 'that'? Pyrite frets about what the bodyguard wants to do with him, and he protests, "I'm an actor."
This being a high priced area, the hostess sees her fair share of charmers and would be charmers, but she thinks, it might just be a good idea to seat the bleeding robot somewhere he cannot be seen from the street.
Or perhaps Mirage is more charming than she gives him credit for.
"Right this way," she ushers, of to a party room in the back. What an odd party. 'Little friend'? She says hesitantly, "You... you boys aren't vigilantes, are you?" Insane colour schemes, check. Weird symbols, check. A sidekick, check. In the company of an injured person, check. Chased by mooks, check. Signs point toward yes!
She hopes they're the rich playboy kind of vigilantes, rather than the poor reporter kind.
The mooks look at each other uncertainly as the hostess asks her question and take a few steps back, toward the main door.
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Post by Spy Shot 6/Cameron Otto on Jan 1, 2010 12:42:24 GMT -5
Spy Shot starts slightly as Rodimus mentions a shoulder view. Given that he's the only one at the moment with a shoulder view, he realizes that the Prime and the hostess are probably talking about him. He adds 'the child' to the list of various things people call him, though he's not sure it's a particularly accurate description. Oh well.
"What is a booster seat?" he asks, since people have been debating whether or not he should have one.
He chooses not to answer the question about their status as vigilantes, not having the answer himself.
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Post by Rodimus Prime on Jan 1, 2010 21:53:09 GMT -5
"Yeah?" Rodimus answers as Pyrite claims to be an actor. "So? You aren't just acting like you're hurt." Because he is visually inspecting Pyrite's injuries, he completely misses Mirage's smile.
However, he stops and turns bright, confused blue eyes on the hostess as she follows her to their seat. "Are we wha-?" His optics flicker, and he shrugs. "I don't know. Should we be?"
He starts to pull out one of the seats, then remembering his role, offers it to Mirage, a faint smirk on his lips as he gestures for 'the boss' to sit down.
He leaves the booster seat question to someone else.
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Post by Mirage on Jan 1, 2010 23:15:25 GMT -5
Mirage takes his seat, murmurng a quick "Thank you," to Rodimus. The spy is a little surprised at the Prime's actions. Bodyguard and Servant are not quite the same thing, and Mirage was more than prepared to seat himself.
"Vigilantes? My dear lady do I look the type to be running about participating in such dealing?" he scoffs, the shakes his head, then adds mostly to himself, "Really, certainly my air of station hasn't slipped that much since being among you people."
Once he's settled, making sure to be careful not to jostle either Pyrite or Spy Shot more than necessary, Mirage explains, "A booster seat is an addition to a regular seat so that the short might have no trouble reaching the table, Spy Shot."
"But we don't need one," he reiterates, smiling up at the waitress again, "However, I've been told your shop here makes an excellent brulee. Torched tableside, isn't?"
Not that Mirage has any idea what a brulee is.
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Post by SceneMod on Jan 2, 2010 0:07:09 GMT -5
Pyrite was trying to clarify that while he's in the entertainment business, he's not in the oldest profession. He looks a little distressed by the visual inspection, though perhaps a little flattered, under the defensiveness.
He tries to sit up a bit from his position on Mirage's lap, but feeling light-headed, he sinks down again. If he could blush - he still wouldn't due to fuel loss, but he murmurs, "Sorry."
The hostess doesn't quite look Mirage in the optics as she demurs, "Sir, with all due respect, you are naked." If Mirage was wearing his underwear on the outside, she'd know for sure, no matter what he says. Naked is just iffy. "The beryllium brulee, however, is one of our signature dishes." After Mirage is attended to, she replies to Rodimus Prime, also not quite looking at him, "Depends on who you ask."
She sets two menus before Mirage and adds a children's menu. Then, she sets a menu before Rodimus Prime. The fare is moderately pricey - there are far, far more expensive places, even in this district, but it is certainly isn't cheap. The items are geared toward machines, but there is a small subsection for cyborgs, the way a menu for humans might have a vegetarian section. There are definitely some interesting fuel blends, mostly small-run vintages and unique additives, like Pandoran superconductors.
The hostess looks ready to leave, assuring, "A waitress will be with you soon."
Off near the entrance, the mooks debate. If the motley crew are vigilantes, that's not something they want to get tangled up in. Some of their arguments might be heard in the party room.
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Post by Spy Shot 6/Cameron Otto on Jan 2, 2010 20:08:04 GMT -5
Well, Spy Shot's still not sure whether or not they're vigilantes. He doesn't do well with rhetorical questions and he's really not sure what a person who participates in such dealings should look like. Oh well.
He nods in understanding of Mirage's explanation. He wonders if this means that Mirage can be considered a booster seat, but decides in the end that it doesn't. After all, his seat on the spy's shoulder puts him significantly above the table.
But speaking of reaching the table, that tabletop is looking rather interesting, and so Spy Shot makes to clamber down one of Mirage's arms, around Pyrite, and make a leap to the table.
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