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Post by Rodimus Prime on Jan 3, 2010 1:10:38 GMT -5
Oh, please. Like Rodimus knows what a high-class body guard's duties are and are not. He may be a good looking 'lower class roughneck,' but a 'lower class roughneck' he still is, Prime or no Prime.
When the hostess points out their nakedness, Rodimus checks his paint job. "Huh? My paint's just fine," he asks, confused. However, by the time he gets that out, she's gone, so he just shrugs.
Her departure, however, seems to signal to Rodimus that it's time to actually check on Pyrite. He turns his chair to face Mirage's, then leans over. "All right, let me see him," he tells Mirage, tone now a lot more commanding. He reaches over and, if not prevented, begins to inspect Pyrite's wound.
"Torched right at the table," he murmurs. "What's used to light it? Is that why you asked for it?" he asks as he checks over Pyrite's injuries, hands moving with a steadiness that suggest an experienced medic.
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Post by Mirage on Jan 3, 2010 12:32:36 GMT -5
"It's all right," Mirage answers, both answering Pyrite's apology and trying to reassure him, "Rodimus actually has quite a bit of quick repair knowledge. He ought to be able to at least stop the leaking and give your systems time to recover. If you are uncomfortable being held, I can transfer you to a seat...." Mirage trails off, leaving the but I don't think you can sit up on your own. unspoken.
He can't help but smile as Spy Shot decides to exploring. The little camerabot is entirely too naive, but even Mirage must admit that Spy Shot is simply adorable. He reaches for the menu, holding it in one hand while trying to stay out of Rodimus's way as much as possible.
"Hmm, not a bad selection, slightly over priced for the offering, but that's to be expected," he murmurs idly. He looks up at Rodimus's question. "Oh, Pyrite asked for a brulee torch, I am guessing to help with his wound. I assume that it is some sort of food preparation instrument." He shrugs slightly, "Non-liquid fuel sources are not my forte. They were mainly novelty items in my circles."
He returns to studying the menu, though he adds, "She did have a point. Even the robots here seem to be covering themselves in some manner. While I hate to hide my lovely paint and gorgeous lines, I suppose I shall just have to sacrifice for fashion." Mirage sighs.
The snatches of argument filtering through to them make him frown thoughtfully toward the door. Hrm.
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Post by SceneMod on Jan 4, 2010 22:44:26 GMT -5
The children's menu has smaller portions, and the fuels are usually brightly coloured and sweet Some fizzy or glowing offerings are available, and some layered or sparkly options, too.
In some ways, the children's menu is a lot more fun than the normal menu.
Pyrite looks a little dazed, and he says, optics not really focused on anything, "Oh. You're his physician, then? A welding torch, of course."
Rodimus is obviously a robot, and it isn't hard for a robot to master more careers than a shorter-lived organic creature. Rodimus could certainly be both Mirage's bodyguard and his personal doctor.
Pyrite feels terribly embarrassed now. He's too weak to resist any poking or prodding and so complies without a fuss.
Light-headed, he notes, "You wouldn't have to hide anything. Half the point of clothing is how much you can, ah... show."
Sure enough, there is a waitress approaching, a brassy female robot, looking something like a steampunk android. She wear a short black outfit with a pleated skirt and a tight black vest over a lacy white shirt.
The mooks are now arguing that they're probably not vigilantes, just pretty fops that they can knock over, as soon they leave Stainless. They depart the restaurant, before the hostess can imposition the bouncer.
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Post by Rodimus Prime on Jan 5, 2010 22:29:02 GMT -5
Spy Shot skipped with player permission.
Rodimus looks up at Mirage as he mentions 'sacrifice' and 'clothing.'
"Mirage. We transform," he points out, tone soft and patient, as though he were explaining something to a young child.
He hmms at the injuries. "You're definitely dying," he notes, demonstrating his fantastic bedside manner. "Or you would, if this went untreated for a few hours. There's a major fuel line hit... I'm trying to get it pinched off so it'll stop leaking. Then I can clean you out and figure out how to reroute thin-" he cuts off as Pyrite's question about him being Mirage's physician sinks in.
He looks up at Mirage. He narrows his optics. Then he looks back down at his work and mutters, "Uhm. Sure. His physician."
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Post by Mirage on Jan 6, 2010 16:30:16 GMT -5
Mirage quirks one browridge up at that look from Rodimus. //You didn't have to agree to that label, you know. It's perfectly normal for quality bodyguards to have some repair skill. Just in case.// He pauses. //His pursuers are leaving, but an ambush later is a given, I think.//
Aloud he says, "Yes, yes, Rodimus, but into vehicles of incorrect size for the population, rendering their point- concealment- moot. Really, if we are going to be here for any length we should at least endeavor not to be so... pedestrian." Especially not if they will be wondering about in the upper crust areas.
He pays no attention to Pyrite's embarrassment, though it is definitely noticed. Mentioning it would only increase the poor man's upset, Mirage is sure. He smiles up at the waitress when she arrives tableside.
"Hello, my dear! So very prompt- why, we've barely had time to look over the menu."
"Hmmm, does anyone object to my ordering for them?" he asks the group at large.
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Post by SceneMod on Jan 15, 2010 23:10:24 GMT -5
Pyrite raises a hand to his forehead, and he looks perfectly ready to segue into an alien edition of a Shakespearean death lament.
Oh, in a few hours? Where si the drama in that?
Pyrite looks just a little puzzled at the mention of transform and vehicles, but finally, he asks, voice soft, "Oh. Lithonians? Nice people, I hear." His voice grows fainter. "Didn't believe it. Guess I should have."
The waitress smiles pleasantly and offers, "I can give you more time, if you need."
Pyrite teases cheerily, despite it all, "I'll object if you don't."
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Post by Spy Shot 6/Cameron Otto on Jan 16, 2010 20:12:09 GMT -5
Spy Shot busies himself about the table, examining this and that, listening to the conversation around him but not feeling it concerns him in particular. He briefly looks over the children's menu on the table - it's rather pretty, in its way - but doesn't really know what most of the things listed on it are. So when Mirage offers to order for them, he is content to say, "I do not object."
Now it's time to inspect the condiments.
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Post by Rodimus Prime on Jan 17, 2010 22:27:10 GMT -5
Rodimus glances up from his work to eye Mirage for a moment. "Maybe your alternate mode is pointless, Mirage, but mine goes faster."
He then gets back to work, shrugging off the offer to order. "Sure, go ahead," he answers. No time to bother about such things, anyway.
At Pyrite's guess concerning their species, however, Rodimus's optics flash. "Lithonians?" Rodimus asks, startled, in a tone that suggests that he's heard the term before. "They're here? They're still alive?" Then he gets ahold of himself and clears his throat. "Uhm, no, we're not actually Lithonians." Easiest just to admit to that, since they can't pass for them to anyone who's actually seen one. "We just have a few things in common with them. I suppose its possible that our species is distantly related." Not likely, of course - Unicron probably just ate their planet on general principle. But it's possible.
Rodimus doesn't answer the waitress, because if Mirage is doing the ordering, it's up to him to figure out if he needs more time.
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Post by Mirage on Jan 19, 2010 0:27:00 GMT -5
Mirage quips back at Rodimus, "Not so fast as mine. So much for the fabled red paint, eh?" He smirks. "But if I'm doing my job, speed is less useful for me than blending in."
//I take it Lithonians are something special in your reality?//
To the waitress, Mirage says, "Oh, no, my dear, please. Just give me a moment...." He trails off as he looks over the menu once more. "A bottle of the Heliometric Blue for myself and my two companions here. For our small friend-," a quick switch to the children's menu, "- one Laboratory Explosion, and if they can add some extra sparklers to it, all the better." Again with that dashing smile. None of what Mirage ordered was cheap, in fact, just under the most expensive on the menu. Never order the most expensive. Seldom is the flavor equal to the price.
"I'm sure we'll be sampling some of your fine establishment's other delights, but that will do to start."
He looks from Pyrite to Rodimus, "Can either of you think of anything else we might need at the moment?"
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Post by SceneMod on Jan 19, 2010 23:15:49 GMT -5
Condiments? There are shakers of filing of arsenic and gallium, for doping semi-conductors, like salt and pepper. There are also some fuel additives, the way humans might have soy sauce on a table. A few other odds and ends.
The waitress smiles and replies, "I'll be sure to let the kitchen know." As Mirage has mentioned perhaps ordering other items, she leaves them with their menus.
Pyrite replies, just a bit soberly, "Some of them. What are you, anyway? Never seen anything like any of you." He pauses and hazards woozily, "Angels?"
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Post by Spy Shot 6/Cameron Otto on Jan 20, 2010 22:29:10 GMT -5
The condiments are about as interesting as anything else on the table. Which is actually quite interesting as far as the little camera-bot is concerned. Still people are asking questions he'd like to know the answers to and asking other questions that he knows part of the answer to, so he settles down around the middle of the table.
"I am a camera," he answers Pyrite. "I am also an Autobot, but I am not an angel." Spy Shot primarily associates the idea of angels with winged humans, so he adds, "I do not believe any of us are angels."
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Post by Rodimus Prime on Jan 20, 2010 22:48:55 GMT -5
"Yes," Rodimus agrees with Spy Shot. He casts a grin towards Pyrite. It isn't Mirage's suave grin, and isn't even his more flirtatious grin, though intended or not, some of the boyish charm creeps into the way he quirks the right corner of his mouth just slightly higher than the left. "Not angels, Autobots."
Rodimus doesn't explain just what that *means* however. He leaves it stand as 'a species that Pyrite hasn't met before.' He does glance up at Mirage. "And actually, the red paint does help. Hot Rod was slower in magenta."
He continues his work on Pyrite. Alien structure, so it takes longer than it should, but he should be making some progress by now. "Weren't we getting a brulee torch?" he asks.
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Post by Mirage on Jan 21, 2010 15:47:17 GMT -5
"Ah yes, I completely forgot...My dear-," Mirage calls after the waitress. Hopefully she's not out of the room just yet. "An order of the beryllium brulee, if you will, and if we might borrow an extra torch, it would be most appreciated."
Mirage frowns, though not at anyone in particular. The spy is a bit worried, both over Pyrite's condition and what they might have fallen in to here. So much for blending in and being inconspicuous.
The frown is quickly gone, however, as he looks down at Pyrite. Now, the gentleman spy is very serious.
"So how does an actor become the focus of such...interesting parties as those pursuing you?
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Post by SceneMod on Jan 21, 2010 23:02:05 GMT -5
The waitress smiles and calls back to Mirage, "Certainly, sir," before well and truly leaving.
Pyrite murmurs, optics unfocused, "What a polite child..." Oh, but he's being smiled at! He smiles back faintly.
Oh. Deadly. Serious man over there. Pyrite runs a bit cold, Rodimus Prime will note. He admits slowly, "Machines have been... vanishing. Everyone does, around here, but moreso than usual. People are worried. I'm worried."
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Post by Spy Shot 6/Cameron Otto on Jan 23, 2010 15:36:57 GMT -5
Polite child? Does he mean Spy Shot? Well, the camera-bot supposes that he is rather young, so child may be an appropriate description. Scooting to the edge of the table, he peers down at Pyrite, head cocked to one side and attempts to copy his faint smile. Not that such expressions are easy to see on a face as small as his, especially by someone who is not entirely focused.
He's not sure what to make of vanishing machines.
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