Making Friends and Influencing People

[Slugslinger]

OOC: Day 11. Open.

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This space station is crowded and close, all tightly-packed corridors and thick portholes to keep the fleshies from suffocating or imploding or whatever it is they do in space. Any other time, Slugslinger would take full advantage of the cramped quarters and jam up bottlenecks like the end of the gangway just to annoy people. But for a bunch of stupid organics, these guys are pretty strong. Strong enough to shove him out of the way, and that's no fun at all. They shouldn't be allowed to grow 'em this big.

"No touching, meatbags!" He glares and slaps at the hands getting smears all over his plating – wait, is that one a tentacle? – only to grin when what he guesses is a female based on the ample chest lumps gapes at him with all four big lavender eyes as she gets a look at the right side of his face when he turns. "Heh. Never gets old," he snickers to himself before sauntering good and slow along his way. As he walks, his grin turns pensive. "There's gotta be all kinds of stuff to do in a place like this." The focusing lens in his right optic whirs as he watches an argument on the promenade two decks below devolve into a fistfight. "…Oh yeah," he mumbles. The left side of his mouth pulls up in a cruel smirk. "This'll be great. But where to start…." He crosses his arms and taps one foot, head tilted at an angle. No-one holding his reins, a whole planet full of sleazy people and illicit activities to keep him occupied, and as much time to enjoy himself as he can stand without refuelling.

But he's broke. Work gets money. But that's work; he pulls a disgusted face and shudders at the thought. The obvious solution is to just mug somebody, but if that earns him a dressing-down, it's not nearly as entertaining. Con somebody, then. He braces his weight on the railing and watches the promenade for a minute or two. There have to be some cheap cons around here running some version of three-card monte; those feebs are everywhere and the right ones are so easy to mess with.

"Hey!" he finally bellows at one across the way, one with a greasy-looking and pockmarked face, as he leans over the railing as far as he dares – which is pretty far, given his superb sense of balance and firmly wedged feet. "Can anybody play or d'you only go for other squishy freaks?" The answer he gets is an obscene gesture and he heaves a sigh, shrugging. "Guess that's a no, then."

This had better not turn into a waste of time.

[Mindwipe]

Strolling out from one of the clothing shops of...questionable taste in the sense that it'd make Mirage possibly go into stasis lock to just look at the merchandise, is another jetformer. He's carrying a small sack with his purchase - a terribly hokey-looking shawl - as he notes Slugslinger yelling at the monte dealer. And there's a Decepticon emblem on him. Lovely. Hopefully the incident he just witnessed was a fluke...

Either way, time to play casual and try and slink away before greeny spots him!

[Slugslinger]

Now, see, Slugslinger's watching the promenade, not the kitschy clothing shops. No reason to; as far as he's concerned, any self-respecting robot – like himself, for instance – doesn't need to throw on a drop cloth that's been stitched up to look like a coat. So he doesn't actually see the gangly guy clutching his shopping bag and trying to slink past.

He does hear a well-meaning shop employee gurgling to be heard over the din as it – he? – trundles breathlessly after Mindwipe, waving a little slip of paper in its ham-like hand. Never one to miss somebody drowning in their own mucous, Slugslinger turns and steps off the railing to watch the spectacle.

[Rook]

This particular space station is not the sort of place Rook would choose to visit. It is, however, the one he has to go through if he wants to catch a shuttle planetside, so he's stuck here for the moment, terrorizing the staff in a little fuel and food nook of the kind one finds in spaceports. He paces back and forth on top of a table, one spindly taloned hand against the radio headset he's wearing (he's not about to compromise his frequency for unofficial business) and the talons on the other snapping together to attract the attention of a waiter then motioning impatiently to his glass for a refill. Sometimes if you act obnoxious and rich enough, people will give you credit.

He speaks into the microphone on the headset. "Yes, I'm just calling to let you know that I'll be coming by later today to return this so-called 'cravat' you sold me. Because this garment is to a cravat what kerosene straight from the barrel is to processed high-grade fuel, lovingly aged in a wooden cask and served in a crystal-stemmed glass. Don't take that tone with me, I read the posted return policy when I was in your little shop. Yes, I will hold for your manager." The crow pauses in his pacing to take a sip of fuel, gazing out over the promenade and noticing a black robot being chased by an alien bearing what is presumably a receipt. Slugslinger's shouting is hard to miss, much as Rook would like to.

[Mindwipe]

Errrrk.

Mindwipe halts, turning around. "Ah? What's this...?" He spies the little piece of paper, and peers into his bag. So he did forget it. He holds the back to his chest, making a faint flourishing motion with a faint bow. "My apologies, sir, and my thanks for being so diligent with making sure I get my receipt!" He holds his hand out to accept the paper, and glances just a bit to the side... Bother, he's been noticed, hasn't he?

[Slugslinger]

The poor cashier, waddling as madly as his four stumpy little legs will carry him, finally catches up Mindwipe. The first thing he does, however, isn't hand off the receipt. He nearly collapses forward, both hands on his front knees while his sloped shoulders heave as he struggles to pull air in through the clearly inadequate spiracles ranged down his slick, bluish-greenish back.

"Sorry sir," he gulps brokenly in a high-pitched, thready voice that's almost too thin to make it over the burble of his breathing. A short, wet sucking sound punctuates every word. "Here's your receipt. And – and a coupon." His boss isn't happy about having to stand by that stupid "5% off your next purchase if we don't offer you a receipt at time of sale" policy, but people are watching. He'll get the chewing-out of his life later.

Slugslinger just snickers every time the guy takes a breath. It's so bad that he's leaned up against the railing to keep himself steady.

[Rook]

Rook watches the interaction between Mindwipe and the unfortunate cashier, sipping at his fuel. One wouldn't expect the cashier to run after someone who forgot their receipt in a place like this, and the Decepticon handles himself well. A good performance, all around. The crow reaches a talon up to turn down the volume on his radio headset. He's still on hold and the muzak is starting to get annoying. If either of the other 'Cons glance in his direction he'll nod slightly.

[Mindwipe]

Eugh, this creature is disgusting - Mindwipe thought he was done with him after making his purchase. Mindwipe steps backward, sharply drawing his hand back, as well as his bag.

"...erm, don't worry about it," he answers, carefully holding his hand out to take the receipt and the coupon. However, Mindwipe does not believe he'll be coming back here anytime soon. "Thank you, my good...man..."

[Slugslinger]

Slugslinger's practically laid out on the deck laughing by now, between the lumpy cashier huffing and puffing and Mindwipe trying not to purge his tanks all over the guy. It's stupid, but it's hilarious. He needs to come here and people-watch more often.

The cashier, meanwhile, simply smiles awkwardly at Mindwipe. If he takes offence to the sudden stand-offish way his customer behaves, he tries not to let that show.

"Don't thank me, sir," he pants. He seems to be catching his breath at last; the slurping noises only come every few words. "It was my mistake." And if he has a job after today, he'll be lucky. "Enjoy the purchase, sir. S-sorry for the trouble." And without another word, he shuffles around and starts lumbering back toward his shop. He shoots Slugslinger an absolutely vile look as he passes; Slugslinger just laughs harder at the way his face pinches up.

It takes Slugslinger a few seconds longer to pull himself to his feet and he's still chuckling as he saunters toward Mindwipe. He hasn't spotted Rook just yet, but he hasn't had a reason to look toward that little hole in the wall café. Yet.

"You poor slagger," he tells Mindwipe with what sounds like genuine pity.

[Rook]

Rook is still on hold. The Predacon sighs. He supposes he'll just have to go into the store and give the manager a piece of his mind in person without warning him, her, or it first. Should be enjoyable. Watching peons squirm generally is. The bird removes his headseat, flicks the power switch into the 'off' position, and subspaces it.

Muttering "Beast mode," he transforms, and flies from the his table to perch on the roof of a freestanding snack kiosk near the two Decepticons. "Good afternoon, gentlemen."

[Eye-fire]

Eye-Fire has been wandering around the place in a stupor. Too many bright lights, things (He reserves the term 'people' for those that have the common decency not to spray a fine film of mucous over his optics when they talk to him.) trying to sell him useless junk. Although he can see sense in using cloth for building a sniping blind, he has no idea why someone would actually want to restrict themselves so terribly by wearing the stuff.
Essentially, Eye-Fire is in a state of culture shock from not having to fight for is life constantly in the bombed out ruins of Cybertron, and he's managed to get lost so he can't even get back to Ship, decontaminate himself and find a dark, cosy spot to sit and wait until somebody needs something dead.

It is in this state that Eye-Fire happens upon the interaction between Mindwipe and a shopkeeper, though Eye-Fire doesn't understand this at first and briefly thinks Mindwipe is being harassed and the shopkeeper should be dealt a sharp blow. Mindwipe, and then Slugslinger not dealing the required blow convinces Eye-Fire that this is some silly, unnecessary organic ritual and another reason he should find his way back to Ship quickly.

Eye-Fire walks up to Slugslinger, and though he doubts he blends in very well at the moment being pitch black, he makes sure to make enough noise in his approach so that he doesn't get clubbed in response to him sneaking up on people, even when he doesn't mean to.

"What just happened here? Why did that slimy, mucous expelling organic wave a piece of paper at you? Why didn't you hit it until it asked you to stop?" Is all Eye-Fire can think to say as he gets nearer to the two. His tone of voice, and the fact that he's flinching away from everything even possibly organic should tell them he's Not Well at the moment.

[Mindwipe]

Once the cashier is out of sight, Mindwipe promptly crumples the receipt and coupon, pitching them away. "Feh."

Alas, he has the attention of his fellows now. His arms cross, cutting an icy glance at Slugslinger. "Oh, stuff it..." he answers, then looking up at Rook. Then Eye-Fire wanders up, and Mindwipe's shoulders sink a bit. "...just how many of you witnessed that awful debacle?" The question is mostly rhetorical.

Then his attention focuses on Eye-Fire. "Ah...it would appear that in my rush to get away from him in the store, I forgot my receipt for my purchase. Apparently, he cared enough to make sure I got it. As for not injuring him, I have better things to do than assault pitiful organics. Plus, we're supposed to be looking like decent tradesmen..." A quick glance around, then he looks at the others. "Speaking of, have any of you fellows seen any stores that sell glass decorations?"

[Rook]

"Permit me to introduce myself. I am Rook." The crow nods to the assembled Decepticons, then pauses briefly to tuck an errant feather back into place before continuing. "I saw what happened, but I wouldn't characterize it as a debacle. You comported yourself well. It's a relief to know I'm not the only one of our company that knows how to handle himself in a social situation."

Rook cocks his head to one side as he asks, "Were you looking for decorations made of glass, or decorations to go on glass?"

[Slugslinger]

Slugslinger is just about to answer Rook – these so-called Predacons are the weirdest things ever, and that's saying a lot – when the Shockblast knock-off staggers up. It isn't his approach that sets Slugslinger on edge, drawing his shoulder vanes a fraction of an inch closer to his body; it's that not-quite resemblance to the psycho satellite. The tension never reaches his expression.

"It's called a receipt," he drawls, going against his better judgement and clapping Eye-Fire on the shoulder. "The drama queen here left it. And no," he adds, turning to Mindwipe, "but I haven't really been looking. If I wanted a paperweight, I'd just knock off somebody's head and use that."

[Eye-fire]

The only receipt Eye-Fire has ever had to deal with was when he booked something out of the armory back home, such as normally explosives of some sort. And then he had to account for what it was used for, preferably with an Autobot kill total appended to the report. As such, he's unsure why this (Probably plane type) Decepticon would have one. Does that disgusting organic thing expect him to report back? How do you kill something with fabric?

This other green one talks about violence. Eye-Fire is good with violence, if not perhaps this particular brand of violence.

"Wouldn't.... Wouldn't it leak? On your desk? And your documents? And glass decorations? What for? Why do you want these needless things?" Eye-Fire asks no one in particular, seemingly oblivious of the hand on his shoulder. He feels a little better now, being with other Decepticons. He may not know them very well, but its a start. He can always stalk them and booby trap their quarters later if they turn out to be mean.