Mistwind
Major
Licensed flight addict, deepsea diving fan, mech-pilot rookie - Accepts food and play for services.
Posts: 531
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Post by Mistwind on Mar 17, 2010 18:50:15 GMT -5
//Alright, call me when you do start// Mistwind answers, walking around the room amusing himself with... people? He is. When he hits a linguistic understanding, the Con promptly and avidly engages in conversation, resulting most of the time in short but polite exchanges, a few with a barely concealed disgust of the organic hulls and a pair of aliens is regarded curiously for wearing clothes made of robot parts -something on which Mistwind is not sure about whether he should back away or ask them where he can score a nifty new set as well-.
Eventually, the room has to run out of interesting things. On his way back to the table where Tarantulas and Jetstorm are seated however, Mistwind is overcome by an equally large, brown hairball with a tapir nose. The alien is laughing, something which becomes quite hysterical as he gains hold on the Con's turbines - a mighty fine place to hold on to something that squirms uncomfortably under organic touch and tries to get away. The strong smell of alcohol rubs off on Mistwind, who scowls and hisses in answer to the foreign language.
The alien is drunk. And decides that his new friend must join in, or at least try the slot machine!
----------- Mistwind will join at his next turn!
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Jetstorm (BM)
Minor
Producer, Director, Actor, Writer, but not prop boy, Jetstorm, soon to be winner of some award.
Posts: 355
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Post by Jetstorm (BM) on Mar 18, 2010 0:16:38 GMT -5
//Your what? And yes, Mistwind's a Decepticon. Little one, yes, but isn't that what the meeting is for?//
Jetstorm gives Mistwind a look, feeling sorry for him that he has to be touched by that pile of organs. He looks at his cards and then tosses in a few chips and then leans back, waiting for the others at the table to make their moves. Meanwhile, he gives a glare to a thing that appears to be made of feathery tentacles that tries to touch his hat. Its appendages pull away and he runs a claw along the brim of his hat. His actions clearly say 'Mine!' while he remains cool and composed.
//If we're going to have a meeting we should secure our own table or area.//
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Rattrap
Major
Sarcasm as a Lifestyle
Posts: 695
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Post by Rattrap on Mar 18, 2010 11:05:07 GMT -5
Rattrap is always sorry to disappoint an audience, but there's no technorganic nonsense here. The shrieking violet has that angle covered pretty well and he isn't on the best of speaking terms with her. He's just a mechanoid of many talents in a sulphur-soaked fur suit – which might be why the waitresses steer clear of him for the most part, wrinkling their noses. Their loss.
His own lip curls when the drunken sod and his Decepticon darling come waltzing toward the slot machines and he "politely" gives them space, sidling away and finally starting toward The Table.
Meanwhile, the dealer acknowledges Tarantulas with a slight bob of her head; the nervous player looks faintly ill – less at the higher stakes than with the idea that Tarantulas is sticking around – while the oblivious player expressionlessly follows suit.
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Tarantulas
Minor
The not-so-friendly neighborhood spider-man
Posts: 398
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Post by Tarantulas on Mar 18, 2010 11:25:12 GMT -5
Tarantulas replies to Jetstorm on the short-band, still keeping his optics on Rattrap in case of any funny business. //I mean Blackarachnia. If it wasn't for me, she'd be some sort of fluffy Maximal bunny rabbit, the backstabbing witch. And I did reserve the back room, but I got tired of waiting.// The spider watches nonchalantly as Mistwind gets abducted by aliens. Oh look, someone suffering.
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Jetstorm (BM)
Minor
Producer, Director, Actor, Writer, but not prop boy, Jetstorm, soon to be winner of some award.
Posts: 355
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Post by Jetstorm (BM) on Mar 21, 2010 22:03:27 GMT -5
ooc: posting due to timeout
Jetstorm gets a look of distaste on his face at hearing that name. He says nothing but rolls his optics just a bit in disgust.
//Whenever you're ready to talk, I'm ready to get out of here. Filthy organic scum everywhere. One almost touched me. TOUCHED ME. Did you see that, it was like brushing with death.//
Tap, tap, tap, goes Jetstorm's claw on the edge of the table.
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Rattrap
Major
Sarcasm as a Lifestyle
Posts: 695
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Post by Rattrap on Mar 24, 2010 0:57:49 GMT -5
OOC: Sorry for the delay.
Funny business? Rattrap? Perish the thought.
He sidles up behind the nervous player – buck-toothed, freckled, trembling mess that he is – and quietly watches, arms crossed. The dealer pays him little mind; he isn't playing and he isn't interfering, so she casts him a quick glance to make sure he isn't picking any pockets before looking to the players.
"Gentlemen?" she asks in a low, whispery, sibilant voice. Pockface wordlessly slides his cards under his bet. Nervous Nelly looks at his hand, then again at Tarantulas, and gulps noisily before also sliding his hand beneath his chips. The dealer expectantly turns her emerald-green eyes on Tarantulas and Jetstorm.
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Tarantulas
Minor
The not-so-friendly neighborhood spider-man
Posts: 398
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Post by Tarantulas on Mar 24, 2010 18:03:44 GMT -5
Tarantulas inspects his cards again, with exaggerated care, then adds a few more chips to his bet and slides his cards under the chips. Then he glances up at Rattrap.
To Jetstorm he transmits //I'm just going to assume you've been meaning to add 'present company excluded' to your whole 'I hate anything even remotely organic' shtick, so that I don't have to mutilate you.// Of course, Tarantulas doesn't particularly like Jetstorm either, but then the spider doesn't like anybody.
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Mistwind
Major
Licensed flight addict, deepsea diving fan, mech-pilot rookie - Accepts food and play for services.
Posts: 531
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Post by Mistwind on Mar 26, 2010 6:29:29 GMT -5
Mistwind regards his 'captor' with badly concealed disgust. Next thing he's gonna be doing later on is dedicate himself to a thorough washing to rid his form of the accumulated stains of Pz-Zazz's filthy inhabitants. And for Mistwind, that's saying something alright! He knows however that setting this one on fire would be socially a bit frowned upon, and he doesn't want to cause a scene. For now.
Still, the smallish Con, or, rather big specimen in this bar, decides that perhaps some fun can be gotten from the alien, and he observes the slotmachine as it plays, his optics taking in the minute clicks of the device that is so greedily absorbing this fool's funds. He points, whispers, tilts his head and grins luridly.
After a while, the mech insistingly works himself out of the alien's attention -not after racking up some earnings for his pointers- and stalks off, straight towards Tarantulas, Jetstorm and Rattrap.
At the table, he stares at the game in session for a while, observing the rules as they present themselves. He waits.
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Rattrap
Major
Sarcasm as a Lifestyle
Posts: 695
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Post by Rattrap on Apr 1, 2010 10:30:18 GMT -5
OOC: Sorry for the delay. Again. Skipping Jetstorm due to timeout.
For the first time, Pockface looks up from his cards to join the dealer in waiting. The dealer herself gives Jetstorm a polite, questioning look after briefly eyeing Mistwind when he approaches the table; if he wants to jump in, he'll have to wait for the next hand. Nervous Nelly won't look up from his cards this time because it means having to look at Tarantulas – past Tarantulas, anyway. Rattrap leans back on one leg, arms crossed. But he isn't looking at Jetstorm.
After a casual, downplayed double-take – and a sidelong look at Mistwind hidden behind the omnidirectional backlighting of his optics – he's watching Tarantulas with a look on his face that says is it really you? After all, he really hasn't seen the guy in a while. (Not that he ever wanted to see him again, but that isn't how things work around here, Rattrap has learned.) But it's bad form to interrupt the game with some old buddy bonding and if Rattrap has to touch the spider, he's gonna wait as long as he can get away with waiting.
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Tarantulas
Minor
The not-so-friendly neighborhood spider-man
Posts: 398
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Post by Tarantulas on Apr 2, 2010 21:01:26 GMT -5
Tarantulas gives Rattrap a nod, tapping a golden claw on the table as he waits for Jetstorm to ante up. //After this hand we'll adjourn to the back room and talk tactics. Hopefully that rat won't try to spy on us. If he does we can kill him. No giant energon guzzlers to save him in here.// Unless they just rip the roof off, Tarantulas finds himself thinking. It's the sort of thing Maximals would do to help a comrade in distress. He doesn't share this thought with the others.
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Jetstorm (BM)
Minor
Producer, Director, Actor, Writer, but not prop boy, Jetstorm, soon to be winner of some award.
Posts: 355
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Post by Jetstorm (BM) on Apr 8, 2010 0:39:40 GMT -5
ooc: I can't come up with anything aaaah sorry for the lateness
Jetstorm sighs and tosses down his cards. What a rotten hand!
//No I don't mean to add that in. Organics are disgusting. AH!! // Jetstorm shoves away at some... Thing that passes behind him and glares. He adjusts his hat once more before he gets up and looks towards the back room.
"I'm going this way," he motions towards the room.
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Mistwind
Major
Licensed flight addict, deepsea diving fan, mech-pilot rookie - Accepts food and play for services.
Posts: 531
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Post by Mistwind on Apr 11, 2010 14:30:34 GMT -5
Shoving Mistwind back in and glueing him to the thread ---------- Mistwind is silent. His blue optics follow Jetstorm as he leaves, then slide back to Tarantulas. He slinks back after the vehicon though, quite willing to start what he came here for.
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Rattrap
Major
Sarcasm as a Lifestyle
Posts: 695
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Post by Rattrap on Apr 11, 2010 22:01:58 GMT -5
"…A fold, then," murmurs the dealer, glancing after Jetstorm. "The rest of you stick. Dealer holds…." She turns over her cards. "…Nineteen." Pockface's expression turns sour and he rolls his beady, reddish eyes before shoving his chips toward the centre of the table. Nelly, on the other hand, flushes and grins anxiously.
"D-double tens," he croaks. He just starts shaking even more – and Rattrap rolls his eyes, so to speak – when the dealer gives him an encouraging smile. She's playing the guy so he bets himself broke; Rattrap knows it and the guy's too much of a sap to get it. Oh well. His money.
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Tarantulas
Minor
The not-so-friendly neighborhood spider-man
Posts: 398
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Post by Tarantulas on Apr 11, 2010 22:57:15 GMT -5
Tarantulas shrugs and turns over his cards, displaying a total of seventeen, then nods to the other players and pushes his chair back, leaving the table. He can always get more money, after all. The spider gives Rattrap a curt nod and proceeds toward the back room.
Entering the back room, he resumes his seat at the head of the table, folding his hands on the felt in front of him. The drink he smashed earlier is now little more than some glass shards, wet rug, and a stained patch of wall.
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Jetstorm (BM)
Minor
Producer, Director, Actor, Writer, but not prop boy, Jetstorm, soon to be winner of some award.
Posts: 355
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Post by Jetstorm (BM) on Apr 13, 2010 10:59:01 GMT -5
Jetstorm settles down into one of the chairs at the table and swings his bottom fin back to sit as comfortably as he can. He tilts his hat up just a bit as he looks around the room.
"See, this is one of the good points about being smaller than the others. Being inside and not wrecking up the place," he laughs.
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