So Tarn walks into a Bar...

[sparkwhisperer]

Who: Tarn and You
Where: the NEW Maccadams Old Oil House
When: right now
What: Tarn tries to make some new friends
Warnings: None :0

It has been weeks since Tarn’s fight with Megatron and he has kept himself as scarce as possible, nursing his wounds, and even more recently, his broken pride. Spending his days mostly alone has begun to wear heavily upon him, too ashamed by his recent fall from the Decepticons to face most of the mechs in the base.

The bare patch on his chassis still jars him when he glances down at it.

Still, he can’t help but think about what Sixshot told him. He can’t hide forever, and the longer he waits the more the Autobots will think that they have won. A change of tactics does seem to be in order.

Tarn has wandered from the base still wearing his scars from the battle and hobbled by a slight limp; but otherwise at nearly full strength. Heading deep into the city, the DJD Commander begins his search for any flicker of civilization in the vast, crumbling, nearly desolate city. He wants to be seen. To let it be known that he is done hiding and won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. They will be forced to face him whether they want to or not.

Before long he stumbles upon a small establishment, clearly Autobot owned. Maccadams, it seems, has made it to even this Cybertron. He isn’t surprised; though as he approaches the door he does note a small sign clearly stating ‘No Tarns’ in bold lettering. A Deep booming guffaw rips from him before he quickly tamps it down, muffling his chuckling by clearing his throat. Tarn straightens his back, lifting his head and purposefully ignores the sign. The former Decepticon pushes the door open and steps confidently into the dim lighting of the bar.

This can only go well.

Comments

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn takes a few startled steps back from the medic , staring down at the mess on his stomach. After a moment he reaches down to wipe some of the splattered engex away with his hand, flicking it to the ground to join the growing puddle beneath him.

In any other situation, First Aid would be reduced to a smudge on the ground before he even knew what hit him. Even now Tarn can feel the fires of anger building inside of him. But now, when he's trying to earn his way back into Megatron's good graces, there is nothing he can do but sigh and give a disappointed shake of his head.

"My, that was rude; who taught you manners?" He stares at First Aid, pointedly not approaching him or giving into his baiting.

[sparkwhisperer]

Starscream.

Tarn glares at the flier , mistaking him for the air commander from his own universe.

“Hm, yes, very clever Starscream.“ He pushes past to take a seat at the bar, not sparing a second glance. “You never have been exceedingly fond of me and, as I'm sure you are well aware, the feeling is mutual. Now, if you will excuse me I would very much like to get a drink and not waste my energy grinding your pathetic frame into the frankly rather garish fixtures in this bar.”

[sparkwhisperer]

A stab of anger shoots through Tarn at Shockwave's last comment. His eyes narrow behind his mask, icy rage gathering in their depths as the commentary finally begins sinking in.

A vanity project?

It is one thing to insult him, but to insult the sanctity of his team is edging upon going too far.

"Oh, spare me, Shockwave, I don't want your fragging pity." He spits, leaning back to stare him in his singular yellow optic. "I am proud of what I did for the Decepticons. The cause hinges on its internal administration running as smoothly as possible even if it means getting a bit dirty from time to time."

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn refuses to back down. He swivels around on his stool to face Rodimus, lifting his drink and sliding the straw through the slit in the mask to take a sip of his engex.

"That's fine, I don't need to prove anything to you." As far as Tarn is concerned the only person who he needs to prove anything to is Megatron.

"Really, I would think that you would be jumping at the opportunity to play nice. After all, your attitude, so far, has really cost the Autobots..." He pauses smirking and setting his glass down on the table. "An arm and a leg."

He supposes its his turn for awful puns. Don't think Tarn has forgotten 'too hot to handle'.

[rodders]

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure my co-captain," and he draws the word out for the first time ever - letting it sink in. It has never, ever sounded as great as it does when he's using it to needle Tarn. "Would be interested in seeing how you're incapable of following directions."

Is Rodimus vaguely threatening to sic sad dad Megatron on Tarn again? You better believe it. But it's the play on words that really gets Rodimus - who slams his drink down on the counter harder than is warranted. "You did not just--" He did! What the hell! And he just knows the bastard is smirking, which makes it a special brand of awful Rodimus was completely unprepared for. "I'm not the one who's tearing people's limbs off left and right!"

Fuck you, his joke was on point, Tarn. Yours is just tasteless and really fucking good. Which is also partly why it's so enraging.

[sparkwhisperer]

"Thank you." Tarn accepts the drink, holding it in his hands for a moment. He can smell the sweet aroma instantly, worlds better than the sort of metallic sour smell of the energon from Spinister's refinery. As he takes his first sip his eyes dim in pleasure.

The engex isn't excellent, but compared to the swill that he's been drinking since he got here, it tastes like the finest vintage. He takes a few dainty sips, trying to savor the taste and make it last, but Primus he feels like he could easily drain the glass in seconds.

A sort of awkward silence settles over them for a few minutes as Tarn struggles to moderate his consumption of engex, before he clears his throat and attempts small talk.

"Have I missed anything of importance in my absence?"

[sparkwhisperer]

That anger that he receives from Rodimus is refreshing. He ignores the needling about Megatron in favor of clapping a large purple hand on the Autobot's shoulder.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it Hot Rod, I am more capable of following direction than you might believe. In fact at this very moment I am, belatedly mind you, following Megatron's very orders to stand down." He scoops his glass back up, tapping the rim with a finger, before continuing his thought.

"Hence the drink, relaxing in the tacky furnishings of this establishment, and willingly placing myself in the company of an Autobot."

Now, if he can just get Rodimus to lose his cool enough to strike. Then things will get interesting.

[orerrible]

"You will find my anger less palatable," Shockwave said thinly, "And you will note I said almost.

This was all beneath him. Shockwave knew he was better than kicking someone when they were down. Even Tarn, whom he counted among the intolerable of those in the old ranks determined to raise Megatron to some sort of level of divinity. And yet the bilious feeling elicited when he saw the Decepticon brand nowadays happened to be plastered over Tarn's face. It made being the bigger man difficult.

However, he also was not here just to vent four millions years of pent up rage onto Tarn.

"Is Megatron here?"

[lifepersists]

That somehow wasn't as satisfying as First Aid thought it would be. Certainly, he feels some slight smugness at seeing the stain of his engex smeared across the larger mech's plating, but Tarn's reaction was considerably mild despite the insult.

"Longtime exposure to your handiwork would erode anyone's manners."

Ten years on Messatine meant that he made part of his living off the mess that the DJD made of their miners and patrols. There's a niggling in the back of First Aid's mind that Tarn may be Agent 113, but the louder part of his rage at him decided that it didn't matter even if he was. Tarn's appetite for t-cogs still drove Pharma insane. If Pharma hadn't lost his mind, so many would still be alive. Ambulon would still be alive.

And then, there was what his teammates did to Trailcutter after they had helped them. A horrible mistake.

"I have you at a disadvantage. You don't know me, but I certainly know you."

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn can't help it; he throws his head back and just laughs. He briefly wonders if Shockwave is at all aware of Megatron's defection to the Autobots.

"He is. In fact, from our universe, there are two of him."

He clears his throat, attempting to collect himself and tamp down the surge of manic rage that grips him at the thought of the red badge smeared across his ex-leader's chest.

"I'm guessing you haven't heard the news."

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn regards at the tiny medic with veiled interest. He knows that he is being baited but can't bring himself to care. He leans down to look First Aid in the eye, clapping a hand on his red shoulder and drawing him in close.

"Well, now my interest is piqued. You really must tell me all about it."

He spins the nurse easily, marching him over to the bar. There raw power behind his grip, and despite his tolerant words, there is still an edge of rage and the threat of danger.

"In the mean time let's get you another drink. And don't drop it this time; I don't have time for clumsiness. Or insolence."

[lifepersists]

This was probably a mistake. As Tarn clamps his hand on his shoulder and wheels him around to push towards the bar, First Aid mentally chastises himself. He's acted in anger again-- his temper lead to things he normally regretted.

Too late now to leave quietly. First Aid looks over his shoulder at the tank, feeling slightly more helpless than usual without his other arm.

"You're hurting me. Not so tight," he says loud enough for the other occupants of the bar to hear, but he clambers up into the bar seat as directed when he gets to it, his single hand curled into a fist on the bartop.

"Are you making your current t-cog last?" His voice is icy, but he's not sure what else to say to the mech.

The bar itself was simple. Without an active currency exchange here, it made goods and services exchange... interesting. It wasn't the first time First Aid has worked without pay. Probably the first he's seen a bar operate without currency. He'd get his own drink, but with Tarn hovering over his shoulder, he wasn't sure the mech would release him to do that.

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn lets go of First Aid's shoulder as the medic takes a seat, reaching over him to fix a glass of engex on the tap. He slides the cup across the bar top, nudging it against a clenched fist.

"Why, yes it is, how kind of you to ask." He replies with a sort of saccharine pleasantness that just reeked of falseness.

"Now," He purrs, sliding onto the stool next to First Aid, "Why don't you go ahead and fill me in on what sleights I may have committed against your person. Clearly you have some sort of grudge. It's really not healthy to let these things stew."

Of course there could be a myriad of reasons to hate him since he arrived here, alone. And yet, he has a very specific inkling; though he would prefer to hear it from First Aid himself.

[lifepersists]

No. He is not having a friendly chat over drinks with Tarn of the DJD.

"Why? So you can practice your villainous laugh?" If First Aid's tone were any dryer, it would be a desert.

His hand clutches around the glass, but he doesn't drink it. He'd like to take his datapad and go now, but he didn't feel safe at all turning his back on Tarn. What a rightful mess he's gotten into.

"Have you ever seen a plague, Tarn? We spend so much time killing each other with fusion cannons, bullets, and bombs, we often forget that we're still vulnerable to disease."

He reaches over the bar and plucks a straw from behind it, settling it in the glass, but otherwise leaves it.

"You can get sick. Fluid can build up in the brain. You can development a spark murmur. Rust. Scraplets. Cybercrosis. Have you ever considered one of your victims could infect you through just touching their blood?"

[sparkwhisperer]

And Tarn does laugh, low and deep. Puzzle pieces are finally clicking together.

“Yes it's true. It’s a filthy sort of business. Very dangerous. Fortunately, on the Peaceful Tyranny, we have very strict health and safety procedures. After every hunt we receive a thorough screening just to be safe. Preventive measures are always taken very seriously. “

Of course, the mention of plague tips him off. Now, where might an Autobot medic, familiar with plague and apparently the DJD’s work know him from?

“Pharma should really have done a better job cultivating manners in his staff. Although, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised. He never did have a very firm grasp on etiquette.”

[lifepersists]

Tarn's laugh makes First Aid feel like he has rust mites crawling around under his plating. He suppresses a shudder, his visor glued on the mech's mask, his hand so tight around the glass his joints ache.

"By the time you were done with Pharma, he didn't have much of a grasp on sanity let alone manners."

He vents softly, allowing his frame to relax from the stiffness in his limbs. There's still anger shaking in him, making him almost rattle.

"He killed Ambulon. He aided in trying to kill every cold constructed mech. You drove Pharma insane."

[orerrible]

"If you're referring to his defection," Shockwave said nonplussed by the unexpectedly brassy reaction from Tarn. "I was the first to hear of it."

It had been quite the event seeing Megatron rip the Autobot brand off of Bumblebee's still smoking corpse and call it an act of growing character.

[rodders]

Oh no he didn't.

"Okay, first. It's Rodimus." That is important and he's not fucking letting it go, mostly because it's Tarn and he doesn't have to take this from him. Seriously. "Why don't you go find an Autobot who's willing to put themselves in your company then."

It won't take much, he's already half out of his seat - hands on the flat of the counter as he glares at Tarn. He doesn't have to stand for this. He doesn't. He absolutely doesn't.

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn keeps very firm eye contact as he leans forward, ever so slightly.

"So I've heard. His disappearance was rather unfortunate; we did have a rather solid arrangement."

However, to Tarns surprise, First Aid did have something extremely interesting to say, after all.

"He killed Ambulon?" He stares at that angrily glowing blue visor for a few moments, completely dumfounded, before leaning back on his stool and letting out a loud crow of laughter. How ironic. After all the bargaining and tiptoeing that Pharma did to keep Tarn's division away from his little treasonous employee, he just decides to kill him himself?

"Why, maybe I should offer him a job if he's so keen on helping us maintain The List."

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn narrows his optics

"You were there." It's a statement rather than a question. There is no doubt in his mind that, somehow, Shockwave has something to do with it.

"Tell me how it happened."

[sparkwhisperer]

"Oh yes, that's right, Rodimus. Apologies, I had mistaken you for someone with taste." This was so much easier than it had any right to be. It almost isn't even fun. Almost.

Tarn mildly leans away from Rodimus as he begins to get up from his seat, sipping at his engex.

"It isn't hard to find Autobots here. Maybe I'll even search out your friend Drift, I haven't spent time with him in some while..."

[orerrible]

"Yes." Shockwave nodded but did not elaborate.

"Tell me what you already know." Shockwave countered, it served a purpose twofold; he wanted to know hear what information had been diluted reaching distant ears. And he simply wanted to keep Tarn on the end of the rope.

[rodders]

If Tarn wanted to hit a sore point, that was it. Rodimus practically jumps from his seat, hands curling into fists as he stares Tarn down. The very small part of his mind that sounded an awful lot like Ultra Magnus was telling him to think, but he's past caring. Not when it's about Drift.

"Like hell you are!"

Take one more step, Tarn. He dares you.

[sparkwhisperer]

"Now, now." Tarn chides in his most patronizing tone. "Surely it's not worth getting so riled up over."

He knows he's walking a thin line. All Rodimus needs is that last little nudge. He gently places his glass down on the counter, turning to face the fuming Autobot.

"After all, I'm sure Drift wouldn't mind a little chat between friends."

To apologize, of course. Tarn's emphasis on his little party trick and murderous glint in his optic are surely nothing more than a trick of the light and paranoia on Rodimus' part. Clearly.

[rodders]

Clearly.

But it's enough to get Rodimus to snap, half propelling him over a seat between them so he can slam his first right into the side of Tarn's face. Forgetting every other lesson about getting within striking distance of Tarn that he's learned since arriving in a fit of rage brought around by what really amounts to a complex.

"Don't you ever come near Drift again, you--" Insert comedically timed loud noise that disguises what Rodimus is going to say next from delicate ears and audios.