robothell | So Tarn walks into a Bar...

So Tarn walks into a Bar...

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.

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Shockwave was alive, moving - and in the first four million years without guided purpose. There had been nothing; the sharp crack of an ion blaster piercing his chest and the deafening void as he and the naked bones of Crystal City collapsed into a zero distance space. And then, after the last one out hits the lights, an abrupt and terrible return to creation struck him like a blow beyond comparison to how deeply it was felt.

And the first place he walks into after being forcibly evicted from the end itself, was Maccadam's Old Oil House. The punchline was that the first thing he hears in the wake of such an ordeal in that low as the pits laugh of Tarn's one could quite literally feel down to the spark.

Shockwave is not impressed as he comes in, shadow cleaving a thick line across the floor.

"Ah, Tarn."

Oh fuck no. There are things Rodimus likes having in his general area: Drift, Magnus, the Lost Light. Things like that. And since his last run in with Tarn, things had been pretty steadily improving. Megatron was still Megatron, of course, but everything else-- well okay, making out with Drift had helped a lot. But also the fact that none of his crew was getting mauled on a regular basis.

And then this. Rodimus sets down his glass angrily, glaring from his position at the bar. Nope. Not happening. Not here, and not now. Also: he wrote a sign! There's a sign that explicitly says no Tarns. And he just-- just ignored it!

"Did Megatron beat the ability to read out of you, Tarn?"

Guess who has not learned his lesson? It's this red asshole.

Edited 2015-04-03 03:39 (UTC)

Tarn isn't sure who he expected to be in the bar, but it sure as hell wasn't Shockwave. A variety of angry Autobots, sure, but a Decepticon? He subtly crosses his arms over the bare patch on his chassis, frowning behind his mask.

He covers his surprise seamlessly, lifting his chin to peer down at the scientist.

"Shockwave. It has been some time."

"Yes," Shockwave said coolly, "I do not believe I've subjected myself to the personified zeal of the Deception cause since...what was it, the maiden voyage of the Worldsweeper?"

The Decepticon Justice Division was beyond his jurisdiction and well outside the purview of his own private ventures since the inception of the war. Tarn and his interchangeably but the none the less consistently persistent merry band of zealots had not fallen by the wayside of his notice.

Tone idle, Shockwave inspects his unbroken hand with fingers splayed in the light coming through the windows.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Of-fucking-course. Tarn tries not to laugh as he lets himself further into the establishment. Of course Rodimus is here.

The DJD Commander scans the room with veiled interest as he approaches the bar. He does his best to keep his back straight and confident, trying to cover his limp the best he can. Tarn wonders briefly how many of the red Autobot's friends are hiding nearby.

"Clever. No, unfortunately for you my literacy remains entirely intact. As does my pride. While I appreciate the efforts, I'm afraid it will take more than a flimsy, sloppily written sign to keep me out."

This is infuriating. He wants to kick something. He wants to kick Tarn in the face again, because that was intensely satisfying. If his plating flares up a bit to make him attempt to look bigger than he is for a moment, it's definitely a subconscious action. Totally.

"I'll get Magnus to re-write it." He's sure she'll love that. "Guess you rusting to nothing out there was too good to be true." Since he'd been rather quiet since the entire... thing had happened. Rodimus had been pleased about that, really, because no Tarn is the best Tarn.

Tarn scoffs quietly at the backhanded comment. "Yes, I would imagine so."

Regardless of the Shockwave's clear distaste of him, the DJD Commander takes a seat next to him at the bar. He glances around the room, scanning for any sign of a trap or scheme. It isn't as if he has any shortness of enemies here. He isn't sure where the scientist stands, or how well informed he is on the situation with Megatron.

"Oh, and what might that be?"

"My, you certainly sound sour about it." He stops just next to the bar, hovering next to Rodimus for a moment with amusement bright in his optics."Surely you didn't think I would be away for very long."

Tarn slides onto a seat at the bar, causing it to groan under his weight. "Don't worry, I'm not looking for trouble. Just a nice drink." He simpers, looking for the bartender as he drums his fingertips on the table's dull surface.

After a few moments of waiting he simply helps himself, reaching over the bar to grab an empty cube, filling it on the tap and garnishing it with a few ice cubes and a straw.

"Far be it from to keep watch over the activity of your squad, but I'd be correct to assume that it's been some time since you've had contact with Cybertron, yes?"

Shockwave makes a sound in near-perfect facsimile of clearing ones throat. Not something he put the time in practicing to imitate his binocular contemporaries which why the sound was bit forced, unnatural. Unnerving. Especially as that large, singular optic turns and dilates boring into Tarn.

"Best you hear it first. This is my formal resignation from the Deceptions, and a friendly request my operations on this naked carcass of a planet not be impeded."

Tarn's jaw drops for a moment as Shockwave delivers that bit of news, singular optic blazing. Resigning from the Decepticons? The DJD Commander can't help but crow a loud bitter laugh, throwing his head back as he leans back into the chair.

After all that has happened, after everyone who has left the faction, after his own spectacular fall from Megatron's grace...what can he say to that? There is nothing he can do about it here on this desolate crumbling planet. Alone, without his team, without any support, there are no Decepticons here. There's nothing to fight for.

So he says something outlandish as he resigns for the time being.

"Your request is granted. But, if I may ask, why the change of heart?"

Nautica, as the city's only civil engineer, was oftentimes too busy to tend to the energon and limited engex distillery operation they had going in Maccadam's. And while it wasn't often that Megatron took a shift at the bar with everything else going on, he took it upon himself to take this afternoon off her adorable purple hands.

He enters from the back after having resolved some of his own buisness, and stands at the other end of the counter. The calm malaise at facing his eventual necessary abandonment of the clinic evaporates at the sight of Tarn. He isn't aggressive towards the ex-Decepticon's presence, but his tolerance of this situation was clearly thin. Tarn was looking better, though he could see that limp clear as day.

Crossing his arms, he looks down on the counter to take stock of what was available.

He almost turns around and leaves Maccadams at the very sight of Megatron. Almost. Instead, he simply pauses in his tracks before slowly slinking up to the bar and quietly taking a seat, head ducked and avoiding eye contact until he is able to steel himself enough to face his old leader.

He wasn't ready for this interaction quite yet. The wound is still too raw. But he refuses to show weakness and run away. So instead he clears his throat and straightens up, stealing a glance at his bartender.

"Hello, Megatron. I had not expected to see you here...as a bartender." He huffs a sigh through his vents, "I'm not looking for trouble."

Megatron very much takes note of Tarn's humbled body language, and eases up a little once he takes a seat at the counter. It looks like his point had it's intended effect, though he's not ready to let the soldier off the hook just yet.

"Nautica's busy," he retorts curtly, not seeing any issue with taking up her shift,"And the clinic has enough help for the time being."

Taking out a canister of the brewed engex, he attaches it to the tap with a light thunk, before looking up at the ex-Decepticon again,"I'm not going to banish you from enjoying any part of your life, Tarn. You can order something if you keep to your word."

Sometimes First Aid just wanted a drink. There were plenty of reasons why he shouldn't, of course. Depression, anxiety, and his general lack of care for his frame for some time were just three of the numerous reasons. But sometimes, he just wanted a drink, and Nautica and Megatron were pleasant company. The latter rather surprising; he'd started to warm to the former miner's presence. He wasn't the old, jaded tyrant his captain was.

The bar made for a good place to relax with a datapad and indulge with one of his recently neglected hobbies. First Aid was just typing out the last few lines of his most recent diary entry -- impressively quickly with only one hand -- when the door opened and the huge purple frame pressed in. Size was enough to catch his attention, but there wasn't any way he didn't recognize who Tarn was.

The datapad clatters to the table, his visor fixed on the mech.

"You're not welcome here."

"I assure you that this appeal is more for your benefit." Shockwave made to leave then, but a simple question upended him. Caused a shift he physically felt, like a release.

"'Change of heart.'"

Once, ages ago, Shockwave had marveled at it; the almost intoxicating and maddening contradiction of his own anger intermingled with cold analytical dispassion. There is a certain degree of unreality as he almost observes himself bearing down on Tarn. Shoulders squared and taking full advantage of the height difference as Tarn was seated. The distance between them was a hair's breadth and this close, it almost looked like Shockwave was shaking.

"Allow me a moment of transparency I've not indulged for the last four million years as well as some advice, Tarn: Megatron functioned for this long because I deemed his continued existence tipping the scales of a careful cost–benefit analysis in favor of my own endeavors. Never had the option to put a bullet between every set of eyes in the Decepticon conclave been an option unconsidered. This cause you supplicate yourself at the feet of was never so much concerned with winning as it was making the other side lose, having the audacity to be surprised when it finally bled itself dry.

Do you want to know something, now that I've done away with your misconceptions of where my loyalties lay? Never once had I found it worth my time or efforts to advise Megatron to constrain you. Not with the Achilles virus or some other alternative."

Shockwave leaned one hand on the counter. He was quieter. Voice and disposition thin; sheets of ice cracking over boiling water.

"You're a fawning parasite, Tarn. An addict slavish to rhetoric and your own vices the which you cleave. You were always your own undoing. So here is my advice: Do not insert yourself in my affairs here. And find a new creed."

"I intend to."

Tarn's voice is even as he watches Megatron prepare the engex tap from the corner of his eye. His body language is still somewhat withdrawn, hesitant to say the wrong thing or make a wrong move, lest he make the situation even worse.

"I hope I can make steps towards making amends. I am willing to try to learn."

Megatron watches him, an immovable judge sitting at the other end of that countertop. He has to think on what to do. He was hoping Tarn would start to change his views, but now that he'd actually seemed to be showing it, he was unsure whether to be harsh or forgiving. There's a grumble from his engine.

His voice is solemn,"If you mean that - if you're truly intent on changing yourself for the better,"

He looks down at the tap, filling up about 1/3rd of a glass with cooled engex,"You still have a lot of work to do to undo the damage you've caused over the course of the war. But I'm glad for you. This is a step in the right direction."

He finally makes eye contact with Tarn,"How do you like this prepared?"

Tarn huffs, smirking under his mask as he presses further into the bar, making a show of taking a sweeping look around the room.

"I'm doing no harm. Can't a mech just get a drink without hassle?"

It's clear that this little white and red medic has a very clear understanding of who Tarn is, if his flustered and frankly petulant response to his presence is anything to go by. He can't help but wonder who he is and what slights he may have committed in this particular mech's eyes.

For once, Tarn is at a loss for words.

His jaw drops behind his mask as he just stares at Shockwave in disbelief for a few moments. That was...surely that is a bit harsh. The DJD Commander opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to squeeze out a rebuttal to the Scientist's scathing commentary.

"Ah." Is all Tarn manages to say for himself. He sits back politely, bowing his head and clearing his throat. "I...suppose I can't object to such a...strongly worded proposal."

"You've caught me at a bad time."

Also the sun rose every morning, gravity held them to the earth, and several other obvious statements et al. Tarn perhaps had not once in his tenure of being the brutalizing left hand of Megatron's cause been upstaged, and certainly by someone who in another life was nothing short of infamous for their outbursts.

"I never pretend to care for the Division." Shockwave rose, voice falling back to a markedly less room shaking decibel. Almost conversational. "In fact, now I almost find myself pitying you for playing instrument to a vanity project."

"You know me," no he doesn't, Rodimus. "Always looking on the bright side of life." Which involves Tarn bleeding out in a ditch somewhere. He gives the other a scathing look through narrowed optics, suspicious. Rodimus doesn't like this, doesn't like this at all.

But there is nothing inherently threatening about Tarn drinking within ten feet of him. Well, nothing more than it being Tarn which, to Rodimus, is enough of a threat that it deserves action. Especially with what he's been up to here! Which.

Hasn't been much since he got his ass kicked.

"What happened to the last person you told that to, huh? Sorry. Not buying it." He will never buy whatever the fuck this is that Tarn is trying to do, hands balled up into fists as he tries to suffer through the indignity of this. Because it is the worst! The absolute worst.

Starscream found the bar not too long ago himself, and who was he to resist drinking? Especially around all these people who expect him to behave and not shoot anyone in the head (how boring, Optimus Prime.) If he can't get away with scheming terrible plots, he can at least terrorize people.

And if they are already overcharged he has plausible deniability. It's a win-win.

Unfortunately for him, he notices Tarn wander in and how can he ignore that? Of course the guy is rather huge and harassing him is no doubt a stupid idea, but this is Starscream so clearly he has to do it.

He meanders over and gives Tarn a look before speaking what will probably be one of the dumbest things he will ever state in his life: "Ya know, if really wanted to be that much of a suck-up you could have just welded your face to the back of Megatron's plating. It'd be just as attractive as," he pauses to gesture at Tarn's face-mask,"well ... that."

Excellent. Tarn smiles behind his mask, willing a trustworthy warm glow into his normally cold optics. Earning back Megatron's trust will be a long and undoubtedly mentally trying road, but Tarn is confident that not all has been lost. Megatron just needs the right push with a gentler guiding hand than he had previously thought.

"It will be difficult yes, but ultimately worth it in the end." Tarn pauses as he considers his drink of choice. He finds the concept of asking Megatron to make anything for him... Uncomfortable. The station of bartender is so far beneath him that the experience just seems surreal. Like the sort of bizzare dream that one might experience a after consuming spoiled energon. None the less he is in no position to be telling his old leader what he should and should not be doing.

"On ice, please. With a straw."

Tarn's blatant disrespect aggravated First Aid. His plating rattles, his remaining hand closing into a fist, and he pushes his seat out from the table he was sitting at. He's not even scared despite the knowledge he might die. Briefly, he thinks of Sixshot, his admission of association with the leader of the DJD and how betrayed he felt. It was a silly feeling at the time. They're both killers and he's just an Autobot nobody. He doubted Sixshot would miss him.

"You want a drink?" he asks, picking up his glass. He rounds abount the table, walking straight up to the leader of the DJD. "You can have mine."

He lifts it up towards him, then tilts his wrist, pouring the slightly viscous fluid down the larger mech's stomach plating.

He's unresponsive to the warming expression behind the ex-Decepticon's mask. Tarn will need to line up his actions with his words before he gets anything more than begrudging tolerance.

But Tarn gets his order, at least, straw and all, after Megatron checks the state of the newly brewed engex he had plugged in. Nautica was still working out the formula and treatment.

He sits back after setting it next to a purple hand, keeping an eye on the entirety of the bar.

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So Tarn walks into a Bar...

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