BYEDONTFOLLOWME

[ancillary]

Who: Miranda and YOU
Where: Maccadam's
When: After this disaster
What: Miranda licking her wounds and hating robot teenagers, but also vodka.
Warnings: Questionable potato vodka and minor injuries. Standard Mass Effect functioning alcoholism.

Miranda had suffered her fair share of dives. Cerberus contacts that had her plastering on a fake smile as she talked logistics in the back of red sand dusted table in the back of a smoked out bar on Omega. Even when it was the veritable pits at least she never had the need to fallback on undergraduate biochemistry classes and distill her own alcohol.

She wanted to blame Rodimus and his attached to the hip friend with the swords. She wanted to be incensed. Instead she told herself she was happy enough not to debase herself and concentrate on her more practical pursuits. Such as re-purposing some of the machinery she found behind the massive bar in Maccadam's and putting those tubers and other consumable to use. Vodka, specifically. She lucked out and found the hardware close enough to what she recognized and could feasibly work with to make this into a time pisser that actually let her think; to do something with her hands. There was even a clear concoction behind the bar that came up on her omni-tool as being isopropyl in all but name. Everything a girl could hope for.

"Shit."

Sitting on the counter top of the Maccadam's bar, Miranda hissed when she brought a wad of torn synthetic fabric soaked in rubbing alcohol up to her lacerated and swollen face where she bore the brunt of that fight. Had to take care of the superficial wounds before she wasted her medi-gel. Rubbing alcohol in one hand, she also had what must be the glass for the world's smallest shot for the average Cybertronian but held like a highball glass to her filled with ice and strong vodka. Her own brew, and the way she shuddered when she took a pull, it was strong.

Comments

[ancillary]

Already four glasses of vodka of questionable origins, that almost sing song, obnoxiously youthful voice assaulted her ears like a drill bit boring a hole through the forehead. With an overcharged bio-amp and the pain stinging across her face, she was far from three sheets to the wind but the buzz dulled her reaction time when she looked back at Sideswipe when he came barging in.

"Sweet talker." Miranda said, in that sort of tone that was as good as at thumb running over the saftey release on her gun.

[redshitlord]

"Wow..."

Now that she was actually talking, the whole extent of the "looking like scrap" was clearer to him. He grimaced, and held up his hands in surrender.

For all of five seconds. Before chiming in again, though, this time, he ended up sounding more curious and concerned than anything.

"Hey, uh. You're a human, right?" Because he'd never seen one in shape like this. Except in a TV show one time. "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to look like that... you uh. Need repairs or something?"

[ancillary]

"Human." Miranda confirmed coolly as she flicked the last blood stained cotton ball across the room. An application of her low supply of omni-gel get the bleeding from getting worse with so much rotgut and she was hardly in a position to care.

Then, after a moment of awkward silence, Miranda motioned to the back of the bar with a jerking hand motion.

"Engex is in the back." She shrugged. "Pour you one if you can give me a ride home."

[redshitlord]

His head snapped around to follow the flying blob of bloody cotton, like a cat watching a bird. Was she... peeling off parts of her face? Was that healthy? Was any of this healthy? Where was Bee when you needed him to nerd off about Earth and human beings, anyway?

He laughs, a bit awkwardly, holding up his hands. Because wow that name sounds like something that would make it so he couldn't drive anywhere.

Because guess who never actually had any before.

"How about we cut to the chase and I just play good Autobot? With the ride home part, I mean. I can come back."

[ancillary]

"The good...what?"

Miranda cocked her head to the side - both curious as to what he meant by 'Autobot' but also to make it easier to essentially hold her face together with a few strips of bandage tape. Anyone else would have needed stitches, but that was genetic tailoring for you.

"I'm already in the unfortunate position of actually needing help." She conceded, even if it was backhanded. "If you know how I can get a ride back it would be appreciated."

Don't look a gift shithead in the mouth.

[redshitlord]

"Autobot. See?"

He even gestured to the emblem on his chest. Beaming. Like she would understand this was something to be proud of. Or like she'd even care. He assumes she would -- because who wouldn't?

"Right, right. Okay. So... where to?"

He even lowered a hand for her.