Nexus. Blue's Bar. Drinking companions
"You did too, Cyclonus. Or are you trying to say you lost some files when you crossed over?" Rodimus chuckled and pointed with his bottle at the former Decepticon leader, who scowled at him.
"I'm saying I have no idea what you're talking about," replied Cyclonus with dignity, though there was the barest hint of humor in his optics.
The large Autobot sitting across from Rodimus shook his head, his red optic visor glinting. "I hear you. I feel the same way when my spark-mate makes me look foolish in public."
"I hope none of you tell any of these stories to Bumblebee. She doesn't need anymore ideas for mischief," rumbled the big blue mech with red flame markings who made up the forth member of the party.
"I still can't get my head around a female Bumblebee." Rodimus shook his head and narrowed one optic slightly, then tipped his bottle up and drank deeply of the frothy pink contents, savoring the popular sparklet drink without shame.
"I'm having a hard time getting my head around the fact that you've got dead mechs walking around freely where you come from," countered the guy with the visor, who'd introduced himself as Red Alert, chief medic of Cybertron in his reality.
"Not that freely." Cyclonus stared moodily at the nearest energon cube, wishing there was some way he could enjoy a bit of its contents. "We have our assigned duties."
"Still, you move and work outside the Allspark." Red Alert took a long pull at his cube.
"Yes." Cyclonus looked at Rodimus. "Since we're telling stories, what about the time you stepped into the trap your own mate had set for turborats?"
"What about it?" Rodimus suddenly developed shifty optics.
"I hear at the end of whatever happened you'd wound up magnetically charged and stuck to the ceiling."
Rodimus pursed his lips, faceplates heating just a little as he nodded and chuckled. "That about sums it up. Yup."
"Is it too damaging to tell?" asked the other flame mech, his blue optics twinkling in a kindly manner.
"When a guy's got as little dignity as I'm accused of having he has to preserve what he's got." Rodimus gave him a bright grin, feeling the old reassurance at being in the presence of an Optimus, even though this one was male.
"True, I suppose." The blue and red Prime lifted his drink and drank appreciatively, enjoying the exotic energon that his people had never had time to develop.
Rodimus nodded, then called for another bottle and looked around the table. "So... who has kids?"
"I do," said Optimus promptly as Red Alert looked confused by the question.
"He's asking if you've created anyone else," translated Cyclonus, leaning on one fist and frowning. "Anyone small and under developed."
"Oh. No. We don't make a practise of it in my reality. Mechs generally start out fully formed and ready to function. They just need training," said the medic.
"It's the same in my reality." Optimus nodded. "And Elita and I didn't actually create Silvershot. But we couldn't love him more if we had, or if he were more what we were used to."
"We used to do it that way," said Rodimus, popping the lid off his new bottle and watching the pink froth bubble out. "Though there were a few people who built custom shells and asked Vector Sigma for sparks. Most of ours are still factory produced, but we decided to try having 'em be kids for awhile to see if it would lower the high rookie mortality rate."
"So they need to grow up, like human youngsters?" asked Red Alert, sounding surprised.
"Yup."
"Ah. And... have you any 'kids', Rodimus?"
"Yup." He grinned and pulled out a small holo projector, then clicked it on and showed them images of a white and black femme, and a smaller one in tones of buff and tan.
"She looks like you." The medic leaned forward to study the small images more closely. "Is the larger lady your mate?"
"Panacea." Rodimus' grin widened as he tipped his bottle for another drink. Then he looked up at Optimus.
"I've met her," rumbled the larger mech softly. "She wasn't amused to meet a male counterpart of her female creator."
"Her female creator...." Despite the lack of movement to his visor Red Alert managed very well to look shocked. "Prima is a... mother... in your reality?"
"She was... I guess she still is. Yeah." Rodimus looked at Cyclonus, who was stony faced to cover the fact that he was missing his own creation. "She's been gone for a few vorns."
"I'm sorry," said Red Alert with distress. "I didn't know."
"The 'Rodimus Prime' wasn't a give away?" he needled the other mech a little.
"Where I come from there are several mechs with 'Prime' in their names."
"Oh." Rodimus' grin vanished. "Right. Okay. We don't do that."
"Will you tell us about your spark-mate, Red Alert?" Optimus changed the subject smoothly as he leaned an elbow on the table.
"Eh? Oh... Belladonna is my associate, and we've been... er, married for several years before we decided to bond."
"Is that common in your reality?" Cyclonus looked up.
"Among Decepticons, yes. They generally don't bond."
"That explains some of the things you've mentioned," said Rodimus. "She's 'Con, isn't she?"
"Yes. But with the war over the old faction lines don't mean much anymore." Red Alert lifted his chin defensively, then started as Optimus put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Of course it means something," said Cyclonus. "It means that she is a warrior. And if she's worthy of the name the fact that she's chosen you says something about you, as well."
"Gloomy and I worked under a truce till he died," noted Rodimus, thumping on his chest to work an air bubble out of his fuel lines. "And now the Autobots and his faction are allies. His daughter really knows her stuff." He grinned as Cyclonus' face went stony again. "Oh come off it. Threnody's yours, and she's proud of it."
"She is Galvatron's." The Galvatronian scowled.
"Right." Rodimus seemed nearly to cheerfully roll his optics as he turned back to the others. "So, does anyone else have a good story to tell?"
"I have one," offered Optimus. "Have any of you heard of 'drifting'? Good. Well one day Jazz went to Mission City to get....."
"I'm saying I have no idea what you're talking about," replied Cyclonus with dignity, though there was the barest hint of humor in his optics.
The large Autobot sitting across from Rodimus shook his head, his red optic visor glinting. "I hear you. I feel the same way when my spark-mate makes me look foolish in public."
"I hope none of you tell any of these stories to Bumblebee. She doesn't need anymore ideas for mischief," rumbled the big blue mech with red flame markings who made up the forth member of the party.
"I still can't get my head around a female Bumblebee." Rodimus shook his head and narrowed one optic slightly, then tipped his bottle up and drank deeply of the frothy pink contents, savoring the popular sparklet drink without shame.
"I'm having a hard time getting my head around the fact that you've got dead mechs walking around freely where you come from," countered the guy with the visor, who'd introduced himself as Red Alert, chief medic of Cybertron in his reality.
"Not that freely." Cyclonus stared moodily at the nearest energon cube, wishing there was some way he could enjoy a bit of its contents. "We have our assigned duties."
"Still, you move and work outside the Allspark." Red Alert took a long pull at his cube.
"Yes." Cyclonus looked at Rodimus. "Since we're telling stories, what about the time you stepped into the trap your own mate had set for turborats?"
"What about it?" Rodimus suddenly developed shifty optics.
"I hear at the end of whatever happened you'd wound up magnetically charged and stuck to the ceiling."
Rodimus pursed his lips, faceplates heating just a little as he nodded and chuckled. "That about sums it up. Yup."
"Is it too damaging to tell?" asked the other flame mech, his blue optics twinkling in a kindly manner.
"When a guy's got as little dignity as I'm accused of having he has to preserve what he's got." Rodimus gave him a bright grin, feeling the old reassurance at being in the presence of an Optimus, even though this one was male.
"True, I suppose." The blue and red Prime lifted his drink and drank appreciatively, enjoying the exotic energon that his people had never had time to develop.
Rodimus nodded, then called for another bottle and looked around the table. "So... who has kids?"
"I do," said Optimus promptly as Red Alert looked confused by the question.
"He's asking if you've created anyone else," translated Cyclonus, leaning on one fist and frowning. "Anyone small and under developed."
"Oh. No. We don't make a practise of it in my reality. Mechs generally start out fully formed and ready to function. They just need training," said the medic.
"It's the same in my reality." Optimus nodded. "And Elita and I didn't actually create Silvershot. But we couldn't love him more if we had, or if he were more what we were used to."
"We used to do it that way," said Rodimus, popping the lid off his new bottle and watching the pink froth bubble out. "Though there were a few people who built custom shells and asked Vector Sigma for sparks. Most of ours are still factory produced, but we decided to try having 'em be kids for awhile to see if it would lower the high rookie mortality rate."
"So they need to grow up, like human youngsters?" asked Red Alert, sounding surprised.
"Yup."
"Ah. And... have you any 'kids', Rodimus?"
"Yup." He grinned and pulled out a small holo projector, then clicked it on and showed them images of a white and black femme, and a smaller one in tones of buff and tan.
"She looks like you." The medic leaned forward to study the small images more closely. "Is the larger lady your mate?"
"Panacea." Rodimus' grin widened as he tipped his bottle for another drink. Then he looked up at Optimus.
"I've met her," rumbled the larger mech softly. "She wasn't amused to meet a male counterpart of her female creator."
"Her female creator...." Despite the lack of movement to his visor Red Alert managed very well to look shocked. "Prima is a... mother... in your reality?"
"She was... I guess she still is. Yeah." Rodimus looked at Cyclonus, who was stony faced to cover the fact that he was missing his own creation. "She's been gone for a few vorns."
"I'm sorry," said Red Alert with distress. "I didn't know."
"The 'Rodimus Prime' wasn't a give away?" he needled the other mech a little.
"Where I come from there are several mechs with 'Prime' in their names."
"Oh." Rodimus' grin vanished. "Right. Okay. We don't do that."
"Will you tell us about your spark-mate, Red Alert?" Optimus changed the subject smoothly as he leaned an elbow on the table.
"Eh? Oh... Belladonna is my associate, and we've been... er, married for several years before we decided to bond."
"Is that common in your reality?" Cyclonus looked up.
"Among Decepticons, yes. They generally don't bond."
"That explains some of the things you've mentioned," said Rodimus. "She's 'Con, isn't she?"
"Yes. But with the war over the old faction lines don't mean much anymore." Red Alert lifted his chin defensively, then started as Optimus put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Of course it means something," said Cyclonus. "It means that she is a warrior. And if she's worthy of the name the fact that she's chosen you says something about you, as well."
"Gloomy and I worked under a truce till he died," noted Rodimus, thumping on his chest to work an air bubble out of his fuel lines. "And now the Autobots and his faction are allies. His daughter really knows her stuff." He grinned as Cyclonus' face went stony again. "Oh come off it. Threnody's yours, and she's proud of it."
"She is Galvatron's." The Galvatronian scowled.
"Right." Rodimus seemed nearly to cheerfully roll his optics as he turned back to the others. "So, does anyone else have a good story to tell?"
"I have one," offered Optimus. "Have any of you heard of 'drifting'? Good. Well one day Jazz went to Mission City to get....."