After a short timeskip, Grommet is able to repair the worst of the damage.
“Forcep sent me a message after you were brought up to see him,” Halfrunner explains.
The two enter the extravagant bar, the polished furniture and gold trimmings cast in a violet glow from a few dim lights hanging overhead. Busts of Megatron and models of famous Decepticon warships decorate the interior, along with holo-paintings of Kaon, the Nemesis, and other Decepticon imagery. There were about forty patrons in the Peace and Tyranny currently- all Decepticons, of course, and most of them very unfriendly-looking.
After Facelift and Actaeon walk inside, they are stopped by a large bot with a construction vehicle alt-mode and a rather large figure.
“Okay, act casual,” Facelift mutters to Actaeon. “Sell it to 'em, remember? Like we talked about.”
Salvo nods.
“It’s my job,” she sighs. “I’ll be here whenever we’re not getting blown up or otherwise confronting imminent doom.”
IC: The crowd, as usual, applauds Juliana. The junkion patrons, in particular, seemed to especially enjoy the performance. A few of the unkempt and garishly-colored natives of the landfill-planet even try to instigate a standing ovation… but sadly, it doesn’t take off.
The DJ, with his opaque black visor and spray-painted, psychadelic color scheme, gives an enthusiastic thumbs-up, accompanied by an approving smile.
Upon her arrival, she could hear Halfrunner telling a story to a pair of Decepticons.
“…I tell ya,” he says with a laugh, “before that day, if you’d asked me if a piece o’ stale terran breakfast food could be considered a weapon, I’d’ve said ‘no’ like the most o’ men. But that day… that’ll certainly be one to stick with me 'til my grave.”
“Ah, that, lass,” Halfrunner says as he grabs a glass, “was a life-changing event that forever altered my perception of warfare as an institution. Also learned me to be more cautious of the junk Thrift carries around in that ship of his.”
“Junkions, man, I tell you…” one of the Decepticons Halfrunner had been talking to muses, shaking his head and smiling.
Halfrunner nods as he slides a glass of blue engex toward Juliana.
“Mm-hm,” he agrees. “That’s not what I was meaning, Juliana. What I meant to imply was the knack that many junkions have for repurposing the odd trinkets they hoard as surprisingly effective weapons.”
“Hoarding carries with it a certain negative connotation,” Thrift himself says from behind Juliana, having somehow snuck up on the party without anyone noticing.
“May you be so kind as to refer to it as ‘collecting’?”
