Haliaetus looks to his screen, hm, he thought, there’s quite a lot of debree here, whatever caused it? “attention all crew, we’re entering a debree feild of massive proportions, be on your gaurd,” he tells the crew, then gives the order, “pilot, bring us closer.”
A pair of bulky, broad-shouldered twins lounged in the common area of the Decepticon warship. One, possessing a minesweeper alt-mode and a predominantly red color scheme with blue highlights, stood behind the bar, polishing a shot glass. The other, also a minesweeper with an inverted color palette from his twin, sat on one of the bar stools, dismantling a Fusion Cannon with a half-empty glass of Engex nearby. Such a procedure probably should have been conducted in a lab, without the presence of intoxicants, but neither of the twins seemed to care.
The bartender was named Lock, a weapons specialist who ran the bar off the battlefield. Practically, it might not have been the most useful position aboard ship, but Lock saw it as a way to keep up the morale of the crew, especially in their current situation. His twin brother was Load, also an armsmaster who fancied himself as the unofficial head of security after the previous holder of the position died in the transwarp accident that had brought both ships into the unknown. Between working on the cannon and sips of his drink, he was currently relating to Lock another tale of his rather pitiful romantic life.
“…So like I said; she was just sitting in the corner, all by her lonesome, and I swear upon the Allspark she had to be the most beautiful mechanoid to come off the assembly line,” he embellishes.
“You said that about the last one,” Lock reminds him.
“Yeh, but I mean it this time,” Load insists. “Anyway, where was I? Oh yeh; she was just sitting there, and I was at the other end of the club trying to work up the courage to ask for her comm channel.”
Lock sighs, already knowing how this story would end.
Load sighs as well. “Aaaand when I finally got up and started to make my way over, I got my deployment orders over the 'net. Had to get to the spaceport ASAP. Didn’t even have time to say ‘hello’.”
“If only you had acted a bit sooner,” Lock teases. “You could’ve at least gotten her number.”
“I could’ve,” Load agrees with a shrug, “But you know me…”
“Behold,” Lock wittily implores the empty room, “Decepticon corporal Load, trained killer-of-Autobots, can’t talk to women to save his life.”
“Yeh, I’m sure there’s some kind of irony in there,” Load admits.
“Well,” Lock comforts his twin, “just hope she hasn’t found somebody else when we get back.”
" ‘When’, " Load repeats, chuckling bitterly. “Gotta love your optimism.”
“You know he’s lying right?” Fury asked, sticking her head into the room.
“Who’s lying?” Lock asks.
“About what?” Load adds.
"Look mate, hand down, I’m the best looking mechanoid off the assembly line. "
“I mean… yeah… it’s all in the eye of…” Load sputters.
Lock rolls his eyes and resumes his duties. “Please put that canon back together before it blows up my bar,” he requests of his twin.
“I forgive you for your ignorance, dumb and dumber.” She replied before walking towards the engine room.
Load gets up to retort, but Lock places a hand on his twin’s shoulder.
“Let it go,” he says. “We’ve got enough tension between us and the Autobots; we don’t need to be fighting each other.”
Railfire walks from his quarters and to Haliaetus.
OOC: Sorry I’m late.
Haliaetus was sitting in his command chair, staring at the feild, conflicted
“What is the issue? It is a debris feild. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Railfire said, sounding a little frustrated.
“take a closer look.”
Railfire does so, trying to see the point in Haliaetus’ hesitation to the situation.
“Don’t you have better things to do than whine to me about your girl trouble?” Lock says to Load.
Load scoffs. “Like what?”
“Well I don’t know ‘mister head-of-security’, how about you watch the cameras or something to make sure the Autobots aren’t raiding the armory, or sabotaging the power core, or trying to assassinate Haliaetus.”
Load sighs as he activates a holo-display on his left forearm.
“Well would you look at that,” he says sarcastically. “Frakkin’ nothin’.”
The debree resembled Cybertronians technology…or, at least pieces.
“Cybertorian ships, this far out? Curious indeed. Perhaps they met a similar fate to ours?”
Lock remains in the bar as Load disposes of the defective canon and walks to the bridge.
“perhaps, but I see no indication of a faction on anything.”
“Even so, I see little to gain from this. Nothing to recover. Nothing to salvage.”
Railfire then turns as Load enters.
OOC: Gotta go.