![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
niyazi-a.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
shadow_vector2012-03-12 07:54 am
Last Call
TFA Inamorato AU
Blackout, Barricade, Arcee, Prowl, Drift, Dai Atlas
no warnings
for
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif){kind=small}
tf_speedwriting prompt 'a bar at closing time'.Blackout edged around the sleeping mech, facedown on the bar. It wasn’t that unusual to have mechs pass out, but it was a little odd to have it happen, face smushed flat against the bar. Whoever the small white mech was, he was out cold. “Uh, hey.” Blackout prodded with one large claw, at the high white shoulder armor. “You okay?”
The face slid sideways, one optic cracking open. “Mrfph.”
Blackout knew from long experience with Barricade that that was a ‘yes’. Still, couldn’t hurt to have a second opinion. //Madam Arcee?//
She came on comm sounding tired. It had been a long night—another bachelor party for a member of the Elite Guard, and Blackout had seen Ratchet skulking about a bit, too. //Problem, Blackout?//
//New mech. Kind of out of it.// The plea for help carried in his voice. He knew she trusted him, even though he was, like, a ‘con and stuff and not very bright, but sometimes he didn’t trust himself. It would be bad if someone got sick or hurt. The Autobot authorities were looking for any excuse to shut the place down, even if it meant cutting out Arcee’s income.
Which sucked, as Barricade would say, because they owed her.
//I’ll be right there, Blackout.//
He nodded, forgetting for a klik it was comm, and waited, tilting his head at the smaller mech, until she appeared in the doorway from the back offices. Yeah, tired. Definitely tired. Blackout felt a twinge of guilt. But he wouldn’t have asked her if he didn’t really want her help.
“New mech,” Blackout said, pointing unnecessarily at the slumped white figure, the long line of the sword down his back. “Musta come with the party.” Which was why his weapon hadn’t been checked. Blackout was always nervous on these ‘event’ nights, but, well, mostly because he’d hate to shoot giant holes in the place he worked in the name of keeping the peace. Barricade had a word for it. Like…peer-ick victory or something. It certainly sounded icky.
“Should just pick him up and dump his Autobot aft on the curb,” Barricade slid a plastic crate down the bar, filling it with dirty dishes and glasses. He didn’t work here—the idea of a regular job kind of stuck in his craw—but he’d taken up the habit of puttering around, waiting for the copter to get off shift. He’d explained, loudly, several times that it was not at all from some generosity of motive, just that ‘helping’ (and he always said the word like it was the name of some CTD) meant the copter got done sooner. Only Barricade could make helping out…selfish.
Which was why Blackout loved him.
“Barricade,” Arcee admonished. “He’s intoxicated, not trash.”
“Hmph. Mech can’t hold his high grade.” He snatched the half-empty cube away from the limp fingers, tilted his head, and then downed the rest. “What? Gonna let it go to waste? Autobots paid for that booze.”
“I see.” Arcee sighed, shaking her head, before she bent over, trying to catch the other’s optic, which had drifted closed again. “Excuse me? Do you need help?” No response. Until she laid a comforting hand on the white projection of the other’s shoulder armor.
Movement, faster than Blackout could track, one hand sweeping up, catching the pink wrist and pinning it to the bar’s nickel surface. The head arced off the bar, optics blue and blazing.
“Don’t.” Barricade’s energon blade, even faster, pink and humming hot, appeared under the other’s throat.
The other mech blinked, the hardness slipping off his face, replaced by a bleary, drunken confusion, optics struggling to focus on the blade, or Barricade’s set face. “Sorry,” he managed to mumble.
“Fraggin better be,” Barricade muttered, flicking the blade back into its housing.
And then the mech slipped off the stool, crashing on the floor in a pile of limbs.
Arcee and Blackout exchanged puzzled looks: Arcee rubbing her wrist. Poor mech was no threat to anyone but himself. Blackout scooped him up. “What do we do now?”
“I suppose we can call the event hosts,” Arcee said, with a sigh. More trouble, with the Elite Guard no less. “He was their guest.”
“Dai Atlas,” Prowl said, lugging in a rack of dishes from the prep room in the back. “You’ll want to call Dai Atlas.” His thin mouth pinched, as though whatever recollection he had of that mech, they weren’t good ones.
“You know who he is, Prowl?”
A disapproving frown. “Drift.”
The head lolled up on Blackout’s arm, blue optics blearily trying to focus. “Whuzzah?”
Prowl pointedly ignored the white mech. “He lacks…discipline.” And he cut himself off, as though that were the start of a very, very long list.
“Plenny a dishiplishinine,” Drift mumbled.
“Yeah, I can tell. You’re just oozing the stuff,” Barricade smirked. “Oh, wait, that’s high grade.”
Arcee sighed. “Blackout, take him to one of the back rooms, and take care of him? I’ll call this Dai Atlas.”
A squirm in Blackout’s arms. “No! No! ‘M okay. Dai Atlas’s’s’s’sn bed or something’r other by now.” He wriggled, trying to stand.
Blackout clamped his arms around the smaller chassis. “Madam Arcee says no.” It was all Blackout needed to know. She was the bosslady. End of story.
“Problem with all that squirmy ninja stuff,” Barricade observed, folding his arms casually over the plastic bin as Blackout carried the white mech away, “You kinda gotta be able to actually stand to pull it off.”
[***]
Dai Atlas swept in like an icy breeze from the polar plains, his radiant chill managing to do more to sober up the white mech than the half-cycle of time or the stimulant drink Blackout had pressed into his hand: one of the concoctions Barricade brewed up for himself. Sort of a peace-offering, Barricade had muttered, shoving it with ill grace into Blackout’s hand.
Drift hunched in the chair, suddenly finding the orange dregs fascinating.
“Drift.” Dai Atlas’s tone was beyond frosty. Even Blackout got a chill.
“Yes, master,” Drift said.
“Inappropriate behavior, you realize.” Dai Atlas stepped closer, the frown sharper than the blade he wore.
“Didn’t hurt anybody.” The voice was small, very small and for a klik Blackout felt a little sorry for the mech. Wasn’t his fault: some mechs just couldn’t handle their high grade. And all he’d done, after all, is plonk into recharge.
“That is not the point.” Dai Atlas pitched his voice louder, seemingly gratified as the volume made the smaller mech wince. “You represent all of us when you are in public.”
“Hey,” Blackout said. “No big deal. I mean, we get overcharged mechs all the time. Kinda the point of the place and stuff.”
“With all due respect,” Dai Atlas said, drawing himself up, tingling with outrage, “You do not know Drift’s history. This sort of…lack of control is all too typical for him.”
“Jus’ drank too much,” Drift said, scrubbing a hand over his face, pausing with it covering his mouth. “Hadn’t had any in a long time. Guess my tolerance dropped.”
“You guess. You guess.” Dai Atlas rounded on the smaller mech, who cringed, holding the empty cube up like a shield.
“Hey, now,” Barricade said from the doorway, stepping closer. He didn’t like this kind of slag. “Mech’s sorry enough. And like he said, it was a mistake. All he did was drink too much. Not a capital crime or nothin’.” He didn’t care if the blue jet yelled at him. He could take it. And right now the little white mech looked like he could use the help. Barricade didn’t have much in the way of morals, but ‘picking on the little guy’ was a nonstarter in his book.
“And you are…?” Haughtiness behind the words, tinged with disdain. And even Blackout realized the tone was a big mistake to use against Barricade.
“Someone you should be glad you don’t know,” Barricade said, folding his arms over his chassis. “How’s Star Saber, by the way?”
The lip curled into a sneer. “I am glad I don’t know you or your kind.” He turned back to Drift. “And you. In a house of ill-repute like this. What were you thinking?”
“Just wanted to have some fun,” Drift said. “Meet the Elite Guard, you know. Make friends.”
“And I can see that that failed. Spectacularly.”
“Know what?” Barricade said, idly examining his talons. “I think it’s time for you to go, Das Frosty. You know, before you catch something or something.” Blackout knew his cue when he heard one, stepping forward, looming over the blue jet.
“At least we agree on that,” Dai Atlas said, archly. “Come, Drift. We’ll discuss your shortcomings in the morning.” A pause, as Drift struggled to his feet, still wobbly from the overcharge. “I expect it will be a rather…long session.”
Drift slouched after Dai Atlas, as the other swept from the room, shooting one last, mortified look back at the two of them.
Blackout shook his head as the door whirred closed. “Don’t like that. Poor little guy. Kinda feel bad for him.”
“For now,” Barricade said, philosophically. “Trust me, that kind of thing’s going to blow up in Dai Atlas’s face.” A shrug. “Trust me,” he repeated, his mouth quirking, enigmatic. “Kid’ll be fine.”
no subject
no subject
Always adore seeing Barricade and Blackout, loved this latest update :D
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
And this: " “Problem with all that squirmy ninja stuff,” Barricade observed, folding his arms casually over the plastic bin as Blackout carried the white mech away, “You kinda gotta be able to actually stand to pull it off.” "
made me giggle so much! XD
no subject
They are fun to write: I'm so glad you liked!
no subject
no subject
And Barricade, you're such a badass softy. I love you so. And Blackout!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject