Proposal 2/2

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG-13
TFA: Inamorato AU
Lugnut/Strika. Barricade/Blackout, Prowl, Lockdown, Chromia, etc
no warnings

The second half!!

As promised, part two!! ^___^

 

 

[***]

 “Lugnut. Vhat are you doing down zhere?” Strika asked.  Lugnut had gone down, as an honorable warrior does before a superior opponent, on one knee, his toes digging nervously into the floor, as he tried to scrape up the courage to ask the question. 

“General Strika? Ma’am? Uh…,” Lugnut hesitated.  Sunstorm had told him that flattery ALWAYS worked, and that everyone, especially femmes, liked compliments.  And pet names.  And Ramjet had agreed with that second part.  So.  “My delicate orchid flower…uhhh, thing?” 

“Lugnut. Are you feeling unvell?” Strika leaned over, placing her napkin on the table, on the space Brawl had just cleared.

“I’m feeling fine, Madam General, uh…beautiful butterfly.”  Lugnut’s optics flared. He was doing this right, right?  Then why didn’t it feel right? In fact, it felt…scarier than combat, and the closer he came to asking the question, the more…dizzy he became. He blinked his optics, forcing them to focus.  Megatron had insisted that he ask. He had to prove himself!  “You-your concern is unnecessary.” 

“Is it the food?  I haff my doubts that any food should be cut into ze rosettes.”  She cast a meaningful glance at Brawl’s retreating back.  “Or maybe ze handling.” 

“It’s not the food, my, uhhh, radiant queen of…radiance?”  Frag.  He’d had Sunstorm write out a whole list of compliments, but…they were tucked in his storage!  It certainly wasn’t the food, though. He’d barely been able to eat a thing. 

Strika tilted her head. “You are acting strange, Lugnut.  And why are you on ze floor?”

“M-madam General?” Lugnut threw caution to the winds. He was going to ask. Now or never.  The moment would not get more right. His hand went to his storage compartment to retrieve the bright crystal.  “There’s something I want to ask….”

[***]

Bonecrusher glowered over Brawl as he brought in the dishes from the third course.  Stacked together.  Not one in each hand like he’d taught him.  Frag.  ‘Teaching Brawl’.  That was the problem right slaggin’ there.  What was worse…one of the plates was still…uneaten.  This was unacceptable. An insult. Dare he say…an outrage?

Bonecrusher stormed through the swinging door, tearing his apron off as he went, flinging it against the wall.  “What’s wrong with my cooking?” he bellowed.  His optics flew to Lugnut, hunched over on the ground, pawing himself. “AND GET OFF THE FLOOR YOU HEATHEN SAVAGE!”  His tail whistled as he whipped it from side to side. 

Lugnut whirled, his hand flying from his storage, something skittering across the floor. “Oh no!” Lugnut said, and lunged for it. His head struck into the table with force enough to dent the metal.  A shower of sparks flew, the glass of his main optic spiderwebbing.  He held up his claw, looking at it, an expression of horror coming over his face. “No…,” Lugnut said, before keeling over, his head coming to rest on Strika’s foot. 

[***]

Barricade grinned into his cube.  When the cybercat’s away, the turbomice will play, apparently. Or in this case, the probationary escorts will play.  And play hard. 

Skywarp had somehow ended up tied to the pole in the middle of the small, fenced off dance area, and was currently shrieking about femme cooties while the footperv was practically slobbering on his little thruster feet. 

Sunstorm had cornered Arcee and was showering her with compliments, dragging her around the room, praising the color of the curtains, the way the lighting caught sparkles in her optics, how he’d always loved the color pink, how he admired her for her patience and wit…Arcee may have been an Autobot veteran of the wars, but no one could withstand the sheer torrent of praise that poured from Sunstorm’s vocalizer.  It was, Barricade decided, a superweapon. One he resolved to cultivate, especially as he saw Arcee crumble under its onslaught. 

Ramjet had perched himself on the counter of the bar offering his own special brand of opinions to passersby, while a very harried Prowl alternated between trying to push him off the counter and frantically trying to undo the damage of some of Ramjet’s more colorful statements.

“Hey!” Ramjet said, to one of the gracile femmes. “You should totally get the low-grade, chunkstyle.”

“No!” Prowl said, nearly throwing himself across the counter to catch the femme’s attention. “He, uhh, he has a speech problem.”

“Called,” the femme retorted, “his foot isn’t in his mouth.”  She slapped a credit chit down.  Prowl hurried to get her a drink before the damage could get worse.  Though he probably couldn’t imagine how. 

“Hey, where ya goin’, ugly?” Ramjet asked, as she tossed her head and stomped back to her friends, clutching her cube. 

Barricade snickered.  Prowl shot him a dirty look. “This is not funny, Barricade,” he said, sounding worse for wear. “We could be losing valuable clientele.”

Barricade shrugged. “No you won’t. In fact, this night will become a bit of a local legend. You’ll actually get people coming here in hope they get a free sample of the crazy.”

“How comforting,” Prowl said, wryly. 

Barricade shrugged. “What? I know how mechs work.”  Well, this class of mech. Even Chromia, who came in shrieking like a space banshee with its comet-trail on fire was his kind of people.   Gauzy streamers fluttered from her wings as she advanced, face livid and tight with fury. Blackout trailed after her, his optics tight with worry.

“Miss Chromia!” Blackout was saying. “Let me work it out, please?”

“Cram it, whirlyderp,” Chromia snapped. “Messing up my gig! Sabotage! I won’t stand for it!”

Barricade pushed himself hurriedly off the stool and raced to intercept her before she got to Skywarp.  He gave a quick, sharp nod to Blackout, who was wringing his hands in the doorway, optics torn between watching the door and Chromia’s determined advance. Skywarp, the little wuss, was his friend, well…sorta.  In that Skywarp didn’t have anyone else to stand up for him and, yeah. You know what? Barricade had no idea why he felt protective of the little fraidy-cat.  But nobody deserved the kind of tantrum that he could easily imagine Chromia could unleash. And Blackout had his hands full already. And he definitely didn’t deserve a heapin’ helping of Chromia cranked up to 11. Time to earn all those free drinks.

“Hey there,” he said, smacking an arm out in front of her, talons spread.  “What’s your rush?”

“Not into that right now,” Chromia snapped, her optics nearly flaming with fury. 

Ummm, ew?  Barricade so did not swing that way. She could keep her girly parts and her girly goo and all that to herself.  He just didn’t want her to claw Skywarp’s face off. Only Autobots deserved a death that vile. 

“That thing is messing up my dance pole.”

“Skywarp? He’s not messing up anything.” Uhhh, okay, that Barricade knew of.  Skywarp hadn’t really been prone to like…leaking or anything.  “And someone tied him there. So don’t take it out on him.”

“I’ll take it out on whoever I want!” Chromia said. 

“No. You won’t.”  Barricade stepped closer, dropping his voice to that dangerous murmur.  “And definitely not Skywarp.”

“You don’t tell me what to do!” Chromia huffed, her wings flicking in irritation.  The gauzy streamers snapped in the air. 

“Except I am.”  Oh, finally, that one Primus-given talent Barricade had—the ability to be instantaneously annoying—had a purpose.  Chromia had optics for no one other than him now.  Icy blue optics, in tight little laserbeams of hate.  Barricade’s own optics, the lower set, flicked wide, seeing Blackout stolidly by the main door, busy collecting weapons from a new guest.  So he wouldn’t see anything.  Whew.  He flicked his wrist, one energon blade almost seeming to appear in his hand. “Leave the jet alone.” 

“I dare you,” Chromia said. “I dare you to try to cut me, grounder.”

“Yeah?”  Barricade grinned. That slightly crazy grin that came in handy in occasions like this. “What’s my prize if I do?”

She launched at him, claws raking at his shoulders. He let her weight take him over, bending easily to roll onto the floor. His doorwings crunched, so, it wasn’t perfect, but, yeah.  Nothing ever was. 

A scrabble of limbs and he was on top of her, pressing her face into the floor, one wing twisted painfully.  Around them, patrons buzzed, unsure if this was actually planned or some impromptu entertainment. Yup. Here at Inamorato, we’re full of surprises, Barricade thought. Tonight, fighting kink. Rowrf.

“Stop fighting!” Skywarp gibbered, jerking one of his feet out of the way. “Please! Fighting’s scary!”

“Chromia!”  Arcee’s voice sliced through the eager rumbling of the crowd. “This is no way for an employee to behave!”  

Sunstorm trailed after her, gushing. “Your presence—so commanding!  Your tone of voice is a magnificent stridency! You’re glorious when you’re angry!” 

“Help!” Skywarp squeaked. “Footpervs! Germs! Violence!”  He rattled against his bonds adding to the chaos, a complete cacophony, music blaring, glasses tinkling, mechs shouting encouragement or distress. 

That suddenly died, cut off as sharply as with a circuit breaker.  Barricade looked over through the curtained arch to see Lugnut staggering in, half supported by General Strika.  The Kaon Krusher, needing help to walk. He levered himself off Chromia, who got up, also unresistingly. The spectacle was so shocking: Lugnut, even after his epic battles in the Arena, scarred and dented and sparking from snapped wires, had always walked proudly.  The crowd collapsed into a numb silence, not even up to speculating what might have happened.

“I’m sorry!” he gasped, in the sudden, swallowing silence. “General Strika, ma’am. What I’ve been trying to ask is really important—“

“No,” Strika said. “You are injured, Lugnut. You must be seen by a medic.”

“I’m fine, General Madam! I have…my whole life hangs on this--!”

“You vill say nothing until you haff been cleared! Zhat is an order!” 

Lugnut’s head drooped, as Strika led him into the bar area. 

“Prowl,” Strika said. “Some high grade, please.  Zomething with zome pep.”  Prowl nodded, and moved to bring a fresh cube to the table next to the cushioned bench Strika propped Lugnut on.  Barricade ambled over.  Whatever’d taken down the Kaon Krusher, Onslaught might want to know.  And Barricade’s own nosiness definitely wanted to know. 

Strika’s optics cut around the circle of faces. “You vill tell me vhat chaos happened and who is to blame…later.” The crowd shrank back. Which was, of course, Barricade’s cue.  He stepped forward, flashing a grin at Strika. 

“Know a little first aid.  I can check him out before a real medic gets here?”

“Real medic is here. Or as close as you’re gonna need.”  Lockdown shouldered his way through the crowd, Blackout trailing in his wake. “Rotors, here, told me you might need a mech of my…talents.”

“No one needs your talents,” Strika said, sharply. “Lugnut least of all.”

“He can help,” Prowl said, quietly. “From his ability to extract mods, he has a superlative grasp of basic medical skills.”  He handed over the cube, which Strika held up to Lugnut’s shovel mouth.  She gave Lockdown a long, narrow-opticked look.

“Fine.  But vhe are right here to vatch that you rezizt temptation.”

Lockdown grinned. “Fair enough, Baboosh. I’ll convince ya that I’m a changed mech.”  His optics drifted to Prowl, his voice softening at the end.  He knelt down on the seat by the larger mech. “What happened?”  He began peering into Lugnut’s optics, one at a time.

“I do not know. Vhe vere eating ze dinner, although he did not eat zo much, and then he vhent to the floor, doubled over in pain, maybe?”  She shrugged. “And zhen he kept trying to say something but he made no zense and…,” she shrugged, helplessly, her optics tight with worry.

Barricade stepped back, feeling a really uncomfortable sort of tension near his spark chamber.  Even worse than the ouch of his crunched doorwing. He kept thinking of how he’d have felt if that assassin had actually hit Blackout.  He hated feeling like this. It sucked, all this caring and emotion and stuff. 

It got even worse when Blackout ambled over.  “He, uh, gonna be okay?” the copter whispered to Barricade. He brushed one hand over the bent metal. 

“Be fine,” Barricade said, reflexively. He flicked the doorwing out of Blackout’s grasp, but found himself leaning in till his shoulder bumped the copter’s chassis. 

“We know what happened and stuff?”  Blackout’s arm went carefully around the narrow shoulders.

“Trying to figure it out right now.”  Barricade fought himself not to get irritated.  Copter was out of the loop and hated that feeling. Barricade could totally relate. Not fair to get irked at him for it.  He reached up with one hand to stroke the massive hand the copter had over his shoulder.

A pause, as Blackout realized, somehow, he’d come close to irritating Barricade. Then, hesitantly, “Think maybe it’s got to do with what he’s holding?”  

What?  Sure enough, peeping out of Lugnut’s claw was a shard of something glittery.  Barricade now officially hated himself for not noticing that first.  Great situational assessment, there, Barricade, he thought, harshly. 

He stepped forward as Lockdown popped off his hook mod and attached a small screwdriver into the mod socket.  Huh.  It looked like a…oh. 

“I, uh…I think I figured it out, General Strika,” Barricade said, quietly.  He twisted out of Blackout’s arm.

“Vhat? Vhat is the matter with my Luggies?”  At the endearment, Lugnut’s optics flared briefly.

“He, well, it looks like he was going to ask you to bond with him?”  Barricade pointed to the shard of what must have once been a bonding crystal.

“Bond vith me?”  Strika bent down, her optics focusing on the hand Barricade indicated. “Bond?”  She looked up at Lugnut, who had half of his helm plating removed by Lockdown. “Is zis true, Lugnut?”

“Yes, uhhh, Madam General, err…radiant flower….”  The lower jaw quivered.  “But the whole thing has been a disaster.” 

“Whole thing?”

“Dinner and then there was supposed to be dancing and if you said yes some fireworks and…I got you an electrum plated derringer because Chromia said it had to be something useless but I couldn’t find jewelry I thought you’d like and…then the crystal broke and…,” the voice trailed off, woozily. 

“Yeah,” Lockdown said. “How ‘bout I just shut him down for a bit for a reboot. He’ll be fine when he comes back on.” Under his breath, the bounty hunter added, “Spare himself a bit of slaggin’ dignity.”

“No! Vait!” Strika said.  She picked up Lugnut’s claw, stroking the shattered shard of crystal.  “Yes, my Luggies. I vill bond with you.” 

“Really?” Lugnut’s optics flared again. “But the dancing.  And the crystal. And—“

Strika shushed him with a gesture. “Yes. And vhe can do zese other things…later.  As a zelebration. For everyone.” 

“But I want…just us.”

“Oh,” Strika grinned. “Ve vill haff private zelebrationings, too.” 

[***]

“That was, wow, that was so cute, don’t you think?” Blackout said, bouncing on his feet as he clocked out.  “I mean I’m sorry it didn’t go exactly how Lugnut planned it and stuff but it was still super sweet and even better this way because now everyone got to see it.”

Yeah. I’m sure Lugnut’s totally thrilled about that part, Barricade thought.  “It was, uhh, interesting.”

“And so romantic.” 

And then the moment Barricade had been dreading since he spotted the fragment of crystal. 

“Maybe we should think about, you know, bonding and stuff.” 

Erk. Barricade had thought about bonding. It was filed under ‘the very few things that scare Barricade’.  Quick.  Time for some awesome deflection skills. “Maybe,” he said, twining an arm through Blackout’s.  “But you promised me some after-shift interfacing.”

Blackout grinned down at him, covering Barricade’s hand with his. “I did, didn’t I?  Well, maybe we can talk about it afterwards and stuff.”

Yeah, sure, Barricade thought.  New mission: Interface the copter into a coma and hope he forgets all this bonding nonsense when he finally, megacycles later, wakes up.  At last, a mission he could enjoy.